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merakiui · 5 months

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The Most Dangerous Game [1]

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he is so bright today.

“Oh, Floyd, hello!”

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

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

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

“That right?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya hafta get hired before any of that.”

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

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

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

He said I’d look good in the uniform.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Most often do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He has a keen nose, yes.”

“But…”

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

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

“Ah, you know him well.”

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

“Have you tried asking?”

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

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

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

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

“How unfortunate.”

“You don’t sound very sympathetic.”

Jade chuckles. “Am I meant to?”

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t play. I’d work.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My, aren’t you a bold thing?”

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

“Practice?” He blinks. “On me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Oh, he’s good.

Too good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would never.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

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

“A…taste-tester?”

“You heard correctly.”

“For the lounge?”

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

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

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

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

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

“And you promise I’ll get hired?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll do that when I get hired.”

“If you get hired.”

“When I get hired, asshole.”

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

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

“Is that so? I couldn’t tell.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not even during the intimate hours of night?”

“Not a chance.”

“In that case, what are your preferences?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mushroom brownies?”

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

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

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

“I find that hard to believe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So I’ve heard.”

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

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

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

“So you’ve said.”

“I wish he’d talk to me more.”

“So you’ve griped.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I meant someone aside from those two.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How routinely predictable of you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stupid in love.”

You shove him lightly. “Hush.”

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

“What’re you getting at?”

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

“Moray courtship?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jade—”

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

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

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

It’s just one kiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait. What do you mean by—”

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

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

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

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

He kissed you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s an added bonus.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him, brows knitted in scrutiny.

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

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

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

“You literally are.”

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

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

“So why brownies?”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

“Greedy. Greedy.” You tut at him.

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

“Now who’s the delusional romantic?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you’d rather lie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only an eight?”

“Seven. We can go lower.”

“We certainly can.”

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

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

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

“I don’t want any.”

“Would you take some if I was Floyd?”

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

“How cruel. I mean well this time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speak of the devil and he shall appear…

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

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

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

“Jade.”

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

“I was just leaving.”

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

It’s not worth it.

It’s…really worth it.

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

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

“It’s for Floyd.”

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

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

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

“Do you…want that with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Um. N-No…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you.

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

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

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

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

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

“What… What was stopping you?”

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

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

“Floyd, wait…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because,” you hiss, shaking your head.

“Then I won’t bite.”

“But…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, sorry. I won’t be mean.”

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

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

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

“What’s it like?”

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

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

“And you’d never leave me?”

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

“But what if someone else—”

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

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

“I promise, Floyd. I’m all yours.”

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

More. More. More.

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

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

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

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

But it felt like Floyd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him.

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

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

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

“Jade, do you like—”

“Jaaade, you there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What… What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold on. Is Jade skipping work?”

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

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

“Prolly.”

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

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

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

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

I’m not wearing any perfume…

Groaning, you bury your face in your hands next.

And I forgot to give him the heliotrope.

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

“Do you think he knows?”

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

“So you weren’t really invisible then.”

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

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

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

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

“(Name)?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re far from boring, (Name).”

“But I must be if Floyd—”

“I disagree.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-Wait, you meant now?”

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

“Be quiet, smart-ass.”

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

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

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

“Back so soon?”

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is… Is this for me?”

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

“Do you want me to?”

“Shrimpy’s askin’ lotsa questions.”

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

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

“That doesn’t sound very comforting…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your skin prickles as the memories spring forth.

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

“Mm, nah.”

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

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

“You think so?”

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

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

“Oh. Ah. Um… It’s only a suggestion.”

“You like flowers then?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Had fun doin’ it, too.”

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

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

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

“Sure thing. Shoot.”

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

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

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

“Then could I talk to him now?”

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

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

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

“I need to fill my resume,” you lie.

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

“Do you know why Azul won’t hire me?”

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

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

“Sure he is.”

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

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

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

“Yeah, totally.”

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

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

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

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

“This again?”

“I’m serious. I want to work here.”

“Jade tells me otherwise.”

“What? That I’m not serious?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go on…”

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

“Wait, seriously? You’d hire me?”

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

“I will! I’m not lying about that.”

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

“But it doesn’t have Floyd.”

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

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

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

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

“Not as thick as your delusion, no.”

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

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

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

“Yes. Absolutely. Whatever it takes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

“A potion.”

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

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

“What should I add?”

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

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

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

“Special how?”

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

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

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

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

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

That sounds so suspicious! Is he even hearing himself?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I got the job.

It fizzles out of you in a satisfied whistle.

I got the job.

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

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

Why do I want to tell him so badly?

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

Still…

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

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

“What’s the status? Didja get it?”

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

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

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

He perks considerably. “What’s up?”

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

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

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

“Officially Octavinelle!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, something’s definitely up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For you, of course.”

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

“Would…you like it to be?”

It clicks then, the decorations and the classy ambience.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you work as well?”

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

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

“Fortunately, no.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did he now?”

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

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

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

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

“I’m not a fool.”

“Sometimes your actions tell me otherwise.”

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

“Contradictory.” He tuts.

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

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

You grin. “I’m ready to feast.”

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

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

“Is something the matter?”

“Just admiring the food.”

“You flatter me.”

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

“Because I look like Floyd from this angle?”

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

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

By the time you’ve started snickering, he’s already recovered. “You never fail to surprise. Might I ask why you’re suddenly so kind to me? It’s unlike you to think of anyone else outside of Floyd.”

“Consider it my very late revenge. For that time you compared me to the moon, remember?”

“And you claim I’m the vindictive one.”

“You’re not the only one who gets to catch others off guard like that.”

He hums, folding the rag away after setting the final dish down. It’s so wrinkled from his previous twisting and turning of it. “I suppose that makes us even.”

“Hell yeah it does.” You motion for him to sit and he does, stretching his napkin out and placing it on his lap. “Did you really make all of this from scratch?”

“Indeed. That is a wild mushroom and farro soup. It’s a recipe I recently learned. Do tell me how it tastes.”

“No fair. It’s hard to be mean when you’ve done all of this for me. And from complete scratch, too.” Pouting, you stir your spoon through the soup. It’s packed full of sliced mushrooms, carrots, celery, and onions. In short, it smells divine. You’re certain it’ll taste so when you bring a spoonful to your lips, blow gently, and indulge. After three more scrumptious spoonfuls, you conclude with an obnoxious assessment: “The broth is exquisitely…exquisite. And the vegetables taste fresh and…super good. Yeah, it’s really good! One-hundred out of ten! Kinda heavy for a soup, though, but that makes sense if you’re using it as the main course.”

Jade’s smile reaches his eyes. “Thank you for saying so.”

As if those are the magic words, he samples the dish for himself, wasting no time in eating more. You peer through the heliotropes while you reach for the bread and butter, watching him savor his meal. It’s almost…cute.

Almost.

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Octopus carpaccio.”

“How come you’ve never made any for me?”

“I wasn’t aware that the nature of our deal has strayed into domesticity. Shall we get fitted for wedding attire next? Are you fond of rings? How about pearls?”

“Shut up. You know that’s not it.” You spread margarine on your slice before dunking it in the soup. “I just wanted to ask.”

“In case you were wondering, Floyd favors takoyaki.”

“I know.”

His spoon stops at his mouth. Seconds after, he exhales through his nose, smiling behind his hand. “I would expect nothing less of his greatest fan.”

“I’d get perfect marks if Professor Crewel taught Floyd 101. But octopus carpaccio sounds delicious. Kinda awkward to think about it when Azul’s an octo-mer, though. Oh, he actually gave me something—a potion I’m meant to take as part of our contract. Do you know anything about that?”

“A potion? I’m afraid I only know as much as you do.”

“Bummer.” You munch on your bread, contemplating. “It’s not a love potion. That much he confirmed, but he said I have to add part of myself to the mixture, let it sit for a little bit, and then drink it.”

“How curious.”

“You’d tell me if you knew, wouldn’t you?”

“For the right price.”

“Ew, no. Forget it. You’ll just scam me.”

Jade chuckles and fixes himself a plate of salad. He drizzles a tangy vinaigrette over it next, pushing the greens around with his fork so the flavor soaks into every crisp vegetable.

“But whatever it is, I hope it’s safe. I’m sorta in the dark right now. That instruction about adding a part of myself isn’t a helpful clue.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out in due time. I’ll be rooting for you.”

“Please don’t.”

“You never did tell me. How did your second attempt go?”

“My second attempt? Oh, the heliotrope! He accepted it. Told me it was pretty and that it looked even prettier in my hair. That was when he gave me the perfume. I’m just not sure why. I mean, I guess there’s probably not a real reason. He’s Floyd. He does whatever he wants when he feels like it. Still, I can’t stop myself from wondering…” You gasp when it hits you. “Do you think he gave me perfume because I smelled bad that day?”

Jade shakes his head, unfazed by your panicked conclusion-jumping, and continues to eat. “I can theorize,” he finally says, dabbing his lips with a napkin.

“Okay, so do it. Please tell me it wasn’t because of what I think it is.”

“Moray eels have a very robust sense of smell. We can tell many things apart purely by smell alone in the sea. We commit recurring scents to memory, such as that of food or family. Smell helps us return to those we cherish, so it acts as a helpful beacon.”

“I…don’t really get it. Are you saying you use smell to guide you? But you’re on land. Visibility must be easier here than down there.”

“To merfolk, one’s smell can evoke a variety of feelings. When you smell something delicious, does it not make you happy? This is much the same for us, even more so when it comes to other mers. Family smells like home and thus we feel safe and comfortable when wrapped in such a distinct scent. The smell of someone you care for will fill you with affection and tranquility. If that same someone is distressed, we can often smell it. Essentially, smell is special to us in a way that differs from humans’ understanding of it. No matter how far we may stray, we can always follow familiar scents to reach our destination. Our home. Our heart.” His hand splays across his chest to illustrate that last point.

“Wow. That’s…really romantic,” you mutter, chewing slowly. “So smell is like a type of unspoken communication?”

Accompanied by the gentle jazz notes from the radio, Jade’s voice is musical. “More or less. We don’t have to speak all the time to know what the other is saying.”

“Merfolk are fascinating…”

“I could say the same about humans.”

“Yeah, but we’re not that fascinating. Not like that.” You study your warped reflection in the soup. “So he gave me perfume to locate me?”

“He gave you perfume to cover my scent.”

Your head snaps up to look at him. Even though he appears unbothered by this possibility, his lips are pursed in a thin line. You think he doesn’t like this admittance.

“Oh.”

“We’re rather territorial, you see. Relationships in the sea are unlike those up here.”

“Floyd—ah, no, that was you. Uh, you mentioned that once—something about morays not following monogamy. But I’m not dating Floyd. I want to, but even I’m not that delusional. So why would he do something like that? I really doubt it’s a jealousy thing. He doesn’t strike me as the type.”

“Perhaps he just wanted to play. See if I might take notice.”

“So he did it to test you?”

“Amusing, is it not?”

“I…guess?”

I really don’t understand your sense of humor.

Jade reaches for another slice of sourdough just as you do, the both of you seeming to need something to occupy yourselves. Your hand covers his, and for a taut minute you observe him with undivided attention. He twists his hand around to hold yours and something tells you to pull away—to run from this moment and never look back—but you remain, allowing the contact.

“Regardless of his reasons, your smell will always be identifiable to us no matter how much perfume you wear.” He squeezes your hand once and then releases you. “Shrimpy’s left her imprint on me and I ain’t gonna lose that so easily. Not ever. Not even in the middle of a feeding frenzy.”

You open and close your mouth like a beached fish, embarrassment crawling up your spine. You shove a slice of bread at him. “You forgot your bread, idiot.”

He laughs. “How kind of you to remind me.”

You’re the worst, Jade Leech.

You spend the rest of dinner with heavy thoughts, your heart caught in a warring debate. If Jade’s theories hold any water, you might just have a chance with Floyd. Maybe he really does feel the same and smelling Jade on you triggered some sort of moray eel instinct. It’s all you can consider even when you attempt to distract yourself with eating.

Meanwhile, Jade regales you with exciting foraging tales and you try to feign attention, too occupied with dissecting his body language as if it’ll open a new avenue for clues. He’s so unlike Floyd—so different with his hobbies and interests and demeanor. But he masquerades as Floyd so seamlessly, reflecting that same level of capriciousness you’ve come to admire. It’s possible Jade just said something to satisfy your endless questioning. Maybe it had nothing to do with either of your scents after all. Maybe Jade’s just a liar, which isn’t news.

But to say that it was because he wanted to wash Jade’s scent off of me… That’s so embarrassing. So then he knew what we got up to in the botanical garden and he didn’t say a word about it. Does that mean he thinks we’re a thing? No, maybe not. Otherwise why else would he have been so adamant on giving me perfume? But then Jade could be lying, spinning some silly story just to trick me. Ugh, why can’t he ever be serious? My love life’s at stake here.

By the time he’s brought out dessert, a warm blackberry cobbler with scoops of vanilla ice cream situated on top, you abandon all of your conflicting thoughts and focus on enjoying your slice. As expected, it tastes like heaven and you lose yourself in the flavors, quickly forgetting about your burdensome romantic complications.

“Thanks for this, by the way.”

“There’s no need for that. It’s part of our arrangement, is it not?”

“Yeah, but I feel like I’m half-assing my part. You put in all of this work to be Floyd and you’re cooking amazing meals, and then all I’m doing is giving you useless critique.”

“It’s useless, yes.” He smiles around a bite of cobbler. “It isn’t very helpful either, but it is entertaining.”

“Way to soften the blow.” Suppressing a groan, you add, “And you’re also teaching me about moray courtship. I’m not contributing at all.”

“If you’re so desperate to do so, why not share some anecdotes about being human?”

“I doubt you’ll get anything out of it.”

“You never know.”

“Sure. All right. Um…” You stir melting ice cream with your spoon. “Dancing.”

“Dancing?”

“Floyd likes to dance, so I just sorta thought of it.” You chuckle sheepishly. “Uh, did you guys ever dance in the Coral Sea? Is that even possible?”

He nods, his lips quirking up slowly behind the convex of his spoon. “It is very possible.”

“Right. Of course it’d be. Sorry, stupid question.”

“Not at all.” He tilts his head, licking the metal. “Have you ever danced before? Ah, allow me to amend my phrasing. Can you dance, or is that not part of your skill set?”

“I can! I’ll have you know I dance best when I’m trying to impress. And when I’m alone! I’m practically a professional.”

“You’re so practically, professionally delusional. How simple a life you must lead.”

“Not true! Also, rude!” Scoffing, you scoot away from the table, the chair legs squeaking in protest. With a huff, you hold your hand out. “I’ll prove it.”

Jade’s lips split apart in a wild grin, his face tinged pink under the dim amber glow of the kitchen lights. “Oh? And have you prepared yourself for the humiliation that will soon follow when you prove inadequate?”

“I hope there’s enough appetite left in that bottomless stomach of yours because you’ll be eating those words soon enough.” You smirk, cocking your head. “And don’t look so excited. This is a competition, not courtship.”

“And yet they become one and the same under the sea…” You miss his whispered musing, so instead he rises from his seat and bows before you. “Do try to avoid stepping on my feet.”

“Hah! You wish I was that bad!”

“I truly do.”

You brush past him, swaying your hips. The challenging lilt in your voice is a siren’s song, tickling his ears with tantalizing tones. “Only one way to find out, no?”

He stands there, watching the kitchen doors swing shut.

You don’t have to wait long, for he steps through seconds after to join you in the lounge. It’s strange to admire the interior after hours, so empty and devoid of the usual bustling energy it’s known for, but it’s not particularly unsettling. It’s a serene silence, broken only by Jade’s clicking steps as he covers the distance to reach you. Backdropped by the colorful aquarium, bathed in pretty purples and beautiful blues, you really are what the moon is to merfolk: utterly, indescribably breathtaking. Every part of you, from your infectious smile to the way you stand with such confidence, is so magnetizing it leaves him mesmerized.

With a flick of his magic pen, the lights in the lounge dim, giving way to stretching shadows and aquatic phantasms, and the speakers crackle to life. The sophisticated notes of a whimsical waltz come tumbling out. Jade smiles at you, his eyes bright and warm.

“May I trouble you to close your eyes?”

You can feel your own smile carving at your cheeks and so you obey, your lashes fluttering. “I’m trusting you just this once.”

“I shan't let you down,” comes his suave promise.

There’s a mystical tinkle and chime, a bright flash of light that tries to sear your eyelids, and then you’re wrapped up in a soothing warmth. Silk rustles and flutters, twining itself around your body like a boa. The accessories come next, draping across you like an ocean lapping at the shore.

At Jade’s gentle command, you open your eyes. He’s conjured a mirror, which allows you to see yourself dressed in an azure gown, its train swishing with every twirl you take. The ruffles and ribbons, in white and variations of lighter to darker blues, bounce when you, overcome with childish glee, shimmy. They settle in waves, refined in a way that speaks of marble and alabaster. Even the dress’s straps, made of pearl strands and cut out at the shoulders, fascinate you. It’s masterfully crafted, all the way to the snug, form-fitting bodice adorned with more pearls and a pretty bow with a rose. Like a cherry on top, the matching choker is secured around your neck.

Lifting the gown to reveal a pair of shiny black heels, you peer at the frilly white stockings, your mouth dropping open in awe. The mirror is magicked away, and now nothing stands between you and Jade.

“It’s so… It’s amazing,” you mutter, running your fingers over the shimmering fabric.

“A transient illusion befitting my moon princess. Ah, but your attire suggests otherwise… Perhaps you’re more of a jellyfish princess.”

You gasp, flattered beyond words. “Can I be both?”

“Greedy. Greedy.”

“You’re one to talk.” Rolling your eyes, you offer your outstretched hand. The corners of your lips twitch upwards. “Well, will you have this dance, loyal sidekick of mine?”

With his hand resting over his heart, he bows. “It would be an honor, Your Highness.”

The music swells just as his hand closes around yours, fingers twining, and the two of you settle into the proper stance. His other hand rests delicately on your waist, and for a moment you struggle to place your free hand somewhere. He smirks at you, his eyes narrowed in unspoken jeer. Your glower isn’t harsh in the slightest, for your scrunched features give way to a wide, toothy grin when you tug him towards you. His delight is palpable, and he falls into the pace you set with measured finesse.

It’s easy to recount the steps crucial to a standard ballroom dance, and you execute them as if it’s as natural as breathing. The two of you glide effortlessly across the sleek floor, your reflections cast in dappled light. Swaying to and fro like a marionette, your dress billowing behind you, you lift your gaze to his. He’s smiling—truly smiling!—and the sight fills you with satisfaction. You can’t explain it, but it’s so very wonderful to behold a side of Jade that isn’t the reticent walking danger he subjects the school to. Not that that side is bad. For all of the trouble he causes you, you don’t mind it.

You thought you could dislike him, if only to make it easier to pursue Floyd, but rather you gravitate towards the companionship he provides. And not because he’s a phony Floyd, but because he’s Jade.

“See? I told you I could dance.”

“I didn’t doubt you for a moment.”

“Said the liar.”

“My expectations were quite low to begin with.”

Jade twirls you with minimal effort, and you giggle, following the pace he sets alongside the magnificent tempo. You gaze into his mismatched eyes. He’s nothing like Floyd. Tonight he’s Jade, and for the first time that’s much better than any performance he could ever put on.

“I learned back home, but I never stuck with it because I didn’t have a partner to try the routines with. But then I was transported here and I found out Floyd loves to dance, so I practiced in hopes that one day I might be able to—whoa!”

He lowers you into a dip just then. Startled by the sudden change in position, you cling to him while your heart spikes up into your throat.

“Oops.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.”

Jade smiles down at you, unaffected. “You’re a wonderful dancer.”

“I could’ve told you that.”

“You just did.” He lifts you up, spins you gracefully, and pulls you flush against his chest. “Your body says everything your lips do not.”

“Yeah? Then what am I saying now?”

Standing on the tips of your toes, you hook your arm around his neck and turn to smirk at him. His arm wraps around your stomach, firmly holding you in place against him, while his other hand splays across your chin, guiding your gaze towards his. You hold his stare with a smoldering determination, your hearts beating as one amidst intimate proximity. And then, with his eyelids fluttering to a near-close, he tilts your head further up, leaning down to capture your waiting lips in a soft, soulful kiss.

There are no squirming tongues, clicking teeth, or bloodied maws. Just a precious press of his mouth to yours, an unvoiced declaration of desire.

“That you’re immensely proud,” he whispers, his lips now centimeters from yours, “because you’ve proven my assumptions wrong. More than that, you hoped to catch me off guard.”

“And did I?”

“Why not read my body language and find out for yourself, hm?”

“Sly eel,” you mutter, impressed with his temerity. “You know that’s not gonna work on me. Not unless you’re Floyd.”

“Perhaps not.” Jade spins you out of his hold, disentangling the both of you from your propinquity. “But it’s worth a try, no?”

“A valiant effort.” You pull him along, easing back into the waltz like well-oiled clockwork. Your feet follow the steps in time with the tinkling melody. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Can’t get enough of me?”

He flashes his teeth at you in a menacing grin. “Is honesty not the best policy?”

“It is when you follow it.”

“In that case, we share a commonality.” His fingers crawl up your shoulder to brush the ribbon around your throat. “We’re both liars seeking the comforts of dishonesty.”

“Don’t group me with you.”

“Are you not just as shameless, or am I mistaken?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Yeaaah? Even though I’m Shrimpy’s favorite? Ain’t I the most congenial?”

Despite yourself, you laugh. “You think he’d say it like that?”

“Not in the slightest, and yet you’d still manage to fall for it.”

“Every time. Without fail.”

Exhaling a disconsolate breath, his smile thins and his eyes cloud over with despondency. “Very predictable.”

The two of you waltz until midnight, exchanging banter and recalling dance-related stories while gliding across an illuminated floor. Your gown falls away in diamond-shaped patches when you step out of the lounge and into the tunnel hall, now back in the clothes you were wearing when you first arrived. You frown when you catch sight of your plain reflection, the fast-paced, upbeat glamour of the evening withering into something slow and quiet. As if it was all but a fleeting dream.

“I can’t believe I’m admitting this,” you say after he’s caught up to you, “but I had fun tonight.”

Jade nudges you. “Ain’t it always fun when you’re with me? You sayin’ this is the only time?”

“Oh, shush.” You return his Floyd-like prodding with some of your own antagonizing pokes. “I had fun with Jade when he’s Jade. There. I said it. You’re not so terrible to hang out with.”

“What was that? I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that.”

“You heard me.”

“One more time.”

“You wish.”

He chuckles. “I suppose I should return the favor. You aren’t so difficult to manage either.”

“That’s a completely different statement. And so backhanded, too!”

“Was yours not worded the same?”

You roll your eyes as the both of you exit Octavinelle via magic bubble. Pressing your palm against the smooth surface, you admire the endless sprawl of ocean, lit by deep-sea bioluminescence and the few artificial lights surrounding Octavinelle territory. Despite the creeping shadows and occasional darting of sea creatures, it’s prepossessing like a mystery. You’re so absorbed in your ogling, so transfixed by the aquatic scenery before you, that you fail to notice he’s watching you closely.

It’s so pretty… I wonder if Floyd thinks so every time he returns to Octavinelle. Or maybe it’s nothing spectacular to him because he lives this back in the Coral Sea. You spot Jade’s reflection then, your eyes zeroing in on his placid smile. Jade probably thinks the same. Actually, what even goes through his head? I can never tell.

With a contented sigh, you turn to slump against the bubble and cross your arms over your chest. “You don’t have to walk me back, you know. It’s out of your way.”

“No, but I insist.”

You shoot him a dubious look, wondering what it is he might possibly want in return for his act of goodwill. Unable to read his intentions, you resolve to take it as it is: a kind gesture.

“Well, thanks for being so chivalrous.”

Under a velvety sea of stars, Jade escorts you all the way to Ramshackle. You hurry to hold the gate open for him and he catches on to your scramble with pointed perception.

“In case you’re unaware, I am capable of doing good deeds without the need for compensation.”

“You’re such a liar!” you exclaim, shaking your head and ushering him through. “No Octavinelle student has ever said that and meant it.”

“Then I shall be the first.”

You swat at his arm and then skip ahead two stone steps. “Yeah, right. You’re way too opportunistic for that.”

Jade stops beside you at Ramshackle’s front door. “I’ve heard a new hire will be joining us. It would be quite convenient if she was made to do all of the work under the guise of training, wouldn’t you agree?”

“That poor new hire. I wonder who it could possibly be,” you say, your delivery flat and unamused. “It’ll be my first day. Have mercy on me.”

“I’ll consider it.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “I’m demoting you back to villain. No more sidekick privileges.”

“I hardly had any to begin with.”

“Hey! Not true! You—”

Just then, a cacophony of chortles pierce the air. You whirl and find three transparent heads poking through the front door, their features alight with mischief.

“Aah, young love. Takes me back.”

“To what? The last century?”

“Hah! I’m surprised you can even remember that far back!”

Your eyes widen to a comical size. “G-Ghosts?! What’re you doing here? How long were you listening in?”

“Long enough,” they answer in eerie unison, all giggles. Hungry for gossip as usual.

“You finally get your kiss with the Leech boy?”

“Yeah! We were waitin’ for ages.”

“Can’t really age anymore, though, but it sure did feel like an eternity. You’d think we’d be dead by now.”

“Oh, wait, we already are! Hah!”

“Sooo, didja get your kiss?”

Burning with embarrassment, you swat at the three of them, seething through your teeth. Your hands pass through their frigid apparitions no matter how much you flail. They reshape themselves with ease, laughing throughout the process.

“Ew, no! Wrong twin!” you hiss, shaking your head. “That’s Jade, guys. Jade.”

They peer past you at him. He smiles and lowers into a respectful bow. “Good evening.”

“So it is indeed Mr. Jade!”

“Apologies. We mistook you for your brother.”

“Greetings! Fine evening for a little smoochin’, don’tcha think?”

“Stop!” You gasp, your face hot with humiliation. “You’re making it worse! Please go back inside. I’ll be in in just a second.” Your attempt to push them through the door is made in vain, for they can’t be moved or touched. “Shouldn’t you guys be scaring Grim or something? Give me a break!”

Jade catches your wrist just as you attempt to bring your fist down against the door. The ghosts vanish into thin air, their cackles a haunting echo.

You huff, offended that they left before you could scold them. “Don’t listen to them. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

He squeezes your hand to soothe your bubbling temper. “There’s no need to fret. They’re merely teasing.”

You’re slow to snatch your hand back. “Yeah. Well… Still.”

“Still?”

“It’s awkward!”

“You’ve made so many bold declarations regarding Floyd, so I was under the impression you weren’t capable of feeling even the tiniest shred of shame. If I recall, weren’t you begging to be bitten in the botanical garden? You wanted my teeth in your shoulder, did you not? You wanted ‘Floyd’ to mark you in such a way so that everyone would know—so that they’d see physical proof of our relations.”

Your mouth drops open in horror. He remembers that?

“S-Shut up! Stop talking!” You bound forwards, pushing him down the stairs and towards the exit. Jade allows this, covering each step without scrimmage. “Seriously, you just love to run your mouth, don’t you?”

“You’re more than welcome to remedy that. According to your friendly poltergeists, tonight is prime for kissing.”

“Kiss me and I’ll kick you in your kneecaps.”

“How cruel.” He feigns a pout, eyes glossing over. “Shrimpy’s so violent…”

You’re about to retort when you remember the kiss he snagged at the lounge during your waltz, and suddenly his crocodile tears are rendered ineffective.

You shove him through the gate, refusing to dignify his nonsense with a reply. “Goodbye! Farewell! Get out!”

“Sweet dreams, Shrimpyyy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Good night.” You flick your hand at him in a shooing motion before latching the gate shut. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jade.”

Shrugging off his Floydness, he returns to himself and pauses as if reflecting. He places his hands on the fence and leans closer to you. Without thinking, you meet him halfway. Before either of you can linger, he closes the distance to kiss your cheek.

“Officially Octavinelle,” he reminds you with a wink.

You stumble away so fast you almost trip. Jade chuckles behind his fist, annoyingly kittenish.

“I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that. Shrimpy loooves me,” he calls out in Floyd’s voice as he departs.

“As if, asshole!”

You scowl at his retreating figure until he’s a mere speck. Once he’s gone, you relax and rub at your face. The feeling of his lips is branded into both your skin and memory, and you fear it will remain like that for a long time. Not wanting to think about what that could mean, you spin on your heel, stomp the rest of the way to your dorm, and throw the door open.

“Ghosts, get back out here!” The authority in your voice morphs into uncontainable glee when you spot them peeking at you from the ceiling. You squeal and jump about the foyer, spinning and whooping all at once. “Oh my gosh! I have so much to tell you! Wake Grim—he’s gotta hear this!”

second part.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere jade leech #yandere jade leech x reader #yandere jade #yandere jade x reader #n/sfw #tw: pregnancy #tw: baby trapping #tw: choking

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sophiethewitch1 · 4 months

Text

What We Want - Chpt. 3 - Dreams And...

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE) - PLEASE REMEMBER TO CHECK, THIS CHAPTER IS DARKER IN TONE!

PREV - NEXT

Your hands are pruned. It’s quiet in the extravagant bathroom, other than the sound of the tap’s running water and your own shaky breathing. This was all a bit much. Your hands are more than clean now, but you absolutely do not want to go back out there.

You kind of just want to go back into one of the stalls and cry. A core girlhood experience, except you were an adult with a job and taxes. Or, you were. You think you’re some rich scion or something in this dream. Which like, cool, who wants to slave under capitalism anyways?

…You wonder if anyone would notice if you slipped out the window. You’d been gone for a while and nobody had come looking for you, since you’d totally gotten lost trying to find the bathroom. Sure, you were on the third floor, but at this point you were willing to risk it. Even if you couldn’t walk in a straight line right now, much less climb the trellises. For some reason, you could not handle your liquor today like you usually could. But once again, this was all just a very vivid dream, so it wasn’t like you could die.

To punctuate that thought, you hear someone scream.

It cuts off instantly, and then there’s quiet again. You pause, then turn off the tap, listening for any more sound. Drip, drip, drip… you press the tap down again and properly turn it off. Still no noise. Immediately, you realise you are standing directly in a horror film. You live in Gotham for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t an unlikely occurrence. You’d gotten mugged just a few days ago.

And you were alone in the bathrooms. So unbelievably drunk, and alone in the bathrooms. You were actually so dead, it was crazy. A dream, a dream…!

Your head bows, staring into the white porcelain of the sink as you focus hard on your hearing. You don’t think you could hear the party before, but you’re not sure. It’s definitely not there now. You swallow the dry pain in your throat, trying to summon a modicum of courage. Your vision spins.

You slap your wet hands to your face and then blink through your fingers. God. Okay, okay, okay. You can do this. You survived a mugging just last week with only minimal bruising. To convince yourself of your badassery, you dig your fingers into the blemishes, hoping to wake yourself up with the pain. It’s a bad habit but you have lots of those.

…Where’s the pain? Oh god, where’s the pain? Wait, don’t panic, it’s a dream! Of course, you wouldn’t have your bruises in a dream. That made total sense. And you definitely weren’t panicking.

You splash more water on your face. Time to face the music, you drunken moron. If you were going to be in a horror movie, you’d be the final girl of all final girls.

One hand on the sink, you take your heels off. They’re going to get in the way, and the sound of them clicking against the marble will give away your location. Massaging your sore ankles, you try and come up with a game plan. You don’t know what’s going on, and it really could all just be a false alarm, but better safe than sorry and all that. It’s a gala full of some of the richest people on earth, and you’re pretty sure you saw a swat team of security guards at the entrance.

So this was probably a hostage situation or a villain attack. You’d hear more noise if it was a supervillain fighting a superhero downstairs. Then you’ll bet on a hostage situation for now. Depending on who had taken you all hostage, that could be a totally fine situation where you all just end up leaving with lighter purses, or it could be the Scarecrow’s shown up and he’s about to mentally traumatise you. Like you needed any more of that.

Of course, this was all probably still a dream. Maybe if you say it enough times you’ll actually believe it. You’ll just plan ahead in case this is real (which it definitely isn’t). Plus you’d proven you could feel pain in this dream anyway, with all the times you’d slapped yourself. You hoped the fucking Tim Drake didn’t think you were too weird. Because he definitely thought you were weird.

It’s cool. You’re cool. You could handle this. You were a Gotham native after all. Totally cool. You have to force yourself not to gag on your own fear. Totally, absolutely, terrifically cool.

A few deep, calming breaths later, and you’re cracking the door of the lavatory open just an inch. You peer through the crevice, taking another deep breath when you don’t see anyone in the hallway. You push the door open a bit wider, peek your head around it to look the other way. Still empty. Another deep breath, you feel your chest rise and fall, and then you take the first step out onto the wooden floors. You wince at the slight noise the bare sole of your foot makes and hurry over to the long Persian rug to snuffle any more sounds.

And then you’re standing in the middle of the hallway in your ballgown, head swivelling back and forth as you try and catch any minuscule sounds, shoulders bunched up to your ears.

The first thing you need to check is the exits. Since you are on the third floor, and the banquet was on the first, you can assume that they’re well-guarded, but probably far away from you. Still, this is the Wayne Enterprises Tower, and there wasn’t just the party happening tonight. It was mostly empty as you’d seen but there’d been a few people you’d wandered past. They’d all seemed like late-night office workers, and the female janitor you’d bumped into was the one who had told you where the toilet was.

Was the janitor okay? Was that her scream you’d heard? Concentrate, dumbass. On airplanes, they tell you to put your mask on first before you do it for anyone else. The idea was the same here. Save yourself before you can hope to save anyone else.

That was… that was if you even needed saving. This could all still just be your own paranoia. Someone hit their knee on a ridiculously fancy side table or something. Like that scream wasn’t of pure terror. Like it didn’t sound like someone on death’s door.

Concentrate! Okay, check the stairs first. Don’t take the elevator, because you’re not an idiot. Maybe. Hopefully. Slowly but surely you creep your way back towards the entrance to the third level, where both the elevator and the stairs were. There was a map, too. You hadn’t been able to figure it out earlier, but you had a bit more incentive this time.

You make sure to place your feet carefully, aiming for the carpets and rugs. Even if your drunken steps miss half the time, you’re still mostly quiet. Every time you have to walk across a crossing you spend a minute listening, and then peer around every corner too. You’re not sure if you should be running, or if you really should try one of the windows.

Deep breaths. Keep moving. That’s the best course of action. Don’t get caught, but don’t just hide either.

It’s when you’re almost at the third-floor foyer when you hear something. There’s a crash, the sound of something breaking. No voices, though. Still, you can’t convince your body to move for a full minute. There’s a part of you that wants to go hide in an abandoned cubicle and wait, but there’s another part of you that is very aware of the rates of fires in this city. You keep going, taking a longer route to avoid the source of the crashing.

Another noise. A scream. Laughter. Spine-chilling laughter.

Shit, motherfucker. Why the hell did you get smashed at a fucking Wayne gala? Everybody knew the rogues of this city were totally obsessively in love with Bruce Wayne. Especially your own personal worst nightmare. You don’t dare even think his name, lest you summon the bastard.

Was he in Arkham right now? He should be. Like you should be at home in the Narrows getting a good night’s rest. Like you should be wearing dorky Flash pyjamas, not a dress more expensive than your rent.

He should be. It’s not nearly enough.

You realise, suddenly, that you have to make a choice here. You can walk away, pretend you didn’t hear anything, that you can’t hear anything. A woman’s cries, you think. You could leave her, save yourself. Hideaway and let whatever fate she’s facing befall her. Could you do that? Could you even stomach the idea?

In the end, the universe makes the decision for you.

“And who do we have here? What’s a pretty little thing like you doing wandering around?”

You hear your doom in his slimy voice, even though you didn’t hear him sneak up on you. Shaking, you raise your hands into the air, and slowly turn around. You see your doom in the twisted clown mask’s grin. For a second you think it’s really him, but then you notice his dark brown hair and the tanned skin under the mask. God, god, god. It’s a Joker goon. Your literal worst nightmare, given flesh. Is he here? No, no, no- You swallow down the urge to scream, to run, and do your best to keep thinking like a person and not a prey animal.

You feel like one. You think he knows that. You hope he doesn’t.

“Hey Travis, I found another one!” the man calls out, raising his gun to point at you. He jerks it, moving forward, and you turn back around obediently. The gun presses against the back of your head, and you move forward, obediently.

“Shithead, don’t say my name out loud!” another voice replies. You get to see its owner when you come around the corner and find the foyer.

There are five other people here, all tied up. Four seem to be exhausted office worker bees, who just stayed too late on the wrong day, and the last is the janitor who helped you. The kind lady gives you terrified eyes, but she’s the only one not crying among the hostages.

“Man, you worry too much. Like there aren’t hundreds of Travis’s in the city.”

“Just shut up, my god! If we leak info and it gets traced back to us, he’s docking our pay.”

Who’s he? Who’s fucking he?! He can’t be here, right? He fucking can’t be. You can’t, you can’t. God, you're going to vomit right here and now.

“Whatever. Anyway, this is the last person on this floor.”

“Check the feed again, dickhead,” the second one commands, obviously the leader between the two.

The one who caught you groans, and then you hear the sound of fabric shuffling. Is he looking at his phone? You wish you could turn around and look. You don’t dare with the barrel against you.

Your teeth dig into the side of your mouth. So did they have the security feeds? That meant you were doomed from the start. The only other option would’ve been to actually jump out one of the windows. They would’ve probably found you anyway. Hunted you down to meet their quota.

Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. This is looking like a big deal. And everybody knew Joker never left out on his big deal jobs, he enjoyed them too much. He’s probably downstairs demanding the Batman come meet him and have tea or something. Shit.

All of a sudden these goons seem like the much better end of the deal.

“Checked, checked, double-checked, triple-checked… There’s nobody else here,” the man behind you grumbles, and the one in front of you sighs.

“Alright, alright. Bring her over, I’ll tie her up, and then we can blow this joint,” the man says, and you really, really hope he’s not being serious about blowing this place. You’d had enough of explosions, thank you very much. Especially ones organised by the Joker.

The gun digs harshly into your skull, “Well, go on.”

Swallow, swallow down your fear. Don’t let it stop you. You walk forward to the other man, arms in the air shaking. When you’re in reaching distance, the second goon roughly grabs you and shoves you to your knees. He pushes your hands in front of you, not bothering to tie them behind you. You don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

The rope cuts into your skin. It’s going to leave marks, and bruises. The man finishes tying the knot and then pulls you back to your feet. Then he shoves you towards the elevator and turns to start picking up the other hostages. You turn so your back is toward the wall, not willing to have your eyes off the monsters for even a second.

It’s when he’s pushing one of the office workers towards you, that the second man speaks again.

“Hey, the boss said we had to kill one of ‘em.”

What? What did he say?

“Oh yeah, oops.”

The gunshot goes off before you can process the words. Before you can process the gunshot, the janitor’s body is crumpling to the floor. Before you can process her fall, blood is starting to seep from the wound in her chest. Before you can process any of that, the man behind you laughs.

He laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs.

The janitor lies on the floor, blood seeping into her hair and uniform. You squeeze your eyes tight, tears slipping over the lids. You refuse to look at the wound. At the gaping hole in her chest. And despite yourself, you know why they shot her, not you. Not any of the workers either.

Because she wasn’t worth the cash.

Yesterday, that would’ve been you on the floor. You were a fake wearing a fancy dress, who didn’t belong here at all. Still, they didn’t know that. You didn’t think anybody knew that. Not anyone but you, who had woken up in a world a little to the left.

“I’ll be down in a minute, Trav. I wanna play with this one for a bit,” the shooter says, and all of a sudden you’re thrown back into your body, into your frail mortality. You’re cold, your spine gives a shiver, and your horrified eyes find the wretched clown mask.

Like you said, your doom. You wish you weren’t right all the time.

“No way. She’s one of the high-profilers, we need her,” his leader replies, and you’re desperate to stick by his side. You didn’t think a Joker goon would be your saviour, but here you were.

“I’ll give you five K of my split,” he offers, not willing to let go of it. Of you.

The other one pauses, glances at you assessingly. There’s a glint of something in his eyes, something that tells you you’re not making it out of here unscathed. It’s something you recognise, something you even recognise inside yourself.

It’s greed. And it’s going to kill you. You always knew it would, you just didn’t think it’d be like this.

“Make it seven,” he finally announces, the deal for your soul made without any fuss or fanfare.

“You’re such a hardass. Fine, fine, seven it is.”

“Alright, and only thirty minutes, tops. Not a hair on her head, you understand me?” he says over his shoulder, waggling a finger at his coworker.

The group leaves through the elevator. It dings, and you watch in mute, stunned horror as the other hostages refuse to meet your gaze. As they abandon you to save their own asses. You couldn’t really blame them, as much as you wanted to. You were ready to do the same earlier.

“I think not even a hair is pushing it, right?” the creep says, finger reaching out for said hair. You jerk back out of his reach, an instinctual flinch. He grins, and lets his hand fall back to his side. You take a shaky step backward.

You’re trembling with fear. With the need to get away from this terror, this situation.

He gestures with his gun, pointing back in the direction of the branching hallways.

“Well, go on. Run.”

And God help you, you do.

Spinning on your heel, you flee to the echoing sound of his laughter. Your feet fall rhythmically against the marble floors, the sound of your bare soles far too loud. You can’t even do anything about it. There’s no option for stealth here, only the sort of hunt you’d expect to find in the woods.

Not here in civilised mankind’s territory. But this was Gotham, and the monsters often looked human.

You dart into a large room filled with tiny square cubicles. A call centre or something, a maze of low walls that are too small to hide behind. You keep going, teeth-gritting when his laughter cuts off. He’s taking this seriously, hunting you down. You think he’s done this before. ‘Played’ with people.

You can’t worry about those other poor victims, lest you become his next one.

Another crash, this time to your left. Your head snaps to the side, eyes wide, but when you look there’s only a broken lamp on the floor. You have to swallow down the urge to cry. He is. He’s playing with you. He’s having fun with it.

You keep running, passing by halls and offices and don’t stop running till you can’t. Out of breath. You’re out of breath. You bend over, the stitch in your side too much for you to stand. Why are you out of breath? You can run more than this. You often run more than this when you’re late for your morning train.

What’s going on? What’s happening to you?

A bang, behind you. You spin around. Don’t see anything.

He’s nearby. Right under your nose. You need to keep running, you have to. Through your panting you hear his laughter again, and that’s enough fear to get you moving again. Maybe you were in Arkham, arms strapped to your side and screams wailing down the halls.

You didn’t believe it. No, not in this moment. Not right now, as you run for your life. If you lived through this, you’d probably go back to thinking it was all a dream or a delusion.

But with that monster nearby, there’s nothing this could be but real. With sweat dripping down your neck, smearing your makeup. With the feeling of your heart beating out of your chest, in your ears. With the blind, all-consuming panic you’re in.

He’s real. And he’s coming for you.

You lift your tied hands and press them to your lips, muffling the sound of your harsh breathing and soft sobs. Heart beating out of your ribcage, you push your body even as it screams for you to stop. You’re flagging. Vision’s swimming, and you can feel bile creeping up your throat. You can’t keep doing this. You need to keep doing this.

For a moment, you stop to catch your breath. And he catches you too.

You scream, tugging at the rough grip on him. He swings you around into a wall, and again, you cry out. Side throbbing with pain, singing with it. Still, you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not safe, not safe, not safe. You push back against him, and he pushes back against you. Your drunken state is no match, and you tumble down onto the carpet. When he laughs, you look up at him, and he down at you.

The goon’s plastic mask merges with the Joker’s mutilated face, until you can’t tell the difference.

You aren’t the type to fight back. It’s just not instinctual to you. But when you hear his belt buckle clack, your foot kicks out before you can even think. You hit him squarely in the stomach, knocking him backward, and then you scramble away from underneath him.

“You bitch!”

He grabs you by the nape of your neck, yanking you backwards. You choke, hands grasping desperately at the grip around your throat, but he offers no relent. You’ve pissed him off. That doesn’t mean you can stop, can give up. You can’t stop fighting. Can’t stop struggling. Can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t stop-

The gun clicks. You freeze.

“Yeah, figured you’d be more obedient if I did that. Now, get up,” his voice is breathy, from the high of the chase or the hit you delivered, you’re not sure.

You hope it’s the latter. You hope this fucker drops and dies, right on the spot. You’re not that lucky, though.

Ah, your hands are hurting again. Not just the one, but both. Maybe you touched something. An allergic reaction of some sort. It shouldn’t be distracting you, it shouldn’t even be noticeable in the situation you’re in but god. The itchy heat is nearly as unbearable as the evil cretin in front of you.

“You think you’re gonna get away with that? I’m so fucking sick and tired of you whores who think you matter anything. You don’t, and I’m going to help you realise that,” he rants. His eyes are red through the tiny slits in the mask. Angry, dangerous, on the edge.

“Please, look I’m sorry,” you stutter out, stinging hands in the air. You want to run, but you think he’ll shoot if you do.

“You’re lucky I don’t fuck corpses.”

No, that doesn’t sound very lucky at all, actually. No, this seems like maybe it might turn out to be the new worst moment of your life. You don’t think it can get much worse than this, than the next moments that will pass. And it’s too much. It’s too, too much. Your palms are itchy and there’s a gun pointed between your eyes and the goon’s licking his lips and oh my god you’re going to die from an allergy before the bullet and-

And you just want it all to stop. You want it so desperately. You want the man in front of you to disappear, to never exist again, to go right down to hell where he belongs. You just want him gone.

Your hands stop hurting. The burning heat disappears. It’s quiet again. You can’t hear him laughing, the awful slick sound of him licking his lips. You can’t feel the cool iron on your forehead, the heat from his body so close. You can’t smell his sweaty stench. Your eyes open.

…There’s no gun. There’s no man.

You crumple to the ground with a relieved sob. Fisted hands lift to your eyes, as big blubbery tears stream down your face. Your shoulders shake with your cries. Your heart is screaming in your chest, trying to beat out of it. He’s gone, somehow. You’re alive, somehow. You’re not dead with a bullet in your brain, somehow. Somehow, somehow, somehow.

An impossibility. It’s an impossibility, and you’re so goddamn grateful for it.

As always, you don’t give yourself long to cry. Even as your tears still fall, even as you lick them off your mouth, tasting salt and lipstick and fear, you push to your feet shakily. You almost fall over with your hands still tied, shouldering the wall next to you for balance. You don’t have time to cry. No time to process what just happened. You need to get to safety.

You creep back into the main area, heart pounding in your ears, breath hiccuping. You don’t know how long it takes for you to get there. Ten minutes, thirty, maybe even an hour. When you try the staircase door, it doesn’t open. You yank on the handle, grab a chair and try and smash it in, but it stands strong. Fuck. You try the elevator as a last-ditch effort, but the buttons don’t respond.

You press your overheated forehead to the cool metal. Okay. Okay. Okay, okay, okay.

You turn around and storm back into the cubicle space, find one at the edge of the room with a clear view of all the doors, and tuck yourself under the desk. Pulling your knees to your chest, you resist the urge to rock yourself like a baby.

And you sit there, and you watch, and you wait. It doesn’t matter how many hours pass, you are not moving from this spot. It doesn’t matter how heavy your lids feel, how the adrenaline leaving your body has you sagging.

You’re not going to sleep. It’s not safe, and you’re not dying today. You’re simply not.\

You’re not allowed to.

A hand touches your shoulder, and you snap awake. Your fist slings out at the would-be attacker, but they dodge it smoothly. When you rear up for another, they move back, hands in the air in a show of surrender. Panting, you don’t lower the fist, your vision swimming.

It’s the Joker. But the Joker wouldn’t back up, right? And the Joker isn’t red, he’s green and purple.

It takes a while for the Joker’s pale, laughing face to disappear. But when you blink and he’s gone, you find someone else underneath. A red mask, a man you think you recognise from TV. A vigilante. God, you hated the vigilantes in Gotham.

Not more than the Joker. Not more than him.

The man stays a safe distance away, gloved hands firmly in the air. He’s tall, really tall. Broad-shouldered, scary. But he’s a vigilante, right?

Is he here to save you? Someone should've by now. The bastard's late then.

He says your name, you think. You can’t hear him properly. Wait no, it’s a nickname, one you haven’t heard in years. You could barely remember your mother calling you that as she tucked you in, as she told you she loved you over the phone, as she disappeared from the world entirely.

You hadn’t let anyone call you that since.

How does he know that name? How does this bastard know your name?

“-hurt? Hey, hey. Listen to me, are you hurt anywhere?” his voice is deep and warbled through the red metal mask, his eyes peering down at you through his domino. You just stare at him, eyes wide, barely breathing.

You need to know how he knows. Unconsciously, your hand reaches up to him, and after a moment, he takes it in his own firm grip. It’s awkward, as you’re still sitting half under the desk and he’s trying to stay as far away from you as possible. Still, his hand is warm through the leather, grounding, keeping you from drifting off into panic and fear. Into your worst nightmares come to life.

Because this was real. It didn’t matter that it was impossible, it was real. You simply couldn’t deny it any longer, this was all real.

You stare at this stranger’s gloved hand like it holds the answers to the universe. It might, in the end. It really just might. It wasn’t like the universe was making much sense at the moment.

“She seems fine. Uninjured, if a bit shocked. Doesn’t seem to have a concussion. Hardly responding anyway,” Red Hood speaks, but not to you. An earbud, you think. Superheroes used wiretaps and things like that all the time, right?

If you could even consider Red Hood a superhero. Everybody knew he had his own gang. Of course, even as your very life is being saved, it’s by a morally grey hero who runs around with crowbars and guns. Ah, you’re crying again.

You told yourself a long time ago that you wouldn’t let yourself cry anymore. And you’d managed it, mostly. You think you’ll give yourself a pass for today, just a little one. You hold this stranger’s hand, and you cry.

You just cry. You cry, and you hold the hand of some stranger you hate, because you have to.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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junowritings · 3 months

Note

Gale with an artificer significant other who makes him magic items for him to absorb?

:0 I never considered this idea before but holy hells if that wouldn't be such a fascinating scenario. I'm not the most well versed on artificers so I had to do a lil reading and wing the rest but hopefully this is alright~!

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♡ An artificer partner who can create magic infused items for him? Hells you may as well be a knight in shining armor for Gale, showing up in his hour of need when circumstances were most dire.

♡ Before the abduction upon the nautiloid ship, Gale’s lack of orb-based implosions was credited only to the magical objects he had amassed over the years. And where his supply had begun to dwindle, Tara had been invaluable, retrieving magical objects and bringing them back to the tower to aid the wizard like the ruffled caretaker she always had been. It certainly wasn’t a pleasant existence, locked away constantly fighting to stem the tide of something he once hoped could earn him the forgiveness he craved. But it sated the orb, for a while; gave him the time that he desperately needed as he scoured every tome and followed every lead for answers in quelling the thing’s lethal nature away from any who could get caught up in the destruction, should his plans go awry.

♡ After the crash however? Gale has neither, and the orb within his chest burns at the knowledge, churning away with that incessant need to consume and nothing to fulfill it besides the few measly trinkets left on his person.

♡ Thankfully he has a saving grace, in the form of the very person that helped free him from that rune circle back at the beach. Even without your constant tinkering with magic infused items, you’ve got an uncanny knack for stumbling across things that are absolutely thrumming with powerful magic. Weapons, armor and trinkets that brim with enough power to keep the orb quiet for hours, days even if he’s fortunate.

♡ You make no fact to hide that you’re an artificer by trade and soon enough Gale learns that the items you’ve been giving him alongside the ones that you find are of your own making. You’ve got a way with magic, enough that the items you give him are enough to effectively sate the orb - did you learn this all yourself? Or were you so gifted that the art came naturally to you? Whatever the reason, the items that you create are invaluable to the wizard, one that you offer up freely before he even reveals the reason why he needs them in the first place.

♡ The time eventually comes where Gale can’t hide his affliction any longer, and finally opens up to you about the orb and its constant need for consuming potent magical items. He can see the cogs turning in your head already, piecing things togethers as you realize why he’s asked you for those magical items in the past. He apologizes for keeping that factor in the dark until he knew he could really trust you, hoping that his words will at least earn some modicum of forgiveness considering just how many items you’ve handed over.

♡ His apology is cut off abruptly, earning a thump to the shoulder from you when you realize the man has been eeking out the time between ‘feeding’ the orb so as to not raise suspicion. Needless suffering, considering how easily that pain could be mitigated by something that you could have made in abundance. Gale’s surprised when you forgive him just as quickly, a determined glint that he’s seen whenever you’re at work with your craft present in your gaze as you jump up and dart over to your tent. He calls after you, only to be met by a quick “I need to get to work!” before you all but disappear from view.

♡ The morning after this conversation Gale’s all but woken up by a loud clatter right outside his bedroll, startled by the sight of you unceremoniously dropping half a dozen handcrafted items right into his lap. You don’t need to tell him what they are - he can sense the magic within each one with but a glance, and the bewildered expression upon the wizard’s face is well worth the time you spent working into the late hours of the morning to make them. You look exhausted but smug, proudly gesturing to the pile with open arms as though expecting him to use one there and then.

♡ Maybe you actually do, as Gale ends up having to convince you that he’ll test them later at your insistence. Probably better to get breakfast together first, so that he at least has some sustenance and you can get a break before he attempts to do anything else.

♡ Gale often finds himself transfixed watching you as you tinker, fascinated seeing you at work. Of course he never wants to intrude whilst you’re hard at work, and wouldn't dream of interrupting you. But it’s hard to miss the guy practically burning holes into your hands, inquisitive eyes peeking over from the book he’s pretending to read trying to figure out every step of your practice by observation alone. It’s kind of cute, in a way - and having the actual process of your work appreciated is rather vindicating.

♡ Offer to show him how you work and the wizard will be by your side the moment you give him the all clear. He’s naturally got a curious disposition - one that’s gotten you both into more trouble than you can count actually - and his eyes are practically trained to the movements of dexterous hands along with your words of explanation, mapping out the intricacies. A perfect mix of the mundane arts and the magical to make something that is basically saving everyone in a few miles radius from an impromptu end - how could that not be fascinating to a man like Gale?

♡ He doesn’t want you to feel like he’s just using you for the magical items that you provide. The lengths you go to to help him cope with his affliction aren’t lost on him for a second, and he fears he’ll never be able to repay for that kindness. The man will essentially put himself at your disposal should you need anything. He doesn’t mean to brag, but he’s learned enough that he’s confident he can at least be of some use to you with his proficiencies. You’ll notice the little things - the extra portion he gives you when it’s his turn to cook; the little gifts of tools or items that caught your eye from passing merchants. He knows it’s not enough to repay you - you deserve something better, something grander - but till things have settled and he can give that to you this will have to do.

♡ Admittedly the pair of you experiment with the usefulness of your creations. Does the kind of magic or spell infused within the object have any effect on how long he can last before the next one? Unfortunately not; but the fact that the ability to test such a theory is even possible is extraordinary. With the threat of living from magic item to magic item no longer the catastrophic issue that it once was. The orb is always a lingering thought in the back of his mind; even on the best days it never fails to remind Gale of its presence ceaselessly beating away in his chest. But now it feels as though he’s gained some control back; a stable supply that does more than buy him time. And it’s all because of you - his wonderfully avid creator.

♡ Even after the orb is temporarily stabilized you still continue to make items for him. Maybe it’s out of habit, or maybe you worry that the spell that’s holding the orb back won’t last as long as you both hope. Whatever the reasoning, Gale never misses the spare magically infused trinkets hidden away in his pack; his ‘emergency supply’ for the worst case scenario that you’re not there and he needs it. He may hopefully never need to use them, but gods if he doesn’t cling to each and every item you make for him like it’s still the dearest lifeline you’ve ever given him.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 gale #gale x reader #gale dekarios #gale x tav #request #anon #artificer tav #ngl im imagining them giving gale those items the same way ppl do like #breakfast in bed lmao

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finniestoncrane · 2 months

Text

Limits Tested

Telltale!Riddler x Female!Reader, word count: 10k commission: eddie gets dommed! some angst to smut, where eddie lets himself be vulnerable to show how much he trusts reader 💚 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: pet play, master/servant, sub/dom dynamics, angst, aftercare

Another morning, another ten hours of vigorous work. Another day of suffering amid the awkward sexual tension between you and Edward. And you could only smile as you thought about it while you brushed your teeth in the ensuite bathroom to your room. Mostly, because if you didn’t smile or laugh, you would break down and cry. It was a certainty. Life with Eddie was rewarding, but it wasn’t without its difficulties. The work was hard enough that it took its toll on you, intellectually challenging, or stimulating as Eddie would put it, but you had only compounded this difficulty by stupidly letting yourself fall in love.

Staring into the mirror, you scowled at yourself, trying to correct your train of thought. It wasn’t love, actually. Or it might have been. Maybe not that strong? Yet, anyway. But you enjoyed spending time with him. You appreciated him, you found him fascinating, interesting, admirable. He was exceptional, quite frankly. It’s what drew you to the work in the first place. Assisting the great Riddler in his covert operations, working with him now that he had made his reappearance after his sudden and mysterious fall off the face of the planet (which he still wouldn’t speak to you about). The situation you found yourself in, and considered yourself lucky for, was everything you could have hoped to achieve by this point in your life, if not more.

It was no surprise to you that you had found yourself developing an almost schoolgirl like crush. Waking every day with renewed vigour at the thought of getting to spend your time in close quarters with such an enigmatic, deeply charismatic, and strangely handsome man. And the more you got to know him, the worse, the stronger, those feelings had become. The deeper the crush had spread. But the distance that Eddie placed between you made it impossible to get much further than the lustful adoration you had found consuming you. Of course, you could easily fall even further for a man like him. And if he offered you the opportunity to fall in love with him, you’d be on the floor, so quickly begging on your knees for a morsel of affection in return.

When you stopped to think about it, that was what you craved most of all. Even beyond any physical gratification. You wanted him to praise you, to compliment your work. It felt like he was holding you at arm’s length by withholding any sense that he took some form of comfort in you being there. That to tell you that he didn’t hate working with you, that you were a joy to be around, that you made his life, or his work, or his space, better by just being there in whatever capacity he thought of you as being there in would ruin the perception he had built up of himself. And the notion that he might eventually feel comfortable enough, that he trusted you enough, to finally admit that was what kept you there. Chasing it had become addictive to you almost. Like you thought that if you kept up the good work, eventually you might be given one tiny iota of proof that he cared for you. A modicum of evidence that there was potential for you to be more to him.

And after all of the time you had spent with him, you had begun to suspect that he did actually like you. That his cold and harsh exterior was more of a coping mechanism than a truthful portrayal of how he really felt. He would let his guard down sometimes. A lingering stare, a worried look, his lips opening as though he might be about to thank you or tell you that you had done a good job but closing again quickly. A smile that he thought you wouldn’t see. It was difficult, sometimes, to convince yourself of the idea that he might appreciate you, but it had been almost six months since you started working with Eddie. Four months since you moved into the spare room of his hideout, another step in furthering the intimacy between you both. You spent every day together, every single waking hour.

Surely, you thought to yourself as you tidied up your hair and made your way to the door of your bedroom, there wasn’t much hope of him being able to escape the truth much longer. And while it was hard to accept to begin with that someone as brilliant as him might let himself care for you, or maybe even fall in love with you, you were an observant person. It was hard to ignore the signs that were there, though they might not be obvious at first glance.

It was strange though. You couldn’t quite figure out why he would lie, or put a finger on the reason that he would feel the need to pretend, especially after all of the time you had spent together. You suspected it might have something to do with his inability to admit that he needed another person in any way. He was a solitary person, and to admit he wasn’t an island, capable of existing without another person, a burden on his limited resources for kindness and care and tolerance, would be to deny who he thought he was. Who everyone thought he was. He clearly felt that it was enough to let you keep working under him, to be able to spend your days witnessing his brilliance. That, to Eddie, was as much as he was willing to offer. And you could understand that. He didn’t think of himself on the same level as you, or anyone else for that matter. And you would have been perfectly content with that had you not stupidly let yourself think that there could be anything more between you eventually.

As you made your way to his workshop, in the lower level of his hideout, you wondered if his disappearance might have something to do with his inability to trust someone. Perhaps more so than his inherent need to seem like he was the greatest mind, capable of doing everything on his own. It was a difficult subject to broach, and you had been quickly chastised for bringing it up the one time you had. But it was a mystery that intrigued you still, and you felt that finding out more about it would answer the many questions you still had about Eddie and his situation.

Stepping into the lower floors where Eddie’s workshop was located, as well as his computer and his safes, was always a jarring experience, one you still weren’t used to. It perfectly encapsulated him, you felt. On the outside, in the rest of his house, Eddie was neat, tidy. He was fashionable, almost elegant. His agility, his style, the way he carried himself, were all untelling of his true age, of his life experiences. But further down, beneath the surface, buried in the basement, was the true nature of the man. He was old, falling apart from the inside out, and deeply insecure. Despite going to extreme measures to enhance his security, to make sure he was impenetrable, he had only exposed his darkest secret, that he was afraid. And every morning, when you stood over that one threshold, the steel door with the keycard, triple bolted lock and retinal access, moving from the stylish and modern apartment hall to the dimly lit of the workshop, bathed in his signature green glow, you did a double take.

It still felt like you were walking into his psyche, and you relished that opportunity. Truly, you couldn’t claim to really know Edward, the man behind The Riddler, unless you had been down there, been entrusted with the, albeit limited, secrets that the space held. It was the most trust he would place in another soul. And only a handful could claim the true honour of knowing it. That was something you carried with you, letting it comfort you in times when you wondered if there was ever going to be a miraculous moment with your work with Eddie, or your relationship with him.

Even to be considered just as friends, you would have to know more about him. You would have to be able to be there for one another in darker times. Eddie didn’t have dark times though. He cherished the moments of danger, of deep secrecy. How could you be there for someone who enjoyed solitude? Who craved danger and destruction? It was an impossible task, an unachievable desire.

Pulled from your thoughts, the same train of wishes and wants and ideas that fled through your mind each morning on the brief walk from your bedroom to the basement, you walked to the centre of the room where the workstations sat. Encompassed completely by the circular storage shelves in the rounded room, it was an easy way to ensure that you couldn’t be snuck up on. Another clue as to Eddie’s inner-feelings and worries. You grasped at them, collected them, these hints and suggestions of his personality, or at least the one that was buried under the persona he was more willing to show to others.

“Good morning, Edward.”

You spoke quietly, but not so much that you weren’t able to be heard over the constant hum of fans and the thrum of machinery and motors, the buzzing of electricity and static that often made it difficult to think of anything else but the immediate task at hand. That’s why you liked the basement, you mused. You were able to pretend that you didn’t have a myriad of questions and your own worries flailing wildly in your mind. You could drown it out with the constant background noise of the important work you and Eddie did together.

Even though you said those same three words every morning, and despite it being the exact time you always appeared in the basement, Eddie still jumped at the sound of you. Easy to sneak up on after all. He must have been on edge, usually he wouldn’t offer any sort of reaction to your morning greeting. But today he seemed to be very distracted, unaware of his surroundings. And therefore, incredibly irritable.

“And what is good about it?”

Rolling your eyes, you took a seat on the stool at the bench you had claimed as your own, picking up where you left off the previous day and opening your notebook to the page scrawled with scribbled notes and formulas.

“You’re in a good mood today, it seems.”

He dropped his hands onto the keyboard of the laptop he typed furiously at, the resulting clatter’s echo cut off by the constant, dim throbbing of sound in the room.

“You remain facetious even in the face of my obvious disinterest in what you consider to be jovial banter.”

Something definitely had him in a tizzy, and you wondered if it was perhaps down to the events of the previous night. You had worried at the time that you had crossed the line, said something you shouldn’t have, worded it in a way that came across as completely inappropriate. But Eddie had moved past the comment, answered it with an expert level of escapism, and the night had continued on as usual.

Most evenings, you and Eddie ate together in silence, sharing the burden of cooking and cleaning. Once the meal was over, he would pour you each a glass of wine and at the table you would discuss the progress you had made that day. Often, by the end of the glass, he had lapsed into more general conversation, sometimes even being in a good enough mood that you could joke, or discuss things of a personal nature, unrelated to the work. He was a surprisingly good listener, for someone who was a particularly good talker, and he asked the right questions about your hobbies and interests. They often felt like first dates. But an ever-ending cycle of them, as they never got deeper than those get-to-know-you questions. And anytime it felt like they were reaching a point of crossing into the next step of a relationship, Eddie would cut it off, tersely usually, and retreat to his bedroom.

And here he was, doing the same thing already. Only minutes after your day together had begun.

“Is this how the day is going to continue then?”

“Unless you change your attitude, dear, then yes it will be.”

Despite yourself, you found a smile crossing your face at the sentimental term he used to address you. It was one he used frequently, more often than not tinged with his sarcastic and dry sense of humour. But it was still a gesture of affection you were willing to cling to.

You were brought out of your thoughts by the soft sigh, Eddie’s exhale suggesting there was conflict within him today, which might explain how quickly he had decided that he was already out of his finite supply of civility.

“Are you ok, Edward?”

He seemed to be taken aback by the sincerity in your question, the care and genuine emotion behind it, as if this wasn’t something he had experienced from anyone before, or from you, which was far from the truth. Evidently, today it hit him with the full intent. It touched him, reached under the harsh exterior that he maintained and prodded at the vulnerability he was trying to protect, to hide from you.

“Eddie?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

He offered you nothing, the silence deafening. As you returned to your work, he let himself steal glances towards you. Truthfully, he wasn’t ok. Especially not for the past few weeks. Admittedly, though, it was all his own fault.

Since the moment he had taken you on, accepted your application and taken you on for the job, he had known you were going to cause him problems. You were talented, intelligent, able to match his wits with your own irritatingly effective comebacks. And that was problematic for someone like Eddie, who took pride in his ability to thrive alone, only seeking a companion or a colleague in matters where he simply didn’t have the time to exert the effort alone. Now, he wanted you around all the time. You were becoming an addiction.

Moving you into his home was a mistake, one he knew all too well before he asked you, while he was asking you, and every day since then. But he wanted you closer, or at least as close as he was willing to let you get.

Having you there, every morning he woke up, was painful. It reminded him of what he wanted but couldn’t have. You. But there was an obstacle there. The idea of offering you an insight into him, in having you know the real him, know him deeply, was terrifying. It was a level of trust he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to give someone else ever again. Too many times his trust has been abused, used against him. He’d been taken advantage of, controlled. The worst, the experiments, his work, stolen and twisted. His knowledge, used against him. That was what happened the last time he trusted someone. And of course, you weren’t the same as they were. But the fear, the worries and anxiety, that you were capable of even an iota of what other people had done, ruined the illusion of you. He would rather hold you at arm’s length, keeping you perfect, that hold you in his arms and know you weren’t any different from anyone else on the planet.

“Edward… Eddie…”

You had been watching him, his eyes unblinking, unfocused, as he started into the middle distance, mind racing with thoughts you couldn’t place. You knew there was something upsetting him, something playing on his mind. As reserved as he was, and even though you knew he was unlikely to open up or let you help, you felt compelled to try and offer him your concerns and care. It was the affection, and the determination to make him see you as something more, someone he could trust, that drove you.

You were surprised that the efforts went noticed by him, as he suddenly turned to look at you, shaking his head slightly to refocus his attention back to the real world. He looked up from his work, staring into your eyes, before letting out another, deeper sigh.

“Actually, I’d like to apologise. I think… I can be quite harsh. I can be difficult. Especially with you, to you. And… it’s because…”

You waited patiently for him to continue, leaning in without even noticing you were doing it. When he was still silent after a couple of minutes, you encouraged him.

“Because… ?”

“I’ve been contemplating this for quite some time. It’s actually been the focus of most of my brain power as of late. Which is a testament to how serious I take this matter. And how… difficult a thing it is to mull over, I suppose. But, truthfully, I have developed feelings for you. And I’m not sure even what to do with them. I thought that you ought to know though. In case it changed your opinion about working here, or living here, with me.”

With an almost incredulous laugh you stepped back slightly, shaking your head in disbelief at the words that had just come out of Eddie’s mouth.

“You seem… surprised.”

“Yeah, Edward, I’m surprised. I guess you could say that’s an understatement, actually.”

“How so?”

He reached out, placing his hand on the table, palm up, open for you to place yours in his. Instinctually, you did exactly that, feeling his fingers curl gently up and around you, holding you in place with the lightest of grips.

“I just… I really didn’t think you liked me. I didn’t think you would even trust me enough to let me in on a secret like that. It’s… overwhelming.”

He flinched, pulling his hand back from you and looking to the side. You were quick to scramble your way back in, to offer him comfort, clarification. Grabbing his sleeve, you pulled his arm back towards you, taking his hand in yours, fingers entwined.

“No, no! In a good way, Eddie.”

Eddie looked at you, sincerely pleading with his eyes for you to soothe him, to offer him something, anything, in the form of comfort. To make him feel less vulnerable in this moment. And you were more than happy to oblige. You stroked at his hand with your thumb as you held it tight, looked directly into his eyes when they met yours as you spoke.

“I feel… I feel the same way.”

He rolled his eyes, trying to dismiss you, suggesting that he might have thought you were only saying that to placate him, or to make him feel better.

“I’m serious! I enjoy being around you, Eddie. You’re intelligent, interesting, admirable. And I’m attracted to you. Very attracted to you. I have been for a while. I’ve felt all of this for a while.”

“Well, why wouldn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?”

You tried to offer him a smile, but he turned from you, clearly still in disbelief at the sincerity of your words. Eddie wasn’t sure he could trust you to be honest. He wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t a trick, or something you were saying out of sympathy. And it hurt him to consider both options. You could see that he was wrestling with your words in his mind, and the only thing you could think of to make your words seem as truthful as they were, was to open up further. If you exposed a little bit of the pain behind them, perhaps he would see that you weren’t just trying to coddle him or deflect from the feelings behind what was being said and admitted to over the desk.

“Honestly, Eddie. This is just surprising to me. I had kind of assumed that you had no feelings towards me whatsoever. That I was a neutral element in your life, like one of your desks. Something that just happened to be here and assisted you.”

He looked disheartened by this revelation. He had known that by keeping you at bay, he ran the risk of making you think that he didn’t feel any romantic inclinations with regards to you, but to know he had made you feel as though you meant nothing tugged at the last remaining shreds of his sympathy.

“It’s difficult to find a balance between offering friendship, offering more, and trying to remain… isolated. For the sake of safety.”

“I appreciate that, Eddie. It must be difficult, for someone like you. I’m… I am grateful you trusted me enough to share that information though.”

You smiled back at him, as you saw the corners of his mouth raise slightly.

“If I may be more honest, for a moment…?”

You nodded in response to his question, listening carefully to him as he continued.

“I have found it difficult to place trust in anyone, including you, or to even accept that I trusted you. There have been… events. Historical instances, happenings that have warped my opinions and have clouded my judgements. That have made it hard for someone like me, with natural assets that could be exploited, to trust. But… it’s something I would like to practice.”

“What do you mean?”

You considered what he might be trying to get at, his speech filled with run on sentences that you knew were his mechanism for delaying the inevitable.

“I am disappointed that I allowed myself to make you feel this way. I would like to prove my trust in you, to you. I’d like to enable myself to put even more trust in you, or perhaps other people for that matter. And I wonder if you could help me. Assist me in giving up the control I desperately need to have in order to experience trust. If I could… put myself in your hands, take the risk… exposure therapy… do you understand?”

You thought that you might, but it was better to have him say it. It was likely to make a fool out of you if you spoke up now and asked him if you had understood him correctly, divulging your assumption to him only to find out his proposal was far different to yours.

“I’m not sure I do, Eddie. I can… take on more work if you would like, would that help you?”

He clapped his hands to his face, running them down his cheeks and settling them, clasped, under his chin.

Sensing that you might have said the wrong thing, you could feel your cheeks flushing. Perhaps it was up to you to lay it out in the open, to embarrass yourself. It would be foolish not to take this, the one and only opportunity you had had so far to deepen your relationship with Eddie. If he laughed you off, that was fine. You’d be back to square one. If he didn’t, then you’d maybe get what you had been hoping for all of this time.

“Or perhaps… we could… I mean, we’re both interested in each other. In a physical sense. Perhaps intimacy is the answer, or the solution anyway, to your issues with trust?”

His eyes lit up, but he still kept his gaze from yours, as though he were trying to hide his interest in the idea.

“That might work.”

Smiling, satisfied that you had finally settled on the correct response, you tried to push it a little further, to see how much information you could get out of him.

“Well, it’s an option. Trust is often implicit with intimacy, they go hand in hand. Although…”

“Although?”

Eddie looked worried, like you might have suddenly changed your mind. The tingling sensation he felt in the pit of his stomach was suddenly dulled by the notion that this might amount to nothing after all. But his excitement was piqued again as you continued.

“For it to be an intimate challenge of your trust, you would have to give up control. And I assume that might be difficult for you, obviously. You strike me as a dominant person in matters of physical intimacy, Eddie. Would you agree?”

He offered you a sheepish grin, almost mischievous, as his cheeks began to blush a warm, soft, pink hue.

“That would definitely be an understatement, my dear.”

“I wouldn’t want to push you too far, unless you wanted me to.”

“Exposure therapy. Immediate experience. Baptism by fire.”

“Yes, I was thinking the same. Although, with matters like that it’s always appropriate to discuss it first.”

With a wide grin, Eddie reached into the drawer of his desk and produced a fresh, new notebook and a pen.

“Shall we begin then? It might be nice to just talk it over. Openly. A discussion seems like the first step in breaking the unnecessary boundaries I have put up. And I trust that this will remain sensible, and private.”

You took his hand in yours once again.

“I promise.”

“Good. Good.”

It was almost impossible for him to contain his glee, his smile widening across his face despite his efforts to try and remain, at least externally, nonchalant about this new agreement. But he choked back a nervous laugh at your next statement.

“So… how kinky can we get?”

“Oh… well…”

His mind was racing, cheeks blushing, his heart was beating faster than it ever had done, faster than the adrenaline highs of committing various criminal offences. His mouth flooded with saliva, palms clammy with sweat. This was all moving very fast. And he was glad of that. He’d wasted enough time pretending not to be interested in you, there was no sense in beating around the bush now. He wanted this. You wanted this. Might as well get on with it. Eddie was never one to hesitate over matters that involved him having something that he craved. He was far too important to deny himself any kind of pleasure.

“… I would say that we could get as kinky as possible. If… if it’s not too much to ask of you. I hope it’s not too sudden, or…”

As much as Eddie wanted this now, he was aware that you might not be as quick to action as he was. And despite himself, he did care about your feelings and desires. If pushing you meant he risked not getting anything in return, then he would far rather hold himself back. He’d been doing it this long, what was a short while, or even a long while, more. But he was relieved at your response.

“Eddie. I think we’re past the stage of dating and getting to know each other. I live with you. I’ve wanted this for as long as you have. I’m disappointed we wasted so much time. And I want to be able to push through this barrier with you. This isn’t sudden. It feels like a long time coming.”

He smiled, pleased that you were on the same page. Nothing about him, or you both together for that matter, was conventional. And while it might have been more romantic, more passionate, to take you in his arms and kiss you, it didn’t feel right to him. He was methodical, adventurous. An exploration of trust through giving his body over to your control felt completely on brand. A sexual escapade that came with extensive planning and rules, to him, was the ultimate in pleasurable experiences, it turned out. Exciting, enticing. Very much Eddie.

More than that though, it felt somehow, simultaneously, entirely new. A whole new side of him. One that was willing to expose his vulnerabilities to you, and to trust you with them. The sense that you had of his weaknesses, emotionally so, felt like hidden, secret knowledge. He was trusting you, finally. Opening up, letting you in. Showing you everything about him that might be considered a sensitive aspect, secure enough to feel like you wouldn’t misuse his trust, that you wouldn’t hurt him. And of course you wouldn’t. Not for anything in the world. This was all you had wanted and hoped for, for such a long time.

You couldn’t hold back you own emotions much longer. Though you were trying hard to keep the display or outpouring to a minimum in case you scared him off, your heart was swelling and your cheeks were flushing. Trying to ease him into it, you offered your hand out to him. This was a business transaction, first and foremost. An almost legally binding contract. He took your hand with a wry smile, raising one eyebrow at you as you shook, a soft, but firm action. And once you had his hand grasped in yours, you closed the other around it.

“Eddie. You have no idea how much this means to me. How much you mean to me. I want this to be amazing. Perfect.”

His smile widened, lips raising at one corner in a lopsided grin.

“My dear, everything that involves me is always perfect. Do you not know that by now?”

You could forgive his attitude, as you always did, because he was correct, as he always was.

“Well then, Eddie. Shall we begin discussions. Nothing short of a perfect plan. I’m taking the role of dominant partner, obviously. Will you be participating as strictly submissive, or will you be offering a little bit of fight?”

Eddie looked to the side, his cheeks were returning to a normal colour, not blushing in the slightest at the suggestive nature of the conversation. Clearly, offering it to him in this manner was the right way to get him on board and comfortable. He considered the options laid out to him for a few moments more before responding.

“I wonder, if it wouldn’t be ok for me to decide in the moment? It’s hard to think of what I might respond with. After all, I’m not used to offering up my control. But, I want this to be a true exercise of trust. And still, I think that it might be easier to ease myself into a completely submissive stance if it were perhaps… forced upon me a little? As punishment for not submitting sooner?”

You smiled knowingly, warmth and comfort radiating from the expression, an attempt even subconsciously to soothe his growing nerves. Eddie wasn’t used to not knowing the definitive answers to things, and you knew he must be slightly concerned by his lack of concrete knowledge.

“Ah, I see. I understand you perfectly. You want to put up a little bit of a pretend fight only to be knocked down to complete submission by your master?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, face growing paler.

“Y-yes. That sounds… perfect.”

It wasn’t that Eddie wasn’t sexually experienced. You couldn’t be sure of that of course, but you had no doubt he’d had his fair share of lovers, of trysts, of sexual encounters. But he wasn’t, as you had imagined and now felt comfortable assuming, exactly well-versed in the details of kinks or submissive and dominant positions. For him, you imagined, and correctly so though you couldn’t know that, his physical encounters had never been romantic and had always taken on a vanilla flavour. It was a matter of physicality that was unavoidable for an average man with average needs. It was enjoyable, but only because it fulfilled a part of the desire. This was new for him, a frontier he hadn’t even dreamed of seeing, let alone crossing or conquering. The excitement filled his chest, and you could see it behind his eyes. They sparkled, fuelled by imagination, ready to be taught something new.

“Well, first off. Safe word. Something that you can use to stop everything if it’s going too far. I recommend using the stoplight system. Green would be to confirm that you are ok with everything, once we start a new activity, or if I ask you. Orange would be to let me know that you need a small break or that I need to ease up a bit. Red would be a stop to the whole thing completely, even just for a while. What do you think?”

It was simple, but effective. Two things Eddie was keen for when it came to operations and plans. He nodded and offered a statement of agreement, reaching out to take your hand. It all felt like it was real, coming together properly.

“I think the next thing we should nail down would be the kind of thing you might enjoy. What would you like to explore? And remember, we don’t have to do all of this on this one occasion. I wonder, Eddie, if you would agree with me that this could be an ongoing thing?”

You were hopeful that he would agree, and he had begun nodding enthusiastically before you had even finished your question.

“Of course. A series of lectures is always better than a one-off symposium. At least, in my opinion. And of course… I would be more than happy to hear your… interests or wants. And to discuss the things we both are firmly against.”

Smiling warmly, you felt your heart leap a little in your chest, wooed by his simple offer of exploring your pleasures with you. Of setting appropriate and thoughtful boundaries. This was truly shaping up to be a defining moment in the relationship between you. One you hoped was a signifier of the continuation, of things to come.

“I think to start off with, we could incorporate a little bit of roleplay? Master and servant sort of thing.”

He nodded, his pupils dilating, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed the saliva that collected in his mouth, drooling already at just the notion of you taking control of him, tasking him with little acts of pleasure and him, following your every command.

“Perhaps some pet play?”

His face screwed up slightly, and you were quick to reassure him.

“Relax, I’m not going to make you bark like a dog, unless you want me to. It’s just an easy way to add some elements of control, or some fetish wear. I think you’d look very cute in a collar and leash, don’t you?”

Almost instantly coming around to the suggestion, he nodded fervently as you took his chin in your hands, stroking his stubbled cheek with your fingers.

“That’s a good boy, Eddie.”

A choked laugh escaped his throat, one that was followed by a gasp and a giggle. He was flustered. You really had him in the palm of your hand, and he was so willing to try anything, and everything, to please both you and himself. You could see him shifting in his seat slightly, and your heart fluttered.

“Are you… getting excited, Eddie?”

He averted his eyes, staring down at the table, cheeks suddenly flushing hot as he felt your interrogative stare on him.

“Relax, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Why don’t you show me?”

Looking up, he caught your eyes again. Eddie sat in silence, completely still, until you spoke again.

“Eddie. Show me. Do as you’re told.”

He wasn’t used to you being like this, acting like this, or talking like this. He was unsure of whether this was the beginning of the previously discussed plans or just a test, a teaser of things to come. Either way, the commanding tone of your voice send a shock through his entire system. He was surprised to note how easily his body conformed, standing up straight, his fingers making their way to the fly of his pants as you sat back and watched him, biting on your lip to cover up your satisfied smile.

Eddie didn’t intend to be seductive about it, but there was something almost instinctive, built into him, conjured by the creative milieu of erotica and romance, that drove his movements. His nimble fingers grazed over the button as he slid it out of the small gap, moving to the zip which he dragged down painfully slowly. With a less than graceful shuffle, he let his pants fall to his thighs as he dipped his fingers into his underwear band.

Looking up briefly, he caught your eye and raised an eyebrow, almost as though he were questioning you. Did you want him to continue? Was he doing it… ok? The way you bit your lip and stared up at him through your eyelashes, your mouth turned up at the corners in a desperate grin, assured him that he was, as ever, completely on the right track.

As he lowered the band of his underwear, you could make out the patch of wiry, greying hair on his abdomen, then, the base of his cock. All too quickly, the suspense was over, but the reward was worth it. His cock, semi-erect, pale and soft looking, hung free. It twitched as he noticed you eyeing it, licking your lips as you thought of what you wanted to do with it.

“Not quite as hard as I’d like though, Eddie. I want you to touch it. Play with yourself for me. Relax into it, I’m not going to judge you, or laugh at you. I want to see you happy. I want to see you hard. I want to see your full talents.”

Nervously at first, he ran his palm down the length of his cock, which bounced slightly as he reached the head. His fingers, slender and practised, wrapped around the shaft and began stroking slowly up and down, a familiar act at least. Eddie bit at the inside of his cheeks, trying to keep himself under control. He’d never done this before. Any other time he had touched himself had always been in private, his face and sounds and emotions kept secret within four walls. But there was something deeply exciting about having an audience, and he found himself getting hard quicker than he usually did. As though he was uncontrollably and unexpectedly deeply aroused by this public display of self-love. Or like he was trying to impress you, almost. And it was working, it seemed.

It was near impossible to control yourself, or to hide your reactions. You wanted to remain in a position of power, to not appear vulnerable to any whims or feelings. But your blood coursed hot through your body, your cheeks flushing, your palms starting to sweat, your stomach churning with desperate arousal at the image of Eddie before you. It felt dirty, like an invasion of his privacy. Yet so incredibly gratifying, knowing you were getting a glimpse at something you expected no one else might have. A view of Eddie, the wrinkles on his face creasing further as he focused on his pleasure, eyes closed tight, mouth contorting with silent gasps as he stroked at his desperate and thankful cock. You watched him skim over the head, slick and glistening with drops of precum, with his fingers which were tender, explorative in their touch. You were taking notes. What better way to learn what Eddie liked that to witness him touch himself in his own perfected and preferred manner.

“Ok, stop now. That’s enough.”

He was quick to obey, but there was a distinct air of disappointment in his abrupt stop. His cock stood, erect and shifting, out straight and curving slightly to the right. His hands were at his side, but his fingers twitched, trying to reach out and grab his cock again, to give him the friction he needed to finish it off.

“Don’t judge me on this one, Eddie. I promise I had no idea how you felt about me. But could you please go to my room, third drawer down in the dresser inside of the closet. There are a few things in there you can choose from. Call me when you’ve picked something out for yourself. I expect to be pleasantly surprised, and of course, stricken dumb by desire.”

You winked and fluttered your fingers at the end of your hand, shooing him off to get himself prepared with the items from your collection of fetish wear. There were collars, leashes, even a harness or two. You were excited to see what he would choose for himself. The only thing you were certain about was that he would be instantly drawn to the deep green leather of one particular set that you had bought with Eddie in mind. A colour you associated with him, which made it all the more desirable and arousing.

As you thrummed your fingers against the desk, waiting patiently, but not too much, you listened to the hum of the electricity coursing through the room, much the same as it travelled along your veins and through your nervous system, lighting you up, filling you with an intense vibration.

“I believe I’m ready.”

It was the single most erotic and enticing sentence you had ever heard, and you almost fell with how fast you attempted to stand up from the stool, calming your footsteps to a reasonable pace as you made your way up the hallway, though it was hard not to run to him, to his call.

Opening the door slowly, you called his name softly.

“Oh, Eddie… You ready for me?”

“As ready as I will ever be.”

You knocked on the door, despite the fact that you had just spoken from the other side of it. It eased over the soft, plush carpet on the floor of Eddie’s bedroom as you slowly pushed it open, offering him a courteous, overly so, amount of time to tell you to get out, or to stop you. If he was going to change his mind, you wanted to give him ample time to do so. That itself was key to building trust with him, and that was the primary goal here. There were secondary goals too, and you felt your clit throb at the notion, but the main point of focus was to let Eddie open himself up, to let him place some trust in you. That came before your own pleasure, and even his, at this specific point in time.

Finally entering the room, you were met by a vision, one you couldn’t even have imagined the beauty of. With saliva instantly forming against your cheeks, threatening to spill over your lips, you swallowed it down with a loud gulp.

“My, my, Eddie. You picked the ones I thought you would.”

Standing sheepishly by the bed, Eddie had gone above and beyond in his preparation for you. Not only had he done as he was instructed and selected some pieces to wear, the dark green harness, with matching collar, he was completely naked otherwise except for his underwear. And in his hands, which were still and steady, not trembling as you might have expected, he held the leash. He stretched his hands out to you, offering it to you. You picked it up gratefully and smiled at him.

“Very good boy, Eddie. Now, if you could please get down on your knees and I’ll clip this on. We can go for a little walk, hm?”

You watched his throat tense, jaw clenching as he moved his body to the floor.

“You trust me, right, Eddie? This is going to be fun. And if it’s not, you have to tell me.”

He nodded slowly, making sure to think it over before agreeing completely. But he was certain that while it might seem odd to him at first, he could definitely find himself getting into it, if it meant furthering his relationship with you.

Sinking to his knees on the soft floor, he immediately looked up to meet your gaze, straining his slender neck, roughened by the slight stubble, to allow you access to the collar. Once it was clipped and attached, you tugged at it gently, pulling him softly onto all fours before you pulled it taught between your two hands, snapping the leather together and motioning to him with your finger, silently commanding him to crawl towards you.

“That’s it, Eddie. Good boy. You’re so good at following orders from your master, aren’t you?”

Another nod of his head, but you yanked the leash ever so slightly, bringing his attention to you. Raising an eyebrow in question, you waited for him, and his big brain, to figure out what you wanted.

“Y-yes…?”

“Yes…?”

“Yes… master?”

“Good boy, Eddie! What a polite boy, speaking when asked to. I can’t believe you’ve learned that trick so quickly.”

You stroked his hair, pushing it behind his ear and letting your nails drag down, scratching him like you would a dog.

“I think you deserve a treat for that display of intelligence and unquestioning devotion, don’t you?”

Leaning further into him, you placed a kiss on his lips, short and sweet, ending quickly enough that he fell forwards trying to chase after the sweet taste of you against him. He looked so desperate, so adorably pathetic.

“Aw, Eddie. You want more? You’ll have to show me how dedicated you are to me. How desperate you are for me.”

Standing straight, you moved to the end of the bed, tying the end of the leash to one of the feet and then walking away to the wardrobe, just out of reach.

“Show me, Eddie. Come get me.”

Your fingers trailed down the front of your blouse, unbuttoning it slowly. Moving their way around to the back, they quickly unhooked your bra and then, in a shrug and a moment, you were exposed to him. Eddie’s eyes sparkled as they took a long, languid gaze up and down your body, taking in your form, parts of you he had only imagined before, now visible to him. Lurching forward, he was pulled back with a gasp as the lead tugged the collar and choked him. But with determination on his face, and arousal at the sensation of his throat being constricted in an act of desperation, he leaned forward slowly, stretching his body, then his arms, then his fingers, in an attempt to grab you. Even to just graze his fingertips over your skin, soft and supple and welcoming. Surely, his body being held, restrained, the obvious desire written over his face, were true expressions of the trust he was willing to place in you. Trust that you would eventually give him a reward for being so compliant, so obedient.

And he knew you so well. For as much as you wanted to prolong his suffering, you could see the effort he was putting in, and you felt sorry for him. All tied up, struggling against his tethers, trying to get to you, reaching and grabbing at the air, pouting like a child about to throw a colossal tantrum. You were surprised by how quickly he was willing to put himself into a situation like this. Trussed up, in a way. At your mercy. The trust was there, it was just a matter of him allowing himself to express it. And he should definitely be rewarded for that, you concluded in your mind.

“Tell you what, Eddie. If you can be a good boy and speak. Tell me how badly you want it. Tell me how vulnerable you are. Tell me your secrets, trust me with them. Then I’ll consider giving you what you want.”

Sitting on his heels, Eddie opened his mouth, ready to say something. But the words got caught in his chest, then again in his throat, and then latched onto his tongue, refusing to let go. It was one thing, he realised, to put on a display of vulnerability. But another one entirely to utter phrases with sincerity in the face of exposing his soft underbelly, the one that was all too human for even him to look at properly, let alone to roll over and let someone else inspect it.

Taking your back off the wall you stood forward, leaning down, just out of reach, and stared into his eyes.

“Come on, Eddie. Do as I asked. I’m your master, and you do as I say.”

He felt his cock twitch at the words, arousal building in the face of your confidence and bold attitude. But it was still not enough to pull the words from him, not without some assurance first. So with wet, needy eyes he looked back at you.

“You’ll be kind… won’t you?”

Taking his cheek in your palm, you stroked it softly.

“I promise. You’re safe with me. You can trust me.”

“In that case… I have to confess to sordid thoughts and feelings, ongoing, almost since the moment I met you and invited you into what I considered to be my trap. I apologise for the length of time it took me to take any action, but I am… pathetically grateful that you were willing to persevere, that you were emotionally, and sexually, available enough to coax me out of my shell.”

He tried to make eye contact with you, but it only served to heat his cheeks further, casting them a deeper shade of vibrant red.

“I am nervous, for the first time in a long time. I feel vulnerable, no longer in control. It is reminiscent of several periods of time in my life where I was held against my will. But this is… different. This is enjoyable. This has warmed me like a fire, and it is all down to you. Perfect, capable, trustworthy, you.”

Finally able to look into your eyes, waiting to see your response before he continued, you smiled at him, delighted by his words, heart singing, cheeks matching his own.

“And I have never desired anything more than to let you have your way with me, wicked or otherwise.”

The slight grin that turned up the corner of his mouth gave you shivers, it was so enticing, so mischievous. So Eddie.

“Very good job, Eddie. Such a good boy. You’ve done incredibly well for your first time, and I’d hate to put you off by prolonging your reward more than is necessary.”

Eddie was nodding ferociously in agreement, so hard that his soft hair fell out of place and his face looking so uncharacteristically goofy that it made you giggle. Making your way to him, you gently untied the leash and used it to pull him back up onto his feet, wrapping it around your hand so that he had no choice but to stand chest to chest, nose to nose, to avoid being choked too much. Tilting his chin up with one finger, you kissed down his neck, letting your tongue flit over his warm skin as you moved up and down.

“Trust me?”

“Of course.”

You pushed him, palms making firm contact with his shoulders, and he fell back onto the bed, perfectly aimed. He took in a few deep breaths, surprised by the sudden shift, but he was quickly silenced and caught off guard once more as you quickly placed yourself on top of him, easing him onto his back as you kissed his cheeks, his lips, his neck, and his chest.

With one hand pressing on his sternum, you kept him flat while the other reached between you both, snaking into his underwear, pulling his stiff cock out and grasping it tight. He bit down on his lips, pursing them and clamping them shut to prevent the soft whimper that choked him from escaping. Bringing your hand up to the head and letting your thumb graze over it, soft and pink and flushed, you managed to coax it out of him anyway, his jaw falling open as the sweet sound hummed around you.

“Oh, Eddie. What pretty sounds you make.”

He fought back a smile weakly, indulging in the praise aimed at something he was a little bit self-conscious of. In the hopes of pleasing you further, he tried to let loose, allow his whines and moans to come out when they pushed against his lips, and you rewarded him with a tighter and faster pumping around his length. Eddie’s hands, trembling, reached out to touch you, but stopped just short of your body, straddling him and holding him down.

“Good boy, you have to ask first.”

“May I?”

“May you what?”

“Please, may I touch you? Your breasts, your body, your hands. Anything. Please?”

Nodding at him with a wink, you let yourself fall to a steadier, languid pace as you stroked his cock, precum trailing from the head, glistening in the light, saliva pooling in your mouth as you wondered what he might taste of. Without any further hesitation, Eddie grabbed your breasts, his palms flat against them, fingers digging in as he gripped tight, squeezing and toying with them, thoroughly enjoying himself. Letting himself loosen up, he let his fingers slip to your nipples, teasing at them as he hummed in satisfaction, a sound that echoed through his chest against your palm which kept him in place. Eddie bucked his hips up, thrusting himself into your fist, a frantic manoeuvre that let you know he was close to his orgasm. A desperate bid to get more friction, to feel you tighter, harder.

“Sit still, Eddie. Do you trust me?”

It felt like a psychological trick, to keep asking him the same question over and over again, but it was working. He could feel himself easing up, believing his answer more and more, with each time he confirmed it. He did trust you. And he nodded against his tensed body to confirm it once more.

“Good. Then trust me to get you there, ok? Lie back and enjoy it. I can do this for you.”

Nodding again, he let his arms fall from your body, resting them folded behind his head as he chewed his lip in concentration. Focused on your touch, the soft sounds you made as you watched him writhe slightly under the pressure mounting inside of him.

Clearly comforted by the notion that you were willing to serve him, that he could trust you to bring him pleasure, Eddie relaxed enough to feel the waves of climax surge over his skin and through his veins. With a jerk and a grunt, he lifted his body off the mattress briefly, crashing back down with a wail at his release, which painted his abdomen, your cheek, and your hand. He wanted to apologise for the mess he had made, but he couldn’t. He was in a bubble of ecstasy, entirely unaware of his surroundings as his vision blacked out, his cock twitched, and the last of his seed trickled down his cock to the mass of soft, grey pubic hair.

Bringing himself back to reality, Eddie found himself on his back on the bed. With laboured breathing, he tried to cool himself off and calm himself down, although it seemed an impossible task. He was still riding the high of orgasm. Of holding you in his arms, making you scream, moan in delight, screeching out his name past your tightening throat as it strained and tensed as your head was thrown back in a fit of passion. A fit that he had brought on with his touch, his expertise, his willingness to please you whatever it took.

There was safety in the bed, safety in the comfort. He hadn’t imagined it, but it was there. The activities, the practised and careful engagement with the various kinks and physical aspects of what you had both just done brought him endless security. In both himself and in you. It was surprising, but he suspected that it might be the case. Loosening up, allowing himself that small bit of vulnerability, was an exceptional way to not only get to know you better, but to be able to place his trust in you. At least, a little more than he had before. And hopefully, slowly but surely, he could bring his trust in you up, let it grow, nurture it with you. Tend to it like a garden, a shared effort in hopes of having something that you could both enjoy and take pride in. Growing trust for a budding relationship.

Laying on the bed beside him, you let Eddie catch his breath. Slowly, but surely, his chest stopped heaving and he managed to inhale and exhale at a slower, easier pace. You had taken it out of him. He was older than you, it would be something you’d have to keep in mind for next time. But to be fair to him, he had managed to keep up, almost expertly. After all, he was surprisingly sprightly, something which came in handy during, you noted. But it was wise to ease him into things slowly. The physical exertion combined with the adrenaline and pleasure might compound and hit his energy levels harder than either of you might expect. Something to bear in mind.

From out of the corner of your eye, you could see a smile stretching across his face now that he was soothed and feeling like himself again, not just an empty vessel to be filled with pleasure and joy. Reaching down, slowly and softly, you grabbed his hand and held it firmly in yours.

“Eddie, that was amazing.”

You spoke quietly, with a warmth that you hoped was sincere and comforting to him.

“Really?”

There was a surprising tone of hesitance and disbelief in his question, as though he might not have been so sure that he had done the right thing, or that the experience wasn’t enjoyable for you.

“Of course, I wouldn’t lie to you. It was the best… the best I’ve ever had. Was it-”

He interrupted you, squeezing your hand tight and dropping his other onto his chest as he took another deep breath in.

“It was spectacular. An exceptional experiment in giving and gaining trust. Among… other things.”

You moved closer to him, shifting onto your side slightly and resting your head against his shoulder. Placing your hand atop his, you watched his face as he closed his eyes.

“Before you fall asleep-”

“I’m not falling asleep, I am resting my eyes.”

You stifled the giggle, shuffling in closer to him.

“Ok, well, before you begin resting your eyes, would you like to talk about anything? Is there anything on your mind?”

Eddie considered the question thoughtfully and carefully. He wasn’t quite in the mood to offer critique, not that there was much. Everything, he felt, had gone well and was enjoyable. During, he had come up with several ideas that he’d like to explore further, but he was aware that you were keen to discuss these at some point also. There was only one thing that really played on his mind, one little request he wanted to make right now.

“I don’t have anything pressing, or important to say. I enjoyed that. And I want to do more. If I could ask one thing though?”

“Of course, Eddie. Anything.”

“If it wouldn’t… ruin the mood, or have you jumping to conclusions about me… could you perhaps hold me? Tight. Just until we fall asleep.”

There were follow up questions. Did that mean you were sleeping in his bed with him? That he was ok with that? Would you discuss it more in the morning? How tight was too tight? Because you wanted to grab a hold of him and never let go.

As you let the thoughts flood your mind, you complied with his request, softly snaking your arms around his torso as he curled his spine, letting you curl yourself around him. With your hands holding on to his chest, you smiled and pressed your face to his back. His heartbeat slowed to a gentle pace, his breathing matching as he slowly drifted off. You lay there for a while longer, admiring him, stroking his dark but greying hair and smiling to yourself between the kisses you peppered onto his warm skin. It had been a particularly strange day, eventful in ways you couldn’t have predicted or even let yourself dream of. But in a way, that itself was standard for Eddie, and you were thankful for the continuous excitement and experimentation he allowed you to be part of.

#finnie writes #the riddler #riddler #telltale riddler #riddler x reader #riddler fanfic #edward nygma #edward nigma

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bisexual-horror-fan · 6 months

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Bex would you be down to write a dom ethan and sub reader type dynamic smut? This isn’t a request just wondering if it’s something you’re into 😻

Anon of course this is something I am into. First time writing more dominant Ethan! I hope you like it Anon, I haven't posted a fic in over a fucking month! Everything has been so hetic and nuts, I've been working on this behind the scenes and I am hoping this gets me back into the swing of things! Let's go!

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Now Or Never.

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 2.5K. Ethan Landry X FEM! AFAB! Reader. Warnings: DUB CON! Stalking. Creepy And Delusional Behaviour From Ethan. Obsessive Ethan. Man Handling. Degradation. Vaginal Fingering. Vaginal Sex. Raw Sex. Implied Cream Pie. Hold The Moan. Don’t Get Caught.

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Ethan has never been the kind of guy to really go after what he wants. He is much more passive, go with the flow, he doesn’t want to upset the apple cart nor ruin the image that people have of him. He knows it isn’t the best practice, he wants to get out of that, he wants to start doing things for him, maybe he should have made the call to start standing up for himself before agreeing to help his family avenge his brothers' death via a complex murder plot. However, Ethan was committed now, and he wasn’t going to back out, more importantly he saw no way how to, and so he stays.

Assuming an identity in a new place and pretending to be someone he isn’t to infiltrate a group of people, pretend to be their friend just to be close enough to kill them was stressful. It felt like it was consuming his whole life, losing who he actually was in some regard, he needed a distraction, something to help give him purpose, ease his worries and the harsher edges of it all, or he’d go nuts.

You were his outlet.

Stalking just went along with what he did in service of the grand plan, you were not part of it, not involved, but you caught his eye in one of his classes. The first time, he was just going the same direction as you, he swears to God, he wasn’t being a creep, at first. That did not last long. He started to watch you, learn your schedule, get into your routine, and whenever he wasn’t having to continue his charade he was consumed getting lost in you.

He knows where you live, he knows your class times, the coffee shop you frequent, your order at said shop, he knows what soap you use, the part-time job you hold and that one of your biggest pet peeves is when the tag in an item of clothing itches against your skin.

He’s been watching you for an amount of time that he is sure if you knew would make you very fucking uncomfortable. You seemingly hadn’t caught on to what he was up to, which was good, it meant he could keep it up without worry, watching you living your life while you were totally oblivious. To be fair, how observant you are or are not, is not what he liked best about you, honestly what he liked is that you were the opposite to him in a lot of ways. No real responsibilities other than the ones you wanted to have, just living the way you want to, he felt some modicum of jealousy over that, he imagines what life could be like if he could get out of his current situation and have a more normal existence with you, it’s a good escape, but it’s just that, a fantasy, an unattainable one.

It is getting harder and harder to ignore the situation he is stuck in, the same way it is becoming impossible to ignore the clawing feeling of dread in his chest. He wanted to stop feeling so helpless, wanted a sense of control, to feel like he was living for himself, even in a tiny sense.

Time is running out, and he needs to correct this, or he might fuck up everything without some serious stress relief.

Ethan learned about the Halloween party you were going to attend, and he thought maybe that would be good, to go and cut loose a little while near you. That plan changed, morphed, got away from him once he was actually there and near you in the costume you chose.

He tried to keep distance, to just watch but between observing you having fun, the mounting pressure and the frankly bordering on painful erection in his jeans that would not stop throbbing finally a piece inside of him broke.

You had to know what you did to him. You had to know the effect you had on him, it was like you were aware you were being watched, doing this on purpose, it’s maddening. He could crush the red solo cup in his hand as he observes you dance with a friend, the way your hand rests on his arm, your head tips forward to press against his shoulder as you laugh, the sway of your hips, it should be him, why not him? He stews in his thoughts and the anger, the unfairness and the budding arousal threatening to boil over inside himself.

He’d brought his Ghostface costume along, had it in his bag for something he needed to do later, it was like he acted on autopilot. He sneaks off, he got into the costume, and then he waits for the right moment.

You are on your way to the bathroom, but not the main one people use, no these were your friends, and you knew about the lesser used one, he knew about it because of course, creep that Ethan was, he followed you there. When you are close enough he strikes, his hand over your mouth, his other arm loops around your middle, and he drags you the rest of the way to the bathroom. The door is already ajar, it’s no trouble to get you inside, a backwards swing of his foot to the wood makes the door close. The light is dim, there is a nightlight plugged into the wall outlet near the counter top by the mirror, so someone stumbling from the basement guest bedroom can find their way to the bathroom he assumes.

You are struggling against him, squirming, muffled sounds trying to get out from behind his hand, but he is struck by just this. He is touching you for the first time, holding you, he draws you closer, makes it so you are flush against him. He’s thought about this countless times, you are warm and softer than anticipated, he can fucking smell you and it is intoxicating. He is so caught up in this, taking in every detail and small movement, he presses his hips forward, grinds himself on you through the layers of jeans and black fabric as he smells your hair and then what you do next? Ethan never would have thought in a million years you’d respond like this, by your eyes closing and you grinding back, pressing your ass closer to him with a sound behind his hand that might sound like a moan if he let you express it fully.

You aren’t fighting him, not any longer, no you are rocking with him, trying to stimulate yourself in any way possible against him-

Oh.

You are better than he thought, he knew you were a slut, he’d seen you in your place, knew your porn search history and the collection of toys you owned, but to be down to fuck a masked stranger you hadn’t exchanged a single word with? You were a world-class whore, he was going to take advantage of this opportunity to the fullest.

He knows he doesn’t need to hold you so closely, his arm releases your mid-section, his hand slides down your body and between your legs and up the short skirt of the costume you wore, fingers press to your underwear. You are already wet enough he can feel it through the thin material and his gloves. Your hips buck, wanting to get closer, feel more of him, it feeds his ego and emboldens him, you want him, and he isn’t going to deny you.

He gets his glove off, he needs to feel you, skin on skin. His hand slides into your panties, his fingers dip as low as they can and feel the source of your extreme wetness, he presses, tease the hole carefully before his digits slide up through your folds, and he knows he finds what he needs when you gasp, head thrown back against his shoulder.

His hand works, fingers circle over your clit, and you inhale sharply through your nose, brows furrow, and he watches you in the mirror. The way the pleasure plays out on your face as he teases you, he enjoys how your body responds, the small tremors of your limbs, the twisting and squirming of your form, the way your clit throbs under his touch as he presses harder.

He needs to feel you inside. Fingers move, you whine, he dives inside, and he curls them, it causes the biggest reaction out of you yet. Your body pitching forward, hands on the counter and your walls clenching around his fingers. You are so soaked, soft, hot and so thoroughly alive. He can barely move them inside of you, but he does, he slips them in and out, presses to that same spot that got such a big reaction out of you, and he moans quietly, he swears he can feel you getting wetter.

In and out, flex and push, you writhe, and he wants to hear you, he pulls his hand away, but before he does, he has one finger over your lips, that classic symbol of “shhh” and you nod, eyes half lidded and lust filled. You let out quiet moans, his palm grinds against your clit as his fingers fuck in and out, he can’t take much more. The simple movement, the motion, how hard he is rocking against your ass, he wants to be buried in you, wants to fuck you.

So he does.

His hand moves, fingers pulled out, and your eyes had slipped closed again, at the loss of him they open, confused and when you see him pulling the robe up you get the hint. You make your own move, shaky hands lift off the counter and your fingers hook under your skirt, you tug down your underwear and you step one foot out, leaving them hooked around your other ankle. He has the robe up and his pants open finally, the relief of pressure on his straining erection has him letting out a small sigh. His hands are on you, he adjusts you, one knee on the counter and pushing you forward, your hands braced on the sink, and you adjust too, your hips tilt and soon with a hand on your back and the other on the base of his cock he is lining up.

It’s rushed and faster than he wants, but he just wants so much, it’s been so fucking long he can't stop it, can't help himself. He feels you, the heat coming off of you, the wetness on his tip, he lingers for only a moment before his hips move involuntarily, and then he is helpless. The first half inch pops in with no resistance, and you are perfect, you feel incredible it makes him let go of himself, hands lock on your hips, and he pushes further, slides deeper, and he watches you in the mirror. The way your mouth falls open, the exhalation, the way you tense in some regards and relax in others, but mostly he can’t focus on much else other than how your cunt feels around him as he settles in, finally to the base.

He soaks you in for a second, you are more impatient than he, you whine again, needier than before, and you move first, pull your hips forward before sliding them back, and it makes any semblance of control break. He takes over, the grip on your hips tightens, and he pulls out almost totally before driving back in, you have to bite your lip to hold the moan back enough to not be overheard. The party is on the main floor, you are in the basement, but you are sure that he could make you alert everyone up there.

This was insanely hot for you, a masked stranger pulling you away and touching you, groping you, fucking you without you seeing his face or uttering a single word? Unbearably hot, his fingers were good, but even two minutes in his dick puts his hands to shame. He is greedy. He touches more, he didn’t touch you enough before, his other glove comes off, and he touches your legs, your thigh, a firm squeeze of your ass, he feels up your sides and your chest. You lean closer into his touch, moving still with him, loving the pace he took as he fucked you, rough and quick, he pulls the top of your costume down, exposes your tits, palms them, and you moan louder than you probably should.

This is good, but it could be better still, your hand is between your legs, you stroke your clit as he fucks you, the stretch of him is delicious, you find yourself gasping, arching your back a bit more so he hits that spot inside just a bit harder, a touch better. You are so close to the mirror you are in danger of fogging it up, but you want to look at him, you’d been staring at his masked face this whole time, wondering who is under it.

You move back, press yourself closer to him and away from the mirror, and you get this urge. This urge that you don’t question or think about. Your back is to his chest, he is still preoccupied with fucking you and rolling your nipples between his fingers, perfectly distracted, huffing and letting out small sounds of pleasures, groans, you reach back behind him and the move is fast. You push the hood back, fingers grip, and you pull and twist, the mask comes off. He’s shocked.

He was so consumed with the feeling of getting to have you, with the mounting pleasure, he even had his eyes closed like an idiot, you got the drop on him. He stopped, held deep, and your eyes met in the mirror.

He’s hot. Hotter than you thought possible, dark sweat soaked curls and hard eyes, pretty pink lips are wet and parted, he’s strong and has had no issue throwing you around and holding you down. The low orange light playing off your body and his face is going to be burned in your mind forever.

You don’t want him to stop, you want to keep going. You maintain eye contact, you move again, pull him out slightly before bucking back, he inhales hard, and you do it again, and again, slip more out and take him harder on every movement, and he comes back to himself.

You like this, like him, you liked him as a stranger doing this, but you were still into this now made it even better. He takes over again, he fucks you harder while still meeting your eyes in the mirror. He wasn’t going to stop now until you came around him, and he filled you up.

God, he needed this.

#BHF asks #BHF writing #Ethan Landry x reader #Scream 6 x reader #Ghostface x reader #HEY BITCHES I'M BACKKKKK #ENJOY IT #EAT UP

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bengiyo · 9 months

Text

Only Friends Ep 6 Stray Thoughts

Last week, everyone went on cute dates, revealing fascinating layers about three of our pairs. Mew is blind with love and gave it up for a man who did not answer "What do you like about me" in a way specific to Mew at all. Boston is hinting at settling down and getting turned on by Nick working out more and changing up his style. Sand is basically taking care of Ray, who keeps shoving Sand's hand in his pants. Boston, seeing Ray experience a modicum of joy, violated all guest rules and blew up his relationship with Sand in Sand's apartment while partaking of Sand's weed; a huge party foul. Sand realized how much of a clown he's been. I am embarrassed for everyone.

Happy (F*cking) Birthday

Mew was raised by lesbians. So much makes sense.

I remain embarrassed for Mew.

Friends fight, warns the teacher. I sure hope so!

You don't want to be friends with someone who sneakily recorded you? Boston, pot-kettle-black.

PINK MILK! WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK! Of course a Jojo show is going to have the seller be out of it.

I'm so ready for the outright brawl between Sand and Top.

Oh, Sand, that ploy with the phone was smooth. Nick is a techy, though, so he's probably going to notice you went through his voice recorder app.

Can't believe Mew let this man convince him to get his eyes lasered.

Damn, does everyone use Ray when they're trying to deal maximum damage to the whole group?

This dark room scene was well done, but I'm always irritated by Boston scoffing at relationships and commitment before reeling Nick back in.

Ray surprised Boston briefly with that reveal, but you can't keep a bad bitch down. Boston won that round, too.

Cheum, why are you stirring up shit at this party?

Damn, the sketches are a good play. I respect the game, Top.

I'm with Ray. Mew was cuter with glasses.

Ray went in on everyone but didn't reveal about the sleeping around.

What is it with Ray always treating Sand like he's for sale?

Is Mew using a soundbar as just a speaker? What a specific detail.

Now, there's my child of lesbians. Way to make that reveal as dramatic as possible, Mew.

Mew finally made that man cry. Now I'm ready to see the unraveling.

This was fantastic! Everyone keeps riling up Ray whenever they want to cause the most problems. Sand does not care about these people and accomplished his goal: Top loses Mew. Now he'll get to save Ray from himself again and wrap him up further. Boston also got embarrassed after starting shit with him. Even the lesbians caught strays! Sand takes this round.

#only friends the series #only friends meta #thai bl #thai drama #bl series #Ben watches

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semper-draca · 3 months

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There's something so depressing about being an artist on tumblr these days that I'm finding hard to articulate. Years ago, shitty one-hour sketches I posted would at least get double digits in the notes. These days, I can post commissions that took over fifty hours and get 5 notes at most. Blah blah do art for yourself, sure, but the important part is -

I Rarely Get Commissions Anymore.

Where I used to have to limit how many comms I could accept at once because I'd get that many requests, now I'm lucky to get two when I open up coms again. People don't reblog the art I do for myself, so no one finds my commission info that way. People don't reblog the art I do for commissions, so no one finds my commission info that way. People don't reblog commissions posts. A couple likes will get tossed at it from people who don't actually reach out in interest, so it doesn't circulate and it's just me reblogging it into the void, desperately hoping for some modicum of cash. I feel like people don't understand these days how little money most artists are bringing in, and the anxiety that comes with drastically declining circulation of art on websites like tumblr. Right now, for example, I'm desperate to earn as much money as I can during the summer because what I earn this summer? Has to last me rent for seven months straight to help offset the inevitable drain of all the savings I have. Normally some of that would come from art - nowadays, I can't rely on getting even a single commission.

I think this anxiety and this real material concern is what is behind all those "please for the love of god reblog art/posts you like" posts that people love to get angry about. If you haven't been here for years, it can be hard to see the ways in which this vanishing reblog culture has severely hit artists and forced many away from this platform. I don't want to leave tumblr or stop posting my art here, but good god is it depressing to see this site, and I cannot stress this enough, almost COMPLETELY VANISH as a revenue stream. I don't know what the solution to this culture shift is, but I do know that it's causing this site to deteriorate and forcing artists to move elsewhere and invest less effort on tumblr because it no longer makes any financial sense. I know that everyone is tired of hearing this, and fair enough, because there are plenty of other artists with louder voices than mine saying similar things, but please, if you like some art, consider reblogging it. Even if you have no interest in ever commissioning that artist. Others might see it and be interested, and that's how most new clients are made. Artists have rent on the line.

anyway, if you've made it to the end of this rant and haven't blocked me for it lmao, I still have commissions open

#semper rants about stuff #idk yall its just exhausting and im sure im not the only one who feels this

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withacapitalp · 1 year

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How to Rehabilitate a Jock Part 8

Part 1 Part Seven Part Nine Link to Ao3

Step 8: Let Him Fail

Babydoll.

Babydoll?!

What. Was. THAT???

Eddie Munson had always been a flirt. A shameless, hopeless, flirt. All of his friends knew it, and they all accepted it with a modicum of grace. They were used to Eddie spontaneously proposing marriage, or declaring to duel for someone’s honor.

It was one of his self defense mechanisms, a way to hide in plain sight. No one knew when he was actually getting crushes on people- Well no one but Gareth- because if you flirt with everyone, then no one suspects you’re actually serious when it’s them.

But this was the first time someone had ever flirted back.

Eddie now finally understood why Jeff still turned into a blubbering mess anytime Eddie whipped out a shitty little ring he had made out of a wrapper from a stick of gum. He was pretty sure his brain was never going to come back down to Earth now that Steve Harrington sent it to the heavens with three stupid fucking syllables.

BA-BY-DOLL

It wasn’t even- it had no- it didn’t even make sense!

No one used the term babydoll except for middle schoolers who were on their first date and eighty year old men talking about their wives. Eddie should be cackling right now, laughing about how utterly ridiculous that little pet name was. It should be silly. It shouldn’t mean a damn thing.

So why was it working for him?

Why did Eddie want to push Steve up against a wall right now and kiss him silly?!

Why was his mind letting itself hope that maybe Steve…was being serious too?

No. Eddie needed to get himself together. That was not happening. That should not be happening. That literally could never happen, and the sooner he accepted that reality, the better.

This…this whatever this was, was nothing more than Steve teasing Eddie the way Eddie always teased Steve. That was all there was to it. The flirty freak was finally getting a taste of his own medicine from the teenage heartthrob of Hawkins High.

Nothing more. Never.

There would be no serenade from the balcony, no racing heart, no chorus of angelic voices harmonizing as Steve cupped his cheek and pulled him in for a kiss. And, most importantly, Eddie was absolutely, definitely, without a doubt, not about to have his crush on Steve Harrington come back in full force.

Oh, who was he kidding?

Eddie was pretty sure he had never been more screwed.

Eddie was so preoccupied with trying to wrap his mind around what the fuck had just happened that he completely missed the small child sitting in his throne, and sat down right on top of the kid.

“Ouch!”

The tiny cry from beneath him jogged Eddie out of his fog, and the entire room began to try and hold back chuckles as he looked around confused until his eyes spotted Mike glaring up at him.

“Steven? Why is one of your children sitting on my throne?” Eddie wondered aloud, asking a question that was far easier to answer than the rest that were currently taking up all the space in his brain.

“Mike,” Steve sighed from his place in the doorway, hands automatically falling on his hips as he shook his head, “Move. Now.”

“I like this seat,” Mike said with a bratty little smirk towards his babysitter. Steve rolled his eyes in an extremely theatrical fashion, tipping his head back and exposing the long pale column of his neck.

Oh, it would be so easy to kiss right on his pulse point, wouldn't it? Steve would probably love that. He seemed like the type to be hyper sensitive, and he would make the most sinfully delicious noises as Eddie’s teeth scraped against-

Nooooooooooo. No no no no no.

Eddie. Get your shit together. Now.

“Jackass, you’re gonna get us kicked out,” Dustin said as Eddie mentally began to stab himself in the head. Mike replied by sticking out his tongue, and Dustin’s face screwed up into a kind of adorable scowl.

“Mike, come sit with me,” Will offered. Mike grumbled, but immediately got up, scurrying over to Will’s side and sharing the chair he had dragged in between Kaiden and Gareth. This was the second time Eddie had seen Will act as the mediator for their little group, and Eddie had a feeling that it was a pretty regular thing.

Now that his throne was once more vacant, Eddie sat down heavily, blowing all of the air out of his lungs in one big gust. He looked around the table, observing the changes that had been made to the layout.

Eddie had expected the kids to find a corner to sit in, but instead they had taken the liberty to bring over chairs or scoot in with Hellfire members and start talking with them. It was shocking to see a group of preteens have no hesitation about throwing themselves in with, but Eddie had to hand it to them. It was damn brave.

The thing that was more surprising was how happy the rest of the club seemed to be with this latest shift. For a group of people who had fought him tooth and nail on allowing Steve into the club, they seemed all too happy to accept the kids.

Janet was sharing her seat with Max, their heads close together as they snickered about something that was definitely going to be exceptionally devilish. Eddie didn’t know much about Max, but he had a feeling that those two would be a match made in hell.

Given the look Steve was giving them, Eddie had a feeling he would agree

Dustin had plopped a chair right in between where Frank and Steve were supposed to be sitting. He and Frank were loudly discussing the pros and cons of different character classes, both of them swinging their arms around to and fro with wild facial expressions. Jeff and Lucas were on the other side of the table, talking much more quietly and looking at something on his character sheet.

Even Gareth seemed like he was into it! The second Mike sat down next to Will, Gareth coaxed him into a conversation about the campaign. They were both looking down at the table, an easy smile on his best friend’s face as Mike’s eyes sparkled with glee. Kaiden and Will were watching the two with soft little smirks, sharing amused eye rolls and gentle exasperated head shakes.

Eddie’s heart ached ever so slightly as he watched Gareth patiently explain something to Mike, pointing to the map on the table as he spoke. Mike replied with enthusiasm, and Gareth threw his head back, laughing.

That was the Gareth Eddie loved.

Some of the tension in his shoulders fell away watching his best friend be the person Eddie knew he was. Gareth had somehow become a stranger almost overnight in so many ways, his vitriol against Steve poisoning his relationships with all of them. It was hard to be around him when he was like that, and an uncomfortable strain had come up between the whole club.

The strain was gone right now, and Eddie was absolutely elated.

“Sorry about the kids,” Steve said with an embarrassed smile, “They have no concept of boundaries,”

“No, this is awesome,” Eddie replied immediately, “You should’ve told them weeks ago,”

“Dunno why I made it such a big deal,” Steve murmured, his cheeks dusted with a soft rouge.

“Can we get back to playing now?” Rocky asked impatiently, drumming his fingers on the table in front of him.

The entire room turned their eyes towards Eddie and he made a show of stretching, settling himself back into his role. His audience had just doubled, but that only made him more eager to get started. Besides he had a feeling Steve’s kids would be expecting quite the show, and Eddie wasn’t about to disappoint.

“You all tremble in fear as Kris Kringle decides your fates,” Eddie begins in a growling whisper, slowly raising his voice to a loud shriek, “Naughty…..Naughty….Naughty, Naughty, Naughty!”

The kids began to quietly giggle, and an eager joyful energy swept through the room. Eddie cracked a devious little grin.

“There’s no hope for you now!” Eddie boomed in an over the top accent, “The only way off my list is DEATH! Give in and I will make it quick and, somewhat, painless.”

The club shared a look.

“Never!” Hellfire declared as one, and the game was on.

Having the kids with them only added to the experience. Now that they had an audience, the club members were really getting into their characters. Even Steve was starting to open up more.

The kids had been sworn to silence, not allowed to make suggestions or tell their respective Hellfire members what they could do, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t react. So react they did, shouting in anger when the party stumbled, giving victorious high fives when they dealt a blow to their holiday themed foe.

But Eddie was crafty. Anytime Hellfire took a step forward, he would push them back two more, determined to give them an epic fight.

Maybe a little too epic. There was still one whole final battle to get through according to Eddie’s notes, and it was nearly 7:00. Almost all of the party had escaped the toy factory, but Ex-Prince Stefan was still running around being chased by evil Santa. The ones outside were being swarmed by living snowmen controlled by Kris Kringle. They were throwing snowballs filled with razor blades at them, and the group’s luck was starting to dwindle.

“We’re getting nowhere,” Janet groaned as Steve rolled a three, once again missing his chance to get out, “Let’s go back in and help him there instead. The snowmen will melt when Kris is dead.”

“If any of us try to go back in, then Kringle’s lazer beam of pain will vaporize us instantly. You can only get out, not back in,” Kaiden glumly reminded her, looking down at the map where the six of them were surrounded on all sides by little paper snowmen dolls with tiny angry faces.

“If you all try running through at the same time one of you might survive,” Eddie snickered, tapping his chin in mock consideration and loving the glares being shot his way.

The kids, who had all been starting to squirm around, groaned as a collective. Dustin reached down into his backpack, bringing out a notebook and beginning to furiously scribble something down. As the club continued to try and strategize, Dustin lobbed the paper ball over to Lucas, who caught it midair and studied what Dustin had written down.

Eddie hummed to himself, watching the kids and wondering what exactly they were planning.

“Steve- oh sorry- Stefan you just have to try again to get out again,” Jeff decided with a sigh, so preoccupied with their predicament he missed Lucas slipping out of the chair next to him and sneaking over to Will and Mike to show them the paper, “When we’re all out, we can attempt to run,”

“Run?” Steve repeated incredulously, as if the thought of running was simply incomprehensible, “Why?”

“There’s no way we’re getting out of this alive, newbie. Better to live and try again another day” Frank replied, patting Steve’s back and giving Eddie an annoyed look. Eddie shrugged, watching as all four boys ran over to Max and dragged her into a corner of the room, all furiously debating.

“No shame in running,” Eddie offered, wondering how Steve would take it. He didn’t seem like the type to run, but he was also used to Steve surprising him.

“Why are you all quitting?” Steve said with mild disgust, obviously disappointed by the party’s lack of fortitude, “I’ve been being chased around all alone for like five turns straight, and I still think we can win!”

“We’re quitting because we have nothing,” Gareth snapped back, pointing at the board.

“Dungeon Master?” Mike said, interrupting the spat before it could become an actual fight. The group turned as a collective to stare at the kids, seeming to only realize now that they had been plotting in the background this whole time.

“Steve’s Child Number Three?” Eddie responded, watching Mike’s face instantly sour.

“Three?” He shot back instantly, “You think I’m third out of four?”

“I’m organizing you by height, small fry. Except for you Little Red,” Eddie tacked on, adoring the completely cute smirk that fell onto Max’s face when he said it.

“Could we potentially give Steve just one single suggestion?” Dustin asked before Mike could open his big fat mouth and ruin their opportunity, “Just one. Not even a suggestion, really! Just an… an observation,”

An observation. In any other situation, with any other person, it would be an automatic no, but Eddie was intrigued to see what might come of this unexpected turn of events.

Still, appearances had to be maintained.

“I don’t know,” Eddie said, stretching out the last word as far as it would go, “I don’t remember Stefan’s character sheet including any ghosts of Christmas’ past, present, or future.”

“Oh c’mon, Babydoll,” Steve said with a far too adorable pout. He made his eyes glisten ever so slightly, which was an entirely unfair move, propping his chin up on one fist and giving Eddie the most perfect sad puppy face he had ever seen, “You still owe me,”

“Fuck you,” Eddie said immediately, trying to ignore the sharp sudden race of his heart and the way that even his ears were warm at this moment. He threw himself into the scolding mother goose role, knowing that if he stayed as Eddie Munson, he would not be able to resist kissing the tip of Steve’s nose.

“I am your Dungeon Master right now, Stefan, and you will treat me with the respect that comes along with that title,” Eddie said, wagging his finger at Steve and pretending like his hands weren’t shaking ever so slightly.

Steve chuckled softly, dipping his head down towards his chest bringing just his eyes up and giving Eddie a bashful grin.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve said, not sounding sorry in the slightest. He clasped his hands over his heart and began to plead.

“Pleaseeeee, oh wise and smart Dungeon Master. Please let my brats give me just a single clue.”

The rest of Hellfire began to share glances, some hiding smiles behind their hands. The kids however had all seemed to focus on just a single word of Steve’s begging, and not the absolutely sinful sound of his voice.

“Brats?!” Lucas scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “Never mind let him die by Evil Santa,”

Eddie snorted, shaking his head. There was a heavenly glow in his chest, and the entire room felt like it was flooded with light.

“Go ahead,” He sighed, nodding towards the kids. Steve beamed, practically skipping over as the kids reached up and yanked him down to their height so they could whisper in his ear. Eddie watched the sweet sight for a second before someone clearing their throat to his right caught his attention.

The rest of the club was looking at him with raised brows. The glow disappeared, and the light vanished. He threw them a quick bird, hoping they would just fuck off. Janet shook her head subtly pointing towards the kids and Steve, her eyes wide.

Oh. Not towards them. Towards the chalkboard that they were standing directly next to.

Jesus F’in Christ. Eddie’s heart was running for a completely different reason.

“Really?” Steve said out loud, straightening up and looking at the kids. The boys nodded together and Max shrugged. Eddie’s breath caught in his throat.

“Okay,” Steve said in a dubious voice, coming back to the table and waiting until the kids were back in their appointed seats before turning to Eddie. Oh god. This was it. They had been caught.

“Eddie- sorry Dungeon Master, is Frank’s telephone spell still active?”

“Bard Franklin Fitzman’s telepathic tune is available for 3 more turns.” Eddie corrected with a breath of relief. Steve hadn’t found out. Then his brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what the kids had told Steve.

Why would they care about Frank’s spell?

“Uh Stefan? That was to try and control the snowmen, and it didn’t work. Their intelligence is ‘too low to be manipulated’,” Frank explained, using air quotes around the last part saying what Eddie had told him word for word when he had tried to control the snowmen and failed.

“Technically we’re creatures aren’t we? Use the telepathic bond on me,” Steve said, his tone naturally slipping into a leadership role. It wasn’t exactly a command, but it wasn’t quite a suggestion either.

Eddie half expected Frank to bristle at that, but Frank just nodded along.

“Am I allow- you know what? Yeah. I use the telepathic bond on Stefan,” Frank agreed, throwing up his hands.

Well, did that count as progress? Maybe. Eddie doubted that he would have listened to Steve’s suggestion before today. But it might’ve just been because this was the kids’ plan, not Steve’s.

“Roll a d8,” Eddie said, shrugging. This was unprecedented, completely off script, but interesting. Fine. They could do it, but it would take a lot, “You’ll need at least a 7 to make this work though, it’s a highly unusual way to use the spell,”

Frank grabbed his die and rolled it across the table.

Seven.

Damn it.

“Unexpectedly, Stefan begins to hear a familiar voice in his head. He ducks under another red and white pillar just as Kringle’s sword hits the wood right where his head just was.” Eddie said, rubbing at his temple. He had no clue how being able to communicate telepathically was going to help in this situation, but sure. Whatever.

“Stefan, I’ve connected our minds. You can speak to me, and I’ll relay whatever you want to say to the rest of the party. Kris Kringle won’t be able to hear it!” Frank declared.

“Perfect. The kids reminded me of something, and it gave me an idea. Oh I mean uhhhhhh the memory of my former subjects came to me and it inspired a plan of action,” Steve said, stumbling over his words as he tried to stay in character.

“We’re your subjects?” Dustin fake whispered to Steve.

“I’m not good at the improv part of this,” Steve hissed, pushing his chair back and standing, “Team huddle where Eddie can’t hear?”

“It’s a Party Gathering, Steve,” Will called out from where he and Mike were sitting.

“Fine. Party Gathering then,” Steve amended with a roll of his eyes, waving a hand and bringing the rest of Hellfire into the corner.

They leaned down low together, arms around shoulders to hide their faces and muffle any words that might have come out louder than intended. Try as he might to eavesdrop, Eddie couldn’t make anything out. He turned a shrewd eye to Lucas, then Dustin but they both just shrugged and gave him shit-eating grins. Even Max seemed unbreakable, miming a zipper over her lips and locking them shut, throwing the fake key over her shoulder.

This was not going to be good.

Before Eddie could think too much more, Hellfire returned. Kaiden looked put out, Janet and Frank were contemplative, and Rocky was staring resolutely forward with determination. As usual Jeff was impossible to read, but it was Gareth that worried him the most.

Gareth looked positively gleeful, which did not seem good given the current situation.

“Why do you look…happy?” Eddie muttered, narrowing his eyes.

“Stefan has had a brilliant plan. It had to come from the gods of old,” Gareth replied in his dwarf drawl, “A true hero move,”

With that incredibly cryptic answer, Eddie finally turned his eyes to their newest party member. Steve was positively gleaming, a shine of victory making his eyes sparkle.

“It’s my turn, right?” Steve asked, biting at his lip and doing absolutely nothing to hide how excited he was. Eddie cautiously nodded and Steve clapped his hands.

“Okay, I roll to lock myself and Santa in the factory with the magic padlock I found during the Eggnog Trials,” Steve stated. Mike and Will exchanged a high five, and Dustin happily smacked his hand against Steve’s arm. He waved the kid off, waiting expectantly for Eddie’s answer.

“Use two d8. You’ll need at least a ten,” Eddie said, thinking on the fly. He could not come up with a single reason that Steve would want to stay stuck in the factory, but maybe it was something about sneaking through one of the broken windows or something.

When Eddie saw the seven and six on the table, he took a deep breath, making a note in his book. The door was now locked, and the padlock was charmed to never be opened again once it was shut. Nothing would open those doors, not even a nat 20.

“You manage to evade Kris’s grasp, gaining a minor lead in the chase. It’s just enough time to make it across the factory and slam the door shut, locking it tightly.” Eddie narrated, getting back into the swing of things, “Hohoho! All you’ve done is seal your own doom!”

“Not exactly, Kris,” Steve, Stefan, shot back, looking like the cat that had caught the canary.

“Jun Iper what’s your move?” Eddie said, turning to Kaiden.

“I cast a defensive shield on me and Boz,” Kaiden promptly responded, already picking up his d20. He didn’t need a high number to succeed, Kaiden’s defensive magic was almost at maximum level, so despite only getting a nine, it was successful.

“You both have a medium amount of extra protection. Boz?”

“I hand Goren the Great my heavy armor,” Jeff replied, clapping Gareth on the shoulder.

Gareth put the armor on, and that’s how the entire round went. One by one each of them cast defensive move after defensive move until it was Steve’s turn once more. With each move, Eddie’s worry only increased.

“The rest of the party is as protected as possible for Sir Stefan’s next move. Kris is right on your heels, hungry for the flesh of those on his naughty list, starting with a certain exiled royal,” Eddie said, giving Steve a look. Steve innocently whistled, not keeping eye contact.

Well. Two could play at this game. Time to raise the stakes a little. Eddie carefully moved his notes to the side before jumping up onto the table, startling only Steve and the kids. The rest were used to Eddie’s dramatics.

“Well well well. Looks like you’re serving yourself up as a present just for me,” Edddie said in a menacing voice, crouching down and getting in Steve’s space, “That’s nice, but not enough to save your life!”

Steve kept eye contact, staring Eddie down. He still had that twinkle in his eye, and Eddie knew he was done before Steve even spoke.

“I attempt to throw my dynamite candy canes into the generator and blow up the whole factory,”

“What?” Eddie said, rearing back and nearly losing his balance. He wobbled at the edge of the table, his arms windmilling as he fell. But, just before the point of no return, a hand shot out, clasping tight around Eddie’s wrist and pulling him back upright.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, concern coloring his tone as he slowly let go of Eddie.

“Fine,” Eddie replied breathlessly, hoping Steve just assumed it was from almost falling and not because Steve had touched him. He shook his head, climbing down off the table and sitting on his throne.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asked, breaking character, “You’re the one saying you want to blow everything up. You’re going to die if you do that. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, but the rest of the party should be safe, right? And Kris will die too, so the snowmen will be destroyed,” Steve said as if it was simple, laying it all out like it made sense.

The worst part was, it did make sense. It was brilliant. Everyone else would be perfectly fine, losing one single party member was actually a great way to end a one shot, and they would have all of the loot because the stockings were fireproof.

But Steve dying meant that he wasn’t going to cross that first barrier. He needed to live for this to count towards the JRP. It all clicked into place now. That was the reason Gareth was so willing to follow along with Steve’s plan.

Damn them! Damn Steve for going for it!

“There is zero chance of your survival. Are you sure you wish to proceed?” Eddie said, trying again to stress just how much Steve was going to die, “There is no avoiding being killed if you choose this,”

“Don’t worry,” Steve said, lowering his voice and ducking closer so only the two of them could hear, “I already forgave you for earlier,”

Steve thought Eddie was worried about what he had said earlier. It was so sweet. It was so misguided.

Eddie was so gone for this beautiful brave boy.

“Roll the d20. You’ll need a 17 or higher for this batshit, absolutely insane, courageous as fuck move to succeed,” Eddie said, resigned to the inevitable, “As you hold up your red and white crooks of fury, Kringle’s face drops from glorious mayhem to complete terror. His sword clatters to the ground as he rushes towards you, trying to stop your frankly crazy plan from succeeding. The entire world seems to hold its breath as you toss the candy canes towards the main generator. They spin in the air. Will they land where you want? ”

And, sure enough, Steve managed to get an 18. It was the highest roll he had gotten the entire game.

“Party wins,” Eddie managed to say before the room erupted into cheers. Everyone jumped to their feet, crashing into each other with heavy back slaps and high fives. The kids clustered around Steve, all exclaiming about how ‘cool’ and ‘badass’ he was, and Steve ruffled Dustin’s hair, turning back to give Eddie a brilliant look of joy.

“Happy Christmas to all!” Rocky declared, throwing his character sheets in the air

“Except Stefan,” Janet pointed out, holding up her first and shaking her head, “Gone but never forgotten,”

“You know I’m right here, right?” Steve pointed out as he started to gather his things, looking at his watch, “Shit. Guys, get your stuff. We’re keeping someone waiting.”

The kids scrambled to get their things, packing up lightning fast, still happily babbling about the game. Steve threw one backpack strap over his shoulder, turning to Eddie and ducking his head.

“Not too bad for my first time?” He asked, seeming suddenly shy. Eddie grinned, unable to stop himself

“Do you guys hear something?” Eddie teased, cupping his ear, “I think someone is reaching out to me from the great beyond,”

Jeff and Frank both cackled, and Steve rolled his eyes, shoving his shoulder into Eddie’s. A bloom of fire started from their point of contact, traveling all down his arm and into even the tips of his fingers.

“You did great, Sweetheart,” Eddie said, trying to still sound joking, but knowing it came out far too genuine, “Never could have expected that,”

“Blame the kids. They’re the ones that told me that the party would still win even if one person died,” Steve replied with a shrug. The kids were clustered around the doorway, blocking the exit for the rest of Hellfire and shouting at Steve to hurry up. All of a sudden they were in a rush to get going.

Steve waved, stepping back as if he was about to leave. Eddie gathered his wits and took the leap, remembering what Kaiden had told him before the meeting.

“Hey,” Eddie called, grabbing both Steve’s attention and his wrist. He quickly let go when Steve stiffened up, putting space between them. He wasn’t sure if he had just moved too quickly, or if Stve didn’t want Eddie to touch him, but he still wanted to respect boundaries.

“I still wanna make it up to you for before. Since I ended up having to kill your self-sacrificng ass, what if you came to my show on Tuesday?” Eddie asked, twirling a curl around his finger and chewing on the end. God, he was acting like a lovesick little kid. This was so pathetic.

“Your show?” Steve asked with a quirk of his head. The kids, done with being ‘patient’, came over and began to tug on his hands, trying to push Steve out the door.

“Guys, quit it,” Steve said sharply, turning his attention back to Eddie, “Is this a drama thing?”

“Oh, um, no,” Eddie said, hating how much he loved that Steve remembered he was in the drama club, “It’s a show for our band? Corroded Coffin? We do metal covers and some originals and stuff at the Hideout,”

There was a brief pause where Eddie’s entire life felt like it was ending. This was the stupidest thing he had ever thought of. Steve Harrington? Metal? The only way those two fit in a sentence together was if you put the words ‘doesn’t like’ in between them.

There was no way Steve would want to come, and now Eddie was going to have to admit defeat on not just one, but two hurdles for this stupid experiment he had let the club start.

“I’d love to,” Steve said in a rush, nearly stumbling as his brats continued to push him towards the door. “Guys. We will leave in a minute, Jesus. Should I meet you there?”

“Come to my trailer and you can drive with us! Tuesday at 8 don’t be late,” Eddie offered, mentally screaming at himself. Steve lived in Loch Nora, he probably didn’t even know where the trailer park was.

But Steve was nodding along, like there wasn’t anything different about Eddie telling him to come to a trailer instead of an actual house.

“I’ll look for the one that has your van in front of it,” Steve called over his shoulder, finally letting the kids tug him away, “Can’t wait! Bye!”

And then he was gone, leaving Eddie alone with his terrible treacherous heart.

God. What was he doing?

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