a sour fruit

Childish isn’t really an adjective Jamil would describe himself. It falls out of bounds with all the responsibilities he holds. Drawing a connection between the word and his name sounds wrong and out of character. Even after his betrayal against Kalim, people saw it as pent-up rage rather than immaturity. Jamil would agree to some extent when he stares at the mirror trying to mimic Kalim’s pleasant personality before he scowls, internally cringing at his sweet smile. Perhaps, the stress and workload are just getting to his patience. 

The type of forgiveness he was given didn’t come from pity but it stems from the respect for his meticulous work. Does he deserve forgiveness? No, if he were in Kalim’s shoes, he would’ve reported him to the right authorities. Although their dynamic is finally changing from master and servant to peers and acquaintances, his attitude isn’t as two faced as it was before. 

Jamil lets out a sigh before he walks back into the halls of the dorm, striding his way to class with a tired look on his face. 

Perhaps that’s the dangerous result of his attempted treason. Losing the ability to fake pleasantries, that is. The good and bad thing about Night Raven College is that word spreads like wildfire. It’s perfect for building status at the social hierarchy and ruining someone’s reputation. Jamil has done both to himself which is a feat in itself and now he’s fighting tooth and nail to clean his tarnished name. 

Familiar voices greet him along the corridors and somehow it's already giving him a headache. Migraine settles on his temple, urging him to pinch the bridge of his nose to calm himself down. It feels like divine retribution for the sins he has committed this past week and life is reminding him to pay his debt in suffering. 

“And I don’t really see why I should be concerned,” He hears you say before crossing your arms. “Oh but you must understand, Ms. L/N. It is of utmost importance that we should receive your help in regards to this matter,” Azul quips with a smile that shows he had ulterior motives. 

Jamil could only watch, his frown accompanied by furrowed eyebrows. What the hell are they doing? "I would appreciate it if you didn't harass my lover," Jamil chastises. His piercing glare stops the conversation immediately and his hand is quick to grab yours to tug you away from the conman.

"Oh my deepest apologies!" Azul doesn't look sorry, not one bit. "I was just giving an offer to your dearest. I was hoping she wouldn't react so aggressively. I'm not one to abuse a damsel in distress."

“Are you okay?” Jamil stares at you and you nod, albeit hesitantly. “Why was he talking to you?”

“I think such conversation should be between us. Don’t you think so?” Azul interjects with a sly smile on his face. “Jamil, we can have this talk later.” Your hand gently holds his arm, trying to turn his attention back before his anger takes over.

Jamil swallows, his jaw tensing as his molars grinded against each other but his breathing is as normal as it gets. “Fine,” He huffs, clearly being nice against his will as you leave with him, his cold gaze on the octomer lingering. 

“One day, I’ll be serving his limbs on a plate,” Jamil casually says. You couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not but you hope it’s the latter. “Are you mad?” You tilt your head at him. Jamil only smiles.

You don’t know why he’s being distant but you have an inkling of what it meant. Deciphering his emotions is the same as trying to blend oil and water. However, calling yourself an expert in understanding his emotions isn’t far from the truth. His mean streak is often a result of desire and bitterness. Wanting something but not having it. Envy, no—jealous, that’s the right word. 

“J-Jamil, can’t you— fuck, slow down!” His firm grip on your waist keeps you in place when your hips jerk away from his fingers. Each shove of his digits makes this obscene squelching sound that lights his eyes in glee. “Why should I?” He asks, not intent on giving you mercy soon. “I’d like you to give me a valid reason then maybe I’ll think about it.” Your body trembles slightly, shaking as your legs squirm but Jamil is quick to hold you in place.  

“We should talk!” You try to look for a compromise but he only chuckles.

“Has talking ever worked with me, hm? I’ll give you another chance to change your reason because your body’s being more obedient than your pretty little head. Actions speak louder than words and this—” The pad of his fingers curl to hit your sweet spot, forcing a moan out. “—is the perfect example of that, my dear.” 

This isn’t fair. Filling your head with carnal depravity to stop your train of thought isn’t fair. Your needy whimpers amuse him that he’s being condescending and that fails to sound any rationality or logic, just debauchery—using sex to cope.  

Your chest heaves up and down and sweat runs down between your ribcage. Pleading to stop always entertained, as if it was a twisted fantasy he enjoyed. “Jamil!” Your voice breaks when you shout his name while your velvet walls constrict around his fingers as he helps you ride out your high. Your moan turns into a pathetic whimper, tears form at that corner of your eyes before they’re spilling down your flushed cheeks. 

“That’s a pretty sight,” Jamil praises with a mean smirk. “Look at that. You’re twitching.” You flinch when his thumb opens to inspect your pink labia and the way it pulses, clenching around nothing in desperation to be filled. 

“You’re a freak,” You spit out with a glare. 

“I should discipline that mouth of yours. Thankfully, I have the right method to put you back in your place.” You feel the tip of his cock against your entrance and your eyes widen, settling in panic when his cruelty finally dawns.

“W-wait, I’m still sensitive. I’m sorry, please—” The apology is cut short at the sudden thrust of his hips. His cock twitches in delight at the warm feeling for walls finally hugging his length with your walls. “I don’t think I can forgive you just yet, jewel. You’ll take what I give you.”

Hot water and bubbles don’t comfort you as much as his embrace does. But the bath is enough to soothe your numb muscles. A hum rumbles across his chest before he places a quick kiss on your shoulders. You smile, finding humor at his sweet demeanor after degrading you not even an hour ago. 

“Are you okay?” You start, looking up to meet his confused gaze before a pout decorates his features. “I’m fine,” He laughs out. “Just—what were you talking about with Azul earlier?”

“He was asking me if I could convince you to work for him. Do you know how insane that sounds?” The roll of your eyes forces another chuckle from his throat. “If you don’t want me to talk to him, believe me when I say I don't want to. But you have to answer my question first!” 

“Hm?” His hands gently rub your arms, indulging himself on the texture of your skin as a peaceful expression glazes over his eyes.

“Were you jealous?” Jamil flinches, the water splashing against the tub when you ask the question. Was he? That didn’t sit right. Jealousy is such a childish emotion, why would he be? “You know it’s okay if you’re jealous, right?” Your grin dusts a beautiful shade of pink on his cheeks. A sigh escapes his lips, resigning into your antics like he always had. You’re as sly as a damned fox and it’s one of the feats he found you endearing. 

“Fine, maybe I was. Do you promise not to talk to Azul anymore?”

“Promise.” 

Being needy isn’t your forte. It forces you to be dependent on someone else when you could’ve easily dealt with your problem alone. It’s something about the way you were raised—to be strikingly individualistic where you don’t have to rely on anyone else and have them manipulate you because that person knows you need them. It leads to bad endings and it leads to weaknesses. Having your guard up is much better than getting hurt because of your own carelessness. 

Especially in another world. 

In a way, caution is your own coping mechanism. It helps you manage the situation when you manage your thoughts and anxieties. But there are also moments where your attentiveness becomes paranoia, accompanied by sleepless nights and bottomless fear. You know you have to lessen the strict rules you inflicted on yourself. If you want happiness, loosening up is a necessity. 

And yet, you’ve never expected such a drastic decline in your morals. 

Firm hands settle on your waist. The natural sharp claws threaten to tear your uniform open when it digs its sharpness against the fabric to keep you in place. Ch’enya lets out a hiss when your hips attempt to run away from his cock. Your chest is pressed against the wall as your back settles into a beautiful arch. This isn’t right, both as a student and a rational human being to fuck in an alleyway of a university, tainting the grounds with inappropriate behavior.

You want to reprimand him, call him out on his nasty and perverted attitude. But his other hand is shoving his fingers down your throat.  You swear you can hear a purr of satisfaction when your lover knocks the air out of your lungs. Your cunt obscenely faps when his cock forces your walls open. 

A muffled moan of his name is enough to have him shiver, letting out an exaggerated moan as he thrusts as deeply as he can. The base of his cock swells, knotting inside you and forcing you to take every drop of his cum. His fingers leave your lips before he gives you an affectionate pat. It’s a caring gesture that shows both his love and his possessiveness. It almost feels like a threat. 

“Nyan~” The small meow is enough to irk you. You don’t know why but ever since you’ve learned more about his biology, it’s been more difficult to maneuver around his needs—like you’ve given him the key to unlock the chains that’s been holding him back. Your body continues to stay in this position, still bending forward and pressed on the wall because moving would be too painful for the both of you.

“You always look better when you’re quiet, stuck in your post-orgasmic daze,” Che’nya teases as his hand gently massages your thighs before it settles to grope the flesh of your ass. “So pretty, aren’t you?” He mewls again, the swell finally going down before he pulls out. His thumb opens you up, watching his own seed leak from your lewd pussy.  “That’s more like it.” He talks  proudly, still ignoring your red cheeks, flushed with both anger and embarrassment. 

“You’re way too needy these past few days, Che’nya.” Despite your protest, you don’t seem to mind the way he slides a small plug inside your cunt, admiring how it clenches to keep the toy and his seed inside. “Don’t you think you’re pushing it too far?”

“You better keep that inside or else I’ll be very mad if you take it out,” Che’nya says again, ignoring your words for the nth time this week. “I’ll visit you at your dorm once we’re both done with school. You wouldn’t want your boyfriend to be lonely, would you?” His tone is teasing with the intent to infuriate you further with his horny and perverted antics.

Before you could refute, he’s already gone, dispersed into the air like he never existed and leaving you to deal with the consequences alone. Your hands straighten your uniform as you whisper a string of curses, annoyed by your helplessness. Your relationship dynamic has shifted. His territorial habits became more noticeable and the more it prolongs, the more it’s getting worse. And once again, when you ask, he dodges the question. 

The cycle repeats yet again. Another set of questions, another set of answers that you have to force out from him. You’ve tried different methods, teasing him, angering him. And for some reason, he still keeps his mouth shut. You conclude that it’s something about his ego, one that he’s too embarrassed to share as it did with his physical attributes. 

You love him for his own mysteriousness but something doesn’t feel right about his constant topic avoidance and his manic behavior. It’s scary to be needed so vulgarly, scary to be held so tightly. But despite that fear, adrenaline keeps your heart pumping in excitement. It lets you stay in the relationship even if there is a disproportion of dominance. It makes it fun, absolutely thrilling. Che’nya is neither a green or red flag. He’s more of a traffic light than anything. Specifically, he’s a broken traffic light, people can’t tell when it’s going to turn into red or green, or even yellow which results in accidents and confusion.

Your weak legs lead you to the comfort room, living through the uncomfortable feeling of his cum threatening to stain your panties . In the stall, your fingers faintly feel the handle of the plug before you pull it out. The thick whiteness glosses down from your insides into the latrine stool. You can hear it drip against the water and your face scrunches in disapproval.  Goosebumps decorate your skin as you empty and clean yourself for the sake of whatever’s left of your pride.

“Che’nya that freak…” You whisper under your breath, clearly enraged by his twisted mindset to plug you up and fuck his cum inside you over and over like it was part of his fantasy routine, using you to integrate the wet dream into reality. He’s gotten obsessive over it like he’d snap at you for spilling a single drop. He’ll most likely be mad when he finds out and he’ll know once he meets with you again tonight. Will he be rough? Call you mean names? You’re not sure but he’s petty enough to do so. 

You sigh again, feeling tired for school when your lover has worn you out. Your feet drag against  the floor as you force yourself to go to class. The numbness in your femur sends an acute sting up your spine, forcing you to walk on sea legs while stumbling across the hall. The rest of the day is awful and you don’t know how else you survived it. The miniscule things would get on your nerves and being touched by other people made you defensive. You got turned on during one of the lectures, got a little too excited thinking about the repercussions of disobeying Che’nya. In turn, that made you volatile because more people were staring at you as if they knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Hey, Y/N! Woah, are you-” You stop the person talking. You don’t know who they are and you don’t care. “Tired,” is all you could muster to say as you go back into your dorm. You want to apologize but you’re not exactly in the right headspace for that and you’ll end up lashing out. Ramshackle is  still the same rundown building, evidently haunted with your ghastly friends. The blue swallows up the yellow as the sky turns to black, littered with stars. 

Your weight sinks into the mattress as you stare in awe at the surreal scenery beyond your window. Peace and quiet are so difficult to enjoy when mishaps happen left and right. Thankfully, Grim will be Riddle’s headache for the night. Who knows what the ball of fur might do with Ace and Deuce on the loose? But that’s the least of your concern tonight when your mentally unstable lover might knock on your door or just trespass like he owns the place which he often does. Deciphering his mood is the same as going through a labyrinth, all routes leading to a dead end. 

You flinch, hearing the familiar humming before you feel a pair of arms snake around your waist. He’s on the bed, floating down and defying gravity before he presses his chest against your back. It feels alarming. His actions never fully construe to their actual meaning. His kind gesture might mean he’s close to tearing your head off your neck. 

“Che’nya?” You ask in an innocent tone before the hug tightens, confirming your suspicions. 

“Yes, my kitten?”  His voice is smooth but you can see his fingers flexing its sharp nails. Is he kneading or is he reminding you of your place? You bite the insides of your cheek when you realize you can’t tell. 

“Are you angry?” 

“I’m furious, my dear.” You shiver in his gentle but firm hold and you feel his grin stretch wider against your neck. 

“Why did you go against my orders? I told you to keep inside, didn’t I?” His tail is slamming against the bed and it reminds you of a ticking bomb. “You have your own freedom, don’t you? I let you have your own time when you want to. How come you seem to ignore my needs?” His lips are cold on your nape. 

“You’ve been too randy, Che’nya. Don’t you think it’s you who’s misreading the situation for my own sake?” This seems like an argument. “What if you’ve been touching me profusely and it turns out I didn’t want to be touched. Like right now, do you think I want this?” Your voice is stern and cold but your heart is hammering against your ribcage. This is an argument. You’re having an argument.

His body immediately freezes in place, a strike of fear as the hair on his tail quirk up in fright. It takes a few seconds for him to pull away even if he didn’t want to. Your eyes curiously go up to face his expression and your breath catches in your throat. Che’nya isn’t smiling. His face is neutral, no sign of his usual playfulness even in his angered state, just a blank expression.

“Is that really how you see my affection?” Che’nya asks in a solemn tone that tugs on your heartstrings. “What do you propose then?” His smile returns and it terrifies you. “I’m sure that smart brain of yours can think of a solution.” It’s a backhanded compliment, a condescending one that makes you grit your teeth. 

“Do you want to play a game?” You shouldn’t really pander to his childishness but it’s one thing that’ll help ease the situation from escalating further. Che’nya’s kindness only reaches to an extent. 

“Nyan?” Che’nya tilts his head and you swallow in nervousness. “We’ll take a break from each other. First one to cave loses.” His menacing smile turns into a smirk, a confident leer that has you in second thoughts about the harmless bet. 

“That sounds fun,” Che’nya purrs at the idea before he stretches his arms nonchalantly. “It’ll end once one of us starts to look for the other, right? Am I following correctly?” You nod begrudgingly, not trusting the stupid amused grin on his face. “That sounds easy,” Che’nya remarks. Easy? Then why hasn’t he done it for so long? His enthusiasm feels . . . off. 

“I’ll see you when I see you!” His body blends into the air, disappearing with his unique magic. Huh. That was . . . Interesting? No. It feels way too simple and this burden on your shoulders is ominous. Perhaps you’re being anxious like you always are but you’re stupid if you think otherwise. 

It doesn’t take you long to understand his arrogance. A day had passed and you enjoyed the freedom, remembering what it’s like to feel single again. Another day had passed and you started wondering what Che’nya was up to. And third time’s the charm, you were starting to miss his touch. Today is the fourth day. And it feels like retribution for the stupid wager you set for the both of you. Some people are staring at you again before their whispers turn into a scowl as you walk past. It’s like they’ve been reading the indecency in your mind and judging every part of your being for it. 

Your body collides with another person within the school hall and you’re quick to apologize before you hear him snarl. 

“What are you doing here?” Leona scowls at you, covering his nose. “You smell different, herbivore. You’re walking yourself into the prowl,” The lion scolds you like an older sibling would.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“Your scent isn’t marked like last time. It’s still there but it’s faint. If I were you, you’d stay at home tomorrow.” Your hand instinctively reaches for his arm before he gives you a frightening glare. “Get your hands off me, herbivore and tell your lover to mark you more properly.”

You squirm against the covers as you try and force yourself to sleep. But to no avail, everything feels more difficult when you’re sexually frustrated. Your body is more sensitive at the lightest touch so receptive and needy that your thighs would press together when you remember Che’nya and how he’d always take care of your needs. You don’t want to doubt your decision by turning his advances down and setting yourself up for failure. But it’s so much different when he’s being the needy one. He’d touch you without asking, begging and mewling as his hands grope at every patch of skin. It’s one of the few times where you rob him of any sly comments because of his desperation. 

You bite the insides of your cheek when you feel your panties damp against your pussy. It’s not fair—not when he trained your body to need him in a salacious way you can’t last a week without receiving his cock. Fuck, you can’t believe your thinking like this but you miss the feeling of his cum dripping down your thighs. Your hands wander to your breast, palming it experimentally. And before long, your fingers are rubbing yourself through your underwear, panting and grinding like a bitch in heat. 

“Che’nya…” Your voice is meek, pathetic as you whine his name into the sheets. Your fingers push past the tight ring, rubbing your velvet walls but not feeling satisfied at the length of your own fingers compared to the fingers of your lover. 

“You’re really hopeless, aren’t you?” You jolt from your bed, screaming at the top of your lungs. Your hands reach for the pillow in instinct, hitting the perpetrator before you hear that familiar laugh. 

“Che’nya?!” He only meows at you before he’s caging you in place, giving you no option to escape. “You lost your own game, Y/N. You’re such a bad liar and so mean for playing hard to get.” He kisses your neck which elicits a small moan from your lips. “I w-wasn’t playing hard to get,” You retort, sighing in relief when his hands caress your sides. 

“Yeah, you were. You were such a huge tease when you told me you didn’t want this. And look at you, all soaking just for me.” He’s quick to get rid of your bottoms but your eyebrows furrow in annoyance. This freak has been cheating, watching you at night and using his unique magic. That’s why he was too nonchalant! 

“I wasn’t being a tease. I was just pushing your buttons,” You mistakenly admit which makes him stare at you in disbelief. “What for?” He asks. 

“You kept ignoring my questions! Why are you always this needy? I passed by Leona in the hallway today and he said something about scent!” His face morphs into a pale one. “O-oh…” His ears flatten, like he’s been hurt. Why does it feel like it’s your fault for being curious and asking for things? 

“Well?” Your tone is sharp but this infant has the skill to tug on your heartstrings even if you don’t want him to. “It’s . . . not really for me per say. I think it’s what you need.” His smile returns which relieves you but it still doesn’t answer your question, his lips attach themselves to your neck before his sharp nail scratches the buttons off of your top. 

“My kind is very territorial. Ever since I came inside you, my scent has been all over you. If that scent fades and you get excited, beastmen might pounce on you.” His mean grin taunts you to hit him, slap him to give him a taste of his own medicine but you can’t do that, not when his fingers feel like home inside you. “Beastmen usually prefer their affairs which have faded scents. It means they weren’t taken care of. It triggers their protective side. They think they’re the better option.” 

His words make your stomach drop. That nagging feeling, those stares at the hallway. Leona’s glare. Your head spins as you pant, back arching at his digits prodding your walls and scissoring them to stretch you open. You’re fucking slick and so out of it. Yes, you’re satisfied to hear the truth but you’re damn horrified that those stares could’ve led to you being taken in an empty hall. 

“You could’ve told me—” Che’nya just shrugs. “I didn’t want you to get scared. I know how hung up you get from overthinking. If you weren’t so drunk on your lust right now, you’d be scolding me all irrational and terrified that other people would’ve hurt you. Let me remind you that I’m always here to take care of you.  Why would I ever let an inferior animal take you away from me? I would never do that.” 

“Besides—” Che’nya shoves his fingers deeper, finding amusement at how your toes curl in pleasure. “Leona knew I was following you. They knew. That’s why they didn’t touch you. I would’ve slit their throat with my claws if they touched you, kitten. Now, sit still and take your punishment.”

You never thought flowers could look so beautiful. The city, which you temporarily consider as your home, is decorated with bushes, bouquets, banderitas — all with petals that never seem to fall to the ground due to the affluent magic from the bell located at the heart of the city. The bell tower housed you as it soon became home. It’s like walking into a fantasy world, its unrealistic beauty blinding you with the true meaning of a scenic view. The colors merge into a painting that represents the culture and the festive cheer of every citizen. It’s a breath of fresh air. 

Your world stands with tall buildings, full of capitalistic corporations with no regard for artistry and charms as sardines of people drown in the endless, meaningless nine-to-five jobs until they inevitably die. It’s a sad cycle, a pitiful one at most. You’ve dread to live such a fate. And to your surprise, it’s like a wish granted by a fairy godmother—a new world, one that you can only see in fiction, greets you and welcomes you as if you’re of their own. 

Although the difference between this world and yours is obvious, you can’t place a reason why there’s an unsettling feeling in your stomach. Perhaps it’s your own instincts warning you that not everything pretty is a blessing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You wish you could call it that way but everybody has been nothing but kind to you, accommodating your stay as if you’ve been living here for a long time. Hospitality was and is never short despite the bad reputation of tourists among the small town. 

But you should know better. 

You think it’s fear that keeps your mouth shut about all the things that happen behind closed doors. Sometimes you reckon it’s your imbecility to stand up for yourself. You’ve always been a timid person, going with the flow despite being against most of what people impose on you. You’re a walking victim, self-inflicting yourself with helplessness when you let people step all over you. 

Your feet drag across the marble floor as you pass pillar by pillar, greeted by the blue sky and its fleeting clouds. The silence that talks to you through the halls is a haunting conversation but you find it comforting in its own longing. Interiors of the Noble Bell College highly contrast the exterior surroundings of the city it was built in. It’s lonely and almost suffocating. 

“Y/N!” Your head turns to the vice president, who smiles at you brightly. “The president requests your presence.” You only nod in response, watching quietly as he goes back to his duties. 

Rollo Flamm, the esteemed student council president of the Noble Bell College. Ah yes, your dear guardian—if that’s how you should describe him. You couldn’t pinpoint his train of thought, finding his perspective peculiar and more eccentric than most. Nonetheless, you can’t deny you’ve been alive because of this man with how thoroughly he’s been taking care of you. 

You pout, finding yourself annoyed that you’re going to climb the flight of stairs yet again just to meet him. Better get it done than receiving another scolding session. His rigorous attitude is one you picked up quite early. Orders thrown here and there until he receives what he envisioned as perfection. People tolerate it because it allows project proposals to be implemented for the sake of the student body. 

The bell tower is your own prison chamber ever since you noticed that Rollo has been fixated in keeping you here as much as possible. Fears aside, you trust him with your life. You’ve seen the lengths he’s gone through to keep you out of harm’s way. There was a time you nearly fell from the aforementioned stairs and he took the impact, breaking a limb just to make sure you’re fine. You’re grateful, yes. But you’re not sure where your gratitude extends paired with your own spinelessness. He can easily abuse that. But what’s the worst he can do? You don’t seem like you’re dying anytime soon. 

“Rollo?” Your voice catches his attention. His dull eyes have often frightened you, the emptiness that normally reflects in his pupils almost glints in excitement the longer he stares at you. “You’ve taken a walk? How is the school?” Small talk with an unstable man isn’t your forte. It’s like a leaking gas waiting to be lit. “Yes,” You reply. “It’s clean and organized. It seems like you.” It’s a backhanded praise but it still makes him smile.

“Come.” Rollo pats on the bed, gesturing to you to sit beside him. ‘Calm down,’ You think as your heart speeds up, the floor creaks with each step before your weight sinks into the mattress. 

“I wanted to ask you something.” That doesn’t sound good. Plain curiosity shouldn’t feel like a knife against your throat. “What is it?” Your meek voice croaks. His hand rests on your leg and you jump before you force yourself to sit still. 

“You’re aware of what I feel for you, aren’t you?” You nod hesitantly. “Well, I was contemplating about how I show you my affections. I assume I need to be more expressive.” When his fingers curl against your knee, you immediately realize what he means. Fuck, every alarm bells is ringing across your skull . . . And yet, your leg is following the direction he sets. 

Rollo smiles at this. You’ve never been difficult to convince or discipline; you’re the perfect obedient lamb. “I knew you’d be very understanding. But I need your help in this matter. Literature could only guide me how to properly please a woman but I still need to know how you feel. You will cooperate, won’t you?” 

You don’t know what to think or do in this situation. Shouldn’t you scream? Call for help? You should push him away, gain some distance before bolding, right? Right? 

You can hear your own breathing as it harmonizes with the hammering in your chest. You nod. Why did you nod? Do you agree? That must mean you agree, right? It’s okay. It’s fine. You’re fine. 

“Good girl.” You’re a good girl. Good girls don’t die. “Should I undress?” Your voice, although shaky, suggests out of instinct. “Please, that would help.” Your hands trace the buttons on your collar before it starts to undo them. 

“This—” Rollo starts with a frown. “Isn’t really something I enjoy.” Then why do it? “But I know that for the sake of our relationship I should be more accommodating as a partner. Have you done this before?” You bite your tongue before you say something you regret and answer more properly. “I have. Does that upset you?” You ask, worried that it might cause him to get mad at you but instead, you’re met with a rather calm reaction. “How did it go?” 

You press your lips into a thin line before you sigh. “It hurt,” You say quaintly, refusing to add more details besides that. Rollo glares at you before his expression contorts into a look of concern. “I’m sorry.” His arm reaches up to pull you into a hug before you push it away. “Let’s just get this over with.” For a delusional man, he seems to respect your boundaries more than the men you’ve come across. Your relief makes your stomach churn in nervousness as you sit on the bed, completely bare in front of him. 

Rollo studies you. He doesn’t objectify you but looks at you as a painter to his muse, a doctor to a model of anatomy. Should you be glad? His hand reaches up to touch you and you flinch—only to feel his fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Where do I start?” He asks, in a tone you could almost describe as innocent. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t like. I don’t want it to hurt.”  

Due to the unexpected turn of events, you feel bashful. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks pink. Your hand clasps around his wrist leading him to palm your breast and he follows you. His hand kneads the round flesh, paying attention to your face and nonverbal cues. You spread your legs so he’s sitting between them, giving him more access to your body

“Does this feel nice to you?” His fingers tweak your nipple, tugging the areola which causes a small needy whine. “Mhm-hmm, it does. How far do you want to go exactly?” Rollo thinks for a moment before he decides. His free hand gently cups your cunt, the butt of his wrist faintly touching your clit. “I just want to touch you intimately...” You have to bite back a moan this time. 

Why does it feel like you’re the one using him for pleasure? Why does it seem like you’re the assailant? Are you seriously getting off on this man’s lack of experience? No, that’s just— Your walls clench involuntarily. 

“That’s it? You won’t put your cock inside me?” Disappointment and confusion lace your tone while Rollo scowls at the vulgarity. “No, I won’t and please refrain from using such words. You’re still a lady, Y/N. It’s unbecoming,” says the man palming your tits. You’d dare say his prudishness is cute. 

“Lean closer. The distance is awkward and you need to be closer to hold me. I like feeling held.” Are you seriously teaching him how to satisfy you? His genuine eagerness is laughable compared to what he’s capable of. This man could burn you into a corpse and you’re here trying to teach him the basics of sex. 

“But this isn’t—” 

“You have to stimulate the body before it’s ready. You’ll feel my insides get slick.” You lead his free hand, showing his fingers to touch your slit. “The more wet it is, the more I like it. If it’s dry then you’re not doing your job properly.” He seems to take your words to heart and closes your proximity by leaning closer. His lips ghost your neck as if he’s having second thoughts. “Do it. I like being kissed there too. You have to pay attention to my body if it reacts positively or negatively.”

Rollo hums, looking at your glistening cunt. He feels himself get bolder, inserting his fingers experimentally before he starts at how your chest heaves, rising up and down. “So I’ve read. It feels like you’re melting my fingers.” Your walls clench around his digits which merits a proud smile. “You’re quite needy, Y/N.” His lips plant kisses across your shoulders, following your instructions to heart.

“Tongue, mhm—shit,” You whisper under your breath. “Use your teeth and tongue before sucking the skin, it’ll turn into a small purple mark. It’s what people call a kiss mark.” His teeth grace your skin like a puppet being led by a string of words. “You want me to mark you?” He asks in an amused tone. “That sounds nice. But please don’t curse. I should discipline that mouth of yours for being so unrefined.” 

Your hips buck into the rhythm of his hand. It shouldn’t feel this good. Hah—it’s driving you insane how this man treats you with care, making sure you feel good at every angle. You never thought you’d feel like this in another person’s touch, not after your first time has been carelessly taken. 

“M-mouth.” You have to bite your lips to stop the drunk-like smile on your face. “If you don’t want to have sex, you should make me  finish with your mouth. I haven’t—” You struggle to find the right words before he smiles. “He hasn’t made you feel good, has he?” That damned smile of his shouldn’t be kind. It twists your own perception of what kindness means. 

“I think I’ve read this before,” Rollo mentions as he halts his movements before he curls his fingers, drawing out a loud, needy whine. You sound so cute, squirming and patiently cooperating with him. His hand withdraws from your sopping hole, only to be replaced by his tongue licking a stripe of your arousal. 

Your hand clutches the sheets as your jaw slacks to let out more indecent moans, legs against the side of his face keeping him in place as he laps the juices off of your cunt. You’ve never been eaten out—that is what you wanted to say. Your previous lover was selfish, never took care of your needs. This is bad, if it feels this good every single time, you’re going to lose your mind. 

“This is your clit, right?” Your body jolts when his thumb presses firmly against the sensitive nub, rubbing in slow circular motions. His tongue inserts itself, assaulting your velvet walls and intruding your insides as if it belonged there. You moan a series of his name, the build-up of your orgasm snaps as you squirt into his mouth. Your toes curl as you whine against the bed. 

Your legs feel numb as you try to catch your breath. Rollo only cleans his fingers with his tongue, licking his fingers before he licks the excess of your juices off his lips. You’re almost amused if it wasn’t for the growing bulge that’s straining his pants. “Hey, You want to learn, right?” Rollo tilts his head, clearly not following. “If you want, I can return the favor.”

The door decorated with gold locks from the outside never grace your eyes as it keeps you hidden from the outside world. You don’t know how long it’s been, it could be weeks, months, hell— it could even be a year since you’ve felt the sun on your skin. Home is a word that’s been ruined. The concept of belonging and feeling safe no longer resonates the same way it once did. Perhaps that’s for the better for your own mind. Missing the outside world slowly spun into a web of lies which made you fear it.  

Jamil tends to your needs; food, water, house, and even your clothes. Everything is so specific that it reminds you how much of a control freak he really is, one step and everything would fall apart. It took you a while to realize how important it is for him, how he needs to manage every miniscule detail.

A sigh escapes your lips as you wander within the four corners of your room, a place you’ve been trained to be accustomed to apart from the connected bathroom. Your eyes land on your own reflection and you can’t help but study yourself. Your nightgown is so thin you can see every detail of your body in the mirror, neck covered in bites—some are fresh ones that were given to you the day prior. You didn’t wear underwear, at least not after the start of your confinement. He says it makes it easier to have access to your body. 

Your eyes have more bags from all the sleepless nights and the sleep deprivation shows from how stressed you look. You’re a mess, and that much is obvious. What you can’t comprehend is Jamil’s incessant attraction to your chaotic image. You look like you’re a day away from your grave, a hopeless case without any worth or value to society. If you died, no one would bat an eye . . .  No one except Jamil. 

You remember how your suicidal tendencies grew in terms of escaping your fate. But you also remember the distraught and damage you gave him in those moments. His smug eyes were uncharacteristically filled with tears as his sly grin was replaced with a frown. That annoying and condescending laugh didn’t echo in your head when his pained cries bounced in your skull. It didn’t help when he was the one tending to all the cuts on your wrists. It didn’t help when he was cleaning your tub with bleach to get rid of all the blood that could stain. 

Marks—that he could never glaze on your body—were the ones that you scarred on yourself. It’s messed up, both the situation and relationship. Fathoming the consequences and the lines of dominos that had tumbled to have you in such a situation  is nearly impossible. Obsession is more toxic, unhealthy. But it doesn’t seem that way. Is this what obsession seems like? Why does it feel different? It seems more . . . pitiful as if that helplessness is a burden that you share with him. 

You hear the locks crack and clank before the door creaks eerily. In the mirror, your eyes meet Jamil’s before he smiles at you. It’s a genuine smile, a happy one to see that you’re still here imprisoned indefinitely. Jamil closes the proximity before his hands snake around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulders. His lips ghost faint across your neck and shoulders as he hums in satisfaction.

“Did you miss me?” It’s an odd question, one that you’ve refused to answer again and again. Because despite your nonchalantly behavior, you’re unsettled with your own compliance. It illustrates how successful he is at molding you to his liking, a personal pet that he could keep at all times. Your calmness is what terrifies you the most. 

“Sit on the bed for me, love.” You heed his request, forgoing another argument for your disobedience. Your weight sinks into the duvet as his rough hands spread your legs open. It no longer bothers you how he treats you like a housewife to go home to after a long day at work. ‘Shit,’ you think to yourself when you feel your cunt pulse at the idea. Is that what you are? A hole to put his seed in when he feels like it? 

His tongue lays flat against your clit and you don’t suppress your whine, letting your voice come out to play as Jamil starts to prep you with his tongue. Your hand sits on top of his head, encouraging him to go further as your legs rests on his shoulders. 

You feel like a common whore, panting and blushing profusely because you’re being tongue-fucked by the same man who would chain you up and keeping you as a breeding doll. Your juices slide down on the mattress staining the sheets as your hips begin to grind against his tongue while your hand is practically pushing down on his head to keep going. 

Jamil smiles in amusement when he sees the lustful gaze in your eyes, the slut he trained your body into to accommodate his perverted fantasies. His cock is straining his pants; he’s so turned on that it borders on painful as he listens to your moans, tasting your slick and slurping the damned sinfulness of your cunt. 

“I missed you,” You whimper softly, a voice so meek that it makes him groan as he sucks on your poor sensitive clit. Jamil withdraws between your legs as he smirks. “You did?” Two fingers dive into your wet folds, curling at the right spot to abuse your g-spot and make your eyesight go white. “Did you miss this?” The question receives a nod and an increased pace of his fingers, scissoring you to see how your pink walls stretch inside. From a virgin pussy to cunt molded to his shape—how cute. You’re so fucking wet and to think this is the same woman who bled on his cock, struggling to take the girth of his length. 

“Tell me how much you miss me and I might let you cum.”

An ocean, just like land, has its own civilization. Its society is a systematic cluster of different species. In comparison to human beings, their laws are a bit more lenient, leaning towards a brutal justice system based on power and wealth. An extreme case of politics, if you will.  And as clear as water can be, so is the darkness of the deep blue sea. 

Merpeople hunted each other, be it for food or fun. The weak exist to serve the strong. 

But in retrospect, improvements have enabled extremist habits to lessen. Merpeople who left the sea learned about the ways of human beings, how different their policies are. Inevitably, when they return home, the same knowledge becomes engraved into their world as if it was mimicking or trying to recreate a safe haven that never existed.

If the current state continues to change, it’ll reverse the abnormality that the populace has adapted. 

At least, that’s how you hope it would come to.

There are still many who revert to the same barbaric ways—murder, crimes, name them.  Morality fails to serve itself as a boundary for traditionalists. However, the number of old merpeople is still greater than the children that rebel against the toxic and deadly reality within the vast ocean. Moreover, there’s an increase of deaths, activists who tried to go against the old beliefs of the dog eat dog era.  

Younger generations are often seen as delusional, grasping to a utopia that the opposition continues to indoctrinate to the minorities. 

It’s sickening, practically disgusting. 

And you’re forced to watch.

Your eyes have seen it all. You couldn’t bear to deal with this. The constant agony of your subjects being overturned by cruel customs that should’ve been long forgotten is strenuous. Each day another report to the palace gets sent—a child of fifteen, another of seventeen. Adolescents nor far from your own age die before they get the chance to blossom into the years of adulthood.

They didn’t do anything wrong. They just wanted to live. Why is living considered a sin? You couldn’t answer that when they banned you from answering so. Your tail flickers against the tides, the bubbles rippling throughout the current like footprints left on sand. 

Tedious as it is, your rounds around the capital go unnoticed by the citizens. Their watchful gaze seems both angry and grateful for your common misadventure. Some love you, indebted for standing up for their unfortunate souls. But some would kill you if you weren’t of royal descent. 

Your blue blood is the reason you’re still alive. 

Frustration craves the vein on your forehead as insults swear at your direction. Harmless whispers as they seem, those threats are more than real. In some of your nightmares, the capital seized your bloodline and your head was pierced by a pitchfork. Your heads acted as trophies for a successful coup d'etat. 

Even as you reach the palace, your own guards show their own disdain for you. They glare as you pass by, thinking of different ways they can ruin daddy’s spoiled little princess. 

In every detail carved along the vast pillars and its white pristine glory, the royal family itself taints the damned silver that envelopes the room. A permanent smudge on a plate that you can’t erase no matter how hard you scrub it off. 

“You went to the capital again?” Your father’s own voice makes you flinch in play. “I wanted to see if there were more victims,” you reply, thanking your voice for not wavering despite your fears. 

“How many times have I told you not to wander on your own?” His voice thunders throughout the palace like a rippling tsunami that can swallow an entire town. 

“And how many times will you listen to my pleas?! They’re people, father. Real people and some of them are dying because of traditionalists who refuse to leave their beliefs in the past!” Blood is shed, tainting the waters red. Idling until another massacre occurs is not something you can allow yourself to have. 

“You can’t expect change to happen overnight, Y/N. You’re naive to think if I don’t want the same future you’re thinking of.” 

“Then let me! Let me speak to the Witch of the Sea. He can help, father.” The words leave your lips before you can think of the consequences.

“You’re imbecile then!” The insult pierces through your skin, a knife carving out your fragile heart. “Life isn’t as easy as you think it is. And for you to seek that criminal, that insolent bastard who ruined the lives of many. That’s just preposterous!”

“But we don’t know that! We don’t know if those r-rumors are true! What if he’s innocent like the r-rest of the extrajudicial killings?” Your voice is meek, a stuttering mess that doesn’t help your case.

His eyes widen at your accusation. Spewing such a thing means compromising the royal family. The court ruled his banishment as official when there are accounts, paper trails that snuffed out his deeds. You dare question your own flesh? Question the royal court overseen by the king himself? 

Your father looks at you in disdain before he turns away. “If you ever think of finding that man—or even think of going into his vicinity—you will no longer be my daughter and you will no longer be welcome to hold your place here as a princess.” His tone is as cold as winter. 

Cursed by your own blood to be burdened by the sufferings of other people. You can hear the whispers of your own siblings, ostracizing you for your defiance and criticizing you for talking back to your father. The same treatment you received from the watchful eyes in town is the same embrace your family gives in a place that’s supposed to be your home. 

You know you’re right. Your values and everything else you’re fighting for are crucial to the well-being of others. If anything, you refuse to have yourself in check because they fail to serve the people as acting leaders of the monarchy.

Trying to get away from house arrest is easy when you’ve done it before. Out of everyone in the imperial residence, you’re sure you’re the only one who memorized its entire layout—its in’s and out’s and the secret doors that connect to the next chamber. Every labyrinth is memorized for your own sake. 

You’re willing to sacrifice everything on the line. Even if it means losing your title as a princess and losing your right to the throne. It never really matters much when your siblings are already quarreling amongst each other, waiting for the perfect moment to slit each other’s throat like animals. 

You know where to go but the gnawing void that threatens to devour you gently places its hands in front of your eyes. Anxiety bottles up with you as its vessel and despite that, you’re leaving your home, the place you grew up in—finally, finally vomiting the silver spoon shoved into your throat since the day you were born.

You’re scared. But so are others. 

Fake pleasantries and pandering facades curated like a well-put show, the preys as its  audience. Plastic pollutes the damned ocean and you want to get rid of it. 

It’s a treacherous route because the influx of the waters is violent. And aside from the course of nature adding to your inhibitions, old sharks—mersharks, have tried to grab you. If it weren’t for your biology to swim fast, they would’ve sunk their teeth into your tail, desecrating your body as they pleased. 

By the time you reach your so-called destination, your body is decorated with cuts and bruises. You’re a mess—a complete lost and hopeless orphan that stumbles on a house made with candy. 

The cave is somewhat isolated as two mereels swim around the vicinity but not attacking or harming you. Their mismatched eyes stare in amusement and their laughs like lullabies that’ll keep a person asleep forever. Sharp teeth greet you at the entrance and you realize that the entire structure is a dead sea creature, housing its inhabitants with the skeleton it formerly wore. 

Your throat, hoarse and sore, weakly groans out a name: Azul. A friend, an ally that you know you can trust after all the things you’ve been through together as children. Azul Ashengrotto, you repeat again. 

Your eyes droop as your tail fails to keep you afloat. The sand scatters when you collapse, gravity taking place to hold your body as it falls gracefully onto the seabed. No one dares to come near your exhausted form, not even the two mereels guarding the area. 

‘I’m going to die,’ you think. It’s your ambitions that got you to this place but you fear that it’s also the reason why you pushed yourself to your limits. Mentally and emotionally, you’re fine—still determined as ever. But physically, your body is too worn out from trying to escape from those who nearly killed you. 

Faintly, you feel your limbs entangle against something before your consciousness fully fades. 

Solidarity and companionship are two sides of the same coin. They mean the same but it’s quite different how they affect a relationship. A friend is someone you go to when you’re in need—that is companionship. When someone shares and enables your ideals, that is called solidarity. Because even if your values are wicked or unhealthy, they exist to add more fuel to the fire. 

The crippling self-hatred that blossoms into his skull, disabling him from self-doubt and depression. At that young age, the hierarchy affected him too much. Discrimination that stemmed from the past haunts his inner child and himself to this day. It allowed his current self to be distorted and selfish—a coping mechanism that shouldn’t have found its way to his day-to-day life. 

Azul found companionship in you when you were both younger. He’s more than grateful for what you’ve done for him, trying to save someone unsaveable. Drowning people should be left to drown if you cannot swim. By the time he took your hand, the laws of ethics had already left his veins. You weren’t supposed to know, and you didn’t. Until the day of his banishment, you truly believed his innocence. Oh, but how wrong you were. 

Your tears almost made him feel bad for the things he’s done. Families ruined because of gambling addictions, daughters who died from extreme old age, and sons who committed suicide for ruining their reputation. But the riches and the joy of feeding his revenge-starved pride was much more delicious to have. 

However, he did miss you and still misses you. Azul couldn’t go to you like he wanted, visit you like he once did when you were still close friends. How sad, really. To his surprise, you’re the one who came to seek him in all your fragile and pathetic glory. He hadn’t expected you to be so bold and daring, to swim across the perilous ocean to meet him. 

‘Why?’ He asks himself. Why would you go through all of that just to meet him? Although it entertains him that you’re desperate enough to look for him, the question stands and pokes at his curiosity. Oh, you’re just so cute in your own silly little world. How could he ever hate such a dainty damsel in distress? 

His limbs gently hold you by your neck, your waist, and your legs as he leads you inside his abode. It’s dark, devoid of any brightness the sun might reach despite depths of the waters. His eyes meet the eyes of the mereels swimming about like large pythons that can break someone’s body in half. Even Azul feels distaste at their teasing glare. 

‘You’re quite the softie, huh?’ He can hear them say without exchanging words from either of them. “She’s a dear friend,” Azul explains but the pair don’t pander to his own excuses, to his lies—not when they’ve been in solidarity for so long. If anything, the girl in his arms seems like dinner on a platter. “Is she your mate?” The more eloquent one asks and Azul only looks at him in disdain. “That’s none of your concern, now is it?” 

Azul walks deeper into his space and surely enough, he can hear two snickering fools amused by his attempt to mislead them. 

“Don’t move too much,” You hear a deep voice reprimand. Your head is pounding with a headache but the voice somehow soothes your pain. Your eyes are still shut but even the stranger knows that you're rousing back to consciousness. It hurts, every part of your body feels paralyzed and you can feel the aftermath of all those struggles. You’re seated in a makeshift bed made from the remains of a gigantic seashell, its endoskeleton acting as the bed frame. 

The bruises and the cuts are all being treated and yet your mind is still traumatized from the prior events—your father disowning you, facing death in the middle of the sea where no one will find your dead body… You’re just glad that you managed to find the Witch of the Sea, the one friend you trusted with your life. You want to cry; you are crying. Tears spill down your cheeks, from both the mental stress and physical toll vanish into a sob of relief. Every drop blends into the millions of water of the sea.

“Why have you come to see me?” Azul raises an eyebrow as he half-hazardly pours a cup of who knows what into the cauldron. The purple glow of magic flutters before it settles back into place. His tone is distant, almost cold as if he’s angry or disappointed in you. “I assume what type of reputation I have. Only a land-dweller wouldn’t know, Y/N. Your father wouldn’t be happy if he found out you were here.” 

“I know that those rulings were rigged. I don’t think you could do anything they’ve mentioned. The Ash— no. The Azul Ashengrotto I know would never do that.” You never doubted your judgment and you’re still the same after all those years wasted. Your hands gently wipe your tears to compose yourself. 

“Is that so? You seem so sure of that.” The octomer has a slight smirk on his face. “You’re too kind, Y/N.” A little too much it seems. “I’m glad that you believe in me though. It’s nice to know someone dear believes in my innocence.” He shouldn’t be mean and he knows he’s pushing it too far by keeping himself entertained listening to how you falsely praise him. 

“But that doesn’t really answer my question, Y/N.” Azul lefts the cauldron in peace as his tentacles wriggle against the rough surface of the seabed, his form slowly creeping towards you. “Why did you come to see me, hm? Do you seek help from the Witch of the Sea?” 

His knowing tone churns your stomach as if you ate too many sweets so you’re paying the price for it. “Yes, that’s exactly why. I wanted to see for so long but father forbade me to do anything but be a sheltered princess but I have to change that. I have to. People are dying, Azul. I can’t sit idly knowing there’s another head on the chopping block after each sundown when darkness visits the entire ocean. Moreover, if you help me, I can easily clear your name. You don’t have to hide here anymore. We can help each other.”

The longer he stares the more it becomes difficult to breathe. Twisted pervertness settles in his own instinct, and it’s almost cruel; it is cruel. Kindness should be reciprocated with kindness. And yet, here he is… Fantasizing about the most deplorable things he can do to you. It’s not like you can blame him. You brought yourself in a place where no one can find, no one can save you from him. It’s like the heavens intended for this to happen. 

It’s also quite the miracle that you survived. Predators who live at the outskirts of the kingdom are vengeful towards anyone who stumbles upon their areas. But you’re here, in full piece as if nothing happened. And you’re still the delusional little thing he knows you are. 

You’re like a blessing, an oasis for a thirsty man in the desert. Perhaps, the twins are right. Maybe you are his destined mate. It’s easy to entangle all his limbs around you, watching you struggle against his vice grip. He can hunt you too, make you run despite your worn-out body, tripping all over as you desperately reach for the freedom you gave up on the moment you settled in his territory. 

Azul can easily break you without difficulty.  But he isn’t an animal, no. He isn’t like the people whose lives he jeopardized. Azul would hate himself if he ever hurt you. You’ve been nothing but accommodating, making it easier for him to have you and stop him from wasting his time going through all the fuss at the imperial palace. 

Azul smiles as his limb hands you a small vial. “Drink,” He says it like it's a command but you don’t take it as soon as he expected that you would. “It’ll help with your ailments. We wouldn’t want you in such a state for any longer, no?” The octomer watches your small hands take vial but you only hold it close to your chest. “Are you not going to drink it?” His watchful eyes curiously fixate on the enclosed glass. His pupils narrow when you don’t answer. Huh, that’s a sudden change. 

Azul can’t tell if he likes this development or not but he does enjoy a little bit of fun here and there. You need to drink that vial if he needs you to sign anything anytime soon. Getting you to sign something if you’re coherent would be impossible therefore he can’t enslave you with his little magic trick.

“You trust me—don’t you, Y/N?” Azul tilts his head, trying to seem like a hurt innocent puppy. “Or do you see me as guilty as your entire family does?” That’s a horrible thing to say and yet, your hesitation encourages the guilt to render you helpless. Your frown deepens as you stare at the bottle in your hands. 

“I wouldn’t dare to hurt you, Y/N. Think about it. If I wanted to hurt you. I could’ve easily done that while you were unconscious.” His words, although reassuring, leave an unsettling feeling and you can’t quite understand why. But, your faith in him overtakes the qualms in your head. You don’t want to seem like a brat incapable of accepting help because of the prejudice drilled into your head. You pull up the cork and place the lip of the glass against yours, downing the potion with ease. 

Like Azul said—the red, black, and blue’s on your skin disappear as if they were never there to begin with. You were wrong to doubt him and he proved that by telling the truth. Your body feels lighter now that it’s healed and you no longer feel the pain throughout. As you’re trying to grapple yourself back to your prior conversation, your vision spins—turning against each other until it all melts into one big blur. Nauseous, is that what they call it? You’re not sure, not anymore at least.

“A-Azul, I think I feel a bit d-dizzy.” Your words are an understatement considering the actual impacts of the potion. You couldn’t see the sadistic intent in his eyes nor can you see his limbs, slowly but surely crawling towards your tail. “Oh, no need to fret. That’s just a minor side effect. You’ll just need to rest a bit before it fully subsides,” The octomer lies to ease your worries even for just a bit. A few more steps is what’s needed anyways so he can’t help but prance around, toying with your bleeding heart just a bit more. 

“Do you still want to continue our conversation or do you need a moment?” 

“No,” You exclaim as quickly as he thought you would.

“Please let’s have our conversation. I can’t afford to waste more t-time when every minute, every second, there’s another life lost.” You hear him hum in contemplation and you perk up towards him. You’re like a deer being hunted in the woods, stopping at the stick being snapped to check who’s following you until the bullet pierces your chest. 

“How do you want this to go again?” Azul feigns, playing off his stupidity as he listens to you slur over your words like a drunk pirate. 

“I want you to help me. You’re well-versed in contract, aren’t you, Azul?” Well-versed isn’t enough to describe his excellence in his crafts but nonetheless, he entertains you. “You want me to draft a contract for you?” Your hand gently cradles your temple, massaging it to relieve some of the fog of your woozy consciousness. 

“I suppose that’ll be efficient. Let me have a few minutes.” No one could outline a paper that fast, not for a few minutes unless the document was made beforehand. When he’s done, your absentmindedness won’t realize You couldn't see the contract he’s holding in his hands. Heck, you couldn’t even read a single letter. Your eyes squint to make sense of anything but your vision fails you even at this moment. 

“You don’t have to read it, dear. You trust me, don’t you?” His voice is smooth, deep—like a purr. Each time you have your doubts about your childhood friend the more nausea worsens. “Here.” Azul places the quill on your dominant hand. “Aaand—sign here.” The purple color of his skin leads you to the underline. It barely dawns on you when the ballpoint rolls against the parchment, drawing your name and signature and permanently binding yourself to the man you once called a friend.

You can’t recall what happened after that but the vertigo within your skull disappeared as soon as it came. Well, Snow White didn’t know she bit the poison apple not until after she lost consciousness. 

Your eyesight is dim but you’re perfectly rational. You can feel everything and you’re aware, perhaps moreso, of your surroundings. Sensitivity has spiked along the seams of your anatomy. A simple brush of air almost feels like an arm brushing against you when you pass by someone through a crowd. Overwhelming is an understatement when the surface of the shell seems like it’s alive, its mouth threatening to close. 

“A-Azul,” You whimper his name in instinct when you feel like raptorial vines are outright tugging you deeper into a trench, the seaweeds wrapped and accepting you into the long lines of algae and absorbing you within the plants. 

But that’s not really what’s happening. All eight legs envelope around your body from your wrists down to your fins. Your hair flows within the current as the tentacles reposition around your body in a more accommodating position. It manhandles you expertly as if it owned you. It takes off your brassieres as it helps itself groping obscenely as much as it could. 

You’re forced to stay there in place. Your eyes, blurry from the tearful agony, makes out Azul’s face. Your heart drops as your tail flips against his limb. Why is he doing this? Aren’t you friends? Inquiry after inquiry confuses your sense of judgment, still refusing to believe that this is the same person in front of you—that your confidante of all the things you’ve been through and the heartfelt dreams you shared, is the same person violating you for his own pleasure. 

You still can’t believe it as if denial is the only thing that can ease the betrayal he has done. Your lips open to scream but another tentacle takes hold of it, forcing itself down your throat. Your jaw aches from the thickness and you swear it’s close to dislocating it. The tip knots itself around your tongue, tugging and pulling simultaneously as the rest of its clones. 

“Hm. I don’t think you understand how long I’ve been wanting to do this.” As if to prove his point, his hands travel from your stomach before it goes lower and forces your slit open. His mauve pupils fixate on the pink sensitive flesh. “I apologize if you’re distraught but…” Azul inserts a finger inside which causes you to struggle more. It’s not supposed to feel good—what’s shared behind close marital doors is being forced upon you by a traitorous fiend. 

Azul didn't expect you to look so delicious. You’re a prey—a meal served on a silver platter that he can just take. He hasn’t realized until now how much he craved to see the sight. It’s been so long since he has felt this rush—the same adrenaline he earns from the fear of his clients when they finally realize that they played a losing game and bet their lives on the line, only to lose it. 

His kind is generally known as lonesome, choosing to go alone and live with themselves. Octomers are part of the radical faction, choosing to cannibalize on their own kind. In fact, male octomers that are brave enough to seek a mate of the same kind end up getting killed by their own wives. It’s considered lucky if they die from the mental illness. Hence, his own biological father died at the hands of the woman who gave birth to him. His own eyes lost their innocence from the moment he saw his father take his last breath. 

His tendrils entangle themselves across your body. It’s almost painful when the plump section of coils around your sensitive tail, forcing you still against the sediment ground. Azul can feel your sobs vibrate across the sensitive area of his appendage. Your cries mix onto the water as he easily binds you with his body. Ah, that’s it. That expression of fear in your eyes—isn’t it divine? 

Azul recounts his memories. His father was already weak back then, killing himself both mentally and physically because of his emotional turmoil as a mate. Ink scattered everywhere, the biology of his own father simmered down to instinct as he fell prey to the woman he was willing to die for. His mother had sunken her teeth into his neck, tearing the flesh off of his body. The light in his eyes drained as did his blood when his wife decided to use him as her meal.  

Suctions decorate your body as the ends of his limbs harshly tugs your areolas, stimulating your nipples as the sections of the elongated extremity wrap around the roundness of your chest. Azul adds another finger and thoroughly studies the stickiness of your soft walls as the heat feels like it’s melting his fingers. 

Though he’s a patient man, his own instincts are flaring out of control. The pink dust on your cheeks and your lulled out tongue, fucked silly beyond any comprehension sends a shiver down his spine. He knows he shouldn’t be doing it, he knows it’s not right. Oh but why does it feel so good to abuse your body like this? The more you struggle against his binds, the more it excites him how he can fill you up with his seed. 

Not once has he understood why his mother did that. Not until she remarried. His mother came from a poor household, rich in rabidness that made it seem like they’re uncivilized animals heavily influenced by the clear-cut food chain that existed within the underwater ecosystems. 

‘If he’s just dying, we can make use of his body before it rots, right?’

Since then the octomer made no fuss about having a family. His nature meant for a disastrous fate, one that he can never escape from. Azul has once assumed that perhaps preys would be a better match, a much better alternative. They’d be easier to subdue. Taming a prey simply just by threatening their life is so much easier than having to deal with the consequences of inbreeding. 

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.” The backhanded compliment causes your eyebrows to furrow. “Ahh, don’t glare at me for loving you so much. It’s not my fault that you look so delectable right now. I can’t easily sink my teeth into your tail and rip your scales apart.“ Your eyes widen before he settles your fear by pushing his fingers deeper. A mischievous glint covers his eyes robbing you of any familiarity of who the man is. Your body isn’t yours anymore.

And how heavenly it feels to be fucking right. The palace—no, the entire capital is infested with lesser beings pretending like they’re above others. Crustaceans and other massive beings across the ocean and easily wipe the entire city if they wanted to. You save your people? People? You can even save yourself from him. You can’t do anything on your own. That’s your place as beings at the bottom of the food chain. 

“Don’t fret too much, darling. I wouldn’t dare to do that even if I wanted to.  Say, are you a virgin? I sure hope so. I might kill the man who touched such a treasure like you. You’re too precious for another man to have a taste on. I wouldn’t hurt you but that’s not to say I wouldn’t hurt the other people around you.” Azul slowly withdraws his fingers, staring at his digits coated with your juices.  “Besides, I’m confident enough to say I know how to treat a fine lady as yourself. Look at you, all slick and warmed up. I suppose you’ll be ready to take me, yes?”

His words don't register in your head, only the feeling of his tentacles and their suctions is being processed by your mind. The tendril in your mouth leaves and lets your mouth have a break and your gills finally absorb the oxygen for your needy lungs. “A-ash,” the recognizable nickname somewhat catches his attention and he listens intently on what you want to say. “Please don’t do this,” Your guttural voice whimpers. “Ash, please—” 

His eyes widen before a vicious smile overtakes his handsome, devil-like features. “Oh dear,” Azul whispers to himself. “I think I like seeing you beg, Y/N.” One tentacle swims around your tail but unlike its twins—sections that gradually grow thinner until the tip—the end is more rounded, jelly-like in texture instead of suckers surrounding like the others. 

“You’re mine the moment you set foot into my place, Y/N. I should thank you for doing my work yourself. But I’m not that cold-hearted.” His lips press a kiss on your neck as his hand gently holds your hip amidst the vice grip of his other limbs. The bulbous tip gradually sinks into your slit, intruding and penetrating your insides without a single regard. Blood blends into the ocean waters before it easily slithers against your cervix. 

“I’ll do as you wish and save your pitiful kingdom,” Azul moans against your ear, his tongue sliding against your neck. “In exchange for being my little mate.” The movement gradually increases. Sound travels more when in water and yet you can hear how your cunt is being fucked into submission, how it’s being molded to his shape. 

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? To save those wretched people in your kingdom. You can have that as long as you say yes to me, Y/N.” His words remind you of the legends parents tell their children. Sirens, their voices so sweet and tempting that you end up following it to your death. His tune sounds like a dream, one that you’ve been searching for your entire life. The pain in your abdomen dissolves into pleasure as he plunges his limb. 

It’s what you want, right? You shouldn’t say no. It feels good to be mated. It feels nice to have your hole used and stretched. It’s just killing two birds with one stone after all. Your mouth audibly swallows as your tail no longer resists against the binds. Instead, your body eagerly reacts for more as becoming more greedy for the carnal bliss that he can give you. 

“Mhmm, you’ll save t-them?” Your mouth hangs and your eyes reflect lust that would make Lilith herself feel hot and bothered. “You promise?” Even at your most deplorable state, that empathetic innocence of yours is such a tempting fruit that he wants to steal and keep for himself. That’s exactly what he’s doing. 

“I promise,” Azul manages to groan out. You only nod in response as your whines grow louder in pitch. “I’ll be your mate—” You say in your own delirious state of mind, unable to tell what’s wrong and right when you’re being drugged by your own libido. That’s how it is with weak species. Your kind is made to breed, fuck and copulate as much as possible so they can preserve their kind. 

“Is that so?” His eyebrow raises in amusement when you fall back into the line of instinct, your brain turning on natural inclination to cope with the psychological stress. “You promise to be my mate? You’ll take my seed then like a good girl?” He receives another nod as you give him a drunk smile. Saliva running down your chin as you juices coat the tentacle. Your slit clenches around him at the idea of being knocked up and impregnated but you definitely seem to love the idea.

At hours end, Azul greedily takes you then and there, claiming you inside out. Your insides wrap around his tendril tightly, giving him no time to breathe as your walls milk him into completion. The octomer is absolutely spent as his breathing grows heavy alongside yours because of the impact of your orgasms.

His eyes flicker to his shelf, the soft glow of the shell necklace you gave him reminds of his own conscience. You’re so bright, like a star from the heavens he can’t reach without his wings melting off to soar towards the sun. Azul has been getting miserable thinking about how much he wanted to hold you close. As days passed, the remainder of his sanity faded bit by bit. A part of him genuinely feels the guilt of lying to you and using you for his own benefit. He almost, almost apologized until his gaze returned back to you.

Your entire body is decorated with suction marks, the colors ranging from pink, red, and purple depending on which section of the tentacle wrapped around your body. Your slit is overflowing with semen and the expression you have… 

Your body feels like jelly and any coherency that you should have are all addled by your unresponsive brain. Your insides are pulsing and your tail has long forgotten its own will to fight against Azul. Oh dear heavens, you should feel shame. But no—instead you’re presenting yourself, asking to be mated and bred. It’s lamentable how your former self would’ve cried because her family is right, that she should’ve taken in the red flags and the gut feeling she felt. 

But instead, she no longer exists. You, who onced dreamed of a higher life, is reborn to be debauched. You feel your own scales flare, fins flipping against the bed as you spread your slit open. He successfully turned you into his cross-eyed little fucktoy and your sex-induced mind can barely think of anything but the next round, hoping and praying that he’ll give you more. 

How can they say that the Witch of the Sea is a bad person? He helped you! And he’s more than willing to take a lowly princess as his mate! That makes him a good person… right?

“More—hah, I need more, Ash~” Your body twists against the bed as you present yourself like a common whore, begging to be filled and used like a toy. 

“You’re hopeless, Y/N.” Azul chuckles deeply as his own body gravitates towards you. His limbs entangle across your torso before he gives you a long passionate kiss, shoving his tongue down your throat before his tendril fucks his cum back inside your sensitive little hole.