𝐫𝐢𝐚

If you had cried, perhaps I would have believed you were hurting as much as I was.

Instead, you smiled.

And now that smile follows me everywhere.

Do you know what frightens me the most?

It is not that I could not save you. It is that there was nothing to save you from.

You were meant to go home.

Everyone celebrated because you were finally returning to the life that had been stolen from you.

They were right to celebrate.

So why did it feel as though I was the only one attending a funeral?

I have spent my entire life believing that strength meant protecting the people I cared for.

Yet the person I loved most walked beyond my reach…

And all I could do was watch.

There was no spell to cast.

No dragon’s fire to clear the way.

No enemy to defeat.

No bargain to make.

Only a mirror.

Only goodbye.

What a pathetic thing to lose against.

I have caught myself becoming angry.

Not with you.

Never with you.

With fate. With the mirror. With every story that insists love is enough.

Because it was not.

I loved you with everything I had.

You loved me with everything you had.

And still…

You left.

No.

That is unfair.

You did not leave me.

You went home.

There is a difference.

I repeat those words to myself every day.

Some days they comfort me. Today they do not.

I visited the library this afternoon.

I searched through books older than some kingdoms.

Ancient magic. Dimensional theory. Forgotten rituals.

Anything that even hinted at crossing worlds.

I read until my vision blurred.

I found nothing.

Nothing.

Do you understand?

There are scholars who have spent lifetimes studying magic.

Kings who reshaped nations.

Sages whose names have survived for centuries.

None of them wrote the answer I needed.

For the first time since enrolling at Night Raven College…I hated magic.

How can something so limitless feel so useless?

I think that was the moment I broke.

Not dramatically.

No shattered windows.

No burst of power.

No roar that shook the school.

I simply sat there.

One hand resting on an open book.

The other covering my face.

And I realized…

No matter how long I searched…

I was searching for a miracle.

I remained there until the library closed.

I cannot tell you how much time passed.

Perhaps hours.

Perhaps only minutes.

Grief has made time difficult to measure.

When I finally returned to my room, I noticed something.

Your favorite teacup was still sitting on the shelf.

I had forgotten to put it away.

I picked it up.

I do not know why.

It is an ordinary cup.

There are dozens just like it.

Yet when I held it…

My hands began to shake.

I stared at it for what must have been several minutes before I asked myself a question I never thought I would.

“What if this is all I have left of us?”

I set it down immediately.

I could not bear the thought.

I have spent so much of these letters speaking about missing you.

Tonight, I shall tell you something different.

I am afraid.

Not of being alone.

I have been alone before.

I am afraid that one day I will run out of things to say to you.

That these pages will become shorter.

That your laugh will become harder to remember.

That I will wake one morning and realize I have survived another day without you.

Because surviving feels dangerously close to moving on.

And I do not know if I am ready for that.

Perhaps I never will be.

There is a quote I read many years ago.

I thought it was beautiful.

Tonight, I think it is devastating.

“The price of being deeply loved is that, one day, you must learn how to live without the person who loved you.”

I do not know how.

I have tried.

I attended classes.

I spoke with my friends.

I smiled when it was expected of me.

I even laughed.

Yet every version of tomorrow still feels like a future you were supposed to be part of.

I used to believe that love made a person stronger.

Perhaps it does.

But no one ever speaks of what happens afterward.

No one tells you that love also leaves you with enough memories to haunt every quiet moment.

I think…

No.

I know.

The cruelest thing about grief is that it does not ask you to let go. It asks you to keep living while refusing to loosen its own grip.

I understand that now.

I wonder if you are sleeping.

I hope you are.

I hope, wherever you are, you are dreaming of something beautiful.

Because someone should.

It has become difficult for me to remember what beautiful dreams feel like.

Goodnight, my love.

If there is another life after this one…

I hope I meet you sooner.

Forever yours,

I joined Silver and Sebek for breakfast instead of eating alone.

Sebek spoke at length about upcoming training exercises. Silver listened patiently, nodding every so often before nearly falling asleep halfway through the conversation.

Some things never change. I found myself smiling.

Not because anything particularly amusing had happened, because I could almost hear you laughing beside me.

You always said the two of them balanced each other in the strangest ways. I never appreciated that observation until now.

After classes, Ace invited me to join a card game in the lounge.

I suspect "invited" is a generous word.

He looked startled the moment I accepted. As though he had expected me to decline. Perhaps I would have, once.

You changed that.

You had a habit of insisting that I experience ordinary things.

Card games. Study sessions. Late-night walks through campus.

You once told me that living was not measured by grand events, but by the small moments we choose to share.

I thought you were being poetic.

Now I think you were simply wiser than I was.

Ace cheated. Or at least I am fairly certain he attempted to. Deuce noticed immediately.

The resulting argument lasted nearly ten minutes before Cater wandered over solely to watch the chaos unfold.

I lost the game rather spectacularly.

Ace celebrated as though he had defeated an ancient dragon. I suppose, in a way, he had.

When I returned to my room this evening, I realized something.

For nearly two hours...

I had not been thinking about how much I missed you.

The realization struck like lightning.

At first, I felt relieved. Then guilty.

How could I laugh, when you are not here?

How could I enjoy myself, when I would give anything to spend that time with you instead?

Isn't that a terrible thing?

To feel guilty for smiling. As though happiness is proof that my love is fading.

I know what you would say. You would scold me. You always disliked it when I carried burdens that were never mine to bear.

You would probably cup my face in your hands, look at me with that impossibly earnest expression, and say,

"Malleus, loving me isn't supposed to stop you from living."

I can hear the words so clearly.

Yet I cannot bring myself to believe them.

Because living without you feels wrong. Not impossible. Simply, wrong.

There is a difference.

I have come to notice how often I look for you in the smallest places.

When something amusing happens, my first thought is that I should tell you.

When I discover a new book in the library, I wonder whether you would enjoy it.

When the sunset paints the sky in shades of violet and gold, I instinctively reach for my phone before remembering there is no photograph I can send.

Love has become instinct.

It asks for you before my mind has the chance to remember you are gone.

Perhaps that is why grief is so exhausting.

It is not one heartbreak. It is hundreds. Tiny ones. Quiet ones. Scattered throughout the day.

A joke with no one to share it with.

An empty seat beside me in class.

A message I can never send.

A dream that ends too soon.

People speak of heartbreak as though it happens once.

They are mistaken.

The hardest part of missing someone is not the goodbye. It is every ordinary moment that reminds you they should still be here.

That is where grief lives.

Not in tragedies. In Tuesdays. In shared meals. In empty conversations.

In reaching for another hand before remembering it is no longer yours to hold.

I wonder if you still carry the little charm I gave you before your final exams.

You laughed because it was hardly larger than your thumb.

I insisted it would bring you good fortune.

You teased that it had better, considering it came from one of the strongest mages at Night Raven College.

The truth is...

It was never enchanted.

I simply wanted you to have something that came from me.

Something to keep in your pocket.

Something that might remind you that, no matter where you went, there would always be someone waiting for you.

I hope you still have it. If not, that is all right.

Objects are only objects. They are not what made us.

You did.

There are moments when I fear these letters are selfish.

That I write them only to comfort myself.

Perhaps that is true.

But I also like to imagine another possibility.

That somewhere, in another world, you pause for reasons you cannot explain.

That your heart feels just a little warmer.

That, somehow, the love I cannot send still finds its way to you.

It is an impossible thought. I treasure it anyway.

Until tomorrow, my beloved.

I shall continue trying.

For you. For us.

And perhaps, one day, for myself.

Forever yours,

It was almost evening.

The sun had begun its descent, painting the windows of Night Raven College in warm shades of amber. Students passed by in small groups, discussing assignments, making plans for the weekend, complaining about professors.

I heard laughter.

My heart recognized it before my mind did.

I turned so quickly that my neck protested.

It was not you. It has never been you.

I wonder how many strangers I will mistake for you before my heart finally learns.

If it ever does.

Ramshackle looked exactly as it always has.

A little worn. A little lonely.

It suited you somehow.

You made abandoned things feel loved.

Even that old dorm had seemed brighter because you called it home.

I stood at the front gate longer than I should have.

The porch creaked in the wind. The windows reflected the evening sky.

I imagined you opening the front door with that familiar smile.

"You've been standing out there for five minutes, Malleus. Were you planning on knocking?"

I almost answered.

Instead, I lowered my head and laughed.

It was a quiet laugh. The sort that only exists because the alternative is crying.

There are moments when grief feels unbearable.

Then there are moments like today.

Moments that are somehow worse.

Because for the briefest second...

I forgot you were gone.

Losing you once was painful. Remembering that I had already lost you felt like losing you all over again.

I would not wish that feeling upon anyone. Not even my greatest enemy.

Classes continue as they always have. Professor Trein assigned another essay.

Ace complained before the instructions had even been finished. Deuce tried to convince him to simply complete the assignment instead of arguing.

Some things, it seems, never change.

I watched them from across the courtyard.

For a moment, I expected you to be standing between them.

Rolling your eyes. Keeping the peace. Somehow managing to make both of them laugh before the conversation inevitably turned into another argument.

It is remarkable how empty a place can feel because of one missing person.

You were never the loudest person in a room.

Yet somehow...you were always the one who made it feel full.

There is a bench near the botanical gardens where we used to sit after classes.

I visited it this afternoon.

Someone else was there.

Two first-year students were sharing a textbook.

One was reading aloud while the other pretended to listen.

They looked happy.

I left before they noticed me. It did not feel right to interrupt.

Besides, that bench does not belong to us. No place does.

I suppose that is another difficult lesson.

The world does not preserve memories simply because they matter to us.

People continue sitting on the same benches. Walking the same paths. Watching the same sunsets.

Only we know what once happened there. Only we remember.

Perhaps memories are less like monuments and more like ghosts.

Invisible to everyone except the people they choose to haunt.

I wonder if I haunt you as often as you haunt me.

There is something I have been avoiding admitting.

Not to Lilia.

Not to Silver.

Not even to myself.

I am afraid.

Not of losing you. That has already happened.

I am afraid of becoming accustomed to your absence.

There are mornings now when I wake and do not immediately reach for my phone to see if you have sent me one of your ridiculous messages.

For a single heartbeat... I simply wake.

Then I remember.

I hate that.

It feels like a betrayal.

As though my heart is slowly learning to live without you. I do not want it to.

Because if loving you hurts, then forgetting you would hurt far more.

You once told me that healing did not mean forgetting.

I hope you were right.

Because I never wish to become the sort of person who hears your name without smiling. Or sees a gargoyle and does not think of the afternoons we spent talking until sunset. Or walks past Ramshackle without hoping, just for a moment, that the front door will open.

There is a quote I came across in one of the library's older books.

It has remained with me ever since.

"Grief is love with nowhere left to go."

I disliked it when I first read it.

It sounded too simple. Too neat.

Now I understand.

Every conversation I wish I could have with you...

Every joke I wish I could tell you...

Every quiet evening I wish we could spend time together...

They have nowhere to go.

So they become these letters.

Perhaps that is all these pages truly are.

Love searching for a destination it can no longer reach.

I do not know whether another world has seasons like ours. If autumn has found you yet, I hope it is gentle.

I hope you have remembered to bring a jacket when the evenings grow colder.

You always insisted you were not cold. You were always lying.

I miss reminding you to take care of yourself.

Until tomorrow.

Forever yours,

The truth is...

No.

I am simply becoming quieter. There is a difference.

I used to think loneliness was the absence of company.

How foolish I was.

Loneliness is remembering exactly what happiness felt like.

It is reaching for a hand that is no longer there because your heart has not yet learned what your mind already knows.

I wonder if yours reaches for mine, too.

The school has begun preparing for the Harvest Festival.

Students bustle through the courtyards carrying decorations from one building to another. Music drifts through open windows. Someone hung lanterns in the gardens this morning.

It is beautiful.

I hate it.

Not because there is anything wrong with the festival. Because you are not here to see it.

Do you remember last year's celebration?

You insisted on dragging me from one stall to the next because you wanted to "experience everything."

You convinced me to play those absurd festival games despite my insistence that they were designed for children.

You laughed every time I won.

When I asked why, you said, "Because you look so proud of yourself."

I still have the little dragon plush you claimed I earned for you.

You teased me relentlessly when I admitted I intended to keep it.

It sits on the shelf beside my bed now.

A childish little thing.

One that a prince has no business treasuring. Yet I cannot bring myself to put it away.

It still smells faintly of cinnamon from the festival stalls. Or perhaps that is only my imagination.

Memories have a cruel habit of changing to suit the heart.

Lilia found me holding it yesterday. He smiled.

Not because he found it amusing. Because he understood.

He has lost people before. Far more than I have. I wonder if he once kept little reminders, too.

If he ever stared at an object until it became impossible to remember whether he was looking at it...or through it.

I have begun forgetting your voice.

Only pieces of it.

Never the way you laughed. Never the way you said my name.

But the little things.

The way you would mumble to yourself while reading. The sleepy greeting you gave me in the early mornings. The exact rhythm of your footsteps when you walked beside me.

I close my eyes and try to remember. Sometimes I succeed. Sometimes I do not. That terrifies me.

I always believed memories were permanent.

Now I know they fade around the edges.

Not because we loved less. Because time is cruel enough to sand away even the sharpest corners.

If I could ask the stars for one impossible kindness...It would not be to return you to me. Not yet.

It would be to let me remember you exactly as you were.

Every laugh. Every expression. Every word.

I am afraid that one day I will remember loving you more clearly than I remember your face.

How unfair that would be.

There is a saying among the fae.

"The oldest magic is remembrance."

I understand it now.

To remember someone exactly as they were is its own miracle.

Perhaps that is why I write these letters.

Ink does not forget. The paper does not question whether a smile was crooked or straight.

Words remain faithful when memories begin to falter.

So if there comes a day when age or sorrow steals pieces of you from my mind...

These pages will return them to me.

I shall remember.

Even if I must borrow my own handwriting to do so.

Do you know what hurts the most?

It is not that I cannot see you.

It is not that I cannot hear your voice.

It is knowing that life continues despite my unwillingness.

The flowers still bloom. The moon still rises. Classes still begin each morning. People still laugh.

The world did not stop when you left.

Only mine did.

I have come to realize something these past few days.

The cruelest part of loving someone is discovering that the world is capable of continuing without them.

I despise how true that is.

You once asked me whether dragons ever cried.

I laughed.

You looked so offended that I had found the question amusing.

I never answered.

Perhaps because I had never truly known grief.

I know the answer now.

Yes. We do.

Just not where anyone can see.

Tonight it rained. I stood alone on the balcony until my clothes were soaked through.

Sebek insisted I would become ill. Dragons do not become ill so easily. But I let him believe he had convinced me to come inside.

The truth is...

I feared that if I remained beneath the rain much longer, I would begin pretending the water upon my face was not rain at all.

You once told me that crying did not make someone weak.

“It means your heart loved enough to break.”

I did not understand your words then. I do now.

If love is measured by the ache it leaves behind...

Then I fear I shall love you for the rest of my life.

Until tomorrow, my beloved.

I hope your heart is lighter than mine.

Forever yours,

I asked one of the gardeners about the flower after you left.

It blooms only once each year.

For reasons I cannot explain, that saddened me.

Perhaps because there are so many things I never thought to show you. I always believed there would be another spring, another festival, another quiet afternoon where we could wander without purpose.

I was so certain we had more time.

That certainty has become my greatest regret.

Classes have resumed their usual rhythm.

Students hurry through the halls, complain about assignments, and whisper about the latest gossip as though nothing has changed.

I envy them.

How fortunate it must be to continue living as though the world has remained the same.

Mine has not.

Even the dorm sounds different. The echoes in its halls feel louder. The evenings feel longer. The silence has learned your name.

Lilia invited me to tea yesterday.

It was less of an invitation and more of a command disguised as one.

He spoke of many things.

The state of Briar Valley. The upcoming council meeting.

A rather entertaining incident involving Silver falling asleep beneath a tree and waking to find several birds had built a nest in his hair.

I smiled. He noticed.

Then he asked me how I was truly feeling.

I could not answer.

How does one explain the absence of another person?

You cannot measure it. You cannot point to it. Yet somehow it fills every room.

I think Lilia understood my silence.

He changed the subject before I was forced to speak.

For that, I am grateful.

I visited Ramshackle again.

Forgive me.

It feels wrong to enter without your permission, but I cannot seem to stay away.

Everything remains almost exactly as you left it.

A mug sits upon the kitchen counter. A blanket is draped over the back of the sofa.

One of your books still rests open on the table, a pressed flower tucked between its pages as a bookmark.

I did not move a single thing.

It is selfish, I know.

If I leave everything untouched, I can pretend you have only stepped outside.

That you will return any moment complaining that Grim has eaten all the food again.

I wonder if your world smells different.

I never thought to ask.

Does the rain carry the same scent? Do your mornings begin with birdsong? When autumn arrives, do the leaves become the same brilliant shades of gold and crimson as they do here?

I know so little about the place you call home.

Had I known I would lose you, I would have asked a thousand more questions.

There is one memory that has followed me all day.

Do you remember when we carved our initials into that old tree near the edge of the forest?

You worried someone would scold us for damaging it.

I assured you that the tree was older than both of us combined and had likely witnessed far worse.

You laughed and said that if anyone found it centuries from now, they would think we were terribly sentimental.

You were right.

I returned there this morning.

The carving is still there. Your initials beside mine.

Two lives connected by nothing more than a few careful strokes in weathered bark.

I rested my hand against them for longer than I care to admit.

Trees have long memories.

I hope this one remembers us kindly.

I find myself wondering whether you think of me as often as I think of you.

Not because I doubt your love. Never that.

I simply hope that remembering me does not hurt as much as remembering you hurts me.

If it does...

Then I am sorry.

I would rather carry this loneliness alone than know you are suffering because of me.

Perhaps that is what love truly is.

Wanting the person you cherish to smile, even if you are no longer there to see it.

Wherever you are tonight, I hope you have something warm to eat.

I hope you are surrounded by kindness.

And before you fall asleep, I hope you know there is someone in another world wishing you pleasant dreams.

As always,

Forever yours,

I still visit the Mirror Chamber.

An irrational part of me expects the glass to shimmer, for you to step through with that sheepish smile and say there had been some sort of mistake.

It never happens.

I have never considered myself impatient. Lilia often teased me that dragons possess enough patience to outlast mountains. Yet somehow, these past thirty days have felt longer than the century that came before I met you.

Perhaps time moves differently when one's heart is elsewhere.

The others miss you as well.

Ace and Deuce argued over whose fault it was that Grim stole an entire basket of tarts from Heartslabyul yesterday. Grim insisted he was framed. I suspect you would have laughed before trying to convince Riddle to spare them from another lengthy lecture.

Grim has begun sleeping in your old room again.

He would deny it if anyone asked. He tells everyone he simply prefers the mattress there.

When I visited Ramshackle, I found him curled beneath your blanket.

I quietly closed the door.

Some grief deserves its privacy.

Sebek insists that I have become distracted.

He is correct.

Lilia pretends not to notice when I lose myself in thought during meetings.

Silver has offered to accompany me on my nightly walks more than once.

I think they are all worried. I wish they would not be.

Missing you is not an illness.

It is simply proof that what we shared was real.

Do you remember the evening we watched the fireflies near the forest?

You laughed because I became distracted by one that had landed upon one of my horns.

You reached up to brush it away, and for a brief moment, your hand lingered against my face.

I had wanted to kiss you.

Instead, I stood there like an inexperienced schoolboy while you smiled at me as though I were the most fascinating person in all of Twisted Wonderland.

You eventually kissed me first.

I never properly thanked you for sparing me from my own hesitation.

There are many things I regret not saying while you were here.

I regret every goodbye that was spoken too casually because I assumed there would always be another tomorrow.

I regret every moment I allowed my duties to delay even an hour I could have spent with you.

Most of all, I regret that the final thing I gave you was not another kiss.

Had I known the mirror would separate us so completely, I would have held you until the very last possible second.

I wonder how you are.

Have you settled back into your old life? Are your friends relieved that you returned? Do they believe your stories, or have you decided to keep our world a secret?

I hope you are eating well. I hope you are sleeping enough. I hope you still look up at the stars from time to time.

The constellations are different between our worlds, I imagine, but I like to think that somewhere beneath another sky, you are looking upward at the same moment I am.

It makes the distance feel smaller.

Not small enough. But smaller.

I know these letters will never reach you.

Even so, I find comfort in pretending they might.

Perhaps love is strange in that way.

It searches for impossible paths simply because it cannot bear to disappear.

I do not know how many letters I shall write.

Perhaps only a handful. Perhaps far more than that.

I suppose that depends on how long it takes before seeing your handwriting becomes a memory instead of a certainty.

I hope that day never comes.

Until we meet again, whether in this world or another, know that you are loved beyond measure.

You always will be.

Forever yours,

The mirror reflected only my own lonely figure.

No trace of their smile. No lingering warmth. No sign that they had ever stood before me only moments ago.

I remembered every second with painful clarity.

Their fingers slipped from mine. Their smile that tried so desperately to be brave. Their voice, gentle even as it trembled.

“It’s only goodbye for now.”

I wanted to believe those words.

A hundred years of life has taught me patience. Kingdoms rose and fell. Seasons repeated themselves countless times. Faces I once knew became names in history books.

I had always believed I understood waiting. 

Then Yuu walked into my life.

A single year.

That was all it took for them to become more precious than a century.

A single year, and somehow the thought of another day without them felt unbearable.

I reached toward the mirror before reason could stop me.

My hand met cold glass.

Nothing. No ripple. No magic.

Only my own reflection staring back at me with an expression I scarcely recognized.

Despair.

“Child of Man…”

The nickname escaped my lips as little more than a whisper.

There was no cheerful reply. No amused laugh correcting me. No voice asking if I was lurking outside Ramshackle again.

The silence answered instead.

I should have been stronger.

I was Malleus Draconia. Heir to Briar Valley. The future king of the fae.

A dragon whose very name inspired awe and fear across Twisted Wonderland.

Yet none of those titles could bridge the distance between our worlds.

Power was meaningless if it could not bring back the one person who mattered.

For the first time in my long life, magic felt small. Useless even. 

Lilia found me hours later.

He did not speak. He simply rested a hand upon my shoulder.

Perhaps he understood. He had lived long enough to know that some grief could not be soothed by words.

“You cannot remain here forever,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

But I did.

For another hour. Then another.

Until the moon had climbed high enough to cast silver light across the chamber floor.

I finally turned away.

Each step felt heavier than the last.

The school greeted me with familiar halls that no longer felt like home. The gardens Yuu loved to wander seemed strangely dull. The library chair they favored sat untouched. Even Gargoyle Studies Club had become little more than an excuse to visit places where I imagined they would have smiled.

Every corner of my life carried their memory.

It was unbearable.

Sleep did not come that night. Nor the next.

Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw them standing before the mirror. Whenever I opened them, they were gone.

Days passed. Then weeks.

Every morning, I found myself wandering back to the Hall of Mirrors.

Every morning, I was disappointed.

The mirror never changed.

Eventually, I stopped expecting it to.

Hope, I learned, does not disappear all at once.

It fades quietly. A little less each day.

Until one morning, you realize you have begun mourning someone who is still alive.

That frightened me more than anything.

Because Yuu was alive.

Somewhere beneath another sky, they were breathing, laughing, living a life that no longer had room for me.

I prayed they had returned to a loving family. I prayed they were safe. I prayed they were happy.

Even if that happiness no longer included me.

Love, I discovered, was not selfish.

If it were, I would have wished for them to remain trapped in my world forever.

Instead, I wished for their peace.

Even if it cost me mine.

On the thirtieth day after their departure, I entered my chambers and noticed a blank sheet of parchment resting upon my desk.

It had likely been there all along. I simply had not cared enough to notice.

I sat before it. The room was quiet. The candle beside me flickered softly.

My quill hovered over the page.

There was no address I could send it to.

No spell capable of carrying words between worlds.

No certainty that Yuu would ever read what I wrote.

I could have stopped there. I could have accepted that some words were destined to remain unspoken.

Instead, I dipped my quill into ink.

If I could not walk beside Yuu…

If I could not hear their voice…

If I could not tell them how deeply they were missed…

Then I would write.

One letter. Then another. And another after that.

Not because I believed they would ever receive them.

But because loving them had never required an audience.

I pressed the nib to the paper.

The first words came easier than I expected.

Malleus sat back against the headboard. His cock stood thick and hard between you, the tip already slick. You wrapped your fingers around the base and guided him to your entrance, sinking down in one slow motion until he filled you completely.

A low rumble left his throat. You placed both hands on his horns, gripping the curved lengths firmly. The moment your palms made contact, his body jerked beneath you. His cock twitched inside your pussy, swelling even thicker.

You started moving, lifting and dropping your hips in a steady rhythm. Each time you sank down, you squeezed his horns harder. Malleus groaned, his hands gripping your waist as his hips bucked up to meet you. The more you stroked and squeezed those sensitive horns, the louder his sounds became.

Your pussy clenched around his cock with every downward thrust. You leaned forward, pressing your chest against his while your fingers traced the ridges along his horns. Malleus snarled softly, thrusting harder, driving his length deep into your wet heat. Sweat slicked your skin as you rode him faster, using his horns for leverage to slam down onto him again and again.

He came first, cock pulsing as hot cum flooded your pussy. You kept riding through it, grinding your clit against his pelvis until your own orgasm hit, walls fluttering and milking every drop from him. His horns stayed locked in your grip even as both of you trembled through the aftershocks.

Idia slumped in his gaming chair, the glowing monitors casting light across his pale face as the defeat screen flashed. His fingers still hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly from the adrenaline crash. You stepped closer, placing your hands on his shoulders and feeling the tension knotted there.

"Hey," you murmured, leaning down so your lips brushed his ear. "Let me help you forget that loss."

Idia swallowed hard, his yellow eyes flicking up to meet yours. Before he could protest, you spun his chair around and straddled his lap, pressing your body against his. His hands instinctively gripped your hips as you ground down against the growing bulge in his pants.

You captured his mouth in a deep kiss, tongues sliding together while your fingers worked under his hoodie and the shirt beneath. Idia moaned into the kiss when you pinched his nipples, rolling them between your fingers until they stiffened. He bucked up against you, his cock hardening fast under the friction.

Panting, you broke the kiss and slid off his lap to kneel between his spread thighs. You tugged his pants and underwear down in one motion, freeing his thick cock. It twitched in the cool air, the head already glistening with precum. You wrapped your fingers around the base and stroked upward, thumb circling the sensitive tip.

Idia’s head fell back against the chair with a groan. You leaned in and licked a slow stripe from base to head, tasting the salt on your tongue. Then you took him into your mouth, sucking firmly as you bobbed your head. Your hand worked what your lips couldn’t reach, twisting on every upstroke. Idia’s fingers threaded into your hair, not pushing, just holding on as his hips jerked in small thrusts.

"Fuck… that feels too good," he gasped, voice cracking. You hummed around his cock, the vibration making his thighs tense. Spit dripped down your chin as you took him deeper, relaxing your throat until your nose pressed against his pelvis. Idia’s breathing turned ragged, his free hand clutching the armrest.

You pulled off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his flushed cock. Standing again, you stripped quickly—shirt, bra, pants, and panties hitting the floor. Idia’s gaze raked over your naked body, cock twitching harder at the sight of your wet pussy. You climbed back onto his lap, reaching between your bodies to line him up.

The head of his cock nudged your entrance. You sank down slowly, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt inside you. Both of you moaned at the tight, wet heat. You braced your hands on his chest and started riding him, rolling your hips in smooth circles before lifting and dropping again. Each time you took him fully, your clit rubbed against his pelvis.

Idia’s hands gripped your ass, spreading you wider as he thrust up to meet you. The chair creaked under the motion. You leaned forward, pressing your tits against his face. He latched onto one nipple, sucking hard while his tongue flicked the stiff peak. His teeth grazed lightly, sending sparks straight to your core.

You rode him faster, the wet sounds of your pussy taking his cock filling the room alongside his broken moans. Sweat beaded on Idia’s forehead, his hair glowing brighter with each thrust. You clenched around him deliberately, feeling his cock pulse inside you.

"I’m close," he warned, voice hoarse. You didn’t slow down. Instead you reached down and rubbed your clit in tight circles, chasing your own orgasm. Idia’s thrusts grew erratic, slamming up into you until his whole body locked. He came with a choked cry, flooding your pussy with hot cum. The feeling pushed you over the edge too—you clenched hard around him, walls fluttering as pleasure crashed through you.

You stayed seated on his lap, both of you catching your breath. Idia’s arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close while his cock softened inside you. Cum leaked out around his shaft, dripping down onto his chair. You kissed his temple, then his lips, softer this time.

"Feel better?" you asked. Idia nodded, still flushed, and pulled you in for another lazy kiss, his hands stroking your back as the monitors finally dimmed behind you.

I strolled through the bustling halls of Night Raven College, my mind wandering, until a familiar sneering voice cut through it all. Turning, I locked eyes with one of Azul's old tormentors from the Coral Sea—a smug merman who had once delighted in mocking him. He blocked my path, leaning in with that cruel smirk. "Still playing house with that weakling octopus?" he sneered, his words dripping with malice. "I bet he can't even get you off right. Pathetic choice, really."

My cheeks burned as I pushed past him, heart pounding, but the encounter left me rattled. I hurried toward the Mostro Lounge, hoping to shake it off. Before I could even reach Azul's office, Floyd and Jade appeared at my sides, their sharp eyes missing nothing. Floyd's grin was wide but edged with something dangerous. "Shrimpy, we saw that jerk corner you," he drawled, cracking his knuckles. Jade nodded smoothly, his voice calm yet laced with intent. "We reported it straight to Azul. He won't let this slide."

They escorted me inside, where Azul waited behind his desk, his expression stormy. Floyd and Jade quickly recounted every detail—the bully's taunts, how he invaded my space, the vile implications about our intimacy. Azul's jaw tightened, his gaze darkening with possessive fire. "Leave us," he commanded them, and they slipped out without another word, the door clicking shut.

In an instant, Azul was on me, pulling me close. His hands roamed my body, stripping away my clothes with urgent tugs until I stood bare before him. He bent me over the desk, his own pants shoved down just enough to free his thick cock. It pressed hot and hard against my ass before he lined up and thrust deep into my pussy in one smooth motion. I cried out at the sudden stretch, gripping the wood as he started rutting into me with fierce, jealous strokes.

"No one else gets to speak to you that way," he panted against my ear, his hips snapping forward relentlessly. Each thrust filled me completely, his cock dragging along my inner walls and hitting spots that made my legs tremble. "No one will love you like I do. No one will make you feel this way— this deep, this full." His fingers dug into my hips, pulling me back to meet every powerful drive. The wet slap of skin echoed in the room as he fucked me harder, his breath hot on my neck.

I moaned his name, my pussy clenching around him with each rut. He reached around to rub my clit in tight circles, sending sparks through me. "You're mine," he hissed, pounding faster, his balls slapping against me. "That bully could never touch you like this, never make your cunt drip the way I do." Pleasure coiled tight in my core as he angled deeper, grinding against my sweet spot until I shattered, my orgasm ripping through me with pulsing waves that milked his cock.

Azul didn't stop, rutting through my climax and chasing his own grunts. He flipped me onto my back on the desk, spreading my thighs wide and slamming back in. My breasts bounced with every thrust as he leaned down to suck a nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to heighten the sting of pleasure. "Feel how perfectly I fit inside you?" he murmured, his pace turning frantic. "No one else can make you cum like this, over and over."

Sweat slicked our bodies as he drove into me again and again, the desk creaking under us. I wrapped my legs around him, urging him deeper, lost in the heat of his jealousy-fueled passion. When he finally came, his cock throbbing as he flooded my pussy with hot cum, he held me tight, whispering those words once more. "No one will ever love you like I do."

We stayed locked together, his release leaking out around his softening length, but he soon hardened again, ready for more. He pulled me to the floor, positioning me on all fours and entering me from behind with a single thrust. His hands gripped my ass, spreading me as he rutted with renewed vigor, fingers teasing my sensitive clit until another orgasm built. The room filled with our mingled moans and the slick sounds of our bodies joining, his cock stretching me deliciously each time.

Hours seemed to blur as Azul claimed me repeatedly—on the desk, against the wall, even bent over his chair—each time reinforcing his exclusive hold with filthy promises and deep, satisfying thrusts. By the end, I was spent, marked by his cum and the lingering ache of his passionate rutting, knowing no one else could ever compare.