#it's not showing up in the tags yet again

[simpjaes]

SWEET LITTLE MONEY MAKER. ― S.JY

When your best friend quite literally gifts you an entire man, you realize that you’re in no place to pretend that you don’t love it.  or the one where you’re very much an “i don’t need a man” type of person, and Jake shows you that you do, in fact, need a man….him, you specifically need him. Only because he needs you. 

MDNI! reblogs help writers, so please show your support through a reblog! PAIRING ― stripper!sim jaeyun x rich!afab reader

WORDCOUNT― 13.6k

CONTENT―  he’s a switch and desperately wants to be ur sugar baby, you’re a boring rich bitch who has no interest at first, masturbation, reader is kind of power-hungry, jake chokes her NOTE ― if you’ve read this before, specifically for jeno, hi. that was written by me back in 2022 except now it’s way better and not an absolute trash-fire. enjoy! not proof read kind of.

nsfw tags under cut::

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

NSFW TAGS�� jake is a stripper so obv dancing and stripping, HE’S VERY SWITCH BUT MOSTLY SUBBY HERE, hand job, masturbation, choking without permission, finger fucking, making out, protected sex omg GASP, slight nipple play, riding, lil bit of stomach bulge, sensitive cock continues to get fucked lmfao

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It was a gift, or rather, he was the gift.

A downpayment of six hundred dollars told you enough about the man. It’s obvious he offers his services to lonely, sad, rich women who have no one else to spend their money on. A parasite, a leech, is what he is. Yet, still, your best friend has been taunting you with the idea for months in an attempt to have you give the guy a try.

She had apparently heard of the infamous Jake through various means. All rich women, all lonely and unsatisfied women. Which, to you only seems like a fucking insult to be taunted with the very idea of hiring this man. What is she implying? That you’re lonely and unsatisfied? Please.

Some best friend. Then again, she has since experienced Jake herself, and now her taunting feels more like…promises. 

“He’s so clean, toned, and oh god–” She had paused with a flush across her cheeks as she thought back to the heated night. “The way he moves, shit, he teases so much. I could have died right then and there if he were to–” 

The expression of disinterest on your face did not halt her doting, nor did the blatant grimace you eventually shot at her. Genuinely, you cannot take her seriously. Already you know too much about her, which is nice and all, but you could do without the details of her little stripper friend and how “wet” he left her. 

“I even heard that sometimes he even gives special treatments with his services…” She had rolled her eyes after she said that, almost looking offended. “Not that I'd know or anything, he took my cash and left when our session was up.” 

You recall knowing exactly what that “treatment” probably entailed, and the reason your best friend didn’t get it was likely due to the fact that she’s, well, not that rich. You’d assume such an expensive man wouldn’t give special treatments to women who wouldn’t end up being repeat customers anyway. Or, maybe, he just wasn’t trying to drain her dry. 

And even with all of the information being dangled in front of your face, practically force fed to you, the image should be more delicious than the century-old wine you have every night at dinner– for the entire duration of her doting compliments of Jake, you are simply not fucking interested. There’s other things to do in life, more to worry about than getting your body excited for someone who will never finish the job. 

Last week was when your bestie told you all about her single night with him. In fact, her entire visit was just her speaking of him, of how great he is, of how alluring he is. Arguably, you see that she’s a bit obsessed. Does it make you curious? Maybe a little bit, but not enough to actually give him a go yourself. And so, after that visit, you watched her leave with a menacing, evil little glint in her eye. You ignored it, as per usual considering she’s always up to something, unaware that the visit she lends to you today is not a complimentary marketing campaign of a male stripper, no, it’s a fucking ambush. 

When she appeared at your doorstep, she said nothing. She didn’t even look you in the eye, actually. Weird.  She did, however, have an envelope in her hand and you were almost offended at how she threw it at you and trotted away without a single greeting or goodbye. No afternoon lunch over champagne, no gossip, no advertising. Just an envelope. 

Suspicious.

Upon opening said envelope, you find that your bitch of a best friend dropped that six hundred dollar down payment, likely in an attempt to force you out of being the stick in the mud that you always are. There’s a note. Your name in bold letters, a date, a time, and a signature of none other than “Jake Sim” with a fucking website on the back. 

Shortly after huffing and rolling your eyes, about two seconds from tossing her six hundred dollars in the trash, you feel your phone ping to show your best friend texting you. 

Best Friend: I paid for it, you just have to tip him. a lot. tip him a lot. You: why the fuck would you buy a stripper for me?

Best Friend: you need it, trust me. 

So, now here you are waiting for that knock on your door and wondering why you even tried to look nice for some dude that’s about to swing his meat in your face. Appearance, reputation, whatever. Fucking unbelievable, you think, that there’s a stripper out there that only does private parties and your own best friend thinks you need it? You could have any dick you want, why the fuck should you have to pay just to look? 

He’s going to be expecting more than just you here, alone in your house. Surely, he won’t be expecting to waltz into someone’s home all oiled up only to find one very disinterested woman. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

To your dismay, Jake has apparently already been warned of you. Your best friend probably told him that you’re a nightmare, too difficult to fluster or gain an interest from. The first words out of his mouth when you opened your door was “She said you’d give me that look.”

Still, even so, your best friend wasn’t lying to him. You played the part of yourself all too well as you watched him saunter into your home as if he owned the place. You’re impressed actually, with the way he doesn’t seem to feel out of place in such a lavish room. He looks…comfortable here as he scopes out his stage for the night, like he belongs. 

“Big place, looked smaller on the outside.” He says casually, filling the silence in the room since you make no attempt yourself to greet him. 

You watch as he tosses his bag beside your living room couch and eyes the spacious area just in front of the large fireplace. His eyes flick to the windows, to the walls, counting the outlets and looking for shelves with space. 

“The smaller the better, sometimes it feels too big in here for just me.” You finally speak, admitting a small weakness of yours almost immediately. You are lonely, despite never wanting to admit it. And you watch as he shrugs, now crouching to grab wires from his bag. 

“Oh yeah?” He glances at you. “Must get lonely. What a good friend to purchase me to help you with that.”

You bite the inside of your cheek at that, noting his calm and cool tone as he talks his business. The little smirk at the corner of his lips is charming, but it’s all for show. He’s just a pretty man, that’s all he’s got going for him and you guess you can respect the hustle. 

“This was not my doing.” You cross your arms, pretending to be unimpressed. 

“Yeah, yeah–” He waves you off as he begins to set up, making space for small lights to set the mood, looking to see if you have a sound system he can use. “I already know that you’re new to this.” He’s still calm, still collected.

“Lucky for you, first-timers are my favorite to entertain.” He smirks again, now looking directly at you as he, now, fluffs some of your couch pillows. 

Your curiosity spikes again only for a moment. You really did think that the initial meeting would be different, less casual. You half expected him to waltz in cock swinging. Wasn’t he, like, supposed to pretend to be a cop or something? You know, show up and press play on a magical stereo that didn’t exist beforehand and start vibrating on you? 

Instead, he’s just setting up…fully clothed in a ratty sweater with jeans that hug his thighs. He doesn’t appear at all to be a man that gets paid to take his clothes off. It makes you wonder. Makes you want to ask questions. Then again, you still have no interest in learning about him considering you already know exactly what he will be doing soon enough. 

“You’re good with the mood lighting, yeah? Or do you prefer the morgue lighting?” His eyes shoot up to the bright white lights on your ceiling as he goes for his laptop now, presumably to connect it to your very obvious sound system.

You only take slight offense to his comment on your living room lighting, considering you have a control panel that can make them way less blinding, but– he’s right. And now you’re a little insecure that you prefer such a drab color in your home. You make your way to the wall, clicking the buttons on the panel just to prove you have warm lighting too, and that you can adjust the brightness. 

“Ah, perfect.” Jake hums from across the room, eyes focused on his laptop screen before glancing to you and your extravagant light switch. “A little lower.” He guides you, knowing exactly which lighting accentuates his toned body the best when paired with his own little LED colored lights. 

You turn the knob slightly, wondering just how good he must be at dancing in houses like this one. 

“Little more.” He smiles

You dim the lighting more, looking at him and his relaxed posture. 

“Right there.” He finishes in a more gentle tone, eyes focusing back on his laptop as he prepares not only the playlist but the mood lighting from his end too. Red. Lots of red.

And you just watch, his voice ringing in your ears as you try to pretend that your best friend wasn’t right. Even with just this casual set up…he’s…goddamn, he’s alluring. In that ratty old sweater, with his messy hair and pretty smile. 

Stunning. 

This motherfucker is stunning. 

“Go and sit–” Jake says now, nodding to your couch as he places his laptop down, presumably done with the set up. “Just tell me where I can get myself ready and I’ll be back out shortly.” 

You point towards the guest bathroom as you take your seat on the couch, unsure as to why your hands feel so clammy. And by the time he rounds the corner and you can hear the bathroom door shut, you attempt to make yourself comfortable. 

And goddammit, no matter how many times you’ve napped here on this plush and soft surface, you can’t find the comfort here right now. The curiosity of why you’re okay with this burns in your gut despite knowing exactly why. Despite the fact that your best friend can always see straight through you and know exactly what you are. 

At the end of the day though, why the curiosity exists isn’t what matters. It’s the curiosity itself. You want to know how much money Jake makes doing this, if he likes doing it, how he got started, what he does to advertise himself in a way to only find women like you, and many other things. Countless things. He’s hot as hell, actually, and how he’s come to do this kind of work is either one of two things. One being that he’s using what the Gods gave him to the fullest. Two, being that he had no other choice. 

If he’s going to be paid to give you attention, the least you can hope is that he does it because he enjoys it, not because he has to do it. And if it does end up being because he has to do it, then perhaps his tip would be even larger than what you’d give for the ladder. 

You’re uncomfortable. 

The fact looming that you genuinely could go out and find a man at any given moment, yet here you are with a man forced upon you because you simply won’t do it. The implications of this man being here, why he’s here, how he ended up in this situation. 

You’ve never been one to care, so why start now? 

“You overthink too much.” Your best friend had said to you once, twice, hundreds of times during your friendship.  Maybe she’s right, maybe you should just enjoy the show without feeling entitled to a slutty man’s life story.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake remains in the bathroom for a good thirty or so minutes, each of them passing like a nightmare in your head. Back and forth your brain goes, from not wanting to be in this situation to fighting yourself for being such a fucking bore. A very, very attractive man is primping himself for you to look at, he’s going to come out and do his best to turn you on, the least you can do is let yourself enjoy something for once. Enjoy him. Gawk and fawn over him. After all, at least you know there’s no promise to be had after he leaves. 

No missed calls, no blocked numbers. This is business. 

Fucking thankfully, the moment he comes out of your bathroom your mind has adjusted itself into the correct state of mind for this. A torturous adventure of thoughts, but you made it nonetheless. You actually can’t even look away from him now that he’s revealed himself, even when you tried. He isn’t dressed in anything that looks tacky or cheap. Hell, he doesn’t even look sexual. He just looks…

Expensive. 

Jake genuinely looks like this is a place where he belongs. He smells like he belongs here, walks and murmurs like it too. 

You feel yourself physically react to him in his blazer and dress pants. Business is what got you to where you are today, but never have you found the attire sexy in any way until now. The suit looks much like what your team would wear day to day in the office. Always all those shy men coming into your office, stuttering through their questions and need for approvals. Jake isn’t stuttering in his suit though, he’s standing confidently at his laptop as if he hasn’t even noticed you staring yet. 

One look from him though is all he needed. Choosing this attire for someone like you is sure to mix both business and pleasure. It was a gamble of course, to bring your work home for you, but he does have the slight hope that you’ll never look at a man in a suit the same way again after this. 

And goddamn the way his abs were glistening in the dim lighting before he had turned away from you. His blazer was partially open revealing nothing but skin when he walked into the room, and you honestly wonder if he even needed to do that. He could be fully clothed at this point and you think the room would still feel hotter than usual given your mind-state. 

The way his belt held his pants on his hips was enough to have you thinking, looking as if it’s begging to be unbuckled just so the sound of it could fill your ears. The way the blazer widens his shoulders much more than the sweater from before. He looks bigger right now, both physically and in aura. 

The scent of him wafted off of him in an even prettier way when paired with his image. He smells like a sweet type of musk, something you’d be interested in drinking alongside your dinner on special occasions. And under the assumption that the scent is why his abs are fucking glistening– fucking body oil. He uses body oil for this.

His hair rustles about when he turns to face you again, this time with the bass of whatever song he’s playing accentuating each step towards you. So…the talking is done then? Your cheeks heat up at how quickly he starts his session with you, even without a single roll of his body. Already, you could eat him alive, the smirk on his face leading your eyes straight to him. 

Trailing down, down down. To his neck, that small glimpse of exposed chest, to the even more exposed lower abdomen section. His belt.

“Good?” He asks, leaning over you and placing his hands on either side of your head as he grips the couch.

You can’t look up at him, eyes training on his chest that you can now fully see through his single buttoned blazer. That same sweet musk assaulting your lungs. 

Watching you from up here, Jake can tell you’re going to be fun to play with. A woman with such a harsh exterior now melting at the mere image of him when he’s got the right lights on him. To be fair, he really was warned and prepared by your friend, which didn’t seem the type to afford him on more than one occasion.

He thought it was nice that she paid for another session, shocking him to learn that it wasn’t for herself at all. What a wonderful friend, and what a bitch you’d be to have turned him away. 

Finally, you nod to him, still eyeing his body in a shameful show of how much you genuinely did need this. What’s so bad about paying to look? Especially when the man is Jake, and he’s presenting himself like this.

“Rule number one.” Jake smiles, swaying in front of you as his grip tightens against the couch, wanting you to feel trapped and hopefully mesmerized by him, “I only accept bills of twenty, fifty, and one hundred. If you toss a fucking dollar, I’m leaving.” 

That’s clearly not an issue you could fathom having, despite your internal protests. You only carry bigger bills anyway so you nod to him, quickly forgetting he even shared that ridiculous rule that would never apply to you by means of watching his hips swirl rather than sway. You see the heaviness in his pants, and you wonder if he gets himself hard for these little shows. 

You fear looking up at his face now too, because you know he’s staring down at you, watching your every breath, every move. 

“Rule number two,” He lends down now, lowering his voice and blowing against your ear in a short breath. “Don’t touch me without being invited, or without asking.”

Now, that’s a rule that applies to you only because you immediately want to defy it. There’s a knee jerk reaction almost that makes you want to reach out, to grip his flexing body and pull it closer. You wanted to feel how slick his skin is with that wonderfully scented oil. You wanted the scent on your fingers for later, you wanted to feel how warm he must be. 

He doesn’t wait for your nod this time though, already noticing a familiar look on your face that he gets from most, if not all, of his clients. This is why he’s so in demand, after all. If he plays hard to get, sometimes he gets more out of his sessions. Sometimes he even gets a repeat client. 

“And rule number three–” He continues, this time pulling back and positioning his face in front of yours. This rule appears to be an important one, the rule where you need to look at his face rather than his body. As if it needs to be heard. “I won’t touch you unless you ask– or beg.” 

What you’re not realizing at this moment is that rule number three isn’t something he often speaks of. Sometimes, very rarely, Jake is in a mood when he goes out on a job. Condoms are always with him, just in case, but he never intends to use them or utter rule number three until meeting said client. They pay to look at him, not to touch him, however…if they pique his interest he surely offers the third rule. 

And if a client never hears of it, they know that even if they ask to touch, he would never. Even if they want him to touch, he wouldn’t touch anywhere too pleasurable. 

Meaning, you were right to assume what he was doing in your bathroom for so long. His hand felt better than usual against his length for the split second he had of tucking it into the most attractive position. He knew instantly that tonight was one of those nights, and you were to be a point of his own desire too. He played with himself for a bit, allowing himself to get half hard before coming out of the bathroom.

The way you looked at him finished the job, allowing his cock to grow to full attention at the mere sight of you fawning over him in silent discomfort. So– yeah, the third rule being for you was a given. 

And when you swallow around a lump in your throat and look dead into his eyes, he thinks you know exactly what he means too. You’re lucky his cock is acting up, hell, he’s lucky it’s acting up. Look at you, fuck. Those tired eyes look ignited, and what luck the two of you have to have ever known your best friend. 

“Deal?” He finally says, tilting his head cutely and waiting for you to nod. And you do nod, just as he suspected you would. Slowly, before glancing down at his body again. 

He knows now that it’s time to start moving. Really moving.

“Is the song okay?” He asks, now pulling back and bracing himself against the back of your couch with all of his strength. “It was picked specifically for you.”

You’re not entirely what he means by that, but you assume your friend must have told him what she thinks you’d like. 

“It’s fine.” You say, glancing away from his direct eye contact and suddenly feeling like a love-struck puppy in the way you feel so incredibly fucking shy because of him.

Jake notes that you didn’t ask what he meant by the song, but he doesn’t push. He’s better at talking with his body anyway. So, he begins to focus. Opting to start slowly and work his way up, specifically to work you up. 

He steps back and away from the couch, centering himself in your living room as he closes his eyes and stretches his arms up to loosen his body a little more. Most of his clients love to see the way his muscles move as he stretches, and he suspects you’re of the same mind. 

This entire playlist is chosen for clients like you. The ones he intends to let see all of him if they so wish to. The music is slow, the bass is strong, and each beat runs through the body in a way that makes him shiver. He can move as if he’s fucking you even from across the room without so much as a touch, and he knows you’ll realize it.

He’s at his best too, when this sort of thing happens to him. The eye contact is more intense, his hips are more pointed for a reason other than payment, and arguably he feels he’s most attractive like this too. Considering the countless times he’s been paid to dance and expose himself to women he’d never even look at twice, it always hits differently when a client is just his type. 

And when he looks at you through the start of his dance, you appear to be painfully stiff against that soft couch. He smirks, a small chuckle rumbling from his chest. If only you knew how lucky you are, knowing his clients would be on their knees for a chance to experience him like this. 

The fact that it’s your first time doing this…he’d be smart to not pull this shit on you. He’s never tried this with a new client, after all but–fuck, just look at you.

Jake’s hips move on their own for the most part, he doesn’t have to think much when he’s getting into it. He easily dances along to the music for you, as if it’s second nature to him despite not yet removing any clothing. It’s the build-up for him now, and he thinks it may be that for you too. Of course, if he leaves your house tonight with a large tip in his pocket and a hard, untouched cock, that’s fine too, though not preferable. 

You watch him the same way he watches you, after all, the electricity for this to play out is there. It’s rare that he can feel goosebumps raise on his skin by a mere look from a woman that looks far too powerful despite sitting there helpless. He’s making you helpless, the dim lighting of this room accentuating his body is making you helpless. 

And truly, you find yourself understanding with each shadow on his stomach as to why he’s so favored in the groups of lonely women. Arguably, you’re shocked your best friend decided to share him.

As the song begins to fade, Jake readjusts himself. He watches you during the brief silence, a sort of fondness in his eyes making you wonder if he’s looking at you or if he does this for everyone. It feels intimate with the way his eyes slowly scan your body in the quiet room. As if the silence doesn’t need to be filled with anything other than eye contact.

For him though, a woman has never met his eye between songs. Typically, their eyes are glued to his chest, cock, hands, and neck– never his eyes. They’re muttering, moaning, or shouting for him to hurry up, that the clock is ticking and they want to see more. But not you. Even as the next song plays, your eyes stay focused on his until he looks away and starts closing the distance. He skews his body now, allowing you to see him in profile. 

In some ways, you have him feeling a bit flustered in the way you keep meeting his eye despite his body making a show for you. He’s never had to act with his face more than he has with you, even as he drops to his knees during a particular part in the song, thrusting his hips forward in an attempt to make you imagine yourself bent over on the floor in front of him. 

He glances to his side, and still you’re searching his face.

He, now, looks back down for a moment, finding himself trying to guide yours somewhere else. He knows his job is to be looked at, to be seen, but this is far too seen for his liking. Thankfully, your eyes do follow his, and you gasp at the way he moves. 

Your mouth falls open, gripping the hem of your dress as you imagine exactly what he intended.

The fact that this is your first time, Jake realizes this is new ground for him too. Typically, he speaks with his body and it appears now, he needs to portray some form of sexuality to you with his eyes. Like the roles are switched, he has to do to you what you’re supposed to be doing to him.

This is new, but warranted. Easy, even, for him to do it because he does want you.

You watch him intently, not fully realizing that you’re barely watching him fuck the air in front of him. Yeah, you see that too, but your eyes always go back to his and now, his own gaze is meeting yours. His gaze is searching your body, watching you move in reaction. From the way your fingers grip at the clothes he’d like to see on the floor later, to the way you slightly rub your legs together in a way that is almost too easy to miss. This alone is enough for him as his eyes burn their gaze into you. Much like you’re supposed to be doing to him.

He’s supposed to be able to look at you and know exactly what you’re thinking. So be it, the least he can do is let you know what he’s thinking. 

Jake’s dance is more intentional now when he leans back on his arms, throwing his head back but keeping his head turned towards you. He tries to show you specifically what he would do to you. That bulge in his pants is large and blatant as he thrusts forward and back to the music. You glance to it, offering the same jittery reactions of arousal. 

And this is when he allows his blazer to slide off of his shoulders, reaching to unbutton that single clasp for it to go sliding to the floor. He continues his movements through it, watching your eyes move to his arms and the strength used to hold himself up, his skin more and more visible to you. You do try to keep eye contact but…well, the way his abs flex when he presses forward, going concave with each inhale of those sensual lips that constantly smirk at you. 

It’s a shame, really, to know that the bulge in his pants will remain there, unseen. 

With his blazer now pooled at his wrists, he regains his focus. He wants you so badly by this point that it’s driving him crazy how hard he’s having to work for it. You’re supposed to be feeling this way, not him. Even if he can see that his routine is causing a reaction from you, he’s practically masturbating himself against the inseam of his pants just to get you to say something to him. 

Meaning, he needs to work harder. The current song is soon to be replaced with another, his favorite to dance to, his favorite to fuck to. And to be fair, by the time this playlist gets to this song on this specific playlist, usually his clients are already shaking under him. Not you though, you’re holding yourself back and he can fucking see it.

He ignores the fact that it’s technically not time for him to move on to his next set of dancing, mostly because he almost never has to get to this part, he leaves his blazer on your floor as he positions himself back on his knees, turning towards you this time and looking you straight in the eyes. The fact that he’s hard and horny is enough to amplify the way he’s looking at you, confidence so high that he’s fine with being seen in any way you want.

He’s slow when he does it, crawling a few steps closer to you. You watch the way his shoulders move in the light, his eyes rounded and cheeky, his hair falling in front of them with a charming movement. It’s not intentional when you rub your legs together at the image yet again, very much wanting to spread them the closer he gets to you. 

You can’t help but think he looks smaller on his hands and knees, eyes looking up at you as if he could eat you whole. You do wonder if your face reads the same for him, with the nervousness hitting you off and on. 

“You’re hot when you look down at me like that.” Jake mutters out of nowhere under the veil of his music, stopping in place in front of you, planting himself right at your feet. “I’d like to touch you, is that okay?”

Nevermind the fact that Jake has never actually had to ask to touch a client before, he really can’t help it at this point. His cock is aching in his pants and he isn’t quite ready to wait an entire playlist worth of songs just to put his clothes back on and leave the door with pain between his legs. He very much wants to fuck something right now, preferably someone.

You.

On the other hand, he’s pleased to see how fucking fast you accept his request. Yes, he can touch you. Fuck, you want him to touch you.

And the whole idea that this is just him doing his job is so far in the back of your mind right now that you almost forget that he probably does this to most of the women he’s paid to entertain. Quite frankly, you don’t give a fuck. You can pretend that he only does this for you, you can live in a fantasy just for a night. 

Jake lends you a smile as the current song finally fades out, the silence back except this time, you’re not looking into his eyes when you nod. 

He’s slow when he places his hand on your knees, rubbing up, up, up until he’s able to lift himself and hover over you. He intentionally pushes your dress up your thighs, solely because he wanted to see you rub them together in full, shameless view for him. He wants to know what his body does for you. What it does to you. 

And he stands, hovering over you for a moment with his hands glued to your thighs before he stares down at them. You just do as he expected, you rub your legs together, you look anywhere but at his eyes now, your hands grip the couch beneath you.

“I’m going to get on top of you,” Jake says now, dipping his head into your line of sight and forcing eye contact again, now gripping the back of the couch rather than your thighs, Just as he did when all of this started. “Would you like that?”

“Do you do this for all of your clients?” You suddenly ask with a smaller voice than you gave him upon opening your door. You breathe in sharply when he moves instead of answering your question immediately. 

He spreads his legs, propping himself right on your lap, facing towards you, letting you feel the warmth of his chest radiating near your face. 

“What kind of answer are you looking for?” He laughs fondly, grabbing your hands and placing them on his chest. “You should touch me, by the way.” He foregoes his own rule with that one, not wanting to wait any longer for you to maybe ask him yourself. “Just pull away if you don’t want to.” He adds, guiding your hands over his chest and down his abdomen.

“You didn’t answer my question–” You interrupt him, feeling the warmth pool and drip into your panties. “It’s a yes or no question.”

He chuckles sweetly, stopping your hands at his abs and holding them there. 

“No,” he admits, moving his focus to the music now that he’s got your hands on him. “I don’t do this for all  of my clients.” 

Jake isn’t sure why he does it, but now he can’t bring himself to look at you. The eye contact feels more intimate than it should with you asking him such a question and demanding an answer. Even as he swirls his hips, feeling his clothed cock rub up and against you every few seconds, it feels almost too intimate. 

“Oh, yeah?” You nervously chuckle back, feeling his muscles move beneath your hand as he thrusts his hips forward. 

“You know,” He mutters, guiding your hands a bit lower despite his own confusion at how much he’s enjoying this moment with you. You feel the cold metal of his belt buckle against your palm and you think he’s going to stop there, like maybe this is just something he does to amp up the show or something, but no. He drags your hand down further until you feel the warmth of his cock under his pants..  

Your pulse quickens as your ears start to ring. Your eyes avoid where your hand is right now, taking in a deep breath and looking up at him with question. He’s not looking back though, instead, his head is dropped and he’s staring at his pathetic bulge against your hand. He’s dancing into it, against it.

“I’ve never gotten this hard over a client that doesn’t want me.” He admits shamefully in a pathetic little laugh, bucking against your palm again to the beat of the song. “I can’t tell if I’m doing my job well enough.”

You feel shocked at that. A client that doesn’t want him? Is he fucking insane?! Then again, you need to be honest with yourself sometimes. You’ve tried to appear as uninterested as possible until he started crawling to you. There is clear attraction, obvious needs swirling in the air right now. You force yourself now to look at your hand with the hefty bulge rubbing desperately against it. The sheer size of him is something entirely different from what you were expecting out of him. This feels forbidden.

Wrong, even, But goddamn. The man is masquerading his dance solely so he can fuck against your right now. Maybe you should show some interest. 

“You’re doing well, Jake,” You finally mutter to him, the first compliment you’ve given since he got here. 

“Yeah?’ He sighs out, relieved as his hips press harder into your palm. Arguably, he’s not even dancing at this point, just trying to get off. “How well?”

Yeah, he’s a little desperate at this point for you to do something on your own. It’s so out of character for him to do all of this just to…well, get off.

“Show me,” He raises his brows, now removing his hands from yours and running them up his chest. His hips continue to move on you, and he watches you as you hold your hand in place. “Come on, the buckle is right there–” he nearly pleads. “You don’t have to be shy.”

Like a book, the two of you read the other at this moment. You’re not a woman of many words and he seems to understand that now, taking your single compliment and running with it. You do as he says, unbuckling his belt and now, sliding your hands up his body to meet his. 

“There you go,” He stresses through another relieved sigh. Leaving your hands where they are against his chest and sliding the belt from his loops on his own. He tosses the belt behind him, relishing in that lost look in your eye.

You clearly have no fucking idea what you’re doing, but you seem to like it. And god, does he fucking love it. Especially when he motions his head back down, forcing your hands back to where they belong and helping you unbutton his pants. 

“Take it out, go on.” He says in a rush, “I’m asking you to do it.”

To be fair, you’re going to do it despite the nervousness in your gut. It’s been so long since you’ve touched a man, and even longer since you wanted to. You could half argue that you feel like you’re about to lose your virginity right now despite all those hook-ups in college. Still, you don’t even nod at him when you do it. Carefully tugging his pants down and watching the weight of his cock do the rest of the work for you. 

His legs spread wider as he points it up at you, a lewd scene, one that feels both disgustingly sexy and very, very, straight forward. You’ve never been like this with any other person. Or rather, no one has ever blatantly shown themselves like this to you. 

And still, Jake just looks at you. So much eye contact becoming more and more comfortable as he learns what you seem to like. He can feel the air in your apartment against the head of his cock, the cool air rushing past his shaft and causing him to shiver with a very quiet moan. He still only looks at you during this moment, wondering why you’ve let your hands fall to his thighs. Then he sees a new look in your eyes.

Are you…waiting to be told what to do? 

For some reason, he keeps forgetting that you’ve never had a stripper in your home before, let alone been seduced by one. Honestly though, he assumed you’d catch on by the point his cock was out. This isn’t for show anymore, he wants you. 

“Touch me?” He asks gently, reaching back down to your hands and urging you to grab his cock. “You don’t even have to move, I can do the rest–” He chokes out a groan mid-sentence as he feels you grasp him in your fist.

Such a silent woman beneath him. He can only read you in specific moments, this one not at all being one of them. You’re hesitant but willing, perhaps? You leave him questioning himself and his own motives, still wondering if that compliment you gave him was genuine or just part of your own little show. 

Yet still, you’re gripping him tightly and allow him to focus his hopes. Dancing beautifully into that little circle your hand creates for him. The best part is that when or if he ever actually dances to this song, it’s when he’s blatantly fucking someone. So the movements come naturally, just as they would if your legs were buckling and your pussy was spread open on him. So, basically, this dance is nothing short of fucking your fist, pretending to keep up an act that he so wishes you’d see through. 

He keeps his face intense, moving his shoulders and arms as if it’s easy for him to turn the tables and position you to where your legs are on his shoulders and he’s rubbing his cock against your, hopefully, soaked panties.  

It’s a struggle though, to not moan out in desperation when you tighten your grip on him. He watches your pupils blow out, and can see the way you’d now probably ask him to do just that. To put it on you, to shove it in you. And so, he slows his hips a bit and catches his breath, staring down at you in wait. 

“You’re really expecting me to get off all on my own?” He finally says in an exasperated breath to your stillness and silence. He really is, trying to act as though he can’t see the look in your eyes and how it’s changed since he started dancing. “Baby, don’t you want it?” He adds, now waiting to see if you’ll move your hand away from him.

You don’t though, to his surprise, you actually start moving your hand on him. You’re jerking him off, staring up at him like you want it, squeezing the head of his cock before dragging those pretty fingers back down. 

Instantly his eyes roll back. “Fuck, that’s good,” He compliments your hand, shaking a bit and shivering at the fact that you really just did that. “Can I stop pretending that I’m still dancing for you now?”  

You find it in yourself to chuckle now, nodding with a confident sort of smile. It hit you fairly quickly, actually, as you watched him chase his pleasure all by himself. He’s so hard, and so incredibly thick in your hand, you’d be stupid to say it didn’t turn you on. It’s that fact that you’ve barely said anything to him and he’s begging you to look at him, to watch him, to touch him. All of your nervousness slowly disappeared because it was being replaced with power. 

Now, that, you’re used to. You know what power feels like in all aspects of the working world, but never at home. Never when sex is involved. You’re always expected to play the part of a desperate woman in need of love, and that’s just not you. No, you’re a powerful woman with nerves that could kill you. And the way Jake parallels your working world, it’s almost too perfect. You’re used to men being beneath you, begging for your money, giving you all of their attention, apologizing for normal human errors. 

Jake isn’t exactly begging you for money, but he’s still begging for your hands. 

“No.” You finally say, relishing in the shock on Jake’s face. “Keep dancing, it’s what you’re being paid to do.”

His eyes fall a bit now as he nods his head. You almost feel his cock falter at the same time at your response, but you move your hand a bit faster. You grip a bit tighter, urging him to do whatever it is that’s on his mind. You want to see if he will actually do as he’s told now, considering you’re the one with the money to bring him back here. 

It’s endearing how he does his best, and honestly, his best probably far surpasses some of the most notable dancers on the market if you had any idea of how they were. It’s just a bit hard to continue this act for him when you’re gripping his cock in such a beautiful way. 

“You’re–” He pauses to hold in a moan, feeling the way you drag your hand in time with his dance. “You’re not going to ask me to touch you?” He finally adds, meeker than before, far less confidence. 

In fact, he’s hiding his face.

You smile in response, looking up at him with dark and wide pupils as you swallow each movement his body makes for you. Your ears are still ringing, unable to comprehend the music blasting in your sound system. Your focus is solely on him, your hands are on him, your confidence is because of him. 

The answer to that question should be a given, after all, shouldn’t he be well aware considering this little stunt he pulled that actions truly speak louder than words?

“No wonder she liked you so much.” You start, now loosening your grip on him just to see the way his hips frantically chase the warmth of your palm.

“Wait–” He asks slightly out of breath, cheeks flushed and bashful. “You really thought, I let her get me off like this?” 

It almost pisses him off that you’d say that to him, then again, it’s not like you knew that this specific instance is rare and reserved for very few clients. 

“You couldn’t even look at me properly thirty minutes ago, now you think you can make assumptions?” He argues, pushing away from you.

Your response is skewing an eyebrow at him, watching him fight for control as he pulls his hips back and shuffles off of you and onto his feet. You glance down at his cock and the way it stands painfully erect, twitching at the sudden lack of friction. 

“Is it wrong to assume when you very clearly want me to make you cum?” 

He stills himself, a blank expression turning to that of a devilish smile, eyes narrowing at you as he leans over you. 

“Are you suggesting that you’ll get me off?”

You smile, spreading your legs a bit and feeling the stickiness drip through your panties now. 

“She did tell me that some clients have gotten special treatment from you,” You mock him slightly, watching his eyes glue themselves to your thighs. You make a show to spread your legs a bit for him. “I also know that she was no such client.”

A small moment of silence as he devours you with his eyes, seemingly interested in the attitude you have towards him now.

“I also didn’t imagine your clients would be the ones getting you off.” 

Honestly, it’s like he hit the fucking jackpot with you. Challenging him, mocking him with his cock out in front of you. If you so much as wiggled your cunt in front of him, he would instantly be back on his knees, letting you soak his face in whatever way you please. 

“Normally they’d be jumping at the chance, you though–” Jake very nearly growls at you with a deepened voice. “You look like you’re the one who needs to get off, if anything to get that snarky grin off your face.”

“Go on then, dance.”

It’s almost like a game now, he feels. You know he’s trying to seduce you and it seems you’re enjoying the fact that you haven’t let him yet. He knows that you intend to let him, so yeah, fuck yeah, he’s going to play along. 

He raises a brow at you as he steps back once more, trying to ignore the fact that his cock is aching to be touched again. You still want your show? Good. He’ll fucking give you a show.

Jake does as he’s told, finally kicking his pants off in full and keeping his eyes on you the entire time. He watches the way your legs spread when he rubs his hands down his naked chest, straight down to his cock where he only briefly tugs at himself. He can almost see under your dress as you continue to spread your legs more and more, but the lighting is far too dim to see what his act is doing to you just yet.

When he saunters behind you, dipping his head by your neck and whispering the dirtiest part of the song into your ear, he can see your sharp intake of air, and he watches the way your breasts move with each breath he forces out of you, and the way your nipples perk through the fabric.

So, he stays here behind you with his hips pressed to the back of your couch, ghosting his hands over your neck, moving down your arms, and then to your chest. He doesn’t touch, because you still haven't asked yet, but he knows hovering alone is enough. It’s like he can feel the electricity beneath his fingers somehow reaching your skin. 

  And he continues to sing against your ear, leaning further forward to plant his hands on your thighs again, mostly because he’s already been given permission to touch you there. 

“More,” He gently demands between lyrics. “Spread them all the way.”

Jake watches for a moment from behind you, pressing his cock against the back of the couch the moment he sees your legs stretch open, your dress hiking up past your waist, enough now that he can at least see a glimpse of the skin closest to your pussy. 

“Ask me to touch you.” He pleads against your ear, trailing his fingers up your thighs enough to where he would need you to tell him to stop otherwise. “Just tell me you want it.” 

It’s silent save for the music playing, and his cock is aching so badly by this point that each time he rubs against the couch he’s almost breaking down to fucking beg you to let him touch you. That alone could make him cum, but god, you’re so good at playing hard to get even if it’s blatantly obvious that he’s already got you. 

You’re fucking playing with him, and he can’t decide if he loves it or hates it. 

Your silence is so damning to his dripping cock, and his skin feels so hot right now that he’s almost forgotten that he was paid to be doing anything that’s not this. 

“No.” You playfully respond, dangling yourself just out of reach. You breathe in deep though, knowing you can’t keep denying him for much longer with the way his hands are rubbing at you. “I like it better when you’re the one asking for it.” You lean your head back and rest it against the cushions of the couch, and he instantly moves from your neck to look down at you. 

Oh. 

“Cute.” He says, having no issue at all to be the one to ask, beg, plead, or cry. Whatever it takes to get a feel of you at this point. It’s just…new to him.

Another long moment of eye contact has him trailing his hands higher than before, almost to the point that there’s no skin on your thighs to touch that doesn’t involve your panty line. 

“May I?” He asks, leaning down a bit closer so that his face is mere inches from yours. “Will you take my fingers?” 

You could mistake this distance as something that should not be crossed between the two of you. Barely hearing his question at this moment, the only thing you want to do is to kiss him, and it hit you so fucking fast that you almost forgot he’s doing anything you ask of him. 

“Come again?” You smile, blinking up at him. 

He breathes in, seemingly frustrated.

“My fingers. Take them.” He says rather than asking this time, already moving his hands to trace up your panties and feeling the wetness seep through onto his fingertips. “You’re already dripping–baby,” He stops to moan at it, amazed by how fucking soaked you are. “I can imagine they’d slide right in.” 

Typically, you wouldn’t allow anyone to call you that. “Baby.” but coming from his mouth, it sounds fitting. It sounds seductive, sexy. It has your stomach in knots, actually, your hips bouncing up just slightly at his words with the pet name attached. Finally, you let him. Finally, you grind yourself against his fingers. 

“I’ll make you feel so good–” He groans at your movements, loving how desperate you suddenly appear despite pretending you weren’t going to work for your own pleasure. He continues to trace his fingers up and down just to feel the mess of you, the one that he created, and the one that he intends to make messier. 

“Moving your hips isn’t the answer though, baby.”

You swear he can read your mind, there’s no fucking way he would say it like that without knowing how you just internally admitted to liking it. 

“Yes,” You let out shortly, darting your eyes away from him. “I’ll take them.”

That breathy laugh he releases sounds sweet, almost dripping like syrup when he lays his head beside your neck. His soft singing picks back up as he listens to you now more than the music, his fingers continuously ghosting where he promised to put them, not yet moving your panties. 

Paired with it, his abdomen stays tense as he humps against your couch, his muscles locking up at the pleasure running through him in this position. Your hips lightly chase his fingers, up when his fingers move down, and he can’t help the shy smile that spreads across his lips. It’s one you don’t see, but the constant shift in your personality is something that keeps him on edge. Keeps him wanting more, to know more, to see and feel more of you. 

And when he finally reaches around you with his other hand, pulling your panties to the side and exposing your pussy, he watches you take over for him and push them down instead, offering far more than he anticipated. He watches as you kick them off your ankles almost elegantly, as if you could do this job of dancing better than he can.

“Eager?” He teases, knowing you won’t respond to that. And you don’t. It pleases him to know that at least by now, he can kind of read you. Yet, still, there’s nothing more at this moment that would please him more than getting to see you in full. To wander back around this couch and get a real good, close up look at what he’s doing to you. 

“You’re so wet right now.” He groans, knowing that you were soaked before and only hoping you’re dripping more and more for him now. His cock is weeping as much as he’d like for you to be, chasing any amount of friction he could have. And he can see his fingers slip and slide through your slick into places he wasn’t even attempting to touch just yet solely because of how wet you are. 

“You held out for so long,” He coos now with a soft breath against your neck, feeling your cheek nuzzle against his flexing arm. “Look at that,” Two of his fingers tease at your hole before– “they slipped right in.”

Your breathing is labored by this point, feeling him play with you as if he has all the time in the world to fuck with your head. Which is…nice. No rushing despite the time limit on his session, proving time and time again that you’re getting more than others get from him. Lucky you, that you can moan out without shame for him. 

And you do, grabbing his hand and practically fucking yourself with his fingers. That takes him by surprise as the warmth and sheer tightness envelopes his digits. You are excruciatingly sexy to him, he doesn’t even attempt to stop you.

In fact, he doesn’t even hold back now, meeting each chase of your hips with the force of his fingers plunging into you deeply, with full intention. He scissors them open, feeling your hole stretch around them beautifully enough to fit in a third. And god, you’re so fucking wet. He can hear the slapping of his soaked fingers inside of you pushing more and more of that arousal out. 

He moans blatantly against your ear now, easing you into talking back to you. 

“Bet you could take cock so well–” He murmurs, feeling you shiver against his grasp. “How long has it been? Hm?”

He’s talking to you, yes, but hyping himself up at the same time. The scent of your hair forcing a slight obsession with you in his mind. The way you feel, look, smell, move when you’re just inches from him like this. He knows you won’t respond to a goddamn thing he says too, but it doesn’t matter too much to him at this point. Because now, you’re whimpering.

Such a confident, well respected woman…fucking whimpering.

“What was that?” He asks playfully, running his other hand up your body until he gets to your neck. “Has it been that long?”

And for the first time, you were going to answer. For the first time, he doesn’t leave room for you to answer. Instead, you feel his palm resting flush against your neck, now pressing in and practically holding you down by the neck as he fucks his fingers into you faster. 

Painfully faster.

“Cry for me again,” He encourages you, wincing as his own hips frantically chase the back of your couch. “You’re allowed, come on, do it again.”

And because he’s working for it, because he’s doing so fucking well, you let out another choked moan. His hand straining your neck so tightly that any sound coming out sounds strained and desperate, even the sound of yourself right now ignites a fire inside of you. You can feel that grasp tighten each time his fingers fuck into you with a painful jab, his palm placed so perfectly that you can feel your clit being rubbed each time he pulls his hand back.

It’s…overwhelming.

“Yes, fuck- again.” He groans, bucking his hips forward and frantically lifting his head from your shoulder, all so he can look down at you. He’s heard you, now he wants to fucking see how desperate you are when you cry out. 

When you open your eyes again, wincing every few seconds at both the pleasure and pain of his desperate hands, all you can see is his face. All you can feel are those same long fingers threatening more and more cries from your chest. He’s hitting spots inside of you that haven't been touched in a long time. Feeling it now almost burns, even with the cold metal of that single ring on his finger against your neck. 

And when he tightens that hand on your neck once more, not only do you cry out, but he matches you with his own stuttered gasp. You strain to keep your eyes on him through this moment, watching the way his teeth appear to scrape at his bottom lip when the sound of you envelopes his ears. So, you do it again, and again, and again. 

His fingers only continue their aggressive assault inside of you, his palms still hitting your clit, and that other hand around your throat…honestly? You could fucking sing songs to him at this moment if he so wished it. 

“You’re shaking.” He comments, eyes flicking to your body. “Can you even breathe right now?”

His smile looks so fucking mean, knowing full well that you can’t breathe and only tightening his hand harder against your throat. Nevermind the fact that you never discussed this type of thing with him, fucking wasn’t even in the agenda. But now? Fuck it. You do like it. Maybe you even love it. The way you’re moaning for him is all either of you need to know. 

This time though, when you moan out and it’s sounding particularly raspy, he releases his hand from your throat and instantly leans down to your lips. He’s a bit shocked that you immediately strain your neck to kiss him. What he was going to do was degrade you. Now though, he’s just tasting the way you’re so desperate to kiss him. As if you’re wanting this to be real, to be intimate. 

Arguably, your idea was better than his own because now he can’t bring himself to degrade you. In fact, he was stupid to even consider such a fucking thing. Despite never kissing his clients, things with you have already lasted far longer than he’d normally allow. Things have already surpassed the intimacy level he allows too, even with the very few lucky women who get to touch him. He’s never asked for it, and he’s never gotten this much of his own pleasure out of finger fucking them. Not once has he ever fucked himself against a couch to hold himself back for a woman either. 

Maybe just this once, he can want it to be real too. Even if he leaves with a pocket full of cash, the fantasy right now is enough for him to accept it as is. If you want him to kiss you, he will fucking kiss you.

His pupils grow as his eyes close, slowing his fingers unintentionally as he focuses on your lips and tongue. Even his body against your couch relaxes and his hips slow to that of a sensual thrust forward, one that offers a long and painful drag against his already raw and reddened cock. You kiss him back better than he’s even been kissed before, and falling into it was terrifyingly easy. 

His brain nearly short circuits at the softness of it, allowing his hands to move on their own accord, cupping your jaw with one hand and emptying your pussy to rub your clit with the other. He’s intentionally deepening the kiss far past his own comfort level.

But he is comfortable, and that’s precisely what’s uncomfortable about it. 

“You can take it–” Jake mutters between kisses, more focused on your lips than the words he spilling to you. “You want more, right?” He continues, only now pulling back in a breath and waiting for you to adjust your eyes on his. 

Immediately, when you open your eyes they widen at him. Goddamn, was he this sexy before? Did he even look this into you when he was on your lap fucking your fist? Out of all of his begging, this…this right here. Are you really about to fuck a stripper? The man you were so against meeting just this morning? The man who has $600 in his bank account from your lovely, fucking adored and beautiful best friend? 

The man that you’re probably going to give the entirety of the contents in your purse to the moment he packs up and moves on as if this never happened?

Yes.

“I want more–” You say to him, blinking at his pretty eyes and intentionally rubbing your clit against his fingers, mostly because it appears as if he’s stopped functioning all together.

And before you can even blink, his fingers are pulled away and his presence is gone. You lift your head to watch him, cock still erect and heavy against his thigh as he goes directly to his bag. As if he knew it was going to happen, as if this was his plan before he even met you, he pulls out a condom and slips it on without so much as a sigh of relief.

After all, he does have to take precautions to be fucking an absolute stranger like this.

“Oh.” You huff in disappointment, not entirely meaning for him to hear it. 

He raises his eyes to you as he pulls at the end of the condom, offering plenty of space for whatever release he intends to have soon, but his eyes don’t seem concerned nor bothered. 

“What? You want it raw?” He asks playfully, wiggling his eyebrows briefly before making his way back to you. “That’ll require a bit more discussion, you know.”

Discussion that neither of you are willing to have solely because your pussy is throbbing and his cock appears to be more pathetic than it already was being strangled in that thin layer of latex. And without another word, allowing both of you to put that to rest for now, he’s right back over you, lifting your dress up and off of you. 

“Fuck.” He breathes out as your tits falls from their perfect place within the dress. The sopping wet couch beneath you only soaking up more of your slick as his words force more out of you. God, you feel so wanted. 

You keep your arms lifted to help him ease the dress entirely off of you, leaving you bare beneath him as he instantly goes to grab both tits, pressing them together before flicking both nipples with the tips of his fingers. 

Your body jolts at the sensation, feeling it run through you and swell your clit more than it already was. The ache is worse, your hole is pulsing, yearning, wanting to be filled. Still though, he takes his precious expensive time, leaning down and sucking one erect nub into his mouth and flicking it all the same with his tongue. 

“Right here?” He mouths from around your tit, eyes closed and tongue still focused elsewhere. “You want to be fucked here?” He mumbles again, realizing that his question will likely go unanswered. It’s very likely that he is going to fuck you right here, on your living room couch. Asking you such a thing was stupid, borderline cringe-worthy. 

To his surprise though, you lend him a small “no.” as you lace your fingers in his hair, pushing his lips to your other nipple just to feel the warmth of his tongue.

“No?” He questions, blinking up at you from your chest before biting gently around the sensitive bud against his mouth. “Where then?” 

To his dismay, your smile is still beautiful but the way you close your legs and sit yourself up from the slouched, relaxed position you were in disappoints him. Mostly because he’s now forced to stand up too, and even more so because he has to keep his head dipped in order to keep his mouth on that perfect nipple of yours. 

His disappointment fades as you hold his head there, feeling your legs almost buckle against him when he moans around it, sending vibrations through your chest. You remain gentle though, wobbling on your legs and shuffling forward, allowing him to continue his antics. Slowly but surely, you turn him around and back him up against the couch.

Only now, when you push him back and his teeth graze your sensitive nub do you realize that he’s so, so much needier than you expected. Even with his begging, his little disappointed sound didn’t go unnoticed. His brows are still furrowed now, not even paying attention to the fact that you’ve just shoved him down so that you can be the one straddling him. It’s cute, actually. Noticing how he was so intimidating when he came into your house, walking with confidence, dancing with intention, finger fucking you and choking you as if he had a right to do it…only to now look at him and the way he’s melting.

The way he’s needy, borderline puppy-like to be near you.

His eyebrows shoot up from that little face of disappointment though, when you pull yourself from his mouth and instead plant yourself right on his lap, letting your pussy lips envelope the underside of his cock as you grind up immediately.

It’s the first slippery touch his cock has felt all night and honestly? He’s been on edge this entire time. You grind so fucking beautifully, and it’s a first for him to realize that he’s entirely speechless.

You’ve rendered him incapable of speaking. 

“You’re cute, I don’t think you realize that.” You comment, gliding against his cock and watching his hands reach out to grip your waist, “Really cute.”

He doesn’t falter at your compliments, instead he just melts into it even more. His cheeks are permanently blushed as he leans forward to try and get your tits in his face again, and all you can do is grip his hair and let him. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt the head of a cock bumping your clit, and you’d never forgive yourself for not letting yourself have this kind of fun more often. 

And Jake just gets whinier. His cock pulses and twitches to be inside of you all the while despite the discomfort of that latex layer likely needing to be replaced already. Still, his hands keep moving your waist, pushing and pulling you faster against him until– ah.

You angle yourself perfectly when he slides your upwards again. All you had to do was perk your ass out and wait for him to push you back down. Finally, he slides in without fully realizing that’s what was going to happen, and goddamn the sound he makes, fuck.

“Mmfuck,” He winces, digging his nails into your hips at the speed of which he bottomed out. The breath is knocked out of him and all you can do is stare down. Look at him now, so docile and sweet like he wasn’t fucking your livingroom floor prior to this. 

And the grip of you on him, so strong. The slide was so easy, so fast, that he genuinely is seeing stars at how good you feel wrapped around him. The velvet walls inside of you pulsing, pushing and squeezing his cock all over. He can’t help the sounds he makes, grunting and feeling that grip you have in his hair intensify his pleasure. 

Both of you now let out a long winded breathy groan at the sensation of your body adjusting to his, in all fairness, you had to grip onto something and his hair just so happened to be the best thing at the moment. He seems to love it though, so when you finally regain your senses of being absolutely fucking full, you pull at it again, tilting his head back so that you can see the expanse of his neck and the way it moves when he swallows. 

“Bounce.” He croaks out at you, eyes glistening with pure fucking hope that you will. 

And, well…when you feel his length pulse in place inside of you, you do exactly as he asked. You bounce, taking his full, thick cock each and every time. Not allowing a single inch of it to be neglected. All he can do in response is squint, trying to keep his eyes open through each breathy groan of praise and encouragement. He does lose himself entirely to the feeling of euphoria and the pain of how harshly you keep his head tilted back. 

He really didn’t think you could get any sexier, honestly, and as far as he’s concerned…if he moves right now he’s going to cum. So, he doesn’t. Instead, he just lazily smiles at you and lets his eyes finally close so that he can fall right back into the state of seeing nothing but stars.

Frustrated, yet incredibly turned on by the way you’ve just completely lost him, you bounce harder, then you sit flush against him, twisting and swirling your hips. Grinding forward back, counting how he moans each time you do something that feels particularly sensitive for him. And you hang onto that, repeating those actions, lifting your ass and sliding back down. Again and again, until your legs shake and your fingers threaten to pull his hair too hard.

“Look at you now,” You half-chuckle out of breath, hearing the wet slaps of skin on skin paired with his blatant and sensual moans drowning out the playlist that has been long forgotten. “You can’t even move.”

All he does is nod his head, that same lazy and cocky smile appears as if to insinuate that you’re damn fucking right he can’t. Like he’s proud of it. And you’re not going to ignore the fact that his hands are still on your waist either, gripping onto you so tightly that you fear he could draw blood if you move the wrong way.

“Keep going, baby–” He somehow manages to say to you. “Don’t stop.”

There it is. This entire time he’s been begging to fuck you, and now he’s finally begging you to fuck him. His voice still sounds like honey, with that impressively hard cock inside of you pulsing so constantly that you could probably feel him in your stomach if you were to press against it. 

“Mhm,” You answer him, promising that you won’t stop through just a half-moan and a long winded intake of air. Honestly? At this very moment, you feel like you’re sitting on a throne. Jake, obviously, being said throne but whatever. The fucking power he’s making you feel is nothing short of alluring. 

And now, as that power goes to your head, you opt to grind rather than bounce for him now. Your hips aren’t as erratic, yet still he tenses up for you, forcing his cock to somehow feel even harder as you fuck it into yourself through lazy drags of your clit against his pelvis. 

If you keep going like this, you could cum in an instant. But before you can even finish that thought, you look down at him on instinct due to his sudden silence. 

His eyes are squeezed shut tightly, and his mouth is open in a silent moan. You can see that he’s not breathing, seemingly holding his breath even after you release his hair. His head lolls back with that same expression, and that’s when you feel his fingernails dig.

“Oh,” You moan, now resuming your grinding much harder now, making a point to bump your clit repeatedly against him. “Fuck, are you cumming right now?”

Still he doesn’t respond, you can only feel his hips stutter under you despite trying to remain entirely still and stiff for you. You know that now is when you need to be chasing, because you’ll be damned if you’re not going to cum with him inside of you. 

You want to be full like this, you want to squeeze him, to play with his sensitive cock even if it starts to soften. He’s too pretty, too fucking pretty when he whimpers. And so, you continue grinding, up until you’re on the brink of your orgasm but not quite there yet. To the point his cock is only half in you with the way you’re angling your clit against him, chasing your own high so aggressively that you barely feel his fingers tightening on you again. 

Jake shoots his head back up, eyes opening as the sensitivity hits him quicker than he would have liked, but you don’t relent. The pain is intense from how hard you’re riding him, but he can see how close you are, the image alone compliments that sensitivity he’s feeling right now. 

He seethes out painful praises to you as your desperate cunt finally reaches orgasm, squeezing against his softening length so tightly that he can’t help but whimper with you. Still, he studies your face through his own winces, shuddering at the way you close your legs around him despite them being forced to stay open in this position. You try to curl into the pleasure, as if you wish you could disappear completely alongside it. 

And god, the way you grip at his arms for leverage as you shake through it. Dare he say…he’s fond of you. It still hurts, but it kind of hurts more when he knows it’s over. Mostly because it feels like he’s been in this room with you for days, knowing that’s not true. Surely he’s stayed longer than your allotted time with him, but you seemed to have given him something worth staying for at least.

When you slump over him, he almost wants to cry from how fucking sensitive he is right now. Thankfully, you seem sensitive too as you wince before he does, remaining as gentle as you can when you reach down to the base of his cock and hold the condom, allowing him to slide out of you at his own pace. 

And then, the playlist comes to an abrupt end at just the wrong moment, because it forces Jake to realize that he hadn’t stayed at all over his paid time frame. Now, all he can hear is the way his breath is entirely too uneven compared to any of his sessions with prior clients like this. He’s breathing much too fondly for you, or rather, not breathing well because of you. He can’t just…go home can he?

“You okay?” You ask to the slight panicked look on his face, seeing how he stares straight up at the ceiling, not blinking, no readable expression. “Jake?”

He shakes himself out of it, eyes slowly moving and blinking to look at you.

“That–” He tries to talk, genuinely, he does. “Um…”

The change in atmosphere almost freaks you out. Isn’t this what he wanted? You saw the way he lost himself there briefly though, you can admit. None of this was even that rough or kinky, so you’re a bit confused as to why he’s acting like this.

Maybe you even feel a bit guilty. Like you’re the problem. So, you silence yourself and lift onto weak legs to stumble and find your dress. You throw it on quickly, hiding your shame that he so wanted to see just fifteen minutes ago. Then, you head for your purse and grab every single bill you have folded neatly inside. 

Just like that, you place the money in his shaking hand and can’t bare to look at him.

“Wha-” He starts, licking his dried lips and sitting up a bit too quickly. “Why are you giving me so much?”

“It’s your tip.” You try to say casually as you clear your throat. “You can shower too, if you’d like.” 

Jake holds his breath, hoping you don’t genuinely think he did all of that for the money. He was already paid to be here, the whole…you know, fucking thing, was his doing. What happened was because he wanted it, and…he still does. Are you truly just strictly back to business like this? You literally just handed him his rent for the month and then some, it kind of amazes him. The audacity. As if he’s never been handed handsome sums of cash from drunken lonely women. You aren’t a woman who needs him, and yet you pay like you did. 

“Shower with me?” He forces himself to ask, because he knows he’ll regret it if he doesn’t. After all, this tip feels like a rejection of what just happened. Hush money, even. 

He doesn’t know what just crept into this room through the fucking silence, but he doesn’t like it. And it seems you don’t either, because you instantly comfort him with a smile and a step forward. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He didn’t intend to spend the night, free of charge no less, but he did. All of that including some embarrassing talk involving the seriousness of how this is not normal for him. 

Surprisingly, you believe him. 

After the shower, the mood had shifted into something that felt natural and less rehearsed. He wasn’t just some stripper you could call over with a downpayment of $600, he was Jake, a man trying to make ends meet in a city far too expensive even for you if you’re being honest. 

Jake, a man wanted by several women. You, on the other hand, feel the need to mend your lonely and stone-cold heart with him, however much that may cost. Not to fall in love, or to fill any type of voice. If anything, you want to be taken care of in specific ways, and you’d like to take care of him in turn. 

So, when he grimaced at your joke, saying that he would practically be your sugar baby and that you’d run off all of his other business out of need to continuously be fucked by him and him alone, you almost stopped pressing the matter.

Because you would run off all his clients solely for keeping him too busy with you to go to them. You would be paying him every time, making damn sure he’s well taken care of and financially stable. 

Jake did notice how you looked disappointed, quickly backtracking his grimace.

“Wait, you’re serious?” 

You nod shyly, blinking at him.

“It’s not like we have to sleep together every time, you won’t even have to dance for me anymore.” You argue, knowing that’s at least a half-lie. “All I ask is that you don’t fuck your other clients if you’re still seeing me, and intending to..you know–”

Jake nods happily, without question even.

“So, what happens if I’m horny and you’re not available then?”

You narrow your eyes at him. 

“Jerk off like a normal person?”

Fair enough.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

man, i forgot how lame this fic is but yknow what? good for me. jake is so fuckin’ fine fr I DON’T EVEN CAREEEEEEEEEEE. pls reblog and leave feedback on my work :D

[faery-people-of-the-future-day]

Oh hey Cloud, thanks for thinking of me. Good luck with your surgery!

I already answered these on a different tag, but some of my answers have changed since then so I'll do it again.

Last song- A Penny, revisted

Last book- Iron Widow (and I'm waiting patiently for my library hold on book 2 of that series)

Last movie-still Wicked

Last show- Apothecary Diaries

Looking forward to- my birthday's in a few weeks. Don't have any solid plans yet but I'm sure it will be fun.

Current obsession- still pulp musicals. The obsession has been going on for a year and isn't letting up anytime soon and I blame my friends for that one. You know who you are.

Last thing I searched online- probably looking up a translation of some technical term at work; don't remember which one

10 People I'd Like to Know Better

Thanks for the tags @gaiaseyes451 and @beerok23!💜!💜

last song: Gloria by the Lumineers

favourite colour: Red, like a deep luscious red that you know would taste good if you licked it. Don't act innocent, you know exactly what I mean by that. Red is a color that you just know tastes good.

last book: I am currently trying to read the Witcher series (per @lickthecowhappy's suggestion) so I am at the start of the Last Wish

last movie: Moana 2 (I have young kidsssss)

last TV show: My oldest is almost 10 which means she stays up late. Which also means I have so little time to watch adult things. So we've been watching the Office with her. I think I want to watch the Good Place with her next tho (I've never watched it!)

sweet/spicy/savoury: Sweet followed very, very closely by spicy. Habanero maple syrup is one of my favorite things on the planet.

last thing i searched online: How to explain a 10 year career hiatus in a cover letter (looking to return to work since having kids. It's been an interesting experience so far).

current obsession: Have not moved on from Good Omens, but recently realized that my obsession may be more in my own little connected universe of fics that I wrote rather than the actual canon at this point😳. I'm sure once we get that first glimpse of red and white hair that will change very quickly.

looking forward to: Going back to work and having a more established adult life again, honestly. I've been so lucky to be home with my kids while they are young, but I am ready. And figuring out how my newfound passion for writing is going to fit into that new life of mine. Another big year of change over here for me, and I am eagerly looking forward to how the growing pains are going to make way for something beautiful beyond.

ten people i’d like to know better:

@addledmongoose, @di-42, @afrenchwriter, @haemey, @eybefioro, @alwaystuesday, @katspause, @alphacentaurinebula, @shadesofecclescakes, @ochre-sunflower and whoever wants to do it (but also feel free to ignore!)

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 what letter? sirius, what letter? 

pairing: james potter x f!reader

series summary ➥ In which, james has had longing feelings for you—christmas holidays are nearing and james confesses his love towards you in the letter, expect you never read the letter, didn’t know it existed.

Warnings: angst, fluff, james pov, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever), James is complicated...ofc, nothing else

#1 she ignored my letter!

➥ In which, James writes you a love letter and hides it into your luggage carrying your clothes, not knowing he put it in a pocket you never open.

#2 she can date whoever she wants to, i don't care.

➥ In which, James and you still aren't on talking terms, he avoids you, never gets too close to you, yet complains to everyone when he sees you get close to your new charms partner.

#3 this is awkward..

➥ In which, you were fed up with James, deciding to put aside your pettiness you drag him away from the gryffindor party to talk to him.

#4 what letter? sirius, what letter?

➥ In which, you never planned on talking to james ever again, not after your last encounter with him. Luckily Sirius saves the day.

-- lmk if u wanna be tagged for any of these!!

[sirhamburrger]

what is this feeling? (m. bachira x reader)

━☆ (accidental theatre date, for day one of @phantasmaebg) ━☆ in which an unfortunate situation turns into something less tragic. ━☆ wc: 728 || tags/cw: f!reader, reader is a wicked fan bachira is just a silly little guy || event m.list ━☆ late to the first day of ebg.... not a good start

meguru doesn’t understand why he has to be here.

okay, sure, so karasu has two tickets to see wicked the musical live in tokyo. and fine, he and otoya can’t make it last minute, so now he has both tickets and a growing impatience in his heart. 

it’ll be a good experience, he distinctly remembers the osaka-hailing teenager declaring. you need to learn how to appreciate the fine arts. he doesn’t even like musicals, and he certainly won’t be able to sit through a nearly-three-hour stage performance. even if it has a green-painted-lady in it.

he fishes out his phone, starts texting karasu an apology that he won’t be staying for the whole play. but then he hears a sniffling noise coming from behind him, and he turns to face…

her. 

her, with her wicked t-shirt and baggy jeans and her now-ruined green mascara, and the way she frantically looks through the contents of her bag, then wallet, muttering a watery, unintelligible curse under her breath. and the way looks absolutely devastated right now. 

his heart jumps in his chest, and he’s opening his mouth before he even realises it. 

“hey, you good?”

she jumps, startled, but then relaxes a little - it doesn’t seem as if she’s let her guard down just yet, though. he hands her a packet of wet wipes (once belonging to otoya) for her makeup, and he sees your cautious gaze turn into relief when the green glitter comes off easily.

“thanks,” she mumbles, folding the now-dry wipe into a little square in the centre of her palm. she fidgets with the already fraying corners.

“not an answer,” he presses further, watching he curiously.

she rolls her eyes. (he can’t tell if she’s genuinely irritated or if she finds him weirdly endearing. he sincerely hopes it’s the latter.)

“oh, i just… can’t find my ticket.” she glances between him and your bag, her left hand already reaching back in to search once more. “a stupid mistake, really.” when she sees he’s not leaving, she looks back up at him, quirking a brow upwards.

“well, what are you waiting for?” she gestures at the two tickets he has clutched in his hands, then tilts her chin towards the theatre entrance. “you should go meet up with your date or whoever. the show’s going to start at seven-thirty sharp. wouldn’t want you to miss it.”

meguru blinks. “why do you assume i have a date for tonight?”

she chuckles, and a glimmer emerges in her eyes, one he thinks suits her well. “let’s just say you don’t seem like the kind of person who goes to musicals just for the fun of it all.”

feeling particularly bold in the moment, he replies, “and you are?”

“yeah.” her eyes soften, and a wistful smile stretches her face ever so slightly. “yeah, i am.” she looks down at your empty hands, then back up at him. “too bad i lost my only ticket to a sold-out broadway show. pretty silly of me, huh?”

“come watch it with me, then.” 

meguru’s own words seem to ring in his ears, and for the first time in his life, he’s panicking. even when he was this close to losing the most important match of his football career, he was perfectly calm. but when the stakes are a pretty girl calling him a creepy bastard?

yeah, he thinks his heart is about to combust.

still, his outstretched hand - the one clutching the ticket - does not waver in the slightest. he sees her surprised expression, and tries again. “come with me.”

“i can’t possibly-”

“but you’ve wanted to go for so long,” he interrupts, earning himself a narrow-eyed glare that seems to scream, i don’t need your pity. he quickly breaks eye contact. “and i’m not meeting anyone tonight, so…”

the corners of her pretty mouth twitch up in an unexpected smile.

“i’ll be geeking out the whole time. oh, screaming in your ear, too. are you sure you're ready for that?”

“yeah, no, absolutely.” he attempts a smile of his own, hoping it doesn’t look like a grimace. “you can tell me all about it.”

she lets out a real laugh this time, so sudden and pure, and together they step through the gilded double doors.

end.

bonus:

me [7.25]: sorry  karasu🐦‍⬛[7.45]: sorry for what? karasu🐦‍⬛[7.45]: bruh reply karasu🐦‍⬛[7.47]: BRO WHAT FOR

bllk masterlist || general masterlist © sirhamburrger 2025

[alcarian-does]

Ouhuhwhwhuhw

Last Song: If I Get High - Nothing But Thieves

Favourite Colour: #00b999 at the moment, it changes :3

Last Book: A Feast For Crows - George R. R. Martin. I haven't actually read it in a while tho, still need to finish it.

Last Film: Kung Fu Panda 4

Last TV Show: Brooklyn 99

Sweet/Savoury/Spicy: Spicy spicy spicy. Then savoury usually beats sweet but it's a mood thing.

Relationship Status: Taken :D :3

Last Thing I Googled: Kung Fu Panda 4. I uhh can't watch a movie without knowing the cast.

Current Obsession: It'll always be She-Ra. Arcane still takes up a lot of my brain too but I ain't writing fanfic about that.

Looking Forward To: So much, tbh but Tumblr wise I wanna get back into drawing, I've been lax, and also writing more YATM

Uhh everyone I would tag has been tagged but @itsaboringname you ain't done it yet so get tagged again

10 things for 10(ish) people you'd like to know better

thanks @se7entyrell for the tag!

last song: spooky by dusty springfield (bc i'm on my 60s vibes shit — again)

favourite colour: any shade of blue!

last book: divine rivals, by rebeca ross (loved it! it's been a minute since i've read a book front to cover so fast)

last film: woman of the hour

last tv show: the consultant

sweet/savoury/spicy: savoury for food, bitter for drinks!

relationship status: single. forever.

last thing i googled: xo kitty season 2 date

current obsession: i've been watching any romcom that is recommended to me, old or new, good or trash.

looking forward to: start my new job, write a few more chapters for death defying acts and the tortured firefighters department, go out with my friends to celebrate

tagging: @munsonsreputation @live-love-be-unique

[chrissturnsfav]

could you do a chris version of tongue tied?😊🙏

𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐃

the way chris fucks you leaves you completely tongue tied.

ᰔᩚ smut, unprotected p in v (wrap it b4 you tap it), dom!chris, dumbification kink, titty sucking

ᰔᩚ w.c. 487

ᰔᩚ based off this fic by me <3

"yeaaaah, fuckin' take it," chris drawls from below you, his voice deep and dark yet so fucking hot as you sink your hips down onto his rigid cock, beads of precum spilling at the tip.

you let out a little whine, your jaw falling open as your brows knit together in pleasure, your eyes flitting down to where your bodies connect as you sink your nails into the skin on his shoulders.

you slide back up before drawing your hips down slowly, his dick filling you so full that it's borderline overwhelming. so good, you're hissing and whimpering softly with each deliberate rock of your hips, but chris is getting impatient.

"fuckin' ride me baby, c'mon, what're you doin'?" chris grunts, furrowing his brows at you. he wraps his hands around your asscheeks, guiding you to slam up and down him harder and faster, and you're immediately left in ecstasy, a loud gasped moan slipping from your lips.

"o-o-oh god, oh my g—" you can't even finish your sentence, your words jumbled and let out in airy moans as he guides you to bounce on his cock with vigor. your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as loud whimpers and gasps fall from your locked open jaw, throwing your head back. your brain is going foggy, you can tell your seconds away from going dumb.

that makes chris smirk up at you, lips parted as he pants and shows off his white teeth, messy hair crowding over his eyes as he watches you.

"how's it feel ma? use your words, c'mon, know you're not that fucked out yet. or are you?" he taunts, letting out a gruff, breathily chuckle, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your asscheeks.

you find yourself unable to respond, he's right—you're way too fucked out. can't even respond, can't even think.

tears of pleasure burn your eyes as you respond in loud squeals, legs quivering helplessly on either side of him, jaw locked open as drool trickles down your chin.

chris chuckles darkly, biting his bottom lip through a smirk as he eyes you, titties bouncing with each harsh bounce of your hips.

"yeah, already fucked you dumb, didn't i?" he snickers cheekily, leaning his face forward to look up at you, level with your bouncing chest. "not a single thought in that pretty lil' head of yours," he mutters before taking a pebbled nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping with his eyes on you.

and he's right again, there's no thoughts in the foggy brain of yours, not a single one, euphoric tears now dropping down your flushed cheeks, knuckles white at how hard you're gripping his shoulders, loud wails leaving your kiss-swollen lips.

"yeah, that's what i thought," he smirks as he pulls away from your tit with a kitty lick, slapping your ass as he continues guiding your hips. "always a fuckin' drooling mess on my cock."

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast

@chrissturnsfav ™

[written-in-flowers]

Please, Don't Leave Me: Junho x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Hwang Junho x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, slight angst

Word Count: 3k

Summary: In the heat of ovulating, you can't wait on your husband to come home. Yet, underneath the surface of heated passion lays a much deeper meaning.

Tags: established relationship, married couple, oral sex (f. receiving), pillow humping, body worship, light spanking (blink and miss it), very slight dom/sub undertones because a bitch can't help herself, edging, breeding kink kind of, and creampie.

****

You didn’t know what was up with you. Sure, you might be ovulating, but it’d never been like this before. 

Like a dog in heat, the smuttiest visions came to mind at the most random times. You’d be doing dishes or at work, and suddenly you’d imagine your husband pounding you like he’d done after date night. You’d think about his hands, always so gentle, gripping your hips and bending you over your desk at work. Thoughts of being dazed and drooling when he finally stuck himself inside you had your thighs clenching together. You tried fanning these flames throughout the day, wanting to wait until you had Junho in your grasp. With him working in traffic now, he was home more often. 

But tonight, you simply could not wait. You’d started scrolling through your feed of porn videos while waiting on him, imagining yourself in their place, and it came strongly. Laying on your front, your pillow between your legs, you grazed your clothed sex over the soft cushion in slow motions. You kept your face buried in Junho’s pillows, inhaling his scent in every breath to fuel the desires burning inside you. The light brushes of the pillowcase going across your clit brought an aggravating need for release. Glancing at the clock, you knew he’d be home soon and likely too worn out to do anything for you. You didn’t think you could handle the embarrassment of your husband’s rejection. 

The screen beside you showed a couple in their bed, the girl spread out at the edge of the bed being mercilessly fingered by her partner. Her pleading eyes and trembling thighs brought back  the days when Junho did that to you. You grabbed onto his pillows, taking in more of his natural scent and grinding faster. He’d come home from a long day in Major Crimes, frustrated by his work, and take it out on your body. You’d let him. You always let him. 

So wrapped up in your needs, you didn’t hear the front door open. The clinking of keys hitting the bowl did not register, and neither did the light footsteps to the bedroom door. You hadn’t even heard him say your name. Facing away from the door, you didn’t see the tall man leaning against the frame, arms crossed as he observed his wife humping her pillow. His eyes scanned over your body to watch you give into your desires. Junho isn’t an idiot. You and him have known each since college, dating for three years then being married for eight. He knew when your period came, which meant he knew when you ovulated too. He only felt a pang of disappointment that you didn’t come to him right away. Then again, that was mostly his fault. His search for the island kept him away from home. He knew you tried understanding, but that understanding and sympathy will only go so far. Junho worried one day you’d become fed up and decide to leave. The thought of that destroyed him inside. It’s partly why he has given up. He should be at home with his wife, not searching for a brother who won’t come home. 

He gulped back saliva after seeing your pussy grinding on the edge of the pillow. It reminded him of the kinkier times, which you clearly were reliving in your head judging by the video you watched. 

“Junho…” his name fell past your lips. The picture of his long fingers sinking into your dripping sex stayed in your memory. You remembered how he’d pin your hips down to keep you from wriggling away from his fingers. “Junho…” you whined again, thinking of his fingers deep in you. 

“Yes, baby?”

His voice broke you from your visions, and you moved to sit up. However, a gentle hand moved to stop you. “No, no,” he said, “You started this; you’re not stopping now.” 

“Junho, I-”

“-Keep grinding, baby,” he said softly in your ear. “You know I like watching.”

Excitement brought a smile to your face, you went back to humping. This time, you had the added pleasure of his hands smoothing over your ass and back. He didn’t guide or force you to move a certain speed. Junho only knelt behind you and groped your cheeks. You closed your eyes to savor the feeling of his hands on your body. Slightly rough from years of hard work, they still handled you as if you were made of glass. He only showed roughness in the light smacks he’d land on you, which made you jerk to the sharp stinging. 

“You look so pretty like this,” he said, pulling your cheeks apart for a better view of your center on the pillow. “All needy and wet…I wish I could have you this way all the time.” Your nails dug into the bed when three fingers slipped between you and the pillow. “Your panties are soaked, sweetheart,” he said, “And you put a little spot on your pillow.” 

“It just feels so good.”

“But, don’t I feel better?” he asked, tracing a finger over your slit. He started from the front and went towards the back at a slow pace. “Wouldn’t you prefer your husband’s cock over a little pillow?”

“Yes,” you whined, pushing into his hand before he stopped you. 

“Then why didn’t you wait for me to come home, baby?” he dotted soft kisses on the backs of your thighs, lifting them from the pillow for more access to you. “I’ve missed this so much,” he said, getting dangerously close to your center, “I wouldn’t have said ‘no’. Especially not when you’re like this.”

“I tried,” you breathed, “But I couldn’t. I’ve been so fucking horny lately,” you giggled, a bit ashamed of it. “I can’t help it.” 

“Trust me,” he chuckled, “I know why and that alone turns me on.” 

A tremble went down your body the moment he pulled your panties aside. Your pussy hovering over the pillow, you had nothing to grind against except Junho's fingers. The tips lightly slid over the center, with his thumb occasionally pushing to your entrance. Walls clenching and unclenching, it tried grabbing the digit each time, but he kept himself just out of reach. His other hand continued groping your buttocks, sometimes smacking it like he used to. Your body leaned into his touch, craving more of him. It memorized the whirls of his fingers and the faint dampness of his breath on your skin. Every move and touch was put to memory. When his tongue, slippery and hot, replaced his fingers, you fell into a new wave of pleasure. 

“Junho,” you whined his name, rocking your hips into his mouth. 

“Stay still,” he said, flicking at your swollen clit. “I haven't tasted this in so long. I want to enjoy every drop.”

Holding you in place, you could only writhe and sigh as he lapped at your clit. The tender brushes soon turned into faster, harder licks and suckles that drove your knees and hands against the bed. You couldn't focus on anything else but him. Face buried in his pillow, you let yourself drown in your husband's touch and scent. His name passed your lips over and over, breathing it as if it were the only word you knew. You didn't realize how much you missed him until this moment. His coma coupled with his conspiracy about “games” consumed your husband. He went out every off day to search for an island that might not exist, leaving you at home. You tried sympathizing and understanding his need for answers, but it became harder the longer he was away. Having his tongue dipping past your entrance brought back the need for him. 

“Don't le-leave…” you whispered as he kissed up your spine to your shoulders. The rough denim fabric on your naked skin sparked more arousal. “Please…” 

“I'm not going anywhere, darling,” he chuckled, reaching your ear. Hands sliding up under your night shirt, he then said, “I'm always right here behind you. I'd never go anywhere.”

You placed both his hands on your breasts, urging him to cup and squeeze them as he grinded into you. “Just don't,” you breathed, “I don't want to lose you again.”

He paused, hands no longer massaging or lips kissing. The gentle grinding came to a slow pace, and you knew he'd caught on. Soon, you felt the tip of his nose get buried in the nape of your neck. 

“You won't,” he muttered, his fingers sliding between yours so they locked together. “I promise. I won’t go anywhere.” His reassuring kisses dotted across your shoulder. He then grinded into you, his bulge poking your slick folds. “How can I leave when I have this waiting for me at home, hm?”

He felt you shudder against him, which caused him to do it a second time. He'd given up. He might never find the island or his brother. In-ho was alive, and if he chose not to come back, that was not his fault. Rolling your nipples between his fingers, he focused on your soft whining. Nothing stroked his pride more than knowing he had this effect on you. You were more important than any meaningless mission. He'd let you know that tonight. 

“Let's take this off you.”

Your body always stunned him. He took in every curve and detail. This was his. You were his. Always. He liked to think the universe brought the two of you together at a time when you needed each other. He needed you now like then. The lust filling his eyes raked over your body as he felt up and down your sides. He stared down between your legs, hands going down your thighs as he parted them. Junho remembered his last thought before hitting the water that day: your smile. The sweet, cheerful smile you’d give whenever you saw each other; the kind that healed something inside him. He bent down to kiss you, pouring every ounce of love into it that he could. 

Your cheeks burned being under his attention, suddenly feeling the shyness as he kissed from your lips to your neck. When he quickly stripped off the rest of his clothes, you couldn't help admiring the lean body he worked hard to maintain. Your hands went up his strong arms to the muscled biceps you drooled over whenever exposed. His chest, broad and hard, puffed up when you slid over them and down his stomach. The bullet wound on his clavicle stood out dark against his skin, but you did not linger on it. Not right now. Your fingers memorized each muscle and patch of skin they touched as if they may never again. The looming fears that stayed in the back of your mind tried surfacing. But, Junho’s touches and kisses kept them away like they always did. 

“What kind of man would leave a woman as beautiful as you, hm?” he asked playfully when he sensed this, dotting kisses across your chest. 

“A persistent, stubborn one,” you laughed softly. 

“Two qualities only a fool would have,” he answered. 

“Yes, but he's my fool.”

You shared another kiss before he made a trail down your body. All playfulness disappeared immediately, however, when his mouth wrapped around the nub of your clit again. The soft sensation contorted your body: arching your back and lifting your knees to lock him in place. Gripping your thighs, he kept them on either side as he licked up the juices leaking from you. The obscene sucking and slurping added to your constant whimpers. Small releases of pleasure came out like steam, only to be smothered by the tightness of need. You swore he did it to keep teasing you. He could be ruthless when in the heat of the moment. He kept it slow and light at first before diving deeper. Nose brushing your clit, his tongue then easily slipped through your entrance. You tangled your hands in his soft dark hair, bringing him closer to feel more of him. As his tongue wriggled around inside you, the edge into an orgasm approached. You felt it starting in the very center before shooting to your clit, making it more sensitive as you shuddered around Junho’s tongue. Nails digging into the bed, you held him in place while grinding on his tongue. It inched closer and closer. Your climax reached the very cusp of pure satisfaction, and you couldn’t wait any longer. 

Then he stopped. You wriggled around your frustration as he pulled away from you, only pecking light kisses on your thighs. 

“Junho,” you whined, “Keep going. I didn't get to cum.”

“I know,” he answered, smirking at you.  

Your juices shined on his mouth and chin as he came back up. You locked eyes with him as you wiped some from his chin and tasted it. The growing arousal brought you both to the next level and neither of you backed down. Kissing him deeply, he held you gently by the throat as his tongue brushed yours. The gentle restraint caused you to grind against him, the friction poking at your arousal again. Junho did not stop you, preferring to watch you struggling to get him inside you. 

“Come on,” he said in your ear, kissing down your neck. “I thought you wanted my dick.”

“I do!” His hard body kept yours pinned to the bed, making shifting difficult. “Junho, please,” you said, your sex throbbing. “Put it in me. Please.”

“You're a big girl,” he said. “You can do it yourself.”

His spongy tip pushed to your clit, and the need to have it strengthened. “It's not fair,” you cried, spreading your legs further and angling your hips as much as they'd go. “It's right there.”

“I know, so what's the hold up?”

“You can be so mean!”

“You know I can always be worse,” he said, the threat laced into his soft breaths. “I can take it away completely.”

“You wouldn't.”

“Oh?” 

He knelt away from you, all chances gone in a flash. When you shook in place, he chuckled. “So cute,” he smiled, rubbing your thighs. 

“Don't tease…”

“But you look so cute when you're being teased,” he said, sliding his shaft between your lips and pushing right to the hole. “I missed making you this way…You missed being like this, didn't you?” He tapped the swollen sex a few times, moving in circles. “You missed being my pretty slut?”

“Yes,” you breathed, gyrating your hips only to end up with his tip inside. You started grinding until he went further, bringing relief and need at the same time. “That's why I was touching myself,” you said, “I couldn't stop thinking about being your slut again.”

“Oh god,” he breathed, body slumping when you spoke. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” you grinded into him until he pushed forward. “I missed you tearing off my panties and bending me over whenever you wanted.”

“Tearing off your panties, huh? You mean like this?” In a single rip, the plain cotton panties you'd worn to bed were ripped in two. He continued tearing until the hole was large enough for him to access you again. 

A cry of his name forced him back into you. This time, he took hold of your hips and began thrusting. Having what you'd been wanting, you laid there and enjoyed every inch of him. It had been too long since you'd been this way with each other. You couldn't recall the last time he lifted your lower half off the bed, putting you into a sloped position and entering you in a different angle. The force of his pumps and the slapping of his balls to your ass joined your moans, and it was like listening to an old song. 

“There's my girl,” he groaned when he'd pulled you into his lap. Wrapped around him, you easily bounced in his lap while he stayed sitting in the bed. “There's my pretty girl,” he grabbed both cheeks to help you along his length. “Keep going like that…Just-Just like that.”

His praise only fanned the flames. Both hands in his hair, you held onto him as you got closer to your orgasm. On top, you wouldn't stop until you reached it. 

“Oh god, I'm going to cum,” you said, maintaining your speed despite your burning muscles. “Junho, I'm going to-”

“-Then go ahead,” he interrupted, “Do it for me.”

His thumb playing with your clit sent you over. Your entire body stiffened in his grasp; your nails dragged down his shoulders and chest as you lost yourself in the moment. His praises and sweet whispers hardly reached you at your peak. You thought of nothing but the pleasure pulsating in your core. Right as you started coming down, Juho laid you on your back again and moved to pull out before he stopped him. 

“Do it inside me,” you said, hand on his chest. “Please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Propped up on his hands, Junho stayed hovering over you as he went faster. The last bits of your climax finished right as his own came. It didn't feel how you expected. His dick twitched and shuddered against your pulsing walls, and you felt a distinct warmth building there but not how you'd imagined. You watched his husband's strong body constrict and flex as it hit him hard; head falling forward, his grunts matched his pushes. He made sure every drop of his seed planted itself in you. You couldn't get over the lustful haze in his eyes, relief coming over them as he collapsed on you. 

“Don't pull out yet,” you muttered on his shoulder. “Please?”

“If that's what my girl wants…” he pecked at your neck. 

You rolled onto your sides, remaining connected together and kissing to keep him there longer. The afterglow came over you in a fog, finally settling into your muscles and turning you into jelly. You didn't want to move from his arms, wanting to bask in his warmth and touch for as long as you could. A part of you worried he'd be gone when you woke up, continuing his search for that island. You clung to him tighter, and you buried your face in the crevasse of his head and neck on the pillow. 

“I'm not going anywhere,” he reassured you in a whisper. 

“Promise?”

“Promise.” 

Whatever his reasons, you'd talk about them later. For the moment, you preferred the steady breathing and the lull of sleep.

****

A/N: can't do a Junho piece and NOT make it fluffy and angsty lol I hope you guys liked this one, and give it a reblog and a like <3

[woozinhos]

i forgot have i send this yet or not.

but wonwoo idol and reader idol (solo artist), she was performing and wonwoo got turned on mid performance, and when she's done she fuck her so hard still wearing her stage outfit

(i'm sorry about my terrible grammar, english is my second language HEHEHEHE)

Notes: im going to be redoing my tag list as I’m gonna start to commit and tag you all will make the form later :)

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

Smut below the cut

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

The lights dimmed and the crowd erupted into cheers as you finished your performance, your body glistening with sweat. You took a bow, waving to the audience before exiting the stage and heading backstage. Wonwoo was waiting for you, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

"You were amazing out there," he said, his eyes raking over your body. You walked up to him, a smile on your face as you caught your breath. "Thank you," you replied, slightly out of breath from dancing. "Did you enjoy the show?" He pushed himself off the wall and walked closer to you, his gaze darkening as he got a better look at your outfit.

"Very much," he said, his voice low and husky. "Especially the outfit." He placed his hands on your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. "You looked so sexy on stage, all those people watching you, but you're all mine." He pulled you closer to him, his body flush against yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the heat radiating off of him.

"You're so possessive," you teased, knowing how much he hated it when others looked at you for too long. He growled softly, his grip on you tightening. "I have every right to be possessive when it comes to you," he said, his lips brushing against your ear. "You're mine to look at, mine to touch, mine to have."

"And that outfit isn't helping," he added, his breath hot against your skin. He began to nibble on your earlobe, his hands slowly moving up and down your body, tracing the curves of your outfit. You shivered at his touch, your body responding to him immediately. "You're driving me crazy," he whispered, his lips moving down to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along the way.

“Let's get out of here," he said, his voice filled with urgency. He took your hand and led you towards his dressing room, not caring if anyone saw the two of you together. He pushed you inside and locked the door behind him, his eyes never leaving yours. He pressed you against the wall, caging you in with his body as he continued to attack your neck with kisses and bites. You let out a soft moan, tilting your head to give him better access. He smirked against your skin, loving the sounds you were making.

"You're so sensitive," he said, his hands moving down to your thighs, slowly lifting your skirt up. He looked down at your exposed thighs, his eyes darkening even more with lust."I want to rip this outfit off of you," he groaned, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. "But I want to see you wear it while I fuck you even more." He leaned in and bit down on your shoulder, his teeth leaving a mark.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," he promised, his hands moving to your ass and squeezing it roughly. You let out a gasp as he pushed your skirt and panties aside, leaving you completely exposed. He smirked at your reaction, his fingers tracing your bare skin. "You're already so wet for me," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction. He slowly ran a finger up and down your slit, teasing you and making you squirm.

"You're practically dripping," he said again, his finger now circling your clit. "So needy, so desperate for my touch."

"Do you want my cock, princess?" he asked, his finger now applying more pressure to your clit. "Tell me how badly you want it."

"Please," you whimpered, your voice shaky. "I want it so bad. I need it. I need you to fill me up and ruin me." His eyes darkened with desire at your pleading tone, his finger still rubbing circles on your clit. "Such a good girl, begging for me like that," he said, his free hand moving up to grip your chin. "You're going to get exactly what you want." He grabs the mic pack and throws it aside, not caring where it lands.

Without warning, he thrusts into you, burying himself deep inside you. You cry out as he enters you, your back arching against the wall. He holds you in place, his grip on your chin and hip tight as he starts to move, setting a rough pace from the start. "Fuck," he groans, his eyes fixated on your face as he watches your expression twist in pleasure. "You feel so tight and perfect around me." He begins to thrust harder, each thrust hitting deeper and deeper inside you.

"You were made for me," he growls, his words sending shivers down your spine. "Your body was made to take my cock and no one else's."

"Yes, baby," you moan, your words almost incoherent from the pleasure. "I'm yours, only yours." He smiles devilishly, loving how obedient you're being. "Good girl," he praises, his thrusts becoming faster and more intense. "Keep saying it. I want to hear you admit that you belong to me over and over again." You repeat his words like a mantra, unable to think of anything else but the feeling of him claiming you.

"I belong to you," you say breathlessly, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm your little plaything, your toy to use and control."

He throws his head back in pleasure, his hips snapping against yours with even more force. "That's right," he moans, his voice filled with dominance. "You're my toy, and I'm going to use you however I want." He can't stop looking at your body, admiring the way the outfit hugs your curves and accentuates your every move.

"I can't believe how good you look," he says, his eyes trailing over your chest, watching it bounce with each thrust. "I'm going to make sure this is the only thing you wear for me from now on."

"You're getting close, aren't you?" he says, his breath hot against your ear. He reaches down and starts rubbing your clit again, knowing exactly how to make you come undone. You moan loudly, your body tensing up as the pleasure builds up inside you.

"I can feel you clenching around me," he groans, his movements becoming sloppier as he nears his own climax. "You're going to cum on my cock, princess. I can feel it." You can barely speak now, your words coming out as gasps and moans. "Please, please let me cum," you beg, your nails scratching down his back. "I need to cum so badly, I can't hold it anymore." He smiles devilishly once again, satisfied with your begging.

"Cum for me then," he commands, his fingers continuing to work your clit in tight circles. "Let go and cum all over me." You let out a scream as you finally reach your climax, your body trembling with pleasure as you clench around him. He grunts as you cum, the feeling of you tightening around his cock pushing him over the edge as well. He moans loudly as he spills inside you, his hips stuttering as he rides out his orgasm. He leans his forehead against yours, panting heavily as he catches his breath.

He slowly pulls out of you, a mixture of his cum and your juices dripping down your thighs. He gently kisses your forehead before picking you up and carrying you over to the nearest couch. He looks down at the mess on your thighs, a smirk forming on his face. "Look at the mess you made," he teases, his hand trailing up your leg. "You made such a big mess, and you're going to have to clean it up." Mingyu's loud banging on the door interrupts the moment, startling both you and him.

He sighs, annoyed by the interruption.

"Damn it," he mutters under his breath. "I guess I have to go." "Hurry up!" Mingyu shouts again, his voice even louder than before. "You're taking too long, and Wonwoo's about to go on!" You laugh at Mingyu's impatience, and he chuckles along with you.

"Looks like our fun is cut short," he says, setting you down on the couch. "But I'll definitely be finishing this later." He kisses you slowly, savoring the taste of your lips against his. He holds your face in his hands, his thumbs caressing your cheeks as he deepens the kiss. He pulls away from the kiss reluctantly, a soft smile on his face.

"Bye, princess," he says, looking at you one last time before turning to leave. "I'll see you after the performance."

[penguinmerchant]

The year is 2037.

AI Mickey Mouse has been elected president for his second term, which is not bad, you think, because you just got a raise at work and now earn 8.25 DisneyBucks per hour, and it would be a shame if the currency crashed before you really had time to use it. And sure, under AI Mickey's first term the price of eggs had gone up to 16 DBs a dozen, but the Department of Health and Good Feelings had gotten that chicken influenza thing under control pretty fast this time, and the farm workers who were infected by the chickens had all the extra limbs they grew amputated by the government for a very modest sum (Goofy's really doing a great job as the director of Homeland Security) and so you can't help but imagine you might be able to buy some for 14, or even 12 DBs once Mickey settles into office again. And that means you'll be able to save a little, put some away for a rainy day. For a book, maybe, if you see one you like. If the militia fee isn't too much this year. And if Disney+ doesn't raise their mandatory service fee again.

You're waiting in line for your weekly ration of potable water when you feel your friend in line behind you tap your shoulder.

"Have you heard?" she asks, jumping up and down in nervous excitement, looking around to make sure no one else is listening. "There's News coming."

"News," you say, making a strange sound in your throat. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"Pacat's doing an interview tomorrow night," she says. "And she said she had Big News. She said---tomorrow, she said. It will be announced."

You put the bucket you use for water over your head so that you don't have to listen to the hope in your friend's voice, and the line crawls forward.

Despite yourself, the next night you find your feet bringing you into town, and you let your phone connect to ZuckNet, the free (and only) internet service that runs across America. For a moment you wish you brought your water bucket to put over your head so that your phone can't watch you before you remember that people had been jailed--or worse--for trying to evade such things, and so you plaster a smile on your face as you watch the three minute unskippable ad that plays, careful not to show too many teeth. The algorithm doesn't like it when it looks like you're growling.

Once the ad is over you know you'll have five uninterrupted minutes until another ad plays, and you go to your tumblr, still somehow kicking around in this desolate internet wasteland full of soulless AI (don't let Mickey hear you think that) and bots.

You search the trending tags, visit your faithful CaPri blogs. Nothing yet, and you think that maybe your friend was just joking with you, trying to get you to feel something other than apathy for once--when your breath catches in your throat. "Pacat" is trending, the blogs are lighting up, the news--no, not the news, the News, the News!--is here, spread to the small group of your fellow fans who still exist.

"Important news!" the headline says, and your phone beeps as it notices your increased heart rate, sending that information to the ad companies who will try to use it to make more targeted ads for you, "Pacat announces that next year--yes, next year in 2038, an auspicious year, really, can you even believe that it's happening--there will be a new volume of Fence!"

You blink harshly, and your phone sends out a warning tone as it loses connection with your corneal direction. You ignore it. A new Fence volume? That is...news, certainly, but not The News, nothing about CaPri, barely even about anything since there's always some Fence volume coming out every year or so, and it's fine and you're distantly glad that those who are fans of such a thing are getting fed---but where is YOUR News? Your promised CaPri News?

"And even more News," the headline continues, and you scroll down for a few minutes as you look for the second part of that headline, scrolling and scrolling as you look for something that looks like real words and not just ads targeted to drain you of every last DisneyBuck that you own, "the News that you've all been waiting for---"

"Captive Prince news is definitely still in the works! Stay tuned!"

We get new covers!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Edit: I got excited and forgot to say that this is from Pacat's newsletter!

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound Hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining

Summary: In the breathtaking, untamed beauty of Pandora, two souls from different worlds find themselves drawn together against all odds. Neteyam, the dutiful future olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya clan, is bound by the expectations of his people and the traditions of his ancestors. She, a human scientist with a love for Pandora’s wonders, sees herself as an outsider, unworthy of the connection she craves.

Tags: @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031, @redflashoftheleaf, @nikipuppeteer

Part 13

----------------------------------------------

Part 14: To sneak

The lab was alive with the hum of machines, the glow of datapads, and the occasional chatter of the xenobotany team. But amidst the usual commotion, all eyes seemed to drift now and then toward the far corner of the room, where Neteyam crouched next to her. His large frame seemed out of place in the compact, human-scaled lab, but the way he leaned in close to her, his attention entirely focused, made it look as though he belonged there.

She looked up at him, her eyes bright with some explanation about the latest plant sample they were analyzing. He didn’t say much, but the slight tilt of his head, the way his tail lazily swayed behind him, and the soft smile tugging at his lips spoke volumes. It was as if they were having an entire conversation in their own language, one that didn’t require words.

Kate, seated a few feet away, nudged Norm with her elbow. “Look at them. I mean, seriously. You’d think they’d been mated for twenty years already.”

Norm chuckled, his gaze following hers. “And yet, somehow, it’s still kind of sweet.”

Kate smirked. “You’re just saying that because you saw their first kiss on the CCTV footage last week.”

“Okay, first of all,” Norm said, lowering his voice to a whisper, “I didn’t mean to see it. The cameras are for lab security, not spying.”

“Sure, Norm,” Kate teased, her grin widening. “And I didn’t hear you gush about how romantic it was. She’s a goner,” Kate remarked quietly, glancing at Max. “But who wouldn’t be? I mean, look at him.”

Max chuckled, his gaze softening as he watched the pair. “It’s not just her, though. He looks at her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters.”

Max leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You know Jake’s been piling work on him lately, right? Testing him like crazy. And yet, somehow, Neteyam still makes time to come here. Every day.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Norm nodded, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Without fail. Even if he’s exhausted, he shows up. I don’t know how he does it.”

Kate glanced over again, catching the moment when she stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Neteyam’s cheek. His tail flicked playfully in response, brushing against her legs and making her giggle. “Okay, I’ll admit it,” Kate said with a laugh. “They’re disgustingly cute.”

The others chuckled, though none of them looked away. There was something mesmerizing about the way they moved together. If she shifted, he shifted too, his body naturally adjusting to hers as though they were two parts of a single whole. And when she laughed—soft, unguarded, and full of joy—it was clear to everyone in the room that she wasn’t just happy. She was in love.

And Neteyam? The way his golden eyes softened every time he looked at her, the way his tail flicked lazily behind him, and the way his entire frame seemed to relax in her presence said everything that needed to be said.

Kate rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her grin. “It’s disgustingly sweet. But good for her. I mean, she got herself the literal Omaticaya prince. That’s like winning the intergalactic lottery.”

Brian leaned on his station, adding in a mock whisper, “But you can tell his title doesn’t mean anything to her. She’s so in love with him, it’s ridiculous.”

At that moment, she giggled, her laughter light and musical, as Neteyam’s tail playfully swiped against her side. She swatted at him halfheartedly, her cheeks dimpling with amusement. “Neteyam!” she scolded, her voice laced with affection.

Kate snickered. “Yup. Ridiculous.”

Norm, always the quieter observer, tilted his head as he watched Neteyam lean closer, speaking to her in a low, rumbling tone that none of them could hear. Neteyam turned slightly, crouched tightly beside her, his golden eyes never leaving her face. She tilted her head up, standing on her tiptoes again to press a quick kiss to his flat nose. He chuckled, low and deep, his hand brushing against her waist as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Kate sighed dramatically, waving a hand in the air. “All right, I’m officially done. Someone get me an insulin shot.”

Norm smirked. “Jealous, Kate?”

“Of her? Nah.” Kate’s grin widened. “But I’ll admit, it’s kind of awesome seeing them like this. She deserves it. They both do.”

Kate raised an eyebrow and turned to Max. “If this doesn’t make you believe in soulmates, I don’t know what will.”

Max grinned but stayed quiet, watching as Neteyam’s hand lingered at the side of her face. She leaned into his touch instinctively, her eyes sparkling as she gazed up at him. There was no denying it—they moved together as if tied by an invisible thread, perfectly attuned to each other in a way that felt almost otherworldly.

“She’s completely gone for him,” Norm observed quietly, his voice tinged with genuine happiness. “And you can see it’s mutual. She’s not even guarded around him anymore.”

“Yeah,” Kate agreed, her tone softer now as she watched them. “It’s nice to see her like this. I mean, we all knew she was head over heels for him, but now she’s just... glowing. She’s happy.”

“And he’s different, too,” Max added thoughtfully. “Not just the dutiful warrior anymore. He looks... at peace when he’s with her.”

As the group went back to their tasks, their teasing subsiding into fond smiles, the pair remained lost in their own little world. Neteyam reached for her hand, her much smaller fingers slotting between his effortlessly. For a moment, the noise and chaos of the lab faded, leaving only the quiet warmth they shared. And for everyone watching, it was impossible not to feel a little lighter, a little brighter, in the glow of their happiness.

*

The lab was hushed as the last of the team headed off to their bunks, leaving only the faint hum of machinery and the soft glow of the bioluminescent samples. Neteyam stayed close, his presence a steady warmth beside you as you focused on your datapad, scrolling through the day’s results. It was late—too late, really—but you were used to long nights.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly, his voice soft but insistent.

You blinked, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

Neteyam crouched beside your chair, his golden eyes gleaming in the faint light. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Neteyam, it’s the middle of the night. Do you know what Norm would do to me if I left the outpost? He’d lose his mind. Not to mention the forest is... well, you know, dangerous. Especially for me.”

His ears twitched, the faintest flick that betrayed his amusement. “Norm won’t know.”

“Because I’d be dead before I could tell him,��� you shot back, your tone dry. You set the datapad aside and crossed your arms, giving him a pointed look.

He crouched beside you, his face level with yours, and the intensity of his expression made you falter. “You’ll be safe with me,” he assured you, his voice low but filled with conviction. “I promise.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “The golden child himself, encouraging reckless behavior? What would Jake say?”

His lips twitched into a faint smile, but he didn’t back down. “He doesn’t have to know.”

You gave him a pointed look, your tone light but tinged with concern. “Neteyam, you should be sleeping. You’ve been running yourself ragged, and I don’t care how much you try to hide it—I see it.”

Your words softened his smile, but he didn’t waver. Instead, he tilted his head, his ears flicking slightly downward, and his wide, pleading eyes met yours with a look that made your chest tighten. “Please,” he murmured. “It’s important.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “You’re a monster,” you muttered, but the warmth in your voice betrayed your affection. “Fine. Let me grab my mask.”

His face lit up, and the flick of his tail behind him made you laugh despite yourself. You followed him out of the lab toward the airgate, muttering under your breath about how you must have lost your mind, but there was no real resistance in your steps. You grabbed your exo-mask from the wall and secure it on your head. The hissing of the compressed air relaed you slightly before you waited the airgate to open. You found yourself drawn to his excitement, even if you couldn’t fully understand what had him so eager.

“If I die, Norm is going to kill you. We are understaffed.”

“I’d like to see him try,” Neteyam teased, his tail swishing behind him as he led the way through the dimly lit outpost.

You reached the edge of the clearing where his ikran waited, its sleek, powerful form glowing faintly in the bioluminescent light of the forest. The sky above was thick with clouds, the faint rumble of distant thunder hinting at rain later. You paused, looking up at the looming sky with an uneasy expression.

“This feels like the setup to a bad horror movie,” you said, glancing at him. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Neteyam chuckled, his voice warm and reassuring. “You worry too much.”

He extended his hand to you, his smile softening as he added, “Trust me.”

You hesitated for a moment, looking at the outstretched hand, then at his ikran, and finally back at his face. His earnest expression, the way his golden eyes searched yours with quiet confidence, was impossible to resist. With a sigh, you placed your hand in his.

“I must be insane,” you muttered as he helped you onto his ikran, his steady hands guiding you with care.

“You’ll see,” he said as he climbed up behind you, his arms securing you safely in place pulling you closer to his chest. “It’ll be worth it.”

You paused, glancing up at the dark sky. “You’re aware it’s probably going to rain, right? This feels less like a romantic adventure and more like a guaranteed soaking.”

Neteyam laughed softly, his hand resting on Tawkami’s neck as he reached behind himself to grab his kuru. “A little rain won’t hurt,” he said, his voice light with amusement as he made the bond with his ikran. “Besides, you trust me, don’t you?”

You sighed dramatically, though your smile lingered. “Unfortunately for my better judgment, I do.”

As you took off into the night, the wind rushing past you and the forest stretching out below, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and unease. Whatever he wanted to show you, you hoped it was as important as he seemed to think it was.

*

The cool wind would whipped against your face harshly if you wouldn’t wear the mask as the ikran soared through the darkened sky, its wings slicing through the clouds with a quiet power that left you in awe. You clung to Neteyam, your arms wrapped tightly around his arm, your heart thundering as the dense forest below blurred into an endless expanse of glowing greens and blues. The faint rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, a reminder of the coming storm.

You had no idea where he was taking you, and despite the comfort of his warmth against your back, unease prickled at the edges of your thoughts. Why did I agree to this? The forest was dangerous enough during the day, let alone at night, and the storm on the horizon didn’t help ease your nerves. But then you’d think of the way his eyes had silently begged you to follow him, the quiet desperation in his voice when he’d asked you to trust him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

His ikran let out a soft screech, tilting slightly as Neteyam adjusted its path. The wind grew colder, and you glanced overthe ikran’s shoulder, your breath catching as you spotted the faint glow of something ahead. As the ikran descended, the sight became clearer, and your unease melted into awe.

The Tree of Voice.

Even in your studies, you’d heard of this place—one of the most sacred site of the Omaticaya, the heart of Eywa’s connection to Pandora. Few humans had ever seen it, their stories now no more than whispered memories. But here it was, glowing softly against the darkness like a beacon, its long pink tendrils swaying gently in the breeze.

The ikran landed smoothly, its talons gripping the soft earth near the base of one of the smaller trees. Neteyam dismounted first, his movements fluid and precise as always, before turning to help you down. His hands were strong and steady as they guided you to the ground, your boots sinking slightly into the mossy soil. The air here was electric, charged not only by the approaching storm but by something deeper, something alive.

You turned in a slow circle, taking in the sight around you. The remains of the larger trees, destroyed long ago by the RDA, still stood as solemn reminders of that dark time, their trunks hollowed and charred. The war was 20 years ago. But nature had fought back. Around those lifeless husks, smaller trees had sprung up, their glowing tendrils dancing in the wind, pulsing softly with life. It was as if Eywa herself had ensured this sacred place was reborn, stronger than ever.

“It’s... incredible,” you murmured, unable to find words that did justice to what you were seeing. “Neteyam,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the wind. “I shouldn’t—”

He cut you off with a gentle look and reached for one of the glowing tendrils, his fingers brushing it with reverence. The tendril responded to his touch, its movement graceful and alive. He glanced back at you, his golden eyes soft and thoughtful. “It is said to be a place for prayers to be heard,” he said, his voice quieter now, as if speaking louder would disturb the sacredness of the moment. “And sometimes... answered.”

You watched, transfixed, as he brought his neural queue forward. The strands of his kuru intertwined with the tendril, the connection seamless and natural. His eyes fluttered closed, his expression softening as if he were listening to a song only he could hear.

“They live within Eywa,” he murmured, the words carrying a depth of meaning that made your chest tighten.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. The way the soft light of the tree illuminated his features, the serenity in his expression—it was like you were seeing a part of him you hadn’t fully known before. When he opened his eyes and looked at you again, a small smile tugged at your lips.

This is sacred to him. And he’s sharing it with me.

Without thinking, you reached out to one of the tendrils, your hand trembling slightly. Can I? Should I? The glowing pink strand seemed to move on its own, its gentle sway aligning with your hesitant motion. When your palm made contact, a jolt of warmth pulsed through you, startling but not unpleasant. The tendril pulsed faintly under your hand, alive and vibrant, and for a moment, you forgot to breathe.

“It’s alive,” you whispered, your voice filled with awe. You smiled, unable to help yourself, as you watched the tendril respond to your touch. No, you couldn’t connect with the ancestors like the Na’vi, but you could feel the vitality of this place, its sacredness. You glanced back at Neteyam, who was watching you now, his golden eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

Neteyam opened his eyes, his gaze immediately finding you. The warmth in his expression made your heart race, and you couldn’t help but feel that this moment was something rare, something you would never forget.

Neteyam’s heart swelled as he watched you standing beneath the glowing tendrils of the Tree of Voices. The bioluminescent light bathed you in soft pink hues, reflecting in your eyes as you gazed in awe at the sacred place. He’d dreamt of this moment, of sharing this part of himself with you, and now that it was happening, it felt more profound than he’d imagined.

Bringing you here wasn’t a decision he had made lightly. This place was the heart of his people, the connection to their ancestors and Eywa herself. It was sacred, almost untouchable, and to bring a human here was unthinkable to many—including his own mother. But to him, you weren’t just a human. You were his. His heart, his balance, his anchor in a life that sometimes felt overwhelming.

As he stood there, the wind tugging at his braids, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride and gratitude that you were here with him.

“You’re beautiful in this light,” he said softly, breaking the silence between you. His voice carried easily in the stillness, and he saw the way your cheeks flushed faintly at his words.

You smiled, glancing at him. “I think you’re the one who fits here, Neteyam. Not me. This place feels... too sacred for someone like me.”

He looked at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world, and you couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in his mind.

“Neteyam,” you said softly, breaking the silence. The wind played with your hair, carrying your voice to him. “Why did you bring me here? Really?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze shifted to the glowing tendrils swaying in the breeze, and his jaw tightened as if he were searching for the right words. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but steady, laced with something that sounded almost like reverence.

“I heard you,” he said, his gaze flicking back to you. “A few days ago. With Kate.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you tilted your head slightly. “You heard me?” you repeated, unsure of where this was going.

He nodded, his ears flicking slightly downward in a gesture of vulnerability. “You said... you said you would never truly be a part of Pandora. That you could never fully understand this place. That no matter how long you lived here, it wouldn’t matter.”

Oh. The memory rushed back to you, unbidden. You and Kate had been joking—lighthearted banter about how Pandora seemed to resist human understanding when someone doing their job, how even the most advanced research couldn’t capture the soul of the planet. But the weight in Neteyam’s voice told you he hadn’t taken it as a joke.

You opened your mouth to explain, but he held up a hand, stopping you. His expression was calm, but there was a fire in his eyes that made your heart race.

“You’re wrong,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Pandora isn’t about understanding. It’s about feeling. About connection. And you—” He paused, his jaw tightening briefly before he continued. “You are a part of this place. Whether you see it or not.”

Realization dawned on you, and your chest tightened with a mix of guilt and defensiveness. “Neteyam, that was just... I didn’t mean it seriously. We were joking.”

But his expression didn’t change. His ears twitched slightly, and his tail flicked once behind him—a sign, you’d learned, of quiet determination. “You may have been joking,” he said softly, “but I don’t think you believed it was entirely untrue.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat. He was right, in a way. There was a part of you that had always felt out of place here, like you were borrowing space in a world that didn’t belong to you. A world that, no matter how much you learned or loved it, might never fully accept you.

“I brought you here because I want you to see something,” he continued, his voice quiet but steady. “This place... it is the heart of my people. It is where we come to pray, to ask for guidance, to feel Eywa’s presence. And it is where I came before I met you. I prayed to Eywa to show me my path, to help me become the leader my father expects me to be.”

You tilted your head, your mask glinted in the light of the bioluminescent tendrils, curiosity replacing some of your unease. “Before you met me?”

Neteyam nodded, his gaze distant for a moment as if he were looking back on a memory. “It was a time when I was lost, unsure of the path ahead. I came here to ask Eywa for guidance—for a sign of what my life was meant to be. And then... I met you.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a warm blanket, and your breath hitched. “Neteyam...” you whispered, but he shook his head gently, urging you to let him finish.

“I didn’t understand it at first,” he admitted, his eyes locking onto yours. “Why Eywa would place someone like you—someone so different, so human—on my path. But the more I came to know you, the more I realized that it was not a mistake. It was her will.”

You blinked up at him, your heart racing as he continued. “From the moment I met you, you have been a part of this world. Not because of where you were born or what body you were given, but because of what’s here.” He crouched down before your, reached out and pressing a big hand gently over your heart. “Because of the way you see things. The way you care, the way you listen.”

His hand lingered, warm and steady, before he let it fall back to his side. “Eywa does not make mistakes,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a reverence that sent a shiver down your spine. “She brought you here. To me. That is all the proof I need.”

You stared at him, your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his words, the raw honesty in his gaze, left you speechless. He truly believed it—that Eywa, the great life force of Pandora, had guided you into his life. That you were meant to be here, with him. The thought was overwhelming, humbling, and impossibly beautiful.

The depth of his words, the raw vulnerability in his gaze, left you speechless. You searched his face, looking for any hint of doubt, but there was none. He truly believed every word he had said.

“I never thought...” you began, but your voice broke, and you shook your head, trying to find the right words. “I never thought someone like you—someone so deeply connected to this world—could see me as anything more than... an intruder.”

“You are not an intruder,” he said firmly, his hand tightening slightly on your cheek. “You are a gift. I didn’t bring you here just to show you this place,” he continued, his voice softening. “I brought you here because this is where everything began for me. This is where I asked for guidance, and this is where I realized that you... you are my answer.”

His movements slow and deliberate, as though he were afraid of breaking the moment. His large hands found your arms gently, his touch grounding you as he brought his forehead to your mask. Overwhelmed by the closeness, the intimacy of the gesture, you closed your eyes.

“You are my prayer answered,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You are the peace I didn’t know I was searching for.”

Your hands trembled as they rose to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as though to anchor yourself. Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you didn’t care. The wind whipped around you, the storm drawing closer, but in that moment, the world felt still, as though it were holding its breath for the two of you.

“Neteyam,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “Just stay here, with me.”

*

The wind stirred gently around you, carrying with it the faint hum of life emanating from the Tree of Voices. Your masked head remained pressed against Neteyam’s, his warmth grounding - even through the thin glass-  you as his words echoed in your mind, a profound declaration that left your heart aching in the best way. His hands rested lightly on your arms, his thumbs brushing soothing circles against your skin.

Your eyes remained closed, tears drying against your cheeks as you let yourself be present in the moment, his presence filling you with a sense of peace you’d never known.

When Neteyam opened his eyes, intending to take in your face, his breath caught. His golden gaze widened in shock, his entire frame stiffening as his focus shifted over your head.

“Eywa,” he whispered, the word reverent and filled with awe.

“What?” you murmured, your eyes fluttering open at the sound of his voice. You pulled back slightly, confused by the look of utter wonder on his face.

Neteyam didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on the small, glowing spirit drifting gracefully through the air toward you. An atokirina—one of Eywa’s seeds, a sign of the Great Mother’s favor. The luminous tendrils of the seed pulsed faintly as it floated closer, glowing softly against the darkened backdrop of the sacred grove.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as the atokirina descended. It hovered for a moment before settling lightly against your head, its tendrils brushing your hair with a gentle, otherworldly touch.

Neteyam’s lips parted, his ears twitching as his tail gave a subtle flick of astonishment. “I knew it,” he murmured, his voice a blend of awe and quiet conviction. His golden eyes burned with emotion as they met yours, his expression a mixture of pride, reverence, and love. “I knew Eywa brought you to me.”

Your heart thundered in your chest, overwhelmed by the weight of his words and the sight of the sacred seed resting against you. You lifted a trembling hand toward the atokirina, though you didn’t dare touch it, afraid to disturb the delicate moment. It lingered for a few heartbeats longer before floating upward, its tendrils swaying in the breeze as it rejoined the others dancing around the Tree of Voices.

“Neteyam,” you began, your voice trembling with disbelief. “What... what does this mean?”

He cupped your head gently, his touch firm yet tender as his thumbs brushed your temples just right behind the mask. “It means,” he said softly, his golden eyes boring into yours with an intensity that left you breathless, “that you are not just mine by chance. You are mine because Eywa willed it. She brought you to me for a reason.”

You couldn’t speak, the weight of his words and the sacredness of the moment rendering you silent.

“I’ve always believed it,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “But now I know, without a doubt, that you are meant to be with me. Eywa has seen your heart, your spirit... and she accepts you.”

Your hands clutched his arms, seeking stability as your knees threatened to give out. “Neteyam,” you managed, your voice breaking. “I don’t know how to... I’m just—”

“You are enough,” he interrupted gently, his tone firm yet soothing. “You have always been enough.”

The wind shifted again, stronger this time as the impending storm drew nearer, but neither of you moved. The sacred grove seemed to pulse with life around you, as though the forest itself was acknowledging the connection between you.

And in that moment, standing in the heart of Eywa’s blessing, you felt it too—you belonged here, with him.

*

The first drops of rain fell like tiny cold pinpricks, pattering against the leaves and the glowing tendrils of the Tree of Souls. You tilted your head upward, squinting at the darkened sky as the rain intensified into a steady downpour. Within moments, the world blurred around you, the heavy rain making everything seem like a hazy dream.

You couldn’t help but laugh, a soft, breathless sound that bubbled out despite the chill settling in. “I told you so,” you teased, brushing wet strands of hair out of your mask’s glass. The rain plastered your clothes to your body, the chill seeping into your skin, but the exhilaration of the moment kept you from caring too much.

Neteyam, soaked and unbothered, stood beside you, his hair clinging to his face, droplets catching on his bioluminescent freckles. He looked at you with a mix of amusement and exasperation before glancing at his restless ikran. The storm, with its rolling thunder and flashing lightning, made the creature uneasy, its wings flexing as it let out a low, nervous chirp.

“We can’t fly in this,” Neteyam said, his voice steady despite the weather. “It’s too dangerous.”

You nodded, glancing at the dark sky and the flashes of lightning in the distance. The wind whipped around you, pulling at your damp clothes and making you shiver. “So, what’s the plan?” you asked, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth.

Neteyam tilted his head, his golden eyes scanning the forest as the rain poured down harder. “There’s a hunter’s hut nearby,” he said after a moment. “We’ll wait out the storm there.”

Before you could protest, he was already helping you onto his ikran. The creature’s discomfort was evident as it shifted and chirped uneasily, but it took off smoothly under Neteyam’s guidance after the bond, its powerful wings cutting through the rain-soaked air.

The flight was short but tense, the storm intensifying around you. Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the forest below in sharp flashes. The rain stung your skin, and you clung to Neteyam’s arm, trusting him to guide you through the chaos. Finally, the ikran swooped down toward a sturdy tree where a small hut was built high above the ground. It was simple but well-constructed, designed to offer shelter for hunters caught in bad weather.

Once you were safely inside, you collapsed onto the woven floor, panting and dripping wet. The rain hammered against the roof, the sound a constant, soothing rhythm despite the storm raging outside. Neteyam secured the hut’s door and knelt by the small fire pit in the center, quickly lighting it to bring some warmth to the chilly air.

You turned to him, your clothes dripping water onto the wooden floor as you crossed your arms and gave him a pointed look but after a few moment you rached up just to wipe the glass of your mask. “I hope you’re happy,” you said, a teasing edge to your tone. “This is officially my last night alive, and I’m spending it with you.”

Neteyam arched a brow, clearly amused despite the storm raging outside. “Your last night alive?” he repeated, his voice warm and soft with mock offense.

“Yes,” you said with dramatic flair, stepping closer to him as you wrung water from your sleeves. “Because when I get back to the outpost, Norm is going to skin me alive for being out here in the middle of the night. He’ll probably hang my remains in the lab as a warning to others.”

Neteyam chuckled, his tail flicking slightly as he reached out to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “Then I’ll just have to make sure you don’t regret spending your last night with me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. The storm continued to howl outside, but in the quiet safety of the hut, his presence made it feel like nothing else mattered.

*

The fire crackled softly in the center of the small hunter’s hut, casting flickering shadows on the woven walls as rain lashed against the roof. You sat close to it, trembling slightly, your soaked clothes clinging uncomfortably to your skin. The chill had seeped into your bones, making it impossible to stop shivering.

Without much thought, you reached for the hem of your shirt and tugged it over your head, tossing the wet fabric aside. Your pants followed, leaving you in nothing but your underwear.

You didn’t realize what you’d done until you looked up and caught Neteyam’s gaze. He was staring at you, his golden eyes wide and unblinking, his expression unreadable. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and suddenly, you felt unbearably self-conscious. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you grabbed the crumpled woven blanket from the floor and quickly draped it over your shoulders, pulling it tightly around your body like a shield.

“How do you not freeze?” you asked, squinting at him through the dim firelight, your voice more accusatory than you intended. He was still soaking wet, his inky braids dripping onto his broad shoulders, and yet he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Like most Na’vi, he only wore a loincloth, his blue skin slick with rainwater, but he looked completely unaffected by the chill.

Neteyam tilted his head, a small, amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Our bodies are different,” he said simply, his voice low and calm, though there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes that made your cheeks burn even more. “We’re used to this.”

You huffed, clutching the blanket tighter around yourself. “Well, I’m not,” you muttered, shivering despite the fire’s heat.

Neteyam’s smile widened, and he extended a hand, his long fingers curling slightly in a beckoning gesture. “Come here,” he said softly, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of warmth and invitation.

You hesitated, your grip on the blanket tightening. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your chattering teeth betrayed you.

“Come here,” he repeated, more firmly this time, his golden eyes steady and patient as they held yours. There was no judgment in his gaze, no teasing—just quiet concern and an unspoken promise of warmth. “You’ll be warmer.”

Reluctantly, you shuffled closer to him, dragging the blanket with you. As you reached him, he uncrossed his legs slightly, creating space for you to sit between them. You settled hesitantly, tucking the blanket around yourself as you leaned against him.

The moment your back pressed against his chest, you felt his warmth envelop you like a cocoon. He was like a furnace, his body radiating heat that seeped into your chilled skin almost immediately. You let out a soft, involuntary sigh as the tension in your muscles began to melt away, your shivering subsiding. His arms came around you instinctively, his large hands resting lightly on your hips as he pulled you closer, and you felt his chin rest gently against the top of your still wet head.

“Better?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself relax against him. “You’re not just warm,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against the blanket. “You’re unfairly warm. It’s not natural.”

Neteyam chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your back. “Unnatural?” he teased, his hands smoothing over the blanket covering you. “Or just lucky for you?”

You smiled despite yourself, nuzzling closer to him. “Lucky, I guess,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The storm continued to rage outside, the rain lashing against the hut and the wind howling through the trees, but it all felt distant now. All you could focus on was the steady rise and fall of Neteyam’s chest behind you, the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat against your back, and the way his arms held you so securely, as though he never wanted to let you go.

*

"Even when I won’t see the sunset anymore,” you said dramatically, your voice muffled as you nuzzled into his chest. “Because Norm will make me so dead.”

Neteyam tilted his head to look down at you, his golden eyes shimmering with amusement. “Norm wouldn’t dare,” he said, a playful edge to his tone. “I’d stop him.”

You laughed, the sound light and sweet, filling the small space of the hunter’s hut. “Oh, sure. But I bet Jake will lecture you into the next week. So, even just for a tiny bit, we’ll be even. Perfectly balanced,” you added with a smirk, “as all things should be.”

His smile widened, and he shook his head slightly, his braids shifting with the movement. “I’d take a thousand lectures from my father if it means spending a night like this with you.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and for a moment, your teasing expression softened. You reached up, your fingers brushing lightly against his jaw, tracing the strong line of it before letting your hand rest on his shoulder.

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” you said with a small, shy smile. But your tone was soft now, lacking its usual teasing bite, and your gaze lingered on his face for a moment longer than usual.

Neteyam’s eyes flicked to yours, his expression tender, and he leaned down to press his forehead gently against your mask. “I mean it,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “Every moment with you is worth it.”

You felt your cheeks heat under his gaze, and you broke eye contact, nuzzling into his chest to hide your flustered expression. Absentmindedly, you reached for the blanket draped over you and pulled it up higher, tucking it around his broad shoulders as well as your own.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, your voice wavering. “Completely unfair.”

Neteyam’s arms tightened around you, his tail giving a lazy flick behind him. “Unfair?” he echoed, a smile tugging at his lips. “And yet, you’re the one making my heart race like this.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Stop being so smooth,” you said lightly, though the warmth in your voice betrayed the affection behind the words. You tilted your head up slightly, your mask brushing against his collarbone as you glanced up at him with a soft, playful smile.

He chuckled, his breath warm against your hair, and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Never,” he whispered, holding you close as the storm raged on outside, the world beyond the hut feeling far, far away.

As you rested your head against his chest once more, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over the blanket, you couldn’t help but think that, no matter how angry Norm might be—or how long Jake’s inevitable lecture might last—this moment was worth it. Every second of it.

Part 15: (Soon)

[buck-star]

Hiya Sydney!

I’d say happy Monday… but I’m too like Garfield 🤣

For your Drabble offering, may I please request “This is your work place, leave the boyfriend at home next time” for the prompt?

As for the babe… dealers choice! I’m in your hands!

Thank you! ☺️

Puppy dog

You can’t leave your puppy home alone. So he’s coming to work with you, unless he undresses himself.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Jake Jensen x Girlfriend!Reader

Wordcount: 719 Words

Warnings/Tags: fluffy, some mention of nsfw

Authors Note: Thank you for the request, hope you like it. And that’s how I imagine @bigtreefest going to work, and Jake following…😂😂 Dividers made by me.

Masterlist | Jake Jensen Masterlist

“Jake, I love you, baby, but you can’t—” you try to argue with your boyfriend, but his grip around your hand only tightens, and he shakes his head. Jake reaches his free hand out to open the door to your office building, grinning at you. You sigh softly, a small smile spreading on your face, and walk into the building.

Jake smirks, using his free hand to push his glasses further up as he walks into the building behind you. “I will be quiet; I don’t wanna be home alone… I might do… stuff. I might get ideas and sing in the elevator; do you want that?”

You laugh softly, turning your head to face Jake. He grins at you, his blue eyes glistening. The last time he got an idea to busy himself, it was him walking into your office and singing loudly.

It wouldn’t have been a problem, but while your co-workers thought it was funny, your boss wasn’t too amused when Jake’s pants fell down. It was by accident because he wore them too low and somehow got stuck somewhere. But the sight of his half-hard cock only covered by his boxer briefs wasn’t too much appreciated by your boss.

Jake pulls you closer, almost snuggling into your side while you walk through the hallway with him. His hand is still interlaced with yours, and he doesn’t even make a move to change that any time soon. Your boyfriend is pretty sure you can work with him holding your hand too, because he wants to hold you close, so he will. Or else he might get bored and sing loudly to entertain himself and everyone else.

While holding your hand, he can touch you and play with your hand. Or make your hand play with him… however he wants it.

“You explain that to my boss,” you mumble. Just when those words leave your lips, said person walks out of her office. Her head turns to face the two of you, and her eyes immediately settle on your boyfriend, who grins at her.

“Good morning…” she says, looking Jake up and down. One of her eyebrows raises slowly, nodding slightly. “This is your workplace; leave the boyfriend home next time.”

“I would… but you know what happened last time. He’s not trained yet; I can’t leave a little puppy like him home alone,“ you explain, surprising yourself with your statement. But somehow you’re not wrong; he might be tall and muscular, but he’s still like a little puppy.

Your boss rolls her eyes, shaking her head slightly. A small smile creeps onto her lips, a soft chuckle escaping. “You better not take off your pants.

“It was an accident; I didn’t mean to take my pants off. But… I got a belt now!” Jake says excitedly, a proud smile forming on his plump lips. He takes the hem of his shirt in his free hand and pulls it up, revealing his belt but also his abs. “Now you can pull at my pants, and they won’t fall down.”

“JAKEY!” You shriek, grasping his shirt to pull it down again. You glare at him, then you turn to your boss with an apologetic expression. But instead of looking mad, she only laughs and nods her head before walking away.

“What— you love when I show you my belly,” he pouts, pulling his shirt up again. The grin on his lips and the mischievous front in his eyes cause you to chuckle. “You know… she didn’t say no to singing loudly for you all.”

“I do, but my boss doesn't. Or maybe she likes it too, but you better not show off what’s mine. Or I’m gonna lift my shirt too, Jakey,” you growl in a teasing tone. Your fingertips brush over his cheek, and his eyes widen. Jake shakes his head, grasping your shirt to hold it down so you won't reveal what’s his to your co-workers.

You chuckle, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him. A soft moan slips past his lips, and he brings his hands to your waist, gripping it and pulling you close against him. He kisses you back with as much dominance as you kiss him while he plays with the hem of your shirt to slide his hands underneath your shirt.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @pono-pura-vida @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @blackhawkfanatic @hisredheadedgoddess28 [tag yourself]

[genderqueerdykes]

Up until very recently I thought I was cis. But then I actually met some trans/NB folks (growing up in a very small town says hi) and came to the conclusion that my relationship with gender was probably best summed up as "meh, I'm not a boy?" And, overall, I'm fairly content with that but in the last couple months I've started seeing posts from you more and more and...well...today one of your posts showed up where you were responding to someone talking about wanting both a penis and a vagina and...that's...normal? Like, I'm not broken for being a woman who wants both while also wanting to be sterile? I just...I don't know what to do with this information now that I have it. Also, I'm very glad that you do what you do. (Sorry if this is a bit disjointed. It's very late at night and I'm sitting in my bathroom trying not to have, yet another, identity crisis...)

hello there! i'm very sorry it took me so long to get back to you! i hope you're doing a bit better by now! thanks for taking the time to stop by!

today one of your posts showed up where you were responding to someone talking about wanting both a penis and a vagina and…that's…normal? Like, I'm not broken for being a woman who wants both while also wanting to be sterile?

you're not broken at all! there's absolutely nothing wrong with that, so many people also want that as well! there's nothing wrong with wanting to be sterile, either! if you'd rather not have surprise kids, hey, power to you, that's taking your bodily autonomy into your own hands! i was told that i was sterile when i was diagnosed as intersex and i was like "YESSSS" LMAO. if i ever actually get bottom surgery, i would like to have both, as well! i don't want to get rid of my vagina, i just want to add a penis.

there's absolutely nothing wrong with wanting that. your body is your body, and you're allowed to decide what's right for you. you know your relationship with your body and your gender better than anyone else, don't ever let someone else tell you that it's not okay to want that. its your gender, and your body, nobody else gets to tell you what you do or don't do with your genitals

i know there's a ton of people who relate, so if you do, feel free to add your experiences in the replies, tags, comments, etc.! this will probably help anon feel a lot less alone

i hope this helps somewhat! please feel free to ask any more questions you may have, i will be happy to help! again sorry for the delay, large influx of asks recently!

[createserenity]

You are given a word - share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of that word.

Thanks for the tag @misunderstoodlyrics. I went with excerpts from wips I haven’t started publishing yet.

P: “Please don’t let this be a stupid decision,” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale looked at him helplessly. The back of his mind still held a small niggle of doubt about whether this truly was the right thing to do. But Crowley was standing in front of him. This brilliant, gorgeous, clever man, who had brought light into his dull, pedestrian existence. Who made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t in so long, and who was standing there saying he liked him too.

A: Almost automatically Crowley found himself rolling onto his side, letting Aziraphale press up against his back and wrap an arm around his chest, snuggling them together.

T: The chair, standing innocently in the empty room Aziraphale had barged into, probably didn’t deserve to have its leg kicked, but Aziraphale did it anyway. Then he hopped about on one foot, muttering unangelic curses about the hardness of wooden chairs and the impracticality of formal shoes.

H: He forced his eyes open, seeing Aziraphale’s blue ones peering at him with what looked like a mix of anxiety and affection. Crowley traced his eyes over that face, still showing the lines of late middle age, and wondered how it was that he didn’t feel broken.

Instead he felt safe, more whole than he had felt in a very long time.

He felt like he was home.

“I’m here,” he whispered, and let his eyes flutter closed again, as he gave in to the pull of sleep.

No pressure tags for @ineffabildaddy @bowtiepastabitch @voluptatiscausa and anyone else who would like to have a go!

Your word is TWIN

P was quite tricky! Apparently I don’t start sentences with P words very often. These excerpts are from a Howl’s Moving Castle au, a side story to “All The Pieces of You” and two other fics with the working titles “24 Hours” and “We’ll Paint Our Future In Colour”. They aren’t in that order though, just to add some mystery to the whole thing 😂

WIP tag game

you are given a word - share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of that word!

@possibility-left tagged me. And what compelling excerpts we got for their WIP. Lots to look forward to. TYVM. The word I was given is KNOW. Let's see if I can find an appropriate snippet for each letter. Damn, "K" was tough. I had to cut out some text to make it work.

K: "Knob."

"Quite. I wouldn’t have chosen that precise word myself but I can’t say I disagree with the sentiment.

N: Now he was going to make a total bellend of himself falling in the drink because he couldn’t step 3 feet up onto the vessel from a dinghy. 

Aziraphale pulled the kill switch on the outboard and stood to hitch the painter to the midship cleat. He sat again to keep the vessel steady and motioned to Crowley. 

Was that a gleam in his eye? It couldn’t be. No one would be that much of a bastard. Normally, Crowley would grab the stanchions and take a big step up onto the boat deck. But there was no way his legs would allow that encased in tight, waxed denim.

He had thought it almost worth the discomfort of a 6-hour drive in his tightest jeans and snakeskin boots for the looks he got when he stepped out of the car. But why had he not thought of what it would take to board an anchored boat when he could barely move?

O: "Oh my, not on a first date. I'm not some kind of trollope. But perhaps if you share a good story, I'll keep it in mind for later," Aziraphale flirted back.

W: What? Were those someone’s hands on his arse? Pushing him upright and onto the boat? 

No pressure tags for: @anatomic-girl, @klikandtuna, @caedmonfaith, @searching4sarahtonin and anyone else who wants to play. And your word is FLIP.

[skele-bunny]

Hi have pt 3 of Mountains grief. (Pt 1, pt 2)

Guilt. (CW) Mountain/Aether/Dewdrop

CW - Mentioned Deaths

Tags: Violence, Hurt/Little Comfort, Hallucinations Due to Grief, Mountain has Anger Issues

Characters: Mountain, Ifrit, Rain, Swiss, (past) Aether, (past) Dewdrop, Misc.

(banners by @ wrathofrats . MDNI)

"Hey... Helloooo? Oh I swear, it really is like a bear in hibernation. What's that show— With the squirrel lady and dirty Dan?" Small hands touched his chest, rubbing and trying to get attention.

Another pair of hands gently caressing under his chin. "Pft, are you comparing him to that hibernation episode where Sandy went wild?"

"Yeah! That's the one!"

"I can hear you, you know." Mountain yawned, smiling softly as he opened his eyes.

His smile faded as the sources weren't there, sitting up slowly and touching his fur. Mountain looked down at his lap, quiet and trying to let himself wake up more before his alarm went off, angrily pushing the snooze button. He stood up from the bed, going to his vanity and staring at a picture. Was his mind always this fuzzy?

He elected to ignore it as he picked up the necklace with two wedding bands, slipping his own on and stepping to the bathroom.

It didn't take long for him to get dressed, throwing his hair into a low ponytail as he walked to the practice room. He stepped inside, grimacing as he once again found himself to be the last one to arrive, heads turning and little waves heading his way.

He barely acknowledged any before stepping to the tiny platform where his practice kit sat, pushing his glasses up, and grabbing sticks. He could hear Papa's voice, but it was still muffled. Everything felt muffled. Mountain glanced up and quickly did a double take as mental images merged with reality, rubbing his eyes and cursing softly under his breath.

Eyes were on him.

"Ah, Mountain?" Copia smiled nervously. "Did you hear me?"

"No, Papa. I apologize."

"It's alright. I said we'll be starting Macabre, as it's what we need to work on the most."

The earth ghoul nodded, shaking his arms out and setting himself into position. It came naturally, like always, Mountain closing his eyes and focusing on only himself.

1, 1, 3, 4— double, 2, 3, 4—

It was repetitive to a point. Simple yet complex.

"I don't know how you can read this." Dew tilted his head, staring at Mountain's sheet music.

"It's kinda like your bass... See, this could be your A... That's your E... Things like that. But imagine using your feet on your guitar."

Aether laughed, even Zephyr grimacing. "Oh, that is so nasty to think about. I don't think I want my paws anywhere near the strings."

"Mountain!"

His head snapped up, growling as Swiss was in his personal space but quickly quieting down as once again eyes stared at him.

"Hey, sorry, don't kill me." Swiss laughed a bit, half-way passing it as a joke with his hands up. "You spaced out... You were going too fast."

Heat rised to his cheeks, Mountain clearing his throat. "Sorry. Won't happen again."

His eyes caught Ifrit's semi-glare, rolling his eyes and turning back towards Copia.

"Do you have something you want to say, Ifrit?"

"No, I don't." The fire ghoul hissed back, tail flicking and staying forwards.

"Then watch your face."

He turned. "Or what, Mountain? Gonna growl at me?"

"Enough of that, please—" Cirrus tried to intervene, seeing it as useless as Mountain stood up anyways.

"Mistakes happen, Ifrit. You're not all that perfect either."

"I'm not saying I am! But this is the fifth practice in a row you've fucked us all up and it's not getting better!"

Papa stuttered but unable to get any words out as Rain and Phantom quickly moved off the stage and behind him as the two eldest continued to get more aggressive.

Mountain's nose flared. "I'm trying! Give me a fucking break! If you think you're so good, why don't you come up here and do it?"

"Maybe we do need a new earth ghoul or something— Just because you can't handle your grief doesn't mean you get to be a dick to everyone!"

Mountain slammed his sticks down, stepping forwards without care and knocking his set down—fur raised and fists clenched tightly, only stopping as Swiss stood in front and pushed against him with all he had.

"Knock it off!" The multi shouted, grunting as Mountain still pushed against him.

"Fucking let him!-" Ifrit shouted back. "Let him lose another! Then he won't have me to blame anymore!"

Swiss yelped as he finally got shoved out of the way, reaching Ifrit who ignited himself just to be punched in the face. He raised his fist again but froze as hands held his.

Rain stared up with a horrified expression, tears running down his face and shaking as he held Mountain. His breathing began to slow, unclenching his fist and stepping back, looking behind him as Phantom held Swiss' arm that was bleeding — having been cut by a symbol when he got shoved.

He turned back as Rain's hands slowly let go, trying to reach up more but unable to as Mountain stepped back again. Storming out of the practice room, tears flowing as he made his way back to the den.

"You can't let your anger define you all the time." Dew curled against his side.

"I'm trying."

He slammed into his room, gripping the vanity tightly and staring at his ring.

Aether smiled, gently dabbing a cotton ball on Mountain's fist. "Hey, I consider it a win. You punched a wall, not a person."

A scream erupted from his throat, shoving the items off before flipping the vanity, glass shattering and spreading on the floor. Ripping pictures and posters off the wall, toppling his dresser over, breaking his own plants before dropping to his knees. Mountain heaved before gripping his own hair, wailing hysterically against the mess of his floor.

Sweeping up glass, Mountain bent over and carefully picked up the photo of his departeds. Captured always in a smile, clinging to him and showing off their matching rings.

It was Aether's idea. Well, technically, Dewdrop's. Their smaller mate had always been curious about human customs, especially marriage, and it was simply Aether's idea to make it happen. Sure, having the bond marks was always comforting, but getting to look at something? Comforting even more.

He gently brushed off the broken glass, sighing in relief as the picture stayed unharmed. He placed it on the vanity where it belonged, tail wagging as he managed to set up the memorial again.

He cried over what he realized he had done.

Cupping Aether's crystals that held knicks and some of the dust on the floor, frantically trying to press pieces back together to no avail — Dewdrop's stained glass made from his scales having broke at the string. He fixed those first, then his own.

"I'm sorry for getting angry again," He mumbled. "I didn't... I didn't even try to stop myself. I'm sorry I failed."

Nothing came back as he stared at the picture again, hoping they'd accept his apology. He gripped the broom better and continued sweeping before a knock came, specifically Rain's as he couldn't call out his presence.

Mountain stayed silent as flashes of Rain's face came into view, comparing it too much of when he first met Dew and how equally terrified he had been coming out of the portal with rage.

Rain knocked again and without another answer, stayed at the door. Mountain watched his shadow before a note slide under the door and the shadow leave, hastily written and trying to squeeze as much as he could on such a small piece of paper.

He swallowed his guilt and approached, picking up the colored paper and reading it;

"Swiss is okay. Everyone is okay. Ifrit is sorry for what he said. Papa wants you in therapy. I'd like to talk to you, if you'd let me? You're not alone. I'm here for you, even if you don't know me."

-Rain.

Tail curling between his hooves, Mountain placed the note on his dresser, going back to cleaning the dirt from his plants that weeped from his abuse silently.

"I didn't mean to," Mountain sobbed, clutching his face as he listened to the gift his mates had given him. "I promise I didn't mean to."

Dirt surrounded the shredded pothos, uprooted and scattered on the floor. All he felt was forgiveness. The pothos trying to comfort it's owner that caused it's own harm.

"I read that Pothos are the most forgiving plants! So... I got you one. You can talk to plants, can't you? Maybe it'll help you feel better to talk out what you need, and the pothos will always forgive you!" Aether smiled as Dew held the pot, practically bouncing on his feet.

These didn't forgive him... None of them should. And neither should his pack.

His ears went muffled again as he picked up a vase.

[fushiguruuzzzz]

CHAPTER ONE  .  CYNEFIN 

tags ; emotional turmoil, not proofread, entirety of this chapter was broken into a series of late night yapping

See: heartbreak on the mound

The clang of iron ringing throughout your kitchen was brash and unforgiving as it travelled down the hall, invading your unconscious senses and bringing you back to a noisy, cruel life. It didn’t take much smarts to guess that Sasha and Connie were up to something in the kitchen again, no doubt attempting to fulfill their irrational hunger so early in the day. If you listened closely, you could hear an annoyed groan coming from a barely-sleeping Jean in the next room. 

Your eyes felt stiff as you pulled them open, barely willing yourself to resist the magnetic force pulling them shut. You blinked, bleary eyes adjusting to the light seeping in through your curtains as you processed the moment. A soft grumble left your cracked lips, and for a moment, that was the only noise. It was just you and the silky fabric of your bedding and the straps of your tank top falling down your shoulders, as if the chaos had all been a dream. But then there was another clang and a panicked shout and you were reminded that the mayhem was no sort of nightmare. 

Your feet met the ground with a gentle groan, hoping to remain unnoticed by the other inhabitants of this zoo exhibit for a moment longer. Far from bothered enough to compose yourself, you padded into the hallway. The noise grew nearer, voices choppy and holding the rasp of a nights sleep as they shot back and forth. 

“Look who decided to join us,” Jean quipped as you came into view, still sprawled haphazardly over your couch as he had been the night before. “You enjoying your peace and quiet? ‘Cause I didn’t.” 

You quirked a brow, biting back an amused smirk as you advanced further into the common area of your home. Your eyes caught on Sasha and Connie, who were playing a game of tug with a frying pan. There was a smear of powder over Sashas cheek—pancake mix?

“You know, Jean, you don’t have to be here. You could like—sleep at your own place, maybe?” you said, feigning sincerity. He met your eyes, unamused, watching you roll the sleep from your joints. 

“But what’s the fun in that?” 

You rolled your eyes. Your friends had a way of retorting in a way so illogical that there wasn’t a way to defend it, by now you’d simply stopped trying. It was a battle of egos, one not worth shedding blood for. “Shouldn’t you be preparing for your game?” 

He let out a long, drawled out sound of annoyance. “That’s not ‘till later. I’m gonna do well, anyway.” 

Humble, isn’t he? You responded with a half hearted hum and moved to the plush chair nearest you, legs beginning to ache from the sudden adjustment in weight. 

“Do we still have to go to that, Jean?” Connie cut in, momentarily pulling away from… whatever her and Connie were doing. She shook some baking mix from her hair and eyed him curiously, expression matching that of her grey haired companion. 

Jean’s face pulled up in what looked to be an exaggerated form of offense. “Of course you have to go! That’s a given. You guys can drop out of literally anything but that.” 

Jean is overly passionate and all too pushy about your attendance, and you’re holding in a groan because you know he’s only going to spend the entire time staring heart eyed into the crowd anyway. At the end of the day, though, he is your best friend. It’s not like your displays of affection are verbal nor are they physical—gentleness a foreign art yet to be learned by your worn hands, so you show up. That’s what you do. 

You’ve never been secure in your love language. It wasn’t a lack of fondness stunting your tenderness, no, it was anything but. No matter how much the words to express it simmered inside, crawling up your throat and boiling over, they never spilled. They remained an agonizingly concealed whisper, damned to the confines of your mind and never to be released. So to make up for it, you were there. Always there. You forever lingered where it mattered, whether that be the peripherals or the kisscam, eyes shining with fondness and lenses itching to capture the memory. On late nights, you’d look back to them. Maybe, if your emotional constipation didn’t lead to your downfall, the group of you could reminisce over your college days shared for years to come. 

And you’d be there. 

So, you peeled yourself from the chair that had just started to feel right and trotted over to the washroom. It was a wordless action, nobody even bothering to ask, instead silently anticipating the squeak of the pipes and the beating of water on ceramic. You would not only be present, you would look half decent while you did it. 

The water was hot against your back, searing your skin to ash and washing it down the drain. A sigh of relief left you at the feeling, shoulders decompressing and bones unwinding after the night's sleep had tied them in knots. 

It took five minutes to shower, five hours to support your friends in the only way you could, and it was a never ending cycle that had been going on for five years. Yet, with all of these fives constantly surrounding you in a mocking serenade, your circle was made of four. There was a gaping hole in your heart. It beat for five—Sasha, Connie, Jean, yourself, and… and the soul of another who had yet to come by. Eyes that you didn’t know the colour of were ones you’d one day stare into and see the final bit of purpose, see what swirled within and know it was destiny. You hoped so, at least. 

“y/n!” the sound of a sharp whine broke into the cage of your mind, sending your train of thought flying free in the wind. “You almost done?” 

“Yeah,” you called, voice feeling oddly strained. 

You left the washroom feeling unfulfilled. Your skin was clean and flushed from the heat, but your mind was crawling with the infectious bacteria that was your dwelling. But you didn’t have time for dwelling. You only had time for them. 

Wake up. Be present. Capture. Click. Repeat. 

:: 

The roar of the crowd was unfamiliar and suffocating, the simple act of weaving through webs of excited fans becoming treacherous and frantic with the addition of the invading noise. Everyone around you was buzzing with anticipation, the air nearly vibrating. You’d been to Jean’s games before, but this was different. This was the major league, not high school games at the park. There were probably thousands of people here, and yet somehow, they all seemed in their element. They all looked perfectly fitting for their seats in the bleachers, waving hats and banners alike. Every supportive shout knocked you further off your rocker, feeling your knees grow weaker with every step. You felt as if your moves were without purpose, the metal set of stairs you were descending from dipping beneath your feet and swallowing you whole. Not that anyone would notice if it did, anyway. Showing up didn’t seem to mean much when the population of a small town all did the same. 

By the time you joined Sasha and Connie in the front row, the masses had quieted. Their cries had dimmed to murmurs, the energy easing in intensity just a smidge. Sinking into your chair—too busy trying not to jump out of your own skin to worry about the uncomfortable rub of the plastic—was, at least a bit, relieving. 

“Took you long enough,” Connie spoke, muffled by the handful of popcorn stuffed into his mouth. The buttery fragrance swirled through the space between you and wafted into your nose, the way your stomach clenched in response a dull reminder of your choice to shower instead of eating this morning. 

You reached into the bucket with a grumble, eyes barely catching on the large that Sasha had acquired personally. It was difficult to even bat an eye anymore. Generously, Connie tilted it toward you, and you barely missed the concern creasing deeply between his brows. Maybe he was less than bright, but he knew you. He knew that your quick mouth and blunt exterior was a barely-upheld front that you guarded yourself with, evident in the way you pushed yourself for the sake of one game. He knew that you wanted to, really, but he wished you’d learn to balance the love between yourself and your friends. 

It seemed that the both of your minds had drifted away from the game at hand, only snapping back to the events within the atmosphere when the swift crack of ball against bat cut through the arena. Eyes immediately drawn to first base, everyone’s attention was captured on the brunette darting across the diamond. 

Except for yours. 

In the midst of your zoned out, half-intent watching, you’d noticed someone you found far more interesting at first glance. In the dugout, tucked behind a swarm of men in uniform was a head of golden hair. It shone against the overhead light like the sun itself, and although he stood lower than the rest, to you he seemed colossal. 

You were stopped mid chew, eyes narrowing at an attempt to observe him through the glass. His features were soft and meek, like he belonged at home, baking banana bread and humming sweet tunes by the fireplace. He looked out of place, the way he eyed the scene before him nervously, but the figures surrounding him seemed completely at peace (both with his behaviour and their impending contributions). His shoulders were tense as though instead of spending hours swinging bats, he’d spent it hunched over a desk, pen in hand. He had the sad eyes of a poet. 

Suddenly, those same vehemently dreary eyes were locking with yours. The world stopped spinning for a moment—the waving hands and clusters of people around you fading into slow moving assembles of the background. His lips parted, gentle and pink like a primrose, gaze boring into yours like he’d seen you a thousand times before. You couldn’t pull your eyes away out of the fear that if you did, you’d never get to find him again. This felt like a reunion of sorts, though it was the first meeting, and hopefully not the last. 

Later, when you snapped pictures for the school paper, you couldn’t help but seek out his form in the sidelines. A new sort of excitement built in you at the thought of bringing that to life once again—coursing through your veins and shaking your fingertips as you delicately printed the photos. 

Showing up to the next game had more purpose now. It wasn’t the chore required of you thanks to your inadequacy, it was hope. It was the faith in the return of your missing fifth, and that was enough to get you through the days between.

taglist: open

@estella-novella @lizbix @blu3-l0v3r @vi0let-writes @gumims @getovibesonly @tamishadawn @adoresia

[phyrestartr]

Sacrosanct | Adrian Tepes x M!Reader | (PT.1)

W/C: 3.8k C/W: mentions of emotional abuse, blood and gore, canon-typical violence, religion, religious abuse, religious themes, death, mentions of death, depression, alcohol abuse Tags: PLOT!, SFW, eventual NSFW/sexual themes, drama, repressed romantic feelings, slow-ish burn, childhood friends, starts s4 (eventually moving into nocturne), mutual pining, angst and drama, hurt/comfort, reader is kind of an ass lol

Note: soz if there are any spelling/grammar errors---I have been tweaking this so much and I'm so tired of it so I'm just posting the first part to get over it lol o(--( hope it's fun to read!!

1. A Man Amongst the Ghosts

Isolation was an unkind thing. Whispered secrets, foul howls and the like plagued the afflicted's everyday, wrenching away all hope of peace. The dolls, ones made in fits of lonely mania, kept Alucard some sort of company until those humans wandered through, filling in the emptiness that Trevor and Sypha once filled themselves; Taka and Sumi never could replace a Speaker and a Belmont, but the attempt was appreciated. 

Until their humanity showed. Their hatred of vampires, their distrust of anyone beyond themselves, their desperation—all reflected in dark, stone eyes as they loomed above him like the grim reaper, ready to take their pound of flesh from the bloodline that'd evaded Hell for so long. Yet what the two did not know, and what Death had always known, was that Alucard decided to live. 

But what's the point? That disease of a question never was to be answered. His mother would no doubt remind him of how precious and sacred life was, how he simply needed to seek out a spark of inspiration to once again find meaning, but how was one supposed to see meaning in the meaningless? Alucard didn't have an answer. Adrian didn't, either. 

Maybe I just need to wait for a surprise, he lamented. Another world-ending threat, or something. Maybe I could start one myself. I've nothing better to do, anyway. 

The dhampir sighed as he walked up the steps. Then, in the mouth of the great building, he paused; before him stood a figure, cloaked and still, facing the castle stairs. 

“Oh, God,” he breathed, rubbing his eyes, “not another one.” Surely, there was a way to cleanse the castle. Surely, there was a way to remove the spirits of his past, the ones who came and went as they pleased while Alucard watched on and suffocated. Surely, everyday life didn't need to be so—

His trance snapped at a sound. The castle made noises, but it didn’t scuff leather soles against stone, nor did it kick rubble out of its way to make room for hollow, echoing footsteps. Any noise the place made was slow and languid, like it was straining with each and every attempt to haunt its inhabitant; however, those footfalls were brisk and quick and so much like his mother's when she was in a rush. 

But that wasn't Lisa Tepes. It was an intruder—a real one. A man amongst ghosts.

A distant door closed, and Alucard exploded into movement.

Magic fuelled his steps, hurtling him forth in smears of vibrant crimson as he pursued the whisper of a heart beating. Whoever had tried their luck sounded calm, unbothered. Alucard was eager to change that.

The dhampir burst into the lab. A sharp yelp harmonized with the slamming of the door. Another shout was cut short the moment Alucard grabbed the stranger by the throat and pinned them to the wall with a resounding thud.

“Do you have a death wish?” He growled over whatever the stranger tried to say. 

A pause. Then, the threat was answered with a laugh, something sardonic and bitter. 

“A death wish?” They—he—scoffed, clawing at the gloved hand keeping him pinned. “Is that meant to intimidate me, you stupid, blood-sucking beast?” 

Alucard squeezed harder, earning a sharp whimper from the intruder. “It should scare you very much, yes.” 

“Wait,” he squawked. 

“Why should I?” Alucard snapped. “If I don't, you'll take from this place, won't you?” 

The stranger’s pawing turned into thrashing. 

Alucard continued, “If I don't, you’ll return and attempt to kill me. Worse, you could kill me the second I—”

“Adrian.” 

His grip weakened. 

The stranger gasped in lungfuls of air before hastily pulling back his hood. His face—your face—illuminated in the gentle morning light. 

Your gazes held for a long, long moment, one that might have gone on forever, one that might have only been a delusional second, but it was…familiar. Secretive and special, like when you lifted sweets from town and shared them underneath a table in the library.

“Don’t tell Miss Lisa,” you whispered, eyes glimmering with mirth despite your serious disposition. 

Adrian huffed and took a sweet roll from the basket. “I wouldn’t dream of it. She’ll be completely cross if she finds out.”

You nodded, and the pact was formed. “We must make sure we wash our hands afterwards,” you added as you ripped a roll in half and nibbled on the frayed edge. “I, too, will be cross if we get sugar on the books.” 

“Ugh, you’re so annoying.”

You turned your nose away like a pompous brat, and Adrian laughed.

His grip loosened more, and your pulse started to slow against his gloved fingertips. 

“You,” Alucard said slowly, sluggishly. “Why?”

“I’ve come to do the work your worthless self has refused to do, you brute,” you sneered.

Alucard released you and watched you collapse. You rubbed your throat, hand shaking.

“I forgot how much of an asshole you were, alchemist.”

You glared up at him through tear-coated lashes. 

“I've never forgotten how much of a spoiled brat you were, Adrian.” 

“Alucard,” the dhampir corrected. 

“What?”

The blonde turned away and wandered to where he'd seen you puttering. “They call me ‘Alucard,’ now.”

You scoffed. “The opposite of Dracula, yes, of course, how very dramatic of you.” He heard you drag yourself back up to your feet. “It's a stupid name.”

“So is ‘(Name)’.” 

“Oh, fuck off. If you're going to insult me, at least make it worthwhile.” 

You stepped up beside him, straightening out your clothes and fixing your disheveled hair. Alucard glimpsed flashes of light-coloured markings against your skin before they vanished beneath your clothes. He had no mind to wonder what they meant, but he did find them pretty.

“What are you doing here?” He sighed, suddenly so, so defeated. “This isn't your home.”

You sucked your teeth. “It was, once.”

“Not anymore.”

“Your mother said I'd always be welcome.” You picked books off the floor and set them on the cracked desk. “‘Always’ hasn't ended just because she's passed.” 

Alucard's face twisted. “Don't speak of her. You have no right.”

“She was my mentor,” you said offhandedly. You threw a few more books onto the table. “I mourn her, too.”

“Yet you weren’t there when—”

“Neither were you.” 

The cold left Alucard's veins, exposing his raw nerves to the needling truths he had shunned in favour of shutting down, disappearing into the numbness of winter. What right did you have to remind him? What right did you have to reappear and give him grief? 

Thorns punctured the backs of his eyes. Alucard held his head and staggered back. He needed wine, and badly. 

“Just—don't touch anything,” he grumbled as he turned away, ignoring whatever it was you hissed back at him. The man didn't have the energy to start a losing war with you.

—

Time passed. Alucard ignored you. He even forgot you resided under the same roof as him unless he stumbled upon you in the kitchen or engine room. You kept to yourself for the most part, and he kept to himself. It wasn't horrible. 

You were horrible, however. You were nothing short of an entitled menace to society and, more personally, to Alucard himself. Still, somehow, Lisa had liked you enough to give you a room, and Dracula had found you promising enough to let you stay in that room, much to their only child's chagrin.

“‘He has nowhere else to go,’” Alucard muttered aloud, echoing the words his mother spoke back then. “‘He's alone.’” He stared up at the cellar's ceiling before taking a long drink of wine. “‘I'm sure he'll be your friend.’”

He thought of Sumi and Taka. He thought of Trevor and Sypha. He thought of empty shadows. And when he couldn't stand the thoughts any longer, he drank, and decided the castle was too small for all those ghosts and two living men, that it wasn’t allowed to be anything but cold and painful and lonely. Bonds, people, just made life agony. 

Alucard rubbed his eyes. His shoulders trembled from a heavy inhale. 

He needs to leave.

Resolve sobered him. Alucard stormed out of the cellar like he was about to face his father again, like his life was on the line along with humanity’s fate. In a way, it was; if he didn't deal with the nightmarish imp sullying his home, he'd be no use to humanity, he'd be in no position to be sober enough to ever do anything besides mourn and cry, and that couldn't last forever. 

The lab doors came into view with the quiet shuffling of odds and ends before he threw the doors open, and stepped inside with purpose. 

“You,” Alucard commanded. “You're to get out of my castle immediately lest I—”

He slowed to a halt and took the space in; the lab was warmly lit, and it no longer reeked of blood, sweat and magic, but instead of herbs and wood; a majority of the room was cleaned, or at least straightened out, and many of the books and equipment had been returned to their rightful places; what was left of the floors, walls and furniture were free of most filth, too. It almost seemed to masquerade as a home again.

You were even on the second floor, staring out the largest window with a cup of tea in your hand—a calming sight Alucard had taken in plenty of times in the past.

“You're cleaning,” Alucard said as he approached you. 

“Astute observation, vampire.” You sipped your tea as you stared out at the vast sea of green cedar. “I'm surprised you live.” 

“Tch. Not even Dracula could kill me,” Alucard huffed. “Wine doesn't stand a chance.” 

“I'm not so sure. That horrible stench coming off of you suggests you're already a walking corpse.” 

“So you came back to play the part of maid?” Alucard asked instead of biting back. 

Your nose twitched with the threat of a snarl. “Someone has to clean up this fucking mess and it's surely not going to be you.” 

“Well, I—”

“No, shut up.” You collapsed into a nearby armchair with a sigh. “You don't get to defend yourself.”

Alucard scoffed and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “I was going to sort things out.” 

“Before or after you drank yourself to near-death?” 

“You're still as miserable as I remember.”

“Oh, on the contrary, I think I'm much more miserable now.” Your gaze dropped. “This house is a mess.” 

Alucard scoffed, hackles rising. “Of course, it's the house you worry about.” 

You frowned. “Someone has to.” 

“Are you ever going to learn how to be pleasant?”

“I wasn't made to be pleasant; I was made to be exceptional.”

The dhampir laughed, earning a hot glare. “You mean by those mad heretics that attempted to open the gates of Hell over and over? Is that meant to be ‘exceptional’?” 

The muscles of your jaw tensed, and Alucard thought he heard the grind of teeth. Your family, whoever they were, were a weak spot for you. He knew that well.

“Fuck you,” you uttered like a pagan curse. “You've no idea what I've endured, what my makers were like.”

“My father is Dracula,” Alucard said, “he tried to kill me, killed thousands of humans, tried to end the world—”

“Yet you still live, and the world is still in-fucking-tact, isn't it? Maybe not your world, but the one that matters most.” You glowered out the window as you stood. “As far as I see it, you're rather lucky.” 

“Lucky?” He repeated, an edge of hysteria lifting his voice. “Really, you'd call this lucky?”

“It could have been a lot fucking worse.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“You wish.” 

You turned sharply and abandoned him. Alucard listened to your brisk footfalls disappear behind a collage of distant bookcases, some broken, some intact. The rifling and shuffling of wood and paper took over not too long after he lost sight of you. You'd so easily gone back to work. 

He's always been that way, Alucard remembered. Would rather putter about instead of dealing with people. His mother had never been anti-social. His father was, however. Maybe your shared distaste and skepticism about humans was what bonded you. Maybe humans made you so jaded, too. Maybe, in another world, they'd have made Alucard the same. 

He wandered after you, following phantom footsteps until the dull clapping of book covers became clear. You were mumbling under your breath, exasperated and annoyed as always with the one-sided argument you engaged in. It was another common sight; Alucard recalled finding you bickering with the air far too often in your shared younger days. Lisa never had an explanation for her son, but she had words of comfort to explain your quirk. 

I thought you didn’t remember your parents, Alucard wanted to say, but that look on your face, the one that stirred something in his chest and ate everything in his veins, snuffed out whatever flame of confidence he thought to face you with. 

–

Alucard let you be for a long while. He didn't know how long, per se, but at least…a while. Some time. Maybe a week or two. A month? Hard to tell.

When did I kill those two? He wondered dryly as he wandered back from yet another trip to the river. Feels like centuries ago…maybe longer. Is this what Father felt in that long, miserable life of his, until he met Mother? He didn't want to dwell on it long.

Instead, he dwelled on the man standing before the skewered warnings at the castle's front door. 

He could see your foot tapping and shifting to and fro—toe, heel, toe, heel—the same way you had as a younger teen. Alucard hated it, especially when your hard leather soles clacked against the hardwood like a woodpecker knocking on a tree. 

Alucard snorted. Woodpecker. That summed you up nicely.

“What are you smiling about, vampire?” You snapped. Alucard thought venom might shoot from your eyes or flame might spew from your mouth.

“Why are you staring at…those?” He asked instead. 

Your expression weakened into something a bit more innoxious. “I'm wondering why you needed them,” you said, turning to the gruesome display. “And if I should summon them again to kill them myself for whatever they've done.” 

Alucard couldn't look away from you. “‘For what they’ve done,’” he echoed, voice weak. “What makes you think they’ve done anything at all?”

“Adrian Tepes would not skewer someone if they weren't as damnable as the fucking night beasts staked in their company,” you decided, pointed words acrid with something intense.

A weak warmth spread across Alucard’s skin. The feeling tried to go deeper, back to somewhere long forgotten, but he didn’t allow it. How could he, after so many had taken that sacred place for granted?

“Oh.” The dhampir cleared his throat and shifted his weight. “I see.”

Your eyes flicked to him and pinned him in place. Yet, a moment later, your brows lost their creased tension while your stare abandoned its edge in favour of something kinder—or perhaps less lethal—as you gave him a quick once-over before your stare ultimately landed on the bare skin peeking out from beneath his jacket. 

Your eyebrows raised a little, smoothing out your chronic resting bitch face, and your eyes lidded so slightly. Alucard fought the urge to pull his jacket closed while at the same time resisting the impulse to throw his jacket off. You still did strange things to him.

“Where is your shirt?” You asked. 

Alucard cleared his throat. “I, ah. It's…complicated.” 

One of your brows quirked as you turned to face him, arms crossed. “I highly doubt that.”

Alucard could not find it in himself to admit his melancholy stopped him from doing anything—merely speaking such a thing into the world would be too much to bear.

“Fine,” you scoffed. “Then what's that scar?” 

“My father,” he said. “He—well. We had a disagreement, you could say.” 

You winced. “Dracula must have been far gone to hurt you.”

Alucard flickered a smile. “He was.”

Your lips parted, then sealed again, but you didn't look away. Alucard saw sparks of the you he used to find comfort in with the way you beheld him; you wore that thoughtful, gentle look whenever Adrian found himself in trouble or in pain. It warmed him to know you might not have changed much in that way.

Before your old friend could admire you much more, you turned and straightened out your cuffs with a neat, crisp flourish. “Well, that’s a shame. I quite liked your father.”

“I know.” 

Alucard couldn't find anything more to say. Yet you still stayed put as though you held out hope for him to say something more. But he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t, and you were not known for having the patience of a saint.

Helpless, Alucard watched you disappear into the gaping mouth of the castle doorway. It was strange, he thought, how your silhouette seemed to meld with the shadows as soon as you stepped out of the sun. Then again, he was slightly out of his mind. 

Instead of following after you, he braved a glance at the rotting faces of Taka and Sumi. “He’s been here much longer than you two,” he murmured, eyes casting back to the ground. “And he hasn’t tried to trick me, kill me, or fuck me. Maybe this is how bonds are meant to forge.” A long, heavy sigh left him. “I don’t know.” 

Eventually, he found himself wandering the halls, his sad, half-filled pail sloshing beside him and occasionally spilling onto the hardwood. You'd yell at him for it, probably spew something about ruining the already battle-ruined floors, but the punishment didn’t seem too harrowing; at least he'd have company.

Then, he heard a noise, and followed it like a fool following a premonition. However, his quest actually had a prize at the end: you, messing about with pipes in the boiler room set beside the engine room. Your hands were speckled and smeared with grease and other shiny residue, yet your clothes were as clean as they could be with your shirt tucked properly and sleeves rolled up to reveal a stretch of skin marked with faint, blue sigils.

He stepped forward when you tried to twist a piece of pipe free with just your fingertips. Gently, he brushed your hand aside before gripping the measure of pipe and yanking it free with a single, easy motion. 

“You could have asked,” Alucard said, holding the pipe out for you. “Instead of ominously vanishing into the castle, I mean.”

Your nose scrunched as you took the piece with a dirtied rag and set it aside. “You seemed too busy wandering around, looking like a dejected donkey holding a bucket, and, last I checked, mules don't make for great conversation.”

Alucard set the bucket to the side. “Well, I'd rather champion the removal of pipes so you may keep your delicate, frail hands clean. Seems better than being a sad donkey, at the very least.” 

“Hm. You already need a dozen baths, I suppose, so this can't be too uncouth for you,” you said, leaning away from him and looking over some schematics. 

“Oh, well perhaps I should go bathe rather than help you, then.” 

“Ah-ah,” you scolded. “Your fate is sealed. Remove the next two pieces, vampire.” 

Alucard rolled his eyes but did as he was told, much to his chagrin; he'd rather have running, hot water again than constantly wandering to the river day by day, of course, but he'd have to survive a short stint of servitude under your cruel, critical rule for that to happen. It wouldn't have been worth it if he hadn’t been hoping for petty banter and a chance to ask questions. 

“Those markings,” he said, “I've been wondering about them.” 

“Hm.” 

“Care to explain?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Will you?”

You turned away, and Alucard stifled a sigh. Wonderful first attempt at an actual conversation. Almost as tactful as Belmont. He grimaced. God, please make me into anything but Belmont.

“Alchemical sigils,” you said, striking through Alucard’s thoughts. 

The dhampir's mind whirled for a snap. “Really,” he said. “I suppose I should have recognized them.” 

You hummed in maybe annoyance or agreement before turning back to the machine. “They're lesser-known. Most present-day alchemists are forgemasters, besides. They've little need for incantations when they've their chosen tools.”

Alucard leaned down to peer over your shoulder at whatever you were scrutinizing in the boiler. “Hm. Then your markings are a tool of sorts?” He wondered.

You frowned. “A curse may be more accurate.” 

Alucard glanced at you again, then to the back of your neck when another symbol—a familiar thing, one that looked like a star of sorts—caught his attention, and sparked a machination of curiosity and alarms in his mind. “A curse.”

Your hand clapped over the mark, and you turned to him, sharp and quick like you were expecting to parry.

Alucard raised a hand to surrender. “I didn't mean to—”

“Quiet,” you snapped. The word twisted strangely, like a distortion rippling in water before calming again. “Do not expect more from me than that which I give you. Do you understand?” Alucard nodded, and you seemed to calm. “Good. Now, just shut up and do as I say, yes? No more questions.” 

No more questions. Your demand only piqued his curiosity.

After helping you with what would become a lengthy, gruelling project, Alucard found his way to the rickety Belmont vault and wandered through aisles upon aisles of books. A worried sickness curled in his stomach and chest; last time he'd been down there, he'd brought two others with him.

He shook his head. Focus. You need a book about alchemy. Old alchemy, no less. 

There were plenty of books to choose from, but Alucard was quick to realize alchemy was not the core of your mystery, but the root; it was something related to it, something that used alchemical symbols and other sigils born from similar knowledge. 

And finding a hexagram etched into the crumbling spine of an old, leather book gave him a solid start. 

“Hm. Ars Goetia,” Alucard said aloud, tongue thoughtful with every syllable.

As though something answered him, the air hummed. It buzzed with life, reverberating with something kinetic and physical, like the bone-rattling depth of a choir. Books shuddered, earth shifted, debris fluttered from the roof—then, it all receded, drifting away like a midnight yawn and leaving nothing but a dissonant, distant ring in its wake. 

“Well,” Alucard exhaled, “that was interesting.” He sat himself in a mostly-intact chair, and opened the book. “I wonder if that was meant to ward me away. I suppose time will tell.”

---

Thank you for reading! Feel free to comment your thoughts or if you'd like to be tagged for the next part :'D