rho

All the other clues had been small enough to dismiss at first—missing articles of clothing, nicks in the metal of your door’s keyhole—but in recent months, things had escalated. A succession of anonymous phone calls where, if you dared to pick up, all you would hear was heavy breathing. A notebook filled with sketches of you asleep. Worst of all, a scrapbook bursting with candid shots of you: the back of your jogging pants as you stretched in Coach Vargas’ class, your hand as you discretely adjusted a bra strap, the bright shade of your skirt as you slipped it down your thighs in a shopping mall dressing room. There were nature photos mixed in too—innocuous enough on the surface, until you realized they were all from hiking trails you had visited before.

You’d approached your housewarden for help, but Azul was nearing his limit on what else he could offer in the way of protection.

He’d already entertained one of your requests for a room transfer, had given you a referral to one of his Ignihyde acquaintances so you could look into installing a security and surveillance system, had even presented you with a contract for a monthly potion that temporarily blocked your sense of smell. 

All efforts had proven futile. Your stalker still would not leave you be.

Your final consultation with Azul had yielded little from him other than a sigh and a shrug. “I’m sorry to say this but my hands are tied,” he said. “What more can we do, without sufficient evidence that this… secret admirer of yours means any serious harm?” Or that they even exist, was the silent insinuation.

Your hands curled into small fists on your lap. He didn’t have to remind you of your lack of merit. The other assholes in your dorm were more than happy to remind you of that daily. You hadn’t asked to be sorted into Octavinelle. Hell, you hadn’t even asked to study at Night Raven College. It was your father who’d made that decision for you. It was your father who’d uprooted your entire life in the Coral Sea for a life on land with some split-tailed human slut, it was your father who had torn up your application to Noble Bell College, and it was your father who kept dangling you in front of his business associates for a chance at an arranged marriage with their sons. Beyond the wealth your surname carried, you were nothing. Here in Night Raven College, where raw talent triumphed supreme, you were even less.

Seeing your scowl, Azul loosed another sigh. “Alright, alright. I’m nothing if not benevolent. I’ll see what I can do.”

The last of Azul’s helping hand had come in the form of his vice housewarden, Jade. From Jade, you discovered that Azul had tasked him with escorting you to any corner of the campus grounds, be it to your dorm room or to the laboratories, or yes, even the dorm’s communal bathrooms. You didn’t doubt Jade’s strength—he was vice housewarden for a reason, after all—but you weren’t foolish. Clearly, Azul had offloaded your protection to him as a matter of convenience. Jade’s shared room with his twin brother Floyd was right beside the closet space you called a new dorm room, plus you already shared most classes and extracurriculars with him. Was he “escorting” you, or just going through the motions of his daily schedule?

His patronizing attitude didn’t help either. The first couple of days with him were fine enough—he waited outside your door like a pet to walk you to your morning classes, reserved you a seat beside him at the cafeteria during lunch, shadowed you as you browsed through books in the library. But oh, how he loved to poke fun at your distress: personally preparing you meals of fungi and forcibly feeding you spoonfuls “to guarantee you lunch that your stalker hadn’t touched,” twining rash-inducing flowers in your hair “as natural alpha repellants,” even logging into your Magicam account and screening your followers list “for any suspicious accounts.”

You nearly slapped him for that last one, but you doubt he would have reacted if you did. He was all faux sniffles when you confronted him. “I have only your best interests at heart. Had I not taken such measures, that user leaving hearts on all of your most salacious posts would have gone unpunished.”

You were still heated from his most recent offense that morning, when he had barged into your room while you were half-dressed, under the pretext that he had spied a suspicious figure loitering by your door. “Salacious?” you hissed. “It was just beach pictures from freshman year! I wasn’t even wearing a bikini in any of them!”

To punctuate your anger, you threw the first thing your hand landed on: your dorm jacket. Jade caught the jacket with his face, his hands kept politely folded at his front. “I apologize if you feel hurt by my behavior,” he said, voice muffled by the fabric.

His lack of a reaction only enraged you more. “Get out!”

Jade was such a meager form of protection—but one that hadn’t come cheap. In exchange for his services, Azul had practically reduced you to a slave in the lounge, on call during holiday breaks, weekends, even those odd string of months when students were overblotting left and right and Azul had gotten kidnapped by flying robots.

Fatigue aside, you suppose it wasn’t that bad. Save for that one time a customer threw a drink at you, working at the lounge was so… peaceful. Peaceful in comparison to your dorm room, that is. No time to worry about stalkers when you were drowning in order tickets. No time for much of anything, really, when you were half-dead on your feet by closing time. (Even that didn’t escape Jade’s teasing. “Shall I rub your feet for you? I’ve recently obtained a prototype for a massage oil that…” Ugh.)

But you suppose you couldn’t fault Jade that much. He got on your nerves most days, sure, but he did his job. You hadn’t seen hide nor hair of your stalker ever since he started guarding you. 

And outside of that, Jade wasn’t so bad, really… You liked swapping recipes with him, you liked how reliable he was on hikes, and you liked his sense of humor, unusual as it may be to most people. He cleaned up rather nicely too; you’d confirmed as much that one time he invited you as his plus-one to some beach wedding his mother was sponsoring. (Plus-one, my ass. You were practically an unpaid busser. But whatever. At least he had shouldered all the trip’s expenses.)

It also helped that Jade was… well, unique for an alpha. Even prior to the smell-blocking potions that Azul concocted for you, Jade had always been weirdly free of any aroma. It wasn’t that he smelled clean—he didn’t smell like the infirmary’s antiseptics, or the school kitchen’s fresh linens, or the lemon disinfectant spray you used for your desk. He didn’t smell like… like anything, really. Jade was entirely blank.

You started developing an aversion to alpha scents a month into your stalker problem. Multiple times in class, upon catching the smallest whiff of a classmate’s wrist, you had to excuse yourself to vomit violently in a bathroom stall. A face mask hardly helped. Neither did double the amount of perfume, nor a swipe of peppermint oil on your upper lip. 

Azul’s potions were your only saving grace. And the fact that he’d loaned you Jade too, instead of Floyd, knowing your condition… You couldn’t be more grateful.

You’d questioned Jade about his scent once after a club outing, demanded to know why he didn’t have one. With strands of hair sticking to your damp brow and an ache between your shoulder blades, the sight of Jade composed and sitting pretty had irritated you beyond belief. “How come you’re not sweating like crazy right now?”

He looked up from the mushroom scribbles on his sketchbook and gave you a polite smile. “Given the sub-arctic climate of our hometown, I’m more surprised that you’re perspiring this much. For our next hike, would you prefer that I adjust our route to include a few more rest stops?”

You continued, ignoring him. “I can’t smell you at all either. What’s up with that? Are you on some fancy blockers or something?”

“None at all.”

At that, your eyes widened. “You’re joking.”

“I don’t make it a habit to wear scent blockers for these little excursions. Why avoid what’s natural around nature?”

“Nah, you’re definitely joking.” You nudged his shoulder gently. “Come on, help a friend out. Was it Azul who cooked that up for you? Can you lend me some?”

“I’m struggling to see the need for you to lather on more blockers. You smell the same as you always do.”

“Really?” You haven’t been able to smell much of anything after you started taking Azul’s potions, not even your own scent. You wiped self-consciously at your nape, at the beads of sweat gathering at your clavicles. The spritz of scent blocker you put on that morning was already beginning to fade. “What do I smell like?”

It took a while for Jade to respond, a strange glint in his eyes. “You smell like… sea foam.”

“Sea foam?”

“Like home.”

You cracked a grin. “Oh, like the Coral Sea! That makes sense.” Your grin faded to a frown. “But why don’t you smell like that too, then?”

“Perhaps your senses have been impaired by your medications.” He straightened in his seat, face suddenly bright. “For a day, just to satisfy your curiosity about my scent, we could—”

You waved his offer away before he could finish it. “I already know what you smell like.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Like water. Clean, clear water, like something from a spring.”

He tilted his head. “But that’s freshwater. I come from the sea, same as you. Shouldn’t we share a similar scent?”

“Maybe because you’re in human form right now? I dunno.” You shrugged. “I’m just spitballing here. Maybe you have an adaptive scent and you get all sea breezy like me under the right conditions.”

“And what conditions would those be?”

“I said I don’t know,” you huffed. “Ugh, you ask too many questions. I can’t smell you anyway, what’s the point of dwelling on specifics?”

A pause. Then, from Jade:

“I believe you’re well aware of this, but back home, merfolk use scents to identify each other even across vast waters. We rely on scent when we hunt for food, when we warn each other of predators, when we search for our mate among a school of others just like them.”

When you didn’t reply, he continued, hesitant. “My scent is—It’s not as pure as you believe it is. My transformation potion may have had a hand in diluting it, I apologize for not correcting you sooner. My parents have always compared my scent to something earthier, like algae or mud. It’s how they differentiated my egg from Floyd’s, even before we both hatched. I suppose it explains my hobbies, why I am the way I am. I can’t imagine a life where my family wouldn’t wish to see that part of me, wouldn’t wish to know me.”

You toyed with the sleeve of your jacket, refusing to meet his eyes. 

You couldn’t help but wilt whenever he took that tone of voice with you—concerned, pitying. It was a blade he’d taken to turning against you, ever since that afternoon he’d chanced a talk with your father. It was during the wedding he had invited you to. Unbeknownst to the both of you, your father had been invited as one of the groomsmen, another hefty wallet for fulfilling the wedding registry.

You hadn’t missed Jade’s sidelong glances in your direction during his little chat with your father, the pointed look at the unmarked neck hiding behind the high collar of your dress. It was embarrassing, the complaints hiding in your father’s every joke—the unbearable smell you’d carried since childhood, the rising market prices of your blockers, the Herculean task of finding a mate willing to tolerate you. You’d think it’d be easy, what with the demand for her species of merwoman, but alas… Silver-tongued as he was, even Jade had struggled to redirect the conversation to more pleasant territory, his hand drifting underneath the table to grasp yours, a silent plea for you to speak up.

“What’s your point, Jade?”

“Aren’t you lonely?”

You kept quiet. 

He inched closer to your seat—but then you stood, nearly knocking his sketchpad to the ground. You brushed the dirt off your pants. “It’s nearly sundown,” you mumbled. “Are we finishing this hike or what?”

Your day started horribly. Your scarf had gone missing the day before, no thanks to your stalker, so you had to borrow a spare from Jade. But come the heat of lunch rush and you were shedding the scarf along with your jacket, draping both on the nearest surface that had no soda spills or seated customers. When closing shift came, you had taken home the first scarf you found abandoned in a booth seat, unaware that it hadn't been Jade's.

You found out it was Floyd’s when Jade refused to walk you to the dorms because of it. 

Jade’s crossness cost you. Without his presence to accompany you home, the morning after had greeted you with traces of another night visit from your stalker: a rotting odor, an unlocked door, and a strange puddle beside your bed. 

You only noticed the puddle after your bare feet made contact with it, jolting away your drowsiness with a near-slip. You mistook it initially as a ceiling leak, was halfway through wiping it away with a rag before you noticed the viscosity of the liquid. It was too sticky to be water. Too milky. Your heart sank.

Your worst fears were confirmed when you rushed out your room, crashing straight into Jade's chest. He steadied you with a firm grip on your shoulders, peering down at your ashen face. “In a hurry today, are we?”

Behind him stood Floyd, scrunching his nose. The semen-soaked tissues were still on the floor. Your hands were still unwashed. “Jade,” he groused, “make her scrub my stuff before she returns it. She reeks.”

What a nightmare your week turned into. The security cameras from inside and outside your room bore nothing; both had been wiped clean of footage from the evening before. An inspection of your door showed no damage to the lock, whether physical or magical—a discovery that left your stomach in knots. Your stalker had a copy of your key.

After days of rubbing your hands raw and crying your eyes bloodshot, Jade took pity on you, offering to ask his brother to swap rooms with you for a night so that you could sleep.

“W–Won't Floyd mind?” You felt terrible at the thought of imposing any further.

Jade cupped your cheek, thumbing away a tear. The warmth of his palm nearly made you melt. “I'll ensure that he won't.”

True to his word, Jade talked to Azul on your behalf and handled all the necessary arrangements. He prepared everything for you: pajamas the same silken material as his, in your exact size; matching mugs of chamomile tea; a weighted blanket. He'd even gone to the trouble of formulating a sleeping potion, just in case rest continued to elude you. 

He showed you the vial while the tea steeped. “It's a fairly simple potion, all things considered. A few grams of duskweed, some bay laurel berries…” He handed you the vial. “Brewing it was no trouble, really.”

You cradled the glass in your palms, touched. “Thank you, Jade. I… I really don't know what I'd do without you. But, um…” You set the vial aside.

He cocked his head. “But?”

“C–Could I maybe not sleep on Floyd's bed?”

“Oh? Why ever not?”

You chewed on your lip, unsure how to phrase it. “Azul's potion… The one that stops my sense of smell… The effect's fading. It's the end of the month and I was supposed to get my next dose this week but after everything that happened…”

“And Floyd's bed is…?”

“It's overwhelming for me right now. The smell, that is. I don't know if I can sleep that close to, you know, all of him. I'm sorry.”

“Hmm.” Jade stroked his chin, deep in thought. “It would be discourteous to have you sleep on the floor… Oh, but I am quite reluctant to relinquish the comfort of my own bed…”

“We could share?” Your cheeks heated at your own suggestion. “If you don't mind.”

A flash of a smile, of teeth too wickedly sharp. Uh-oh. “My, my. What a bold suggestion.”

You fiddled with your hair in an attempt to hide the redness spreading to the tips of your ears. “Please don't tease.”

After your mugs of tea had been drained and washed, Jade allowed you to climb into his bed.

You scooted to the farthest corner until your back pressed against the chill of the wall, flashing him an apologetic smile as he dimmed the lights. “Sorry again about all of this. I know it’s weird to have a girl in your bed.”

“Please don’t apologize.” His left eye gleamed gold in the dark. “It’s my pleasure to have you.”

You were absent for all of your shifts the next day—you and Jade both. The tea and the weighted blanket had knocked you out cold, sleeping potion be damned. 

The day passed you by in waves of unconsciousness. Your eyes would flutter open to a rustle of the sheets, to a tickle of a hair against your cheek, but would fall back shut in the same minute. 

At some point in your extended slumber, you had inched away from the chill of the wall and into the rise and fall of Jade’s chest. His arm stayed curled tight around your waist, your legs tangled together, his body heat bleeding so deeply into yours that the slightest space between you left you cold and incomplete.

When you felt the bed dip as Jade got up, presumably to use the bathroom, a whine escaped you, your hands grasping at the remnants of his warmth in the sheets. Jade surfaced in your dreams like a mirage. A hand smoothed your hair; a chuckle sounded in your ears. Lips brushed the corner of your mouth—then, silence.

When you awakened fully, you were uncertain if you were still dreaming. Yawning, you peeled the weighted blanket off and staggered upright, peering blearily behind the curtains by Jade’s bed. The sky beyond the window was a deep shade of indigo, the sun long buried below the horizon. The pale face of the moon peeked at you from behind a paper fan of clouds. 

Jade was nowhere to be found.

His dorm uniform, which was usually perched on the hook just above his bed, was missing. So was your phone, and the small change of clothes you had packed with you, and the medicine kit that housed your scent blockers and heat suppressants. Had Jade taken them back to your room?

You groped blindly under his bed just to check, then his study desk, nearly knocking over the empty vial and mugs in your wake.

Your feet felt like they were tied to anchors. How long had you been asleep? And where was Jade?

The room swayed. Your knees hit the carpeted floor with a muted thump.

Panic set in when you became aware of the dampness dripping down your inner thigh. You wiped frantically at the bottom of your pajamas. 

No, it couldn’t be. You’d been taking triple the recommended dose for suppressants every day, so why—

You crawled to the door, hauled yourself up to twist the doorknob. The lock refused to budge. Had Jade trapped you here?

No. No, don’t be foolish. Everyone locked their doors here, it was Octavinelle, for Seven’s sake. You were always so quick to fall to hysterics. Calm down.

You pounded a fist against the door. “Hello?” you called. “Hello, is anyone there? Jade?”

As though you had summoned him, the door creaked open and in stepped Jade. Surprise flitted across his features. In his arms were your medicine kit and clothes.

The smell of decay embraced you.

A shock of heat raced up your navel. Your legs buckled. Jade was quick to catch you, a gloved hand at your lower back. “Easy there,” he murmured.

The door closed quietly behind him with a click.

Jade steered you back to his bed, setting your things aside on a far corner of his desk. 

“I apologize for letting you sleep most of the day away. You seemed so exhausted, I couldn’t bring myself to wake you. How are you feeling now?”

You clung to his arms, gasping. Had the start of your heat always felt this intense? 

“My pills,” you said weakly. “Please, my pills.” You retched uncontrollably. The smell had followed you. How? From where? 

Jade clucked his tongue. “A little too late for that, don’t you think?” He rubbed slow circles along your back, trying to soothe you. “I’m afraid the best course of action now is to weather this out.”

A stain was spreading beneath your seat. You clenched your thighs, ashamed. It was taking every bit of your remaining strength not to arch into his touch. You screwed your eyes shut. “No. No, please. Take me to the infirmary.”

“At this hour?” He reached for the pillows, placing one behind your head and another beneath your hips as he forced you to lie down.

Pinpricks of light exploded behind your eyelids. You were on the verge of tears. 

“Then maybe Azul—”

“Azul is currently indisposed.” The sudden hardness in Jade’s tone made you shiver. “And regardless, his orders would stay the same. I was told to see to your safety. These circumstances make no difference.” 

He tugged at your shirt, gently batting your hands away when they clawed weakly at his wrists. The hem rose up, up, up—past the pudge of your stomach, the swell of your heaving breasts. “Now be a dear and let me take care of you.”

Teary-eyed, you blinked up at Jade as he bit the finger of his glove, sliding it off his hand, before resting a warm palm on your chest. He kneaded your right breast, exhaling a small puff of laughter at the liquid that squirted out with each particularly rough squeeze.

“How fascinating…”

His mouth lowered to your left tit, suckling its stiff peak. Small cries slipped past your lips despite your best efforts to swallow them back. You clapped a palm to your mouth, bit the meat of your thumb to muffle the noise.

“Now, now.” A vise-like grip ensnared your wrists, raising both your arms above your head. “I have to make sure you're comfortable. It'll be difficult to check in with you if you insist on silencing yourself, no?”

That damned mouth returned to assaulting your chest, a tad less gentle this time, teeth scraping the buds swollen. You were shaking by the time he felt satisfied enough to raise his head, admiring the shine of his spit against the red nubs. “Have you any idea how mad you drove me last night, feeling this rub against me as I slept?” He pinched a nipple harshly, ignoring your sharp cry. “I was prepared to undo your bra had you worn one to sleep, but to think that you would forgo it altogether…”

His free hand dragged the waistband of your pajamas down to your ankles. “You were trying to tempt me, weren't you?”

“No,” you said. “No, Jade, please. I'm sorry—”

“And still, you insist on lying to me.” He cupped your mound, traced your lower lips through your underwear. The fabric had gone sheer from the liters of slick you were excreting, the outline of your cunt so obscene it made his dick twitch. “Fine. Don't talk, then. Let's see how honest your body can be for me, hmm?”

He left one last longing kiss on your nipple before descending downwards, mouthing at your navel, your hips, before pressing his nose to your underwear and inhaling deeply. At the hotness of his breath, your hand flew to his hair, twisting fistfuls of locks so tightly that he clenched his jaw. Your thighs clamped around his ears, desperate to cage the violation, but he wrenched them apart and kept them separated, pushed up to your chest. His hold was bruising.

Something prodded your wetness—the tip of his tongue. 

You couldn’t breathe. “Please stop, please—” 

The rest of your words died in your throat. Jade dragged the flat stripe of his tongue across your underwear, sucking earnestly when his efforts were rewarded with more dribble of slick. “Still as sweet as ever.”

He pushed the ruined fabric to the side and dipped an impatient finger inside you. It sank to the second knuckle with barely any resistance.

He added a second, a third, gifting a grateful little kiss to your clitoris when those too entered with little difficulty. His eyes flicked back up to watch your face, fingers curling and massaging curiously at your walls. “The first time I smelled you in heat, I couldn’t stop touching myself for a week. The rut you sparked… it was so severe I knew only having you could sate it.”

You gave a confused sob. “What—?”

He laved at your clit, almost panting. “But then you went and gorged yourself silly on those wretched pills. You stopped your heats altogether. Why? To torture me?”

You kicked weakly at his sides. The thrust of his fingers increased in speed, in depth. A firm palm pushed down on your lower abdomen. “Or perhaps it was because you wanted me to be your heat's only witness. You were safeguarding it, waiting for me to coax it out of you as had done to me.”

A steady pressure was building in your core. You shook your head wildly, nails scrambling for purchase at his forearms, at the sheets, anything to ground you. 

Jade sat up to better stare at the tremors wracking your body, pupils blown wide with sick fondness. “Was that it? Were you waiting for me, my love?”

“Jade—!”

Every muscle in your body went taut. A stream of slick spurted out of you, coating his hand, splattering his cheeks, his shirt, his pillows. Everything.

For a while, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing and broken sobbing. Jade caressed the soft of your thighs, whispering unintelligible praises as he peppered your knee with chaste kisses.

You thought the worst of it had come to pass, but then came the clink of a belt unbuckling. “N–No,” you hiccuped, a forearm thrown over your eyes. “N–No more. Please.”

Jade raised one of your calves to rest on the crook of his arm. “I’ll be gentle,” he cooed. His tip knocked lightly against the hood of your clit, the head weeping beads of precum, little tears of joy that mixed with your slick.

It didn’t matter how many times he had snuck into your room to make love to you. You remained impossibly tight, punching a strangled moan out of him with every inch he slid into you.

Sometimes he found it hard to believe you were from the same sea as him. Underneath those pills and potions, were you really as cold-blooded as he? He’d never known a warmth this all-consuming, this addictive.

His first time with you had been so shameful. Hours of prepping you open, of double-checking that his hunger had not roused you awake, all of it wasted to a climax that had taken only one, two shallow thrusts of the tip.

He’d needed to learn discipline after that, had to comfort himself with releasing only in your drawer of undergarments or your limp hand. But oh, you tested his patience. That night you walked out of the lounge with Floyd’s scarf wrapped around your neck, another man polluting your scent already weakened by layers of blockers… How could Jade not punish you? 

You had been more than willing to admit guilt too. Your mouth that night had cracked open just a sliver, almost begging him to finish on your tongue as penitence.

You were so effortlessly adorable…

With a small grunt, Jade shifted both of your hips, pinning you down with the full weight of his toned body. You thrashed beneath him. Your nails dug into his shoulders and upper back, breaking skin.

Jade shuddered. His cock throbbed inside you. You were perfect—so, so perfect, and entirely his.

He promised himself he’d start slow, try not to toy with you too aggressively lest he break you. But with how hard you were clenching around him, how could he? 

The headboard slammed against the wall with each rock of his hips forward, keeping time with the jackrabbit plap of skin on skin. You clung to him, overwhelmed by the drag of his cock, the serrated mouth tearing open the glands on your neck.

You didn’t know you could hurt this much.

Jade pressed a bloodied kiss on your forehead. “Please don’t cry.” He cupped your nape and guided your face to the juncture between his neck and shoulder. “You can bite me back, if you like.”

You whimpered. Managed a nibble.

Jade wheezed out a laugh at the pinprick sensation. The pounding of his hips stuttered, slowed to a grind. You could feel him all the way up to your stomach. “No need to be shy,” he said. “Mark me as much as you want. After all, we’ll be married soon.”

Heat pulsed inside you, ropes of cum filling you. Jade continued the languid slap of his hips against yours, lapping at your sweat, your blood.

He whined, disappointed, when his cock softened and finally, finally slipped out of you.

He sat back on his haunches, watching, refusing to blink, as the stretch of your lips relinquished his girth. His heart fluttered at the circle of white that ringed the base of his cock—a sign of your affection.

His seed dribbled out of you, pooling so much down the back of your thighs you were practically swimming in it. 

You laid slack against the pillows, air rattling in your lungs, stomach distended just the slightest bit from the amount of cum he had pushed into you. Jade traced up your swollen slit, catching the fluid on his fingertips before prodding it back in you.

Dead seaweed flooded your nostrils.

Jade frowned. How rude of him. He'd forgotten to knot you.

“Forgive me,” Jade said. “I call myself your mate, but my conduct has been entirely unbecoming. I should have known that this alone wouldn’t satisfy you.”

His dick twitched against his thigh, already back at half-mast. He pulled you back to his pelvis, raised your ankles to rest on his shoulders. 

“Please, allow me a second chance to make it up to you.”

: ̗̀➛ END NOTES:

Yap session incoming! 🤓☝️

The emojis that JP TWST fans assigned for Jade and Floyd are 🐬 (dolphin) and 🦈 (shark), respectively. This is really fitting for them considering the popular misconceptions around both animals!

Sharks have a ton of bad rap due to Jaws (1975) and other movies that depict them as bloodthirsty, rabid animals, but they're honestly quite harmless in comparison to dolphins.

Don't let aquariums and marine parks fool you; dolphins are pretty violent! They're extremely aggressive when they mate. The males form little alliances to isolate a female from the pod and mate with her, and they sometimes even kill their own young just so they can keep mating with the mother. And they even kill for fun! They harass animals like porpoises and toss them around like toys until they die, all without consuming them.

(That first part about alliances for sexual violence... does that sound familiar? Hehe.)

Moving on to the title of the fic: have you ever been to the beach? Sargassum is what you call the brown, free-floating, plant-like thing that washes up on shore. They don't smell bad when they're fresh and floating in the sea, but once they start to rot under the sun, they end up smelling like rotten eggs or sewage.

Honestly, "Sargassum Sweetheart" can refer to either Jade or the Reader, it can work both ways! Jade already admitted early on that the scent in your room is his. His scent is earthy, like algae or mud. Sargassum is a macro algae! But sargassum could also be referring to the Reader because of how she's treated. She's the one that's "adrift in the ocean" (alienated both at home and at school), the one that's "washed up on shore and left to rot" (her entire life underwater was uprooted by her father for a lonely life on land).

And her scent hints at her being the "sargassum" too! The "Unreliable Narrator" tag isn't just there for show, Jade was actually on the nose (haha) when he suggested that she was ruining her senses by overusing her medications. She barely even remembers what she smells like because of how much she's been conditioned to hate that part of herself. Jade compares her scent to sea foam, but that actually isn't as flattering as it sounds. Sea foam can smell mild, but it usually smells like decay because of the rotting organic matter in it, like algae and plankton. It really depends on what type of stuff it's been exposed to. (So which one was Jade referring to? Did she smell good or bad? Who knows! That guy's a freak for you regardless!)

And guess what kind of algae dolphins just LOVE to play with, especially as part of their courtship rituals? You guessed it! Sargassum seaweed!

When I say that Jade's obsession for the Reader is all-consuming, I mean it. At the end of the fic, when he claims her, there's genuinely no telling which scent is whose. You're both rotting; you've both become one. As the Turkish saying goes, you and Jade are grapes who darken when you look at each other.

Hope you enjoyed reading! (Especially you, Ms. Mera, my idol!)

Author's Note:

Since this is a birthday gift to my friend, the persona of the Reader heavily mirrors her yumesona, from design aspects (i.e., piercings, plus size, etc.) to her preferred love interests. But don’t worry! Since this fic is written in 2nd-person POV and isn’t “lore compliant” in the slightest, it can still be read as a pure Reader-insert standalone.

Also please don't question the shocking lack of STDs or the suspicious absence of restaurant health codes. Everything here operates through hentai logic, and that includes food safety regulations!

"Welcome home, master!" You offered the three customers in front of you a deep bow, flashing them a full view down the plunging collar of your maid dress.

The most baby-faced of them, a man with magenta-streaked hair and pointed ears, respectfully flicked his eyes skywards, forcing out a chuckle that sounded fake even to your ears.

The taller man to his right reacted with more grace. He returned your smile with a wide grin of his own, inclining his head slightly with a clink of the drop earring on his left—a gesture you'd find kind, if not for the jagged tips of his teeth.

You fumbled for three laminated menus from the host stand, then gestured for them to follow you down a side corridor. Hugging the sticky menus to your chest, you launched into a high-pitched rendition of the spiel you've spent the better part of your morning memorizing: "I've waited so long for your return! I have your favorite spot ready for—"

"Just a moment, dear."

You looked behind you and saw Magenta Streaks and Shark Teeth lingering by the host stand, where their other companion remained rooted to the spot. He hadn't moved a muscle after you'd given him an eyeful of your cleavage—charcoal-grey eyes still bulging out of their sockets, purple flyer still crumpled in his tan fist.

You suppressed a sigh. Seriously, why did your clientele all love to act like they didn't know they were entering a sex cafe?

Maybe it was the pretty slope of his mouth, the cunning glint in his eye; but you had harbored high hopes that this one, at least, would be more perceptive.

You remembered him from your shift two weeks ago, when you had been assigned to trawl the busier streets near the cafe and hand out flyers. It had made you want to kill yourself, those hours in the biting winter air, clad only in the ruffles of a maid dress that barely covered your ass. No wonder none of the senior servers had jumped at the chance to ditch the musk of your windowless cafe. Your clientele may be disgusting, the services and performances degrading, but heat was still heat.

So when your gaze had chanced upon him—tall, tan, dark hair running in pretty braids down his back—you had felt a rush of heat course through you, and your body had acted without thinking. Your high-heeled feet had crossed the street with barely a glance at the crosswalk sign, and before he could even tuck his phone back inside the pocket of his hoodie, you'd thrust a flyer in his hands and rambled, "We're hosting a limited-time collaboration event at our maid cafe today. I'd really love it if you could drop by!"

And then, for good measure, you'd leaned in, brushed your lips against his cheek, and whispered, "I'll be waiting for you… master."

He had leveled you with an unimpressed frown, but held onto the flyer anyway as you traipsed away.

At the time, you'd thought that, as a sales associate or otherwise, surely you had blown your chances with him. With a modicum of paranoia, you had even worried that your little stunt would get you fired.

Strike one: protocol forbids physical contact with leads during promotional efforts (which includes but is not limited to flyer distribution) due to the risk of provoking aggression or providing grounds of arrest for solicitation.

Strike two: you had left the collaboration event unexplained, had failed to direct his attention to the suggestive phrasing on the flyer or your lack of underwear beneath your scant clothing.

And strike three, the most regrettable of all: you hadn't invited him, right then and there, to follow you back to the cafe as your first lucky customer of the day.

It had been a shame, really, that he hadn't shown up at all during the first two weeks of the collaboration event. You had bought a cute pair of panties the day after you met him—red and gold, the same color as the accessories braided into his hair. The panties had been ripped beyond salvaging five shifts later, but still. You had been looking forward to showing it to him, to seeing how far down your legs it could travel before his deadpan face flushed the same shade.

If you had known that all it took to break his composure was a little cleavage, you'd have followed protocol that first time you met him.

With a small tsk, Magenta Streaks pulled at his shocked companion's limp arms. "Jamil, don't be so prudish. You're keeping the girl waiting."

Shark Teeth nodded, and with a firm squeeze of Jamil's shoulders, pushed him to take a reluctant step in your direction. "Come now. We're long past the need to feign bashfulness. Or need I remind you of the efforts we made to research this establishment?"

With a smile that you hoped came off as reassuring, you sidled closer to Jamil's line of sight. "Jamil, was it?"

His gaze snapped to your face, then downwards, to the swell of your breasts, the visible garter belt straining against your plush thighs. You scanned him in a similar manner: thick hair, thick hoodie, thick hard-on. How cute.

You twirled his hoodie’s drawstring around one finger. "Do you still have the flyer I gave you?"

Jamil gave a stiff nod, then unfurled his fist to release the crumpled wad of paper.

"Excellent," you said. You smoothed the paper as best as you could, searching for the condom wrapper you had taped to the back. A thrill of excitement raced up your spine when you found it missing. "This flyer has a hidden voucher for any of our limited-time collaboration menu items, so please remember to present this later to your server."

With your other hand, you squeezed Jamil's clammy fingers, and then guided them to wrap around the leash tied to your collar. "Please, follow me!"

The three men followed you down the lavender-perfumed corridor, to a wall of thick periwinkle curtains with silver fringes. "Now, masters," you said, turning to face them, "before we begin, let's go over our house rules to ensure that everyone has a pleasant time."

You raised a finger. "Number one: we maids are more than happy to serve you, but we can't do that to the best of our abilities if we're limited to serving just one customer. Each maid and their specialty service can only be requested once per visit, so choose wisely!"

You raised a second finger. "Number two: we maids tend to sulk if your eyes aren't on us, so unfortunately, phones and other recording devices are not allowed beyond this point. But don't worry! We offer personalized Polaroid photos of our maids that you may take home as souvenirs."

A gloved hand floated up to ask a question—Shark Teeth, from the back of the line. "Pardon my interruption, but what exactly do you mean by personalized?"

You clapped your hands. "Thank you for asking! We offer three types of Polaroids: essential, deluxe, and premium. Essential-tier photocards are prepared beforehand by our wonderful maids, and they contain a kiss mark and sweet handwritten message at the back. There are no two cards that are alike, and each card only has a limited number of printed copies, so think of them like collectibles!"

"Is there a prize if a customer manages to collect all essential photocards of a certain maid?"

"Yes, certainly! We give that devoted master a one-on-one session where their maid can show their gratitude to them in private."

Jamil suddenly piped up, "And how many preset photocards do you have?"

"Excluding holiday specials? Ten." You winked. "And if you request me for your first-time visit, you'll get one of those ten for free."

Jamil opened his mouth to say more, but then, from behind him, came a slight laugh. From Magenta Streaks, maybe? "Fufufu, how exciting. Is the thank-you session also available for the higher tiers?"

"Unfortunately, no, but that's because the higher tiers have no need for it. Deluxe photos are shot and directed entirely by the master. They get to decide how their maid should pose, when they should pose, what they should wear, etc. It's as if the private session and the photo sets themselves were combined into one purchase."

From a deeper voice, from Shark Teeth: "How generous. But then what could the premium tier possibly be offering that outshines that?"

"Well…" You tapped your chin, mind suddenly struggling to recall the exact phrasing your manager had spouted during the onboarding. "We call it a photo souvenir, but it's really more like moving pictures? So in other words, a movie. It follows the same principle as the deluxe tier, only this time, you get to take home an amateur couple's video of you and your maid of choice."

Shark Teeth again: "Is there a time limit to the video? I take it we're not being literal with the movie comparison and that it's not meant to last 2 hours."

You fidgeted with your apron. "I'm… not sure, actually. Sometimes our masters prefer services that go that long, but I dunno… I suppose I'll have to check with my manager?"

Shark Teeth hummed. "I see." His tone was odd, like he had been quizzing you without your awareness and you had only just realized you had failed his test.

You giggled nervously. "A-Anyway, if you'd like, I'll pass by all three of your tables later with our menu for the Polaroid services. We're running a special right now, actually! A collaboration-exclusive set for all three photocard tiers. Which brings me to our last house rule…"

You lifted the hem of your skirt. Jamil made a strangled noise at the sight of your crotchless panties, and whipped his face to the side.

Despite yourself, you beamed and raised the hem of your skirt higher. "First cum, first served! Master, as my first customer of the day, may I interest you in a complimentary appetizer?"

Your hands scrabbled for purchase against the heart-patterned wallpaper as you shuddered through a second orgasm. Jamil, head tucked between your shaking legs, guided your fingers to tangle in his hair, his mouth sucking harshly on the swollen bud of your slit.

"Jamil," you groaned. You tugged weakly at his braids. One more lick from that torturous tongue and you were sure your knees would buckle and send you crashing to the floor.

A muffled laugh from Jamil. The vibrations against your clit made your eyes roll back to your head. Above the blood pounding in your ears, you heard his amused voice: "What happened to all of the roleplay?"

Right. You were still on the clock. You were supposed to be calling him master.

Somewhere in your haste to usher his friends through the curtains and leave them in the care of your frazzled trainees, in your haste to slot your mouth against Jamil’s in the flimsy privacy of the corridor where you’d left him waiting, you had almost fooled yourself into believing you weren’t working as a maid-server at a sex cafe.

Almost.

You cracked open a weary eyelid to peer down at him.

The shine of slick smeared around his mouth stared back at you. Jamil kept his eyes locked on yours as he lowered his mouth for a second taste.

"Master." The whine in your voice surprised you. You've never heard a sound that needy escape you, even with your most relentless customers. "W-We normally serve appetizers in the dining area. Might I suggest moving this to—"

Two thumbs pulled at the lips of your pussy and spread them wide. You squirmed, clenched uselessly around thin air. Jamil traced a trail of kisses up your mound, sticky lips teasing the desperate flutter of your weeping hole, the pink pearl crowning it, a shy little thing that had peeked out of its hood from his affections.

"Are all maids usually this sweet?" Jamil murmured. The warmth of his breath made you shiver. "Do they make you drink something to have you taste this addictive?"

"I—" You swallowed a gasp as his tongue licked a stripe up your slit. Two fingers prodded a cautious inch inside before sinking down to the last knuckle, massaging walls all too happy to envelop them. Your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. A familiar pressure was building in your navel. "I'm not—"

"You mentioned something about a voucher?"

"What?"

Jamil crooked his fingers, massaged a bundle of nerves inside you. You doubled over with a cry. With a tone that sounded inappropriately placid, given the circumstances, Jamil continued: "You said the flyer had a hidden voucher. Tell me what I can redeem it for."

"It's for our collaboration event. With some—” A moan tripped your syllables; your head lolled against your shoulder. “With some s–stupid hentai series. Pretty Princess Paizuri. The voucher’s just f–for tit… ah—for titjobs… and stuff…”

His brow furrowed in exasperation. Your chest warmed at the sight of it. He really was cute. "You're doing quite a poor job of selling this to me, you know," he chided. "Even when you gave me that flyer, you hardly pitched the cafe to me. You just swiped a kiss and left."

The rub of his fingers turned harsh, almost punishing. "The condom you gave me was a size too small, too. It's honestly impressive how incompetent you can be."

You rutted helplessly against his hand. "That's not fair," you whimpered. "They gave us those condoms. It's not—It's not like we handpicked them ourselves—"

You slid an inch down the wall, legs turning to jelly.

Jamil steadied you with his free hand, the grey of his eyes darkening to the color of scorpions, of volcanic ash. "Of course they didn't give you a choice. Why would they? If it had been up to you, you'd have fucked every potential customer raw, protection be damned."

The languid pump of his fingers inside you paused, then withdrew with some reluctance. Through the haze of lust clouding your senses, you heard the clink of a belt buckle falling to the floor, the rip of trouser zippers drawing open.

Jamil rose to his feet.

You blinked once, twice, trying to reorient yourself to the sudden absence of his fingers, as he wrenched his boxers down to reveal his hardness.

You sank to your knees and licked up the vein along the underside of his shaft. But before you could take the swollen head into your mouth, a small force pulled at your leash in warning.

So you settled for a kiss, warm and lingering. You smiled in delight as his cock rewarded you with a fresh spurt of precum. You nuzzled the stickiness, cooing.

Another yank on your leash—this time, more insistent.

Puzzled, you lifted your gaze to Jamil.

Jamil gave a slight shake of his head. “Might hurt yourself,” he murmured. “Your piercings.”

Alarmed, you traced the curve of your lower lip and found familiar studs of metal dotting the flesh. You had forgotten to take them out prior to your shift.

A flash of fear rippled through you. Crap. Sex be damned, a maid cafe was still a maid cafe. Management had no lenience for inconsistencies like this, little tears in the cutesy aesthetic that backdropped all the perversion.

Your eyes shot up to scan the corners of the ceilings, the little crevices where security cameras could be glowing red, broadcasting your transgression.

Mistaking the panic twisting your features for insecurity, Jamil smoothed your hair. “It’s fine. I have snake bites, too. Used to.”

It’s not that, you wanted to mumble, but the words died in your throat. Thoughts of your manager reprimanding you faded as you watched Jamil wrap a fist around his painfully stiff length. Your pulse thrummed in time with the pump of his hand—missed a beat whenever his breath caught in hints of a whimper, each time his thumb brushed beads of precum from the tip. Your mouth watered. Your hands twitched against the frills of your dress, aching to touch him—all of him.

Months ago, during your job interview for this maid cafe, the raven-masked interviewer had grasped your hand for but a brief handshake before declaring that you’d be perfect for the role. “Warm hands mean warm hearts,” he’d simpered, already half-hard in his seat.

You’d thought that he was buttering you up for a free handjob. That, or he was simply desperate for bigger cup sizes to fill their roster. He’d spent the better half of the interview distracting you with his thinly concealed efforts to palm himself underneath the desk, so you couldn’t quite recall his reasons.

But nevertheless, the subsequent Skills Assessment Test had proven him correct. A tube of hand lotion later, and you were walking out of his office with a signed employment contract.

Every other day thereafter was some variation of the same song-and-dance: flattery, service, reward. You didn’t hate your job—who could hate a paycheck this high, in this economy?—but after a while, things did grow terribly dull.

When was the last time that a man had made you flustered? When was the last time that you’d dreamed of the sordid scenes from your favorite bodice rippers? That you’d felt yourself run slick not from lube or leftover semen but genuine desire?

When was the last time you’d felt the heat of wanting?

As though hypnotized, your hands drifted to the base of Jamil’s cock. Your fingers strained to close around the flare in girth. You wanted to hear that sound again, wanted to coax it out of him and bottle it—but Jamil swatted your hands away.

“Take that dress off.” His pupils were dilated. “I want to finish on your chest.”

You pouted, but reached behind you to loosen the strings of your apron. Your ears rang with the rhythmic squelch from Jamil’s hand as you unbuttoned the front of the dress, slipped your arms out the sleeves, felt the fabric pool in bunches around the plush of your stomach.

Jamil stepped closer, and you raised your tits to envelop his length. You worked in tandem with the shallow thrusts of his hips, squeezing the soft flesh spilling from your fingers. You were suddenly grateful for the no-bra policy of the cafe, the stream of sweat with which your stuffy maid dress had slicked your chest. The glide of his cock was smooth, so smooth that each stroke sent the leaking tip skimming against your lips. You stuck out your tongue, kitten-licking what little drops of precum you could reach.

Jamil shifted. A shaky exhale. His dick paused between your breasts.

You mewled, desperate. You suckled the tip.

Then, ever so gently, a hand cupped the back of your head.

This was all the warning you received before Jamil resumed his movements in greater fervor. He rutted against your chest, all but pushed the tip past your lips with each roll of the hips. Your head fell back against the cushion of his palm, his knuckles thumping against the wall, a staccato tempo to his moaning.

When he slipped his dick free from your chest, wrist bobbing in frantic twists along the length, you let your eyelids flutter closed. Your hands dropped to your lap as your jaw went slack—a silent plea to have him mark you.

Thick ropes of cum splattered your collarbones, your cheek, your open mouth. It felt like desert rain, like a never-ending baptism.

You caught the stray flecks and swallowed.

You opened your eyes, brought tingling fingers to the necklace of semen decorating your neck and chest. You giggled.

Above you, Jamil’s face softened.

The curtains to your right swished open.

Jamil yelped and whirled around to hide his bare crotch.

You blinked up in surprise at the jittery maid who stumbled out, tears trickling down her cheeks. It was one of your trainees, the one you had pawned off to Jamil’s razor-toothed friend.

“U–Um, I’m sorry but,” she hiccuped. “Master Jade wants to see you now.”

END NOTES:

Hope you enjoyed reading! (Especially you, my beloved Adonis!)

This is Part 1 of "First Cum, First Served," an R18 series that I plan to continue during my downtime. Each fic in the series will feature a Reader based on a friend's yumesona/OC or my own yumeship, and each installment will most likely be posted only on special events like birthdays, holidays, etc., though I will try to post something for my first ever Kinktober this year.

Next part of this installment will most likely be Jade x Reader so stay tuned!