#this emptiness- over and over and over- must mean something if it's so consistent. this ache.

[simpjaes]

desecration. (s.j)

the one where no gods exist when you’re alone with jake sim.

minors dni !! | if you read it, reblog it. 

WORDCOUNT ― 6.4k

PAIRING ― jake sim x afab reader

GENRE ― top/dom jake sim, characters are in their twenties, sub/bratty reader, religious kink/fetish

WARNINGS― mild dub con, desecration of holy a relic, inaccurate descriptions of whatever religion this is– im not doing research for a 5k fic that’s mostly smut, sorry. 

NOTE― if you’ve read this before, it’s because I wrote it for mark lee over on my other blog [ncteez]. we wanted to make it jake, and by we i mean me. i wanted to read this as jake. sorry to religious ppl, don’t read this if you don’t wanna be railed by a hot guy wielding a cross. 

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags― DUB CON.  use of the words: whore, slut, for the record, the cross is not raw wood and has a smooth finish,  reader is first attempting to seduce the priest through confession lmao, she’s also just a massive whore just like me :), jake is the priest’s son, jerking off, penetration using a wooden cross, unprotected sex, spitting, choking on and/or sucking off a cross, degradation, and name-calling, he’s a godfearing man but also he likes sexual perversions, humiliation, explicitly getting fucked in a church, kind of fingering? 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake wonders why you’re always making confessions, time and time again, once a week, every single week….eagerly. Like you’re excited for your sin or something. 

Huh.

Then again, once a week his father is expected to listen to confessions from the other churchgoers, even Jake himself is expected to confess. Often he will make up sins that he has committed just to seem as though he has been learning from some sort of mistake. Never would Jake actually tell his father through a confession booth what he has done or is willing to do. He’s an adult, he can confess whatever he wants. 

You, on the other hand, you’re working his father to the bone in terms of forgiveness. 

Jake’s interest piques at the very idea of a young woman, around his age, wanting to confess so much. Did you  hurt someone? Does you hurt yourself? Did you kill someone? Or maybe you’re just caught up in a situation that makes you commit atrocities? He can’t even imagine what one person could be doing to elicit such an eager need of forgiveness so consistently. 

Always the first in the box, always with those inappropriate outfits too. 

 Jake makes his way to the back of the church to complete his duties and, of course, he isn’t surprised to see you enter the confession booth. After all, it is the start of a new week. 

Hushed whispers were echoing through the large space and only now does he realize that you almost always confess when the church is nearly empty. You must not be unaware of his presence at all, unaware that he is the son of the priest that you spill your sins to, and unaware that he can absolutely hear you when he walks closer.

He isn’t entirely sure why he is listening. The walls of this church echo any and every sound, and to be fair, the only reason his interest is piqued is because his father was silent from the moment you had entered the booth. All he heard was you. You didn’t seem to start the confession off in a proper manner either, so yeah, maybe it caught him off guard too.

His ears make attempts to adjust to the words coming from the booth, but your voice is coming out in a tone that he has never used himself when seeking salvation. Minutes pass and he still hasn’t heard his father speak a word back to you, not to encourage you, not to stop you. It’s just you, addressing dreams, visions, wants, and needs. 

Certainly not confession. In fact, you’re actively sinning, attempting to seduce. 

“I woke up shaking, Father. What should I do?” 

Jake notes how quiet his father is still, despite you asking him what to do about the dream. His face sours when you continue to speak, this time in a slightly louder tone. 

“I just can’t help myself sometimes, I–”

It’s not that it’s intentional, really, it isn’t. If anything at all, Jake is incredibly disgusted by your attempts to dirty talk during a confession. Disgusted that you’d do such a thing, and…maybe intrigued by what you may have said that he wasn’t quite able to catch before. He quietly moves to the other side of the booth, the side where you seem to be spouting off all sorts of things, and he raises his head to listen a bit more. 

“You were big, you know? I can’t get thoughts of you out of my head. Have you ever touched a woman, Father?”

Jake leans in further, his body reacting more than his disgust. Unfortunately, his length growing in his pants ceases the moment his father cuts you off. 

“Enough.” His father finally stops you from abusing the booth, from abusing him.

Not another word is spoken and Jake does his best to back away quickly and quietly as you exit the booth. Of course, he’s acting as though he is sweeping a corner when he turns to look at you. Eye contact is made and he can feel an intense rush of heat spread across his cheeks.

Ah, so you’re a whore.

His father stays inside of the booth for a long, drawn out, three or so minutes before exiting and all Jake can think about is if you walked out of the church soaked and warm between your legs. It’s not even that Jake is into sinning. He isn’t. His entire life was built around this church, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a man. He has needs just like you do, apparently.

Never would he get what he needs from a woman as dirty as yourself, though, it doesn’t stop him from thinking about it and how your voice sounds when you were actively trying to fuck his dad.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“You’re disgusting.” Jake narrows his eyes at you when you pass by, spitting the words at you with a grimace. 

“Excuse me?” You ask, stopping in your tracks and looking back at him just as harshly. You didn’t provoke him to speak to you at all, let alone fucking insult you? 

“You think I can’t hear the way you speak to my dad during your little “confessions”?” He takes a step forward as he whispers at you, air quoting the word confession with a roll of his eyes.. “You really think he’s just going to take you up on the offer?” 

Narrowing your own eyes, you step closer to Jake to stop anyone else from hearing his little tantrum. 

“Wanna tell me why he always listens to my “confessions” then?” You question back, mimicking the air quotes and smirking as you walk away from him, not even letting him answer.

Jake watches as you leave, upset that he didn’t get a rise out of you at all and instead was offered a genuine question that sits in his mind. Why does his father allow you to make a confession after confession if all it is, is an attempt to seduce him? You’re even ashamed of it, it seems, and it pisses him off to no end. 

Rushing after you, he is quick to grab at your dress and pull you back.

“Might as well just show up naked with the way you act around here,” He starts with a bite in his tone, dragging you off, down the hall and into a side room that usually remains empty. 

He intends to put a stop to this because he’s heard several more of your confessions by his own will and learns that, apparently, your only sin is being a fucking slut. 

“You have no place here.” He adds as he closes the door behind the two of you. Unintentionally locking you into a space that he’s directly saying you don’t belong in.

“Acting like you don’t think about fucking. Hah. We both know I’m not the only one,” You laugh, walking across the room with a shrug. It’s not the first time you’ve been reprimanded in a church, and it probably won’t be the last. “Besides, your dad probably thinks about me late at night after tucking your grown ass into bed like a child.” 

Jake narrows his eyes even more at you.

“Bet that pisses you off.”

“You’re ridiculous to think he would even want someone like you.” Jake scoffs harshly at you, gut bubbling with annoyance. “To think about sex this often too? I can’t imagine anyone would want to touch such a slut.”

You watch him walk towards you, with his perfectly tucked shirt and his darkened and angry eyes. Being alone with him doesn’t help his argument though because, in all fairness, he’s just as hot, if not hotter than his father. 

“What about you then?” You ask, leaning against one of the shelves in the room, running your hand up your legs, and hiking your dress up a couple of inches. 

“Your dad with his lingering eyes won’t admit to having ever touched a woman. Yet here you are.” You call out the priest’s lie with a snide chuckle before continuing. Fingers massaging your own fleshy thighs, watching the way Jake struggles with his own lingering eyes. “What about you? You ever fuck anyone?”

Jake grimaces, wrinkling his nose as he watches you. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” He questions, stomping over to you and pushing your dress back down below your knees.

“Oh!” You laugh, ticking your tongue at him and tilting your head. “You said a bad word. Aren’t you going to ask for forgiveness?”

He stares at you for a few seconds, being face to face with a woman that seems so desperate for any touch has his heart racing. He’s trying to call you out, not turn you on.

“Can’t you act decent? I barely know you and you’re flaunting yourself at me.” Jake bellows, stumbling back from you and examining the way your body is relaxed.

 You really seem to be enjoying this. 

“You’re the one who pulled me in here. Was it really to argue with me, or were you trying to get to me before Father does?”

Thinking for a moment, Jake realizes he’s the reason this is happening. He could have just let you leave like everyone else, after all, you were attempting to go home. Here he is though, and there you are. 

“He would never.” Jake laughs, mocking your attempts to pretend his father would be interested in you. 

“And again, what about you?” You shoot back instantaneously, watching the way his words get caught in his throat. 

He’s a weak man, truly, because the very thought of what’s under your dress, the very idea that you’re so willing, fogs his brain to the point of almost malfunctioning. It would be so fucking easy if he wanted to. 

No one would even know. 

Before you even know it, you can feel the air in the room change as he storms closer to you and rips your dress upwards to your waist. Instantly, he’s shoving his hand straight between your legs. 

A small yelp leaves your throat followed by a laugh. Perfect. 

“I knew it.” You giggle,  bumping your head a bit against the shelf at the force of his movement. You can feel the way his palm cups your core and presses in harshly through his silent breaths. “I fucking knew you were dirty.”

“Stop,” Jake demands, bringing his other hand to cover your mouth. “Stop talking.” He continues, already pulling his hand from your core and second-guessing himself. 

“If you want it so bad, I’m going to need you to shut the fuck up.” 

You nod with a smile against his palm, breathing in when he pulls it back and trusts your ability to stay quiet. He’s staring directly into your eyes as if he’s threatening you. As if he will stop if you make a single peep. A promise that he will probably get you banned from the church if anyone were to find out what’s happening in this room right now.  At his darkened gaze, you poke your tongue out, licking his palm and watching him pull back in aroused shock at how unashamed you are regarding your arousal. But, you do stay true to your work and remain quiet once his eyes trail down. 

He looks at you as if you’re some sort of monstrous entity, and for him at this moment, you probably are. But even with that, you see what’s growing in his pants before he lowers himself onto the floor. Positioning his face right in front of your clothed pussy. 

What a dirty, dirty boy.

Jake can see the wet stain of your panties and all he can do is roll his eyes. 

“You’re insane.” He laughs, eyes darting up to your face, looking at you like he wants to shame you. “Getting so messy in such a place, all for men who don’t fucking want you?” 

You nod, wiggling your hips at him in an attempt to entice his lips to attach there. But he doesn’t. He just stands right back up to his feet and takes a step backwards. 

“I bet if I left you here, you’d chase after me.” He mocks. “I bet you think I’m gonna stick it in you, don’t you?”

Proudly, you smile with a nod. Of course he's going to stick it in. You can see how hard he’s gotten. Sin or not, you know when a man wants to fuck you. Jake won’t be able to resist sooner or later, son of the priest or not. 

“Wow,” He laughs quietly, shaking his head at you as he reaches behind a podium and pulls out a large, lacquered wooden cross. “You really are stupid.”

Great, you think as your face falls. He’s definitely about to start preaching to you with that stupid fucking cross. Maybe he will even attempt to perform an exorcism to expel the horny demons out of you.

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes, standing yourself up straight from against the shelf and patting your dress back down into position. “Don’t start this shit.” You’re already preparing to walk out without looking twice at him, but he laughs right back at you.

“You think you know everything.” He chuckles, walking towards the door and locking it. He stands in front of it now, crossing his arms and staring at you. 

“Don’t I?” You ask, eyeing the way he presents himself to you right now. 

“Did I not just imply that I wouldn’t use my cock on you?” He questions, twitching in his pants at the way you stand before him, much smaller in energy now. 

He can tell you’re still trying to act brave, and it delights him to see the realization spread across that pretty, silent mouth. 

Oh. Oh. 

“You’re going to–?” You swallow hard, realizing that of all the sins you could commit, the implication of being penetrated with a cross, solely so this man doesn’t have to fuck a whore isn’t one you ever thought of. 

This room doesn’t even feel like part of a church now as he holds the cross with more reason than praying. 

“Yeah,” He assures you. “I am.” Stepping forward toward you and looming down at your face. “Now get on the desk.” 

You don’t know why, but your body acts on instinct for him. Immediately walking to the desk and propping yourself onto it. 

“Take off your clothes.” He demands again, watching you intently as he stays in place, rubbing the long end of the cross much like he’d like to do for himself right now. 

God, watching such a stubborn woman do everything he says is…well, it’s new for him and it ignites a new type of arousal within him. 

And you watch him back as you begin to slip your dress from your shoulders, lifting your ass so that you can push it down and onto the floor. 

“Oh, now you wanna act shy?” He mocks, walking towards you as you attempt to tug at your panties. “And keep those on. No one wants to see that.”

Goddamn, you don’t even have the decency to wear a bra to service? Lucky for him though, your breasts are enough to drive him past the point of return. There’s no thought, fear, or prayer in his head right now as you reveal yourself to him. Going as far as trying to flash your pussy? Oh, he could laugh. 

You stay quiet, doing as you’re told and watching the way he examines you. He must feel so in control right now and you’re happy to let him, but you can see him falling apart behind his eyes. 

His cock is incredibly obvious beneath his nice dress pants, but you wouldn’t dare reach out to touch him, not yet at least. You’ll let him have his fun, despite the slight nervousness within you regarding that cross.

“Open your mouth.” He says, dragging the cross against your nipples and onto your chin. “Suck it.”

You almost shake your head at him. Such a hard wood sliding down your throat would surely hurt. It’ll bruise, it’ll fucking suffocate you.

Jake doesn’t seem to care about any of that though, because all he does in response to your widened and fear-stricken eyes is press the wood against your lips with a face of concentration. 

You purse your lips, muffling a displeased grunt at his acts.

“You scared?” He smiles first, pulling the cross away and now tracing his fingers along your lips before prying them inside and hooking your mouth open. “Come on, don’t act like you don’t know how to suck.”

You relent this time, feeling the cold and smooth tip of the cross enter past your lips when he resumes his previous assault. It’s not that you are against doing it, you just…haven’t done it before.

 You’re not exactly sure of how to respect a holy relic such as this one when you’re expected to choke on it. 

“That’s it.” Jake coos, pressing the cross further into your mouth. “Open up real wide.” 

You close your eyes at his voice, licking the smoothed object with an intensity you didn’t know you had. After all, it’s been so long since you’ve been intimate with a person, hence the constant wet dreams about your priest. This is somehow, incredibly hot to you. To have his son fucking your mouth, regardless of what object he’s using to do it. 

Still, it does hurt. The intricate edges of the cross bruises each time it hits the clenching walls of your throat and mouth, but Jake seems to like the sound of you choking and sobbing around it. After all, he just continues to press the cross further and further in. Probably relishing in the way you try to swallow around it and relax your throat. 

His eyes are so focused, seeing how much of it you can take and only imagining how good it would feel if it were his cock choking you right now. Despite your sputtering and crying eyes, you’re taking it so well. 

Yeah, you’ve definitely done this before. Probably swallowed up some guy’s cum and begged for more despite still having a cock wedged in your throat. How lucky for them to have someone so desperate to be gagged. 

“You’re filthy for doing this, you know that?” He laughs at your pain and how you don’t try to pull at his pushing hand, tipping the cross just a bit so that its hardened wood hits your throat in a way that hurts a bit too much.

You cough around it, only now pushing his hand back in protest. The tears are pouring from your eyes when the cross slides out of your mouth, and all you can do is blink up at him as you try to regain your breath. 

Half expecting him to immediately hold your head in place just to shove the cross back in, Jake pulls back instead, tilting his head down to look at your panties. 

Your legs instinctively cross to hide your arousal, but he prys your legs open regardless, forcing you to act as the whore you so wanted to be. For his father, for him, for anyone who would be willing, honestly. 

You’ve gotten wetter. 

“You’re so gross, I can’t believe you get off to this–” He laughs, feeling his cock begin to fucking ache. “You can take more, then.” 

No, no. You don’t want to keep sucking it, but your mouth opens anyway. Too turned on by the idea of seeing Jake’s reaction to watching you be so dirty, so blasphemous. 

The way he moans when you open your mouth willingly this time is…well, he looks fucking good. He sounds even better. 

You take it into your mouth without so much as a second thought this time, allowing him to slide the cross back and forth against your tongue and into your throat. You willingly swallow around the harsh edges, tears falling all the while, of course.  

You’re gagging so softly around it, he’s almost jealous over how you wanted his dad before you wanted him. Surely no one would do this for you, right? His father would never be with such a horny, needy, and dirty woman. 

Jake though….shamefully, is very into it. 

Into you, rather.

When he pulls it out this time, your saliva coats the cross in a way that nearly breaks his brain. Intensely, he stares at your lips, slack and waiting for him to continue his abuse. God, he’s so jealous. To think you would do this with someone else? With anyone? Anything? 

It turns him on beyond belief, but feeling jealous of the fucking cross isn’t exactly something Jake wants to admit. His father? Sure, whatever. But a relic he’s prayed to his whole life? Growing resentful of it just because you take it down your pretty and bruised throat? 

No. 

Jake shifts now, unable to satiate the arousal within him without grabbing your hand and forcing you to grope his hidden cock. So hard, so fucking hard, he nearly lets out his own sob at the euphoric touch when he actually does it. 

You’re a bit shocked that he’s letting you touch him, but you take the opportunity and run with it. You press your palm against him without any amount of shame, and all you can do is watch as he hangs his head, the saliva coated cross still gripped in his other hand. 

“Bet you wanted to fuck my mouth.” You croak out, your voice sounding just as raw at your throat. “Bet you wanted me to take all of it and beg for your cum.” 

His head shoots up in response to that as he grabs your face harshly, bucking against your hand at the same time. “Stop talking.” He seethes, releasing your face and inserting his fingers into your mouth instead. “Stick your tongue out.”

You do as he says, feeling his heavy cock twitching against your palm with each press. 

Jake seems like an expert at this, you aren’t sure, but when he presses your tongue down with his fingers to open your throat up, he spits into your mouth so easily that you have no choice but to swallow it.

Well, okay. He could probably get away with doing that a few more times if he wanted to.

You moan when you swallow, lending him a dopey smile that shocks him. You weren’t supposed to like that in his eyes, but when you grab his cock in response rather than just palm at it, he can’t help but moan back at you. 

His fingers continue to hold your tongue down as you jerk him off over his pants, and his hips stutter all the while until he loses all composure. Within a second, he stalks even closer, slamming both hands against the desk on either side of you and leaning forward to pin you there.

And then he grinds forward against your weak hand, pinned between him and the edge of the desk. 

Yet still, he’s gripping that fucking cross as he pins you here.

“You want me to fuck you so bad, I can see it.” He croaks, not even allowing you to offer him a nod before he’s got his lips attached to yours and he’s licking into your mouth. It feels impossibly better than that cross pressing against the back of your throat but you swallow his kiss just as easily. 

His hips continue to grind as he licks into your mouth like a man who doesn’t know how to kiss at all. So rough and messy with it, groaning more and more before he’s nearly a panting mess before you. He pulls back from the kiss only for a moment to stare at you, eye contact more fierce than it was before. 

“I think you’re the one who wants to fuck me.” You manage to slip out before he can silence you again, and his eyes narrow instantly. 

More than anything, that’s what he wants to do to you. He wants to shut you up in as many ways possible right now, and he definitely wants fucking you to be one of those ways. But he can’t, and he won't. 

“Hah–you’d love that.” He laughs, reaching his empty hand between the two of you to press his pants down enough to let his cock spring free. 

You can’t even get a good look at it, because he’s instantly grabbing himself and fucking his fist before looking back up at you. 

“Go on, look.” He says, leaning a bit so that you can watch him jerk off in full view now. “Bet you’d beg for it if I told you to.”

“Please?” You instantly let out, eyes staring at the angry head of his cock leaking and pulsing.

“I didn’t say to actually beg–” He groans, halting his hand and instead, thrusting his hips into the tightly formed hole he’s created. “I’m not going to fuck you.” He laughs again, now pulling the cross back and into your view with a wicked smirk. 

Of course. The cross. Well, at least you’re going to be fucked with something right?

 You eye the piece of wood and then go back to watching him. You’re not sure what it is about this situation but it feels like your body is on fire. Maybe it’s because hell is right beneath you, just a floorboard away from what the two of you have gotten yourselves into behind this locked door.

“Oh?” He halts his hips and licks his lips. “You actually want me to fuck you with this?”

You nod frantically, spreading your legs in front of him and showing off how large the spot on your panties has grown since he last inspected it. You watch as his eyes practically burn a hole through your pussy.

Only then does he release his own cock and look back into your eyes. More seriously this time when reality and guilt clicks in his head. 

“You are aware of what we are about to do, right?” His confidence falters blatantly as he glances at the cross. “Like, if you ever tell my dad about this, I will be disowned.” 

“You think I’d snitch on you?” You roll your eyes, body nearly shaking to get fucked. God, why does he have to stop now?

“Well, since you’re so inclined to confess every fucking day–”

“Jake, you literally just fucked my throat with it.” You deadpan, hooking your legs around him to pull him close enough to feel his cock hit your wet panties. “You’re the dirtiest one here, I’m not going to give that up just to see you get disowned.” 

He laughs at you for that. Because yeah, maybe he is. Maybe he’s the one who shouldn’t be in church, and maybe he’s the one who should have been confessing this whole time. Never in his life has he ever done this, or so much as imagined doing it, it’s so perverse. So, wrong. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what’s attractive about it. 

For some reason, his cock jumps when you say you’re not giving him up because he’s dirty. 

“And–” You soften your voice, trying to lure him. “You don’t have to use the cross, you know.” 

“No.” He barks out, pulling his hips back and pressing the cross against you instead. “Now, keep your legs open.” 

He gets right back into it without a second thought. He doesn’t care what he’s doing or what the repercussions of doing this will be. It’s not like he wasn’t going to hell before any of this, not based on the fantasies he’s had anyway.

Jake hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down your legs harshly, to the point that they’re stretching so far that it feels like they could cut through your skin. He backs away for a moment upon seeing you grimace at that, allowing you to slip them down your legs before positioning himself back between them.

“I’m dirty?” He says, looking at your pussy and the way it clenches around absolutely nothing. He sees the slick seeping out of you already, and it’s not only pathetic but so fucking desperate of you. “Fucking look at that.”

You smile at it, knowing that he’s degrading you but absolutely loving the view if his focused eyes are anything to go by.

Before the cross, he experimentally traces his fingers along your folds until he gets to your hole, and without hesitation, he slips one of them in. The grip of your walls alone could probably send him over the edge if he were to make a last-minute change and shove his cock into you, but he holds back. Instead, he traces the cross against you in the same way he did with his fingers, slowly inserting it alongside his digit. 

Pulling back, Jake watches your face as the cross opens you up, probably dragging against your walls uncomfortably as a reminder of the ultimate sin you’re committing with him right now. 

When your face doesn’t contort into that of pain, he pulls his finger out of you and places his hand back on his cock. Still staring at your face, he fucks the cross in and out of you. Relishing in the sound of how wet you are for this, and for him to give it to you.

 He does this until, finally, you moan.

Upon that little whimper of a moan, Jake is sent into a different headspace. One that quickens his pace with the object inside of you, one that tightens the grip on himself. 

Now, oh now, he’s playing for fun. He presses it in and then pulls it all the way out just to see your pussy beg for more. Holding back a moan over how fucking hot it is to see, he opts to coo out at you.

“Bet it would feel so good.” He breathes, trying to ignore the shiver that shoots through his body at the way you yearn for it. “Could shove my cock right in, you’d just take it, wouldn’t you?” 

Before you can answer, he’s thrusting the relic right back into you. In, out, in, out. Deeper, harder, fucking faster. And he offers the same for himself, tightening his fist, nearly abusing his own cock at the sight of your swollen hole swallow up the wood. Really, he makes a point to fuck himself just to imagine it’s you that’s squeezing him.  

If he thinks hard enough, it really is almost like he’s the one fucking you. 

He keeps this up for a few minutes, up until your legs are shaking around him and you begin to reach out with your hands. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s incredibly fucking horny right now, he’d probably be rushing for the altar to save you from whatever demon is possessing you.

 But, he knows that this is no demon, this is all his own doing. He’s loving it. Every single bit of this situation is being burned into his memory, and when your legs shake, it only urges him to fuck the object into you harder.

You whimper out strings of nonsense, almost begging for a release from this grasp he is holding over you both physically and mentally, but he doesn’t relent. Your pathetic cunt is being pounded by an object that should have you crying in fear, but instead, you’re so close to release you can only beg for more, more, fucking more. 

And god, he keeps giving it to you.

In an attempt to open your eyes, you feel dizzy with lust. Your hips buck up against the object with intent, and you can’t stop watching him. 

“Goddamn.” Jake stutters a sin, watching you fuck yourself against the holy relic. Thankful to rest his arm and be able to just…watch.

And oh, he’s watching and intensely imagining that it’s you on him. He can’t stop thinking about how fucking warm you must be, how tight, how sinfully delicious your pussy must be for you to be acting like this. And that thought is what forces him to lose it.

You were so focused, on the verge of your orgasm when you feel him practically tear the cross out of you, dropping it to the floor before – oh fuck.

You feel him. Something bigger, something thicker ramming into you. He’s prying you open more than he did previously, already pumping in and out at a frantic speed. Instantly, you cling onto him with a bruising grip, listening to his shameless moans as he realizes the lack of control he has over his own body or thoughts. 

Jake practically falls over you in euphoria as you cling, forcing you to fall back against the desk as he relentlessly plunges his hips. His breath is heavy against your neck as he loses himself, and all you can do is thank the same god you just disrespected for this cock that’s abusing your hole in all of the right ways.

“I can’t–” He groans out against your ear, his hips not stopping their relentless assault. “You’re so fucking dirty.” He insults, pushing you up the desk with each thrust. “So good.”

You can barely make a sound from the force behind his hips, only small yelps leaving your throat each time he slams in. And fuck, you want nothing more than to rub your clit right now. You could cum all over him, you could really make him feel good. 

And as if your prayers are answered, Jake apparently knows exactly how to pleasure a woman. Hm, curious. He knows how to do it fucking well too, as you feel his fingers rub against the swollen nub in the exact same way you would right now. Painful, intense.

The fact that he wants you to cum is delicious.

Your orgasm hits you almost instantly, pussy sucking in him each time he goes to thrust, and the sounds coming from your throat could be considered demonic by some, but he swallows them up with ease when he notes that you’re cumming all over him. 

Jake licks into your mouth, soothing you with dirty words when he pulls back to breathe. 

“You should see yourself–” He pants out, sticking his tongue out to lick against your lip. “Getting me all messy too?” He says again through a moan. “You’re beautiful.” He adds like a period at the end of a sentence. 

That alone makes you feel…different. In fact, it prolongs your orgasm far past sensitivity when he continues to thrust into you. You can’t tell if he said that because he’s close, or if it’s because he meant it. 

Quite frankly, you could give less of a fuck if he meant it. 

Jake stutters his hips when you lift your head just slightly, gripping his hair and skewing his head to the side so that you can whisper into his ear. 

“Want me to beg for your cum?” You whisper with a shaking voice. “You’d love that too, wouldn’t you? I know I would.”

His eyes squeeze shut as he aggressively turns his head and, once again, pries your mouth open with his tongue. A bruising kiss follows as he fucks his last few thrusts into you, doing just as you implied he should.

He pumps his cum into you relentlessly, thankful that it’s not all over his pants and entirely milked into that sinful cunt of yours. Thankful that you also got off around him instead of that forgotten cross on the floor. 

He wants nothing more than to remind you time and time again who got to you first. It was him, not his father. 

You smile at him when he pulls back out of breath, examining his pants before stuffing his sensitive cock back into them and reaching down for the cross.

“If you ever fucking tell my dad about this–” He seethes out of breath, trying to pretend that he can regain composure so soon after fucking you the way he just did. Still, he narrows his eyes at you much as he had done before. 

“Go on.” You say, voice shaking as you try to grasp back onto reality from whatever world his cock had sent you into. 

Jake is at a loss for words, because, what could he possibly do about it if you were to tell? He looks at you, still spread out against the desk, dress crumpled, his cum seeping out of you in a messy show of how much of an absolute whore he forced you to be.

“Just, don’t tell him.” He finally says, averting his eyes from you and looking at the cross in his hand. 

“Do you feel bad already?” You ask out, finally lifting to get off of the desk.

“Don’t you?” 

You shake your head, struggling to stand as the seething pain of having a wooden cross stuck into you shoots through your body. “Not really.” You try to laugh, but you wince instead.

“Yeah, I figured you’d probably be hurting after all of that.” He finally says in a somewhat apologetic tone, walking up to you with a soothing hand.

You’re a little shocked by his kindness. 

“Yeah, a little.” You laugh it off though because, at the moment, it felt good. You wouldn’t have wanted it any other way despite how blasphemous the act was.  

“Oh.” Jake seems sorrowful in his tone, but his gaze doesn't leave you. “I- um, I don’t know how to make it like, not hurt?” He scratches the back of his head.

In your attempt to put your dress back on, you do note that the pain inside of you isn’t unfamiliar. You’d been fucked hard before, but that was a long time ago. You missed this feeling, realizing that it was exactly what you think you needed. 

“It’ll pass.” You assure him, taking a deep breath and trying to stumble your way to the door. “I guess I’ll see you later, then?” 

Jake dips his head with a small nod, feeling guilty for what he’s done. Not because of the cross, not because of the sin, but because he’s unsure of how to pretend like he wouldn’t want to do it again.

[heich0e]

suna's parents divorced when he was eight.

he doesn't remember a lot of the finer details as he's gotten older, mostly just that there used to be a lot of yelling, but he does remember the two piles of belongings that stacked up in the empty living room of his childhood home: one consisting of his father's and his own, and the other comprised of his mother's and his little sister's. their entire life, their entire family, packed up into cardboard and then divided down the middle.

the apartment he moved into with his father was always too quiet. it was in aichi, far enough away from where he spent the first decade of his life that he didn't have to be reminded of it every time he left the house, but since his father worked so much it still left him with plenty of time to think. to grieve. though maybe he didn't recognize it as that at the time. he played video games his father bought for him after school. ate convenience store bentos or whatever leftovers were set aside for him in the fridge for dinner. he put himself to bed at night. it wasn't a bad life, though maybe a bit lonely.

he was scouted to play for inarizaki when he was 14.

the lonely apartment turned into a lively dorm. he had new friends (his teammates) to play video games with. his convenience store bentos were replaced with hot meals from the meal hall. the loneliness of the apartment in aichi was a distant memory, but still lingered.

"i'm home."

rintarou drops his training bag in the genkan as he toes off his shoes, calling into the apartment to announce his return.

"welcome home!" you call back from further in the apartment, and the sound makes him smirk a little to himself.

you've been coming over to his place a lot lately, ever since he gave you his spare key. he's not upset about this in the slightest, but it doesn't mean he won't take every possible opportunity to tease you for it. he plans how he's going to make fun of you as he pads into his home towards the sound of your voice. he almost has it all planned out—his delivery on the very tip of his tongue—when he falters to a stop.

"how was your day?" you ask him without looking up from what you're doing.

and suddenly, anything rintarou may have wanted to say—joke or otherwise—is beyond him.

he watches as you set a plate of food down on the already full table just off his little kitchen. the food that covers the surface is still hot enough that steam curls up into the air above it, its preparation perfectly timed to his arrival home. his apartment is warm, and smells good, and there's music playing from your cellphone on the other side of the room that you must have been listening to while you cooked.

his chest feels tight.

you turn to look at him when he doesn't respond to your question.

"rin?" you ask again, a lilt of worry in your tone. "you okay?"

"what's all this?" he manages to ask, nodding towards the table where the meal you prepared is still waiting.

"oh, i've been craving my mom's recipe for the past few days, i just thought i'd make it for dinner," you say, tugging at your fingers nervously. your entire countenance is a bit different now, strained like you're worried you've done something wrong. "hope that's okay?" your words lift at the end like a question.

rintarou's never seen so much food on his table. can't remember the last time he even sat there to eat a meal—let alone a home cooked one. his face feels hot, and his eyes sting, and he just can't bring himself to look at you.

"yeah," he says, and if you notice how his voice is a bit croaky, you're nice enough not to tease him about it. "'course it's okay."

you smile, and you look relieved. "wash your hands then, it's getting cold."

you eat your dinner together and talk about your days. you take a shower while he cleans up the dishes. you fall asleep tangled up together on the couch with a movie playing in the background.

his home isn't quiet anymore. he isn't lonely.

and it's thanks to you.

[michaelnordeman]

Keiko

It’s as if my body holds movements within it that must be carried out, but no longer have an outlet. My fingers long to caress Keiko’s soft cheek, to cup her ear when she lovingly presses her head against me, seeking as much closeness as possible. But there is no longer a Keiko longing for cuddles, and my fingers fumble blindly in the void.

My feet suddenly halt and stumble, trying to avoid tripping over a food-loving Keiko, who never understood that knocking her humans to the floor wouldn’t get her served any faster. But there is no longer a Keiko eagerly following the scent of food, and now I stumble over emptiness.

It’s as if my legs constantly but in vain want to mold themselves around a few kilos of warm, cozy cat—a cat that can no longer lie there.

And it’s as if even the language I speak no longer functions as it should. To speak of a cat in the singular when there have always been two. To say "Keiko and Kira," "Kira and Keiko," to always have the other’s name on my tongue, and to always think of them as one, though they were two. But there is no longer a Keiko to call, now that she can no longer join Kira in the cuddling ritual on the bed after dinner.

And to talk about "us," to say "we," which for so long has been synonymous with four—it’s impossible to make it mean three. Because it’s as if the soul cannot comprehend that our family no longer consists of Petri, Micke, Kira, and Keiko. It’s as if the soul and its physical appendages lack a way to express the longing, the enormous vacuum that has emerged.

Therefore, there are no words I can say, no tears I can shed, no feelings I can desperately try to scream out that can adequately encompass all that this little cat was (is!!!), all that our family (we are four, family means four!!!) is.

And so, this text becomes just a futile attempt to grasp for expressions that are denied to me. Maybe one day, I can find the right letters, the right sequence of words, to form even a vaguely accurate picture of all that Keiko was.

Until then, I can only say: Keiko, I love you. You will always be a part of our family. Together, we were so much more than four individuals, and not even death can change that. I am so grateful for everything you gave us. Grateful that we got to be one with you. Kira, Petri, and I will carry you with us as long as we live.

And what happens then, when none of us are left—well, that’s something else entirely. That adventure, we will write together. I sincerely hope that it will be so.

[orangekittyenergy]

On Tails and Horns

NSFW Rolan Fic

Tags: NSFW, 18+ only, tail touching, horn stroking, dry humping, first kiss, touch starved Rolan, she/her Female Tav, mostly sexy flirting but with smut at the end, basically all angst and anticipation really, I guess subRolan

Words: 6000 (once again this got completely out of hand)

Summary: Tav finally goes to visit Rolan in his new tower after a hard couple weeks of cleanup. Rolan is so delighted to see her and pent up with frustration and feelings that the lightest of touches is enough to make him lose all sense of himself.

A/N update: Holy hells thank you fine folk so much for the love on this one. I'm gonna go have a cry for real❤️😭

Read below or direct on AO3

-

Tav and Rolan sat in his sitting room for tea, perched together, far closer than Rolan had intended, on the plush couch. The velvet couch was one of the many opulent vestiges from the previous owner. Books and scrolls aside, it certainly didn’t hurt to now occupy a fully furnished tower. The large vaulted windows were flung open wide, letting in a soft breeze and low hum from the movements of the city far below.

Rolan had been delighted when she came to visit. Tav had been so busy with helping the issues in the damaged city he hadn’t been quite sure when he would see her again. But he couldn’t deny the way his heart sang when she strolled through the doors over an hour ago, hoping to catch up with him now that she had a moment to breathe. Him, of all people.

But now here they sat; having discussed the details of both of their new lives, how life in the tower and store were going, the efforts to clean up the city, and the question of what lay next seemed to hover in the air.

Tav set her cup down on the side table and gave him a soft look.

“Thank you for taking time for me. I know you’ve been busy. But I really needed this.” She said and shot him what looked like an almost shy smile. Rolan blinked hard at her, surprised at her words as much as the look on her face.

“Thank...hah! I should be thanking you. Consistently and forever.” He set his own empty cup down as well. “I would have nothing were it not for you.”

“Oh, don’t pretend to be modest. You know you were amazing in the courtyard at that battle; I don’t know if we could’ve made it through without your help.” Tav reminded him.

Rolan cocked his head, looking away a moment in thought.

“Yes, I suppose I was rather amazing. I guess Cal and Lia helped some but my spells really sealed the fate of those wretched mind-flayers.” He mused with a slight smile. Tav always knew how to stroke his ego.

“But...really...thank you, Rolan. I’ve been meaning to visit sooner. I’m still staying at the Elfsong. Maybe we can do this again? Maybe dinner perhaps?” She said, almost casually. Just tossing asking him to dinner out there as if it was nothing. 

His breath caught in his throat. Dinner. His mind rang with the word as it seeped into every corner of his brain; trying to wrap his head around what that could possibly mean. Was she asking him out? That couldn’t be so. It was casual. Two friends catching up. But still, his mind immediately pictured the scene; dinner and wine at the Elfsong. He’d love to see her in something more dressy. No, that was ridiculous. She must have dozens of suitors.

"Ahem...dinner, yes. That... would be a fine idea..” He spoke haltingly, trying to fill the silence with words, any words, while he was still trying to work through the idea in his head, a thousand different scenarios crashing together at once.

As he struggled with this concept; it seemed the deepest part of his desires to be close to her, to get to know her in possibly more than a friendly setting, that he has previously pushed away, had bubbled up again and his body decided to act for him.

Tav felt a movement on her leg and shivered.

She looked down to see Rolan’s tail curled gently but insistently around her leg just above her knee, the tip trailing down to rest on her calf. He followed her gaze and his eyes widened with shock at the impudence and betrayal of his own tail. Before he could utter out the immediate string of curses and apologies that flew into his head, in that split second of fear that gripped him, Tav moved quicker and he froze.

She raised her hand from her thigh and gently placed it on the exposed section of tail atop her leg. All thoughts fled from Rolan’s head as a hiss and a full body shudder rolled through him at her whisper light touch.

The shiver extended all the way through his tail and Tav immediately raised her hand off it as if she had been shocked, looking up to meet his eyes.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I should've asked first-"

She started as he spoke at the same time.

"I am very sorry about that damn tail, I -" he paused, her words finally reaching his muddled brain. "Ask?" The word almost caught in his throat as he choked it out, incredulous. He caught her eyes flutter down to the offending tail, still around her leg, then back up to his meet his eyes with a blush. A blush? What did she have to blush about? It was his tail that got him into this predicament.

"Yes, sorry. I'm so sorry Rolan, I've heard tails can be sensitive...I should've asked first...it was just...it was right there." She gave a nervous chuckle and glanced away.

Wonderful, now I've done and mucked everything up, Rolan thought. The mere mention of dinner from her lips had left him already in shambles, unable to even control his own cursed tail. He frowned and cleared his throat, trying to still the building throbbing in his chest and regain his usual demeanor.

"No. I mean, yes, you should have." He said brusquely at first. Her eyes flickered away again and he quickly added. "They...uh...can be sensitive in some areas, yes." He swallowed thickly suddenly quite unsure of what to say. Tav met his eyes for a brief moment then looked back down. Rolan followed her gaze, already knowing full well what he would find and saw his damned tail, somehow wrapped, so it seemed, even tighter around her leg. He cleared his throat again but made no attempt to move it despite his nerves screaming at him.

"So, can I?" Tav spoke, pulling his attention back to her face. It was tilted down but her eyes peered up at him in what seemed to be a deliberately maddening pose.

"Can you....?" He hesitated, he was sure she couldn't be asking what he thought she was asking.

"Can I touch your tail?" She finished boldly. Rolan eyed her a moment, and swallowed thickly, his brain swirling with a million thoughts and his hands starting to tremble. He crossed his arms and tried to seem nonchalant about the entire situation and realized he was failing miserably.

"Sure. Yes. You may." He uttered, hoping his voice didn't waver.

Tav reached back out, hand tentative but confident and placed her palm again on the flesh of his tail where it rested on her leg.

The sensation was like a blaze of fire through his already burning hot veins. He bit down on his tongue, hard, to avoid another offending shiver and felt his eyelids flutter, betrayal of his own self control.

Thankfully, Tav’s eyes remained fixed on his tail, not noticing the immediate and dramatic way it affected him. Or, he realized, she might be tactful enough to be avoiding his face. Her touch became more firm as she well and truly let the full weight of her hand fall on it.

A sharp hiss of air escaped his clenched teeth as her hand moved slightly and her eyes finally returned to his.

"Is this okay?" She asked. Her voice was hushed, almost...he struggled to place her tone...reverent?

"Yes, yes it's fine." He breathed out, forcing himself to let the tension in his jaw relax. She began to ease her hand up slightly, tracing the bumps and ridges with her fingertips, digits gently paving the path for her palm to follow.

Rolan felt himself flush and wondered if Tav could tell the difference between his usual ruddy hue and the deeper scarlet of his blushes.

"Does it feel....good?"

His eyes had purposefully wandered but now snapped back to hers and narrowed slightly. Her expression was unreadable and even as her haunting words echoed in his ears he, again, couldn't sense the meaning behind her tone. Did she want it to feel good? Or was it pure curiosity that caused her to ask such a charged question?

And what’s more; how should he answer?

"It...does. The tail...my tail...seems to get more sensitive the higher up it goes." He tried to answer factually, logically even. It was true after all, but as quickly as the words left his mouth he realized the possible connotation of them. An invitation even. The corners of Tav’s lips flickered with a smile and her brow raised almost imperceptibly.

"Hmmm." Was the only response she gave. But her hand continued it's ascending exploration of his tail. It was now beyond the section just on her leg and was continuing on to where it dipped down a touch by his own legs.

Leaning forward slightly to extend her reach, she continued her careful mapping of the ridges, which were getting more and more pronounced as his tail progressed. She touched him as if she wished to memorize every single bump and pore; with a tenderness he couldn’t recall ever feeling before. The feeling was indescribable, but undeniably sensual. 

Rolan felt another shudder roll through him and couldn't contain this one. He felt it vibrate through his whole body all the way through and to the very tip of his tail and it gave a little flicker of movement against her calf. He couldn't tell if he was thankful or not that this one, as it trembled it's way down through his tail, didn't scare her hand away.

He stared at her hard, suddenly frustrated at her tender movements. Did she know how good it felt? Was she teasing him on purpose? To what bloody end? It was one thing to be touched so tenderly after so long, it was quite another to have his once detested bumps and ridges being the subject of such adoration. It was altogether brutal to have it be by someone that he wasn't even sure had further intentions with him. Other than being some...strange creature to fascinate over.

He squeezed his eyes shut. No matter how good it felt, how long he had wanted this, how soft her touch was, he had to stop this.

"I think-" he popped open his eyes intending on telling her to cease her activity but found that she had shifted while he battled internally and was now right beside him, her hips almost brushing against his own, her eyes firmly locked on his, watching his reactions carefully.

He wasn't just a subject of curiosity for her. He didn't know what she thought or what the intent was, but the burning in her eyes told him that it was far more than pure detached curiosity. He swallowed away his angry words, the frustration leaving him immediately, burned away by the heat of her gaze.

Her arm was now stretched out as far as it could go, ending just where his tail dipped down beside his thigh, before it would continue back up in a curve to reach the base. Incidentally, she had reached the point right where it started to become truly sensitive. It would've been positively indecent to let her continue.

His heart drummed hard in his chest, so loud he was certain she could hear it. He should end this, for decency’s sake alone. But couldn’t bring himself to conjure the words. A larger part of him was also so very desperate for her to continue; to see how far her boldness would take her. Take them. The two battling halves of his mind fought internally against each other. His mind fractured behind too many carefully crafted layers of strict composure.

He didn't have to struggle long. With a scoot of her hips again, her thighs well and truly pressed against his now, her arm bent at the elbow, giving her room to continue should she wish.

Rolan sucked in a sharp hiss of air at this development and stared at her carefully. Her eyes never left his. Her hand still firmly in place. The very air between them felt electric as if there was some magic from an unspoken spell being cast.

"Can I keep going?" She asked with a breath. His chest ached and again it took him a moment to register something. His need and eagerness for her touch along with his conflicting thoughts at the budding situation had made his senses dull. But as her words rang in his ears he heard something unmistakable. A nervous waver. In her voice. The slightest quiver. Of excitement or nerves; it could be either but he would take it. She was usually so, confident. Commanding even. To hear even a hint of a nerve in her voice at this situation stirred his insides and dispelled his doubts.

"Yes." He answered simply before he could stop himself with too much thinking. His chest hitched as her arm extended, stroking up his tail further, still using careful attention to the now more prominent peaks of cartilage. His jaw fell open slightly. The sensation of her hand almost too much to bear as another large shudder, stemming from her hand this time and rolling up his spine all the way to his scalp took him over.

She leaned forward further, her chest now dangerously close to touching his own. As her fingertips edged ever closer to the base of his tail he felt an unmistakable groan escape his lips. Her hand froze and he clamped his mouth shut with a snap both in the same moment.

His eyes darted away from hers, embarrassment welling up inside of him.

After an aching pause, his eyes still diverted, he felt Tav remove her hand and lean back away slightly. If the touch of her skin had lit a pleasant warm fire until under his skin, the sudden absence of it was a sharp painful sting of ice. Leaving him with a longing for contact that felt worse than if she hadn't touched him at all.

He finally pulled himself back to face her and was surprised to see her looking rather abashed. Her hands were sat back firmly on her thighs, gripping the fabric, a slight blush on her face, but... he could swear…was there a hint of a smile on her pink lips? Her confounding beautiful lips. 

Rolan opened his mouth to speak but once again words failed him. What could he say that wouldn't sound needy and desperate? How could he begin to ask her to continue to touch him without begging?

"Your tail felt very nice. Very soft. Sorry if I...went too far." Tav once again came to his rescue. This time rescuing him from the aching void of silence between them. Rolan blinked hard at her words. No one ever in the history of his knowledge had call his or anyone else’s tail nice or soft. As he absorbed her judgement of his tail, he realized she was staring at him expectantly.

"No, it was fine. It felt... good." A sudden surge of his own boldness possessed him, born of the sheer desire at having her hands on him again. To feel her touch him; somewhere. Anywhere. He started speaking before he knew what he was saying. "The...horns, if you were curious about them as well, also have a certain level of sensitivity... Not necessarily at the tips, but the base..." He couldn't even believe the words coming out of his own mouth. Desire had driven him absolutely mad.

Before he could begin to second guess himself he saw that the spark that flared up in her eyes was immediate. Her hint of a smile grew into a full fledged one.

Tav leaned forward slightly again and her eyes darted up to his horns.

"May I?" She asked, raising her hands up from her thighs until they hovered just over his own. He gave a gentle nod, not trusting his own voice at the prospect of being touched again.

Without hesitation now her hands raised to each place her fingertips at the point of each horn. Rolan dipped his head forward slightly to give her better access, practically bowing towards her. His own reverence at her caring touches.

She placed her fingers gently on the tips of his horns, again tracing across the thicker bumps and ridges, feeling her way around every groove as she explored. After just a moment there, she gently slid further down from the tips, lower and lower until they were thick enough to wrap a hand around. As she did so Rolan sucked a sharp gasp of air in through taut lips. Not so much at the sensation; it was altogether different than the soft flesh of his tail, but at her willingness to touch him again.

The feeling of hands on his horns was more akin to someone brushing his hair, not that he would know what that felt like; but it was more about the way it trickled down to his actual flesh that gave him shivers. But the feeling of her so close to him again, her desire to touch him again, her tender soft hands on the harshest parts of him; that was what truly drove his senses wild and made his insides coil with hunger. The feeling of her hands gently caressing his horns sent shooting sparks of sweet sensation across his scalp and he found himself clamping his mouth shut hard again to avoid making another wanton noise.

Heeding his words she seemed to move quicker down than with his tail, but as she reached the midpoint of his horns she slowed, her grip growing more delicate and exploratory again. As her hands slid across the grooves with care the sensation, the pulsing in his skin, grew stronger and stronger until his breath hitched and his breathing grew heavy once more. He stared down at her lap, trying in vain not to look directly at her chest.

His own hands, which had been absurdly useless thus far, clutched hard against the fabric of his robe at his thighs, as another shiver rolled down his spine. He felt it flow all the way down through his tail again. His eyes shot down at it. His tail. His damned tail that started this whole thing, still carefully curled around her leg, seemed to tighten involuntarily at the shudder. He wasn’t sure if he should be blessing or cursing that it seemed to have a mind of its own; operating purely on base instinct betraying his deepest thoughts and desires.

Her hands finally reached the base of his horns and tenderly traced the bumps from where they erupted from his skin, bringing forth another unintended deep groan of pleasure from the depths of his chest. At the noise his eyes darted back up to meet hers and he found her watching him intently, her lips parted slightly.

Thankfully, her hands didn't stray, undisturbed by his obvious, even lewd enjoyment of this. They stayed; soft, tender, and so caring on his flushed burning skin.

As her hands seemed to finish their careful explorations of the flesh at the base of his horns, he still had almost half-expected her to pull away. The game complete. The research done. A dark thought rolled through him before he could stop it that this was just a bit of fun for her. Teasing him like this.

But her hands lingered. He once again found her eyes, meeting them with a deep gaze as she slid her hands down, away from his horns until she was gently cupping his cheeks. Sparks shot through his entire body and his chest heaved, almost painfully so. The moment lingered, his fear and doubt still too deeply etched into his own skin in invisible scars to make a move first. A few weeks of comfort and a few moments of tender touching couldn’t erase a lifetime of hardships and disappointments.

Thankfully, Tav, was still the more bold of the two of them. Her eyes darted obviously down to his slightly parted lips then back up to meet his as she licked her lips.

“Rolan?” She breathed out softly.

He couldn’t trust that his voice wouldn’t shake. Couldn’t trust that any possible utterance of words would snap this beautiful fantasy in two and she would dissolve. Couldn’t trust that any noise he made would break whatever spell she was under and cause her to lean away. But she lingered, unwilling to move without word from him. He swallowed thickly again and replied.

“Yes?” He finally managed to eke out with a small gasp.

“Can I kiss you?”

All of the air seemed to leave the room. She spoke so freely. So honestly. A slight hush in her words but only the tiniest hint of a quiver in her voice.

It contrasted so starkly with the tremble that coursed through his body. Of course he wanted her to kiss him. What kind of a question was that? He wanted it more than he needed to breathe. But somehow, the words out there, the possibility at hand, filled him with a deeper fear than he knew existed. A fear that threatened to overtake even his desire for her. A lingering voice that scolded him; ‘you will never quite be good enough.’

She licked her lips again and Rolan finally found the courage to quell the voice once and for all. She gave him courage. She always had. She had been there for him when no one else was; not even himself. It had always been within him, the confidence, the desires; but she had been patient enough to slowly ease it out.

“Yes, please…” He croaked out.

She leaned forward, hands still on his cheeks and placed a tender lingering kiss on his lips. The sensation of her caressing his tail was nothing compared to this. To the soft, slightly moist feeling of her warm lips pressed against his.

It sent another surge of confidence and unleashed passion coursing through his body. He could already feel his tail tightening around her leg again. His hands, trembling with anticipation and desire before, useless on his lap, now reached forward, reaching for her, eager to pull her close.

The kiss deepened, spurred on by his reaction; Tav opened her mouth, welcoming him in and leaned in further. His hands found her waist, gripping it tight as her own tongue replied to his, dancing carefully over and around his pointed teeth.

Rolan couldn’t help but groan slightly as his body lit up with sparks, every sensation he had ever felt, good or bad, seemed to pale in comparison to this divine moment. Her mouth hot against his, their breath mingling. He found his stomach was flipping over, and there was a deep aching stir in the very core of his body. Tav leaned even closer, practically in his lap now even though her hips still firmly sat on the couch beneath them.

He struggled to keep up with her tongue at first. Hers was so careful and precise and he felt sloppy and careless, sweeping along her lips and occasionally fumbling out of them as he struggled to keep up and simultaneously rushed to catch up; kissing her like it was his first and last kiss. All messy and nervous and wet and eager.

Patient as ever, Tav slowed, giving them both a moment to find the right flow, adjusting her head to tip it to the side so they could lock lips fully. He breathed out a pleased sigh into her mouth as they found a pleasant connection, leaving their awkward tongues behind.

Confidence again surging, he tugged at her hips with a new found greedy need. Greedy. He once teased her with that very word, but now very much felt the acute actuality of the word itself. He was greedy for her. He needed more of her. Now that he had been given a taste, he felt practically insatiable.

Catching note of his eager tugs, without question or request now, Tav lifted up her legs and straddled his lap, letting his body adjust to sit back against the couch. The new position allowed a new level of closeness. Her body pressed fully against his now, his pulse pounding hard between them.

Rolan felt positively dizzy. Giddy even; and that was not a word he felt he had ever used or thought of using before. He wrapped his arms fully around her back now, taking advantage of the closeness to run his hands up and down her clothed spine. His tail had released her leg at her movement and now joined his hands at her waist, resting almost scandalously against the swell of her ass. Her own hands drifted down from his face, resting on his shoulders and gently playing with the edges of his hair that rested there.

He released another shuddering moan into the kiss, feeling her body sink deeper onto his, his body still lighting up in sensations he felt he never knew before. As his mind hurried to catch up to the evolving situation and new desires continued blooming within, one thing quickly became achingly clear. Much as his tail betrayed him before, he now felt a throbbing hardness hidden under the layer of his robes and pants. He had felt it pulse and twitch earlier at her careful caresses, but now with her intentions laid bare, the situation far from friendly, and her body pressed against his, there was no denying it as the blood rushed ever further down into his groin.

For a brief moment he felt as if he was almost searching for new things to fear to ignore the comfort and passion of their kisses. As perceptive as ever, Tav seemed to notice this new wave of nerves. That, or he realized, she couldn’t help but feel his erection pressed against her due to their proximity. She finally eased her mouth away from his, allowing them both to suck in a few much needed gulps of air.

Catching his eye and leaning her forehead close to his, he felt her adjust and give a long slow roll of her hips against his hardness.

Even through the many layers of fabric the sensation of pure pleasure that tore through him was undeniable. An unmistakably vulgar groan fell from his lips before he could quell it and he felt his eyelids flutter. Tav simply smiled, and repeated the motion, spreading her knees as wide as they could go to push her hips further against him.

Rolan trembled with delight; his mind once again racing to catch up to this new development. But as his mind looked for ways to worry about this, he found himself coming up blank. The unrelenting lust and passion of the situation finally staking claim on all of his senses. It felt so good. Too good to ignore or deny further.

Another roll of her hips had his heart racing at the unimaginable level of pleasure just the mere friction of her body pressing against his made him feel. She moved more purposefully now, without pause or hesitation, grinding her very core, her own heat, against him. Her goal it seemed, lay in far more carnal pleasures than just simply driving him mad.

He dipped a hand under the edge of her loose tunic as she continued to writhe against him, and he splayed his hand across her naked back. Savoring again the feeling of her flesh against his.

It was miraculous. It was indecent. It was passionate. It was lewd. But most importantly in his head, above all else – it just felt so fucking good.

“Tav…” He groaned, unable and now finally unafraid of holding back his vocal enjoyment at this point. “If you keep going...I...I’m going...to…” Each word came out punctuated by a heavy gasping breath. He was fully panting now, the sheer ecstasy at feeling her rut against him, at the friction rubbing against his hard cock, at the entire situation really – all already so close to pushing him over the edge.

Her response was immediate. She paused her rocking and pulled back a touch to look him square in the eye. There was not a trace of annoyance in her face; just pure care for him. For his comfort.

“Do you want me to stop?” She asked, a little breathless. His throat burned. The immediacy of her response to him. Her unfaltering care for his feelings. The genuine and absolute respect. It struck him hard in the chest and felt almost as painful as the sudden loss of her delicious movements.

His eyes met hers. Part of him realized how improper this all was. He should be lavishing her with flowers and gifts. He supposed. He didn’t have much experience with it, but came to understand that was the thing to do during proper courtships. But a deeper part of him didn’t care. The city was in crumbles around them. They had defeated an army of mind-flayers and he himself had been to hell and back. To the hells with what was proper. He had tied his life to being stifled and composed; there was a time and place for it and now was neither.

“No, please don’t stop.” He finally breathed out. She grinned and leaned back in for another sweeping kiss, immediately resuming the pulsing and rocking of her hips against his. His entire body filled to the brim with burning fire again and another loud moan fell from his lips and the return of the sensation that was bringing him to the brink.

Tav was moaning too, he realized, soft breathy sounds, her breath hot against his ears. Provoked by the idea that she was possibly getting even a tiniest bit of the same level of pleasure from this that he was, he sat up slightly. He wrapped his arms fully around her, drawing her closer and holding her tight.

All last thoughts of maintaining composure well and fully gone, he thrust his groin up in time with her own movements. It took him a moment to find the right rhythm, the practice of movements such as this not in his natural repertoire. But before long they synced up in unison and increased the pace.

“Yes. Tav. Please. Tav. Please. Yes.” Words spilled from his lips with each jerking movement as the sensation within him built to a feverish peak. As the tingling feeling crested within him, at the last moments, all words seem to fail. Only moans and salacious grunts remained.

His grip tightened around her waist, one clawed hand grasping at her shirt, the other leaving scratches on her bare back as his body begin to coil and tense. It was the moment just before a spell releases, that last uttered syllable as it traveled from throat to teeth to air, bringing forth all kinds of magic into existence. He met her eyes again and she was that moment.

Her face was flush from her exertions, her pupils blown wide, staring at him with pure desire, her absolute and incessant need to take care of him. Him.

A last roll of her hips and he was done. He cried out obscenely as his tension released and he came so hard that his head spun. His cock pulsed, pressed hard between them, spilling his seed in his pants beneath his robe. As waves of his orgasm crested and rolled through his shaking and sputtering body, he felt his whole body begin to release in a way he didn’t think was possible. He tossed his head back to lean on the back of the couch it seemed like every muscle in his body went limp at once. He indeed thought he might pass out with the way his heart pounded in his chest and he sucked in deep gasps of air; thinking he might never catch his breath.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind he thought of the mess he had made, in his own clothes no less, but it was quickly overtaken by the feeling of Tav leaning close, looking to close the gap he had created by sinking into the couch.

She placed a wet kiss against the throbbing pulse of his neck and nuzzled her face there while he rode out the high of his own selfish, greedy pleasure.

After a moment of deep breathing and bliss, his heart started to calm and points of panic and fear started to creep back into his mind one by one. He adjusted his head slightly to sit up, needing to face her. Feeling him move, Tav sat up further as well to meet his eyes, but made no move to climb down off his lap.

“Can I still take you to dinner?” He asked quickly as their eyes met, addressing the most pressing of his concerns; that this was just a little fling. He pulled his hand back out of her shirt, wanting this to feel as formal and romantic as possible now, given the situation. Tav smiled brightly and gave an eager nod, leaning in for a quick, and rather chaste, kiss.

“I would be a little offended if you didn’t.” She raised a brow at him. “How about tonight?” She suggested and he once again reveled in her boldness. A quality, he quite felt, that was rubbing off on him.

Rolan cleared his throat; it would be next to impossible to regain full composure after what they had done, but he still tried.

“Yes. Grand. Wonderful. Great. We shall...um… have dinner tonight then.” He said, sounding almost curt in his attempt to seem collected.

Tav was utterly unfazed by his tone and gave him another smile and a tender kiss on his lips before starting to try and disentangle herself from his hands and tail, intending on standing up.

Despite the embarrassing mess in his pants, despite the awkwardness of the situation, despite her trying to start to pull away; he found himself pulling her back. His whole body, not just his tail this time, speaking for him and refusing to let her go. He pulled her back in tightly and pressed his cheek to hers, letting his eyes shut with a soft sigh as her warm body enveloped his.

Tav paused a moment before giving in and wrapped her arms around his neck, relaxing herself back into his arms.

“Can we just…stay like this a moment more?” He whispered softly into her neck before he lost the courage to do so. He found himself struck with a deep fear at letting her go. It overtook any apprehension he felt about actually giving his feelings a voice. What if she didn’t come back? What if something happened to her? What it what if what it. But, most striking among his worry, was the ache he could already feel at lack of contact. Now that he had felt her touch he didn’t think he could survive without it.

“As long as you like.” Tav whispered back with a smile against his cheek.

[ham1lton]

018 W/ LH44

018. an otherwise empty parking lot w/ LH44.

— part of a series of drabbles! <3

ever since you’d gotten pregnant, you’d had the weirdest pregnancy cravings. your husband was mostly very supportive and had gotten his assistants to get you chocolate covered pickles or carrot cake with a cheesy baked potato (yes at the same time).

you felt slightly guilty communicating such preferences to him as you knew he was working and as an athlete, time is money. yet, he was aways very involved and consistent with supporting your pregnancy. that’s how you found yourself in a in and out parking lot in his expensive sports car.

your husband was currently racing in the last vegas grand prix and as soon as you heard that, you had flown out from monaco to come support him. well, support him and also get in and out as you had been craving animal fries from there. as soon as lewis had heard, he’d gotten the both of you in the car and drove to the drive-thru even though it was late and there was no one else there except the two of you.

“is it good?” he asks, as you ate your double-double. you nod as you chew, he wipes a blob of ketchup from the side of your mouth. “was it worth the incredibly long flight?”

“absolutely. this is so good.”

the radio is playing some old-school throwback song, and if you weren’t incredibly hungry and also very pregnant, you would have been all over lewis right now. he always looks good but now he looks even more handsome then usual. you wanted to bite him.

“please don’t bite me.” he grins. “how will i explain that mark tomorrow?”

you realise you said all of that out loud. you shrug. you’ve said worse.

“say your crazy pregnant wife thought you looked like a snack.” you wink. “which you do.”

lewis chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. "well, if that's the case, then i must be doing something right. can’t argue with that logic." he takes a bite of one of your fries, stealing a glance at you with a warm smile. "thanks for making the trip, love. means the world to me having you here. even if you’re only here for the food.”

“you and the food.” you correct him as he laughs again.

lewis grins, nodding in agreement. "me and the food, of course. how could i forget?"

as you both share a laugh, the warmth of his smile envelops you, and you feel a surge of love and appreciation for him. despite the distance and the demands of his career, he always finds ways to make you feel loved and seen.

you reach over, intertwining your fingers with his. "i'd cross oceans for you, and maybe even endure flights just for some animal fries," you tease, squeezing his hand affectionately.

he leans over, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "well, isn’t that lucky for me? i have the most amazing wife in the world."

with a contented sigh, you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling grateful for this moment of togetherness amidst the excitement of race day.

[bouquetface]

PAC: Your Future

Not every reading you come across is going to be for you.

Tarot is read of current energies. Tarot does not mean something is set in stone especially for general reads. You can always change paths.

So for those reasons, take it as entertainment.

Titles & photos have very little to do with the content btw

1-2

one.

You spent many years feeling stuck & trapped. You imagine a life where you’re free. You may have goals of living in a city - somewhere far from home. You want to be unreachable from your current life.

In the future, it appears you have moved far away. You could be working or studying. You will know if this reading is for you if you have interest in biology, health, fitness or a physically active career. This career definitely requires higher education. You may be 25 when this happens or it takes place in 2025.

In the future, you are satisfied because you have finally achieved the goal of leaving.

The downside you still feel empty inside. Building a new life in this new place is not easy. You are either not close with your family or you want to do things independently. When issues arises (ex: car/transportation problems, a surprise bill/expense, etc) you have no one nearby to call. You struggle a lot.

However, it feels necessary. You must mature. Become independent, teach yourself the necessary skills to survive in life (cook, basics of laundry/cleaning, surviving on a budget, basic car or public transportation knowledge, etc).

Occasionally, you feel fear. I sense a deep pit in the stomach kind of feeling. You may experience a scary situation - being robbed, being followed, etc. Or it may simply be a fear because you know these situations are a possibility.

As I said wrote earlier, you will struggle a lot and there are a lot of tears. You will adapt but the questions - Did I choose the right path? What will become of me? - are consistent.

You will have a few acquaintances through work and/or school. You don’t seem very close to any of them. It seems everybody already knows everybody. Everybody prefers someone else over you. This can change over time.

However, effort is required. Effort is required for all of this to turn out positively. If you fail to teach yourself how to survive, if you fail to do well at your job or in school, this could easily lead back to your current state - 4th H Card: hometown, parent’s house.

If you adapt & survive, I see your personality transforming. You will be more independent/self reliant, you will feel deeply proud of how far you have come.

In romantic life, possibly due to the stress and fears of being lonely in this city, you will begin to desire a protector. You will lose interest in other types of guys like the nerdy, artsy, skater types, etc. You want someone who is intimidating. Someone who scares any possible threats away. This could be sub conscious. This may not even be a change in your type, you could already want this kind of partner. Either way the desire for a protector is extremely strengthened.

Now, be cautious because I feel some of you may accept a toxic person. Excuse their behaviours because you simply don’t want to be alone. The early part of this year - having moved & learned to adapt - was extremely transformative & possibly traumatic. You don’t want to go back to that dark phase. Keep in mind, your romantic partner has potential to be just as much of a predator as some rando on the street. Choose wisely is my advice. Don’t jump into a relationship because you’re lonely - although you will be tempted. Don’t stay in a situation that isn’t safe just because it has become comfortable.

two.

Similar to pile one, 5 is important either in 2025, in 5 years or when you’re 25.

You will be hearing “congratulations”. If you’re in a relationship, you will be getting engaged. If not, you will soon meet someone. The energy here is very stable and traditional.

You will have graduated from your schooling. You will have a stable job. Your person will choose this time to propose. The summer after you graduate is significant. This chapter in your life is so joyful. Everything you manifested is/has come to fruition. You’re so excited. Smiling so much it makes your cheeks hurt. Everyone around you is so happy. You or your best friend may love to organize and plan (Prominent Virgo or Libra placements for this person). They’ll help make your dream wedding day a reality. The wedding hasn’t happened but everyone is celebrating you! (Prominent Leo, Gemini or Cap placements).

There is a lot of earth energy to this reading as well. Your wedding or proposal may take place outside. You and your spouse could be athletic people. Enjoy a lot of outdoor dates - camping, lakes, beaches, biking, etc. Life is going absolutely perfect for you, pile two.

However, there is a very youthful energy here. You two may still be young - mid 20s(?). So of course, you’ll get some making hateful/judgy/jealous comments 🧿 But I don’t see this even bothering you one bit. You are simply too happy and focused on yourself and your loved ones. Good for you pile two! It hasn’t been easy for you in youth to not let other’s opinions affect you. You’ve definitely grown.

One important thing that keeps reappearing is an older feminine is so proud of you. It may be your mother, grandmother or mother in law. Your family is so proud of you. You archived everything you said you would - school, career, marriage. They’re definitely calling people to brag about you. If you have a sour relationship with your mother, by this time it really seems like all is resolved. Real growth & maturity. Lots of love.

[joelscruff]

for what it's worth (joel miller x reader) 18+

part 3 of the soft!dom joel collection has arrived! this one tackles some backstory; it's time to see how they met and how exactly their little "arrangement" came to be. i hope you guys like it, your feedback means the world to me. i also have a kofi if you'd like to give me a tip (but of course this is completely optional). previous parts: you know i don't mean it & don't think we could help it summary: your relationship with joel has always been complicated, but it's about to change drastically, for better or for worse. rating: 18+ explicit (mdni) warnings: fem!reader, smut, age gap (reader is mid 20s, joel is mid 50s), mutual masturbation, praise kink, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics (joel is dominant but not degrading or aggressive), mentions of porn (specifically magazines) word count: 10k (it's a doozy) | ao3 spoilers: this contains vague spoilers for part two of the video game (and most likely for season two of the show). nothing too major but i figured i should warn for it anyway.

To say that your first day in Jackson is alienating would be an understatement.

You feel like everyone is staring at you (they are) and no one will let you out of their sight (they won't). You understand immediately that there's a lack of trust which will need to be formed as soon as possible, otherwise you'll never be able to create a home here.

"They're wary of you," Maria explains in your brand new living room - you still can't believe you just went from having barely any possessions to having your own house - and gives you a weak smile, "It'll pass, they just need to make sure you don't have any ulterior motives."

You get it, but it still hurts. Especially that night when you join your new community for dinner and find yourself sitting alone in the corner of the room, poking at your food and trying not to let your emotions betray you. You're determined not to show weakness, even though you've never felt more isolated. You can feel their eyes on you constantly, like they're waiting for you to pull out a rifle and start picking them off like a shooting gallery.

There's only one person who seems to be consistently minding his own business, a middle aged man who sits in the opposite corner of the room. He's hulking and broad, kind of intimidating, but there's a softness to his jaw and the grey scruff covering it that makes you see something else, something kind. He takes large bites and seems lost in his own thoughts, eyes fixed on the wall to his left but unfocused, like he's looking through it. He's by himself too, mirroring you, but you can tell by the way people move around him that he's been here for a long time. He must just enjoy his solitude.

"That's Joel," Maria tells you, sitting next to you and following your gaze, "He's my husband's brother, came down here a few years ago."

"He doesn't stare at me like everyone else does," you say, still looking over at him, "Does he just not care or...?"

To your surprise, she laughs, and everyone who's giving you dirty looks suddenly seems to soften. You're grateful for Maria then for bothering to talk to you, to try and trust you.

"Don't ask me to explain the things Joel does, I wouldn't be able to tell you," you notice that she has a full plate of food with her and that she's decided to sit next to you for dinner, an attempt to alleviate the mistrust for you in the room. You can't help but smile, thankful.

"He's a closed book," she continues, "Even Tommy finds him hard to read and he's his own brother."

She changes the subject then, wanting to know more about you and what you've been through, a not so subtle way of trying to get some information for the council. You humor her; you have nothing to lose.

Your eyes still stray to the man named Joel every so often as you speak, but you're not sure why. After about ten minutes he gets up to leave, and you watch him place his empty bowl in the dishwashing area and give the woman working there a small smile. She smiles back, says something to him. He laughs, and you can almost hear it over the bustle of the dining area. You watch as he says something else to her in parting, gives her one more smile, and turns and walks out the door. He doesn't look at you, not even once.

-

Over the next few weeks, things get better. Less people are looking at you and more people are actually trying to talk to you, get to know you. You have some nice conversations and answer questions about yourself - mostly appropriate, save for the one teenager who kept asking how you got the different scars along your bicep, the long one on your neck, the one on your cheek, stories you really didn't want to recount. After hounding you for a few minutes, her friend had pulled her away with an apology, "She likes scars," she'd said sheepishly, tugging the girl's arm, "Come on, Ellie, leave her alone."

You meet everybody, shake hands and even hug a few people. You start getting invited to things, asked to suggest films for movie night, help set up some games for the kids, Tommy even asks you one evening to help him herd a few sheep that had gotten loose. They trust you, and it feels good.

You still see that man, Joel, every night in the dining hall. But that's the only place you see him. You're not sure where he goes during the day or after dinner; he must just be a bit of a recluse, which you can't blame him for. The people here are nice but a lot are overbearing and a bit too friendly sometimes, plus it's hard to find time for yourself when everyone has tasks to complete and always likes to help each other out. You begin to wonder if he'll ever notice you, which leads you to wonder why it even matters to you that he does.

-

Your patrols start around the three month mark. Tommy takes you out with a small group beyond the borders of the community and shows you the ropes, points out where most of the patrol spots are with a pair of binoculars and goes over the routine. Your first assignment is simple: manning the watchtower with Maria. You spend most of the patrol getting to know her, hearing about her past and telling her more about yours. You like her a lot, she's easy to talk to and has a strong spirit akin to your own. The conversation gets pretty personal around the seventh hour, and you end up telling her how exactly you got the scar along your cheekbone. She listens deeply, thoughtfully, nodding along as you detail the more difficult things you've had to deal with in the past, the things that have made you stronger.

"You're tough," she says near the end of your shift, nudging your shoulder, "You don't really belong on watchtower, do you?"

You shrug, "I mean, if there's somewhere else I'd be more useful..."

"How'd you like to head out to the ski lodge with Joel next week?"

Your ears prick up at the name and you nod quickly, unsure exactly why, "Yeah, that'd be great!"

"He knows the area well," she adds, then grimaces, "I have to warn you though, he might not talk very much. He keeps to himself, I'm sure you've noticed."

You wonder why she's so quick to put you on patrol with someone who might not even speak to you, but it starts to make sense as you're walking back from the watchtower in the early hours of the morning. Tommy exits the dining hall and walks over to the both of you with a smile, pressing a tender kiss to Maria's cheek.

"How's my girl?" he asks flirtatiously, and she bats him away playfully.

"Was just telling the new recruit that she's gonna go on patrol with Joel next week," she replies, and Tommy stops in his tracks, raising an eyebrow.

"Her? With Joel?" he appraises you and bites his lip, "I don't know, honey, wouldn't she be better off with someone who'll actually talk to her? I thought she was on watchtower with you."

"Tommy, I never see you anymore," she gives him an exasperated look, "The weekends used to be for us and ever since the Kingstons left-"

"I know, I know," he looks at you again, twisting his mouth in thought, "I've been, uh, a lot busier than usual lately. We had this family here for a while, big family, they helped out with the patrols. But they decided to go south a few months back, so-"

"So Tommy's been filling in for every shift he can," Maria finishes for him with a sigh, "And I never see the damn idiot anymore."

You smile, "I'm totally fine with taking over for you, really."

Tommy raises an eyebrow, "Seriously? You sure?" Maria slaps his arm lightly and he gives her a look, but then shrugs, "I mean, okay, if you wanna give it a try. It won't be all the time or anything, maybe just every other weekend, but it would actually be a big help."

"It really would," Maria adds, "You have no idea."

"But... you gotta understand, my big brother, he's.... he's complicated," Tommy's expression is serious now as he looks at you, "He's not very talkative these days, not since..." he shakes his head and you don't push it any further, though you do wonder what's changed.

"So you'll do it?" Maria asks, eyes bright.

"Even if he doesn't talk to you?" Tommy adds with a grimace.

You nod, somehow believing it won't actually be that bad.

-

It is that bad.

The first time you're officially introduced to Joel he doesn't even bother to shake your hand, just nodding vaguely to you as you stand there like an idiot with your palm outstretched. Tommy makes a face at him and then looks back to you with a reassuring smile.

"There's not usually much trouble up at the ski lodge," he says kindly, ignoring Joel's ambivalence, "The trek back and forth is arguably the worst part. The lifts were already damaged beyond repair when we got here so it's a bit of a hike, 'bout an hour to get up there and the same back."

You begin to wonder if maybe this really isn't the best idea, eyeing Joel silently as Tommy explains what you should expect. You've seen this man smile, know he's capable of making some kind of small talk, but it's clear that you're not an ideal candidate as he stands there stiffly and lets Tommy do the talking. Tommy had told you earlier that if the patrol didn't go well he wouldn't make you do it again, and you're already thinking this might be your first and last shift with Joel.

Tommy walks with both of you to about the halfway point, still going over the routine as Joel trudges silently ahead of you. He hasn't said a word, not one word. It's honestly starting to piss you off.

"Well, I gotta head back," Tommy says, giving you another smile of reassurance, "I'll talk to you tomorrow, see how it went, see if we might make this more permanent." He seems doubtful but you can't blame him.

A few moments later it's just you and Joel, hiking in complete silence save for the sounds of nature. The cogs in your head frantically turn, trying to land on something you can say to make things less awkward.

"So, when's the last time you saw infected up here?" you settle on, hoping it'll be enough to start some kind of conversation.

"'Bout a month ago," he replies immediately, voice gruff but quiet, "Weren't too many."

He's got an accent like his brother but it's fainter, less obnoxious, like he's spent more time with non-southern people in the later years of his life. Tommy had said they'd grown up in Texas and lived there 'til he was in his late 20s and Joel his mid 30s, then somewhere along the way they'd separated. You don't know much else about him other than that.

"It's the people you mainly worry about though, right?" you ask, quoting something Tommy had said a few weeks back, "Tommy said you've had more run-ins with raiders than infected."

"Tommy's tellin' you too much," he replies with a grunt, "Don't know what he's even thinking sendin' some kid up here."

You feel anger rise in your chest immediately, "I'm not a kid, asshole."

He stops then, turns around and appraises you with his eyebrows furrowed. It's the first time he's actually gotten a good look at you, his gaze catching on your face for a lasting moment before his eyes fall to your gun. You feel slightly vulnerable, intimidated by his heavy stare.

"How old are you?" he asks, genuinely curious.

"Twenty seven."

His brow furrows even more, "Coulda sworn he said you were seventeen."

"Well, I'm not," you reply awkwardly.

"No, you're not," he acknowledges, "I'm sorry," He seems to mean it, giving you the smallest of apologetic nods and then turning around again to keep walking.

"You thought Tommy sent a seventeen year old up here with you? I thought you had to be eighteen to patrol outside the border."

"You do, I just wouldn't put it past Tommy to send a kid up here with me," he grumbles, "Wouldn't be the first time."

"...Why?"

"None of your business."

"Okay, but now I'm just thinking you're some kind of pervert," you say it in a joking manner but he doesn't laugh. Instead, he stops again and spins around, looking at you with what you can only explain as pure rage. You flinch backward, eyes widening.

"Do I look like a fucking pervert to you?" he asks, voice hard and angry.

"I was joking," you say immediately, shaking your head frantically, "It didn't land."

"No, it fucking didn't," he starts walking again at a faster pace, leaving you standing there completely floored.

Yeah, it's bad.

-

"Ellie's not speaking to him," Tommy explains to you the next morning in the dining hall, hands gripping his coffee mug. You've just told him about your patrol with Joel and the horrible impression you've already managed to make. "I really shouldn't be telling you this but with an outburst like that...I need you to understand why he reacted the way he did."

You look at him, bewildered, "Ellie? That teenager who plays guitar down by the stream?" And the one who'd relentlessly bothered you with questions about your scars, but you keep that part to yourself.

"Yeah, she's...well for all intents and purposes, she's Joel's kid. And she stopped talking to him a while ago, maybe six or seven months back now," he takes a sip of coffee, "Don't ask me why 'cause I have no idea. I've asked both of them and neither'll give me any kind of explanation. All I know is they ain't speakin' and he's heartbroken over it."

"Must've been a bad argument," you say, scrunching your nose in thought, "I mean...seven months? That's a long time to not speak to someone, especially your dad."

"Eh, you haven't met Ellie. She's one of the most stubborn people I've ever met. They both are," he shakes his head, "Anyway, you calling him a perv probably pissed him off 'cause Ellie's real special to him, a surrogate daughter. He wouldn't like someone misunderstanding that, seein' somethin' dirty or wrong there."

"I wasn't-"

He puts a hand up, nodding, "I know you weren't, I get it, no worries. It's partly my fault anyway 'cause he's right, I have tried to send a teen or two up with him, thought it'd do him good to mentor somebody again. But he doesn't want it, I know that now. He doesn't want it if it's not Ellie."

"Well, he doesn't seem to like me anyway, no matter how old I am," you sigh, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms, "I mean, he didn't talk to me once after that, not for the whole shift. It was bad. I don't know if it's gonna work, Tommy. I'm sorry."

He nods and gives you a small smile, thumbing the handle of his mug, "It's okay, I didn't think it'd work out anyways." He tries to hide the disappointment in his expression but fails miserably, and you leave the dining hall feeling bad about your failure.

-

A few days later you're back in the dining hall finishing up dinner, chatting with a few of the community members who you've warmed up most to. There's not many, but you are starting to find yourself feeling more and more comfortable around people as the days go on, more like yourself. You're caught up in a story about an infected you'd encountered in a gas station when their gazes suddenly divert from you and instead fix above your head. Confused, you slow your words and turn around.

"Oh, hi," you say, voice a bit breathless when you see Joel standing there, hands in his pockets, "Did you need something?"

"I, uh, wanted to talk to you," he says it softly, kindly, completely the opposite of how he'd talked to you before, "When you're finished, of course."

"Oh, yeah, sure," your words are broken and awkward, "Uh, I'll meet you...?"

"I'll be outside the main doors," he says quickly, "Take your time."

"Okay, I'll be out in a few."

He nods to you and then to your friends, then turns on his heel and walks out through the big double doors at the end of the dining area. You watch him go, bewildered.

"I thought he hated you," one of your friends says, voicing exactly what you're currently thinking.

"Yeah," you reply, furrowing your brow, "So did I."

You finish your story much quicker than intended and shove away from the table, waving goodbye to your friends and bringing your empty dish to the cleaning station. You push past the double doors and scan the outside area for Joel, eyeing the picnic tables where a few people are enjoying their meals in the fresh air.

"Hey," you hear behind you, and you turn to see him leaning against the left side of the building, arms crossed, "Over here."

You walk over, trying to plan out exactly what you're going to say so you don't end up making some stupid joke again that'll push him further away from you. It turns out you don't need to, because he speaks first.

"I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry," he says it seriously, a soft and genuine look in his brown eyes, "I treated you horribly the other day, you didn't deserve that."

You raise an eyebrow, "Did Tommy put you up to this?"

He frowns, "No."

"Are you sure? 'Cause if he did...I mean, I get it. It's nice of him to look out for me like that but you really don't have to apologize. You didn't do anything, I'm the one who said the tactless joke."

"Tommy didn't say anything to me," he seems to mean it, kicking the toe of his boot against the building, "And I know you were joking, I knew it then too but I'd just..." he takes a breath, avoiding eye contact, "I was havin' a bad day. Doesn't excuse my behavior by any means but it...you just..." he finally looks at you again, expression pained, "I wasn't expectin' you to be there. Tommy only told me you were takin' over for him about ten minutes before you showed up. And then I thought you were a kid and-"

You put your hand up, silencing him, "Joel, it's okay. You don't have to explain."

"I didn't even shake your damn hand," he says gruffly, sounding genuinely ashamed.

You extend your hand to him immediately, splaying your fingers out into the cold air, "Here, shake it now." He stares at it, unsure, and you wiggle it a bit in response, "Seriously, it's okay. Let's start over, clean slate."

He slowly reaches up to take it, his much bigger hand enveloping yours completely. His grip is strong and firm and you can feel calluses along his fingers, showing you exactly who taught Ellie how to play that guitar.

"Clean slate," he repeats, and it begins.

-

He's annoying, but you kinda love it.

He's grumpy most of the time, hates when you don't obey his orders, isn't afraid to give you shit, and gets irritated with you very easily. But it goes both ways. You're stubborn and set in your ways, you hate being told what to do, you dish it just as much as you take it, and it doesn't take much to get you riled up. And somehow, as much as you'd both probably hate to admit it, you work well together.

After your little conversation with Joel outside the dining hall, you'd flagged down Tommy and told him you were willing to try again with Joel on another patrol. He'd looked at you like you were crazy but hadn't shot the idea down, telling you that if it's what you really wanted, he'd keep the schedule the same.

You've been up on the mountain with Joel three times now, and while there's certainly been challenges and a few arguments, it's starting to become a routine. He doesn't talk about himself - it's a bit of an unspoken rule that you dare not break - but in return you don't tell him much about you either. Your main conversation points are usually tied to your interests, not your pasts, and you find yourself discussing movies with him, as well as music and books. He's surprisingly well-read for someone in an apocalypse, but you suppose he could say the same thing about you.

-

The fourth trip is what sets things in motion.

"Did you catch the movie last night?" you ask nonchalantly as you hike beside him, almost to the ski lodge. It's early morning, around five, and the sun is just beginning to crest the tree line, "I don't think Maria knew about the sex scene."

He groans, reaching up to rub the space between his eyes - you've noticed that he does this a lot, a quirk you've become rather fond of.

"Yes," he replies, wincing, "I heard her givin' Tommy a piece of her mind afterwards."

"The way she was yelling for him to turn off the projector was so fucking funny," you grin at the memory, still fresh in your mind, "And listen, I get it, sex is taboo, yada yada yada, but it's not like there were any little kids there last night, it was just the teens. And it's not like it was a porno or something, it was one little sex scene."

"Oh, I know, but I think Maria's trying to keep 'em as innocent as possible for as long as she can."

"Good luck with that," you snort, "I think we all lost our innocence a long time ago, for better or for worse."

"For worse," he replies instantly, "Definitely for worse."

"You're probably right," you grimace, "Although, you know what? I've actually never seen a porno."

He raises an eyebrow at you, "Seriously? Never?"

You bristle slightly, suddenly a little self conscious, "Well, it's not like there's an adult video store in this town, is there?" You can remember them existing when you were a kid, before everything happened, but it's not like you'd had any use for them at that time.

"No, you're right," he turns away from you, lost in thought for a moment, "They do still exist though. Pornos, I mean. Just in other forms. There's a stack of magazines up at the ski lodge, actually."

Your eyes go wide, "Wait, really?"

"Yup."

"Could I maybe..." you trail off and stop speaking, realizing that you should definitely not be asking what you're thinking.

"Look at 'em?" he finishes for you, not looking behind him as he keeps walking, "And you call me a pervert."

The conversation ends there, and you don't dare try to continue it.

-

The day is spent keeping watch along the ski lodge balcony, binoculars passed back and forth as you trade shifts and chat here and there about irrelevant things. Your main objective in this patrol spot is to keep watch of the main watchtower's blind spots, keeping an aerial view of the border perimeter in case people - mainly raiders - decide to make themselves known. You'd thought early on in your admittance to Jackson that infected were their main concern, but you've come to learn that's not the case at all. When Joel had said they'd come across infected up here he'd been lying to you; they'd actually come across a group of raiders who'd tried - and failed - to murder Joel and Tommy during their watch. Not the most reassuring thing to hear now that you've taken over, but you needed to know.

"It's why we got the trip wires down near the entrance now," Joel had explained to you during your second patrol with him, "We won't get snuck up on again," he'd made a face, "Not unless someone decides to disobey my orders."

You'd given him a weak smile, remembering how you'd decided not to heed his warning about going outside the ski lodge after light's out and ended up almost getting your leg shot off by a booby trap, "My bad." He'd rolled his eyes and grumbled to himself.

Now that it's your fourth watch you've gotten the hang of things and have learned to enjoy the semi-solitude of being on the mountain with Joel. He's got a battery operated radio and a box of cassette tapes that keep you from being bored out of your mind, plus a few containers of books that he and Tommy had carried up over the course of a few patrols. Now that you really think about it, you don't remember seeing any of the aforementioned porn Joel had spoken of in any of those crates.

It's midday when you decide to glance through them again out of curiosity, handing the binoculars over to Joel and slipping past him as he traipses out onto the balcony. You head for the boxes immediately and start to dig through them, not sure exactly what you're even looking for. Someone naked, you guess.

"They're not in there," Joel calls to you after a few minutes and you stiffen, turning to look at him through the glass where he can very clearly see what you're doing. He's got a shit-eating grin on his face and you feel your skin flush red.

"I don't know what you're even talking about," you call back, walking away from the books and plopping yourself in the chair by the unlit fireplace, which has somehow become your chair via another unspoken rule, "I was looking for a tape."

"Okay, well the 'tape' you're looking for is in the back of the supply closet," he sounds like he's fighting back laughter and your skin burns even more, "Underneath a box of cleaning supplies."

"I'm ignoring you," you yell out, "Get back to work."

You swear you hear a muffled laugh through the glass.

-

When he comes in from his shift he barely looks at you, just pushes past you lightly and heads for the supply closet. You follow behind him, heart pounding a bit harder in your chest the closer you get to the stash. He opens the closet door and you watch as he yanks out the cleaning supplies, then digs a bit deeper and reappears with six or seven magazines in his arms.

"Here," he leans them toward you and you hesitantly reach forward to take them from him, "They're mostly from the 90s."

"And you know this because....?" you raise an eyebrow and you swear his cheeks go pink.

"I'm a man," he shrugs, trying to be nonchalant as he passes you again to head back to the living room.

"Perv," you call after him, but he doesn't turn around this time.

"You got ten minutes."

-

You've never seen so much nudity in your life, which is saying something considering you'd seen your fair share of it back in your QZ when life had been a bit easier. But seeing it on paper, in photographs that have somehow lasted through years of this shitty reality, it's something else entirely. You stare with wide eyes at the onslaught of naked bodies, most of which are posed in extremely graphic sexual positions, and feel your heart continue to pound in your chest.

Without much thought you'd opened the first magazine right there where Joel left you standing outside the supply closet, and you now find yourself sitting in said closet with your flashlight aimed at the pages, breathing heavily and trying to comprehend exactly how you feel about what you're looking at. A lot of it feels kind of fake, especially the looks on the faces of the models, but there's enough sexual energy there that makes you start to feel a bit wet in your underwear, a feeling you haven't experienced for quite some time; not since a few a years ago in the QZ when you'd been in your last relationship.

"I gave you ten minutes," you suddenly hear Joel say from the other room, and you quickly scramble to your feet and frantically shut the magazine, "In case you forgot, it's your turn."

"Fuck," you trip out of the closet and dash to the living room, clutching your brand new collection of media to your chest, "Sorry, I got distracted."

He stands by the balcony door and looks you over quickly, eyes scanning from the magazines to your face and back again, "Enjoy yourself?" his expression is unreadable and it makes you self conscious.

"Oh please," you reply, making a face, "Do not start."

-

"So which was your favorite?" he asks you casually once darkness has fallen and you're both safely settled in the lodge for the night.

"Which what?"

He looks at you from over his book and gives you a look, like he's questioning your sanity. You stare for a moment and then slap your hand over your eyes when you realize.

"Oh for fuck's sake," you groan, "I'm never gonna hear the end of this now, am I?"

He laughs and you look over at him again, laying there on the couch with a smug look on his face. You retaliate by grabbing the pillow behind you and tossing it at him, making him drop the book he's reading.

"Hey!" he reaches down to pick it up again, "I showed them to you, I'm allowed to ask."

"False," you say, flipping your hair, "And for your information, I only managed to look at one of them."

He chuckles to himself and returns to his book, "Okay, okay, I'll leave you alone. I was just kiddin'."

"Joel Miller? Kidding?" you make a faux-shocked face, "I fear we've entered the Twilight Zone."

"Don't even pretend you know what that is," he says it seriously but his smile betrays him, "You didn't know about the Twilight Zone 'til I told you about it last week."

"That's just what I wanted you to think."

He rolls his eyes and keeps reading, letting the silence take over again. You watch his eyes scan the page back and forth, taking in the story - whatever it is - and transporting himself to another world, away from the ski lodge. He does this every patrol once it's too dark to see outside, sets the battery powered lantern to its highest setting and reads until he falls asleep. You wish you had his concentration and focus; instead, you curl up in the red armchair and force your eyes shut until your thoughts quiet down enough to let you sleep. Which is difficult tonight especially, seeing as all you can think about are those damn magazines.

After about five more minutes of silence you take a deep breath, then quietly say, "The one with the blonde girl in the bunny ears."

You don't dare look at him, waiting for his response and focusing instead on the empty fireplace beside you. You hear the crinkling of paper as he dogears the page of his book and then the gentle thud as he places it on the floor.

"That's a good one," he says just as quietly.

Another moment of silence passes, and your skin feels like it's on fire as you whisper, "I like the page where she's like...bent over."

"I can't remember the pages, if I'm being honest," he replies, "I haven't looked at them in a while."

You nod to yourself, "Well, there's this page where the guy has her bent over a table. And he's like...pounding into her from behind." You wait for him to say something else but he doesn't so you continue, "It's one of the only pages where she actually looks like she's enjoying herself."

"Hey, uh, I really was just kiddin'," he says awkwardly, "You don't have to tell me, it's okay."

"Oh," you can't help but sound dejected and embarrassed, your fingers trembling a little bit as you push a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "Sorry."

"I mean, if you want to, you can," he corrects, sounding slightly embarrassed himself, "I know you probably....you probably want to talk about it."

You bite down on your lip and sigh exasperatedly, placing your hands over your face, "Kinda," you mumble against your fingers, "It's all I can think about right now."

"Did it make you uncomfortable?" he asks, voice still gentle, "A lot of people are offended by that kinda stuff, you wouldn't be the first person to find it weird."

"It's definitely weird," you take a shaky breath and drop your hands, "But no, I'm not uncomfortable. It was....I mean, it was hot," you bite your lip, "I haven't even thought about sex for a long time so it made me...uh..."

The silence is deafening and apparently neither of you wants to break it as you sit there without speaking, letting your words hang in the dead air. You suddenly feel like you want to crawl out of your skin for saying anything to begin with, for even asking about the magazines in the first place.

"Wet?" he suddenly says, voice breaking a bit, "It made you wet?"

"Very," you reply, relieved that he's not freaked out and trying to change the subject.

"Well, that's normal," he says, voice stiff.

You can't help but laugh, finally peering over at him and seeing that he's just laying there, staring at the ceiling, "I know it's normal, Joel. It's not my first time being turned on, trust me."

"Well, what am I supposed to say?" he grumbles, looking at you in exasperation, "You can't just say that and expect me to give you a casual response. It made you wet, you got turned on, congratulations."

You stare at him, watching as he reaches for his book again, "Wait," you clamor out of the chair and reach beneath it to grab the magazine you'd looked at earlier. You shuffle over to him, thumbing through the pages until you find the right one, "Here," you open to the correct page and show it to him, "This is the one I'm talking about."

His eyes assess the page, his Adam's apple bobbing heavily in his throat as he takes in what you were referring to. He nods slowly, "Okay yeah, I see what you mean. She's about to come, that's why she looks like that."

Your brow furrows, "You can tell that from a picture?"

He shrugs, eyes still on the magazine, "Well, see, he's rubbin' her clit," he points to it and your face goes hot again, "And he's fuckin' her pretty hard. So yeah, I'd say she's either already comin' or about to." his gaze shifts back to you, noticing that you're staring, and he awkwardly pushes the magazine back toward you, "What?"

"I just..." you swallow, shaking your head apologetically, "Sorry, it just sounded really dirty hearing you say that."

He suddenly looks uncomfortable, shifting on the couch and leaning away from you as he crosses his arms, "Well, you asked."

"I know, I don't mean it in a bad way," you step back and realize you're suddenly throbbing in your jeans, feeling that familiar wetness again, "It just... hearing you say it out loud like that, it makes the picture hotter, somehow."

He looks at you, gaze trailing from your eyes to your lips. You suddenly feel like you've said too much, exposed even though you're fully dressed, and you walk back over to the chair and quickly plop back down in it. You give him another look and see his lips parting like he's going to say something else. Instead he takes a breath and drops his eyes from your face, twisting around on the couch to face the opposite way, "It's late, we should sleep."

"Y-yeah," you breathe, crossing your legs, heart stuttering as your clothed core presses wetly against the denim of your jeans. "You're right."

You curl back up in the chair and try to calm your breath, slow your heart, try not to focus too much on the fact that hearing Joel of all people say the phrases he's rubbin' her clit and fuckin' her pretty hard has made you start falling to pieces. Do you even see Joel that way? Has there ever been a moment where you found yourself thinking about him like that? You want to tell yourself the answer is no, that your body is simply experiencing some pent-up sexual frustration and he has nothing to do with it, but you know you'd be lying to yourself.

He's hot. It's not some shocking revelation or something you've realized over time. There's a reason you'd felt so drawn to him that first day in the dining hall, a reason you'd watched out for him every day and hoped he'd notice you. Hell, there's a reason you're still doing patrols with him despite him being a pain in the ass. You're not an idiot, you know yourself well enough by now to know what these things mean.

You're attracted to him. You've been attracted to him this whole damn time.

You shut your eyes tight and curl up into a ball, holding your knees to your chest. He's rubbin' her clit, his voice echoes in your mind, and your cunt begins to ache.

Stop thinking about it, you shake his words away and try to focus on falling asleep. There's no way you're gonna touch yourself right now, not with him in the room, and you're not gonna excuse yourself either like some horny teenager. You can do this, you can get through it, it'll go away soon.

-

It doesn't go away.

About twenty minutes later you're still sitting there with your eyes shut, trying your hardest not to touch yourself. But it's so fucking difficult. His words are playing on a loop in your head, over and over, soft yet rough, kind yet sexy, his southern drawl making it all the more hotter:

She's about to come, that's why she looks like that.

He's rubbin' her clit.

He's fuckin' her pretty hard.

I'd say she's either already comin' or about to.

You squirm in the chair, imagining what he'd sound like whispering that in your ear with his fingers pumping in and out of you as you came undone beneath him. Rubbin' her clit, his voice breathes in your mind, fuckin' her pretty hard, she's about to come.

You're ten seconds from breaking your own rule and heading back to the supply closet to find some release when you hear an unfamiliar sound coming from a few feet away. Your eyes flutter open, thoughts stopping momentarily as you try to figure out what it is. You turn slightly in your chair to see if Joel hears it too, and you feel your breath stop completely.

He's turned off the lantern so you can't see him properly, but you can make out the shadow of him in the moonlight, see the long shape of him directly mirrored against the floorboards and his hand stroking himself up and down, quick and rough. Your lips part in disbelief, realizing the noise you're hearing is the sound of his palm slapping against the base of his cock as he jacks himself off.

You've gotta be fucking kidding me.

Here you've been, desperately trying to push away any and all sense of desire so you wouldn't make a fool out of yourself, wouldn't make him uncomfortable, and here he is doing that exact thing. Angrily, almost out of spite, you sit up in the chair and stuff your hand down your jeans.

Two can play at that game, asshole.

Your finger goes straight to your clit and you begin to rub it furiously, eyes trained on the dark outline of his hand moving up and down. You can only vaguely make out the shape of him but it's enough to make you start dripping, the base of your palm getting slick as you stimulate yourself continuously. He's well endowed, that much is obvious, and you watch his silhouette as he releases his large cock for a moment to bring his hand to his mouth and lick a stripe along his palm. You have to bite down on your lip to suppress the moan that threatens to bubble from your throat at the action, watching through lidded eyes as he brings his wet hand back down and fists himself once more.

Without much thought you slip your middle finger inside yourself, eyes trained on him as you pretend it's his cock pushing past your entrance. It's pretty difficult to imagine though, considering his cock is probably five times as girthy as your one finger, but you make do. You can kind of make out the shape of the tip, wide and shiny, disappearing and reappearing over and over. You slip a second finger inside and bite back a whimper.

The only sounds in the room are the slapping of his skin and the sudden wet squelch of your fingers; you don't even bother to try and make it softer, you're getting off now whether he knows or not, the fullness overwhelming you as you lick your lips and furrow your brow. You haven't masturbated in a long time; you know it won't take you long to get what you need.

"Are you-" he suddenly gasps into the darkness, and your head snaps up to look at him again, heart pounding when you see that his hand has stilled on his cock and he's looking over at you with an expression of pure disbelief.

You should probably be embarrassed, apologetic, but instead you can't help but feel a rush of pride, of spite, as he realizes what you're doing.

"Like you're not," you hiss back, practically spitting as you continue to fuck yourself, "I'm not deaf."

"Thought you were sleepin'," he says back, and you can see his fingers clench around his length, like he's doing everything in his power not to stroke himself.

"And that makes it less weird?"

He groans and lets go of himself completely, sitting up slightly on the couch and shaking his head like he's trying to wake himself up from a dream he isn't having. When he looks at you again his eyes fall to where you're still getting off, not bothering to be sneaky about the way he practically bores a hole in your jeans with his gaze.

"So what are you gonna do about it?" he challenges gruffly, eyes coming back up to meet yours, the hint of a cocky smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Oh, he's proud of himself, isn't he?

You glare at him, "I'm not gonna do anything about it, Joel. I'm gonna keep going," you mean it too, fingers not even slowing down as you pant breathlessly in his direction, "And you can stay here or you can go, doesn't matter to me."

It does matter, actually, it really does. If he was to get up and walk out... it would basically be a rejection, something you're not sure you'll be able to deal with. You don't break eye contact with him, staring him down as you give him your own challenge.

He swallows, gives you one last look, and then flops back down into a horizontal position as he reaches for himself again. He returns to his quick strokes, almost purposely more heavy this time as he mutters, "No talking. Let's just do it and forget it even happened, deal?"

"Deal," you reply immediately, and add a third finger.

It doesn't take long for you to find your release, a particularly hard slap of skin from Joel on the couch pushing you over the edge. You don't try to stifle your moan this time, focusing completely on enjoying your orgasm as your hand stills in your pants and you begin to shake in the chair. Your hips buck pathetically, eyes shutting tight as you whimper and cry out in pleasure.

"Jesus Christ," you hear Joel pant a few seconds afterward, followed by a long groan as he starts to come too, "Fuck."

You manage to catch a glimpse of the way he twists his wrist, aims his cock against his button-down and stains it with his release. You wish you had a better view, that it wasn't so dark, but just hearing him come apart is enough. It's exactly what you hoped it would be.

You lay there in silence for a few moments, both of you panting breathlessly from your orgasms as the weight of what you've just done starts to creep in. You're suddenly slightly afraid of what he'll say, what he'll do. Will he get mad? Will he say he doesn't want to patrol with you anymore? You decide immediately that you don't want him to have the first word.

"What were you thinking about?" you ask, barely a whisper.

It takes a few moments for him to reply, and you start to worry that you've already ruined everything, but then he answers.

"Bunny ears," he says quietly.

"What?"

"I was thinkin' about the bunny ear girl," he's still breathless, "From the magazine. Weren't you?"

You figure you can't dig the hole any deeper.

"I was just watching you, Joel," you breathe, feeling butterflies tingle in your belly at the words, "Didn't have to think about anything else."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, then mumbles something to himself that you don't understand. You can't fully make out his expression but you swear you see him frown in the moonlight, not exactly the response you were aiming for. He suddenly turns on the couch again to face away from you, exhaling loudly, "Go to sleep."

The words strike you hard, lips parting in surprise. You obviously hadn't expected him to completely reciprocate, to jump into your arms and kiss you, but that? "Go to sleep"? What the fuck kind of a response is that? You stare at him, hoping against reason that he'll turn around again and apologize, say something different, but he doesn't.

"Yeah, sure," you mutter, curling back up into a ball in the chair and hoping sleep finds you as soon as possible so you don't have to think anymore, "Asshole."

You hope he hears you.

-

You wake the next morning to the sound of someone rummaging nearby, and you open your eyes blearily to see Joel crouched near the door, packing his bag. You stretch and yawn automatically, momentarily forgetting what had transpired between the two of you last night. His head tilts up to look at you and it all comes flooding back when you see that familiar frown on his face.

"Do you ever smile?" you say, voice rough with sleep.

He rolls his eyes and goes back to his pack, shaking his head, "Like you're so chipper."

"Well, at least I have a good reason to be annoyed," you snap, sitting up in the chair and stretching your legs, "Asshole."

"You love to call me that, don't you?"

"Just calling it like I see it," you mutter, pulling yourself up and heading past him to the door, "I'm taking a piss."

"Watch out for th-"

"The trip wires, I know," you interrupt coldly, "I'm not an idiot."

He doesn't say anything else but you feel his eyes on your back as you walk out onto the balcony and down the steps. You both have to pee in the woods when you're out here - the ski lifts aren't the only things that don't work properly anymore - so you've managed to each figure out your own designated area. You feel relieved once you're out of his eyesight and beneath the thick layer of tree branches that keep your makeshift bathroom secluded.

You really shouldn't be so pissed at him, it's not like he owes you anything. You know you're projecting your own feelings onto him and that it isn't fair, but god, him telling you to go to sleep after you'd essentially confessed your attraction to him makes your blood boil. He'd really had nothing else to say? Couldn't have come up with something a little softer, a little kinder? Let you down easy?

You grumble to yourself on the way back up the steps, questioning whether or not you should keep ignoring him or just get over it. Is it really worth an hours hike of hostility? You already know this is your last shift with him, there's no way you can come back from this in any way that will keep your dignity intact. It's over.

"You say you're not a kid but you sure do act like one," Joel says the second you re-enter the ski lodge, and you stop dead in your tracks. He's got his arms crossed, nose flaring in anger, "I'm sick and tired of the silent treatment, the cold shoulder, all that shit. What happened to people just talkin' to each other?"

You shut the door behind you and shake your head, "I'm not giving you the silent treatment Joel, calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down," his voice is firm but you can hear some emotion there, something deeper. He doesn't like being ignored and you know why, but it doesn't soften your resolve.

"I'm pissed at you, yeah," you admit, shrugging, "But I think I have a pretty valid reason."

"And what is it?"

You stare, scrunching up your face in confusion, "Are you serious? Jesus, Joel, I thought you were smart."

"Oh, fuck off," he grumbles, rolling his eyes again, "I ain't a mind reader."

You shake your head again, inhaling deeply, "I'm not asking you to read my mind, Joel," you exhale and try to calm yourself, feeling the angry tears begin to sting your eyes. God, you hate how emotional you get when you're angry. You hate showing weakness like this.

"Then tell me," he groans, "Is it about last night? 'Cause I thought we made a deal that we're not gonna talk about it."

You laugh at his words, cold and hard, "Right, yeah, sorry. Deal's a deal, right? My bad," you couldn't sound more sarcastic if you tried, stuffing your roll of toilet paper back in your pack and zipping it up, "Come on, let's just head back and forget about it." Your voice cracks on the last few words and you bite down hard on your lip, feeling the tears spill over.

"Are you crying?" his voice falters, and you hear a twinge of kindness in his tone, something you'd desperately wanted to hear last night.

He crosses the room before you even have a chance to reply, striding over to you and placing his hand on your shoulder firmly, making you turn around. His face softens immediately when he sees the tears streaming down your face, the tears you're already trying to wipe away.

"Fuck," he says, brow furrowing in concern, "I'm sorry."

You snort involuntarily, shaking your head, "I'm just stupid."

"You're not stupid," it's almost a whisper, "I'm the stupid one, believe me," he brings his hand up like he's going to touch your face but seems to think better of it, bringing it back to your shoulder again, "I shouldn't have... I don't know what I was thinkin' last night, I'm sorry. You showed me that magazine and-"

You put your hand up to silence him, "I don't care about why, Joel. I don't even care that you did it, it's not like I told you to stop."

His brow furrows deeper, "Then what...?"

You close your eyes, breathing deeply before putting on your best impression of him and mumbling, "Go to sleep," like he had the night before, opening your eyes again to see if he understands.

He stares at you for a few seconds, confused, but you watch as it suddenly dawns on him, realization spreading across his features. He suddenly lets go of your shoulder and takes a few steps back, eyes falling to the floor.

"You can't... you can't think of me that way," he says it gruffly, swallowing and shaking his head.

You stand there without saying anything, waiting until he finally looks back up at you to speak. When he does, you make sure to look directly in his eyes.

"Why not?"

His hand comes up to touch the back of his neck and you swear you see patches of red begin to bloom along his collarbone, like he's embarrassed...or flattered? You take a step forward and he quickly takes another step backward.

"If it's because of the age thing... I really don't care, Joel," you say earnestly, heart beginning to beat heavily in your chest, "I think you're..." You can't believe the words are even coming out of your mouth, the tears on your face already beginning to dry as you try to process this new situation you've found yourself in, "I think you're sexy."

His brow furrows again, not in anger but in confusion. He doesn't take another step backward when you move toward him this time, staying rooted in place as you peer up at him, waiting for him to speak. He remains silent, his eyes trained directly on your face, lips set in a firm line.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

He shakes his head slowly, "I don't."

"Why?"

He doesn't reply, just keeps staring at you like he has absolutely no idea what to say. You suddenly feel the need to reassure him, comfort him. Your hand moves upward, aching to cup his face in your hand, feel that grey scruff beneath your palm.

He pulls back before you get the chance, shaking his head again, "Don't," it's barely a whisper, voice breaking as he says it, "Just...gimme a minute."

"Okay," you nod, dropping your hand, "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizin'," he breathes, still not breaking eye contact, "Just let me think, please."

You swallow, teeth tugging on your lip as he continues to stand there motionless. He's still looking at you but his thoughts are miles away; you can practically see the wheels turning in his head, calculating exactly what he's supposed to do in a situation like this. Part of you wants him to kiss you, part of you wants to kiss him, part of you wants to wait until he makes a decision. You settle firmly on the third option.

"I lied," he finally breaks the silence, jaw tense and firm, "I wasn't thinkin' about that fuckin' bunny ear model."

Your lips part; you hadn't been expecting him to say that.

"Then...what were you thinking about?" You already know the answer before he replies.

"You," his voice is strained, broken, like he's holding himself back, "I was thinkin' about you and the stupid magazines in the supply closet."

You feel your skin flush, a tingle trailing up the back of your neck as you try not to show him how pleased you are, "W-what?"

"I couldn't stop thinkin' about you in that closet, lookin' at those pictures, getting...." he trails off and swallows, then whispers, "Wet. Gettin' all wet in your panties from that girl getting fucked."

His words send an immediate throb to your core and you can feel your heart in your throat, pounding relentlessly as he continues to speak, continues to say exactly what's been on his mind as you stand in front of him, so much smaller than him, letting his words get lost in the sudden warmth of your body and the buzz of your thoughts.

"I couldn't stop thinkin' about it," he repeats, voice rough, eyes dark, "Your wet panties, your big eyes, your..." he practically chokes then, "Your pussy, all wet and aching."

"Oh my god," you whimper, crossing your legs involuntarily as you feel an immediate surge of wetness in your underwear, "Please, keep talking, please."

"Wanted to see it and touch it," he murmurs, his breath ghosting across your face as he peers down at you with desire in his eyes, "Wanted to fuck it and make you come."

Without hesitation your arms shoot up to wrap around his neck, burying your face in his warm chest and tugging at the collar of his coat, "I want you to," you practically moan, clawing at the material, "Joel, I need you to fuck me right now."

To your absolute dismay he reaches up and removes your arms from him, taking a step back so neither of you are touching. His eyes are so dark, pupils blown wide and that red blush of heat now spread all over his neck and cheekbones.

"I can't," he says, shaking his head, "I'm sorry, I can't."

You're about to protest, whine and beg if you have to, but his eyes fall to your groin. You watch with wide eyes as he goes for his belt, begins to unloop it and remove it.

"Take your pants off," he groans, and you don't need telling twice.

-

You end up masturbating together again, this time in the light of day. You find yourselves laying on the couch where he'd slept last night, the memory of what he'd done there fresh in your mind as you pump two fingers in and out of yourself steadily and watch him stroke his cock to match your pace. He watches you behind hooded eyes, his lips parted as he pants and gets himself off to your pleasure, watches you do the same thing to him.

"That's it," he murmurs, eyes scrunching in arousal as he scans your face, watches you come undone, "Rub your clit, nice and fast."

You whimper, unable to hold on for much longer as you eye his cock and see the way the fat head of it drips for you, slicking his hand and allowing him to stroke faster and faster. You want to say something to help get him off too but your words are completely lost in the sensation; you couldn't speak even if you wanted to.

He knows you're about to come, can see it in your face the way he saw it in the face of the model in the picture. He swallows heavily and fucks himself impossibly faster, harder, silently asking you to match his pace. You do it, thumbing your clit and feeling the tense coil in your belly snap as your jaw drops and you let out a long and ridiculously loud moan. Your eyes shut tight and you throw your head back, feeling your body begin to shake from the stimulation.

"There you go," he grunts, and you hear the slapping of skin stop as he rides out his own release, coming into his fist, "Fuck." Your eyes open at just the right time to see his jaw go slack, eyes practically rolling into the back of his head from the pleasure. It somehow makes you ache for more, even though you can't possibly imagine being any more overstimulated than you already are.

You both lay there, chests heaving, hearts pounding, completely undone. It goes without saying that you've both just managed to each have one of the best orgasms of your lives.

"New patrol rule," you whisper to him, legs still wide and cunt dripping with your release, "We do this. Every time. Please."

"Yes," he replies immediately, still catching his breath, "I can do that."

-

"It can't be any more than this," Joel says to you quietly as you hike down the mountain a little while later, the sunrise cresting the trees again the way it had yesterday when you'd hiked up; it's like nothing has changed, but you both know that everything has.

"Okay," you say just as softly, though part of you aches to reach for his hand, loop your pinky through his and have some degree of touch between you. But you can tell he means business, that there won't be any more discussion on the matter today.

"Just this," he whispers, glancing at you with a meaningful look, eyes soft and tender as he peers at you, knowing what he's done, what he's started.

"Just this," you agree, but you don't really believe it.

You hope, deep down, neither does he.

thank you so much for reading! there will be more in this collection coming very soon. i'd like to do some short fics of certain nights they've had, especially the first time he calls her a good girl. that was originally going to be in this part but it was just getting wayyy too long and i have so many ideas i need to flesh out more lol. i'm also going to continue where they left off in "don't think we could help it", and yes, eventually they will do the deed, i promise. among other things....

if you liked it, please let me know! and again, if you'd like to give me a tip you can do so on my kofi 💖

[tyunn1ngz]

Yeonjun being your ceo hubby and you both got in a argument but had to go to a party so he spent the whole night talking with other people and you got bored so you went to go dance with a guy and Yeonjun pulled you back saying

"I know we aren't in good terms at the moment but if you think I'm gonna let you be touched by another man that isn't me the you are fucking crazy"

And either you tell him to fuck off and it turns into angry sex when you both get back or he drags you out the party and he drives to a empty car park and you both fuck in the backseat 😁

UR INSANNEEEEEEEEEEEE. cw hes kinda mean and hypocritical ? idk also i got so carried away w this dont ask me why its 1k words i literally dk what happened,,,,

no bc i imagine it would be something sooooo petty, something that clearly needed to just be chatted about but the time just slips and suddenly your attitude is just through the roof while you have to converse at this stupid party with a bunch of snobs who you decide in the heat of your anger he’s just like (you know he’s not)

and every word yeonjun speaks just serves to piss you off more >:( that dumb smile on his face like he didn’t upset you and then cater to everyone else with such ease. pretending like everything’s okay, like how dare he ! 🙄

the final straw being that maybe he laughs a little too loud at one of his employees jokes, leaned a little too close in to hear them, allowed touches that linger too long to be friendly intentions; all while he’s almost completely ignored you all evening, when you were only here for him anyway— all dolled up just for him to argue with you and then ignore you.

so you take your interest elsewhere, allowing whatever guest next hits you with a ‘no pretty little thing like you should be pouting like that’ to be your entertainment.

it doesn’t work as intended at first, your eyes consistently darting back and forth between this stranger and yeonjun, who seemingly doesn’t pay you any mind. you deflate a little, chugging back the rest of the champagne in your glass.

and then, this stranger, who you have yet to gain the name of, tries to touch you. he starts with a click of his tongue, grinning as he tilts his head a little. ‘come on, darling. don’t look so sad. i’ll keep you company… get you another drink?’ and his hands begin a slide for your waist.

alas! he’s abruptly stopped by a grasp on his wrist, tight and practically a chokehold around the limb. you know those fingers anywhere.

‘they’re fine. thanks.’ yeonjun says, composed and completely nonchalant on the surface of his tone. but you can see his grip must hurt, can hear the dip of frustration in his voice.

and then you’re being lead by his hands, gentle loving touch ever not present, until the breeze of night air bites at your skin. you frown, and pull yourself free from his clutch, standing before him looking just as frustrated as he seems to feel.

‘the hell are you doing?’ to which he scoffs a laugh, cold as the temperature that wisps at your face in bursts of wind.

‘the fuck are you doing?’

your brows furrow, anger settling under your skin again, your whole body tense. ‘what the fuck’s that supposed to mean?’

‘were you just going to let him lay his hands on you? you seemed real comfortable.’ he’ll tell you, tongue in cheek. it’s unbelievable, completely ironic that you feel maniacal.

‘you can’t be fucking serious,’ you smile despite yourself, ‘you cannot be fucking serious, yeonjun.’

silence falls over you two for a moment, every ticking second he just looks more and more pissed. you stand there practically urging him on, disbelief written across your features in such clear displays. yet, he’s still quiet, and somehow it scares you just a little. but fuck, he’s such a hypocrite! you’re the bad guy when he had hands on himself all night with no protest? you are the one in trouble like he didn’t ignore you all alone at his work party?

‘let’s go.’

you’re broken from your reverie of rageful stomping thoughts, the build up of all the mean things you want to scream at him quickly fading. now a little thrown off by the calmness of his voice, tone void of any actual emotion, your mouth drops open a little despite nothing to say.

‘huh?’

‘i said, we’re going.’

dumbfounded, you find yourself tugged along again, towards the car park where you think an awkward, tense ride home will await you. where you expect a pillow and spare blanket thrown haphazardly over the couch by the end of the night.

the last thing on your mental list to expect is being pushed up against the passenger side door, caged in with a finger under your chin, a hand on your hips. your eyes are frantic in search of explanation as you look up at your husband in shock.

his thumb moves to your lips, pressing into the soft flesh where you've already parted in a quiet gasp. yeonjun grins a little, eyes dark and full of mirth.

‘you've had an attitude all day, baby,' he'll say, 'you know well there's nobody else for me than you, hm? no matter how bratty you get with me.'

you gently bite as his finger in retort, 'still doesn't explain your sudden work wife, does it?'

his grin widens, a tad scary in terms of trying to provoke a more negative response. 'just like you throwing yourself at my coworker, yeah? bit desperate for attention, don't you think?'

you bristle, 'he was keeping me company while you whored yourself out, but okay.'

he doesn't falter like you want him to, but his hands tighten on you. he tilts his head.

'yeah? why don't you go back inside to him then? think he could fuck you right, sweetheart?'

oh.

you twitch a little, breath exhaled less confident than before, and he's quick to notice it with such a smug smile. you want to wipe it right off his face, but you fear everything you've built yourself up with tonight is quickly crumbling down.

'maybe he could.' but he can hear how unsure you sound, and he laughs. he's condescending you now. yeonjun hums, leaning closer.

'you don't sound so confident. what makes you think he could handle your attitude, anyway?'

you lack the words, the bite, falling so quiet as he stares at you intently. eyes trained on every tiny change your body language gives him. your eyes stare back, already glassy while your lips start to pout. but you snark once more.

'fuck you.'

it's a haze. because before you can even begin to think of saying anything further, he's got you in his backseat. you're bent over, his chest to your back, your attire completely dishevelled and underwear ripped down your legs, as he fucks into you so hard you know you'll feel it for days to come.

he pants hotly right into your ear, ‘you can be mad at me all you want, baby, but nobody touches you except me, you understand that?’

you can only mewl in response, already too fucked out as the pleasure turns your brain into mush. however, he’s not satisfied with that, and with a grunt he reels his hand back to lay a loud slap on the fat of your ass.

‘i asked you a question, i expect a fucking answer. or are you already too fucking stupid on my cock to talk?’

you sob, nodding your head frantically while you try to hold yourself up on trembling limbs. ‘yes, yes. i understand’

his thrusts manage to grow rougher, and you fall forward until your face presses into the leather of the seats.

‘so cute when you cry. you ready to apologise to me? hm? tell me you’re sorry for being such a brat to me.’

‘m’sorry!’ you cry, another spank this time landing on your thigh, ‘m’sorry, ‘jun. won’t happen again.’

he laughs as he throws his head back, hands on your hips to fuck you on his cock. he’s breathless but it’s so so hot.

‘liar. i’ve spoilt you too much. all you know now is how to get what you want. and this is what you wanted? for me to fuck some sense into you?’

you know it’s technically not true, he knows that too, but you start nodding frantically regardless. the haze of your pleasure renders you to his complete mercy.

‘yes! i’m sorry. just need you. always need you.’

‘you have me, angel.’ he grunts on a particularly harsh jolt of his hips, cock hitting a deeper angle as you cry out so loud you almost miss his words.

‘y’always have me. let me prove it to you? want me to knock you up? m’gonna make you a mommy.’

[amathslutsguidetofandom]

Infinite Solutions - 1

PAIRINGS: Law!Professor!Andy Barber x Math!Professor!Reader

SUMMARY: MIT is famously known for its high level of education. What happens if it's not only filled with knowledge? What if it is also filled with confusion? Confusion of a new, hard-working Mathematics professor? A professor who might be falling in love with her fellow co-worker? What if that co-worker was in the Law faculty? What if that Law professor is Andrew "Andy" Barber?

WARNINGS: Swearing (if you squint).

WORD COUNT: 1,905

ENJOY!

"Shit!" You feel the puddle soak your new, expensive black slacks. Swearing at your recklessness, you ignore the mishap and continue to walk on the cobblestone. The Massachusetts chill is cooler than usual, and that’s why you have your coffee in hand. The sip you take instantly warms and floods your entire being with comfort.

You see students sitting on the lawn with textbooks and papers surrounding them like an iron fence; you lightly smile at the reminder of how you were in their exact position and place when you were in your undergrad.

MIT is filled to the brim with students as they walk to their respective classes. You see the building of your destination, and you trek towards it. The feeling of your wet pant leg sticking to your skin is something that you were not really into, but at this point, you really don’t care. You were going to be late if you pay any more attention to that mistake.

You push open the doors and walk in and make your way to an office you used to frequent back in your young adulthood.

-------

"I must say, that when I got your application, I was quite shocked," Schmidt says from his seat with a light smile on his face. You give him one of your downwards smiles, “I can assure you, Mr. Schmidt, sending my application in was something I thought I never had to do. I mean, it was an arbitrary decision; I wasn’t really thinking about it when I sent it in.”

He laughs at your response before taking a sip from his coffee. "And please, call me Tobias," the German mathematician replies kindly before gathering some papers on his desk and standing, and you follow suit. "Let me show you to your office; I heard it has one of the greatest views," he opens the door and lets you go ahead first.

The halls of the building were old and gave you some sort of idea of how much mathematical knowledge has soaked into its walls over the years. You used to walk these halls all the time, use some of their empty classrooms all alone, and solve the most complex problems on their blackboards.

Now, you’re here walking beside your boss, the Dean. But in a previous life, that was your bachelor's, he was your first-year Multivariable Calculus professor.

The little journey to your new workspace isn’t long, but it consisted of you and Tobias chatting in the first half. “If I may, may I ask what happened over there,” he points at the wet splotch on your pant leg. You shake your head and wave him off, “a long story you do not want to listen to, I assure you.” The rest of the walk is just the two of you recollecting about your time back when you were an undergrad.

“You used to send emails at 3 am,” he says with a throaty chuckle. You widen your eyes as you remember what type of student you were. “Oh dear, I did, didn’t I?” You both share a laugh until he stops in front of a dark oak door.

"Well, here we are," he smiles warmly and unlocks the door with a key before handing it to you. You nod your thanks and follow him inside when he opens the door.

When he mentioned that the view was going to be gorgeous, you thought he was overstating it. But now that you are here, and you are looking out of the window with your eyes. You are stunned.

“And I know how much you love the blackboards, so I recommended them to book this office, specifically, for you,” he states before setting the papers he’s carrying on the, your, desk.

You look at him confused, then see the blackboard attached to the wall opposite your window. God, you think you could die at ease now. Your desk sits in the space between the window and the blackboard.

There are metal drawers at two corners of the room, and lamps situated on top of them illuminating the room in a decent glow. “This—” you scoff shockingly, “this is amazing, it’s literally more than I could ask for.” The 50-something man chuckles and smiles at your reaction. “Welcome to the School of Mathematics, Professor.”

-------

You type furiously at your keyboard, the monitor taking in your input as you type the last of the lecture notes for week 5. Finally, you click on the period.

Sighing, you lean back and stretch your arms. Your back tenses as you finally straighten your posture from the hunched position you were in.

The clock above your door shows that it's half to midnight. You do a few finishing touches to your notes before posting it on the website so the keener few of the students can get their studying done.

At the end of it all, you shut down your desktop and get your stuff packed. Your phone pings as you receive messages from friends and family congratulating you and liking your post on Instagram.

The picture you posted was of the view you had from your desk, and it really was Pinterest-worthy, so you decided why not and post it on social media.

You leave your office and lock it before exiting the building and returning to the Cambridge chilling weather.

-------

You're nervous.

Really, really nervous.

It’s the first day of classes, and students are already starting to file in. You thought there would only be a handful at your 8 AM class, but here you are, seeing that the whole class is full.

The hand on your watch strikes 8 AM, and you look up and see all the different types of students waiting for you to start the class.

Taking in a deep breath, you adjust the microphone that’s clipped on your navy silk blouse and switch it on. Then you rub your hands together before walking to stand in front of the blackboard.

“Morning everyone!” You start with a bright smile on your face. “I’ll be your professor for this unit, for this semester.” You tell the class your name and what title you prefer to be called. “You really don’t have to call me Professor; you can call me by my first name. I’m not that much of a pain in the ass,” the majority of the class chuckles at your swearing.

“Welcome to Multivariable Calculus (ADVANCED),” your grin widens, and you rub your hands down your thighs. “It really isn’t for the faint-hearted,” you state with a slightly serious expression.

“But you can push through if you put in the hard work. Mathematics is a beautiful subject; it’s one of the few technical subjects where you can actually express your creativity and think in so many different ways to come to one answer,” you talk with your hands as you talk about the subject you're most passionate about.

“So, really do not be scared. Just put in the hard work, and if you do feel like you're falling behind, please, please, please contact me or the TAs that are assigned to this unit. We are here to help you with any mathematical problems you have,” you smile reassuringly, and you smile even wider when you see some of the students nod at your words.

“Alright, before we get started, do any of you have any questions about the unit or in general?” you ask before crossing your arms and adjusting the microphone a bit.

A lanky, you assume, first-year student raises his arm immediately after you asked that question. You look at him with a smile. “Yes?”

“Um, you are—” he says your full name in a questioning tone, as though waiting for you to correct him. You furrow your brows a bit but maintain a small smile. “Uh, yeah, that would be me.”

His eyes brighten a bit, and he asks a follow-up question. “You worked for NASA for three years, right? You were the main mathematician that calculated the landing trajectory and coordinates of the latest Mars rover.”

You are speechless; you thought that you’d be able to leave that life of yours behind you. “Uh, yeah, th-that’s true,” you answer with a pursed smile.

“Alright, any other questions?” you pointedly try not to look at the same student, and no one raises their hand. You clap your hands. “Alright, let's get started.”

-------

You look at your watch and see that two hours have gone by quickly. “Alright, I think I must wrap up in a minute. So, just a few late things,” you pause and look back at everyone and face your back to the used blackboard.

“Please do the practice questions; they really are helpful. And if you do have any questions, please either email me or any of the TAs, and we will reply. Just give us at least twenty-four hours to reply,” you smile and cross your arms.

“Ok, I think that’ll be it for today. Have a good one, y’all,” you nod and smile as you see your students start to flood out of the lecture theatre.

A few students line up to ask you a few questions about today's content, and you happily answer them and make sure that your explanations are detailed and clear for them to understand.

Soon, you are packing your stuff and wiping your writings off the blackboard. You switch off all the electronics, then finally the lights, before walking out of the classroom.

-------

It’s the end of the workday; you taught a total of three classes. And for each of them, you were equally enthusiastic about enlightening the minds of everyone present in the room with you.

You do your final routine of closing your office. You are quite happy with how today turned out; a few students took advantage of your office hours and asked you a lot of advanced questions, which tickled your brain in a really fun way.

You finally lock the door of your office and adjust the strap of your messenger bag over your shoulder.

You exit the building and head down the stairs. As you do, you hear someone call out your name.

You stop in your tracks as you sort of recognize the voice. You turn and see a 6’3 man jogging to catch up to you. His hair is the same since you first met him, his beard is much fuller, and his eyes. His eyes have always been the bluest you’ve ever seen.

But he's broader, stronger, and much taller.

“Oh gosh, it really is you, Hey! I thought my mind was playing tricks on me, you look different, but the same,” he chuckles as he pulls you into a hug. You hug him back, but you’re still in shock.

It’s been years since you both have seen the other.

“God, the last time I saw you, you were on TV,” he scoffs and laughs at the same time. “You were wearing the NASA uniform and giving that speech about your work,” he smiles at you so brightly; you think it’s the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen.

When did he get so handsome?

You just nod to whatever he’s saying; you seriously don’t think you can speak right now.

“How are you?” he smiles, gripping harder onto his briefcase as he waits for you to answer. And you smile.

“I’m well, Andy.”

🎀🎀🎀

TAGLIST <3: @sarahdonald87 , @yiiiikesmish , @jamneuromain

Here we are babes, with the first chapter of Infinite Solutions.

Took a while, but we made it. 😌😌😌

Again, if you want to be tagged, please comment so I can keep a list my loves.🤗🤗🤗

Till' then

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

[blingblong55]

Not the only one- Alejandro Vargas

A/N: something short...and a dream that came to me not too long ago

F!Reader, angst, established relationship, cheating

Two years of marriage and 5 years of dating all equal 7 years where love grew and grew, never seeming to end. But all great things in this world have to end soon, whether you want it or not it must all end.

The downfall of your love happened exactly 2190 hours ago. It was late November when he stumbled across her, he was working with 141 looking for El Sin Nombre when he found out that the woman he titled his first love was the 'man' they were looking for. Valeria Garza is the one to blame for the tears on your face and how as of right now you are in what was once called home. He swore he had moved on years ago, that it was the reason he fell for you and why you two started to process of creating a family.

All are ruined because of one weak man and his selfish needs. How did you find out? Simple, he left his phone with you, a message appeared on the screen, 'Just come over, tell her you have to go to base or something' the sender was named, "Rudy-new number". And you knew best, Alejandro always gave you Rudy's number because, in case of an emergency, he'd be the one you should contact if need be. So of course, the suspicion grew from then, you waited and waited until he made a mistake so you could call him out on it.

But the man is smart, never did he let the mask slip, always home on time, cuddles and kisses all the same, except for one thing, the rush of love you'd feel from each touch and kiss, all gone.

"What's wrong, cariño?" his voice called you back to your senses, you had been staring at the wall for nearly an hour, trying to deny the fact you finally had enough proof he had been unfaithful. One of the men that worked with him decided to speak up about it. He is an honest man, has a wife himself and knowing a friend of his was hurting a good woman such as yourself would not go unnoticed by him.

The proof consisted of videos and photographs of him and another woman. In a video Alejandro had been bragging about how he finally started to have fun with some woman, the other men cheered him on and he proudly took the compliments. Said soldier even apologised to you, 'No man or woman should be unfaithful to the one they claim to love, so I'm sorry, miss...I really am' the message read.

"Nothing, just a little tired." you finally respond to him, eyes teary and your only excuse was you hadn't blinked for so long they just burnt a little. "If you say so," he grabbed his mug and sipped from it. He had been home for nearly 2 hours before he had a 'meeting' he must attend. You knew where he would be heading to, decided to just let it be.

He kissed your forehead and soon drove away, with enough minutes left of sun you knew he'd be in her arms. Maybe she was an old lover, but you knew best. Old or new, feelings always get the best of any weak man or woman. You sat there, looking at old memories, thinking back to the days he promised you, you are the only woman for him. A wave of anger floods through you when you saw the jewellery he had bought for her in one of the pockets of his coat.

All the sweet nothings, vows and promises what were they said if only meant to be broken? They were all empty promises to him and to you, they were oaths. Kept every single one like your life depended on them.

By now, he is probably kissing her and holding her close like how he used to hold you, but one thing is different unlike with you, he means those kisses and touches. Valeria is a tough woman, she is capable of lots of things, and one of them is, slowly killing your heart, taking your soul and crushing it in front of your eyes. She is a cruel and cold woman, knows you exist in his life and will do any and everything to ruin that life you once had. Not that she is fully aware of the damages but she knows best. Women know best.

Maybe you won't be the one for him but it would've been fun if you could've been the one he loved, truly loved.

A/N: not much arguing between you two, but I think its at least good enough :)

[red-velvet-muffin]

This is brutally rushed but I had this thought and I needed to share it with the class 😵‍💫😵‍💫

CW: panic attack, derealisation‼️

But after that just comfort

(Also I know it’s not very consistent I wrote that completely sleep deprived)

Simon having a panic attack post mission and Johnny being sweet and oblivious

Simon wasn’t one to give physical affection. He ignored it when it was his captains little pats or Gaz’ cheeky elbow nudges because it was just what they always did, it was nothing special.

He knew not to ask for it, knew he had a reputation to uphold.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t crave it.

He didn’t know the last time someone actually touched him.

Might have been his mother, it’s really been that long…

So when he arrives back at base after a mission, he doesn’t know what to do with the adrenaline. With the stress of the mission, the men they’d lost.

He took it to his quarters.

He just couldn’t face anyone right now.

Every pair of eyes was staring

Mouths screaming

Hands reaching

His clothes suffocated him

His tongue was heavy

His-

He reached his private quarters. The door slammed shut and he was already on the floor, shaky hands tearing his straps and armour and kit off, mask off, just needed the tightness to stop-

He breathed heavily, although it sounded more like sobbing, hands tangled in his hair, eyes pressed shut as he broke down.

This was nothing new.

Every time he returned from a mission it was the same.

He couldn’t dare go to anyone, he just couldn’t, so he locked himself in and rode down the outcome alone.

Because nobody would help. Nobody would come nobody would helpnobodywasthere-

“Simon?”

That bloody Scottish accent rang through the door and Simon’s heart jumped from the sudden voice.

Shit shit shit-

He rubbed his eyes, probably hard enough to pop a vessel, before getting up taking a deep breath and opening the door.

The last thing he needed was anyone in his personal space, he needed space, he needed-

“Jesus- fuck, Simon, coulda warned me I might fall in love”

Johnny grinned stupidly with wide eyes.

Ghost realised too late his mask was very much still somewhere across the room wherever it landed after being thrown midst his scheduled panic attack.

Normally he’d immediately cover his face. Normally he wouldn’t have taken off his mask in the first place.

But here he was, bare faced, looking at Johnny practically eye-fucking him and barely registering it.

Why didn’t he care?

Why did Simon’s head feel so empty when it was screaming at him a minute ago? An article popped into his head that he once read, something about a think called derealisation, but it was a vague thing he couldn’t hold onto.

“Uhm… is that all you’re here for or do you need something?” Was that his voice? That didn’t feel like his…

Johnny frowned.

“You feeling alright? Call me rude but you don’t look too bonnie there lt”

Goddamned Scott and his ability to read Simon like a book.

“Just here to see if you’re feeling okay after the mission. Been a rough one on all of us…”

Hmm, caring, too.

“Simon?”

Oh right. He was talking to him.

“Nothing a good bourbon can’t fix” he finally responded.

“So he’s an alcoholic, eh?” Johnny attempted at humour. “Can’t have you drinking all by yourself. Can I come in?”

Ghost just stepped aside, not bothering for any other kind of response.

Johnny barely waited before bursting through the door and making himself comfortable on his bed.

hmm. Bastard

“Yer quiet, Simon. Talk tae me”

“You don’t wanna know, Johnny” he grumbled back, looking for his mask. How did it get under his desk?

“Ya take a hug at least?”

…

Simon must have frozen so abruptly it was scary.

“Ah Jesus Christ. Got it, no hugs” Johnny laughed. What a pretty laugh…

“I’d like a hug”

What are you doing, get your shit together

Johnny looked perplexed. “Sorry?”

“Hug me before i change my mind”

“Well shit, wouldn’t miss that chance” and Johnny got up, walked over to him and just… embraced him.

No malicious intentions, no hurt, just reassurance.

Just warmth.

Ghost practically melted, he’s not proud of it.

There was no war, there were no dead men, there was no pain, no death,

Just Johnny.

Ghost took a deep breath through his nose, revelling in the calming scent of unmistakable MacTavish.

He doesn’t know how long they stayed that way, it was never long enough, but he must have looked pathetic when Johnny let go of him, hair a mess, eyeblack still smudged on his face, face red and eyes teary but he felt so… safe.

…

“Alright you tell anyone about this I’m shaving your mowhawk.”

“Copy that, lieutenant”

And the man was out the door. When did it get easier to breathe?

Simon sighed but couldn’t fight the grin tugging on the corner of his mouth.

Goddamn Scott

[leeknowsintrusivethots]

Marked By Him

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Pairings: Vampire!Lee Know/OC, Vampire!Bangchan/OC (suprise!!!!) Summary: Vampyres dominate the entertainment world with their otherworldly beauty and talent. It’s a world you must be born into, but a few lucky ones are Marked. Stripped from her home and everything she knows, Minji’s Marking means that she has to rely on the Devil himself, Lee Minho, to be her mentor. He’s cute and sweet to the public, but behind closed doors the monster comes out to play. Content: Angst, Slow burn, lotsa plot, eventual smut, vampires, dark themes, original characters, first person perspective, general 18+ content, alternate idol universe, asshole Lee Know, surprise love triangle, discussion of blood, discussions of death, depictions of violence, sexual tension, petnames/kitten, WC: 4201 Minors do not interact. Do not repost my content to other websites, this includes translations. Notes: Poetaytoes? What's a poetaytoe? Tag List: @linocz

A clock was ticking overhead. The sound was grating – a consistent clicking that vibrated through my head and had my hands clutching the counter until my knuckles turned white. I watched it as the seconds went by, every miniscule movement making me want to rip my own eardrums out so I could no longer hear it. If Vampryic hearing was going to be like this all the time, I was going to go insane. I had thought my breaking point would come at the hands of bloodlust, emotional outbursts, or Minho. I had never suspected my last shreds of sanity would have been stripped away by something so mundane as a clock. 

Trying to ignore it, I let my hand go from the counter to grip the Styrofoam cup before me. Dark black coffee sloshed onto my hands in my haste. For just a brief second, it looked like the deep red, brown of blood. Tantalizing. Rich. Mesmerizing. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

My grip on the cup tightened. Holes appeared where my nails sank through the flimsy material. Coffee leaked down my arm and onto my unused work out clothes. 

Tick. 

The cup was on the floor; I was out of my seat. 

The break room was empty save for myself and my whims. There was no one to stop me as I climbed up onto the counter next to the coffee pot with surprising ease. I pulled the clock from the wall with enough force to have the hook that held it flying across the room. The clock followed soon after, shattering against the opposite wall in glass and plastic. 

The ticking stopped. My efforts were met with blissful silence as the shattered pieces settled into place. A wave of sudden calm, until just a few seconds passed and I could hear the sound of footsteps approaching. 

I felt goosebumps prickle my skin, my hair standing up straight. Adrenaline – primal and fierce – coursed through me. I waited as the sounds grew closer. The steps were sure, but hurried. My intruder was on a mission, and I was losing my goddamn mind. 

I was at the JYP building, in the breakroom no less. It was not an intruder. It was just someone going about their business. The only threat to me at the moment was myself and my own destructive instincts.

At the notion, I sighed deeply. It was an attempt to steady myself. I looked at the shattered clock across the room in horror, only barely registering that someone was entering the break room. The door clicked closed and I had to mentally restrain myself from lunging at the person. The mental gymnastics I was putting myself through had my breathing ragged.

“The Kitten climbs.”

“Not now, Fuck Face,” I huffed back through ragged breaths.

Lee Minho watched me with his normal sardonic amusement. He leaned against the door as if he were patiently waiting for a child to stop their temper tantrum. His dark eyes slid from me to the broken clock and back again. The questions flickered over his features, his brows lowering in consternation.

“Get down,” he commanded instead of voicing them.

“No.” My denial was weak, made more out of reflex than any true rebellion. I was tired. Tired of not knowing things. Tired of not being able to control myself. Just tired. 

“I could command you.” There was a challenge in words. It sparked, tempting me to take it, but I couldn't. I wouldn't. He would win and I would just get burned.

Deciding to behave, I dropped from the counter with a thump to the linoleum flooring. My temples cried in agony at the movement and the sound. I rubbed at them angrily when I was firmly on the floor. “How do you get used to the noise?”

“The same way humans do. It eventually becomes white noise, a hum in the background you can drown out at will,” he answered easily as he looked at the broken clock again. I was shocked he answered at all. He was always so vague, so annoying. Every meeting with him left me reeling with questions without answers. I had no hope he would stay this open. 

“Ya know, I could never sleep without a fan on,” I informed him. “I liked the air, but the noise too. It helped me sleep. Now I think I would probably tear the whole electrical outlet out of the wall to make it stop.”

“And what did the clock do to you?”

“It made noise.”

“And the coffee cup?” He asked with a raised brow at the mess in question. It was all over my clothes, but also the counter and floor where I had originally sat. 

“A casualty of the clock.”

“Ah,” he hummed in acknowledgement. “The Kitten is feral, apparently.”

“I feel like it.” I agreed. My emotions were unruly – fueled by instinct and uncertainty. The Change was in control; I was not. It was as close to a feral state as I had ever been.

Minho said nothing in reply. His wide and (unfortunately) beautiful eyes watched me as if in contemplation. I was suddenly very aware of my ill fitting gym clothes and the coffee that stained them. I really wished I had taken up Maeri on one of her billion offers to take me shopping for fitness wear or to borrow hers. The baggy sweats and oversized shirt were doing me no favors. 

“Come on,” he said suddenly into the silence. I almost jolted at the intrusion, his soft voice shaking me out of my appearance induced misery. He turned on his heels to open the door and held it. He was waiting for me. My feet moved even as my brain spun. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Somewhere we can talk,” he answered as we stepped out into the hall. 

“Why can't we talk here?”

“The acoustics are suspect.”

“What does that even mean?” I asked in exasperation as we walked. 

“You're going to make a really shitty Vampyre if you don't learn how to use your senses. Listen, and don't break anything else.”

And so I listened. 

The dull hum of distant conversation tickled my temples, causing them to pound in further irritation. The splash of water somewhere. Harsh, angry strokes of a keyboard. An electronic grinding that I couldn't place. It all blended together into a larger headache that I was no more enlightened for. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” I asked in irritation as I attempted to drown it all out. 

“No,” he answered with a small tilt at the corners of his lips. “I'm trying to teach you. If you can hear it: any other Vampyre can too.”

“So we have no privacy?”

“Notice how you don't hear any music in a company that, well, makes music?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice like syrup melting from a snow cone under a hot sun. He really was intolerable. Before I could snap a witty reply, he continued. “Sound proofing, even for our sensitive ears, is possible.”

We came to a stop outside our normal meeting room. The silver “CR #0” that hung over the door glittered eerily in the fluorescent lighting. I supposed it was fitting. All of my questions started in this damn room. Maybe they would be answered within as well. 

As we entered, my overstimulated brain breathed a sigh of relief. There was silence – total and complete. The dinosaur grandfather clock didn't even make a noise as I took my usual seat with a contentment I hadn't felt since I realized I had the hearing of a badly written superhero. 

“Better?” Minho asked as he took his own accustomed seat. I was half tempted to punch him for breaking my newfound serenity, but I just nodded instead. “The recording studios, practice rooms, and here are all safe if it gets overwhelming. Your room at the dorms is too.”

“Good to know, now tell how I'm tied to you,” I demanded without further preamble. I was desperate for answers and tired of being left in the dark. Determination and stubbornness filled me. I would not leave this room without answers, even if I had to fight for them. 

“I don't think I like your tone, Kitten,” Minho murmured with narrowed eyes. 

“You don't have to like it.”

“Oh?” He hummed, eyes narrowing further and lips tilting in a way that made me equal parts angry and excited. “But you want me to, don't you?”

A tingling. Minor and barely noticeable. It spread like little zaps of electricity on my skin. I shivered, goosebumps dotting my flesh. His eyes held mine, dark and inviting. I did; I wanted him to like me. I wanted him to want me. I wanted –

“What the–” my exclamation was cut short as the electrical current surging under my flesh vanished as fast as it had come. “What did you just do?”

“Me?” He smiled in a way that was so sweet it would give you cavities and make you vomit. “I didn't do anything.”

“Liar. Was that your Aura?”

“Has Felix been telling you things he shouldn't?”

“So you seduce people?” I asked in horror and mild relief. All the things I’ve been feeling and thinking about the asshole across from me were just an odd byproduct of Vampyre physiology and not a touch of sadism. I was glad to know. 

“You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?” He asked, a smile still in place with eyes wide and almost innocent. It was deceiving. He was deceiving: a monster hiding behind a cloying mask. “Auras aren't why we're here.”

“Then why are we here, Lothario?”

“The Bond.” The mask changed, his bored and permanently sarcastic expression slipping back into place. “It's not something that will be covered in your book, and it's not something I should be telling you about at all.”

“Then why tell me? Did Chan make you?”

“Chan encourages. He never forces anything, and he's right. Your Change is happening fast. You need to know.” Resolute, but not passionate. He was going to tell me, but he didn't seem to particularly want to. It was so very much like what I had come to expect from him that I could hardly muster my usual anger and irritation. 

“Then tell me,” I nodded. My own resolve was more steadfast. I was trying to not get my hopes up, but determination was a hell of a beast. Unfortunately, Minho's stubbornness could be an even more fearsome creature. 

“I will, but first I need to explain something relevant. I know you think I'm an ass, and maybe I am,” he said – earning a snort from me that echoed against the towering shelves of books. I opened my mouth to tell him how true that statement was when he stopped me with a glare. “I'm being serious. I need you to know that for the next ten minutes at least; I will tell you what I think you need to know and I need you to respect that.”

“Will you answer my questions?” I asked. 

“I'll try– you certainly are a nosey little shit though,” he answered with a petty little grin thrown at me for good measure. It was my turn to glare before he added,”I’ll answer what I can, and I'll do my best to be honest where I can as well.”

“Fine,” I huffed. I suddenly felt like a kid arguing with their parents to get an extra dessert. I couldn't stop the pout that formed on my face at the thought. I didn't think he was an ass; I knew he was one. 

“Cute,” Minho said with a small chuckle. A chaotic bubble of violence flashed through me like a bolt of lightning, but I fought it. 

“Go on, Mentor. Mentor me,” I quipped with a sarcastic smile and an even more sarcastic wave of my hand to hurry him along with it. He rolled his eyes, and I could feel the tension of further argument welling in the room. He was fighting his own instincts. It was a weird notion; a weird thing to think and feel, but I could. I filled that knowledge away for later. 

“The Bond is what the relationship between a Mentor and Mark is known as in Vampyre circles. It's…” His voice was softer as he explained and trailed off. I could see the cogs turning in his eyes; information reeling as he plucked pieces out for me and concealed others never to see the light of the moon. “It's deeper than human relationships because it doesn't work the same way. It's intense, and it's forced.”

“Forced?” I audibly gulped. The implications of a single word reeling me backward until the blood circulation in my back was threatened by how tightly I pressed into my seat. 

“Yes.” He reached across the desk lifting in his own seat to be able to trace a single, surprisingly warm finger across the skin of my forehead. “Are these Marks a designation of biology or a brand for the world to see?”

Another gulp. My skin tingled in the wake of his touch. Was it the Bond? Or was it the way his wide eyes stared at me like I was puzzle he wanted to solve? Like a prey he wanted to catch? I didn't know, and that was the most frightful bit of it all. 

“Aren't you supposed to be telling me that?” I managed. He sucked his pouty bottom lip between his teeth as his head cocked to the side. It was the image of perfection. A man made for cameras. A man made for the canvases of artistic minds. I forgot – only for a second – why we were in that room until he pulled back and resumed his seat with a soft thump. 

“That's the thing, Kitten. I don't know. For every question you have, I have ten more.”

“But you were born a Vampyre. You must know–”

“I was born to an ordinary family not much different than yours. They aren't government workers. They aren't particularly wealthy. I'm only here because I liked to dance and I happened to be good at it. The Association only cares about me so much as they can use me.”

“Use you for what?”

“That's something I can answer: publicity. Vampyres were once the stuff of scary stories for your people. Putting us on TV and making us appear like harmless entertainers to the drooling masses ‘humanizes’ us,” he scoffed as he made air quotes around the word. “It also gives them cultural clout and sway, which can be just as powerful as big guns in the world of politics.”

“They want us to sing and look pretty?” I asked. My mouth was suddenly dry – the words sticking and stilted – but Minho understood. 

“So we do,” he nodded. “And those who play their parts the best, are rewarded. Money. Luxury. Fame. Mentorship.”

“One of those things is not like the other.”

“That's right. Mentorship is a burden, is it not? That's how humans understand the word. It's an obligation. I teach you. I'm responsible for you, but maybe since I'm such a shining star I get something out of it too, and that's the Bond.” His words started soft, but hurried. They grew into a crescendo. His frustrations and anger simmered the air around him as his fists clenched on the hardwood desk. His knuckles were white, and once again I could feel it. I felt his rage. I felt his desperation. I felt his helplessness. I felt them all so strongly that I was momentarily left gasping for air, suffocating in wild emotions that were not mine for once. 

“But what do you get out of this.. Bond?” I gaped in confusion. My chest rose and fell like I had run miles without a moment to breathe. 

“Well, isn't it obvious, Kitten? I get you.”

His words were so loud it felt like he was shouting at me. They vibrated against the shelves, echoing in my mind like a broken record ready to be trashed. I wanted them gone; I wanted them silenced. 

“I'm not an actual cat, Minho. You can't just assume ownership over me regardless of what the Association says. I'm sure the South Korean government would have something to say about that. Hell, the United Nations would probably like a word too,” I tried to reason. Nothing made sense and everything felt wrong. I was upside down. I was seated but spinning on an invisible axis without a speed limit.

“Human governments can't control the Association. They've made sure of that. What's seen as questionable is explained away by biological differences. Besides, you're not human. Why would they care about you when you fall under the jurisdiction of the Association now?” 

“But I'm still a person–”

“You're a Mark. Humans think you're a genetic mutant. Vampyres see you as a freak destined to be a plaything for our elite. You won't debut. You're here because I am – because it's the easiest way to make you malleable. It's the easiest way to make sure that when the time comes, you're given the illusion of choice.”

“And what are my imaginary choices, Minho?”

“You can reject the Bond. It's not something you want to happen if you value living as much as you seem to,” Minho said in answer. It was then I noticed how tired he looked. His anger had seemingly faded and he slumped into his chair with all the weariness of an old man. The urge to comfort him had my fingers twitching against my thighs. Was that my own notion? Or was it the Bond? I too was weary; I knew I would be asking myself that question a lot in the future. 

“H–How does one reject the Bond?”

“Once your last Marks fill in, we have to exchange blood.” Darkness coated the weariness in his eyes. The words cloying, appealing even. I shivered. “If you refuse, the Bond will cease to exist and so will you.”

“And why would Chan and Felix be worried that I would die? If that's all that I have to do?”

“You want to taste me, Kitten?” The darkness deepend, weariness moving aside for a small glimmer of amusement in the depths. 

“Now is not the time to tease me,” I reprimanded. He didn't seem cowed, not even a hint. Instead he leaned forward to place his elbows on the table and rest his chin on both palms like we were casually gossiping. He was back to his normally unpalatable self. 

“I've heard a whole host of reasons. Some Marks are never told the significance, and even the ones who are are told at the last minute. It's also the first time most of them will taste blood. Human sensibilities die hard, apparently. Your kin are not very adaptable.”

“At least we don't take magical sex slaves,” I grunted with mild humor. If I couldn't laugh, I would cry. And I would not cry in front of this man. I would not. 

“Now,” Minho clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. “I never said anything about sex. That pretty little head of yours is awfully presumptuous.”

“It was implied, was it not?” I asked, mortification seeping into my bones as my face heated to levels hot enough to burn. Pretty?

“For most, yes. But I'm not so far gone into my fame or wealth that I think you owe me anything because of a Mark on your forehead.” Earnest. Truthful. I could feel it in my gut. I felt a fraction of the tension coiling in my shoulders ease, but it was not enough. A part of me – a part I hated and would firmly blame on weird Vampyre physiology – was preening. Pretty. He thinks you're pretty. 

“I appreciate that.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed in acknowledgement. “Your appreciation is the highlight of my day.”

“Were you Mentored in sarcasm or does it just come naturally?”

“It's all natural,” he smiled, one of the rare genuine ones that had my inner fan floating on a cloud. “As is the Bloodlust. You feel it. I can sense it.”

“You can sense it?”

“It's the Bond. We are linked in a way that others are not,” he explained. “I can feel when you–”

“When I want to bash your head in?”

He laughed. The sound so beautiful it made my body tense – desperate for more. Longing to hear it again. “I feel it now. Don't lie to me, Kitten. I'll know. One might even say it's my ‘Aura.’” 

“So not seduction, but Mind Reading? I thought that was only possible in movies.”

“No. Humans and Vampyres are alike in one thing; we all lie. Some more than others. You lie a lot, and I can sense it. I can't hear your thoughts like listening to a radio, but if I wanted to, I could… compel you to tell me the truth,” Minho explained. He seemed to struggle to find the right words to describe it, but his choice had my neck feeling hot. 

Compulsion was a topic of many Vampyre centered movies before the Revelation, but the Association insisted mind control was the subject of fantasy and science fiction. No one – Vampyre nor human –had the capacity to influence the thoughts or actions of others. But that's what Minho was describing, and it was eerily similar to how he had ‘commanded’ me to leave during his testosterone showdown with Chan. 

“Magical mind control doesn't seem like it lines up with the textbook,” I insisted, bristling at the idea. 

“That's one of the biggest problems with the Association. They want everything to make sense. They want us to be wrapped up into a perfectly logical package that humans will accept as natural and superior, but nothing is ever that clear.”

“Can you cast spells?” I asked on a whim. It was meant to be condescending, but I actually was a little curious. If we were slipping into the realms of fantasy, a little spellcasting couldn't be so far fetched?

“No. I'm not a witch,” he shot back quickly and calmly. 

“Wait– witches?”

“Come on, Minji. Don't be so close minded. I'm here telling you about mystical Bonds. You're in a room filled with curious objects, and Witches are what gets you?”

“You're fucking with me– like Harry Potter?” I was reeling again, but it was more of a gentle tumble. I had been told I was ‘Bonded’ to my favorite Kpop idol turned personal tormentor who had the ability of compulsion. Witches and other things that go bump in the night we're just like reading a cozy story by that point: interesting but impersonal. 

“No. More practical and less fanatical,” he answered with narrowed eyes as if he had given it very serious thought. “Don't get disappointed. No one gets a Hogwarts letter.”

“Werewolves? Shifters? Demon? Angels?” I fired off in rapid succession. 

“Full Moon werewolves who live in packs with anger issues? No. Shifters who can turn into wolves and other animals? Yes.” He blinked a few times, contemplating. He was always so careful about thinking before he spoke. It was infuriating most times, but also strangely endearing. “There was a renegade cult of witches a few years back who were sacrificing humans to try to summon some god or whatever but they had no such luck. If there is a realm of demons and angels, they do not want to interact with us. It was a hell of a clean up for the Association. Blamed it on some serial killer or some – you look very pale.”

“Lee Minho,” I called in a mumble. I suddenly felt a little nauseous. Bonds. Shifters. Witch cults murdering humans. Association cover ups with serial killers. The world was spinning again, only this time it was wildly out of control and I was helpless to stop it. “I think that’s enough for today.”

“Did curiosity kill the cat? I only answered what you asked, like you wanted and I promised.” His unapologetic tone didn’t even register. 

“I need a very long nap.” I stood from my chair, my feet feeling heavy and unsteady as I straightened.

“I won’t stop you,” Minho stated. He made no move, he simply kept his seat and watched me intensely, curiously even. My steps were slow as I made for the door only for him to call out to me one last time. “Check the mirror before you go.”

And so I did. 

As I passed the ancient looking mirror, I saw myself. I was ghostly pale, the dark purple on my forehead obnoxiously screaming for the world to see. The lines that had started a faint trail down my temples had darkened and spread. They swirled downward, crawling across my hairline and down my neck in ornamental flourishes that got fainter as they disappeared into the collar of my baggy shirt. 

I couldn’t help it. My feet staggered to a stop to stare. I felt my nausea swell. My skin heated. Then I was barfing the entirety of my stomach onto the dusty hardwood floors. 

Not natural. Reject. Reject. Reject.

[frumfrumfroo]

I was reading some old Reylo posts and came across a user on here saying that even if Rian Johnson had directed TROS, it still would've been bad, because of interference from higher ups (Rey Skywalker was a consistent theme across the two scripts - but imo, I think that might've just been because they were collectively mad she wasn't a Skywalker lol).

If this isn't an annoying and tiresome question, what do you think? It's hard to speculate but I do find it a bit fun, because there's always been that 'what if' for me that if Rian had done it, maybe it wouldn't have been awful... I guess the implication here is that, was TROS always going to be bad?

I'm ruminating on it a bit because it seems like Disney has kind of segmented the SW fanbases across their shows - Prequel stuff, worldbuilding stuff, OT stuff, and now the romance/Force storyline stuff. All of these combined elements is what made SW so potent, what made something like Reylo so powerful, but it's what makes it a hard brand to sell.

What we heard was that Kennedy asked Rian to do it, but he said he needed more time to write the script and Iger/DLF was unwilling to move the release date. I'm not sure how verified that ever was, but it's the most depressing fucking thing imaginable if true. The same short-term only, immediate profit and your quarterly bonus over the integrity of the company and the franchise which has been destroying Disney as a studio over the last decade or so.

I do think the most blame for tros must ultimately rest with Iger, but it's not like that absolves JJerio from responsibility for how bad it actually is.

I have answered this exact question before, and speculated on related stuff a few times, but unfortunately I haven't been able to find that post for you.

To me, if we learnt anything from DotF being a thing, it's that there was never anyone at the wheel, plotgate was totally true, and the directors were allowed to do whatever they wanted. If Rian had been making the third film from the start, I don't think they would have tried to impose any major story beats on him. The reason it became such a shitshow was The Book of Henry came out and they realised Colin's script was totally unacceptable way too late.

And once the can of meddling was open and you're back to JJ 'no thoughts, head empty' Abrams as a workman director, the suits were basically writing epIX with Terrio's incest fever dreams as connective tissue. They kept elements from Colin's version because they were trying to save time and use as much of the work which had already been done as possible. There was no commitment to any of those ideas, it's just incompetence and with no direction or ideas of their own, they were making a reddit checklist to try to please the whiners rather than writing any actual story.

Like, none of this would have happened if Rian were involved, because Rian would have written an actual story.

SW is mythology and very few people working at DLF seem to have ever understood that or have any idea what it means. Disney has segmented it because that's what they know, they want to have different product to sell to different demographics to maximise saturation and profit. That's their business model. They don't understand the foundation, the Saga itself, and its universal appeal, they seem content to let that stay dead and focus on compartmentalising and pandering to smaller, separate audiences.

[nyoomfruits]

"Falling around you" for the wip title game pls!!

Ps: I love your writing style sm✨🩷

you have chosen ✨angst✨ basically au where lando and oscar dated and broke up, which would've been fine, if it wasn't for the fact that before they broke up they rsvp'd to alex and logan's destination wedding and now have to share a room for a whole weekend because everything is fully booked and they CANNOT miss this wedding because oscar is logan's best man and lando one of alex's groomsmen anyway here's all i have for that so far lmao

“Hi, welcome to Sunnyvale Inn, how can I help you?” The receptionist asks, cheery smile on her face.

Lando, feeling decidedly less cheery after a three hour car ride that he spend mostly overthinking every decision he’s ever made in his life, smiles back tiredly. “Hi, yes, reservation for Norris?”

“Of course mister Norris, give me a moment,” she opens something on the computer. “Are you here for the Sargeant-Albon wedding?” She’s tapping away as she speaks, barely glancing up.

“Yes, yeah I am,” he says, glancing around the lobby. He wonders if there’s anyone staying in the Inn right now that’s not here for the wedding. Alex and Logan had a seriously impressive guest list, last time he saw. He’s just glad actually being in the wedding party means he can stay in the Inn the wedding is held in rather than one of the surrounding hotels.

“Wonderful! I have your reservation right here, it’s room number 204, on the second floor. Will you be needing two keys or is one enough?” She asks, reaching over to the little hooks behind her.

“Uh,” Lando says, frowning. “One? Why would I need two?”

“Oh, in case you and your partner would like your separate keys,” she says, handing Lando a singular key.

“My,” Lando pauses, scrunches up his now. “Uh. Partner?”

“Yeah!” The receptionist says cheerily, completely undeterred, gesturing at the computer screen. “A, uh, Mr. Piastri? It says here you booked a room together.”

Fuck. He forgot. Among everything, he forgot about this.

“Fuck,” Lando says. “No, that’s. Shit. Can I- Is there any way I can change that? Is there another room? Another hotel?”

 “I’m sorry, Mr. Norris. Everything is fully booked. Mr. Sargeant and Mr. Albon did invite a rather large amount of people. The nearest hotel with an empty room has to be at least an hour away.” If the receptionist is surprised she does an incredible job at hiding it, though she does seem a little bit apologetic about the whole thing.

An hour away. Alex would kill him if one of his groomsmen was an hour away. Plus he’d have to drive, which means no booze at the party, which. There’s no way he’s going to get through this entire weekend without at least one shot of tequila. But that leaves-

Lando turns back to her, a little frantically. “I can’t. It’s not a possibility. I can’t room with Mr. PIastri, you don’t understand we-“

Someone next to him clears their throat, and Lando’s head shoots up only to reveal-

“Oscar,” he says.

“Hi,” Oscar says, and he looks. Lando wants to say good. Because objectively he does. His shoulders have gotten a little broader, like maybe he’s been going to the gym a little more consistently. His hair is longer, the little swoosh at the side almost turning into a curl. He’s wearing a nice shirt.

But there’s a tenseness to his shoulder, a twitch in the corner of his mouth, a distant look in his eyes. Lando hasn’t seen him look like that since, well.

Since they broke up.

“Uh,” Lando says, fiddling with one of his bracelets. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Oscar says, tone clipped. “What is this about a room?”

“Oh!” The receptionist says, tone cheery, clearly not reading the room at all, or reading the room perfectly and trying very hard to pretend everything is fine. “You must be Mr. Piastri.” Oscar nods, shoulders still stiff.

“We are uh. Sharing a room,” Lando says, biting at his lip. Oscar goes to open his mouth. “Hour away,” Lando says. “Logan would kill you. And Alex would kill me, so. There’s no other option.”

“Hm,” Oscar says.

“Would you like your own key, then?” The receptionist asks, holding one out to Oscar. “Room 204.”

“Thank you,” Oscar says, and then promptly turns around and heads to the stairs.

“Well, that went fucking great,” Lando says, crossing ‘avoiding Oscar at all cost’ off his mental list of ‘things to make this wedding at least semi bearable’, and then stalks off after him, with one last wave to the still broadly smiling receptionist.

--

There’s only one bed.

Of course there fucking is, because when they booked this room they were in love. Lando wants to fucking cry. When he steps into the room, Oscar is staring at it, like if he might stare hard enough he can split it into two somehow.

“I’ll take the floor,” Oscar eventually concludes, chucking his suitcase in the corner with a little more force than is probably necessary.

Lando frowns. “Don’t. That’s. Fuck, no you don’t have to do that. We’re adult fucking men, Oscar. We can share a bed for a weekend without it getting weird.” He hates this. He hates that they’ve come to this.

He’s got no one to blame but himself.

“Fine,” Oscar says. “Fine, sure, we’ll share.” And then he goes to walk out of the room again, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he goes, probably to text Logan about how he got stuck in a room with his ex boyfriend.

“Oscar, fuck, wait,” Lando says. “Are you going to be like this all weekend?” It sounds a bit desperate, pleading almost, and it’s so stupid that it’s come to this.

“Maybe,” Oscar says, without even turning around. “Maybe even forever,” he says bitingly, and the shoulders open the door.

“Hey, that’s not fair-“ Lando starts, but Oscar is already gone. Lando sighs, runs a hand through his hair, goes to put his own suitcase away. As he does so, he spots Oscar’s. There’s few stickers on it, and Lando’s eyes get drawn to one of the Eiffel tower, stuck in the top right corner. It’s from their first trip aboard together. Lando remembers buying the sticker, remembers Oscar rolling his eyes as Lando insisted it was all part of making memories, of remembering.

Ironic, how now all the wants to do is forget.

He dumps his suitcase in the opposite corner and goes in search of Alex. Or a bar. Whichever he encounters first.

[theninjagoreader]

can I request a morro x reader? preferably with morro as a human/alive and not a ghost, but it's up to you :)

My first request! OMG! So I use 3rd person POV since 1st is weird to write and other reasons. Also wasn't sure whether or not you wanted headcannon or oneshot, so I just went with a headcanon. I hope you enjoy it!

Let’s say this is after the events of season five. Somehow Morro comes back to life and y/n nurses him back to health while at the monastery.

It’s awkward and tense at the monastery. So once Morro is healthy, he’s going to try and run away. Where? No clue, but he doesn’t want to be at the monastery. He feels ashamed, guilty, and unworthy of being near Wu or the ninjas.

y/n not being a ninja, more of an ally and friend, Morro feels somewhat comfortable around her. But it is more so because she was the one who helped him with everything when he was stuck in bed.

He will deny any feelings that are platonic or romantic, but Wu knows there's something there. It may have been a couple decades since Morro was gone yet Wu sees that look in his eyes.

y/n offers Morro to stay at her place in Ninjago City. He’ll hesitate as she’s done too much for someone who terrorized her friends. Once he thinks it over, he’ll agree because he’d rather not be reminded daily of the biggest mistake of his life.

The ninjas’ reaction when leaning Morro is going to live with y/n:

When moving in, Morro meets a little monster that y/n calls her cat. (I can see him being more of a cat person.) He fucking hates that thing with how it moody it is and y/n is laughing in the background as he describes himself.

At this point y/n is basically taking care of two cats. They both are deathly afraid of water, sassy bastards, might have rabies, hiss, and are very clingy.

If she wants Morro to function like a normal human being, then she’s trying to help him get over his phobia of water. Putting his hand under the running faucet and reminding him that it's not going to hurt. Going to the beach to stand in the water for a minute and only a minute. After that he just wants to go back home, y/n listens to him and they leave. On the way back to the house, y/n praises him for going up against his fear until his face is red.

Even when he gets over his phobia of water, he’s not going swimming or anything. It just means he can be in it without having a borderline panic attack. So he still hates it, just now he can live with it. Also Nya scares him, please keep him safe from Nya.

When y/n leaves for work, Morro is visibly saddened that he is being left alone. She always makes sure to stay that she’ll be back and what time she’ll be back home. If she says that he won’t be alone because he has the cat, he’s going to roll his eyes.

Swears he’ll kill the cat if she’s gone too long, but they both know it's an empty threat.

After being a ghost for so long, his body and taste buds are probably over sensitive. His body will become less sensitive over time unlike his taste buds. If y/n tries giving him what would be considered modern food, then he’s going to make a funny face before continuing eating.

Will not eat anything spicy. No matter how much he tries to build up his spice tolerance.

y/n showing him modern technology will be overwhelming. It's interesting to him to see how far people have come in the past decades.

Can’t watch horror movies, they’re too gory. If it has a ghost then he won’t shut up its inaccuracy. Only shuts up when there's a cheap jump scare.

As much as modern technology fascinates Morro, he’ll probably go to books as his main source of entertainment. y/n’s house will become a library, but she is not complaining. If she gets into books then he’ll be happily recommending books or reading together.

y/n is going to make a mini book club that consists of her, Morro, and Wu. She mainly made the club to mend the broken relationship between master and student. It must have worked because they’re having monthly meet ups. Having a discussion about a book with a cup of tea and pastries.

Morro doesn’t really think about his relationship with y/n. It’s kind of up in the air. While y/n is worried about perceiving platonic interactions as romantic.

Wu is just watching the mutual pining until it's getting too painful to let it go on. He’s playing Cupid and trying to engage them to confess their feelings.

“So you’d be fine with y/n being with someone else and being haunted by what if’s?”

“I think you're projecting your relationship with Misako onto me and y/n.”

“Morro!”

If they end up together, not much will change. It just adds to them being affectionate and Morro being openly jealous. The relationship is going to be taken slow and steady.

“Morro, daraling.”

“What?”

“You think Wu wants grandchildren?”

“Okay, that’s enough from you.”

Kinda lost steam at the end, but I hope you liked it. I didn’t proofread it so hopefully, that doesn’t show because I’ll do it later.

[theapprenticeofthanatos]

TAoT: Chapter 35: The First Apprentice Part 1

UGGH. So, we were set to post a couple of MONTHS ago, but then we had a heatwave, then a power outage during said heatwave, then more heatwaves, and now our dinky little window AC is dying. And there was also a visit to the emergency room. Aaannd a thousand other things have piled up, as well.

This is what happens when we try to post. The AO3 author curse is holding strong. 🙄

Anyway, here we go! The First Apprentice is going to consist of three long chapters, but they will be spread out at different points in the story, when each part is relevant. They won’t be all in a row, just so that we aren’t going too long without a Danny Phantom character within this Danny Phantom story, lol.

We do not own Danny Phantom or Percy Jackson, only this story and our original characters.

~~~~~~~~

Late one fall evening, back in the early days of Ancient Greece, Thanatos decided to visit Persephone’s garden, in the courtyard of Hades’ Palace. A chill had settled over the mortal realm, which meant that the goddess of spring would be returning to the Underworld soon. But for the time being, the garden would likely be empty of guests, and Thanatos wanted to take advantage of that. He enjoyed the quiet and solitude of the courtyard, especially after a long and tiring day of dealing with uncooperative souls.

However, as Thanatos entered the garden, he quickly noticed that it was already occupied by none other than Hades. The god was sitting on the edge of the fountain, with his head in his hands. A fine layer of frost coated the ground around his feet, and by the aura radiating off of the underworldly king, Thanatos could tell that he was in a foul mood. So he turned to leave… but stopped when Hades called his name.

“Thanatos!”

Thanatos turned back to face the god. “Is something the matter?” He asked, all the while wondering if he should try to find respite elsewhere. Hypnos’ chambers, perhaps? It was usually quite peaceful there, but Thanatos didn’t particularly feel like sleeping at the moment…

“Thanatos,” Hades said again, his hands falling into his lap as he stared at his feet. “I must speak with you.”

Thanatos walked over and came to a stop in front of Hades, waiting patiently for him to speak. But Hades refused to meet Thanatos’ gaze, seemingly more intent on staring at his own sandals. Thanatos wondered how long Hades would keep him standing there in silence before sending him away.

But after only a few seconds, Hades sighed. “I messed up…”

Thanatos frowned, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Hades ran his hand through his hair and growled in frustration. “I’m no better than my brothers,” he muttered bitterly. And when he finally looked up at Thanatos, his eyes were dark and troubled. “A few years ago… I was unfaithful to my wife.”

Thanatos was slightly taken aback. He had never known Hades to behave in such a way. “With whom? Does Persephone know?”

“A mortal woman,” Hades admitted somberly. “Her name is Althaea. Her husband had passed, and she had been praying to me incessantly, and Persephone was away with her mother, and…” Hades shook his head, slapping his hand against his temple with a frustrated growl. “It doesn’t matter. It does not excuse my actions. And no, Persephone knows nothing about this, or else I’m sure she would’ve done something drastic by now. I was hoping that this whole mess would just be a one time thing, and nothing would come of it! It was a mistake!” Hades’ voice rose with his insistence, but then it fell again as he continued his mournful confession. “But Althaea prayed to me again today, and I learned that she has a child. My child.” He groaned and dropped his head back into his hands. “What am I going to do, Thanatos?”

Thanatos remained silent, but after a brief pause he sat down beside his friend, his feathers ruffling slightly as little droplets of water splashed onto them from the fountain behind him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Hades keeping this from Persephone (he knew both gods considered him to be their good friend, and he respected them both equally). But how Thanatos felt didn’t particularly matter—it wasn’t any of his business.

The fountain burbled peacefully as the two gods sat in silence, neither quite knowing what to say.

“Well, what do you feel like you should do?” Thanatos eventually inquired of his fellow god.

“I don’t know.” Hades admitted. “Althaea asked me for help. She says that she has no more food or money to care for herself and her—our child. As a husband, I want to just forget about this whole thing, but as a father… I want to care for my offspring.”

“Then do what you feel is right,” Thanatos suggested simply. “I am not sure why you needed my input on this matter.”

“Well…” Hades glanced at Thanatos before looking away awkwardly. “That’s… because I need your help.”

“With what?” Thanatos asked him, completely bewildered. “What could I possibly help with?”

Hades sighed and ran his hand through his hair once more. “I… want to meet my child. I want to get to know them. But I’m afraid of… messing it up, or… something. So… I want you there with me.”

“Like… emotional support?” Thanatos questioned.

Hades clapped his hands. “Yes! Exactly.”

“I don’t do emotions, Hades.”

“Thanatos…” Hades pouted like an unhappy toddler. “Please? Just this once?”

Thanatos was silent as he thought for a moment. He didn’t know what good having him along would do, but it wasn’t like it was a burden to him. Not much of one, anyway.

Thanatos sighed tiredly. “Alright. I will go with you.”

Hades immediately brightened—well, as much as the King of the Underworld could, anyway. “Really? You would do that for me, Thanatos?”

“Of course, Lord Hades,” Thanatos replied. “We are friends, are we not?”

.

They left for the mortal world a few days after Persephone’s return, with Hades claiming to his wife that he had to go check on some of his temples on the surface. Persephone, as bright and warm and lovely as always, had smiled and nodded and wished them safe travels. Thanatos had remained silent.

Hades, who seemed equal parts excited and anxious for this meeting, had opted to take the long route rather than just shadow-travel to the woman’s home—perhaps so he could have time to calm his nerves. So, draped in long, dark cloaks that hid them from the prying eyes of other deities, the two gods set off on their journey.

There wasn’t much conversation. They greeted Charon, and thanked him for their passage over the River Styx, but Thanatos otherwise remained silent for most of the trip, while Hades muttered quietly to himself. The king turned to Thanatos a few times, looking as if he were about to say something—perhaps to suggest that they should call off this whole escapade, and return home—but then he would just look away again, without a word.

As for Thanatos, he just stood there and waited for the boat to arrive on the far shores of the river. Going along with Hades meant he would have more work to catch up on once he returned to his duties, but it wasn’t like it would be much of a burden to him. Thanatos was used to the ceaseless work. It was more or less the same, day after day.

Nothing ever changed in his dull, unending life.

They reached one of the hidden cave entrances to the Underworld shortly after the sun had risen, and the morning dew on the plants surrounding them quickly dried up as they journeyed onwards through the world of the living. Hades had been at least somewhat composed back in the Underworld, but what little composure he’d had began to crumble as they reached the border of a small village.

“Oh, Gaea, what am I doing here?” Hades muttered anxiously. “This is a terrible idea! We should turn back.”

Hades turned on his heel and started back towards the cave, but Thanatos placed a hand on Hades’ shoulder, stopping his friend’s hasty movement. “Hades, we have come this far already,” Thanatos stated calmly. “We may as well complete our journey.”

“… you’re right, Thanatos.” Hades sighed in resignation. “Of course, you are right.”

After taking a moment to steel himself, Hades started towards the village again; Thanatos fell into step behind him, silent as a shade. Together, they walked along the outskirts of the town, sticking to the shadows to avoid unwanted attention as villagers emerged from their homes to go about the day’s work.

By mid-morning, they came upon a small house on the very edge of the town. Hades froze at the sight of the little homestead, as though he was suddenly petrified.

This must be their destination, then.

With each step they took towards the house, Hades seemed to become more and more tense. Thanatos quietly followed as they slowly approached, until they came to a stop at the door. Hades stared long and hard at the door, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He seemed conflicted.

Thanatos waited patiently.

Before Hades had managed to settle whatever internal debate had taken him over, the door opened. A woman with olive skin and long, dark, wavy hair in a messy bun stood at the threshold, holding a bucket. An uncomfortable silence reigned as Hades and the woman stared at each other, both seemingly surprised by the other’s presence.

“Hello, Althaea,” Hades greeted at last, finally breaking the silence.

The woman, Althaea, smiled and looked like she might say something in kind, but then her gaze shifted to the side and she finally noticed the death god standing behind Hades. Althaea gasped in terror and dropped the bucket, her face turning as pale as a ghost. She moved quickly to shut the door, but Hades stopped her.

“No! I won’t let you take me to the Underworld!” She cried fearfully. “I can’t go! I’m not ready!”

“Althaea, please calm down. We’re not here to take you anywhere,” Hades spoke quickly, trying to calm the mortal woman.

“Then why did you bring him?!” Althaea shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Thanatos.

“He’s just here as my friend,” Hades explained. “He’s not going to do anything to you, I promise.”

Several tense seconds passed as Althaea looked between Hades and Thanatos, until finally, the woman seemed to relax just a bit.

“Why are you here, Hades?” Althaea asked hesitantly. It was clear that she was being careful not to look Thanatos’ way, perhaps for fear that the two gods might change their minds about letting her live. Or perhaps she wanted to act like Thanatos wasn’t there, ominously looming over their shoulders. Thanatos didn’t care if she looked at him or not; he was used to being ignored.

“I’ve heard your prayers,” Hades answered, trying not to sound uncertain in front of the mortal woman. “And I, uhh… I am here to answer them.”

Althaea stared at the god in disbelief for a brief moment, before tears started to leak from her eyes. She stepped forward and threw her arms around Hades, who awkwardly returned the hug. Thanatos took a step back, unsure of what was going on. He didn’t care to be involved in whatever this was, so he would let Hades handle it; he was just here for Hades, anyway.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Althaea said between sobs, and her eyes shone with tears as she raised her head and smiled gratefully at Hades. “You have no idea how relieving it is to hear that.”

Hades offered a small smile in return, but it quickly fell away as he got to the true reason for his visit. “In your prayer, you… you mentioned a child?”

Althaea nodded as she stepped back and wiped her eyes. “Yes, I did. A daughter.” She then turned around and walked into the house, calling, “Dianthe!”

Thanatos stood beside his friend in silent support as the other god shifted nervously on his feet. Thanatos had seen Hades with his godly children, Melinoe and Zagreus, enough times to know he had a soft spot for children. So he didn’t understand why Hades was so nervous now.

Althaea returned to the doorway, and smiled at Hades as she said, “Lord Hades, meet your daughter, Dianthe.”

There was some movement behind the woman, and then a small child peeked out from behind her skirts. The girl couldn’t have been more than three years old, and her shockingly blue eyes instantly caught Thanatos’ attention. If this truly was Hades’ child, then he wondered where the eye color had come from; neither Hades nor Althaea had blue irises.

“Dianthe,” Althaea gently chided the child. “Quit being shy.”

The little girl hesitantly stepped out from behind her mother, her hand clinging tightly to her mother’s skirts as she came into view. And with just a glance, it was rather obvious that she was indeed Hades’ daughter. Her skin was ghostly pale, just like his, and contrasted sharply against her mother’s olive complexion. Her hair was also black and silky, and as straight as a reed. In fact, except for her eyes, she looked like a miniature version of her father.

Althaea gestured to Hades. “Dianthe, this is your father, Hades.”

Dianthe stared up at Hades with big, wide eyes. Hades stared right back, taking in his youngest child’s appearance with wonder. Hades briefly glanced at Thanatos, as if looking for reassurance, before crouching down to Dianthe’s eye level.

“Hello, Dianthe,” the god said softly.

Dianthe took a step back, trying to hide herself behind her mother once more. But Althaea shook her head and gently pushed her daughter forward. Dianthe, for her part, did not back away again as she stared at Hades in a childish mixture of shyness and curiosity.

“Ay… Ay-dee?” Dianthe finally spoke, sounding out her father’s name. Then she beamed. “Aydee!”

Hades smiled at his daughter’s butchered attempt at saying his name, and held his hands out to her in welcome. Dianthe giggled and toddled forward with her arms outstretched towards Hades. It looked to be second nature to Hades as he scooped his daughter up, and the little girl giggled as she was swung up into her father’s arms. Thanatos could’ve sworn there were tears in Hades’ eyes, but that easily could’ve been a trick of the light. Regardless, he was glad that his friend had finally found his courage. And perhaps it hadn’t been such a burden to Thanatos to come along after all.

.

After Althaea invited them into her humble home, Thanatos stood off to the side while Hades and Althaea discussed matters amongst themselves, such as what Hades could do to provide for her and their child. Well, Hades was trying to, at least. Althaea seemed more interested in discussing the weather or something just as inane as she twirled a lock of hair around her finger. Thanatos didn’t care much for their conversation, so he just looked out the window overlooking the nearby fields and tuned it out.

Maybe he should check his list while they talked… he wondered how many souls had been added to it in the short time he had been away… Did Hades even still need him here? Perhaps Thanatos could just leave and get back to his work before it got too out of hand… mortals were always dying, no matter what was going on in the world. Dying, dying, dying, and leaving Thanatos with far too much to do…

Something small latched onto the bottom of Thanatos’ wing, drawing him out of his thoughts. He looked over his shoulder, and saw Dianthe standing behind him, her hands buried in his feathers.

She looked up at him, her big blue eyes bright with curiosity. “Mine?”

“Uhh… no…” Thanatos answered slowly, and he shook his wing gently to try and get the little child to let go, but not strongly enough to knock her over. “That is… uhh, mine, thank you.”

Dianthe’s grip tightened painfully, and she tugged on his feathers as she angrily stomped her foot. “Mine!”

The sound of snickering reached Thanatos’ ears, and he saw that Hades had his mouth hidden behind his hand, an amused glint in his eyes. Althaea was watching too, though she didn’t look anywhere near as amused. Thanatos gave the other god an annoyed glare before directing his attention back to the little girl.

“Hey, that’s not nice,” Thanatos scolded quietly. “Don’t pull on my feathers, please.”

“Oh…” Dianthe let go of his wing, and her eyes turned shiny with tears as she frowned worriedly. “Hurt?”

“I mean… yes?” Thanatos answered uncertainly. Was Dianthe about to cry? Why?

Dianthe whimpered as she reached for his feathers again, but this time she gently—gently for a child, anyway—brushed them, as if she were petting a dog.

“Pretty bird…” Dianthe mumbled to herself, loud enough for the other occupants of the room to hear. “Pretty bird…”

Thanatos did not know how to respond to that. He wasn’t a bird. Didn’t this child know that? Thanatos also didn’t know how he felt about his wing being petted, but he did know that if he tried to pull his wing away, Dianthe would likely start crying again. For whatever strange reason.

“I’m not sure I want her to be so close to… him.” Althaea muttered to Hades, as if she thought that Thanatos couldn’t hear her.

Hades scoffed good-naturedly. “I am her father. I say it’s fine.”

Althaea scowled at the god. “And I’m her mother…”

Thanatos tuned out the rest of their argument just as Dianthe sneezed. She had been nuzzling her face into his feathers, so he guessed that one must have tickled her nose in the process.

Dianthe sniffled a bit, and then proceeded to wipe her nose on Thanatos’ wing.

“Dianthe!” Althaea gasped, horrified by her child’s actions. “I am so sorry, m-my lord! She’s not usually like this, I-I swear—”

Thanatos waved off her concern. “It is alright. I have been covered in far worse than mucus.” Which really, he had. As the god of death, and Ares’ good friend, blood and bits of viscera often found its way into Thanatos’ feathers.

Althaea paled at the implication of his words. “… ah.”

Dianthe giggled.

As morning became noon, it was eventually time for Hades and Thanatos to take their leave. Hades stood by the door, waiting for Thanatos, who was still being held somewhat captive by a three-year-old. Thanatos gingerly attempted to pull his wing away, but to his dismay, Dianthe’s eyes immediately filled with tears and she began to cry again.

Thanatos glanced at Hades, his eyes asking the other god, “what do I do?”

Hades looked just as unsure, and shrugged hopelessly in response—but Thanatos could tell that the other god was holding back a smirk.

“Come on, Dianthe,” Althaea chided, grabbing the little girl and pulling her away. “Leave him alone.”

Dianthe let out a tearful wail, but finally released Thanatos’ wing from her grubby hands. Thanatos shook out his wing, briefly noting that he would have to thoroughly clean his feathers later (were child hands always so sticky?), and tucked it behind his back before joining Hades by the door.

“Thank you for blessing us with your presence, Hades,” Althaea said with a polite bow. “I hope you will visit again soon.” She winked at Hades with a coy smile.

Hades smiled uncomfortably in response. “I am a very busy god. I doubt I'll be able to visit often.”

Althaea hummed as she turned her attention to her daughter. “Say goodbye, Dianthe.” She told the little girl, gesturing to Hades.

Instead, Dianthe looked at Thanatos and waved. “Bye bye, birdie!”

Thanatos looked at the little girl, who for whatever reason seemed to be enamored with him, and hesitantly gave her a little wave. He then watched in bewilderment as Dianthe’s eyes lit up, and she giggled as she hid behind her mother.

Without another word, Hades and Thanatos slipped out of the little home and returned to the path they had taken earlier that day, heading back to their home beneath the surface.

They traveled in peaceful silence for only a little while before Hades spoke.

“My daughter seems to like you more than me,” Hades muttered enviously, but there was a clear note of amusement in his voice.

Thanatos scoffed. “If you’re jealous, you can grow your own set of wings and let her pull your feathers out.”

Hades chuckled. “No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

The conversation between the two gods as they made their way back to their home was far more lighthearted than the one they’d had that morning. But as they reached the caves that led back to the Underworld, Hades stopped and grabbed Thanatos’ shoulder.

“Thanatos,” he said quietly. “Once we return to the Underworld, we cannot discuss what happened today. If Persephone were to find out…”

Thanatos nodded. He understood. Of course he did. If Persephone were to learn of Hades’ infidelity, or the offspring that it had resulted in…

All of them would face her wrath.

.

A year had passed, and Persephone had once again left and returned to the Underworld, before Hades suggested visiting his daughter again.

“May I join you?” Thanatos asked him. Why he asked, he wasn’t sure—the words had just slipped from his mouth before he even realized it.

“Yes, I… I would appreciate that,” Hades admitted sheepishly. “I’m still a bit nervous about this whole thing, you know.”

Thanatos did not know, but he nodded as if he did. He didn’t particularly understand Hades’ feelings, or care for the god’s love affair. However, he was… intrigued by the little girl that had come from it. It was strange, to not only be noticed by someone so small and fragile, but… to not be feared. Perhaps she didn’t know better; she couldn’t possibly understand death, or the sorrow and fear that it brought.

Maybe Thanatos shouldn’t come along on this trip. Perhaps it would simply be better to leave the little demigod well enough alone until the time came for her soul to be collected. He did not need to interfere in her life, or inadvertently cause any undue trouble for her by getting involved for no good reason. There was no point in asking to come along.

But… for some reason… Thanatos wanted to go. Thanatos didn’t think he had ever really wanted something before. His wants had never really mattered, so he had never paid attention to them. Death did not have needs, so therefore there was no point in tending to his wants.

But now… he wanted to see that little girl again. She hadn’t left his mind since the moment he met her. He wanted to see her little smile, and her little hands reaching for his feathers. He wanted to hear her little voice, saying…

“Pretty Bird!”

They had reached the little mortal home without any issues or delay. Hades had been eager to knock on the door, and when it had opened, the two gods had been surprised to see that none other than Dianthe had been the one to open it. She had grown taller since they last saw her.

Dianthe had blinked owlishly at the two visitors, before her face had split into a wide grin, and she’d said that silly little nickname that Thanatos had been sure she would’ve forgotten by now.

Hades made a noise of confusion at the fact that his daughter had completely ignored him, while Thanatos couldn’t help the small smile that came to his lips. It was strange. Had he ever smiled before now?

“Hello, Dianthe,” Thanatos greeted softly.

Dianthe jumped up and down excitedly as her mother came up behind her. She looked startled by the unexpected guests, but then she quickly bowed her head. “Lord Hades. A-and Lord Thanatos! It is a… an honor to see you both.”

Hades nodded. “Likewise.” And then he turned to Dianthe, his expression one of betrayal and hurt. “What?” He asked the little girl, affronted. “No greetings for your father?”

Dianthe’s cheerful demeanor fell away, and she suddenly became the meek child that Hades and Thanatos had met last year. Thanatos could practically feel Hades’ disappointment, but then Dianthe shyly tip-toed forward and hugged his leg.

“Hi, Papa,” she said shyly. She let go and looked up at the god hopefully as her little hands nervously fidgeted with the fabric of her chiton. “Do you wanna see the flowers I picked yesterday?”

Hades smiled endearingly at her, all sense of disappointment forgotten as he nodded at his darling mortal daughter. “I would love to.”

.

As time passed, Hades and Thanatos continued their secret visits. They could only visit once a year at most for fear of catching Persephone’s attention and drawing her wrath down on either of them, or even Dianthe and her mother. But under Hades’ orders, Thanatos did discreetly check in on Dianthe every now and then, when time allowed. Thanatos was in the mortal realm more often than the Underworld most days, so it was easy for him to sneak a passing glance here and there as he flitted about doing his work. Just to make sure the little girl was alright.

Dianthe grew by leaps and bounds in the few short years that Thanatos had known her. He never knew that mortal children grew up so fast. Granted, Thanatos knew godly children became full grown within a matter of days, if not in mere hours or in the blink of an eye. And he knew that mortals grew far more slowly than that. But for some reason, watching Dianthe grow was different. It was like every time he saw her, she’d grown a little taller. Her hair had grown longer. The shape of her face had become slimmer. It was like she was growing old right before his eyes, and… it made him feel odd.

It was… unpleasant. As an unchanging being, it was strange to see her change every time he looked back. It… hurt, to know that her life would be over before he knew it. But wasn’t that ridiculous? How could emotions hurt? Thanatos had felt true hurt before. He had been cut and bruised. He had fallen many a time. He had even broken his wing once. So why did this feeling ache so deeply within his chest? It carried no visible scars, but the feeling occupied his thoughts more often than not. It itched constantly in the back of his mind, bringing worries and fears that he had never experienced before.

How would Dianthe die? When would she die? And why did he care? Was it because she was his friend Hades’ daughter? Or perhaps… did he see Dianthe as a friend?

Now that was truly ridiculous. A god—Death, no less—being friends with a mortal? The notion was laughable, at best.

But… in all honesty…

… that didn’t sound like a bad idea to him.

As Dianthe grew, Thanatos almost expected her to lose interest in him. No mortal being had ever cared for his presence—in fact, most feared it. But Dianthe always greeted him with joy and delight, as if he were a beloved friend. “Papa! Pretty Bird!” She would always call whenever she saw the two chthonic beings coming up the path. And she would always run up to greet them, and tell them about everything that had happened since their last visit.

Thanatos found it sort of… endearing, if he was being honest. The way that she looked at him like he had hung the stars in the sky (though that had actually been his mother’s work), and how her face lit up with joy whenever she was so much as in his presence. Thanatos wasn’t used to others paying attention to him. He wasn’t used to having people—a mortal, of all beings—talk to him and ask about his day (not that he could tell her about his day; that was probably too morbid for most children to hear about). And when she would ask him to play… it was almost like he was a child again. The only other person he had played with when he was little had been his twin, Hypnos. Meeting Dianthe, and being around her… it made him feel seen. Acknowledged.

It made him feel real. Like he was a person with feelings, and more than just a being with a purpose to fulfill.

But because of that, being told that he was only to check on her from afar, and never interact… hurt. And Thanatos knew what his duty was. He knew that he was to obey his lord’s commands.

But… a little visit surely couldn’t hurt.

.

“Pretty Bird!”

Thanatos smiled at the little girl. He had found her in a field close to her home, where she was hard at work picking flowers. “Hello, Dianthe.”

Dianthe motioned for him to sit down beside her, and Thanatos obliged. He watched silently as she braided the flowers together by their stems, twisting them into a delicate cord.

Thanatos tilted his head to the side. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making flower crowns!” Dianthe chirped happily. “Do you want me to show you how?”

Thanatos didn’t particularly care about the art of making flower crowns, but he nodded anyway, just to see Dianthe’s smile grow wider. The little girl excitedly handed Thanatos a bunch of freshly picked flowers, and Thanatos thought to himself that this little visit wouldn’t hurt. Not at all.

Hades didn’t need to know.

.

Unfortunately, Hades did need to know, after all. Because Dianthe had made Thanatos promise her that he would give her father the flower crown she had made for him. She had made one for Thanatos, as well, once the both of them had realized that his flower-braiding skills were… inept, to say the least. And the silly little loop of blossoms that she had put together for him was now perched atop Thanatos’ head as he fluttered down into the Underworld, his stomach dropping as he mentally prepared himself to deal with Hades’ displeasure. Thanatos was known to be a stickler for rules, and to follow commands without question. So for him to go against Hades’ orders now? And for such a silly reason?

Hopefully, the frivolity of the situation would ease Hades’ anger.

As Thanatos neared the obsidian palace, he saw Hades on a balcony overlooking the garden. Thanatos glided down and perched on the railing next to him like a rather large bird.

Hades scowled at him. “I told you to stop doing that.”

Thanatos ignored his king’s remarks and proceeded to reach into his satchel. “I have a gift for you.”

“What?” Hades looked bewildered. Thanatos bringing him gifts wasn’t exactly a common occurrence (if it had ever even happened before this point).

“From your daughter.” Thanatos pulled out the flower crown that he had tucked carefully inside his bag and held it out to Hades, being careful to ignore the god’s perplexed gaze.

Hades took the circlet and looked at it closely, clearly confused. “But Melinoe wouldn’t have…” Hades’ eyes widened in realization, and Thanatos winced as the god looked at him in complete disbelief. “Dia—”

Thanatos gave a curt nod and looked over Hades’ shoulder pointedly, silently warning him not to say anything. And almost as if on cue, none other than Persephone rounded the corner. She smiled at Hades in greeting, but frowned when she saw the god perched beside him.

“Thanatos? Why are you on the railing?” Persephone asked. “You’re going to fall again.”

Thanatos rolled his eyes and finally hopped down from the railing, coming to stand beside Hades. Honestly, he was a little relieved. With Persephone here, Hades wouldn’t be able to scold him for disobeying his secret orders.

But Thanatos’ relief disappeared instantly when Persephone’s frown grew and she pointed right at him. “What is that on your head?”

The two gods immediately looked at each other, both of their faces going pale. Thanatos had forgotten about his own flower crown.

“Oh…” Thanatos said weakly, his voice catching in his throat as his gaze flitted about, landing everywhere except Persephone’s face. “I-I… I… made it.”

That was the first time Thanatos had ever lied. And he wasn’t sure if he had done a very good job of it.

Persephone looked surprised by his claim. “Really?” She then looked at the one in Hades’ sweaty hands. “And you made one for Hades, too?”

Thanatos nodded fervently. He could feel Hades’ eyes burning holes into the back of his head, the other god staring at him in complete and utter disbelief. Thanatos was making a lot of surprising choices today.

Persephone frowned again, but this time she looked hurt. “And you didn’t make one for me?”

Oh no. “I-I… I…”

“H-he didn’t think you would want one!” Hades added quickly, coming to Thanatos’ rescue. “Since this is… the first time he’s made one, and… y’know…” Hades lifted the crown he was holding and awkwardly placed it atop his own head. “He wanted to practice first. Right, Thanatos?”

Thanatos nodded again. He knew that if he tried to speak, all that would come out of his mouth would be a stuttering mess. He hadn’t stuttered in ages. Not since he was a child.

Persephone was quiet for a long, agonizing moment as she stared at the two deceitful gods standing in front of her, both with silly flower crowns on their heads. Thanatos’ feathers bristled as he clenched his jaw, his hand coming to rest on his satchel. He was sure that Persephone was going to see right through his foolish lies. And when she did, the truth would be unraveled, and then Dianthe…

Thanatos was a fool. He never should have visited Dianthe. Why in all the realms had he thought that was a good idea?

The winged god flinched when Persephone spoke, but to his complete disbelief it was not words of wrath.

“Well, you better make one for me next time. Alright?” Persephone leaned forward and tapped the crown on Hades’ head, her magic making it instantly bloom anew and sprout fresh blossoms. “I think they’re rather cute.”

Thanatos nodded weakly, feeling strangely lightheaded from the relief that immediately washed over him. And as Hades and Persephone wandered inside the palace, leaving Thanatos alone on the balcony, the god of death realized that he would actually have to learn to make flower crowns on his own to keep up his clever lie.

… perhaps Dianthe could teach him again the next time he visited.

.

It was another dull day of work, just like any other, when everything came crashing down.

Thanatos was leaving the archives when he saw none other than Hades marching quickly towards him. There was an urgency in the god’s steps that made Thanatos pause, a strange feeling of dread settling in his gut as Hades drew near.

“Thanatos.” Hades’ voice was taut with tension. “I must speak with you. Now.”

Without waiting for an answer, Hades grabbed Thanatos’ arm and pulled him into an alcove in the wall, away from any prying eyes or wandering spirits.

“Persephone knows.”

“… how?” Thanatos asked quietly, stunned as his heart began to beat erratically in his chest like a hummingbird’s wings. He knew all too well what Persephone could do in anger. If she had truly found out about Dianthe, then Thanatos dreaded what might happen to the poor child.

“One of Demeter’s nymphs saw me talking to Althaea and told Demeter,” Hades whispered quickly. “And you know how she gets whenever I’m involved.”

Thanatos nodded. Having been by Hades’ side since the god first stepped into the Underworld, Thanatos knew plenty about the contention between him and his mother-in-law.

“Demeter told Persephone what the nymph told her, and then Persephone confronted me.” Hades sighed heavily. “Nothing I said would ease her anger. Now she’s gone to… take care of the issue.”

A strange weight fell upon Thanatos’ heart, and it felt like it was crushing him from the inside. Thanatos knew what Persephone’s anger was like. And death would be a blessing for any of her victims. Thanatos could only hope that Persephone would have mercy on Dianthe, considering she was only a child…

Hades squeezed Thanatos’ arm, drawing him out of his spiraling thoughts. “But she doesn’t know about Dianthe.”

“… what?”

“She must have been out with you when I was seen,” Hades explained quickly. “Which means there is a chance that she may live.” Hades released Thanatos and pushed him away, then dug into the folds of his robe. “Go. Now. Take her before Persephone sees.” From the folds of his robes, Hades drew a parchment scroll, which carried the sooty scent of fresh ink. He placed it in Thanatos’ palm and wrapped the god’s fingers around it, squeezing his hand tightly. “I’ve written this for her mortal uncle in Argos. Take her there.”

Thanatos nodded in understanding and moved to leave, but Hades grabbed his shoulder and stopped him. A pained look was etched across the father’s face. “Do not visit her again, Thanatos. I—we cannot risk it. Once she is safe, leave. And do not go back. Promise me.”

It was a simple request. One that Thanatos should have had no problem agreeing to. But he found that his tongue was like stone behind his unmoving lips, and his head refused to bow in acknowledgement.

Hades’ grip on his shoulder tightened painfully, his eyes never leaving Thanatos’ own. He would not let Thanatos leave until he agreed.

Thanatos swallowed thickly. “… I promise.”

.

Thanatos found Dianthe in the fields on the other side of her little town, about as far from her home as she could be. Thanatos supposed he should thank the Fates for that, but his only focus at the moment was the little girl in front of him, who stood up when she saw the winged god descending from the sky.

“Pretty Bird!” Dianthe smiled as Thanatos landed right in front of her.

Thanatos immediately held out his hand to the little girl. “Come with me. Quickly.” He said.

Dianthe looked somewhat taken aback, and she frowned in question. But Thanatos did not have time to tell her what was going on. He grabbed her hand, knocking the freshly picked flowers from her grasp, and dragged her into the shadows.

They resurfaced a few kilometers from the village, and Thanatos immediately looked around, searching for any signs of magic—life magic, in particular, for that would signal to him that there were nymphs nearby.

But there was none. Not a hint of magic in the air, except his own. Thanatos could only assume that the local nature spirits were all a bit preoccupied at the moment, helping their mistress deliver swift retribution upon her husband’s mortal lover.

Which meant that Thanatos could escape. He could take Dianthe, and carry her far away from all of this. But only if he moved quickly, lest wrathful eyes looked his way.

Dianthe stumbled, looking all around her with an air of bewilderment. “What’s happening? Where are we?”

Thanatos didn’t answer, instead taking a few fleeting seconds to plan their getaway. It would be better if he could just shadow-travel with Dianthe all the way to Argos, but that wasn’t an option with her youth and lack of experience. He could already see how ill she looked from the short distance they had teleported. Which meant they would have to fly.

“Pretty Bird?” Dianthe looked at him, clearly worried. “What’s—”

“We must leave.” Thanatos cut her off, picking the little girl up and holding her tightly to his chest as he spread his midnight-toned wings. “Now.”

Dianthe shrieked in terror as they took flight, but her voice was lost almost instantly to the roar of the wind as Thanatos raced across the sky. He hoped that Persephone had not been listening—it was unlikely she had heard anything—yet he swore he could feel her eyes on his back, her burning gaze watching him betray her trust as he flew away carrying the product of her husband’s infidelity.

No words were spoken as they traveled across the skies, from Dianthe’s little town on the outskirts of Sparta to the city of Argos. Thanatos was too focused on completing his task. That, and he didn’t have anything to say. For some reason, his throat felt tight, and his thoughts were all flitting about his head, like flies around a corpse. He couldn’t form a sentence if he tried—he was sure it would all come out as a jumbled, wobbling mess.

But after a few kilometers had passed in silence, Dianthe spoke. “You’re sad today,” she remarked quietly, her cutting blue eyes seeming to see right into Thanatos’ very core. “Why?”

Sad?

Death didn’t feel sadness. Death didn’t feel anything.

“I am fine,” Thanatos replied, but the words felt odd on his tongue. Was that another lie, falling from his cursed lips? Wasn’t it lying that had gotten him into this mess in the first place? Lying to Persephone by omission, and then by word, and now…

Thanatos had never felt so wrong as he did right now.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dianthe offered. “My mom says that talking about your sad feelings can make them go away.”

Thanatos did not answer, because there was nothing to talk about. He was not sad. He did not know how to feel sad.

But the awful ache in chest, that had been there ever since Hades gave him the devastating news, seemed to say otherwise.

After a long moment of silence, Dianthe spoke again. “Where are we going?”

Thanatos swallowed, hoping his voice would not fail him when he answered. “To your new home.”

“What?” Dianthe’s hands gripped the fabric of Thanatos’ chiton just a little tighter, and he could hear the distress in her tone. He did not dare look at her face. “Why? What about Mama?”

“… your mother cannot care for you anymore,” Thanatos informed her quietly, for he could sense now that her mother had passed on. Thanatos had managed to sweep Dianthe away just in the nick of time.

Perhaps it would be best to keep that information to himself, though.

“Why?” Dianthe questioned, her voice beginning to wobble. The weak sound was enough to make Thanatos’ heart feel like it was being crushed beneath a mountain of stone. “Why can’t she? Can I go home now? Please? I-I—”

From the corner of his eye, Thanatos spotted a little earth-colored home, at the far end of a modestly-sized field. They had finally reached their destination.

Dianthe yelped as Thanatos banked sharply, dipping down through the clouds and then spreading his wings to slow their descent. Dianthe clung to Thanatos as if she was terrified she might fall, but she didn’t need to fear; Thanatos would never let her fall. He held her tightly to his chest as the wind billowed past them, tearing at his hair and feathers, until finally he landed in the middle of the little field, stumbling just slightly as his feet struck the earth. He wasn’t used to flying with others in tow.

The little girl in his arms was still clinging to him, and Thanatos was still holding onto her just as tightly, even though they were no longer in flight, and there was no danger of her falling. Truth be told… a small part of him didn’t want to let go.

But let go he must, for that was his duty. To deliver her into the safety of her uncle’s care, and then to leave and never return, to ensure that Persephone never learned of her existence.

Thanatos was silent as he set Dianthe down on the ground. She stumbled, her legs shaking, but quickly regained her footing. When she looked up at Thanatos, he could see the tears shining brightly in her eyes. Thanatos looked away with a quiet sigh, and wondered once again why his chest was aching so terribly.

Dianthe looked around at the field, which was full of wheat, still green and not even a meter in length. From here, they could easily see the humble little farmhouse just past the field, on the other side of the fence. There was smoke rising from its chimney, indicating that someone was home.

“Where are we?” Dianthe asked quietly. Timidly.

“This… is the home of your uncle,” Thanatos revealed, watching the way that the little girl’s shoulders slumped at his words. “You will be living here from now on.”

He waited for her to ask him why, as she had several times already, but to his surprise she just nodded silently after a moment.

It was for the best that she didn’t ask, because Thanatos could not give her an answer. He couldn’t tell her that her mother had been killed by a vengeful goddess. He couldn’t tell her that this would be their last meeting until her death, for fear of catching Persephone’s wrathful eye. But he did have to tell her that this… this was…

“This… is farewell.”

Dianthe turned back to face him, surprise evident on her face. Thanatos knelt down and reached into his satchel, pulling out the letter Hades had written, and gave it to her. “This is for your uncle,” he instructed her dutifully. “Give it to him as soon as you can.”

Dianthe nodded again as she clutched the little scroll in her trembling hands. “Will you go with me?”

“I… I cannot.” Thanatos looked down at the ground as his voice cracked in his throat, and it felt like his ribcage was being split in two. “I must go now. There is much work to be done, and I have been away for too long.”

A few tears dripped down Dianthe’s cheeks as she set her mouth in a thin, wobbly line and nodded once more, but with less certainty this time. “I’ll see you later… right?”

Thanatos tried to shake his head, but it felt like he was made of stone. Stone that was cracking, crumbling, and ready to fall apart right then and there. He opened his mouth to tell her no—no, they would not see each other again. Not until her death, which hopefully would not come to pass for at least a few more decades. Even though he desperately did not want to tell her the truth, he felt that… maybe he should. It would be wrong to let her carry false hope in her chest for so long.

But when he opened his mouth to speak, the words caught in his throat. His eyes burned, and when he blinked, he was surprised to find his vision had gone blurry.

What was happening to him?

Dianthe’s eyebrows creased with worry as she reached up, her hand coming to rest on his left cheek. “You’re crying.”

Crying? Was that what he was doing? How… odd. He had never… cried before. He didn’t know that he could, as strange as that sounded.

“I… I’m sorry.” Thanatos muttered quietly, feeling rather foolish.

“Don’t worry,” Dianthe soothed him, and wasn’t that ridiculous? A child soothing a god? “This isn’t goodbye for forever. I’ll see you again soon.”

She said it with such surety that Thanatos couldn’t help but smile weakly, even though he knew it wasn’t true. He would only get to see her once more in her lifetime, and for her sake, he hoped that it was many, many years from now, after she had lived a long and happy life.

Dianthe smiled, and then she wrapped her arms around Thanatos’ neck, pulling him into a warm embrace. Surprised and caught off guard, Thanatos didn’t know how he was supposed to respond. He wasn’t exactly the kind of being to be on the receiving end of hugs. He wasn’t sure he ever had received a hug before now, except maybe from Hypnos back when they were children. Or Hades, when he was drunk. Was he supposed to give one in return?

But before Thanatos could do so, Dianthe pulled away. Her eyes were still watery, but there was a hopefulness in her smile that gave Thanatos his own hope that she would be alright. He hoped that she would settle in here at her uncle’s home. He hoped that she might find friends, and be happy. That one day, she might be able to forget about this sad day, and think of it as no more than a figment of her imagination. It would be for the best.

“Goodbye for now,” Dianthe said earnestly, with all the hopefulness of an innocent, naive child. Then she turned, and with a confidence that Thanatos could only wish to have in that moment, she walked away, towards the house at the end of the field.

“… bye.” Thanatos replied quietly, knowing that she would not hear him. Then he stood, and disappeared into the shadows, never to return.

~~~~~~~~

So… what do you guys think?

Yeah, the flower crown scene may not have fit the vibe of this chapter too much, but we had to leave it in. The original The First Apprentice is way longer and we had to cut out a bunch of fun scenes, but we’re keeping this one, gosh darn it! It’s too funny!

Maybe we’ll post the entirety of The First Apprentice as its own fic later on, would you guys be interested in that? We have way too much fun stuff in there to just leave it in a WIP folder.

Also, we won’t be updating this again for a little bit. We’ve got a lot of stuff going on IRL, and we’re also trying to get some cosplays done for a convention this fall, so we’re gonna be pretty busy. Thank you for reading! We hope to be back soon!

First: Prologue

Previous: Chapter 34

Next: Coming Soon!