#a sacrifice to make......can i make it...

[littlemisskookie]

Catch Me If You Can

Catch Me If You Can

Ship: Crush!Jungkook x Annoying!Reader

Description: You lived to get under Jungkook’s skin, constantly trying to rile him up and annoy him just to get a reaction. What happens when, during a cabin trip with friends, you accidentally push too far?

Warnings: PRIMAL PLAY, (primal kink go brrrrrr), Slight Dub-Con, Exercise (we hate running), More Exercise (we love fucking), Degradation, Humiliation, Praise, Choking, Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Dom!Jungkook, Mad!Jungkook (deserves its own warning), Manhandling, Restraining, Teasing, Reader is Annoying AF for the plot, Pussy Slapping, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Outdoor Sex, Public Sex?

Word Count: 10.3k

A/N: I hope everyone enjoys this oneshot! I had a particularly good time writing it up. Please enjoy!

It was a hot summer day when your van strode up to the cabin. Though the roads had been shit, rocky terrain and winding paths to get through the mountains, your arduous journey had come to an end. At last, you could escape the cramped quarters of Yeri's Sedan, stretch your limbs and breathe in the fresh air the wilderness offered. Granted, you would have to squeeze through the extra luggage you guys had crammed in the back with you and Jimin, slipping between the seats and waiting for everyone else to climb out first, courtesy of the two of you sitting in the very back closest to the trunk— but it was well worth the sacrifice.

From your position in the very back you were able to stare at the back of Jungkook's head for a full 8 hours, with him being none the wiser. God, you were a creep for getting satisfaction from that, but you were a woman obsessed. Seeing every time his tattooed fingers would comb through his hair, or the occasional stretches from sitting in the same place for too long, it was a view you were glad you didn't miss from any other seat. Yeri and her boyfriend Jaehyun, who was driving, were sitting in the very front, which left four seats in the back. Jungkook had opted for the middle right, and though being seated right next to him may seem optimal, it would make it too obvious that you were constantly staring. A habit you couldn't keep in check for the life of you. Unfortunately, the sight of Jungkook was irresistible. Instead you let Taehyung take the chosen spot, with you and Jimin sitting in the back with the leftover duffel bags and backpacks you were unable to cram in the trunk.

Not that you were complaining. You could deal with a little less leg room with the privacy you were granted to creep all you'd like. Jimin, sweetheart that he is, was asleep for the majority of the trip, snoring away except for the occasional gas station breaks and rest stops. You were able to peak over Jungkook's shoulder a few times to see what he was up to, but it was mainly doodling in his notebook or playing ad-free games on his phone. No insightful texts for you to spy on or gain intel from.

"Fucking finally!" Jaehyun killed the engine, stopping the radio along with it.

"Thank you for getting us home safely, baby." Yeri reached over the center console to give her boyfriend a kiss, much to the disgust of her brother Tae.

You looked over to Jimin, who was still snoozing, mouth agape and head leaning back in his neck pillow. Shaking his shoulder, you rose him from the dead. "Jimin, buddy, we're here already."

"Here" was a 2 story cabin in a heavily wooded, rural area located in the mountains. With a heated pool and far from civilization, it was the perfect place to recenter and take a breather from every day life. It was a popular destination primarily in the fall and winter, but the six of you were able to get a good price on it for the summer, all of you pitching in on the AirBnB months in advance for this getaway. You were particularly ecstatic about it. Five whole days stuck in a cabin with Jungkook? It was a fanfiction come to life! Granted, you'd prefer it were just the two of you and you had been snowed in, as the story line typically goes, but you'll take what you could get.

Jungkook, who was Taehyung's best friend, had been the object of your not-so secret affections for quite some time now. Always quiet, almost broody, he was a gorgeous specimen who barely even spared you a glance.

Granted, you did your best to annoy him at any opportune moment. Anything to get his attention. Seeing as you were Yeri's best friend, you might as well have been Taehyung's second obnoxious younger sister. Both you and Jungkook were constantly at the Kims' house, giving you ample time to be in his business and know the details of his personal life.

You swore sometimes he hated you, but if he did, he didn't outright show it. When you'd do your best to tease him or get a rise out of him, he'd ignore you or brush off your attempts. Those were the worst. You hated the indifference he gave you. All you wanted was a reaction, to see that pretty face contort into something besides boredom around you for once. Even if it were a joking smile or a grimace or a scowl— you wanted it so bad. Anything to get his eyes to finally lock with yours for more than a second. Anything to get him to notice you.

Then again, after years, you still hadn't gotten much from him. It was as though he were impervious to your feeble attempts. Perhaps he had gotten used to it in your younger years, knowing exactly how to make you tick and truly boil with rage inside. Perhaps he simply never cared. Either way, it was a habit you were unable to break at this point, still acting like a kid with a playground crush, teasing just to get a reaction.

It was the only types of interactions you really got with him anyways.

Jimin, Taehyung's other friend, grumbled as you shook him, looking up and out of the window at the greenery before him. He blinked slowly, taking in his surroundings and turning to you. "How long was I out?"

"Two days," you joked, eyes wandering to Jungkook slipping out of the car. You shimmied between the seats, grabbing your duffle bag with you as you climbed out. "Good luck getting proper sleep tonight. You were pretty knocked out of it."

You stretched your arms overhead, relieving the ache in your shoulders and legs and massaging the sore muscles. You watch Jungkook do the same, observing the sliver of skin revealed as his t-shirt rose up. Thank god this place had a pool. You couldn't wait to see Jungkook shirtless again, to see if his abs had gotten more defined, if his shoulders got any broader, if his biceps got any bigger. Had he gotten any more tattoos in addition to the full sleeve he sported? Your mouth watered at the thought.

"Home sweet home!" Yeri cheered, approaching the front door and putting the code into the lockbox attached to the door knob.

You circled around the car to where Taehyung was opening the trunk. Grabbing onto the handle of your suitcase, you yanked it from the pile, nearly falling on your ass in your attempt.

"Woah! Do you need help with that?" Taehyung questioned (after laughing at your expense). "Yo, Kook! Can you come give Y/N a hand with her bag?"

Your heart practically leapt at the thought as Jungkook approached, immediately grabbing your suitcase as if it weighed nothing.

"How much shit did you pack? We're only going to be here a week," he grunted, reaching for your duffel too. "Go ahead and give me that too."

"Sure you can handle all of that?" you teased, but give him the bag anyway.

"Better than you, that's for sure. You'll be wheezing like an old man trying to carry these upstairs."

He was right about that. You were excited to see him do it, though, seeing his muscles pump up and strain, veins prominent in his hands and forearms as he carried them for you. Sure, Taehyung had told them to do it, but you could let yourself fantasize for a moment that he did so for you. For such an introverted nerd, he was surprisingly a gym rat, with much of his time with Taehyung now spent at the gym.

You obediently followed him into the cabin and up the stairs, getting a great view of his ass. Fuck you needed to stop perving over this man, but you couldn't help it.

Yeri and Jaehyung were going to be downstairs in the master bedroom, where there was one other bedroom for Jimin. Upstairs there were two more bedrooms, one where you'd be solo and the other for Taehyung and Jungkook to share. (Or perhaps Jungkook and Jimin would switch. Taehyung had simply insisted he did not want to sleep anywhere near Yeri and her boyfriend.)

Following Jungkook into what was presumably your room, you took in the space. It was very much a cozy vibe, with western decor and lots of mahogany. The bed was easily big enough for two people.

"Where do you want it?"

Your pulse quickened as you looked at Jungkook with wide eyes.

"Wa— Hm?" You corrected yourself quickly before you could blurt out the words "want it". No need for him to know where your dirty mind had wandered.

"Your bag."

"Oh. On the bed's fine." It'd be fine for you guys to do it, too. You could already see him spread out on the comforter, a meal waiting to be devoured. You tried to wipe the thought from your mind before you started to drool. There'd be plenty of time to fantasize about that later, and all while he was in the bedroom right next to you.

Jungkook dropped the duffel onto the sheets, turning to head out.

"Wait!" You internally curse yourself. "Er, do you need help with your bags, perhaps?"

He raised a brow. "You really think you'd be much help?"

"I mean, your bag is probably lighter than mine. Unless you packed dumbbells are something." You couldn't help but grin at the thought. "Bet a gym rat like you would get withdrawals from being away for so long."

He scoffed at that. "I think I'll manage just fine one week without."

"I dunno." You practically sang the words. "I think I see your biceps deflating already. You haven't been slacking off or anything lately, have you?"

He rolled his eyes, ignoring your comments and leaving your bedroom. You let out a huff of disappointment, grumbling as you tossed yourself onto your bed, kicking at the sheets in frustration. You just wanted him to stay in your room even a minute longer. Then again, if you had the opportunity you'd probably lock him in here. Chain him to the bed and ride him into the sunset if you were feeling truly psycho. (Which, don't worry, you weren't. At least for the time being.)

—

The day after, the six of you were huddled on the carpet in the foyer after binging the newest episodes of Love Island, glasses of wine in hand. Well, you, Yeri, and Taehyung had wine in hand. Jaehyun and Jungkook had opted for sake, and poor Jimin was already slumped over on the couch from it, no doubt in need of the sleep he evaded last night from his extraneous car nap.

The remaining five of you were playing a drinking game, where one wanted to collect as many of the cards as possible through whatever truth or dare was written on it, or be forced to drink. You were currently working through your third glass of wine, careful not to go to the fourth as you knew it would bring you into solid messy-drunk territory. Yeri was undoubtedly sloshed at this point, her face flushed and rosy as she leaned against Jaehyun.

Jungkook wasn't the least bit drunk, it seemed, only taking one shot and successfully pulling off most of the requests the cards demanded of him. He had a pretty impressive selection, whereas you opted for sips of your wine instead. 

Yeri picked up the card, grinning as she read what was on it. "When was the last time you had sex?" She squealed, giggling as she further nuzzled against her boyfriend. "Well me and Jae—"

"Nope! Quit it!" Taehyung interrupted, snatching the card from her hand, his ears tinged pink from both being flustered and the alcohol. "I do not need to be hearing about that."

"But Taeeeee I don't wanna take another drink," Yeri whined, reaching for the card, which Taehyung held out of her grasp.

"Someone else can do it for you. I do not want to hear anything about my sister's sex life," Taehyung said with disgust. He turned to you, card pointed between two fingers. "Y/N?"

"Oh-ho-ho, you want to hear about my sex life then?" you joked, taking the card from him.

"Better yours than my sister's," Tae grumbled.

Still, you weren't sure if you wanted to share the truth. However, knowing Yeri's drunk state, she'd undoubtedly call you out on it if you told anything but.

Your cheeks flushed further, this time with embarrassment. The truth was you hadn't gotten laid in almost half a decade. But in your defense your vibrator and fantasizes of Jungkook had brought out more orgasms than any of the guys you hooked up with in college, and you weren't in the mood to set yourself up for disappointment. No one could compare to the fantasies in your head, so you'd everyone a favor and not waste anyone's time.

Jungkook nudged you with his shoulder after you took too long pondering. "Are you going to answer or what?"

You normally would've been elated for the brief physical contact, but instead it served as a reminder of his presence for this question. It also made this harder to avoid.

"Do I really have to? I'm not sure it'd be suited for Jimin's delicate ears."

"I'm pretty sure he's snoozing again anyway," Jungkook shrugged, tilting his head to the friend. "Go ahead and do it if you're brave enough."

Well, there was no other option with that. For once you shy away from his gaze, turning your head away as you stare at the card in your hand.

"Four years," you admit quietly.

Taehyung guffawed. "Four years? How have you gone that long? I can barely make it a few weeks."

"Ew ew ew! Now why do I have to hear that?" Yeri complained, shoving at her brother. "He's right though. We need to get you laid, girlfriend."

"Shut uuuup guys," you groaned. "It's not that hard. There's just... There hasn't been someone I wanted to do that with." Who wanted to do it with me, too.

Yeri's eyes lit up with drunken mischievousness. "What about—"

Jaehyun slapped his palm over her mouth, no doubt knowing exactly what she was going to say. Jaehyun, having been Yeri's long time boyfriend, knew all too well about your long standing crush on Jungkook. No need for her to blurt it out to the rest of the room. "I think it's about time I get you to bed."

Yeri weakly protested, but before long her boyfriend successfully dragged her back to their bedroom, and you're left with the other three.

"How come you haven't gotten with anyone in so long?" Taehyung asked, nosy as ever.

You tossed your card in your pile, picking up your wine glass to take a gulp this time. "No one's wanted me I guess."

"Bullshit. I told you last year my friend Jaemin was into you and you never even hit him up." Damn Taehyung.

"He's cute and all just..." You did your best not to glance at Jungkook, instead observing him from your periphery. "I have this idea in mind of what I want things to be like, and I know no one can live up to expectations."

"You sure you're not just too picky or something?" Taehyung chuckled. You wondered for a second if he was also in on your worst-kept-secret.

"Maybe," you admitted. "But it's not worth wasting people's time. I mean, I'm sure eventually I'll find someone who will make me want to at least try."

"And no one has for four years?" Jungkook finally spoke up.

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks at his direct inclusion. No, you wanted to scream. No one but you! "We can't all be easy," you said defensively. Who knew how many other women Jungkook had been with while you were stuck pining.

"We can't all be prudes, either," Jungkook shot back.

That was unlike him. And it stung. You locked eyes with him, and he held your stare, unyielding for once.

"You know, I think it's about time someone gets Jimin to bed. He's going to complain about back pain if we let him stay in that position on the couch any longer," you redirected, breaking off the stare and looking away, ending the game. Suddenly it didn't feel like fun anymore.

Taehyung groaned. "You're probably right."

As he moved to carry his friend back to his room, you exited, wanting as much space from Jungkook right now as possible. You felt embarrassed for the way he called you out like that. Did he really think you were a prude? Someone who wouldn't put out because she was... what? Too good to? Too scared to?

You got up to leave, the air inside suddenly feeling much too stuffy for your tastes. You needed some space from Jungkook and his words, letting your cheeks burn a little less and get your mind off internalizing the interaction. In the backyard now, you headed to the pool, sitting down to dangle your feet in the water, the LED lights from within surrounding you in a near neon blue. You tilted the glass back to your lips, getting whatever leftover drops of wine there was to offer. You definitely pushed too far with the "easy" comment. Served you right for being an annoying brat.

You let yourself dip further into the pool, submerging yourself in the heated water as you put down the glass. It felt comforting to be in here, clothes and all, though you were only wearing an oversized shirt and underwear, having pre-prepared for sleep. She shirt floated along with you, drifting around your waist and upper thighs as you glided through, feeling the warm water kiss your bare skin and bring comfort. Sometimes when you were feeling especially weird you'd float in pools like these and pretend you were back in your mother's womb, safe and protected from the inevitable mistakes that would come with living.

You needed to calm yourself, erase the mistakes of a few minutes before in your mind. You move your arms and float within, keeping yourself upright until you tilt back, laying on the surface as you idly glide along the water. Staring up at the stars, they seemed so much brighter than back home. You could clearly make out a few constellations. Orion's Belt, the big and little dippers...

"What're you doing out here?"

Your peaceful swim is brought to a halt, and you righten yourself to see Jungkook staring down at you.

Why was he out here?

"Swimming."

"I see that," Jungkook said. "You shouldn't swim when you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk," you denied.

"Yeah you are. Your limit is three glasses, and you just finished your third." He looked pointedly at the glass left on the edge. So he had noticed how many you took. And knew you couldn't have more than four.

Well, of course he'd know that. The first time you tried wine was when you were sleeping over at the Kims', and you and Yeri had killer hangovers that resulted in the entire guest bathroom being wiped down. To be fair the two of you didn't know that wine got bad after it was opened, and the bottles that had been hidden in the bar had been there for years.

"So what?" You felt like a petulant child, turning away from him. You were still embarrassed, and weren't expecting to interact or see him again until at least morning. You figured he'd be helping Taehyung with Jimin.

"So you should get out of the pool and dry off." He dropped a towel by the edge. Had he brought that with him?

"What're you gonna do if I don't? Come get me?" You couldn't help but tease. Part of you really wanted him to.

"Funny," Jungkook huffed. He squatted down, the lights from the pool causing the shine of the moving water to dance across his face, illuminating him beautifully. "Can you get out now, please?"

"I don't wanna." You swam a bit further away from him to the other side. You had half the mind to stick your tongue out at him.

There's a beat of silence.

"I'm sorry," Jungkook said. That you didn't expect.

You stilled, keeping your place in the water as you tried to process his words.

"I shouldn't have called you a prude," Jungkook continued. "You have standards. That's commendable. I'm sorry if we— I, made you feel like shit about it. It was wrong."

You held your breath, and it helped you float a bit more. You couldn't believe Jungkook was apologizing to you. Your back was still turned to him, so luckily he couldn't see your expression.

"Are you mad at me?" he questioned.

You swallowed, trying to collect your thoughts. "No." You turn your head to the side, still not directly looking at him. "I'm... sorry too. I shouldn't have insinuated you were easy." If he were, maybe then he'd give you a chance.

"It's fine. C'mon, let me get you out."

He held his hand out to you, and you giddily swam up to him. His large hand completely dwarfed your own, and a small part of your gremlin brain gave you an impulsive thought that drunk-you simply couldn't resist.

You tugged, watching him fall headfirst into the pool, water splashing everywhere as he submerged completely beneath. You let out a maniacal laugh as his head popped up from the surface, a mix of surprise and rage on his features. You had never seen that on his face before.

"Now we're even!" You cackled, watching him sputter out whatever water had gotten into his mouth.

"You are so lucky I didn't have any electronics on me!" he exclaimed. He swam towards you, causing you to squeal and try and swim away. "Oh no you don't!"

His large hands grip your waist, pulling you against him as you wriggle and try to escape his hold.

"Look who's ma-ad!" you breathily wheezed, endlessly amused by the anger on his face. You couldn't help it. You finally got under his skin, and like the child you were, it brought you so much delight. So much satisfaction.

"Of course I'm mad, you're being an absolute brat right now."

"I've never seen you this mad," you continued, grinning up at him. "It's so hard to get a rise out of you."

"You still try, though."

"I do," you admitted, looking up at him cockily. "And today I succeeded."

"C'mon, brat, let's get out of here before I get a cramp from keeping us both afloat." He tugged you closer to his chest, and you feared he might feel your heartbeat quicken.

You tried to squirm out, but his arm his ironclad around your waist as he dragged you closer to the edge. "I can swim on my own!"

"I'm not letting you." Jungkook finally let go of you, only to lift you up with both hands and sit you on the ledge. You're blessed with the sight of him hoisting himself up as well, and the outline of his abs and chest through the now transparent white shirt assured you your little prank was well worth the trouble. He grabbed the towel he had brought before and dumped it on your head, pressing a large hand down and rubbing the fabric into your hair. "Dry," he commanded.

You begrudgingly did as you're told, rubbing the towel over your head and face. Luckily it was still a hot summer night, so it wasn't as though you were freezing when you got out.

You dried as best as you can, wringing your shirt out and offering him the now partially-damp towel. Admiring him while he was partially distracted, you couldn't help but replay the image of his irritated face in your head over and over again, and how much you liked it.

"Thank you," you quietly mumbled, almost hoping he wouldn't catch it. "For coming to get me out."

"Well... I was concerned I upset you." He finished patting himself down. "Besides, now we're even."

—

After that, you made many more feeble attempts at catching Jungkook's attention. Asking him to reach dishes on the higher shelves when you'd typically have no issue climbing on top of countertops. Knocking on his bedroom door to see what he was up to— though most times it was just Taehyung. One time you accidentally popped in on the elder in the midst of changing, which was embarrassing. No more of that.

Sometimes you accidentally succeeded, however. Like during your hike through the mountains as a group, your left knee started audibly clicking with every step. You tried to swallow the pain, but with how bruised your feet felt and how often you had to stop the group to take a breather, it was becoming difficult. Curse you for being the least athletic of the whole group. You should've joined Yeri in volleyball sophomore year when you had the chance.

Jungkook, chivalrous gentleman has he was, begrudgingly insisted that you climb on his back the rest of the trek down. Not that you really minded, though, feeling his steady heartbeat through his back and wrapping your arms around his shoulders and neck was a dream come true for you. You simply felt embarrassed that you had caused all the trouble, and not even on purpose this time.

On the final day before you all were set to head back home, however, you officially crossed a line.

You hadn't even intended for the night to go the way it did. It was 2 in the morning, and most everyone was already asleep in preparation for the long drive tomorrow. You, though, were a well known insomniac, with tonight being no exception.

Imagine your surprise when you stumbled across Jungkook, lying across one of the pool chairs, tiny sketchbook in hand. He looked fine as hell, hoodie hiding most of his tattoos, gym shorts showing the expanse of his muscled thighs. You were so upset this was your last day living with him, able to invade his space so easily.

With a devilish grin you snuck up behind him, snatching it from above to get a better look. Unfortunately you lost the page he had been working on, and flipping through the earlier pages you recognized the anime and flower sketches he had been working on during the ride here. "May I?"

"Y/N!" Jungkook's head twisted around as he glared at you, swiping for the book which you quickly held out of reach. He huffed with frustration. "Give that back."

"These are good, Jungkook, no need to be embarrassed," you snickered, flipping over a page to see small doodles. "Don't tell me you've got porn or something hidden in here."

Even through the neon LED lights the pool illuminated, you could see his cheeks burn a slight crimson. Ah, so there was something interesting in here. That or he was particularly attached to it. That only gave you further incentive to mess with him.

He stood from the seat, towering over you as he approached. You took a step back, however, keeping the book outstretched the other way. There was no way you were giving up that easily. Shaking his head, he pressed his tongue against the inside his cheek, irritated. He looked so hot. You were delighted at the sight. "You just don't know when to quit, do you?"

"Nope." You flipped over another page, seeing a detailed drawing of a bee and another of a water lilly. Nothing particularly damning yet.

"Why are you always trying to rile me up?" He made a quick move for the book again, but you're quicker, spinning around him and putting it behind your back.

Because it turns me on.

Nope, can't say that, that'd freak him out.

"Cause it's fun," you admitted cheekily. "I rarely get a reaction out of you typically."

"Is this the reaction you're wanting?" He took another step forward, and you take another step back. His eyes were lidded and jaw clenched, irritation prominent in his expression. You're half tempted to run into the woods with the book just to see what secrets he had hidden in it.

"Almost."

"Almost?" he questioned. He glared at you, cocking his head to the side as he studied your mischievous, satisfied expression. "What is it you're wanting?"

Oh, only for you to fuck me where I stand, no biggie.

"Just a bit of fun, clearly. You look like you're about to blow a fuse. There must be something awfully interesting in this book for you to be so territorial over it," you snickered, taking a few more steps back to distance yourself from him and flipping through another page. "I mean, come and get it, if you can."

That seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back, though, because suddenly you hear a very low, very deep: "That's it."

You acted on instinct as you see him lunge towards you, your feet carrying you away without you having to even think about it. Jungkook's hand swiped for you as you dodged, and you were distancing yourself a few feet per second as you dashed away and out of the backyard. Your heart rate skyrocketed as you snapped the journal shut, clutching it to your body as you sprinted into the trees. You're practically flying across the pre-made path, illuminated well enough now by the moonlight over head.

You didn't think it would go this far. You should've given him the journal at that moment, but you acted on instinct, fight or flight mode controlling your every whim as you dove headfirst into the wooded area surrounding the cabin. You stayed along the path, only able to hear your feet beating against the ground and your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Maybe you were overreacting, but the look in his eyes as he jumped towards you said one thing: Run.

You looked behind, certain you had been quick enough to lost him, but you see his shadowy form gaining on you. And fast.

Fuck!

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!

You shrieked, making a sharp right off the trail and through the trees. You couldn't even remember the last time you had been chased. It must've been when you were a kid at summer camp. This was nothing like those games of tag, however. The fear coursing through your veins, the danger that was approaching from behind, all of it had given you a surge of adrenaline you had never encountered before.

Your breathing was quick as you dodged branches and swerved between the trunks. Luckily it wasn't autumn, otherwise the crunch of the dead leaves beneath your feet would give away your location. Then again, you had no clue where Jungkook had went either.

You didn't think Jungkook would hurt you. No, you knew he wouldn't.

But you didn't know what he was going to do when he caught you, either. And with how fast he clearly was, it seemed like an inevitability.

You internally cursed, spinning around one of the trees and pressing yourself against the bark, breathing through your nose and trying to make as little noise as possible. Fuck, you couldn't even see the trail or the cabin any more. How deep had you gotten? What if you weren't able to find your way back at this rate?

Panicked, you look around, your eyes now adjusting to the darkness. You're able to take a few slower, deeper breaths, relieved you had lost him.

But the relief didn't last long.

A large hand slammed against the bark next to you, Jungkook popping out from around the trunk. His eyes looked like one of a beast's, dark and ominous as he narrowed in on you. You screamed, ducking beneath and around the other side, barreling further into the dense forest. How had he caught up to you so fast? Why was he so determined?

Your shallow, fast breaths were getting louder now as you pumped your body for all you had, using all of your strength to get away as quickly as possible. You weren't going to make the mistake of looking back again— you knew he was right behind you.

And suddenly you felt arms caging in around your waist, Jungkook's catching you and yanking you to him, sending you both straight to the ground as his body weight crushed yours. The ground bit at your skin, all the breath being pushed out of your lungs as he fell on top of you, the crash chaotic and no doubt leaving bruises from where you landedp. The book flew out of your hands as both of you tumbled down. You scrambled trying to get out from under him, arm outstretched and fingers spread as you try and reach for the book which was just a few inches away, when his larger one engulfs your wrist, twisting you around and manhandling you to flip you on your back.

You had fantasized about Jungkook on top of you many times before, but never quite like this.

He grabbed your other wrist and pinned it down next to your head, shackling you to the forest floor and forcing you to look up at him. You were able to see far too clearly with your eyes adjusted to the night, the moonlight showing the rage on his beautiful face. He was breathing heavily from the exertion of the chase, chest heaving up and down beneath his hoodie as he glared down at you, a wild look in his eyes. His nostrils flared, mouth parted as he took in greedy gasps of air, his face closer to yours than you were used to. You tried to reach a foot up to kick him in the chest, but he dodged, trapping your thighs between his own. You struggled, pushing your hands up to try and twist out of his iron-clad grip, but he remained firm.

There was another spike of fear that ran through you as you realized he wasn't going to let you go.

Fuck, what had you gotten yourself into?

You were in the belly of the beast, trapped with no hope of escape. You tried and twisted some more, and his grip tightened, keeping you glued to the ground with him practically sitting on top of you. He wasn't even looking for the notebook anymore, all of his attention focused solely on you.

He continued to breathe hard, now deeper as you were both finally at a standstill. "Caught you..." he panted, still trying to catch his breath.

You clenched and unclenched your fists, frustrated with how you were helpless beneath him, now unable to fight back. Offering a weak smile, you tried to catch your own breath. "J-Jungkook..." You hadn't meant for the word to come out so airy, almost like a moan. A plea. "You can have the book back... It's right there."

"I don't want it anymore," he snarled.

You gulped, squirming in his hold, something you could no longer hide given your predicament. "O-Oh," you said shakily, trying to offer a laugh. "Let's... Let's talk?"

"Yeah, let's talk," he sneered, with no intention of letting you out from under him. No doubt you'd try and run away again. You'd probably climb over the mountain if it meant escape. "Why're you always testing me, huh? Trying to get under my skin, irritate me. I've tried so hard with you, tried to be patient, but you just don't know when to quit, do you?"

This time you didn't respond, unable to answer his questions. You weren't sure this was exactly the moment for honesty.

"Thought you wanted to talk, sweetheart."

Fuck, that made your heart flutter despite the situation. You look to the side, anywhere but Jungkook, and instead to the leaves and trees overhead above him. "I-I just like annoying you, that's all."

"That's all, huh?" His fingers flexed around your wrists. "It's almost like you like seeing me angry."

You squirmed again, closing your eyes as you try to kick beneath him, heels digging into the ground as you try to push him off. His body weight didn't give you much wiggle room, though and your weak attempts don't go unnoticed by him. You felt so embarrassed, so small and vulnerable beneath his scrutinizing gaze. You turned your head to the side, wanting to shrink away form his hard stare. He didn't let up, however.

"Nuh uh," he hissed, stretching your arms above your head and trapping both wrists in one hand now. Unfortunately you didn't have enough strength to weasel out of the one. All that time you had spent thirsting over his gym photos, and now it was all being used against you. He roughly gripped your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks as he turned your face from the side and back at him. "Look at me."

Hesitantly, you peeked back up at him, the angry expression you had worked so hard for now glowering down at you.

"Just..." You whimpered, biting your lip with shame. "Just wanted your attention."

The fingers around your face seemed to twitch at that, and his eyes flashed with something you don't recognize. Perhaps surprise? His grip on your wrists tightened, stretching your arms out more to make you squirm with discomfort. "Is that it?" You heard a low, ominous chuckle. "Well congratulations, sweetheart. You finally got it."

Before you could wail out your deepest apologies and beg for his forgiveness, he's tilting your chin up further, craning your neck, and kissing you.

Your eyes widened as you feel the lips you had dreamed of for so long on yours, his tongue delving into your mouth and gliding against yours with ease. He completely dominated you, hand on your jaw now sliding down the column of your throat, feeling every gasp and moan that travelled through it as he took you completely. He lightly squeezed, as though reminding you to behave. He pressed his lips harder against yours, not letting you escape, forcing you to feel every part of him you had been so desperate for. Your head felt like it was spinning, fists furling and unfurling as you finally shut your eyes and tried to kiss him back, tried to keep up and have your body process this faster than your brain could. You were in complete disbelief this was happening. Was this real? Were you actually back home at the cabin, having another sick, twisted wet dream about Jungkook?

It was better than any of your dreams or fantasies could have predicted. The way Jungkook's mouth moved against yours, the secure hold against your neck and bound wrists, the subtle grind he made against you, nothing could compare. It felt better than you had ever hoped, and far, far filthier than you had ever dreamed.

Jungkook finally pulled back, breathless one again, lips now glistening in the moonlight as he stared down at you. You were panting as well, staring up at him with wonder at what he'd done, and what he'd do next. Did he regret it? Did he suddenly come to his senses? Realize it was you he was actually kissing in the middle of the wilderness?

His eyes scoured your flushed expression, traveling down to where your chest sunk and rose with each breath, and your thighs trapped between his. Biting his lip, he lifted to his knees, hands still firmly pinning you down as he shoved a knee between your legs, nudging them apart. "Spread 'em."

Shocked, you did as you're told, slowly opening your legs to his prying eyes, humiliation coursing through your veins. You had gone outside in your pajamas, just some sleep shorts and a tank top, and there wasn't much modesty you could provide.

Jungkook seemed satisfied with the sight, however, moving his other knee between yours as well as he looked down at the tiny shorts that barely covered you now. "Fuck..." He let go of your neck, his grip loosening as he lightly touched the skin available to him, tracing down over your tank top, between your breasts and past your stomach, stopping just above the hemline of your shorts. He's transfixed, eyes drinking in all they could in the dim light. He locked gazes with you again, hard gaze refusing to let you look away. "Do you want me to touch you? Or do you want me to let you go and run away again?"

You gulped, thighs twitching at the thought of either.

"I need an answer, Y/N."

"I-I—" Curse your infernal stammering. You swallowed the saliva that pooled in your throat, trying to collect yourself. "Please... touch me."

Jungkook grunted in response, grabbing onto the waistband of your shorts and roughly tugging them down your legs, revealing a cute pair of pink panties for him to rip apart. He doesn't admire them too long, quickly yanking them down as well to store in the pocket of his shorts. He uses the free hand to roughly pin one of your knees against the ground, keeping you spread for him with no where to hide, your glistening folds shining even in the darkness.

"Fuck, you really like seeing me mad, don't you?" he said under his breath, fingers lightly trailing up from your knee and up your inner thigh. You squirmed under his gaze, flustered and embarrassed at how exposed you were as he continued to unapologetically stare at you, eyes reveling at your bare sex. "Just wanted me to pin you down and fuck you every time you annoyed me, is that it?"

"Y...Yes..." you quietly admitted, hips slightly bucking to try and get his hand closer, to no avail. He pushed against your hip to keep you against the ground, thumb inching closer to where you wanted, rubbing slow circles against the inside of your hip. "Please don't tease."

His nostrils flared at that. "Tease? Like how you tease me all the time? Acting like a little slut just for my attention?"

His hand came down to slap against your wet folds, making your hips jump at the delicious sting. You accidentally let out a moan before you could stop yourself, his hand coming back down to rub against your sex and soothe the pain, traveling between your wet folds and admiring the slick that collected on them.

"Fuck, Jungkook!" You whimpered out the words, tears springing in your eyes.

"God, you're something else..." Jungkook said quietly, as though it were to himself. He let his digits dance against you, teasing around your entrance and clit but never giving you enough. "Every time you'd come begging for my attention, pissing me off, I had to walk away. Because I knew this would happen. Knew I'd just lose it and have to fuck the attitude out of you then and there."

He slipped a finger in and you mewled, pushing further against the hand that bound your wrists together. You weren't able to lift them even a centimeter from the ground. You wanted to reach up and touch him, curl your fingers into his hair and tug, wrap your hands around his forearm and feel the how the tendons worked as he curled his digits inside of you. You dug your heels into the ground, savoring the feeling of Jungkook's finger curling in you repeatedly, the sound of your wetness filling the night air.

"You're so wet for me, took it so easily..." He slipped another digit in, watching you keen as you tried to buck your hips again and greedily swallow him in deeper. "Couldn't just ask me out like a normal person, huh? Had to act like we were still on the playground, just irritate me for fun."

"It worked, didn't it?" you questioned, whimpering as the digits aimed at your g-spot, digging deep into your pressure point, his palm pressed against your mound and grinding against you.

He couldn't help but smile at that. "It did, didn't it?" His hand started moving faster, harder, as though to drive further emphasis to your question. "And now you're going to have to face the consequences."

You felt pressure building up in your abdomen, moaning as Jungkook jackhammered his fingers into you, his thrusts hard and precise. You weren't even able to bring yourself to orgasm this fast, but with Jungkook it seemed like it was about to happen any minute.

Jungkook hovered over you, his face close as he finally let go of your wrists, slapping his palm against your mouth the dull your screams. "Shh, not so loud, sweetheart," he cooed patronizingly, a wicked grin on his face as he saw you struggle and whine, a third finger slipping inside, giving you a delicious burn from the stretch of the girthy digits. "Don't want to wake anyone with those slutty sounds, yeah? Those are all for me."

You were finally able to do as you wished with your hands, both wrapping around his forearm as you felt the muscles move and flex with every curl of his fingers, veins bulging beneath as he worked to get you to the finish line. You couldn't help but let your nails scratch along him a bit, overwhelmed with the onslaught of pleasure he brought. The sound of his palm repeatedly slapping against your wet sex was embarrassingly loud, and the movement of his fingers revealed how into this you were.

"Ah..." Your moan was muffled beneath his palm, but he undoubtedly felt the vibrations against his skin.

"You close? Gonna cum on my fingers already?" His smile was near sadistic as he watched you struggle beneath him. "C'mon, let go for me. So fucking desperate for it."

His thumb came up to dig against your clit, swiping against you as he fingered you to an orgasm. Your toes curled and your thighs quaked, your moan muffled through Jungkook's palm as you arched against the forest floor, bliss overtaking you. Jungkook watched your expression intently, a satisfied smirk on his face as he watched you unravel underneath him, eyes crossed and face flushed as you took what he gave you.

He slowed the pumping of his fingers, pulling them out and rubbing the digits against your clit again. You hated the feeling of being empty again, hips rising for his touch so he'd sink further into you again. Jungkook tsked, offering two more sharp slaps to your cunt to quell your disobedience. "I think you're all warmed up for me now."

He took his hand away from your face, shoving the waistband of his gym shorts and boxers down so his erection could spring free. Grabbing your hair, he forced your head to look down at his cock.

"Take a look, sweetheart. It's the dick you wanted so badly."

He gives your cunt one final, harsh smack before he's roughly shoving your legs apart again, knees glued to the grass beneath as he shuffles closer to you, his cock lying against your bare sex. You tried to gyrate against him, feel him harder against you, wondering if the orgasm he gave you would be enough for you to fit all of that inside. He was just as big as you had hoped and girthier than the three fingers that had already stretched you out so well.

Taking his cock in his hand, he slapped it against your pussy, teasing you further, letting you feel the heavy length that threatened to destroy you. He laughed when he saw the tears of frustration shine at the corner of your eyes. You tried to reach for him again, grab his cock and force it in you in one go, but he grabbed your wrists again, pinning them above you much like before. His face was inches from your own now, cocky and smug expression gleefully mocking your tearful, impatient one. "Are you gonna cry?" he questioned with a pout, sliding the cock head along your folds and teasing it against your entrance before bringing it back up to your clit, rubbing harshly to see your legs shake again. "Poor baby."

"Jungkook please just—" you sniffled, straining against his grasp. "C'mon, put it in, please?"

"Why should I, sweetheart, when you've been nothing but a bitchy little brat?" He emphasized his words with a few more harsh slaps, letting go of his cock to smack his palm against your wet folds, enjoying the way your hips jumped up against the ground, as though chasing his touch. He sneered as you sobbed, lower lip trembling. "What makes you think you deserve it?"

"Want it so bad. Worked so hard for it," you cried, lips trembling.

"Yeah?" He took his cock again, lightly pushing it against your entrance only a few centimeters, but still refusing to dive inside. "Gonna stop annoying me all the time? Trying to rile me up? Gonna be a good slut from now on?"

You nodded quickly. "Yes! Yes, I promise!"

He slowly shook his head, tongue digging into his cheek, tsking with disbelief. "Fucking liar."

With that he slowly pushed into you, watching your lips part into an 'o' and he sunk inch by inch into your wet heat, stretching you completely. You couldn't help the moans that escaped you, feeling him go deeper than you had ever experienced before, digging in and pressing against your cervix, right against your lower belly.

"Fuuuuck that's it." He emanated a dark growl from his chest, watching himself sink further into you. "Take it all. That's a good slut."

He finally stopped when his hips are flush with your ass, making you feel everything he had to offer. You felt so full. Never had you been filled so completely before, and the fact that it was Jeon Jungkook was almost enough to make you come undone all over again.

"Fuck, what a good pussy." He let go of your wrists, hands gripping beneath your knees and folding you in half as he pulled his hips back, giving shallow thrusts as he felt you take him. "So good for me sweetheart, shit. Look at you. So fucking pretty. Feel so fucking good for me. 'Course a brat like you gets this wet, fuck."

"You.. You..." You struggled to articulate words, gasping them out as you felt him drive into you, his thrusts getting longer and deeper as he pulled his hips back more, shoving his cock inside you harder to bury himself further into you. "You feel amazing."

He chuckled lowly, stooping over and connecting your lips once again, the kiss messy as he continued barreling his cock as deep inside as he could. "Yeah?" he breathed against you, the wet kissing sounds rivaling the sound of skin slapping against skin, and your wet pussy eagerly trying to swallow me deeper. "Live up to those— fuck— those dirty fantasies of yours, sweetheart?"

"Mmm," you moaned, nails clawing at his hoodie to pull him deeper. "Better."

He laughed at that, mouth fully taking over your own, forcing you to taste him as he reached one hand up to your throat, squeezing to choke you in a way that left you lightheaded. "You're better too, baby," he assured. "Never imagined you'd be this much of a slut for me."

You whimpered against his lips, grinding against him with every thrust, greedily swallowing each kiss and praying this moment would never end. You wanted to be glued against this forest floor with Jungkook forever, with only the trees and night air to hide you both. You tugged at his hoodie, bringing it up, letting your hands freely glide along the chiseled abs you had been obsessed over for years.

He rose, tugging it off quickly before diving back into you, not wasting a second to put his hand back on your throat and his lips back against yours. He wasn't letting you breathe for a second, wanting you lightheaded and dumb on his cock. It was as though he couldn't get enough of you, swallowing every moan and grinding his pelvis against your clit, eager to make you cum again.

"You feel so fucking good baby," he groaned, tugging your tank top up and over your tits, kneading at the flesh beneath his fingers before leaning back and landing another slap on your clit. You squealed, your legs nearly kicking as he brought his thumb down to your clit, rubbing hard circles. "C'mon, give me another. Be a good slut for me, c'mon. Cum on the dick you wanted so bad."

He drove you to the edge, making you cum so hard you practically see stars, your body trembling like a leaf as he pounded against you, stimulating every part of you. He leaned back down to swallow your cry, groaning against your mouth as he felt you clench and shake around him, your pitiful cries only driving him harder, faster against you. Unrelenting, like the punishment this was originally meant to be.

"Good girl," he moaned, head burying into your neck to littler kisses all over it, harsh sucks and nibbles to mark you along with the scrapes and bruises you undoubtedly acquired when he tackled you before. "Good f-fuuucking girl."

You buried your hands in his hair, curling your digits between the strands and tugging as he dug his hips against yours, cock nestled in as deep as it could go as he ground his hips against yours, pelvis practically glued against your clit. He pressed himself as closely as he could to you, and you hugged him closer, embracing the feeling of his smooth, bare skin beneath your finger tips. You felt so sensitive from the constant stimulation, tears springing to life again. He noticed, giving a small peck at the corner of one of your eyes.

"Sensitive baby? Need me to stop?"

"No," you tugged him closer, not wanting it to end. "Don't stop."

He laughed, melting into you, one arm still holding himself up above you by the elbow. He pressed his other hand down against your abdomen, "Want another then?"

You squirmed at the thought, and your reaction only made him more determined, pushing further against you and grinding as deep as he could go, feeling himself move inside of you. The tip of his cock pressed against your g-spot, refusing to give you a break as he ground against it, the bulge below your belly button showing exactly how deep he was inside you.

"You're so cute when you cry." He kissed the other tearful corner. "Come on, one more with me. You were so desperate for it earlier. Need to fucking ruin you like the brat you are, c'mon."

He pulled his hips back, heavy thrusts returning as you're forced to take what he gives, feeling the bulge protruding from your lower tummy against the palm of his hand. He kissed you messily again, his tongue casually dominating and sliding against yours smoothly and effortlessly, as though he had been kissing you for years. Like putting you in your place was simply second nature to him. You mewled into his mouth, his thrusts becoming quicker and sloppier as he got closer to finishing. His hand slid down your stomach and back to your clit, and he grinned against your lips as you squealed.

"Fucking pathetic. Desperate for this dick and can't even take it," he teased, panting against your mouth. "Giving up? Little pussy can't take it?"

"I can- I can take it."

"Yeah? You gonna cum on this dick again, sweetheart?" He looked at your fucked out expression, the concentration in your eyes as you look up at him pleadingly. "Cum for me now and maybe I'll fuck you again, how's that sound? Show me you deserve it."

You raked your nails down his bare back, feeling your third orgasm of the night overtake you. Jungkook can feel it, too, his digits on your sex getting as sloppy as his thrusts, trying to milk it out of you.

"C'mon c'mon c'mon, fuuuuck yes take it. Good fucking girl— fuck—" He felt you cum on his cock, thighs trembling, moan ringing out through the night, and it's enough to undo him. He pulled out, stroking himself and biting his lip as he came all over your twitching pussy, letting out a deep, gravelly moan at the sight of you covered in him.

He collapsed on top of you, careful not to crush you, as both of you caught your breaths, basking in the afterglow of what you had just done.

You held Jungkook in an embrace, feeling his heart rate slow as the minutes pass, his dick softening against your thigh, and the sudden awareness that the two of you were basically naked upon grass in the middle of the woods. The blades tickled at your sweaty back, but you didn't care, absentmindedly combing through Jungkook's hair. While your post-nut clarity was currently fantastic, you were unsure if he was having second thoughts.

Jungkook nuzzled his nose against you, buried in the crook of your neck as he took in a deep breath. Hiding his face from you, he grumbled the words into your skin. "Open the sketchbook."

Right. The sketchbook. The whole reason you had gotten into this predicament in the first place. The reason he had chased you down into the depths of the forest. You looked back to where you had dropped it, and Jungkook sat up and reached for it on your behalf, grabbing it and handing it to you.

You stared at him, confused for a moment. "I don't need to see it, really. You have your right to privacy. I shouldn't have taken it from you. It was a dick move. I was just trying to annoy you."

He laughed a little. "I know. Just open it."

You did as you were told, opening it up and thumbing through the pages. They were the same ones you had seen before. Some anime sketches, some doodles, some wildlife. It wasn't until you got to the final page he had drawn on. It was you. It wasn't finished yet, but it was undeniably a light sketch of you. You blinked, processing it, staring at the page and tracing your fingers lightly over the pencil strokes. Before what had just happened, happened, Jeon Jungkook was sketching you in his journal.

Jungkook let out a breath, as though he had been holding it the entire time you were flipping through the pages. "That's why I was so embarrassed. I didn't... I couldn't sleep. Couldn't get your face out of my head."

You locked eyes, yours wide, almost with disbelief. "Really?" You feel like all of the air had been knocked out of your lungs yet again.

"Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck, as though nervous. "It's not done yet, or anything, but—"

"I love it," you blurted out, grabbing him and kissing him, pressing your lips firmly against his so there'd be no doubt. "Can I keep it?"

He chuckled. "Maybe when it's done. I've got no use for it now with the real thing."

You both share a smile at that, and you reached for the discarded clothes that had been strewn about, no doubt with dirt and grass stains now. "How far did we wander off? I really hope we didn't get lost."

"Nah, I remember the way back. C'mon." He pulled your shorts back up your legs, put back on his hoodie, and grabbed your hand, leading you back towards the cabin. You couldn't believe you were actually holding his hand, his large one engulfing your own, and you could feel how steady his heartbeat was through his palm. True to his words, you made it back home, and surprisingly he ended up falling into bed with you, though purely to sleep. And perhaps not to wake Taehyung.

He never gave you back your panties, though.

—

"All right, everyone, let's get a move on! We've got an 8 hour car ride ahead of us and that's not even including the bathroom breaks I know Taehyung will need!" Yeri shouted, shoving her final bag into the trunk before slamming it shut.

"Excuse you, bitch. Everyone needs those bathroom breaks," Taehyung grumbled, yanking at the back door of the Sedan.

The side door to the back seats slid open, and you climb in to same seat you had been in on the way there. Instead of Jimin, though, the person who came to join you was Jungkook, offering a small smile as he approached. "Mind if I sit here?"

"Yes," you said, but yank your duffel to the floor so the seat was clear. "Sure a muscle pig like you can squeeze in here?"

"I have a talent for squeezing into tight spaces."

You blushed at that, causing Jungkook to laugh at your embarrassment, sitting down next to you. He reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers and making your heart practically leap from your chest.

"Look at you, making the quips for once." You couldn't seem to wipe the grin of your face, and you knew before the end of the ride your cheeks were going to hurt from smiling so much. "Uno reverso, huh?"

"It's about time I did the chasing from now on," he grinned back, squeezing your hand.

Jimin sat down in the middle seat next to Taehyung, confused as to why Jungkook stole his seat. He turned to Taehyung, puzzled. "What happened with them?" he mouthed.

"I don't even know man. Whatever it is, it's about damn time."

[freeandiwill]

Guessing each of the Saja Boys’ deals with Gwi-Ma

I don’t know if this has been done yet but I just find them really hot fascinating okay?

Jinu

Okay, so this one we obviously already know- He abandoned his family to become a musician and live a luxurious life. This allows him to have an extraordinary singing voice, which is obviously his overall appeal as a boyband leader. Since this is directly stated this movie, it gives us a good guideline going forward with the rest of them; something that is still present in their current depreciation and overall serves to their benefit, even though they had to make a sacrifice to get it.

Since the rest of the band is extremely underportrayed this whole movie, I get to be a bit creative with my theories. Feel free to contribute your own ideas!

Abby/Abs

Obviously he is extremely muscular but I don’t think it’s a pure vanity thing. So I’m gonna say he wished for inhuman strength to defend himself during a time of violence and conflict. He wanted to feel less helpless and vulnerable in the midst of chaos, but this came at the price of him going mad with power and hurting innocent people, unable to tell a friend from an enemy. He still believes he’s a monster that can snap at any minute, relishing in some of the leverage that gives him (being a demon) but also fear that he may not have total control over himself.

Baby

The name seems pretty blatant- I think he wished for infinite youth and beauty. He was incredibly discomforted by the sight of those around him slowly aging. He constantly saw people becoming weaker and frailer, less capable of doing things themselves. Their skin sagged, their hair grayed, society seemed to find them more and more of an ugly nuisance. And it absolutely terrified him, so he asked to be spared from it. Unfortunately, he still had to watch the world around him changed while he stayed preserved, locked in time. The degradation and decay of humanity soon became more and more apparent, terrifying him further, wondering if he’ll ever be next. He constantly checks himself for any minor blemishes or shifts in his appearance, growing paranoid that he may not be as perfect as he’s desperate to be.

Romance

Another no-brainer, He wished a girl to fall in love and marry him. Aladdin-style, as in she was above his status and could never consider him as a husband until he placed himself in the same league as her and made himself seem irresistible. It was perfect at first, until her senseless infatuation with him began to ruin their relationship. She loved him but she didn’t really like him, she hardly knew him at all. She was mindlessly obsessed, and guilt began to eat away when he realized he had practically made her a slave to his affection. Woman still find him irresistible, but he can’t bring himself to love anyone back, knowing that he utterly ruined the one he held dearest.

Mystery

Admittedly, this was the hardest for me to think of, so it’s is a bit of a stretch.

He was once known for being a gentle and kind boy, but due to unfortunate circumstances, had gotten into a very aggressive and very public argument with a close friend, ending with him killing them in a blind fit of rage. This utterly ruined his reputation, so he wished to permanently hide away and never be recognized again. He was on the run for many years, continually growing his hair over his face and changing his name until he forgot who he was, only remembering what he did and the shame it caused him. He’s still quite reserved and withdrawn, wondering if- even after all these decades later- someone will be able to point him out and expose his crime to the world.

I only did a brief amount of research for this, so I’m just waiting for one of the days where a maker of this movie will release a lore drop and pull one of these on me 😭⬇️

[alukardtheabysswalker]

OP you can delete this and block (no like fr be as liberal as you want about blocking people) I just wanted to take this as a jumping point for something I've been advocating for a long time:

It's really really cool to be deeply in love with your friends even if they don't love you back (that way). Better yet, it can provide some incredible happiness to you.

Now I should say at least that I have never encountered anyone that feels this way (save maybe a butch friend of mine but butches are always a blessing on this earth so it makes sense) and it is important that you, whoever you are, take your feelings into account. If remaining friends with someone you're in love who doesn't love you back hurts you, unfortunately yes it might be better to distance yourself from them and that sucks for the both of them.

BUT consider as well, that not only can you remain friends you can still be in love with them without them loving you back, hell maybe you don't even want a relationship with them.

Again remember that I'm a freak™ but I've always enjoyed the feeling of falling in love, I think all alloromantics do, so feeling unrequited love towards someone that loves you as a friend can give you that dose of happiness so often.

You know that common idea of the man that will never go to Mecca because despite being devout thinking of going there, the yearning and desire for it is enough? I'm simplifying I know, I apologize, but what's important is that I hope I can somewhat convey the feeling of what I'm saying.

Romance does not go two ways, hell you can be romantic towards someone you don't love, it is about acts of self sacrifice and or kindness you make for others and that in and of itself does feel really nice.

I am in love with no less than TWO aroace friends which by definition means they will never love me back (that way, they still love me as friends). And it feels so nice! It's just nice to see them and feel like a high schooler twirling my pigtails and kicking my feet. It feels nice to have a boost of confidence when they tell me nice things, it feels nice when my mood improves when they talk to me, it feels incredibly awesome when I see them and I see them blooming with happiness because despite not being in love with me they love me so much!!!!!

Again I don't know that this can work for a lot of people (and I certainly don't believe many if any experiences are universal for humans) but I do think if you're willing to try and just say:"Hey, I'm in love with you, but that doesn't mean I expect anything from you, I don't want things to change, I just want you to know so we can set appropriate boundaries about it" then you might find a sort of freedom in not expecting the other person to love you back (that way) and enjoy just being in love!

part of the reason I think it’s so sad that we collectively write so few stories about unrequited love is bc I feel like there’s very little public acknowledgment of how much it sucks to be the one somebody is in unrequited love with??? and not in a way of like, oh they’re crossing boundaries or putting expectations on me or whatever. becoming close friends with someone and then finding out they’re in love with you and you don’t love them back the same way is heartbreaking, bc a) someone you love is in pain and there is literally nothing you can do about it, and b) it usually means that whether you like it or not there’s going to be distance in your friendship that wasn’t there before as they try to get over you. idk man I just feel like we’ve all discussed the tragedy of loving someone who doesn’t love you back quite a lot and very rarely discuss the tragedy of finding out the way that you love someone just isn’t enough.

[all-with-angel]

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Would you fall in love with me again?

...From EPIC the Musical

❥ Heian Era!Sukuna Ryomen x fem!Reader

Or how Sukuna had come to save you, both from your captors and himself.

C.W. Mention of murder, blood, mention of torture and kidnapping

Made for Angels Birthday Event!

You hear screams before you could even see anything. Tied and bound inside a dark, damp room where you could hear each drop of blood being spilled from outside of your makeshift cage. The smell of blood and the hymn of agony permeate the air, a promise of vengeance and blood being fulfilled outside of the four walls you’ve been held captive in.

The moonlight barely illuminates the room, seeping through a small window far above you. But by now, the soft blue had turned into a raging red, the moon reflecting the carnage of which you were the center of.

Despite all the blood spilled on this cursed night, your breathing is calm, unlike the heaving breaths of the man– No, the monster in front of you.

“Sukuna.”

You whisper his name, voice hoarse from screaming mere hours ago. The four-armed beast in front of you, slathered in the thick blood of your abductors— Kneels. Kneels before your small form, still dwarfed despite his vulnerable position, a foot away from you as if his breath would shatter you into a million tiny pieces. He whispers back your own name, devotion and fear in his voice. Shaking. This time not from the thrill of bloodshed, but for fear as you see him now as what he is.

A monster.

You see it. The claws he’d use to trace idle circles on your thigh, used to rip and tear necks apart. Teeth he’d carefully graze against your pulse even as he was making rough love to you, stained with bloody remnants of what used to be human.

“I will free you.” Sukuna’s gruff voice starts, level yet detached. “And you are free to run. Run as far as you want from me.” He pauses. As if thinking of the weight of his next words, if he could ever truly stay true to them. You could feel the weight of it too, grasping at your heart as the man you love pushes you away once more. “...I will not follow.”

You blink up at him, your eyes meeting two pairs of crimson. “Why would I run?” Voice soft, wondering. Almost thoughtful. Even as the ropes that bind your hands behind your bag burn painfully at your forearms, you continue to stay understanding. 

“I am not the man you fell in love with.” His voice turned cold, stating a fact he knew to be true. “I am not your kind and gentle husband. You can see that now, can’t you?” The ropes fall from your wrists, pooling on the floor. You do not run, as many would. “Now run.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” You shake your head, bringing your hand up to graze your husbands cheek, smearing blood on your fingers.

You remember nights where he had done the same, nights where he’d look at you with an uncharacteristic calmness in his eyes— but to you? It was all but characteristic of him. Even as you were offered up to him as a sacrifice, dressed in silk sheets and armed with nothing but a puny dagger to give you some sort of hope, he had looked at you with interest. Curiosity.

Sukuna had gotten mad sometimes, directed at you, directed at whatever else. But it never lasted long with you around. He took you in, called you his new pet and even as he swore you’d be nothing but that— you ended up his wife, his queen, that he’d never stained with blood. He turned soft, your husband that complained about you being so needy yet laying—practically purring, and content in your lap.

You had dismissed the rumors to be false, your husband was nothing if not kind, maybe a little rough on the edges, but nothing as evil as what the townsfolk had said. Propaganda, you had told him during one of your dinners together, and he had stayed eerily quiet, changing the topic with a gruff strain in his voice.

This, you presumed, was nothing. Maybe it was a touchy subject.

No, you had learned the day you were taken, this was just the truth. One that Sukuna had never wanted you to see. When masked people who called themselves sorcerers invaded your home, your husband away on business and Uraume captured and injured, you didn’t expect to be taken. No less taken and tortured for information on your husband. Through the sorcerers, your captors, you had learned the truth about your husband and what he’d done.

He probably knew that. And even if you didn’t, he was sure you saw him as nothing but a monster bathed in blood right at this moment.

You aim to prove him wrong.

“You’re still my husband.”

“I’ve killed,” He snaps back. “I’ve killed hundreds— if not thousands. Do you not understand!?” He screams, mouth pulled into a snarl of frustration as he straightens his back in a show of intimidation. Sukuna huffs, the mouth on his stomach eerily still, lips pulled into a thin line. Perhaps even it knew not to disturb this moment with its blabber. “I am not your husband.”

Your face stays calm, even as you bow your head in exhaustion. “If thats true, could you do me a favor?” You whisper. “The ring on your finger. Destroy it.” 

Sukuna’s previous flicker of anger turns into a blaze, eyes widening in surprise and something akin to hurt. “Do you know what you’ve asked of me?” He rises, pulling away as he roars in anger. “The only way to destroy this— this thing,” He rips the golden band from his finger, stained with blood and the whisper of a promise. “Is for either you or I to die."

He sucks in a breath. Face contorted into the hurt of betrayal— Ironic, as he was the one to tell you to run anyway. It pisses you off.

“Only my husband knew that,” You raise your head, pushing yourself up to try and meet his height. Even on shaking legs, you stand before your husband. “So I guess that makes him you, no?!” You screech, hands clenched at your sides.

Your husband, Sukuna Ryomen, King of Curses and the man you love, could say nothing. Standing there in stunned silence at your cleverness, and at how easy the attempt he made to push you away for good simply backfired. His lips, the same pair that you had learned to kiss, stay agape as he looks down on you. He whispers your name. 

“I would fall inlove with you, over and over and over again,” You huff. “No matter what kind of man you become, you are still mine. Still my husband. So shut up and take us home already!”

Sukuna knew he made a good decision marrying you. Even if taking you in was but a whim. He grins, the the widest you've seen it.

“Fine.”

A.N. Just realized I never had him ask the question itself. Oops. is it obvious this is NOT proofread at all

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: You are meant to be a sacrifice to Nikador, but when you gain the attention of the wrong god, you learn firsthand why mortals are not meant to trifle in the affairs of the divine.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Phainon x F!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 14.9k

Content Warnings: mentions of human sacrifice, mentions of abuse, it’s going to get violent and whatnot i am sure, blood and whatnot to be expected, obviously an alternate universe, an ending i would say is bittersweet??, not really 1:1 with the myth of bellerophon however if you know the myth you will definitely see a lot of similarities in the general progression of the story, phainon is a god, like fr, so ig you could consider it a problematic age gap SKHJF but more so power imbalances in general, phainon is a catfisher for a bit lowkey, vaguely ancient greek/rome inspired but in the way canon is (so loosely + i make most of it up), i have played maybe HALF of amphoreus !! so characterization may be spotty (#powerofau), uhh idk what else i will try to add it in here if/when it comes up ig

A/N: hihi all of you i am so sorry that this has taken me so long to get out!! i have been on vacation the past two weeks so writing time has been sparse (i wrote…pretty much this entire part on my phone whenever i had a free moment or two to open up google docs LOL) but it is finally here!! as before, here are some additional notes on the chapter that you can feel free to look at whenever <3 thank you all for reading and being patient and not sending me asks harassing me about this HAHA you all are the best

During the Silver Age of Man, in a time long before Phainon, Nikador, too, had sat alongside the other gods, brave and revered, the sagacious warrior who raised their lance in Kephale’s name and struck down all who crossed the heavens. In that time, they had been worshipped by all who went to war, and so they were impartial to individual conflict, their shadow hanging over every battlefield, looming and dark as they waited to see whose blades struck true, whose shields were sturdy and whose men did not falter. Only to those chosen few would they grant victory and spoils; the rest had to fight with their own merits, or else turn to softer gods who might yet give them favor.

Back in that time, before the city on the mountain was as widely regarded as it is now, it was but a small kingdom, prosperous but contained, ruled by a kindhearted king who guarded his most precious treasure with a fierceness: his daughter, a girl so beautiful that Mnestia sang when she was born. The king knew, as all possessed with something so precious do, that there would always be those who would try to take her from him — an empire to the north, a nation of war-beasts to the west, and a nest of serpents in his very own court — so he prayed to every god he could think of, hoping for even one that might hear his pleas.

Yet none of them listened, and with every cruel answer to his prayer, the king grew more and more desperate. Great Georios desired the girl, but the king was not willing to give her to the father of giants, whose progeny would have torn her apart if they took; wise Talonton would not save her, for there was no justice in it, in allowing something so ethereal to remain mortal and unmarred; fair Thanatos promised to take her into their abode, but warned that the king would never see her again if they did, not even in death. 

Finally dear Mnestia appeared and told the king that there was only one god who could save his daughter: Nikador, the just, the furious, who even the greatest of warriors would not dare cross, whose stalwart defense could deter gods themselves.

And the king wept, for he had heard the tales of Nikador’s madness, their thirst for violence, but Mnestia held firm, unmoved by his tears, telling him it was the only way before disappearing. So the king slaughtered an entire herd of sheep and called upon the god of battle, who was so intrigued by the summons that they really did appear before him, and as soon as they lay their eyes upon the princess, they felt something stirring in their heart, something not unlike bloodlust but gentler, tenderer.

They swore to defend her, and never again did they bless another kingdom, for those of the mountain were so beloved to them that they could not bear the thought of any other’s victory. The hearts of men turned against them, and after the princess fell to Thanatos, as all mortals must, their own heart, too, grew cold — but their watchful gaze never left that mountain, for its stones were the last to hold her memory, and although it had been years upon years, they could not let go of her yet.

“Everyone knows that story,” you said when Phainon finished with great flourish. His smile, so proud in the telling, dropped immediately, replaced with a frown.

“How can it be? Do you know the labors Mnestia had me undergo before they told me that Nikador loved that girl?” he said, showing you his palms, the lines of which shone gold beneath his skin. “You mustn’t say it was in vain!”

“Well, I did not know they loved her,” you said. “That king was my ancestor, although it is his son I am descended from, not the daughter. We were always taught that Nikador admired the spirit of the mountain and so chose it as their residence.”

“Then you did not know the story!” Phainon accused, his expression indignant for all of a moment before relaxing back into the earlier grin. “My labors were not for naught. I am pleased to hear it.”

Were you not frightened of offending him, you might have rolled your eyes or made some remark, but instead you only nodded, wondering to yourself how long he would walk at your side for. He was tireless, keeping pace with your pony’s amble, striding along near your leg and speaking without so much as pausing for breath; it was all you could do to pray to Nikador, although you sensed they had no interest in saving you, not this time.

“What does it mean, that they loved this princess so well?” you said. “It isn’t as though I am her.”

“No, of course not,” he said. “But if they have loved once before, then they can do so again, right?”

“Perhaps, but it’s not as though I’m the sort of beauty which could soften their heart,” you said matter-of-factly. It was an objective thing, an honest assessment — a woman who could soothe even Nikador was the sort of person that could only really be found in legends and stories. If ever she did exist, she was long since dead and would not return so easily.

“I think you are,” Phainon said, and he spoke with such beguiling earnestness, gazing up at you with those gold eyes, as honest as daylight, that you almost believed him. But then you remembered that he was a god, and one using you for his own entertainment, no less, so you only huffed and raised your nose in the air, the only show of disdain you could be permitted.

“No matter how you flatter me, it doesn’t change the reality,” you said. Phainon pouted, and internally you scoffed at his petulance, how mundane and mortal his little mannerisms were. You wondered if he had to think about them, or if they still came to him naturally — for unlike the other gods, he had been a man once, and perhaps he still recalled in the back of his mind what that meant.

“It’s not flattery,” he insisted. “You will believe me when I bring you before them, I am sure.”

“And when do you plan on doing that, exactly?” you said, pulling your pony to a stop, for it was beginning to grow dark and you had no intentions of riding through the night. Sliding off and tying him to a nearby tree, you shook out your meager blanket, ignoring Phainon, who watched you curiously.

“Ah, it’s difficult to bring a mortal to the heavens,” he said. “You must be patient with me. But I swear I will!”

“I have nothing but patience,” you assured him. “There is nothing left for me — thanks to you, I have been cast from the mountain and the Grove alike, so I travel now to Okhema, in the hopes that I may at least find a quiet place there to live out the rest of my days.”

“Okhema! Wonderful, I can accompany you there!” he said as you lay on the ground, kneeling in front of you. “Mnestia does not guard their people as zealously as Cerces, and anyways they are fond of me, so they will turn a blind eye to my presence. Besides, Okhema is large enough that even if we did have some quarrel, I could still avoid detection without resorting to as many measures as I did in the Grove.”

“Wonderful,” you repeated with perhaps a quarter of his enthusiasm. “May I sleep now, my lord, or do you have more tales to spin?”

“You may sleep,” he said. “But won’t you be cold?”

“Certainly,” you said. “The nights are always cool, and to I who am used to the bedchambers of a princess, it is less than preferable, though I have grown used to it well enough.”

His expression was not smug when he leaned close to you, and his voice was as ever — soft, composed, clever — yet somehow you could feel it in his words, that teasing, that delighted mischief.

“I can embrace you tonight,” he said. “I promise you will be warm then.”

You sat up immediately, holding the blanket up to your chest, sputtering as you did so. “You — you most certainly can not!”

He burst into laughter, and it was a handsome sound, as befit him. You stared at him, waiting for his mirth to fade, but it took some time before his humor petered into a sigh and he shook his head.

“I didn’t mean in this form,” he clarified, although you had an inkling he very much had and was only saying that to save face. “Is this better?”

You would never grow used to the ease with which he changed shape, nor how unsettling it was when his body melted into something new. Now he was a large dog, his eyes shining, a collar winding around his neck and sinking into his thick white fur. He wagged his tail at you, and although you knew, logically, that he was still that same infuriating deity, you could not help finding him so sweet in this form, and before you knew it you were shifting to make space for him.

“Alright,” you relented. “However, you — you had best be a dog when I wake, or so help me, I shall give myself to Thanatos at once!”

He panted happily, a black-lipped, pink-tongued expression which resembled a smile, his small ears pricking as he trotted towards you and, with an exhale, flopped atop you stomach.

“Hey!” you snapped, shoving him off, earning you a dramatic, injured whine. “You are far too heavy and badly-behaved for that! You sleep at my side or go back to the heavens, but do not presume that I am enjoying this, or that I have forgotten who you are!”

It was easier to rebuke him now that he was not in the shape of a man, and especially so given that he did not argue or fight back, only licking his nose contritely and then tucking himself to your right, just close enough that the tips of his fur brushed your arm if you moved, but not so close that you had to touch him if you did not wish to. The arrangement was acceptable if not ideal, and he was as warm as he had promised, so you fell asleep quickly, without fuss, and better than you should’ve given that you were in a field alongside the road to Okhema, with the god of the dawn as your only companion.

Phainon was still asleep when you awoke the next morning, which begged the question of who had dragged the sun to the sky if not him — but these were mysterious things, and you supposed the explanation would’ve been beyond you anyways. Allowing yourself the moment of weakness, you stroked his forehead lightly, finding the fur to be like silk under your palm, moving so quickly that you doubted he would notice yet luxuriating in the soft feel of him, which was even more fine than your mother’s best gowns.

Yet almost immediately, his tail began to thump against the ground, and he lifted his head, cocking it when you withdrew your hand like you had been burnt. He nosed at your wrist, and you swatted him away, standing and beginning to fold your blanket brusquely.

“Enough with that,” you said. “You aren’t fooling me by playing the part of puppy. Become a man again at once, and enough with your innocent act.” 

“If that is what you will,” he said agreeably, wearing the same white armor as the day before, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. “I did not know if you preferred me in this form or the other.”

You almost told him you preferred him in neither, but his eyes were gold again, resting directly on you, and although you knew it was not his true divinity, it felt as if it might be the closest that you would ever see with your mortal form. A reminder, then, and one you heeded well, any traces of fondness or levity vanishing in an instant as you remembered once again that he was Phainon, god of dawn, god of the denied, god of deliverance.

“It is your choice, sunbringer,” you said. “It matters not to me.”

“You ought to just call me Phainon. Speak as if we are friends,” he said as the two of you set off again, you on your pony and he using his divine power to match your pace effortlessly.

“We are not friends,” you said, not unkindly. “I am a sacrifice who might, if you have your way, worship you one day. What friendship is that, where I kneel at your altar and beg you to bless me?”

“You wouldn’t need to beg,” he said. “Whatever you asked of me, I would grant it immediately.”

“That doesn’t change what I said,” you said. “You are a god, and I am mortal. Let us not pretend otherwise — it does neither of us any good.”

There were stories of gods who took what they pleased and left the rest; although such stories did not exist of Phainon, you were still wary as you waited for him to muster a response, half-expecting him to drag you from your pony then and there, to use the power he had been granted by Kephale to have his way. But he did no such thing, only nodding contemplatively, like you had said something profound.

“Very well, o sacrifice,” he said. “I will be a god for you.”

You did not ask him what he meant by that. You did not think you wanted to. How much more of a god could he be than he already was? What else was he planning? But knowing would not change the outcome, so you decided you would forgo your uncle’s teachings and, this one time, choose ignorance.

“You do not trust me because of Nikador, right?” Phainon asked you when you had been traveling for some days. Every night, he wore the guise of a dog and slept by your side; when dawn rose, he became a man anew, although he still followed you around as if he were a hound, tilting his head when you did something he could not understand — and there were many of these habits, for he had not been a man for an age and had not been a woman ever — and beaming if you offered him even the meagerest of praises — which typically amounted to a thank you for leaving me alone again every morning and nothing more.

“In some sense,” you said. You had, through the course of gour travels, grown accustomed to his presence, although you could never bring yourself to accept him fully. You were looser with your speech now, though, and less afraid, more indifferent when it came to the god. He had not hurt you yet, and although you did not doubt his capacity for it, you supposed there was no harm in letting down your guard the slightest bit. What other choice did you have? For he insisted on remaining with you, although the world and the heavens were his to do with as he liked.

“Nikador,” he groused. “They have always held this grudge against me! As if it’s my fault Kephale chose me to replace them.”

“It’s not as though you don’t do your part to antagonize them, if the stories are to be believed,” you said. “I admit that there must be some bias, but certainly the priests have never spoken of you favorably.”

“I would strike all those priests down if I could,” he said, quite seriously. “Yet even I know that that would be an act of war, and I am not quite so foolish — despite what you may think.”

“I don’t think anything,” you said, fighting to keep your voice neutral, without any hints of distaste.

“It’s such a silly thing,” he said, shaking his head. “Even if Nikador resents me for taking their place as the general of the gods, that doesn’t mean you must despise me as well.”

“I am loyal to my lord of strife,” you said levelly. “I have followed them for my entire life, and I shall not betray them now.”

“You love them,” he said. He stated it plainly, like it was a fact, but the way his brow furrowed implied a question more than anything. You shrugged, braiding a lock of your pony’s mane to busy your hands, which had grown lax, idle.

“Of course I do,” you said. “I have never had a father, for mine was too willing to relinquish his every duty to the High Priest — and so they were my father. I have never had a brother, for mine spent more time in war camps and temples than he ever did in the palace — and so they were my brother. I have never had anyone to believe in, for the priests show me their true faces, which I find hideous — and so they are my constant. Now, I shall never take a husband nor lover, I cannot, so whether or not you are successful, they will play that role for me, too. This is what it means to be the god of a people.”

“I see,” Phainon said. It must’ve been foreign to him, the concept of patronage, for although he had hymns and temples alike, he had no home, no sweeping city or towering mountain which claimed him as theirs. He was young for it, and anyways, who would want him? Because to have Phainon’s favor was to draw Nikador’s ire, and even though Nikador was no longer a proper deity of the pantheon, everyone knew that they were the granter of victory, so no one dared risk it. 

Besides, a god so impulsive that they even answered your brother’s wavering summons could not be trusted with stewardship of a kingdom. He would bring it to despair, and he would do so with that same glimmer in his expression as he wore now, finding humor in that downfall, delighting in their misery as much as he did their supplication.

“Is that why you wish to be their bride?” he continued. “Because you have already pledged yourself to them, and want to be theirs in full?”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. He must have heard already, in some form or another, when you had explained to Anaxagoras why you had done what you had done. So why was he asking? Did he long for some excuse with which to punish you? For now, at least, you were defenseless, exiled from Cerces’s protection and far from Nikador’s. If you told him the truth, if you told him it was because you were frightened of him, then he might take offense, and you shuddered to think what his displeasure would mean for you. 

“Yes,” you said. “I will never know another. Can you fault me for this one longing?”

“You could’ve married a mortal,” he pointed out. “Any number of princes or kings, I am sure. Were you so concerned with longing, I could have even breathed life into a statue for you and made a man exactly as you wanted.”

“Well,” you said, for you had no doubts he would’ve found pleasure in doing that, in moulding with his own hands the husband he thought you desired, demanding only your devotion in return. “But a man is not a god. A prince is not Nikador. I cannot love any other but them.”

“True enough,” Phainon said. “I have not yet conceived of a way to convince them, but I will. I consider it daily, I promise!” 

“You are rather dedicated,” you said. “Why don’t you search for another worshipper? There are many who would be overjoyed to receive attention from one such as you.”

“I don’t want any others,” he said, patting your calf for emphasis. “If you had asked me for something simple, I would have left you with it, but you have presented me with such a challenge I cannot help being consumed by its completion. Anyways, think of it from my perspective — the bride of Nikador, praying to me. Oh, how it would infuriate them!” 

“And you wonder why they dislike you,” you said.

“It’s what they deserve,” he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “They would do the same if they could! Had I a lover, Nikador would surely torment them. Miserable, rotten old god. In truth I pity you, o sacrifice, for you will be bound to them for eternity!”

“Save your pity for those who ask it of you,” you said. “As for me, I shall discover for myself exactly what kind of god Nikador is when you bring me to them.”

Okhema was a distance from the Grove, although closer from there than it was from the mountain, which was inland and thus removed from the seaside capital. Still, you and Phainon traveled for a long time to get there, and over the course of our travels you learnt the god’s peculiarities with more intimacy than you ever would’ve wanted to.

He called you sacrifice, and yet he fussed for an entire day when he heard someone slaughtering a bull for him, saying he much preferred flowers and sweets to be burnt upon his altar. He was the bringer of the dawn, and yet he slept well into the morning, always whining when you told him you had to leave for the day. He bore the power of worlds, and yet instead of tormenting you with it, instead of toying with you and yanking you along at his whim, he followed your orders rather willingly, even happily.

“Do you ever laugh?” he asked you once. You frowned at him; he tried on the expression, which looked strange on a face that only ever darkened on the rarest of occasions. “This one is not so nice.”

“I laugh quite readily, when I have something to laugh about,” you said. He mulled this over, even nodding like it was something terribly philosophical.

“You did laugh at me when I was a bird. Shall I drown myself again for your amusement?” he said.

“It’s not amusing when I know it’s you,” you said. “It’s just ridiculous. What business does a god have flailing about in a bath?”

“By Kephale! My apologies, o sacrifice, for trying to raise your spirits, low as they were when you came to the Grove,” he said. “You forget I walked with you as a man and saw your shoulders droop lower and lower with every passing day.”

“That was because you made me lead you around like a child learning to ride a pony!” you said.

“As I recall, you are the one who insisted,” he said.

“You might’ve said no,” you said.

“I tried,” he said. “You refused.”

“Only because I thought you were truly a man in trouble,” you said after a moment, scowling at how weak the rebuttal was, for after all he was correct. Noticing that you were suddenly sullen, he snickered, knowing he had won this argument.

“I’ll give you something worthwhile,” he said. “I’m the god of good humor too, though most people don’t realize it, so how can I have such a serious devotee?”

“How many roles you play,” you said. “Dawn and good humor and the general of the gods. What relation do any of these have?”

“They are all things I used to love,” he said, so simply you were taken aback, shifting in your saddle to look down on him with a furrowed brow. “When I was human, I mean. I don’t remember much from that time, it was long ago and my memories have since burned away, but there are small things I can still recall. The feel of morning dew under my bare feet. The creases around my father’s eyes when he laughed at a clever joke. The sound of my sword clashing against a rival’s. I could’ve been the god of anything, but when Kephale granted me divinity, I only wanted to keep those close to my heart.”

“Oh,” you said, for you had been expecting some sharp, witty answer, as quick as he always was. You waited for him to continue, to laugh as he was prone to and tell you he meant it in jest, but he did not. He only stared ahead contemplatively, face set, the corners of his mouth curving downwards. “I thought you would say something more foolish.”

“Hm?” he said.

“That what each of these things has in common is you, or something,” you said, and you did not smile, but you looked at him and waited, for you found you did not like it very much, the sight of Phainon so pensive. If he was the god of good humor, then ought he not remain in high spirits? He glanced up at you in confusion, and then his eyes widened before his countenance became oddly soft — not exactly amused again, but kind in a way, grateful.

“There is that as well,” he said, and then he did that thing he was fond of, touching your leg as you walked along, lightly, shyly, like he was reminding you that he was still there — as if you could ever forget.

You smelled Okhema before you saw it, the air growing lush and heady with salt and sand, lemon trees lining the road and drooping with bright fruit, perfuming the path with their sweet blossoms. Phainon plucked one and held it out to you; when you gave him a look of barely-disguised horror, he shrugged, transforming it into a golden apple and biting into it with abandon.

“I will have to remain your hound while we are in Okhema,” he said as you approached the city gates, his head swiveling around, his eyes keen. “Mnestia may not chide me, but for some reason, I don’t know that I can say the same for their followers.”

“What can mere followers do to you?” you said. “You are a god.”

“Cause me enough trouble that I get into a fight with the Lady of Romance, who, although admires me, is temperamental to a fault,” he said. “Now, I can do battle for you if you’d like, but as you said you’re trying to find a peaceful life by the sea, it might be counterintuitive.”

“Yes, please do not ruin things for me here as well,” you said. He sighed at you but returned to the dog form you had grown accustomed to from your nights together, although he did bark at you rudely once he had, his ears flat against his skull in reprimand. “Come along then, and don’t bark too much, or they’ll shoo you away for disrupting the silence.”

Okhema was a city made of marble, white and gleaming, the stones polished until one could all but see their reflection. Phainon found inordinate pleasure in trotting along and leaving gold prints behind; you had not walked in any mud, and anyways you had never seen dirt which shone like ambrosia, meaning he was doing it entirely on purpose. When you gave him a look, he only cocked his head innocently, prompting you to click your tongue, wondering if he was the god of horrible jokes as well.

There was an order even to the bustle of the city, everything in its place, the people’s voices lyrical and hushed, never abrasive, never ugly. It was so opposite to the mountain, where everyone crushed together in a muddle of shouts, pushing and shoving and cheering in turn, everything done in extremity. How beautiful that cacophony was, how pleasant, and how uncomfortable you found this tidy quiet, where wandering eyes could not help but settle on those who intruded.

“Oh, miss, is that your dog?” 

You were halted in your tracks by two small children, a boy and a girl, with bright eyes and shy voices. You glanced at Phainon, willing him to answer in some way, but he only peered back up at you, like he was daring you to say something.

“He’s been traveling with me for a while, but I wouldn’t call him mine, exactly,” you said finally. “We go now to meet with the Council of Elders.”

“They won’t let him into the palace,” the girl said, squinting at him. “He’s a dog. Elder Caenis thinks they’re all dirty.”

“Then he’ll either go back to where he came from, or he’ll wait for me outside, I expect,” you said, not deigning to mention that it was just as likely he would take some other ridiculous shape so that he could stay with you — a bird or a beetle or something else like that.

The two children exchanged looks before the boy took the ball tucked under his arm and held it out in front of him, blushing and avoiding your eyes.

“He’s very cute,” he said. “There aren’t many dogs in Okhema, and all of the ones we do have are small or mean. Could we — I mean, while you’re on your business, would you mind…?”

“We want to play with him!” the girl completed, all in a rush. “But you can say no if you like, he’s yours after all.”

“So that’s why you approached me,” you said, tapping your chin as you tried to come up with some way to explain to them kindly that if they tried to make Phainon fetch their toys in some sort of game, he might actually turn them into insects for the disrespect. “Ah, well, he’s not mine, so I don’t want to—?”

“Puppy!” the boy squealed as Phainon pounced on him, taking the ball in his mouth and then wagging his tail. The boy did not even fight back, instead busying himself with petting along his back and hugging his neck. Your jaw dropped as, instead of smiting them, Phainon sat on the ground with his tail wagging and his eyes closed, allowing the two children to flit about him. “Fetch, puppy!”

“Don’t — what?” you said, for in a stranger turn of events, instead of refusing, Phainon bounded after the ball, catching it in his mouth and then trotting back to deposit it at the boy’s feet. “What is wrong with you, sunbring—Sunny?”

Phainon barked at you. You glared at him. The boy clapped in delight, and the girl's eyes grew to the size of saucers as she tugged at the hem of your shirt.

“Can we please watch Sunny while you’re gone? He’s so adorable and sweet and wonderful!” she said.

It wasn’t possible for dogs to look arrogant, but somehow Phainon managed, and you almost wanted to tell him he might as well just take these children for his budding cult, since they seemed so willing. But you would not condemn the two to that when their intentions were naive in nature, and so you only nodded slowly.

“Yes, alright,” you said. “As long as he doesn’t mind, you can play with him while I’m gone.”

“Yay! Thank you, miss, we’ll be sure to take good care of him,” the boy said.

“Right,” you said, still somewhat at a loss for words, the sight of the god being fawned over like any other mutt more than a little disconcerting. “As for you, Sunny, you — you had best behave yourself!”

The palace of Okhema had a name in the tongue of the sea, something elegant which you could not remember as you approached the grand staircase. Your pony, too, was nervous as you came closer and closer to the imposing building, and you stroked along his neck to soothe his prancing, although it did not do much. Eventually you dismounted altogether for fear of falling, taking the reins over his head and leading him behind you until you could flag down a stablehand, who was hesitant in accepting until you showed him the letter Medea had given you for Elder Caenis.

A pretty slip of an attendant came to fetch you from the entrance hall, her creamy dress swishing behind her as she motioned for you to follow along. Her footsteps were light and her walk magnetic; you wondered if they were trained in this way, to be so uniform, as much a part of the decor as the towering pillars and archways. She did not ask for your name, nor did she offer hers, only bowing and telling you that the Council awaited you in the meeting room.

You lingered for a moment, toying with the scroll you had kept close to your breast for the entire journey. Time and time again, you had been tempted to open it, but you always stopped yourself before you could. Whatever Medea had written, you thought it might be better if you did not read it, especially not before Phainon, whose reaction to your tears you could not predict.

Phainon. You wished he were with you, you realized; you were frightened, and instead of longing for Nikador’s gaze, it was Phainon who you wished to come to your side, Phainon with his charm and lightness and his uncanny ability to understand even what you could not say to him aloud. It was a betrayal of the highest order, but you could not help it, could not help looking towards the window and waiting for him to appear in some form or another. A bird or a beetle or a ray of sun, even, as long as he was there. As long as he was with you. As long as you were not alone.

“They tell me you have a letter from Medea,” Elder Caenis said when you entered. She was the council’s sole representative, which was both more and less nerve-wracking than if you had been faced with the entire collective. Her hair was a knot of clotted spiderwebs tied at the nape of her neck, and her eyes were the bland color of dead halcyon feathers, devoid of anything resembling light or life as they settled upon you.

You nodded, handing the paper to her. “Yes.”

“You’re Anaxagoras’s niece,” she remarked, unfolding it. “A wonder you are here, and not still in the Grove.”

“I am sure Medea’s letter explains it,” you said. Elder Caenis hummed.

“And so it does,” she said, putting it down and pressing her mouth into a thin line. Her eyes narrowed, twin slits of ice cutting through Okhema’s heat and into your core, chipping away at your soul with a steady cruelty. “I understand the situation. I shall deliberate over it with the rest of the councilmen today, and tomorrow, you will be summoned to hear our conclusions.”

“Yes, Elder. Thank you,” you said with a bow. 

“An attendant will be along to take you to the baths, after which you will be escorted to your quarters, where you are to remain until further notice,” she continued. “I hope you’ll understand.”

“I do,” you said, even though the taste in your mouth was bitter, sour. Yet you had no other choice, not when her glare didn’t lift for even a moment, not when an attendant was at your side in an instant, taking your elbow in a hand whose size belied its strength. 

The Okheman baths were as beautiful as their acclaim suggested, but you could not enjoy them when the water was soiled with the stench of your fear, the attendant hovering over you the entire time, offering you help with pleasant words that you did not believe for a moment. When she realized you would not accept it, she took a step back, and there she stayed until you told her you were finished.

Your guest chambers were far closer to what you had known for your entire life, sumptuous and decorated with an attention to detail that spoke to a true love of refinement and wealth, as was to be expected from the seaside capital, which had earned that title as verily as it had fought for it. Sitting on the windowsill was a white squirrel, and in the entire room filled with vibrant paintings and rich fabrics, you found it was the most beautiful thing, with a gold stripe running down its back and tufted ears swiveling towards you when you were ushered in by the attendant.

“You’re here,” you said, unable to stop yourself from sounding relieved as you nodded at the squirrel, resisting the urge to take it and hold it close to your heart. The squirrel — who was not really a squirrel but Phainon himself — chirped, and then when he was sure the room was empty, he sprung back into the form of a white-armored man, beaming at you in greeting.

“My sacrifice!” he said, and for a bizarre moment you thought he was about to embrace you, so, swallowing, you turned and busied yourself with inspecting the bed, which was as perfect as everything else. “Of course I am. How could I leave you so soon?”

“Perhaps you found better worshippers,” you said. “Ones who actually worship you, for example.”

“That would be boring,” he said. “Anyways, what did the Council of Elders say?”

“They will consider my fate and inform me tomorrow what they decide,” you said to him. “I am not to leave my quarters until then, and especially not without an attendant.”

“No matter,” he said. “If you have any need for anything, just ask me. I’ll bring it to you in a heartbeat.”

“I’m not going to treat a god like a messenger-boy. The mere prospect ought to anger you beyond belief,” you said, pulling gauzy curtains over the window to ward away insects, lighting oil lamps to stave off the encroaching darkness of the night. 

“It doesn’t,” he said. 

“Why not?” you said. “Like I said, it should. Doing these things for a mortal woman, letting her speak to you with such insolence, it should madden you, and yet you allow it — encourage it, even! Talonton or Phagousa or Mnestia or any of them, they would’ve turned me to some beast by now, if not stricken me down entirely. Why doesn’t it infuriate you?”

“It just doesn’t,” he repeated as you slipped into the bed, though you did not lie to sleep, instead waiting with your hands folded for him to do — you weren’t sure what, exactly, but something. “I don’t mind it so much. I’m not like the others, anyways, as they are so fond of reminding me.”

You smoothed the space beside you, motioning for him to sit. He furrowed his brow, but you shook your head wordlessly, and so he crept to the side of your bed before, all in a rush, hurling himself atop it, laying his head on your lap and slinging his arms loosely around your hips, exhaling as you finally allowed him to lie with you as a man. You raised your eyebrows but, biting your tongue, did not push him away this time, instead letting your hand hover above the place where his hair curled around his ear, too shy to touch it but suddenly feeling a great and inexplicable desire to.

“They don’t like you much,” you said rhetorically. He opened one eye to peer at you; when he noticed how close your palm was to his face, he tugged your wrist down until your fingers met his pale, warm cheek. You drew it back immediately, like you had been burnt, which prompted nothing but a dry chuckle out of him, as though he had expected nothing less

“Who?” he said. 

“Anyone,” you said. The corners of his lips curved, although he did not quite grin.

“Not particularly,” he said. “But you meant the other gods in specific. It’s okay — you can speak ill of them if you’d like. I will defend you.”

“Yes,” you admitted, finding you trusted him to keep this promise, although maybe you shouldn’t have. “I meant them.”

“It is not as though they hate me, necessarily,” he said. “Some of them even like me well enough — Mnestia, for example. But many of them do resent me. I am a man who became a god; I was never born to divinity the way they were. Once, I was just like you, and gods do not take kindly to those who rise above their stations. It changes the natural order of things, and they are so reliant on that constant to maintain their power.”

“Just like me,” you mused. “I cannot imagine what kind of a man you must have been.”

“I looked much as I do now,” he said, rolling off of you, sprawled on his back with his limbs askew as he stared up at the painted ceiling. “The same hair, the same nose, the same expression — although Mnestia tells me my smile was once crooked, endearing, not as perfect as it is now. Other than that, though, you should not have any difficulties picturing me as I once was.”

“It is difficult,” you said, moving so you could lie on your side and face him. He turned as well, and in the flickering light of the oil lamps, his irises were alive, dancing and mad, twin coins reflecting gold and greed as they bored into you. “How terrible your eyes are in this celestial form. I cannot imagine a mere mortal to possess such a gaze.”

“They were different,” he acquiesced. “I can’t remember what color they were back then, but it wasn’t this. These are a color only a god can don.”

“Yes, it must be so,” you said. “You really can’t remember?”

“It was not just years but an entire age ago that I was a man,” he said. “I told you already, most of my memories drifted away when I ascended to godhood, and time has only thrown a veil over those that are left. I could ask Oronyx for their aid, but I think it’s better I don’t remember. It would make what I do have hurt even more.”

“Hurt?” you said, and then you frowned, because you didn’t want to keep prodding at this newfound wound, even if Phainon might not have minded. “Well. By the way, it was good of you, what you did earlier.”

“Hm?” he said drowsily, although he did not appear to be tired, and neither did he need rest in the same way you did.

“With the children,” you said. “Obliging them and all. You might’ve punished them, but instead you played along and let them treat you like a dog instead of a deity. I didn’t expect it. I mean, who’s ever heard of a god that plays fetch with little boys and girls?”

“It made them happy,” he said, and then slowly, carefully, he extended his hand so that it rested on your jaw and he could trace his thumb along your face. You almost flinched away, but he was so mild, like a butterfly along your skin, that you could not bring yourself to. It was so different from any touch you had ever known, the priests or your mother or anything, that you found yourself leaning into it, found yourself wishing he would never stop. “I was also a child before. This, at least, is something I still recall — how it felt to be a boy, with no knowledge of what would one day become of me.”

He stroked along your bones like he was trying to memorize their shapes, their angles, and he lingered in odd places: the hollow under your eye, the bow of your mouth, the arch of your brow, with no rhyme or reason to it. The repetitive motions were soothing, and combined with the lush bed, it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but you fought it back, giving in to your curiosity when the conversation seemed like it would take no other path but this.

“Was it painful when you became a god?” you said, punctuating the statement with a yawn. He pressed his index finger on your lower lip, halting you in the midst of it and answering your surprised look with a snicker that did not quite reach his eyes. Another joke, then, but one only meant to deflect the question, and so one you did not deign to acknowledge. “You keep mentioning your time as a man, so I was wondering.”

“Because it will happen to you, should I find success,” he completed knowingly. “Because in order to marry Nikador, you will have to become a goddess.”

“Right,” you said, although it wasn’t the case. But it should’ve been. You had no reason to feel genuine concern for him, to care for how he had become what he now was. He was still Phainon, still an ill-tempered and badly-behaved god who would just as soon take you and turn you into a rabbit for his troubles as he would grant your wishes. No amount of playing with children and touching you how you wanted would change that; no amount of tragedy or terror would make that fundamental part of him different.

“It’s not,” he said. “Painful, that is. The physical process is easy, and besides, after that pain is…different. You can’t quite understand it in the same way, so it matters little. I wish I could say the same for the rest of it.”

“Do you mean your injuries from the fight against Aquila?” you said, referencing that final, terrible battle, wherein Phainon had defeated the maniacal god by holding the sky upon his shoulders until Kephale could trick Aquila into taking back the burden. Human as he was, Phainon could not survive it, his body withering away from the weight, but in recognition of his sacrifice, Kephale granted him godhood and made him their general for his bravery. “I’ve only heard the story a few times, but it sounds so awful…”

“I had a horse,” he said. “Pegasus. He was as white as a shooting star and scared of his own shadow; I was the only one he allowed on his back, so sensitive was he.”

“He sounds beautiful,” you said, more than a little bemused by the change in topic.

“He was,” Phainon said, dreamily, wistfully. “He was the first one I lost. Colic, I think it was. They put another man on him and it set him to thrashing about and that was when I learnt that it is far worse to watch Thanatos embracing another than it is to meet them yourself.”

“Oh, no,” you said, a pit clawing open in your stomach, your chest heavy with an invisible burden as Phainon nodded slowly. You wanted to tell him to stop, but this was something you could not look away from, could not avoid, and so your mouth refused to move any further.

“My mother was next. She was assaulted, killed for pleasure and silence, and although I struck down those petty thieves, turned them into pigs as was befitting their nature, it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t bring her back,” he said.

This story you knew as well, though you had never heard the whole of it. You were only ever told on the mountain that in all the hot-blood of youth, Phainon had once turned a pair of beggars into pigs and laughed at their squeals. You swallowed, because you did not think he was lying, but it was so at odds with what you knew that you weren’t sure how to reconcile it.

“After that was my father,” he said. “Old age took him. I fought with Thanatos—”

“For five nights,” you completed. He raised his eyebrows, and you hugged an extra pillow to your chest, hiding your face in it. “They say you got in an argument with them and the two of you dueled until Cerces intervened.”

“Yes,” he said, his hand on the back of your head now, petting along your hair. “Cerces told me even I could not fight fate, and if I continued as I was, they would be forced to bring me before Kephale and have my divinity stripped away. I nearly agreed, but the gleam in Thanatos’s eyes at the prospect was so wicked I could not bring myself to.”

“Then the story of you flooding an entire empire?” you said, your voice muffled by your bedding and exhaustion alike.

“They dared to kill a man I once considered my dearest friend,” he said. “And planned on pillaging his kingdom and enslaving his wife, who was always so meek, who always gave me little sweets when I visited and told me she was glad her husband had someone like me to defend him. I could not do anything for him in the end, but at least her, at least I could save her in his name…she scorned me, you know. When I appeared before her and told her what I had done, all she could do was weep and curse me. What sort of a god are you? That was what she asked. He prayed to you before he left, and you abandoned him. His kingdom revered Nikador, and still he chose to put his faith in me, but that very faith was what cost him. I’ll always wonder if it might’ve been different, had he been like you, had he remained loyal to strife. Would he have lived a little longer? Would his wife have hated me less?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” you said. “He still would have died eventually, and she still would have hated you. Only gods are immortal.”

“And that is what you will come to learn,” he said. “In time, indifferent as you are now, you might find me to be your greatest ally in the pantheon. I am the only one who can ever understand you, after all.”

Perhaps it was his words, or perhaps it was the late hour, or perhaps it was the last vestiges of the dying oil lamps, but you found yourself asking him to close his eyes. He did so at once, always so willing, always so obedient, and for a second you thought to yourself, what have I ever done to deserve him? But you chased it away immediately, because Phainon was your bane, because you did not want him and certainly did not think of yourself as unworthy of him — if anything it was the other way around, for you surely did not deserve to have to endure his presence as much as you did.

“They must have been blue,” you said after a moment of deliberation. His forehead creased, but he did not speak, only waiting for you to elaborate, and so you did. “The color of the sky right after sunrise. Bright and lovely. The kind of color that is impossible to refuse. I would have been very fond of them, I think.”

“Would that I could make them that shade,” he said, and then he opened his eyes to reveal that same gold, not the blazing blue you had pictured and loved. “Would that you could be fond of me as I am now.”

“I am sorry,” you said. “But—”

“Nikador,” he said, and then he rolled over so that his back was to you, wide and sturdy and perfect, so perfect, like an artist had made him with loving hands, like he had been crafted, not born. “I understand, o sacrifice, you needn’t explain further. I am sure that learning the fate of my friend has only fortified your resolve.”

To this you had no response, so you only turned your back to his, and thus you slept alongside him, dreaming of a man who resembled him greatly — but with a crooked, dimpled grin and eyes like wildflowers, shining in the faint light of dawn as you offered him something sweet in the hopes he might accept it. 

The next morning, you were summoned to the meeting room once more, for it was said that your fate had been decided. Phainon rode along on your shoulder, a small bird tucked into the curve of your neck as you walked behind the attendant to where Elder Caenis awaited you. When nerves caused your hands to tremble, you would reach up and run your finger along his wings, which would earn you a delighted coo that you thought would alarm the attendant but in fact went ignored each time. Phainon, for his part, seemed to have forgotten his sorrow from the previous night, waking up in good cheer and even pecking your palm sweetly when he became a bird and you lifted his fine-boned body in the air, asking him to come with you.

It was easier to face things with him there, even though the prayers in your mind were meant for Nikador alone, as they always were. You did not know if your esteemed lord would answer you, not with Phainon so near, but even the words were enough to calm your thrumming heart, so that when you came before Caenis, it was with a steady mind and blank expression, giving away nothing.

“Niece of Anaxagoras, former princess of the mountain, you have come to Okhema in search of refuge from the god Phainon,” Elder Caenis began. “Medea has explained it well, so you needn’t clarify further. As a favor to an old friend, I will accept you, but on one condition.”

“Anything, Elder Caenis,” you said. “I have no qualms about working and staying in sparse lodging — I don’t demand nor expect comfort.”

“Good, that makes this easier. As of late, the Okheman countryside has been plagued by a new terror: the Khimaira, a terrible beast with the body and head of a lion, the bust of a goat sprouting from its back, and a serpent for a tail. It can breathe fire, and it has been burning crops with such prolificness that a famine has gone from unthinkable to a genuine consideration. You are from a nation of warriors, so surely you should not mind slaying it for us?” she said.

“If I say no?” you said.

“You will not like how I answer that question,” she said. “This isn’t a choice, girl, it is a compulsion. You will agree to it. You will ride forth, and you will slay the Khimaira or you will die trying.”

“Haven’t you army-men to send?” you said. “Why must it be me? I may be of the mountain, but I don’t have any experience with fighting, and certainly I am no hero who can kill even monsters without batting an eye. That age is over; men like that aren’t born anymore.”

“The soldiers have attempted and failed again and again,” Elder Caenis said. “But setting aside the matter of Phainon, you carry Nikador’s blessings in your blood. They will certainly assure your victory, as long as you pray to them well. That is all; you will be brought to your horse and given a weapon with which to do battle. The Council of Elders wishes you luck, young princess. May fortune smile upon you someday.”

You thought it strange that people only ever called you princess when they were bidding you farewell. The High Priest, Elder Caenis…they wielded the title you once had as a mockery, as a way to cut into you with unfounded cruelty. Neither they nor you could ever escape the knowledge that a princess you were no longer, and they took such pains to remind you of it with every breath you took.

“Oh, Phainon,” you said, a single, terrified sob escaping you as soon as you were in the stable alone, a knife in your hand and your pony’s reins in the other. “You heard her! They’re sending me — I’m meant to — this beast, how am I supposed to defeat — with only a dagger!” 

“You aren’t,” he said, jumping from your shoulder, a man once again, tightening the straps of your bridle so that it would not slip. “Medea sent you to Okhema to be killed. You know that, right?”

“No,” you said. “My uncle, he would never allow it, surely there is some mistake!”

“Your uncle was outvoted,” he said, lifting you by the waist and setting you in the saddle before leading you forward, your pony prancing along behind him. “Six against one. The Sages were too cowardly to do it themselves, as were the Elders, so they have come up with this way of ending your life blamelessly, without any chance of angering Nikador or I — make no mistake, this is an execution order nonetheless.”

“What am I meant to do?” you said. He looked at you over his shoulder.

“Ask me for my help,” he said. “I will come to you, o sacrifice, and I will save you, as I have promised so many times before. Become my devotee and I won’t let anything harm you. You won’t fall to the same fate that my friend did, that my mother and father did. As long as you ask it of me, I will guard you from even Thanatos. But you won’t, right? No matter what I say or do, no matter how I entreat you, you won’t.”

“It is Nikador,” you said. “I must — I cannot anger them; the savage king who bears the lance of fury, they who vanquish all enemies and who are with me in all my battles, they must befriend me in this mine hour, or else I will not see victory.”

Phainon’s expression turned a peculiar version of mournful, desolate, and for a moment you thought he would say something, but then panic flitted across his features and he vanished, like he had never even been there in the first place. Your pony pinned his ears, but you did not nudge him forward, waiting for Phainon to appear again with one of his jokes, to tell you he would stay with you until you found the Khimaira. Yet he did not, so eventually all you could do was continue as you had been, your muscles turning tauter and tauter the farther you grew from the golden city.

“I suppose in the end, you are my only constant,” you said, hugging your pony around the neck. Your pony, who had set out with you from the mountain and remained steadfastly at your side ever since; indeed, he was at this point your oldest and longest friend, the only one to never spurn you, the only one to never demand anything from you in return.

Your hunt for the Khimaira was long and lonely. Phainon did not materialize at any point, and if the Khimaira had ever been near to Okhema, it had long since flown to the countryside, far from the capital. You rode for longer than you ever had, with your pony as your only company, your orisons to Nikador and the song of hoofbeats on the road the only sounds to cut through the desolate, foreboding silence.

You missed the god most in the nights, for it became colder and colder as the year stretched on and your distance from Okhema increased. What you wouldn’t have given to lie with him, to have him embrace you and ward away the omnipotent chill you suffered from. But you refused to call upon him as your deity, refused to kneel for any who were not Nikador, and so you suffered alone, sleeping against your pony’s side, his body shielding you from the wind, his warmth meager compared to Phainon’s but better than nothing.

Many times you thought of running, but where would you go? Who would have you? Cast from the mountain and the forests and the seaside alike, there wasn’t a village that did not know your face, that did not turn silent when you begged for asylum. They did not dare anger the Sages or the Elders or the priests or their deities, and no amount of disguising yourself or invoking Nikador’s name was enough to fool them or change their minds. 

You were marked by Phainon — therefore, the gods who had quarrels with him took it upon themselves to bring misery to you, too, for he was untouchable and you were so delicately, breathtakingly mortal. Georios caused the earth to shake when you tried to become a nanny in a small riverside town; Thanatos sent a plague to the foothills until you were chased from them by a crowd of frightened men with sick on their breaths; Phagousa brought a great wave from the sea when you sought refuge with a family of fishermen, who even after this retribution told you you could stay and only allowed you to leave when you pretended you could not stand the smell of seaweed which clung to every available surface in their home. 

You pleaded and pleaded to Nikador — defend me, please defend me, why won’t you defend me? — but they did not so much as send you a sign, let alone protect you from the torments of their brethren. Deaf to your begging, they left you with no other choice, no other recourse but to seek out the Khimaira in the hopes that you could one day return to Okhema, where Mnestia’s protection could be enough to hide you from the rest of the pantheon.

Eventually, in the course of your travels, you came across a dying woman, blood around her mouth and a baby wailing in her arms. She was saying something, and you knelt so you could hear, gathering the baby without thinking and holding it to your breast, cradling its soft head against your heart as you rocked it, trying to soothe its fretful tears.

“Lady,” she coughed out. “They took everything from me — my son, please take care of my son—”

You didn’t bother asking what happened to her. It was obvious enough, and anyways you didn’t want her to waste her precious last breaths explaining something that could not be undone, so you only stroked your hand along her temple, not sure who you meant to comfort more, her or the child or yourself. 

“I don’t know how to,” you said, your voice breaking as something caught in your throat and stuck there. “I’m sorry, madam, but he will have such a terrible existence with me anyways, and I do not even know how to cheer him…” 

“Sing to him,” she said. “As your mother did to you when you were a baby. Do you remember the song?”

“Of course I do not,” you said. “But it must’ve been one for Nikador, I am sure.”

The woman shook her head, and then she lifted a crimson palm to your cheek, leaving a slender, wet handprint behind. Everything about her was limp; you held her hand to you, crushing her bones in your grip as your vision swam with tears that did not fall and the baby’s damp cheek pressed against your own.

“They chided her for it,” she said. “She tried every ode to war, but it never ceased your sobbing. There was only one song which could quiet your tantrums, only one god whose name could mellow your irascible temper. Don’t you remember? That hymn you never learnt but know in your heart, the one you loved so well as a child…call upon it once more, darling princess.”

“What?” you said, and if you were not so entirely distraught, you might’ve noticed the sparkle in her eyes, which should not have been that type of gleaming when she was supposedly so near to death. “A hymn I never learnt but know in my heart?”

She smiled at you, mysterious and cunning, but did not explain further. You thought and thought, but you could not understand what she might mean, until she began to hum to you, soft and slow and sad, her voice so like your mother’s you nearly began to bawl yourself, nearly crawled and lay your head against her stomach so that she could pet your hair as your mother had in your youth.

“How, then, shall I sing of you?” you said, following the dips and crescendos of her humming, allowing her to lead you through it as the baby quieted. “For everywhere, Phainon, is beholden to you, over the mountains and across the isles, from high-sloping foothills to beaches canting seaward. Do I sing of how you were born a man amidst golden furrows, and how you then rose to become the joy of mankind itself? Hear this, Earth and wide Heaven, surely he will have his fragrant altar and precinct, and he shall be honored above all; as for me, I will carry his name close to my heart, and I will never cease to praise that white calamity, o shining Phainon, god of every dawn.”

Suddenly the weight upon your shoulder lifted, the baby dissipating into nothingness and an immense light enveloping the woman. You stumbled backwards as she stood, no longer a wan, bleeding figure but robust and tall, angular and pointed in construction, wearing flowing robes and a melancholy expression on the most beautiful face you had ever seen.

“Hello, child,” they said, and you covered your mouth with your hand, waiting to be struck down, waiting for the latest tragedy to befall you in the name of Phainon, in the name of some feud or another. “Do not be frightened. I have no quarrel, with you or with that dear boy. You do not recognize me? But it is my own city you ride forth from.”

“Mnestia,” you said. They smiled at you, bending down to caress your face, combing their fingers through your hair and kissing your forehead. How warm it was, how maternal, and you found yourself reaching for them, clinging to their skirts like a child might cling to a mother’s dress, enveloping yourself in the safety of their watch, the closest to repose you had felt since Phainon had left you without a word.

“Phainon was right,” they said. “If only you had been born in Okhema. You would’ve been my most treasured priestess, you lovely little thing. What a shame that another has staked his claim upon you, and a greater shame that you were born to Nikador, who would never allow me to so much as look upon their mountain and steal you away first.”

“Thank you,” you said. They placed their palms on your shoulders firmly, pulling you to your feet, and although they were a goddess, no less than Phainon or Nikador, you could not bring yourself to be afraid. For a moment, their expression flickered, and you swore you saw your mother looking upon you, that same lined smile, that same furrowed brow, and instead of terror, it was only grief you could muster, grief for the life that had been wrenched from you the day you were exiled from the mountain.

“You are not so far from the Khimaira,” they said. “Soon you will stumble upon it, but as you are now, you will lose.”

“I know,” you said. “I was never meant to win, was I? You should know better than anyone, as it is your own cult who sentenced me.”

“I am sorry,” they said. “I cannot control them any more than I can help you. There are too many factors at play, too many gods who find pleasure in this turn of events. Even meeting you now is a risk that I am taking, but at my behest, you called upon Phainon, and so he is protecting us, shielding us from the gaze of the other deities.”

“Phainon,” you said, swallowing and wrapping your arms around your own torso. “I…”

“I know,” Mnestia said. “He longs for you as well, child. All he does is sit by the heavens’ looking glass, staring down at you so forlornly that even Zagreus has grown concerned.”

“Then why won’t he come to me?” you burst out, all at once, ashamed of it but spurred onwards by the desperation which had built and built in you since he had left. “Why did he go without any explanation and refuse to return?”

“Do you think gods can appear to mortals without consequence?” Mnestia scolded you, their voice resounding with the clamor of a thousand avalanches. “He has broken every one of Kephale’s rules so many times over! He struck one of Cerces’s Sages, he came into my holy city, and he has watched over you, who does not even offer him sweet words. It is not allowed! Perhaps Kephale might’ve turned a blind eye were it one of the others, but not him. Not Phainon, who is kept in such contempt by half the pantheon. If he were allowed to continue to accompany you without so much as a sincere plea falling from your lips, if he were allowed to continue to trample on other deities’ domains without care, the heavens would’ve been thrown into mass upheaval. It would’ve been war, and so Kephale has chained him to his throne in the sky and banned him from the mortal realm.”

“Then…if I ever want to see him again, I have to pray to him? But what about Nikador? They will hate me if I turn to him now,” you said.

“Do you truly love them so well?” they said. “Phainon tells me you wish to wed them. Is it so? You will be miserable if you do, you must know it. They won’t love you, child. Not how he does.”

“Nikador has never betrayed me,” you said. Mnestia sighed, and then they took a step back. You meant to chase them, but some force rooted you in place, holding you there as they grew more and more distant.

“Is it not a betrayal that they have left you to this fate?” they said. “Is it not a betrayal that they allow their kin to toy with you? Make no mistake: you may have once been the princess of the mountain, but even in the eyes of Nikador, you belong to Phainon now. In some sense, you always have — your mother knew it, I know it, and more than anything or anyone, he knows it. You only need to call on him, child. He will come as soon as you do.”

“I will do no such thing,” you said. “You lie. Nikador would never — they would not leave me like this, they would not forsake me to Phainon — it isn’t true! I am of the mountain, I am their daughter and sister and devotee, I have spent my whole life as such — you cannot say that they have thrown me away as easily as their priests did — you cannot, you cannot—”

“Whether you believe me or not, that doesn’t change the truth of the matter,” Mnestia said, and then they sounded so exactly like your mother that you could only close your eyes and pretend that they were affording you that final farewell the High Priest had robbed you of. “Goodbye, child. May the path you tread be ever peaceful.”

Only when their imposing presence vanished did you allow your lower lip to tremble, tangling your fingers in your pony’s mane as you remounted him, leaning forward and burying your face in his crest. He continued onward steadily, ignoring your shuddering breaths, which were not exactly cries, unaccompanied by tears as they were, but came very close. Yet you refused to cross that threshold; you were brave, strong, you could not crumble over something so meaningless. Nikador was still with you. Phainon was the one who, in his fickle whims, had abandoned you, had grown bored of your constant refusals, and this was what you had hoped for, wasn’t it? You didn’t want Phainon to look upon you ever again, you were glad he had moved on, and when you had begged Mnestia it had only been a wavering moment of longing for the familiar comfort he brought you, nothing more.

You knew you had found the Khimaira when ash began to stick to the air, a light film of grey settling over your surroundings, turning the sunrise dim — as if Phainon could not bear to witness this final moment, as if he were close his eyes to this last brutality which would be your end. The withered trees were sticky with residue, and every village you passed through was deserted, hollow, the white stone walls streaked with black ash and dried, flaking red, the smears turning brown around the edges. 

Bile rose in the back of your throat, scratching and burning and wicked when you pushed it down, clenching your fist around the ritual knife you had been given in Okhema, your only weapon against the monster. It was a pretty instrument, the hilt painted gold, the blade nearly white and engraved with a prayer to Mnestia, but it was only meant for slaughtering lambs at the altar, who were small and shy and would not fight back. Perhaps it was some sort of a joke, a tongue-in-cheek reminder of why you had really been sent on this errand, of the fate the Sages and the Council of Elders had decided for you, but you could not resent it enough to throw it away, not when it was your sole defense against the world.

Your pony’s instincts were as keen as yours, or perhaps keener, for just as he had in Okhema, he swelled with nerves, and this time you could not quell them. Yet he continued onwards steadily, trusting in you more than himself, and this was such a great source of dismay for you that you nearly leapt from his back and turned him loose. How could he? After all this time, after all he had endured, his coat growing dull and his ribs sharper than you ever remembered them being on the mountain, he still remained loyally at your side, such that he would even accompany you to your death. Perhaps you would ride him into the underworld, too, and it was selfish but it soothed you to believe you would not be alone in that final descent, so you steeled yourself and directed him onwards.

Great Georios must have warned their child that you were coming, for the Khimaira was eerily still when you emerged from the forest onto the cliff where it awaited you. The sire of all beasts, they thought of Phainon as a troublesome, calamitous being, and so they held no love for you, either. At times, you thought of giving them some offering or another in supplication, but then you remembered the stories you had heard of the earth god and grew frightened, deciding you would rather suffer their casual irritation than their proper rage. In truth they were as jealous and mean as Phainon was said to be, but far more powerful than he, slower to anger but erupting suddenly and violently when they did.

The Khimaira stood slowly, languorously, the lion’s head eyeing you and your pony with shrewd eyes like volcanic glass, blank and unfeeling. Beneath you, your pony shuddered, and you knew you were in no better shape, your breaths quick and short like a hare’s, the knife slick in your grasp, teetering on the edge of falling more and more with every passing moment. You wondered, suddenly, in a stroke of clarity, how it had come to this, how you had gone from an esteemed princess to such a ragged, pitiful girl, who only had death left to welcome her — and not even fondly, for Thanatos hated you as well as the rest! How learned you had been once, how happy and adamant, and now you were miserable and helpless, abandoned by divinity and humanity alike.

As quick as lightning, the Khimaira opened its enormous, gaping maw, a dying lamp in the back of its throat flaring to life as fire built in the span of instants before spitting out at you, licking along the browned grass and turning to tall, towering columns that scraped at the reddening sky. Your pony squealed and bolted, the whites of his eyes showing as he tried to storm back into the forest, but in his fear he missed the path, ramming into a tree whose boughs gouged into his flanks and left them dripping with blood. You tried to shush him, to take back the reins and guide him properly, but he was beyond reason, his pain and fear blinding him as the Khimaira advanced with a piercing roar, the serpent of its tail lunging at you, your leg only escaping its translucent fangs because your pony shied sideways, dancing towards the edge of the cliff and whinnying shrilly in vain challenge.

You had known as soon as you saw it that it would kill you, and you had known for longer that this quest was meant to be your execution, but despite how long you had had to come to terms with it, you were surprised to find that you were still so petrified, that as your pony’s back hooves scrabbled against the edge of the cliff and the knife balanced precariously in your fists, you still clung to him desperately, still clung to a final chance at life you knew would not come.

Nikador, you thought to yourself, please, where are you? Why do you not aid me? You have left me! Grant me victory, what must I do for you to do just that?

Every prayer, every ode, every hymn to the lord of strife, they all ran through your mind like an elegy, haunting and anguished and imploring. You could speak them aloud, as you had been every day since you left Okhema, you could attempt to force them to listen — but would they? Mnestia’s words rang in your ears as your pony’s hindquarters gave way and you began to slide down the cliff, sweat darkening his neck, white lather bunching under his mane as he scrabbled for purchase.

Is it not a betrayal that they have left you to this fate? Is it not a betrayal that they allow their kin to toy with you? They won’t love you, child. 

And so, when your pony collapsed and you shrieked out a name, it was not Nikador’s which fell from your lips. You abandoned them then, abandoned them as well and truly as they had abandoned you; it felt like death, too, this invocation, for with it you could never go back to who you had once been, could never again be the princess of the mountain who was loyal only to her god of war. 

“Phainon! I will give you anything — my body, my loyalty, flowers and sweets and a thousand songs in your honor — but come back, please come back, please, I need you—”

You belonged to him now, or maybe it was as Mnestia said: maybe you always had, and it was only in this moment that you were realizing it, this moment in which it came to fruition, that prophecy which your mother had unwittingly woven with that very first lullaby she whispered to you, that very first story of the sunbringer she sang you to sleep with.

Your pony’s slack, tangled limbs straightened in midair and his coat turned the shining white of a shooting star, all of his many wounds knitting together before vanishing entirely. Feathers sprouted from his heaving sides, large wings coalescing and churning at the air, leaving howling gales in his wake as he climbed towards the sun, far from the furious Khimaira’s reach, prompting a proud trumpeting sound from him as he soared over the forest you had come from.

“Pegasus,” you gasped, for he had in truth transformed into a winged version of Phainon’s horse from his mortal days, that silvery, wild thing which had died when it lost him to godhood. Yet here he was, born again, winged and immortal as his former master, but beholden to another this time, still possessed with your pony’s steadfast, undying allegiance to you. Flicking an ear back, he banked slightly, allowing you to catch your breath. “Ah, what?”

Flashing with a surge of lightning, the hilt of the ritual dagger became a scalding temperature, and then it melted in your palm, reforming into a sword made of moonbeams, the crossguard a heavy bronze that your arms strained under until hands curled around your wrists, fingers closing over yours and helping you heft it. It was not just any sword, you realized when you stared at it longer, but the very one which heralded the dawn, the blade of the worldbearer, a heavenly weapon which only one other had ever wielded: Phainon, whose invisible presence was the only reason you did not plummet from the burden of its divine authority.

Go, he said, and when you twisted in your saddle you saw nothing, but you could feel his heat surrounding you nevertheless, could feel the tickle of his breath against your ear when he whispered against the shell of it, the firmness of his body as he steered Pegasus towards the Khimaira. Slay that vile thing.

“I can’t,” you said, your voice bordering on hysterical. “I can’t, it breathes fire, I can’t, I—”

You can. Something fluttered against your cheek, a kiss like a sunbeam, and then it was gone, so quickly that you might’ve imagined it. I promise that you can. I am with you. I am always with you.

He steadied your grip, an invisible thumb soothing over your knuckles, and then Pegasus dove towards the Khimaira with his muzzle pointed at the ground, weaving in between bursts of fire like a child playing in the streets. Then Phainon nudged your upper arms, and before you knew it you were raising the sword in the air so it could catch the light, squeezing your eyes shut and aiming it at the Khimaira’s heart.

That’s no good, my sacrifice. This beast doesn’t have just one heart, you know. Wait.

Right when you thought Pegasus might crash into the ground, the Khimaira leapt at you, evidently tired of toying with its prey. Pegasus pulled up sharply, and you hesitated, but Phainon had no such reservations, maneuvering your hands into place and then humming as the tip of the sword stuck into the top of the Khimaira’s gullet.

Pegasus landed on the ground with hooves tearing at the mud, gnashing his teeth as he galloped under the still-airborne Khimaira, the power of his stride dragging the sword through the beast’s underbelly and ripping it asunder, its molten innards spilling out in a splattering trail. Smoke and flame billowed about you, but you did not breathe in even a wisp, and Pegasus’s brilliant hide remained untouched, like there was a shield protecting you both, rendering you invulnerable to all which might cause you harm. 

The Khimaira landed behind you in a heap of mangled flesh and steaming remains, and Pegasus skidded to a stop, snorting in approval as the sword of dawn sparkled back into nothingness, leaving the innocuous dagger to rest in the ruined weeds. You dismounted on shaky legs, fisting the cloth of the saddle pad to remain standing, and then you waited for his wings and starlit pelt to vanish, leaving behind your dull, simple pony. Yet seconds turned to minutes and still he remained, wings folded against his sides, dark nose nuzzling at your pocket in search of a treat.

“He will not return to his mortal form,” a familiar voice said. “My first and only son, born from my blood and your sweat — such creatures can only be made like that, after all. He is a demigod now.”

You had not known until you saw him how deeply your sorrow had run, but as it was, you sank to the ground and wept, your face in your hands and Pegasus standing behind you protectively as Phainon appeared to you once more, white-armored and golden-eyed. He did not bid you to bow or greet him, only crouching before you and taking you to his chest, allowing you to sob against the smooth curve of his throat and stroking your back, your hair, any part of you he could touch, like he could not quite believe you were real. And for your part you were the same, clinging to his neck, tangling your fingers in the hair at his nape, almost assuredly wrenching at it in your quest to hold onto him as tightly as you could, in your refusal to be yanked from him once more.

“Don’t leave again,” you said. “What do you want from me? Anything, I promise I will give you anything, but don’t leave me again, I was alone and they kept hurting me and I was cold, so cold, I wished for you every night, I did not realize at the time but I did, I thought of you until I ached from your absence—”

“I never wanted to leave you,” he said. “I did not think Kephale would call me back so swiftly, or I might have said something beforehand. Even sending Mnestia to speak with you was beyond difficult, and I am sure they will demand recompense from me for a century or two, but I couldn’t let you think I left of my own will. It was the other gods who demanded it, Thanatos and Georios and Phagousa and the rest; even Cerces and mad Aquila spoke against me, I have come to find. It was abrupt for me as well, and prolonged for your stubbornness. How torturous it was, to know that if only you asked, I could rejoin you in an instant, but to also know you never would.”

“Still you saved me,” you said. “After everything, after how many have left me, you never did. You came when I called, and you saved me.”

“Yes,” he said, gathering your face in his hands and touching his lips to your forehead. “I never expected you, o sacrifice, and so many times I tried to understand what it was about you that moved me to hold you so dear. An exiled princess who constantly spoke ill of me, who praised Nikador to the point of asking to wed them…what business do I even have with you? But it remains that from the day your brother offered you to me, you gave my purposeless existence meaning. Curiosity, desire, warmth…these things which I have not felt since I became a god, you made me remember what they are like. In truth, I could not ignore your summons any more than I could ignore Kephale’s; perhaps you are not my sole devotee, but you are the only one to understand me, and so I will die without you regardless.”

“Mnestia told me I have always been yours,” you said, finding yourself otherwise unable to respond. “Is it true?”

“I do not know,” he said kindly. “Nikador’s mountain is not a place I can look at very frequently. Sometimes, I would hear the faintest murmurs of my hymns, but until the ritual to sacrifice you, it was never enough to justify my appearance.”

“But that is why you were listening on that day,” you said. “That is why you took me before Nikador could. Because of those very murmurs.”

“Yes,” he allowed. “It is so.”

“Then they were right,” you said, closing your eyes and leaning into him once more, allowing him to trace his index finger along your dusty face, as he had such a penchant for doing. “All along, I have—”

A stomp from Pegasus was the only advance warning you got, and then something dark crept into the corners of your vision, a malevolent presence which dulled even Phainon’s celestial light. You almost asked who it was, but then Phainon tensed, his voice coming out as a growl as he held you tighter than ever before.

“You,” he said. “You dare show your face now?”

“Is it not my right?” said the newcomer, their voice deep, commanding. 

“You forfeited any rights when you ignored her every call for help,” Phainon said. Pegasus nickered in vehement agreement, pawing at the ground for good measure, but this new god was undeterred, only chuckling at a display they surely found childish.

“Just because I do not coddle her as you do does not mean I have been ignoring her,” they said. Peering over Phainon’s arm, you saw that the figure was that of a tall, bare-chested man in a red-plumed helm, a spear in their right hand. You knew them at once, and although you could not see their eyes, you wagered they softened with something like delight when they understood you recognized them. “How could a woman unable to handle such petty disagreements ever hope to be my bride? I have never allowed her to face anything she could not manage, and she has in turn proven her mettle many times over. You chose well, brat-god; I am thoroughly impressed. She is beyond compare, beyond a mere, paltry sacrifice, and thus she is truly worthy of standing beside me.”

It was Nikador.

taglist (comment/send an ask to be added): @urrluverrr @itseightamineedsleep @s4turnx1 @qwnelisa @sugilitez @sweetstarfalls @celestial--atlas @beli-eve-ing @monicahar @emperatris-rinaka @lsunncy @mokonosenpaiposts @cusp-du-aureate @rinaataruu @vskhn016 @kaisaiisanewknight

[cursedbycrossovers]

Help Wanted ≠ Send Sacrifices (Pt. 2)

AN: Reading the replies on the first post makes me feel like I set out a plate of cookies and got a banquet in return, holy cow. I'm so honored, you guys.

Anyway, due to several requests, here you go! More cookies! Since I am also writing a bit for the threads on the original post (which should hopefully be done in the next couple days), I decided to take this one in a direction the other two did not. Please enjoy!

— — —

When Tim had received a message from Jason asking for him specifically to come to this warehouse, he had not been expecting this.

"Ah, Tim, you're here!" Hood sounded oddly cheerful for someone standing just a few feet away from a swirling green vortex that was frothing at the edges like a rabid animal. Seriously, any closer and it'd probably be getting on his shoes.

"I'm gonna hazard a guess and say that's what you called me here for?" Tim nodded in the direction of the toxic green whirlpool as he approached Hood's side. If Jason was standing so close, it was probably safe, but he stayed a half-step further back, just in case.

Why had Jason only called for him, though? Something like this was pretty clearly an all-bats-on-deck situation.

"Yup." Hood confirmed, the voice modulator in his helmet turning the pop of the 'p' into something rather grating. "Go on ahead and hop in."

Tim's thoughts screeched to a halt, and he slowly turned to look at Jason with an expression of pure confusion. "Why... would I... do that?"

"Well, if you don't, I'm gonna have to throw you in." Hood said pragmatically.

Tim blinked in shock, alarm bells beginning to go off in his head. Nothing about Jason's body language indicated he was joking.

"Riiiight..." Tim began inching away from Jason as subtly as he could, "Uh, any particular reason you want that to happen?"

Jason turned to stare into the glow for a few concerningly silent seconds. "He needs help."

Ooooh, Tim did NOT like the emphasis on that 'He.'

"Then why don't you go in?" Tim asked cautiously, then immediately flinched. That was not something you said to someone who was very probably not in their right mind at the moment.

Jason was silent for a second, and if Tim had to guess, he was making a face under the helmet. "I can, if you want me to, but you have to go too," he insisted.

Hood took a step forward, closer to Tim. His hands had seemingly unconsciously begun to rise from his sides.

Tim decided then and there it was time to cut his losses.

Tim whirled around and sprinted back the way he'd come in, beelining for the open window. The heavy clomp of boots behind him told him that Jason was giving chase. Tim's fingers flew over the keypad of his communicator, just barely managing to hit send before Jason's arm hooked around his waist, pulling him back and lifting him up off his feet.

Tim made a noise somewhere between a yelp and a screech as he was flipped over Jason's shoulder, and those heavy boots began to make their way toward the center of the room.

"Jason! Jason–" Tim tried to wriggle free, but Jason's grip was made of iron, his leather jacket and body armor making it so that Tim's hits and kicks landed ineffectively against Jason's torso.

The stiffness faded from Jason's frame the closer they got to the vortex, pausing once they were right on the edge.

"Don't worry, kid, we'll be fine!" He reassured.

"Jason, don't you dare–" Before Tim could finish hissing his threat, Jason leapt into the green with a cheer.

"Geronimo!"

[rainrot4me]

Ok, it's gotta be asked

What's the creeps' reaction to finding their partner dead?

Christ almighty this was difficult. They’re all so manic.

๑ Warning: Blood, death, mentions of dead bodies, grief

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

Jeff doesn’t register it at first. He blinks, blood on his hands, yours limp and cooling beneath him.

“Get up.”

He growls it like a command, shoving at your shoulder. When your head rolls lifelessly, his heart drops to somewhere in his stomach and rots there.

He doesn’t scream. He laughs. A broken, eerie cackle that spirals into silence. It’s too much.

Then he destroys everything around him—walls, bodies, himself—because if you’re gone, he’s not playing human anymore. He becomes a storm. A legend. A curse again. It’s a massacre to anything and anyone, especially himself.

✦ . ticci toby

It’s the stutter of your chest not rising that shatters him.

“No. No—no, no, no—”

He sobs with his whole body, the kind of noise that comes from someone who never thought they could still feel that much. He rocks you against his chest like a child, whispering apologies, begging you to wake up.

For weeks afterward, he’s silent. Hollow-eyed. He wears something of yours always—your bracelet, your shirt, a scrap of fabric tied to his wrist.

And every time he kills, he whispers your name. Like a prayer. Like revenge. Like if he makes enough sacrifices, something will bring you back to him.

✦ . eyeless jack

Jack kneels beside you, glove trembling as he checks for signs of life.

There’s none. He doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t move.

“…I could’ve saved you.”

It’s said quietly. Not in shock, but with pure, soul-draining grief. He touches your cheek gently, reverently, as if he’ll damage you further.

He buries you with his own hands. He finds the cleanest spot of soil he can, carves a grave marker from wood. And he returns to it, every day. He brings offerings. A trinket. A book you loved.

He doesn’t forgive himself. Not ever.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Tim drops to his knees the second he sees your body. Everything stops—his heartbeat, his breath, the hum in his brain.

He checks your pulse over and over.

“Please. Don’t do this to me. Don’t… leave.”

He weeps against your body in bitter silence, not because he’s weak, but because the last string tethering him to the world just snapped.

For a long time, he doesn’t leave the room. He curls up beside your corpse until someone forces him out. After that, he disappears—into the woods, into himself.

When he comes back, he’s colder. Harder. More brutal than ever.

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

Brian stares. Still. Silent. Processing.

Then he goes very, very still.

“…Who did this?”

Because someone had to. You don’t just leave. Not from him.

He buries you without fanfare—neat, cold, methodical—but every night afterward, he lays in your spot on the bed and stares at the ceiling until morning.

When he finds the person responsible, it’s not a quick death. It’s slow. Precise. It stretches for days, their screams pulsing through the trees and sending birds retreating into the sky. Even still, it doesn’t make him feel satisfied.

He keeps your photo in his jacket pocket. And no one ever dares touch it.

✦ . kate the chaser

Kate panics. For the first time in years, she panics.

“No. No, no, no. Don’t do this. Not you.”

She shouts. Screams. Slaps your face trying to wake you. But you don’t respond. And it shatters her.

She doesn’t cry in front of anyone. She disappears with your body.

No one knows where she buries you. But her kill count triples afterward. She stops talking. Stops eating. Becomes a ghost with a knife.

Some say she whispers your name when she guts people. Every single time.

✦ . ben drowned

Ben glitches. Literally. The moment he sees you—mouth slack, body still—his form flickers.

“Haha. Good one. You’re fucking with me, right?”

When you don’t answer, he goes eerily quiet.

He respawns next to you over and over, rewinding time in-game just to see if there’s a timeline where you survive.

When he realizes there isn’t… he pulls your data from the world. Your online accounts. Your photos. Your voice. He stores it. Clings to it. Keeps your memory living inside the code. He shoves it all onto a 16-bit avatar and tries to recreate you, but it’s not enough.

He’ll never delete you. He’d delete himself first.

✦ . clockwork

Clockwork drops to her knees.

“I wasn’t fast enough.”

The sound she makes isn’t human. It’s too full of rage. Grief. Guilt.

She’d try CPR until her knuckles bruised, even if it was useless. Then she’d scream. Break things. Break herself.

And then she’d go hunting.

Whoever took you from her will be dissected piece by piece. No mercy. No forgiveness.

She’ll carve your name into her skin. Over her heart.

✦ . laughing jack

Jack freezes mid-laugh. The smile falls off his face when he sees your body—crumpled, quiet, wrong.

“That’s not funny.”

He stands over you, glassy-eyed. Then he kneels, touches your wrist, listens for breath. Nothing.

The lights in the room burst. Color drains from the air. The toys and things he collected for you burns.

He goes dark. No joy. No mischief. He becomes a nightmare again—because what’s a clown with no audience?

He still talks to you like you’re there, whispering jokes into the void. Hoping somewhere, you’re still laughing.

✦ . slenderman

Slender knows the moment your body goes still. His tendrils curl back. The woods go silent.

He does not speak. He does not mourn like mortals.

But the trees bend toward him, and the air thickens with grief.

He sees everything. But even he could not stop this.

He lifts your body like it weighs nothing and takes it somewhere sacred.

And if anyone was responsible—he erases them. Entirely. Not a trace left.

For months, birds fall dead from the sky, roots from trees pop out of the ground. There’s no sounds of nature, just the lull of insects feasting on dying animals. There’s no point of keeping a forest alive if there’s not someone there to enjoy it.

꩜ .ᐟ

[jackrrabbot]

fidus achates

dbf!jack abbot x fem!reader

word count ~12.2k (sorry guys, omg)

content warnings/description: 18+ MDNI, explicit sexual content, AFAB reader, age gap (jack is early forties and in the military, reader is mid-twenties), dry humping, phone sex, filming, hurt/comfort, single internal thought of jack wanting to knock reader up, camping inaccuracies

author's note: santos and garcia exist in this story even though it's before jack is even a doctor at PTMC. just go with it! enjoy :)

masterlist

you and jack take a short camping trip together without the watchful eyes of your father. this is the catalyst.

“Make sure Jack watches over you. I don’t need you getting eaten by a bear. Sacrifice him, if you—”

Your phone’s speaker crackles and your dad cuts out, but you get the gist of what he’s trying to say.

“Dad.” You chuckle. “We’re going to be fine. Promise. It’s a short trip—we’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon. I really wish you could’ve come along, though.” You pout, even though he can’t see you over the phone.

“I know, honey. But one of our military buddies—you know him, Thomas—really needs a helping hand right now. Someone’s got to be there for him, and both Jack and I can’t be away camping. It’s better that he goes so you can spend some time with him. When is he deploying again?”

“Almost right after we come back, I think within a day or two.”

“Yeah, see—I would’ve asked to reschedule the trip, but he’s going to be gone for another who-knows-how-long. You’ll have to go without me, honey.”

You sigh. “I know. It’s just always been our tradition, you know? But, you’re right, it won’t be so bad. Actually, it—... it’ll be good to spend some alone time with Jack. It’s been a while since we’ve hung out, just the two of us.” A loose thread on the hem of your jean shorts scratches your thigh, and you pick at it, anxious about seeing him again after so long.

“Are you implying I’m the third wheel? He’s my best friend, you know.”

You groan, “Daaad.”

He laughs heartily into the phone, tickled by your reaction. “I’m just yanking your chain. I know you two get along. You’re closer in age than he and I are, anyway.”

“Only barely. He’s still old enough that he could be my father.” A very young one, but still. “You’re just… way older.”

You don’t need to see him to know that he’s rolling his eyes. “Haha, hilarious, honey. But no funny business, alright? Regardless of what you say, I know how you look at him. And it’s not a look that’s appropriate for a daughter to give her dad.”

You gape, affronted by his implication. “W-What are you talking about? Actually… don’t answer that. Jack’s going to be picking me up soon. I’ll talk to you when I get back, okay?” You’ve never wanted to hang up a phone call so fast in your life.

“You better. And remember what I said, alright?”

“Of course. Bye!”

You hang up the phone just as you hear a heavy knock on your apartment door. Leaping from the couch, you rush over to open it, not before taking a deep breath in and out and adjusting your tank top and shorts. 

With an unhooking of the chain and a turn of the knob, you open the door.

Jack stands before you, dressed in an army T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts, grinning wide when he sees your face.

He takes in your appearance like a breath of fresh air. It’s been far too long since he last saw you. Life has had her way with him over the past several months after coming back from deployment, and he’s been preoccupied—and unable to make time for you. 

…and your dad.

Now, he’s deploying back overseas in the next two days. This trip—and seeing you again—are the only two things that have been keeping him motivated while he’s been back. Days and days of counting down the clock until he could see you again.

He only wishes he had more time.

“Jack, you’re here,” you whisper, disbelieving he’s right in front of you. He looks… good. Strong. Like he could fold you in half. 

You return his smile, wrapping your arms around his shoulders in a hug. 

When you two part, he squishes your cheeks with a single hand, puckering your lips. “Sure am, kid. Are you ready?” 

Babbling, you nod and respond, “Lemmejusgrabmybackpack.” He finally lets go of your face, and you both laugh.

“Are you sure you didn’t need me to bring anything else?” you ask.

“Just your pretty self.” He snaps his fingers. “And your cooler. We’ll need that. I’ve got ice in the trunk ready.”

“Oh, right. I nearly forgot. Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Jack grabs your wrist, and you turn to face him with a tilt of your head.

“Invite me in, and I’ll carry everything to the car.” He lets go of your wrist and leans over the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

“What are you, a vampire?” You raise a brow, confused. 

“Well, it must be the reason why I still look so good at my ripe old age,” he jokes, but doesn’t budge. He wants—needs—your consent to let him in. To cross the threshold. 

Because, really, he’s not so sure he’ll be able to behave himself around you on this trip. Letting him in now is future insurance just in case he does something against your father’s wishes. It’s not his fault if you give him permission to. 

He’ll try to be a good soldier, though.

He waits with bated breath, heart skipping a beat when you roll your eyes and quip, “Oh, you’re an arrogant one at that. Figures. Come on in then, bloodsucker. You can bite me as repayment for carrying my things.” You wink, gesturing for him to come inside.

“Don’t tempt me.”

The car ride to Raccoon Creek is only forty-five minutes long, and while you’re normally antsy during drives longer than your own commute to work—which is only a five-minute walk away from your apartment—you feel relaxed with Jack behind the wheel.

You hate driving, but he makes it look easy. His right hand is on the steering wheel, making a smooth turn down the winding road leading to the park, while the other casually hangs out the window.

Jack begrudgingly let you plug in your phone to listen to your playlist the entire way, complaining about the state that modern-day music is in.

Whatever, old man. Good music definitely still exists.

You’re about twenty minutes away from the park and too excited for your own good. Your knees bounce in sync with the music, the water in your bottle sloshing with every movement as it sits between your legs.

Jack sees you shaking out of the corner of his eye. “Calm down, kid. It feels like an earthquake in here.”

“Sorry, I’m just excited. I always loved going camping as a kid. It’s usually a tradition I share with my dad, but… it’ll be fun to share it with you now, too.” You look over at him with a grin.

Jack’s fingers twitch against the wheel. You’re too sweet on him.

“I’m excited too, angel. But let’s keep the shaking to a minimum, okay?” With his eyes still looking forward, Jack takes the water bottle from your lap and places it into the cup holder. Then his rough palm greets your knee and squeezes, grounding you. 

His hand lingers—thumb brushing over the soft, moisturized skin—but then pulls back a beat too late. And you notice. But you don’t do anything. Because your mutual attraction may be all in your head—key word, mutual—and you’re a good girl.

And good girls listen to their dad’s rules. Even if you’re sitting in the car alone with temptation itself.

You fan yourself lightly to stop yourself from overheating and point to the GPS. “We still have a little bit farther to go. I’m gonna take a quick nap. Wake me when we’re there?” You lean toward the open window and take in the cool breeze and the scent of the crisp summer air that passes by.

“Will do. Get some rest.”

You sit in the car, bleary-eyed and yawning, as Jack takes a second to check in at the park kiosk. He could’ve just checked in online but was too confused by the website and too stubborn to do it any other way than the old-fashioned one. 

It’s too late now anyway. You’re already here.

A few minutes later, Jack comes up to your passenger seat window, crossing his corded, veiny forearms over the edge. You almost reach out and squeeze but stop yourself.

“Alright. We’re good to go. You wanna take a second to use the restroom? Get some snacks? The only other thing we’ll be eating today is whatever we catch.”

You shake your head. “I’m good on the bathroom, and I brought snacks. I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Alright. It’s a few minutes’ drive to where our reservation is.”

“Which is where, exactly? You never really shared the details.”

“You’ll see.”

You hop out of the truck and see the start of the trail leading up to where a walk-in site should be—at least, based on the dusty, barely standing post sign that reads, Walk-In 300 ft. Ahead.

Huh, guess you’ll be a little more isolated. 

Based on the Raccoon Creek map, the loop you’re in is tucked in the outer grounds of the campsite, far away from prying eyes and from the reminder that you’re not alone with only nature.

You don’t mind. 

It’ll be nice to have a real camping experience. A taste of the rugged outdoors. Typically, your dad books a cabin outfitted with power, a kitchen, nice beds, and a bathroom and calls it camping. Says otherwise, it reminds him too much of his time during the service. 

You peer through the window of the truck, looking at Jack on the other side.

Maybe your dad’s logic applies to him too. Maybe this keeps him in it—even while on home leave. You wonder if his days are spent just waiting until he gets deployed again. 

You’re saddened by the thought. You want to fill this very short trip with as much joy as you possibly can before he leaves again.

Did Jack somehow know this is what you wanted? 

Or… is he just sticking with what he’s more comfortable with? Quiet nights, haunted with thoughts for company, and the allure nature brings—even if there’s danger in every corner. Whether that be… bears or enemy combatants.

Maybe you’re overthinking, and he just wants you alone. You turn from the window and look ahead to the trail, a dry laugh escaping your lips.

Nah.

Jack pulls you back to land as you start to drown in your thoughts. He steps around the front of the truck and in front of you. “We’ll probably need to make two trips back and forth to get everything set up. You okay with that, angel?”

“Yeah.” You nod, adamantly. “What do you want me to carry?”

“Take the sleeping bags for now and carry your backpack with you. I’ll take care of the tents and the cooler.”

“Got it!” you say with a salute and a few measured paces to the trunk of his car. He shakes his head at you, lips quirked up and eyes crinkling. You unlatch the trunk and pull out the stuff. 

“You’re really excited about this, huh?” he asks as he joins you, amused by your playfulness.

“Of course… this is my first time actually camping. Not… glamping, like I always do with my dad. I’m glad he ended up letting you do all the booking this time around.”

“It’s a whole different experience. I hope you’ll like it.”

You make space for him to grab the tents and cooler. “I most definitely will. Why hasn’t Dad invited you to our trips before now? We should make this a thing. We can plan it around your deployments.”

“Already thinking about next time?” Jack raises a brow at you. “Let’s see if we survive the night first. C’mon, let’s get our stuff over there.”

Jack tilts his head to the head of the trail, and you walk toward it while he follows closely behind. 

After the second car trip and a quick clearing of the brush covering the gravel pad, you’re ready to set up your home base. 

“So you’ve never pitched a tent before?” Jack asks.

You look at him with wide eyes and a confused expression before you remember where you are. “Oh, you mean—uh, no. Never.”

He shakes his head and smirks. “Stay focused. It’s only the one tent, so we’ll do it together.”

You’re taken aback at this sudden news. “O–Only one tent? Didn’t you say… tents? With an ‘S’?” His eyes follow your pointer finger as it draws the shape of an “S” in the air.

“Did I? My bad.” He shrugs, but he hopes it plays off more nonchalantly than it feels. “It fits two people. When your dad said he wouldn’t be able to join us, I thought it’d be easier. Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No! No, not at all. I just… wasn’t expecting this.”

“I’m pretty used to living in close quarters. Sorry, I just assumed you’d be okay with it. Don’t worry, we’ll still be in our own sleeping bags. It’ll be fine for just one night.” He winks and clicks his tongue in an attempt to calm you. It works, slightly.

“Yeah, you’re right. Okay, where do we start?”

“This spot is as good as any. It’s level, and since we cleared everything, nothing should be poking us in our sleep.”

Jack picks up the tarp from the ground. “Next: lay the tarp out. Want to do that while I unfold the tent?” 

You nod as he hands you the tarp, and you toss it out over the gravel. 

Jack unfurls the tent. “Alright, now, take one corner of the tent, and I’ll take the other. Pull it tight and lay it over the tarp.” You take one corner of the tent and walk diagonally from him, following his lead.

“All that’s left to do is assemble the poles, slide them through the sleeves here,” Jack says, bending down and threading his finger through one sleeve and pulling it up, “pin them, and bend them so the tent lifts. After that, I’ll stake it down.”

“Huh, I always thought it was harder to set up a tent. It seems pretty simple, actually.”

“That’s just ‘cause I’m here helping you, kid.”

Jack is just finishing up staking the last corner of the tent when you ask, “So, it’s barely noon. What do you have in mind for the rest of the day?”

“We can do whatever you like. But I was thinking we take a hike down to the lake and catch some fish. How’s that sound?”

“Let’s do it,” you say, picking up your backpack from the dirt and slinging it over your shoulder. “Do we need to put our stuff inside the tent, or can we leave it out?”

Jack smiles up at you. “There’s no one around. We’ll be okay. Let’s go.” He stands, then slings the camp chair bag around his back and holds the cooler and fishing pole in each hand. 

You’re about half a mile into your two-mile hike to the lake when you look back at Jack. He quickly glances up to meet your eyes, glinting with the sunlight and… something else. 

…Was he staring at your ass? 

God, you hope he was. It would make you feel a little less guilty to know he also can’t keep his eyes off you.

“Jack, why are you walking so far behind me? I practically have to yell to make conversation.”

“I want to make sure you’re always in my sight.” 

The logic tracks. Your dad did warn him ahead of time that if anything happened to you, he would kill him. And that’s putting it lightly. But still, he doesn’t have to be so far away from you. 

You stop in your tracks, turn around, and stomp toward him. His lips curl up as he watches you approach, and that just irritates you more. He just loves to get a reaction out of you, doesn’t he? Holding yourself back from chirping at him, you forcefully grab the fishing pole from his hands, and it’s quickly stuffed into your backpack, the red floater bobbing in the air from where the pole sticks out.

You thread your fingers through his now-free hand. 

“There. If you walk right by me, you’ll see me at all times, right?”

Jack glances down at your interlocked fingers and squeezes, just a bit. He most definitely could break your hand if he so chose, but his hold is so light that it tickles across your palm and makes you shiver. You clasp his hand just a bit tighter.

He looks back up at you with the same mischievous look he gave you just moments earlier. “I’ve been walking at your pace, sweetheart. Now, you’ll be the one who needs to keep up.”

For the next ten minutes of your hike, you’re nearly out of breath, only getting a chance to breathe when you stop to point out an interesting bird or some pretty shrubbery.

You turn to Jack, pointing at the brilliant, yellow American Goldfinch with the hand not currently clasped in his, but his eyes are locked on yours. A pout graces your face. 

Is he even paying attention? 

You suppose he’s probably more concerned with making it to the lake—before the sun sets—if you keep up this pace. You lower your hand, looking down, and let go of his with the other.

“Hey, what happened? Come back to me.”

You lift your head back up to him, and he pins you with an intense look. 

“I—I’m probably bugging you, aren’t I? I get it… we can just walk the rest of the way without any interruptions. We’re almost there, right?”

He scoffs, and you think he’s going to make a joke, but then he surprises you when he says, “What, are you kidding? Mother Nature is gorgeous, but you’re the only woman I have my eye on.” He kisses the top of your hand gently, relocks your fingers, and pulls you ahead. “C’mon. Just a little more to go. I’ll try to pay more attention to the birds, kid.” 

Jack only lets your hand go once you reach the lake. 

The water is clear and bright blue, and it dazzles beneath the fiery afternoon sun. You're glad you packed your sunscreen and most obnoxious, gargantuan, floppy sun hat.

You swing your backpack around to your front to pull out the folded-up hat, the fishing pole bumping into your hand as it sits in the way. It feels a bit ridiculous once it’s on your head and you see the size of it as you look down at your shadow, but, whatever.

Jack looks at you, appalled, but otherwise makes no comment. 

Hat on, you both walk in step up to one of the piers that circle the lake. There are a few other visitors, but the piers are far enough apart that it doesn’t matter. It’s an intimate setting and perfect for fishing.

Jack sets down the nylon bag with the camp chair and the cooler on the wooden walkway, while you drop your backpack beside them and take off your hiking shoes and socks, wanting to dip your feet into the water.

You look back at him from the edge of the pier when he’s finally set up the chair and retrieved the fishing pole from your bag.

He meets your eyes and pats the seat. “I only brought one chair. I’ll fish while you sit.” 

You nod, lift your feet from the water, then take a few steps and crash into the chair. The hike wore you out more than you thought it would. You don’t even want to think about how your dad would fare if he were here.

Bending over, you reach for your bag, grabbing the sunscreen. You flip the cap, squirt a healthy amount into your hands, and rub it over your arms, legs, neck, and face. Meanwhile, Jack peels off his shirt and lays it next to him as he sits on the edge of the pier, throwing the line over.

The floater plops into the water, audible thanks to the isolated strip of walkway you’re on. Fishing isn’t really something you ever cared for, but since Jack has a permit, you can live vicariously through him.

“Jack… you need to put on sunscreen. Here.” You stretch your arm out to wave it in his face, but he doesn't take it.

“I’m fishing. Do you mind getting it on my back?”

“W-well, how about the front? You’re facing the sun.”

“If you can reach from behind, you can put it wherever you’d like.”

His voice is so smooth and velvety as he says it, and all you can think is, Jack, you can not be saying things like that.

You get down on wobbly knees and sit directly behind him, squirting some of the sunscreen into your hands and gently lathering it over his back. Your eyes connect the dots of freckles that litter his form, and you’re only more entranced as he rotates his shoulders and neck—as if putting on a show for you—and his muscles ripple beneath your touch. 

As much as you’d like to, you don’t linger too long, and soon you finish applying the cream on his back. Shaky hands apply more on his nape, and you circle them to reach his throat, fingers gliding over his salt-and-pepper-covered jawline. You dot his face, careful to avoid his eyes.

He’s just so pretty and a little too confident about it that it makes your head spin. 

You take in a deep—and hopefully silent—breath. Your hands inch down toward his chest, reaching from over his shoulders while sitting on your knees—your chest pressed tight to his back. 

Jack has to hold in a groan as he feels you nearly grind against him to reach over his shoulders, just so he doesn’t get sunburned. You’re so good to him.

You graze his nipples but move quickly to the surrounding taut pec when he flinches. 

“Getting handsy there, angel? Or should I say, devil?” He tilts his head back to you, giving you a sly wink.

“S-shut up. This is for your own good. You already put your life on the line for work. You don’t need to go belly up from skin cancer, too.”

He hums. “Can’t argue with that.”

You loop your arms through his to smear the cream over what you can’t reach from on top of his shoulders.His abdomen noticeably tenses as you glide your fingers over the sun-kissed skin, and you hold back a smile—happy that your touch can affect him like this.

Your fingers trail down to his navel, and even lower, and Jack has to force himself to stop you.

He gently envelops your wrist and says, through gritted teeth, “I think that’s enough, sweetheart. Thank you. Why don’t you sit back now? It might be a while until something bites.”

You reluctantly pull back and place your palms to his back instead. Pressing your cheek against his shoulder and nodding, you whisper a soft “okay,” as your lips brush against the delicate skin.

He shivers, but you’ve already pulled away. The skin on his forehead wrinkles as he furrows his brows in frustration at the situation. He’s trying, but his control is slipping. Slipped. And now he has to try to find ways to justify each and every time he inevitably gets too close. 

You've been sitting on the chair for the past hour, reading your book, when Jack shouts.

“I think we’ve got something!” Jack quickly stands, wrestling with the supposed creature, then reels in what looks like… a catfish? 

“Oh my God, you got one, Jack!” You stand up in a rush, nearly knocking the chair back into the lake.

He looks smug as he dangles the poor fish in front of you. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

The fish seem to be coming in droves now, and after what feels like only a few minutes, the ice-packed cooler holds several species of gutted fish—a nice haul of walleye, bluegill, and bullhead catfish—right next to the pack of beers. At least they’re packed into Ziploc bags.

Luckily, Jack had his army knife handy. Because of course he would.

He stretches in front of you. “God, my back aches. Can I sit?” he asks, pointing at the chair. 

You nod and go to sit by the pier, but as he walks past you, he pulls you back by the waist. He flips himself around just in time before crashing onto the chair, the fabric sinking and taut under your combined weight. You’re surprised it holds. More surprised that now you’re sitting in his lap like a child on a mall Santa. 

“J-Jack, what are you doing? This thing can’t hold the both of us.” You try to wiggle yourself out of his grip, but his hands only tighten on your waist. 

“It’ll hold. I have only the best, and I don’t want your ass to get sore sitting on the pier. Mine did.”

“Oh, and your lap is more comfortable?”

“I’ve been told it’s very comfortable. But I can flip you over and give you something else to whine about, if that’s what you want.” You open your mouth in shock, giving him an incredulous look.

“A-and why didn’t you bring the other chair?” You push because it’s a logical question, but you also want to know if he wants you to keep his lap warm. 

“It would've been too much to carry—even for me.”

It’s a weak excuse, and one you know isn’t true. Disappointment seeps in, but it bottlenecks as you remind yourself that at least you’re in his lap and at least he wants you there.

You glare at him but otherwise get comfortable, submitting to him a bit too easily. His arms bracket you in from where they now rest on the arms of the chair, and you twist your body, draping your legs over his. 

You press your palm to his chest, your head resting lightly on his shoulder. 

His shirt is still lying on the edge of the pier, damp from the harshly fought battles with the fish, and you swirl your fingers over the small tuft of chest hair trailing down his chest. His dog tags shine a bit too bright in your eyes, and you close them to imagine them as if they were dangling in front of you while lying on your back and taking his cock. 

Oh God, the thoughts are getting worse.

Your face starts to heat, not only from the warm weather but also from the close proximity. You’ve always shared a comfortable companionship, but over the past year or so things have been increasingly… intimate. Not obviously, but a few lingering glances and touches more than normal add up. It’s been over half a decade since you’ve met, and you’ve been attached at the hip since day one. But now you think you’re ready to take the next step in your relationship.

If Jack were to feel the same way, well, it’s something your father would just have to accept. You’re both well into adulthood. You’re mature enough to admit you’re helplessly attracted to him.

But Jack is still Jack. He teases, flirts, and touches you, and it burns you from the inside out—but he’s duty-bound to care for you, and he has to balance the act between a dad’s best friend… and something more. Possibly, something more.

Your eyes flit to the silicone wedding band around his finger, the shiny material reflecting the sun. It’s not new—and not something you try to pay too much attention to—but it triggers a core memory from days past, and you decide to bring it up.

“Hey, remember when we first met at Dad’s fifty-fifth birthday and retirement party?”

“How could I forget? The moment when you first became a pain in my ass.” He smiles down at you. It’s a soft look, endearing and warm from the recollection of the memory.

He jokes, but he remembers that day often—remembers how, even after the ache in his heart following his wife’s passing, he saw a light at the end of the tunnel when he first saw you. A light that was quickly snuffed out when your father introduced you to him as his daughter.

You ignore his statement, instead saying, “I was surprised when he first introduced you. I thought you’d be at least as old as him—not twenty years his junior.” 

“Military bonds know no bounds. He was a good role model. I was sad to see him retire, but he served his time. And he knew he had to get out before you went off to college.”

“I still feel so embarrassed and guilty asking you about your ring. I was so naive and… insensitive.” You cringe at the past you.

“You didn’t know, angel. It had been several years since she passed at that point, and I still had it on. It's not your fault you were curious when I showed up alone.”

A few seconds pass in silence. 

“Do you think… you’ll ever find the person? The person who you might set aside that ring for?” 

Jesus, you did not just ask that. 

You shake your head. “Sorry, don’t answer that. It’s not my place to ask you something like that.” You attempt to hide your face in the crook of his armpit, but your stupid hat makes it difficult.

Jack can’t bear the hope—and anguish—hidden in between your words. He tries to reassure you the best he can without cracking his chest open and giving you his heart.

He tilts your head up to him with his thumb and forefinger, finding your eyes beneath the rim of your hat. “Kid, look at me. You don’t have to feel bad. I’m not grieving anymore. The pain is still there, but it’s better now. I loved her—still have love for her—but I know she wouldn’t want me to stay alone forever. But… I never met anyone else, so why take off the ring? It’s as simple as that.”

You try to free your chin from the press of his fingers, but he doesn’t let you. You finally nod in understanding, and only then does he release you from his grip.

“You speak so fondly of her. What you two shared must’ve been really amazing.”

“It was. We were still so young and free at the time. Maybe I’ll tell you more about her someday.” 

“Okay.” A beat later, you add, “Sorry, I didn’t mean for this to turn so… melancholy.”

“It’s okay. If there’s one person in the world I want to open up to, it’s you.”

You both lie in the chair in peaceful silence for a few minutes, watching the sun begin its slow descent over the horizon, when Jack starts to doze off. You rest your hand right over his heart, feeling his heartbeat slow and even out. It’s another ten minutes or so before you gently rouse him from his short nap.

“Jack. Jack, maybe we should head back. I’m getting a bit hungry, and the sun’s starting to set,” you say, shaking him awake.

He just groans and stretches his arms before returning his hands to your waist. 

A few harsh blinks and a shake of his head later, he says, “Okay. Vámonos.”

Jack is setting up the swing-over grill and the firewood while you season what you can of the fish. Luckily, you knew beforehand to bring a few packets of salt and pepper. 

Unlike Jack—who’s willing to risk his health eating the fish raw and unseasoned like he’s on Survivor���you refuse to go without any seasoning. The fish isn’t complete without a sprinkle of smoked paprika, garlic, and onion powder, but it’ll have to do.

You admire how the flickering flames lick across his skin, giving him a warm glow, and his ability to withstand them as he lays the fish across the grill. 

The thought is dramatic, but it’s as if he’d suffer through a little bit of fire to feed you. Nourish you. Take care of you. If only he could brave the paternal firestorm to admit what you’ve already admitted to yourself.

As the nose-wrinkling, fishy smell of the walleye and bluefish morphs into a delicious, woody, salty sea scent, your mouth starts to water. You hand Jack a paper plate, and he serves you up some of the fish as soon as it’s ready.

After squeezing a bit of lemon, you pinch a piece off the malleable flesh and take a bite, moaning lightly at the small taste of heaven. It has a robust, earthy flavor, enhanced by the acidity and the salt and pepper.

Unbeknownst to you, Jack stares, unwilling to draw his gaze from you, even to take a bite from his own plate. He feels an overwhelming pride swell in his chest, knowing that you enjoy something as simple as the fish he grilled for you. He’d do this for you again and again, if only to hear your sweet moans of satisfaction—like music to his ears, looping forever.

Even if they’re only for his food.

You continue to eat, a few hours passing by in casual conversation, and after a few shared sips of the beer he popped open, you’re ready to turn in for the night.

“Jack, thank you for dinner. It was fantastic.” You beam at him from across the dying campfire as he sits in the other camp chair. You yawn, stretching your arms over your head, your top riding up. 

Jack watches as the material lifts, exposing your skin.

“I think I’m ready to head to sleep. Are you coming in soon?”

He nods. “Yeah. I just want to watch the stars for a bit longer. I won’t take too long. Meet you in my dreams, angel.”

“Meet you there.”

You discard your paper plate into a trash bag, then rifle through your backpack, grabbing your nightwear before unzipping the tent and heading in. Plopping down onto your sleeping bag, you quickly change out of your dirt-caked and sweaty clothes and into a pair of flimsy sleeping shorts and a tank top.

You’re barely conscious when Jack comes in only a few minutes later, already stripped down to his boxers as the moonlight from the open flap in the tent pours in.

Though it’s dark, and you're halfway to falling asleep, you can still see the outline of his cock through the thin material, soft against his thigh. Your body forces you awake, eyes nearly glazed over and face growing warm, but you dig your fingers into your thighs to keep you calm.

It’s stupidly hot. Scorching. Both because of the cramped space—thanks to the single tent—and the heat of the night air. You try to wait out your discomfort, hoping Mr. Sandman drags you to his realm soon, but maybe you’ve outgrown that. 

Addressing the problem head-on is best.

“Jack,” you whisper. He turns his head to you as he settles inside his bag.

“Thought you were asleep. Did I wake you?” he whispers back.

You’re not quite sure why you’re whispering. There’s no one around for miles. 

“No, I’ve just been tossing and turning all this time. I’m really working up a sweat. Do you mind if I—… if I just sleep over my bag? I know it’s cramped in here—”

“—No problem at all. Don’t want you sweating all night. You’ll get dehydrated.”

You hesitate but unzip your bag—after a few seconds of sheer panic that you can’t locate the zipper—and escape the sweltering insulation.

Of course he’d bring his standard-issue mummy sleeping bags. You probably should’ve brought your own.

It’s a bit darker in the tent now that the campfire has completely died out, and you can’t tell if Jack is looking at you or has his eyes closed. Only his silhouette is visible from the moon and starlight pouring in—his head tilted in your direction and his arms out, mummy bag not fully zipped yet.

You let a breath escape you, your body finally cooling down. The sweat from the heat dries, but now a nervous one takes its place, your emotions working overtime.

Reflecting on today, this is the most touchy, feely, and cozied up together you two have ever been. And it hurts because you don’t know when the next time you’ll be alone together like this will be. During Jack’s brief stints, while he’s waiting to be deployed, you mostly hang out with him alongside your dad. Or, if alone, somewhere in public or with their other military buddies. 

There’s always someone watching. 

Someone who would judge the girl with a schoolgirl crush on her older, widowed, and too-handsome dad’s best friend.

With an ache in your heart from how close yet far you are, you finally settle against the sleeping bag and try to fall asleep again.

What you don’t expect is for Jack to reach for you, pulling your hips into his so you’re chest to chest.

“Jack—Jack, what are you doing?”

“You’re not zipped in, and I realize you might knock me upside the head if you toss and turn in your sleep. It’s better if I keep you restrained like this. For my own safety.”

“But… doesn’t this defeat the purpose? I’m going to get hot while tucked into you.” Your heart can’t take this anymore. 

“Hm… I guess you’re right.” 

Jack's fingers play with the hem of your tank, and you can feel them slip underneath, his warm, calloused hand pressed to your lower back.

His voice is gruff. “Take it off. The top and shorts. I won’t be able to see anything in the dark.” 

You plead, “J-Jack—”

“—It’s okay. I’ll be a gentleman. I promise.” His hand slowly moves from your lower back to snap the elastic of your straps against your skin, urging you to listen to him. 

“Do it.”

He’s so persistent about it you can’t help but give in. This is only the most logical solution to your problem, after all.

You peel your tank off, nipples peaked as the fabric runs over them, and you instinctively know Jack is watching. 

Gentleman, my ass.

The shorts are discarded at the head of the tent next, your underwear the only thing keeping you modest. You return to his chest and settle against him, the cool material of his dog tags stunning you for a second. You’re only too hyper aware of your peaked nipples rubbing against his skin as he wraps his arms around you again. 

Oh, what he wouldn’t do to get a mouthful of them. But there’s not really a valid reason for that, is there?

After a few heart-pounding seconds of silence, Jack speaks up, “I couldn’t see much, angel. But I don’t have to to know that you’re beautiful. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable about this, okay? I just want you to have the best sleep you can. We’ll be leaving pretty early tomorrow.”

You only nod, your face pressed into his armpit and inhaling his heady scent. You fall asleep quickly now.

As you stir, awoken by the alarm on your phone, you see Jack, already awake, leaning over you with an elbow propped up. A soft smile plays on his lips. You’re still drowsy from sleep but feel wide awake the moment you realize the state you’re in. Your breasts are exposed, visible due to the early morning light filtering in through the tent. 

But that isn’t the worst part.

Your legs are tangled with Jack’s, your underwear is soaked, and your core is flush against his thigh. You realize, with shame, you must’ve been grinding on him in your sleep. 

He too must have unzipped himself the rest of the way down overnight, and your body took advantage of it.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of your head, reaching for your top scrunched at the head of the tent. You quickly rise from where you're sprawled on the tent floor, snatching it from his hand and putting it on.

“Jack, I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t mean to—” you stutter, trying to move your legs from where they’re straddled between Jack’s, but he keeps you still with a firm hold on your waist.

“It’s alright. It was bound to happen with us being closed in and all.” He moves his hand from your waist to rub circles into your upper thigh, then pinches the soft flesh. Let’s see if he can get away with this one. “I want you to keep going. Take what you need.” 

“What?” You look down at him with a shocked expression, his nonchalance only exacerbated as he chuckles lightly into his fist, elbow still propped.

His serious eyes meet your owlish ones, and you gulp. 

“I said what I said.”

You’re flustered, tripping over your words, and Jack uses the opportunity to pull you back onto his chest and lie you both down again.

He waits. Waits for you to tell him that this isn’t right, that you can both forget this happened and move on. But he wants you to take advantage of him. He’s giving himself to you, even if you don’t realize it yet.

You’re both still for a few seconds, waiting for the other to do something. Say something. You decide to make the first move.

What’s a little more humiliation? Jack’s already seen your tits and felt your wet panties glide over his muscled thigh. And… he seemed to enjoy it. That’s all the liquid courage you need to do what you do next.

You hide your face in the crook of his neck and wrap your arms around his nape, pulling at the soft, graying curls, and resume the slow grind of your cunt over his thigh.

He just lies there, letting you use him, and watches you undulate on him like you’re the most precious thing in the world. And maybe—based on the way his breath hitches as you moan, and he relishes the overstimulated tears that drip onto his neck—you are. 

Your clit twitches, but you whine in frustration, not yet close. He decides to help you instead of being a willing bystander and grabs your hips to press you harder against his thigh, desperately guiding you up and down to give you the friction you need. 

“Waitwaitwait—Jack, it’s too—too rough, p-please.” 

Please don’t stop.

“Just give it to me. You can.”

Jack sweats as your hot pants collect in the crook of his neck, holding himself back from ripping off your underwear and taking you right here. If this is as close as he can get without crossing the proverbial line, he’ll take it.

You buck more wildly, sloppily against him as your orgasm fast approaches, and he gives you a final push—harshly spanking you, then gripping and spreading the fat of your ass to help you reach your climax. He’s basically doing all the work now, shifting you up and down so fast that your orgasm barrels toward you without remorse.

A gasp escapes you, one delirious with need—the sting of the spank and the relief of his warm, demanding touch, massaging and gripping your cheeks, finally hurling you over the edge. You come with a cry, muffled against his shoulder as you bite down.

Whispers of praise tumble from Jack’s lips, choked out, as he grapples with the ego boost of you coming on his thigh and the pretty mark you left for him on his shoulder. You’re so out of it, you don’t register his quiet confessions. 

“So, so pretty.” 

“You did so good, kid.”

“I wish… we could be like this all the time.” He kisses your sweaty forehead after that last one.

You lie still against him in the afterglow of your orgasm for a few seconds—catching your breath, reeling yourself back to reality—when you notice he’s hard, his cock twitching against his upper thigh and a wet spot forming on his boxers.

You reach delicate hands over to touch him through the fabric, but he stops you, fingers wrapping around your wrist. 

“We need to leave soon. Why don’t we break down the tent now?”

A frown tugs at your lips. “B-but… what about you?”

“Nothing about me. It’s just a natural reaction to us being cramped in here, that’s all. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Let me—”

“—I told your dad I’d take care of you. You needed to get off. I helped you. That’s it.” 

You’re taken aback, mouth open but left speechless. A mix of shame, guilt, and despair swirls inside you—his flippant tone adding heavy droplets of anger to the mix. 

Is he fucking serious?

You feel cheap. Used. This is the moment you finally feel brave enough to do something to push past the boundaries of your relationship, and he shuts it down. 

It dawns on you what he’s doing. He wants this—you—too. His actions over the past twenty-four hours have betrayed him, revealing what you’ve always hoped to be true. That he feels an irrevocable attraction toward you. And your excitement is quickly shut down when you realize he’s not going to do anything more about it than hide behind lame excuses. If he’s going to deny you like this… well, maybe it’s time to move on. You’re done waiting for him.

“You’re an ass, you know that?” Tears sting your eyes as you quickly push yourself off him, grabbing your shorts and rushing out of the tent.

Jack watches you leave, pain wracking his chest. He shouldn’t have been so indifferent. So clinical. His no-frills dismissal of the reciprocation you wanted to give—ah, you’re too fucking doting on him. But his job is to protect. To serve. To obey. Giving himself to you has never been part of the equation… as much as he’d like to. 

He knows he fucked up.

Bringing you out here, to the far, isolated loop of the park, was his chance to feel closer to you. You managed to worm your way into his poorly fortified defenses—out in the call of the wild, where he’s usually alone with nightmares from time wasted and lives lost—and he took advantage of his own weakness for you.

But what’s he to do to course-correct? You two aren’t meant to be.

And so, even with a disgusting guilt and for a short while, he feels satiated by what little he could offer you, even if he can’t offer himself.

You’ll get over it.

The car ride home is silent, with only the sound of the wind whipping into your face to quell your frenetic thoughts. He looks over at you leaning on the window, disturbed by the quiet. Even if he doesn’t enjoy your music, he always wants to hear you. Always. 

Once home, he walks you to the door of your apartment, your name leaving his lips before you can close the door in his face.

“I know you’re upset with me. You have every right to be. But… I had a really great time. I’ll miss you. Give your dad a hello and a goodbye for me, okay, kid?”

You look back at him, sighing. It’s not fair that he has to leave tomorrow. You want more time to stew and act like a petulant child. But instead, you drop your cooler to the ground and give him a warm—but respectful—hug. 

“I had a good time too, Jack. Stay safe overseas.” 

He stands stock-still, surprised you responded in kind, but returns your hug. “I’m thinking of you. Remember that.” He cradles your cheek, wipes away an eyelash, and then heads into the elevator.

As you watch him leave, you’re left wondering what the fuck you’ll do now.

“Why couldn’t he come again? You’re really bringing the vibe down, sourpuss,” Yolanda asks, a teasing lilt in her tone.

You’re currently sitting opposite Yolanda and Trinity in a cozy booth in the far corner of a bar, with your hands stretched out and head sideways on the table. You groan.

“He has some finance-bro presentation for work tomorrow. He won’t be able to hang out tonight. But fuck him, right, ladies? Tonight’s girl’s—” You glance up and see them making out, not ignoring you, but too wrapped up in each other for your voice to reach them. While you’re glad to have accepted their invitation to hang out—after not seeing them for a while—you had hoped that your recent fling would be here with you to make this less of a third-wheel situation. 

You met him on a dating app—he’s cute, gentlemanly enough, and decent in bed. He buys you nice gifts sometimes, too.

Trinity breaks the kiss, needing air, and turns back to you. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“He’s not coming.”

She reaches a hand over the table to pat yours. “That’s a shame. We probably could’ve gotten him to pay for all the drinks.”

You laugh, cheering up slightly. “Yeah, probably. Anyway… I think I’m gonna head out soon. I have work tomorrow.” You move your arms from the table and lift your head, rifling through your bag to double-check you have all your personal items. 

Your face feels warm from the few drinks you’ve had, accompanied by a pounding headache, and you're already tired from your long day at work. It’s really time to go.

“Are you sure? It’s still not too late… Why don’t we dance? Or have one more drink?” Yolanda asks, twirling the straw in her empty margarita glass.

You shake your head. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, but I’m exhausted. You guys have fun, okay?”

They both give you a sad smile. 

“Let’s call you an Uber.” Trinity says.

You crash into your bed after getting undressed and completing a half-assed version of your nighttime skincare routine. Your phone pings, and you check it to see that Nathan has texted you, wishing you a good night and apologizing for not making it tonight. It’s almost sweet, and you start to smile, until that quickly turns into a frown when he follows up immediately with:

Do you think you could send me a little something, you know, for good luck? ;)

I’ll treat you to the bonus I get if I secure this client tomorrow.

You roll your eyes. You’re not against sending a few sexy pics now and then, but you’ve already gotten ready for bed. Still, the thought of an all-expenses-paid trip to the Maldives does sound good right about now.

You make the difficult decision to get out of bed and dolled up for this amateur photoshoot—the only incentive being an expensive gift in return—and put on your best set of lingerie. It’s just been sitting alone, thrown into the far end of your closet after Nathan gifted it to you not too long ago.

The babydoll dress is a sheer, pastel mesh color that complements your skin tone perfectly, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. It pairs well with the thong in the same color, with cute little bows adorning the sides of your hips. You take a good look at yourself in the mirror, satisfied with what you see. He chose a good one. 

Sitting back in bed and on top of your comforter, you try to work yourself up. You flick your nipples through the ruffly mesh and run your fingers over your slit, barely covered by the thong. 

Previous hookup encounters with Nathan invade your mind—as a mood setter—but it doesn’t work. After minutes of trying and trying to get yourself turned on for the man who bought you the lingerie pass, you give up. Instead, your mind flits to Jack and that early morning after you spent the night cuddled together.

Minutes turn into seconds, and you’re already wet, the stringy satin clinging to your cunt. 

You open your phone’s camera and position yourself to take some pictures, snapping a few of your perked nipples poking through the thin bra and your damp thong. More photos are taken, each lewder than the last—the final few exposing your breasts and soaked cunt, bra tucked under and thong pulled to the side.  

Going the extra mile—even though Nathan doesn’t deserve it—you also film a quick video. Featherlight touches graze your nipples, and deft fingers split the seam of your pussy. You give yourself a few light slaps over your clit, making you jump. You tease, barely nudging a single digit inside your hole, moaning Nathan’s name. It’s deadpan, but he won’t notice.

The production is shit anyway. The darkness of the room and the dust trapped in your phone speakers don’t do you any favors for visual or audio, but he’ll get what he asked for. You quickly shoot off the risqué material one at a time, then fall asleep—too tired to change back into your sleepwear. 

The last thought in your mind before entering dreamland: You wish Jack were here to help soothe the ache in your heart and in your cunt.

Jack’s phone pings as he’s lying in his bunker, about to fall asleep. He’s been tossing and turning all night, anxious for tomorrow.

He’ll be home again, this time for a lot longer. He’s itching to see you again after months of mostly radio silence between you two since the trip. He’s sent a few texts here and there, and you’ve responded, but they’re curt. Dry. Diplomatic.

At least when he’s back, you’ll have to see him at some point, right? 

Even if it’s just with your dad—pretending everything is normal between you two—and giving him the cold shoulder when he isn’t looking. Always the good girl, putting on a brave face so Daddy won’t have to worry. He’d be crushed if he found out you couldn’t even stand to be near his best friend anymore. 

Jack reaches under his pillow to grab his phone, sitting up straight in bed when he sees several text messages from you. He opens your text chain, your contact pinned at the top.

Jack nearly passes out when he sees what you’ve sent.

His eyes zip from one photo to the next, too impatient to process each and every one pixel by pixel. You're wearing a pretty lingerie set, but not one that he would pick out. He much prefers a birthday suit—less fuss. A dozen or so images of your perky nipples and sopping pussy greet his wide eyes. 

His heart nearly bursts out of his chest. He can’t see your face—the image is cropped out or just out of frame—but including it might’ve actually sent him to the infirmary. Why didn’t he take more pictures with you—of you—during the trip?

Maybe he thought he wouldn’t have to. Like somehow it could’ve ended another way—with you two together. You don’t need photos when you’ve already got the real thing. It’s wishful thinking, and now the only thing he has as a reminder is a broken heart and a sore wrist from thoughts of you crying on his thigh.

The last message from you is a video, and he adjusts the volume so it doesn’t blast, but at least he’s tucked away in his own quarters—a nice perk of being a long-time sergeant. 

He does it as if lowering the volume absolves the wrongness in his more-than-willing participation and engagement with your lewd messages. Still, his thumb hovers over the play button, trying to convince himself to delete the texts and forget this happened—but it’s a losing battle. 

The short clip plays, and what he hears is like Apollo’s lyre, your moans and the squelch of your cunt seducing him—but one bad pluck of the animal gut in the form of another man's name pulls him from his hypnosis.

It’s a name that doesn’t belong to him. It rots Jack from the inside out, grime curling into his mouth, and he almost spews it onto the floor. 

He already knows you didn't mean to send this to him, but he’s devastated and envious. Ready to march on a warpath leading to the man who let you slip through his fingers with tears in your eyes. He’s replayed that moment of you leaving the tent one too many times, trying to rewrite the story in a way that would lead him back to you. 

Jack should’ve reached for you then. Reassured you that the moment wasn’t just because of a warped sense of duty. 

He wants you.

And you’re no longer the eighteen-year-old girl he initially met. You’re a grown woman, one who’s capable of making her own decisions. Jack chooses courage now, because if he doesn’t act, paltry, meager men will take what’s rightfully his… what has always been. And he fears you’re already being pulled away by forces he can’t control.

The only other obstacle is your dad. But Jack can take him in a fight, if necessary. He hopes it won’t come to that.

He aches for you. Wants to take the next steps in life and move on with you. But he can’t, not yet. Not until he’s back home and he can show you he means it. But now he has all the motivation he needs to try to get back in your good graces.

Instead of deleting the texts, he saves the material, then he does what he thinks is best to rectify the mistake he made all those months ago.

He calls you.

You’re awoken from a light sleep when your phone goes off, vibrating on the nightstand. 

Your eyes adjust to the bright light on the screen as you hold the phone over your face—careful not to drop it—and you see that you have a few missed phone calls from Jack. You sit up in bed.

It’s midnight. What could he want? It’s been—well, since before the camping trip—that you last spoke on the phone. You don’t bother returning his call. Whatever he wants to talk about can wait at least until you're fully conscious. 

You clear the notifications from Jack one by one when you happen to see another one from Nathan:

Hey, did you fall asleep? Where are my pics :(

That makes you freeze, anxiety jolting you into full coherency. You know you sent those off… But if not to Nathan, then to whom?

You immediately return Jack’s call, not even bothering to look through your messages to confirm what you did. You know you sent them to him. Because, maybe, deep down, you wanted to send him those photos.

The line connects, and you speak up first. “Jack?”

He feels his nervousness dissipate, rejuvenated after going so long without hearing your saccharine melody.

“Angel… it’s been a while.”

“I take it you saw what I sent you?” You tug at the bows adorning your hips, loosening them and twirling the slack satin.

“Heard it too.”

You bring your phone to your chest, groaning in humiliation as the soft sheets rustle beneath you. Despite that, you grow hot at his wrecked voice and utter honesty. How is it that after all this time—even on complicated terms—he can still make you fall apart with just his voice?

You quickly bring your phone back to your ear to ask him the burning question. “Did… did you like what you saw?”

Jack’s brain buffers, pulse racing at your shy, innocent, but very loaded question. He doesn’t respond right away but feels the need to praise you for being so good to him. 

“…Yes, God, yes. You don’t know what you do to me, kid.”

Butterflies flutter inside your stomach, and you almost want to throw your phone into the wall from the overwhelming joy you feel at his response. 

“W-why are you calling?”

“Why do you think? I hear you moan another man’s name, and you think I won’t address it?”

“You don’t have the right to be upset. I walked out on you… but you pushed me away.” You pout and chew on your lip. You’re not letting him get away with his behavior that morning.

He’s stunned into a short silence, but ultimately he’s glad you called him out. You’ve been more mature than him throughout everything, and he runs his fingers through his curls in embarrassment.

He puffs out a tired breath. “I know. But that’s also why I want to talk to you. I want to apologize for that day. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Letting you go… well, it’s one of my biggest mistakes. I won’t make it again.”

Coming from Jack, it’s the most heartfelt and mournful apology you’ve ever heard. Would it be too quick to forgive him already? The distance and time apart only make you more willing to throw the water under the bridge.

You start to tear up and begin to say something when Jack interjects, “And I want to tell you that you’re devastating. Just…” He chuckles. “I can’t even get the words out. Stunning. Even if you’re moaning another man’s name.”

Heat works its way through your body at his words. Still, you respond, with a sniffle, “And while wearing the lingerie he bought me.” You throw that in to make him hurt. Just a little bit more.

“You’re really killing me here, you know that?”

You laugh, and he feels as if all’s right with the world again. “Sorry. Thank you for apologizing, Jack. I’m—I’m also sorry for not reaching out to you more. I shouldn’t have held such a grudge against you. I know you only have the best intentions.”

He really doesn’t. Not with your video still playing in the back of his mind. Not when he’s nearly two decades older than you and he thinks about knocking you up. But as long as you want him just as badly as he does, it'll be alright. “I should’ve reached out too. It’s not your fault.”

You both listen to the hushed sound of the other’s breathing through the phone, not wanting to disturb the quietude brought by your mending of fences. 

A few peaceful seconds pass in silence. “So… what now?” 

“You tell me. What do you want, angel?”

“I want—I want you. I… I want to be with you, Jack.” Your voice comes out shaky and in a pathetic whisper, but that only endears you to him more.

“Then you have me.” Jack twists the silicone band on his finger, already planning your life together in his head. He’s going to take such good care of you. That nearly excites him more than the thought of getting you underneath him. Almost. 

“What do we do about my dad?”

“Don’t worry about him. We’ll talk to him together. I didn’t tell you, but I’m coming home tomorrow.”

If you weren’t already sitting up in bed, you would probably levitate. You smack your chest as your heart pumps a little too fast. “You’ll be here? Tomorrow?”

He’s amused by your sweet reaction. “Yes. Wait for me.”

“Okay, I will.” You nod, even though he can’t see you over the phone. “I—I missed you.”

“Me too, sweetheart. More than words can say.”

A moment later, Jack speaks up, addressing you by name. He doesn’t want the call to end. He wants to feel close to you again with a new understanding that he can be a little selfish. Because that's what people who let themselves feel and receive love do.

“Before we hang up, I want to try something. I want you to send your boyfriend a little present.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just… sleeping together. And what present?”

“That’s good. It’ll make this easier. I want you to touch yourself. Make him a video like the one you sent me. I’ll talk you through it, baby. Tell him who you were really thinking about when you made it.”

Your mouth hangs open. The gall. The nerve. The audacity. But his possessiveness and need to claim you in front of the audience of one make you squirm, your cunt starting to leak from just his words.

He tuts into the phone when you don’t respond. “Be a good girl and answer me.”

Affirming words spill easily from your lips. “O-okay. I’ll do it. What—what would you like me to do first, sir?”

Jack groans into the phone as he clutches it, his other hand moving beneath his boxers to free himself, and you giggle at his reaction. 

“Put me on speakerphone. Use one hand to film and the other to pinch and squeeze your tits. Perk them up real nice.”

You rip your comforter away from your body to play with your nipples through the mesh lingerie—sensitive—as the fabric rubs into them. As you tug each one roughly, your other hand shakes as it holds the phone while recording. It’d be so much more difficult to focus if you were also FaceTiming each other. But luckily for you, Jack probably doesn’t even know what that is. You’re patient enough to wait to see him tomorrow. In person.

You moan softly, more enthusiastically this time around than earlier tonight. Poor, poor Nathan.

“Say my name. Say it, baby.” You can hear the lewd squelches coming from Jack’s end as he jerks his cock, and you whine his name—loud enough for the phone to pick up—your nipples stinging from how brutally you’ve tweaked them.

He grunts, “Now, slowly drag your hand down and touch your clit. Make sure you give him a good look, angel.” Jack’s breathing quickens, and you hear him spit, lubing up his already wet cockhead and fisting himself to spread more slick down his length.

You follow his command. You trail your fingers down the slope of your body until they reach your center. Making sure the camera is focused on your cunt, you manage to splay yourself open, giving the lens a nice look at your soaked and slippery folds. Your digits press harsh circles into your clit, and you have to stop yourself from squirming too much to keep the phone from rocking. “J-Jack, I’m—I’m getting close. Pleasepleaseplease keep talking to me. Tell me what I’m doing to you.”

“Already going to come? We’ve barely started, kid.” 

Hearing him call you kid at this very moment does unspeakable things to you. Things it shouldn’t.

He laughs at you, mockingly, but he’s getting close too. He twists his rough fist up and down the length of his cock, putting his phone on the nightstand so he can massage his balls, throbbing and full for you.

It’s really too bad that all his come will be going to waste.

“You want my praise? That it?” he drawls, words slurring as his balls tighten. “You should be here, helping me with this.” Jack punctuates his statement with a rough tug of his cock, hopeful that you get his point through his voice alone. “This is all your fault. You’d like to see how hard and leaky I am for you, hm? I’ll prove to you how much you drive me crazy tomorrow. It’s a promise.”

Jack starts to stroke himself faster, the globs of spit trailing down to his balls and sheets from his hurried pace. He wants you to come first.

“A-angel, please, put the heel of your palm on your clit and three fingers in your cunt. It won’t fill you like I will, but it’ll work.”

He sounds absolutely wrecked, but he’s past the point of total humiliation now. As long as you do what he says, you’ll both be rewarded.

You rub your swollen clit with the heel of your hand, fucking yourself on three digits—and he’s right—it’s not enough. But he’s not here right now, and you need to come. He needs you to come.

“Are you doing it?” When all he hears is a high-pitched “Mhm!” from you, he gives the final directive. 

“Come, baby. Need to hear you. Show him what it’s like when a man really makes you come.”

You finally crest, overloaded with physical sensation and Jack’s praise, ragged and through gritted teeth. You let out a pathetic wail, orgasm ripping through you and making you drop the phone onto the bed next to you with a soft thud. You twitch, worn out, but can hear him shift in his bed, adjusting to make himself more comfortable.

With a strained voice, Jack says, “Good girl. That’s a… very good girl.” He gives you a few seconds to catch your breath. Then, he immediately follows up with, “Stay with me, angel. I need to hear your voice.”

A few more strokes of his cock, and your whispers and quiet confessions push him over the edge. 

He comes with a rumbling groan, thick spend making a sloppy mess over his hand, down his length, onto his sleep shorts, and into his sheets. At the tail end of his orgasm, he idly thinks about making you lick clean his mess. Maybe feeding it to you and watching your eyes glass over with the taste. Tomorrowtomorrowtomorrow.

With that in mind, Jack flops back onto his pillow, exhausted but satiated. He whispers your name, hoping you haven’t fallen asleep yet. You respond with a soft hum, and he lets out a breath. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. I needed that. We both did. Are you okay?”

“Mhm. Just tired,” you whisper back, head nestled sideways into the pillow.

“Okay, I don’t want to keep you up too long. You probably have work, right? Sweet dreams, angel. I’ll see you tomorrow. And… you don’t have to send him the video if you don’t want to.” Nathan will know soon enough that only Jack has a claim on you. 

You snort. You already know what he really wants. “I already sent it. Guess I should burn this lingerie set now, huh?” 

His lips curl up in a devilish smirk. He doesn’t deserve you. “Goodnight,” he says.

“Goodnight, Jack. Love you.” 

He freezes. He’s not sure if you meant those last two words or if they just spilled out of you due to your post-coital haze and fatigue. But he doesn’t get the chance to confirm, as he can tell from your silence you’ve fallen asleep.

“See you tomorrow, sweetheart.” He hangs up. 

Love you.

You’ve just come home from work—tired and nearly passed out—when you hear a knock at the door. He texted you a while ago when his plane landed. Is he here already?

You open the door and see Jack, still in his military outfit and carrying his luggage, dropping it as you jump into his arms.

“It’s good to see you, kid.” He whispers into your neck, inhaling your scent. Your scent’s a little sweaty and like the outside, but you smell like home.

“It’s good to see you too, Jack.” You bury your face into his shoulder, wanting to crawl inside his skin, but content with just a hug for now. You can feel his back muscles even through the thick material of his outfit, and it’s as if he’s gotten even stronger since you saw him last. You’re glad he’s holding you up because you would have quickly dropped to your knees to give him a warm, wet welcome home. But the apartment floor is hardwood, and he hasn’t even stepped inside yet. There’ll be time for that later.

He tilts your chin up from where it's tucked into his shoulder and kisses you. It’s soft and gentle, like a ghost haunted by its past trying to grasp something real. But you’re solid against his touch, and he lets himself feel your lips and soft skin and supple body against his.

He kicks his gear into your apartment and closes the door, then carries you to your bed, still kissing you. He doesn’t bother to ask for permission to enter this time. You’re tossed onto the bed with a soft thud, and Jack bends down to cradle the side of your face with his warm palm, his intense stare meeting your loving one.

“Let me make good on my promise. Are you gonna let me eat out your sweet cunt? Or do you want my cock now?”

Your body shakes, and you make a cute noise in the back of your throat. “D-don’t you want to change first? Maybe let me make you something to eat?”

“No. I want to take care of you. Let me?”

You can’t help but beam at him. It’s no use fighting him. “Okay.” 

You lay your hand over his and notice his wedding band is gone.

“Dad? Dad, are you okay? You’re staring off into space…”

You and Jack give each other a worried look as you sit opposite your dad at lunch. You slightly regret having told him about your relationship. Maybe this could’ve been kept a secret until… nevermind. That’s too morbid. He’ll just have to accept this.

Your dad shakes his head. “Sorry, I—I didn’t expect this, but to be honest, I can’t say I’m surprised.” He sighs. “As long as you’re both happy, I’m happy. I can’t dictate your life anymore, honey. But Jack, if you hurt her, you won’t be dropping twenty. You’ll just be dropping. And I don’t mean pushups. Understand me?”

Jack smiles, turns to you, and brings your hand to his lips, kissing it. “I sure do.”

[aventurineswife]

A zzz request!

So s/o of harumasa, seth, lighter and Hugo (separately) gets chocolates and while they immediately start to savour them, they aren't aware that the chocolates contain a flavour they don't like. Meanwhile the boys find out somehow.

So cue the boys kissing it from them and stealing their chocolate like in horimiya and the shenanigans that ensues after XD

(also u can base the flavours based off of each character, like haru with a bitter flavour chocolate, or seth a fishy prank one)

🍮

"Kiss First, Ask Later"

Tags: Lighter x Reader, Harumasa x Reader, Seth x Reader, Hugo x Reader, Fluff, Comedy, Romantic Shenanigans, Inspired by Horimiya, Food/Kissing Scene, Sweet & Silly Moments, Domestic Vibes, Established Relationship, Playful Banter, Mildly Suggestive, Soft Angst (Harumasa, Lighter) (?), Protective, Taste Bud Betrayal, Sweets Gone Wrong.

Warnings: Mentions of unpleasant food flavors (e.g., ghost pepper, fish-infused chocolate, floral-soap truffle), Brief references to trauma/illness (?), Mild language, Kissing, And one spicy mouth-induced crisis.

You were lounging on the couch, lazily unwrapping the box of chocolates Harumasa had given you earlier—he said it was a limited-edition flavor, which should have been a red flag. Still, you popped one into your mouth and—

Bitter. Unholy bitter. Like coffee and dark cacao got into a fight and nobody won.

You tried to smile through it, chewing like your life depended on it. Harumasa looked up from his book, cocking a brow. “You’re making your ‘I’m totally not suffering’ face.”

“…No, I’m not,” you mumbled, throat tight.

“Ah. So you are,” he said, walking over with a suspiciously casual gait. Then without warning, he cupped your jaw and kissed you, stealing the chocolate right out of your mouth like a smug thief.

Your eyes widened. “Wha—Haru!”

He smacked his lips, made a face, then grimaced. “Yeah, that’s horrible.”

“Then why did you—”

“To spare you.” He plopped onto the couch again. “Also, I was curious how bad it was.”

You glared, cheeks red. “You could’ve just told me.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he said, already sliding the box away from your reach. “Guess I’ll finish these. Waste not, suffer not.”

Seth was practically vibrating with excitement when he handed you the heart-shaped box. “Made just for you!” he declared, tail flicking with pride.

You were touched. And trusting. Big mistake.

You bit into the first piece. The texture was fine. The taste… not.

“…Seth,” you said slowly, mouth half-full of chocolate that tasted vaguely of tuna.

He tilted his head. “You don’t like it? It’s salmon-miso caramel! PubSec’s seasonal prank flavor!”

You gagged quietly.

“Wait, you’re serious? You hate it?”

You nodded, blinking back betrayal.

“Say no more.” With the speed of a PubSec strike team, he dove forward, kissed you breathless, and somehow pilfered the half-eaten chocolate from your mouth in a move that could’ve been banned in seven districts.

“Seth!” you yelped.

He popped the piece into his own mouth. “It’s not that bad!” he said, tail wagging. “Actually… okay, yeah, that’s gross.”

You pointed accusingly. “You knew.”

“I didn’t think you’d fall for it that fast!”

You sulked while he tried to bribe you with snacks that didn’t taste like the ocean floor.

You had a thing for sweets. Lighter had a thing for being silently dramatic. So when you opened the fancy red-wrapped box labeled Blazing Cocoa Inferno, you didn’t think twice.

Until the spice hit. And kept hitting.

Your eyes started to water. “Why is this chocolate… angry?”

Lighter, mid-adjusting his sunglasses, turned his head slowly. “…Did you eat the top-left one?”

“…Yes?”

“Sweetheart,” he said, deadpan. “That one’s ghost pepper fudge.”

You coughed, desperate. He clicked his tongue, sighed dramatically, and walked over.

“I’ll fix it,” he said like a man about to sacrifice himself for the greater good—and then, without preamble, kissed you, soft but intense, and stole the burn right off your tongue.

You stared at him, stunned, as he pulled away. “You just—?!”

“Better me than you,” he shrugged, wincing as the spice hit. “Gonna go lie down. I think my mouth is on fire.”

“Why didn’t you label them?!”

He smirked. “Because I forgot. And also, it’s kind of funny watching you panic.”

You threw a pillow at him. He didn’t even dodge.

Everything about Hugo was elegance and mischief, so you should’ve known the sleek box of “Nocturne Truffles” would be suspicious. Still, you couldn’t resist his expectant smile as you bit into the first piece.

It tasted like—lavender? And… soap? Were those… floral spices?

Your expression must’ve crumpled because Hugo immediately leaned in, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Something wrong, darling?”

You shook your head, prideful. “N-Nope.”

“Oh?” he cooed, lips already brushing yours. “Then you won’t mind if I—” And he kissed you so slyly, so smoothly, you barely noticed he’d swiped the truffle right from your tongue.

He popped it into his own mouth, chewed once, and smiled. “Ah. So this is what the chef meant by ‘an experimental botanical fusion.’”

“Why would you get that?”

“I was curious. You were the test subject. Thank you for your service.”

You pouted, swatting his shoulder. “That’s diabolical.”

“I am a villain, my love.”

“Next time you eat first.”

He winked. “Next time we feed each other. You know, to be fair.”

[aizawas-upper-left-wisdom-tooth]

For those of you on the poor side and or willing to make small sacrifices to save money here are some tips from someone who grew up in south Texas and was often without A/C in the summers.

1. For a more semi permanent solution on the windows. Use aluminum foil/ tinfoil. Tape it in and over the window in sheets. Block the whole thing. It will reflect the light out and help insulation of the house.

Remember that you (in most cases) will need natural light to see by unless you want to use electricity in the day, so don't cover all of them. Focus on the ones that get the most light, especially in the morning and evening.

2. If you can't afford curtains, hang blankets, towels, rugs, ect instead. "Oh it looks tacky" yeah, so does a red blotchy face streaming with sweat and an electric bill you can't afford.

If your sending or don't want holes in your walls/ blankets, use clothesline clips or the heavy duty bag clips. Heck, if you have a clothing hanger with those clips for pants you can use that or a rubber band/ hair tie to hold them up over the curtain rod.

If there is no rod and you can't install one, then I recommend the tinfoil trick at least.

3. Get ice packs or make your own, also good for injuries. A small term investment on a few ice packs you and your family/ friends/ roommates can switch though, is better than a expensive bill or trip to the hospital.

I usually don't make recommendations on specific products, but I personally use these and they are surprisingly good, even for the price.

(image: screenshot from Amazon. Product is made by CoolTimeUSA. Product has a rating of 4 out of 5 stars, rated by 3,445 people. Product name listed is: Neck Cooling Tube | Wearable Cooling Neck Wraps for Summer Heat | Hands Free Cold Pack | Reusable Cooler. The product comes in blue(not shown) pink, camo, and black. The products price ranges with the color selected, from $17.90 USD to $22.90 USD. The appearance is that of a soft horse shoe that is worn around the neck.)

The ice in this isn't too cold and stays cool for a long time! If you can find it not on Amazon then good for you!

You can make a simple ice bag by filling a sock (or sewing a small bag) with uncooked rice and then freezing it. It won't last as long as a proper ice pack, but it'll feel nice for a while!

4. If inside is too stuffy and hot, sit outside, in the shade, in light clothing, and get yourself wet to cool down. With the right amount of breeze, this can actually go a long way in keeping you cool. You don't even have to go swimming or anything! Just sit out with a cold drink(preferably in an insulated cup), use a hose or bring out some water from the house to splash yourself with, then sit and try to relax.

Stay safe out there!

For all of the northerners that stood up for Texas during our freeze and said, "Don't make fun of them, they've never dealt with this before. Their infrastructure isn't made for snow and freezing."

This one is for you.

Where I live 108°F with 80% humidity with no wind is normal.

Pacific North West is dealing historic best waves 35-40°C or 95-105°F.

First of all. Don't make fun of them for bitching about the heat. Just like Texas isn't built for a freeze and our pipes burst, Pacific North West isn't built for heat and a lot of their homes don't have AC.

If you live somewhere with a high humidity like 80+ HUMIDITY IS NOT YOUR FRIEND. The "humidity makes it feel cooler" is a lie once it gets beyond a point.

If you live somewhere with a lower humidity, misters are nice to cool off outside.

Once you get over 90°F (32°C) a fan will not help you. It's just pushing around hot air. (I mean if you can't afford a small AC unit because they're expensive as hell, by all means a fan is better than nothing).

If you have pets, those portable AC units aren't safe. If your pets destroy the outtake thing, it'll leak CO2. Window units are safer.

Window AC units will let mosquitoes or other small bugs in. Sucks, but that's life.

Now is not the time to me modest. If you have to cover for religious reasons, by all means. If you don't, I've seen people wear short shorts and a swim top. It's not trashy if it keeps you from getting heat stroke.

If you do have to cover up for religious reasons, look for elephant pants or something similar. They're made with a breathable material.

Shade is better than no shade, but that shit it just diet sun after some point. Don't think shade will save you from heat stroke.

I know the "drink your water" is a fun meme now, but if you're sweating excessively you need electrolytes. Drink Gatorade, Powerade, or Pedialite PLEASE. I don't care if you're fucking sitting in one spot all day. That shit WILL save you from heat stroke.

Most importantly. RESEARCH THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HEAT STROKE AND HEAT EXHAUSTION PLEASE!

If you're diabetic and can't drink Gatorade, mix water, fruit juice, and either lite salt or pink salt

If you can afford it, cover windows with thick curtains to insulate the house

If you have tile floors, lay on them with skin to tile contact. If you don't, laying your head on cool counters works too.

If the temperature where you're at is hotter than your body temperature, don't wear heat wicking clothing. Moisture wicking is safe though.

Check your medication labels. Many make you more susceptible to sun and heat

-Room temperature water will get into your body faster. This is something I learned doing marching band in high summer in Georgia, and it saved all of our asses. Sip it, don't gulp it, especially if you're getting into the red; same goes for whatever fluid you're drinking. And just in general drink during the day.

-If you are moving from an air conditioned space to an un-air conditioned space, if at all possible try to make the shift gradual. When my dad and I were working outside and in un-ac houses a few years ago, he'd turn the air down to low in the truck about ten-fifteen minutes before we got where we were going. This way your body doesn't go from low low temps to high temps. S'bad for you.

-If you can, keep your lights off during the day. Light bulbs may not generate a lot of heat, but the difference is noticeable when it gets hot enough. I literally only turn my bedroom light on in the evening when it gets too dark.

Don't be afraid to just like... pour water on yourself if you need to. The evaporation will cool you off.

Put your hand to the cement for 15 seconds. If you can't handle the heat, it'll burn your dog's paws. Don't let them walk on it.

Dogs with flat faces are more prone to heat stroke. Don't leave them out unsupervised.

Frozen fruit is delicious in water.

Wet/Cold hat/handkerchief on your head/neck will help you stay cool.

Pickle juice is great for electrolytes! You can even make pickle juice Popsicles!

Heat exhaustion is more, "drink water and get you cooled off." Heat stroke is more "Oh my god call 911."

Image Description provided by @loveize

[Image description: an infographic showing the difference between heat exhaustion and heat stroke. The graphic is labeled "Heat Dangers: First Warning." Signs of heat exhaustion: faint or dizzy, excessive sweating, cool, pale, clammy skin, rapid, weak pulse, muscle cramps. If you think you or someone else may be experiencing heat exhaustion, get to a cool, air-conditioned place, drink water if conscious, and take a cool shower or use cold compress. Signs of heat stroke: throbbing headache, no sweating, red, hot, dry skin, rapid, strong pulse, may lose consciousness. If you think you or someone else may be experiencing heat stroke, call 911. End description]

Be safe.

-fae

[pishifuzul]

shhh shhh listen sweetheart... this is what family is about. dad takes care of you and plays with you and buys you all the little things you want no matter how tired or busy I get, because that's family and I love you and I make sacrifices to prove it. so you can stop complaining for a bit and let me have this special playtime with you, even it feels weird and hurts you, because you love me. right? if you really loved your dad you wouldn't be whining so much. family makes sacrifices for each other, understand?

[momosweetpeach]

This is in no way me trying to be like rude or hateful, so if it comes off that way I apologize.

Like I kinda understand the CoraLaw ship, I also like don't? For some reason my brain just views it as like almost grooming??? Idk, would it be possible for you to please further explain your view on the ship? Obviously you are under no obligation to do so, and it's fair of you think you shouldn't have to explain your thoughts on it. I am moreso just curious.

Regardless I absolutely adore your art, especially how you draw Penguin and Shachi.

This isn't rude at all, this is actually quite polite and civil! And also-

I shall go in depth below since it'll be a lot.

First and foremost, a lot of people seem to have a totally bastardized idea of what "grooming" actually even IS nowadays. It gets tossed around so much that people forget that the main trait is INTENTIONALITY. It is an INTENTIONAL process of manipulation and abuse for selfish reasons (similar to gaslighting). It is very hard to "accidentally" groom someone. You can give them the wrong idea, maybe, but that's not grooming. It originally means to basically prep and train up someone for a specific role later in life. Doflamingo uses this meaning of the term when talking about wanting to train Law up to become his righthand man.

Cora-san's character is LITERALLY DEFINED by his selflessness and sacrifices he makes to save Law's life. He doesn't expect anything in return. He acts on a sense of duty and then empathy. He suffers greatly in attempts to allow Law to survive and live freely, out from under the thumb of his brother.

Speaking of Doflamingo real quick, for some reason I feel like I see the ship of DofLaw get a lot less hate than CoraLaw despite the fact that they're in similar positions. Usually, because people have the headcanon of DadCora even though Law never views or refers to Cora as a father figure in any canon or spinoff material. If you have that headcanon, fine, whatever, but you have to remember that canonically, Law and Cora do not see their relationship as familial. That's part of the weight in the scene that Law has with Sengoku after Dressrosa. "Don't look for a reason for somebody's love."

Law didn't have to be family or important or anything for Cora to love him. He just did, if anything, from a sense of deepseated empathy and understanding of the pain that Law was going through.

Now- the actual shipping part of it.

It is also extremely difficult to groom someone if you are GONE FOR 13 YEARS.

The most commonly depicted manner of CoraLaw as a ship is Cora returning after 13 years, whether he secretly survived Minion Island, has been a ghost, was resurrected- whatever it may be, there is the gap of Cora being gone and assumed dead for over a decade. That is a LONG TIME to be separated from a person, and by the time you reunite, things will have changed, ESPECIALLY LAW. He is NOT the same person he was at age 13 anymore, obviously. He is a fullass grown adult at age 26 in the current canon. He has become an entirely new person with new strengths, confidence, and outlook on things.

Another important part of the ship to me...is that it is most often LAW who is pursuing CORA, not the other way around. LAW is the one who has spent all this time devoted to avenging Cora and being basically obsessed with honoring his memory and repaying the sacrifices that Cora made to him. The devotion is met in equal measures in that sense.

Their relationship as adults, 26 and either ALSO 26 or 39 (depending on if Cora is resurrected or has actually been alive this whole time) is them recognizing how things have changed and how their dynamic has now evolved into something totally different. Law isn't a kid that Cora can pick up like a football. He's an accomplished pirate captain. He was a warlord for a bit!!! He's an insanely powerful and scary guy tbh!!!

But Law still has a soft spot for Cora, still talks about him with an edge of kindness and love. Law would he terrified of admitting that he's perhaps developed feelings because of the fear of rejection from his most precious person, the one he owes everything to.

A lot of fics go with the mutual pining angle, both afraid of ruining what they have, despite the fact that things aren't the same as they were 13 years ago. It's an interesting space to explore and requires a lot of trust ans vulnerability on both ends-

No. It's not a conventional relationship by any means. I won't argue that. But that's why I like it, damnit. It's a fictional scenario that is largely impossible in our world, and it's a fun space to explore and to consider the depth of the affection they already have for one another, evolving into something different and new.

That's the main takeaway here tbh for me. It's FICTION. Literally no individuals are being hurt and it's not even ticking off any boxes of the usual Dead Dove sort of things so. Yeah

Jazz hands

[deerspherestudios]

Hey Cheea!

Thank you again for the amazing VNs you make, they're always on point 😭❤️

Michael and Alma are sweethearts, and I love Atom very much!

I have a question, and if you don't like it or if it's awkward, you don't have to answer!

Meeting Atom, the VN mentions it being a singular parasite at the beginning, but when we meet them again there are dozens and dozens of worms, all invading the ship, all of which obviously love the MC, so is it a collective hive mind of many worms, or is it basically all replicas of the same one split over and over again?

I'm kind of guessing the latter considering Atom making some worms into Dog Food through space magic, but I wanted to ask in case? :O

Every worm is Atom duplicated over and over! That's why it can sacrifice pieces of themselves to make whatever it is you might need, so that's a very good guess!

You can technically keep one single worm for the rest of your life and that's still just as much Atom as the rest of the swarm. It'll just be talking in a very very tinny little voice.

Also, less eldritch horror and more worm in a jar kinda buddy :-)

[howlingday]

Jaune's Funeral

Saphron: (Lifeless, Sitting quietly)

Jaune: (Ghost, Floating by) Whoa... Looks like everybody from Beacon is here! And they're all laughing at me! Probably just doing this to look good!.

Ren: Easy, Pyrrha... Take it easy...

Pyrrha: Jaune... JAUNE~! (Sobs)

Jaune: Is she... really that upset?.

Russel: Cardin, calm down!

Cardin: SHUT THE HELL UP AND LET GO OF ME!

Jaune: What the- Cardin?!.

Cardin: DAMN YOU, ARC! YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GIVE UP 'CAUSE YOU'RE SCARED OF ME?!

Dove: Cardin, c'mon! People are mourning here!

Cardin: I'm not leaving! Not until he comes out here and fights me like a man!

Lark: He can't do that 'cause he's-

Cardin: WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, ARC, I'M GONNA MAKE YOU WISH YOU NEVER MET ME! YOU HEAR ME?! (Tears well) Who do you think you are, huh?! Friggin' punk! Who'm I gonna fight now, huh?! WHO'M I GONNA FIGHT?!

Dove: He's gone, Cardin! He's gone!

Cardin: RAAAAAAAAGH! (Punches picture) Y- You're supposed to be here! F- For me... (Weeping)

Russel: C'mon, boss... Let's go...

Cardin: (Dragged out, Sobbing)

Lark: S- Sorry about all that...

Cardin: NOOOOO! (Chokes) NOOOOOOOO!

Jaune: I... never would've seen that coming...

Emerald: You see that?

Mercury: Ah, who cares? Only downside to all of this was that those idiots didn't get killed, too.

Cinder: I'd watch what you say, you two. The last thing we want is people looking at us as their enemies.

Mercury: Oh, please, I know exactly the kind of guy he was; he's the dumb starry-eyed kid who thought he'd make a difference by throwing his life away to save some kid he never met... just to look good in front of whatever girl was watching him.

Cinder: Well, I'm certainly not going to argue that.

Jaune: Those... jerks! It's my funeral and they're just here to make fun of me?! If I could get my hands on them, I'd- (Reaches out)

Goodwitch: (Grabs Mercury and Cinder) Honestly, I was upset by Mr. Winchester's emotional outburst, but everything you two just said has pushed me into a violent temper.

Jaune: Professor Goodwitch...?.

Goodwitch: (Passes, Walks up to Saphron) My condolences for the loss of your brother. Please allow me to say a few kind words.

Saphron: ...

Goodwitch: (Approaches Jaune's picture, Sighs) I can't help but feel responsible, Jaune. Your heart was kinder than anyone else's, but my inability to prepare you for the world has led you to make the ultimate sacrifice before you could even think of graduating. You... It may be impolite to speak ill of you, but I am nothing if not honest. (Shaking) You were my weakest student, which only makes it all the more frustrating to never see you become the strong huntsman you could have become! If only I had just believed in you more!

Saphron: ...Jau...ne... (Breaks down)

Jaune: ...

Terra: Over here, Adrian.

Adrian: (Toddles next to her)

Terra: (Sets Adrian down, Prays)

Adrian: (Looks to her, Prays)

Terra: ...Do you understand what's going on? What all of these people are doing here? (Picks him up) He saved your life, and all these people are grateful to him for it. He was a kind man to have so many friends, and I want you to be like him and become a kind man yourself. (Approaches Saphron) Thank you for inviting us.

Terra: (Walking home with Adrian in her arms) There will be people who make you angry. There will be people who make you sad. But the people who you make happy will be the ones who will show you just how much your life is worth. And I want you to be the one who makes everyone around him happier than you could possibly be. (Hugs)

Pyrrha: (Sobbing)

Cardin: (Screaming)

Goodwitch: (Shaking)

Jaune: (Floating above, Watching them all)

[ganondoodle]

got this comment on my answer to the anon asking me why i hate totk:

" @comentter

I feel all of this so much, especially the not just lack of connective tissue, but the active dismissal of any connection to BotW, let alone any past Zelda games. That Ganondorf was just a name nothing more... I've only recently been able to enjoy BotW stuff again. I have a question though. Can you elaborate about doubling down on the flaws of BotW (or point me to a post where you talked about this?) I've seen a lot of criticism of the game, but never this specifically"

(seperate post bc i didnt want to add to an already longer post and i will keep it "short" bc i HAVE talked about it before but idk how the hell to find it either lmao)

what i broadly called 'flaws' were pretty much all things that were critized about botw and/or were lacking in general that i do not believe totk fixed at all, they either doubled down on it, made it just as bad, or pretended to fix it but didnt (and often made it even worse)

im just gonna give some of the biggest examples bc i want to keep it shorter and maybe you get the idea:

the dungeons (titans) in botw were too samey and the whole terminals thing werent the best puzzles, plus the very same kind of boss each time; on the plus side the little gimick of each titan was neat, their introduction great, they looked intimidating, its generally just .. very cool bc its a giant MECH and also it made sense in the story even if there were missed opportunities with the bosses -like making them be the possesed remains of the champions for exampls- BUT they still have the benefit of you knowing they are what killed your friends, theres a personal connection here- and you cannot climb them bc all shiekah stuff is not climable (so restricting you which is GOOD), and they got the bonus of all shiekah thigns as in they saw the future and the things are meant to be doable for you and since its been a hundred years theres people around that still know your friends of the past, you get your dead friends ability at teh end, a part of their spirit really

-totks dungeons .... well, they LOOK different from each other, but its just the surface really, each of them is 5 switches (that feel very artificially inserted since its supposedly race specific dungeons but those things are clearly sonau (zonai)) and none of them (or only the thunder ones? barely?) are connected to each other at all, so its terminals again, BUT they are also static (in contrast to botws moving titans), the already easy puzzles can be skipped easily (via totks horrible building shit that invalidates so much of the world it was inserted into bc it simply wasnt made for this), you can also climb walls so even more ways to cheat (in a boring way, having to do glitches to cheat is cooler), they also lack a personal connection, all these dungeons, especially the ones in the sky, appeared out of thin air really, and while thy try to make your friends and their villages in distress the tension it falls very flat- and it detracts further that they are in almost the exact same LOCATION AS IN BOTW (more repetition), you have NO connection to the nameless ancient sages or reason to care about them and the whole thing about your friends awakening as sages feels very ... well, bad, their stone ability makes little sense and it also seems to override what made the champions, your old friends, significant (who cares about champions? sages are way older and more important)- i will give them credit for the bosses beign different but ... its got less weight too, these monsters are just mosnters summoned there, they didnt kill the sages they are just there to supposedly stop you from gettign the stone which, i dont think is ever stated as the actual goal by anyone so it doesnt even make sense!! the only reason you go there is BECAUSE there are monsters threating the villages now! (also the sonau didnt have the future thing and also .. when were those things built? who cares, why are the fish in the sky WHY DO THE WATERWORKS IF- etc)

so overall, looks fixed on the surface, but its actually worse

weapons breaking! while i didnt mind alot of people did but it was essential to botws exploration drive, there were lots of cool weapons whose appearances changed fit to how far you were in the game (meanign they went from weak to stronger ones) and it makes sense they are all over the place with monsters using them etc

-totk then .. well the weapons still break, their base version are now all ugly rusted and very shitty for no sensical reason (its jsut to force you to fuse), you can fuse stuff to them, you HAVE to, bc id bet they are even more brittle than botw ones in their basic version, fusing uses up materials (which you also need for armor upgrades), often looks stupid and is a hassle to do espeically in mid fight, monsters and people also just do it even without having fuse and ........ strap fruit to their shields or sth instead of fixing their weapons bc i guess no smiths exist ever?

so appears fixed, but isnt actually, and i would argue, made worse (this is were i would for once say a more classic crafting system was THE fix but thats for the rewrite now lmao)

shrines! in botw there were mayn of them, often rather short or underwhelming, all look the same and tehre many that were jsut a fight which is a little boring but it made sense with the shiekah having them made for you in the future (also theres a bit of personality bc each has its own monk that made that puzzle for you and giving you their bit of spirit) and they were well integrated into the world (also the monks talk to you! they are still sittign there after all!)

-in totk, well, theres EVEN MORE OF THEM, EVEN SHORTER, and with totks building shit that they barely restrict at all (weirdly though you cant climb walls here either ....hmmm inconsistencyyyy) extremely easy to cheat in a boring way that feels less like you are cleverly exploiting the game and jsut that they didnt care, all look the same AGAIN, just with a different paint job from botw, they just ... came out of nowhere, their placements are like .. the same just a little to the left, at the end its a static statue of the main guy and his fridge wife every single time, they give you .. a .. light orb? the shrines purpose is very non sensical (banish monsters? literally how and were lol, also you need a rauru arm to get in? also where were they before? and uuh .. is the puzzle the security????i dont see mosnters running around with rauru arms?? nothign changes after you do them so banish evil how what??) and they are very much just .. put there, you know they werent there before, like the world easiest mod jsut moved them a little (they .. talk? to you? prerecorded? somehow?)

so the same but worse than in botw

krogs! (koroks) in botw .. were too many, i get it, it was a joke and something you werent meant to find all of (nintendo shoudl have known better tbh) and they were sth to fill the gaps, i dont like that they are what exapnds your inventory but its more forgivable since its the firrst time here

-now totk ... just did the krogs again, with the SAME purpose (instead of bringing back pouches! easy better rewards!!!) and EVEN MORE OF THEM, the backpacking ones have literally no reason to do what they are doing (i thought they were fleeing the forest but .. they arent) and are just there for you to fuck with them, thats the whole reason

so .... made worse, just doubled down and worse

the story/memories! in botw the main story takes place more in the past than the present, many didnt like that even if i too say it worked very well for botw, they were short but well made and skillfully gave you a glimpse of the past, enough to care about the chaarcters even if only a little and as its been long but not too long there are people still talking about it all or knowing you and what happened and getting them out of order didnt have any consequences sicne they were all more about the chaarcters rather than a story with lots of different beats, they all made sense as in you had to explore and find the places where they are with very little hints given if any, you had to explore and rememebr places! engage with the world!

-so totk ..... did the memories AGAIN, doubling down on that system, but also worse bc, now the memories are THE story, a LINEAR story that doesnt work out of order since its not about the characters but what is happening ... or HAS happened, they are EVEN MORE in the past than in botw, far far more even, no one knows or cares about these characters, there is no connection and even zelda doesnt feel like botw zelda at all, you can still find them all out of order though massively spoiling and confusing anyone (even if the story itself its pretty bad), also they are marked with ENOURMOUS GIGATOMANIAC glowing glyphs on the ground, you dont even need to think or find anything you just .. look. fly up and look, you dont have to engage with anything AND these memories are very ...... idk, flat, they somehow manage to tell you too much about the past (removign the mystery and sense of time/distance) and also not enough to make you care (its all just plot, clumsy plot) and with there being pretty much no connection to the current time (like with people knowing the champions in botw still etc) its just ... might as well be a random AU

so, memories and story in the past again, even moreso too, call that a double down

theres more obviosuly (like the tutorial being the same but worse, the abilities too being done so similarly isntead of bringing back main items, the clunky ASS UI that was bad in botw but still okay bc first tiem and also meant for the wii u- totk though?? worse, they made the shitty UI WORSE, quest rewards being a fucking joke, all the GRINDING totk is so much stupid GRINDING) maybe people dont realize this, mabye calling it doubling down isnt right but to me this is all the same, but even worse, instead of correcting and taking a few steps back to how it was before and see theres value in all those older games systems they did botw again, but worse, so .. doubling down on all the things that were bad and making them worse too, even if on the surface it may look "fixed", instead of correcting their parking by carefully going backwards they were still in first gear and slamming GO to hit the wall when you where literally telling them they werent in the backwards gear

so so many thigns in totk are just, botw again but worse, more shitty shrines instead of less, more krogs isntead of less, worse rewards, more grind, the shiekah tech again but worse, malice is miasma, the same but also worse (its not even a 3d model ... ), luminous stones are sonanium (zonaite), its everythign again but worse ........ (and also invalidates so much of botw, its jsut ... infuriating bc it FEELS so mean spirited, its just all beign overridden, nothing of botw matters bc look! look all that stuff came BEFORE THEM actually, and that was way more important ..... even down to the sonau designs its overriding so much of shiekah stuff, and im not even that big of a simp for shiekah stuff but this was supposed to be a botw sequel, the game with the shiekah tech?????? anyway ..)

(yes this is as short as i could make it on the spot, already spent two hours on this so sorry but i wont go over it to edit for another one dfnjknhdfjkbdfjk)

[urfangirlneighbor]

“Cutie I’m dying.”

“No you’re not Rafayel and if you do die leave me your house and sports cars.” you teased him as walked over to where was he laying on the couch.

“How can you be mean to someone who is sick.” he pouted. He sat up as you handed him two pills and a cup of water.

“You’re such a dramatic fishie, it’s only a fever. You’ll feel better after you take the medicine.”

Rafayel obeyed your command. He plopped his head against the couch cushion and groaned. “It’s not working.”

“It’s not gonna cure you right away. Be patient.” You sat down on the couch and patted your lap. “Come here. Try taking a nap, it will help you feel better.” You didn’t have to tell him twice. He happily sighed as he lay his head on your lap.

“Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?”

“Only if it’s not gonna make my ears bleed.”

“You’re still so rude even when you’re sick.” You playfully pinched his cheek in retaliation. “Ow, okay I’ll behave now.” He snuggled himself closer to your stomach.

You started humming. Rafayel’s breathing stopped in surprise as he recognized the melody. A flood of memories invade his mind. He was taken back to those many nights, he would play you that same tune. Drifting you off into a peaceful sleep, a respite from the pain of your injury. He remembered the last time he played it for you, where only moments later you abandoned him. Your sacrifice was a betrayal that he still struggled to move on from.

You noticed his sudden stillness. “Are you okay?” you asked in concern.

“I’m alright.” He kept his expression neutral as he looked up at you. “Where did learn that song from? I don’t think I recognize it.” He lied, trying to probe at how much you remember.

“I heard it in a dream once and it just has stuck with me ever since. I find it soothing. If you don’t like it and I can do a different song.”

“No I do like it. I think it’s also soothing.” He readjusted himself once again to snuggle his head closer to you.

“Okay then. Go to sleep. I’ll stay right here with you.”

You continued humming. You placed your palm on his face, your thumb stroking his cheek. The mixture of the melody and your scent wrapped him in a blanket of comfort.

Rafayel couldn’t believe that he was given another chance with you. As he began falling asleep he promised himself that in this lifetime, he’ll make sure you stay by his side.