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kombuuuu · 11 months

Note

hii i really enjoyed ur miles 42 fic, was wondering if u could write something about reader and miles meeting for the first time? who was interested first🤭?

For the Soul (and the Heart)

Miles!42 x Fem!Reader

“I’ll be here. So pretty fun, i’d say”. “Guess you’re right, Chiquita.”

AHHH meet cute x simpy miles we LOVE

Miles getting comfy w reader and reader getting progressively more combative the more time they spend together bc they luvvvvvvv each other? perfection

please don’t read if you get uncomfy with suggestive content, nothing too bad but still suggestive!

The morning was still. An odd occurrence for a Saturday. The winter chill had settled the night prior and seeped into ever cracked windowsill.

Streets coating in a thin layer of snow and trees dusted with the same. And acknowledging this freezing weather, obviously you decided to go for a walk. Snow crunched under your feet as you followed street signs, the only thing telling you where you were going was which street looked prettier.

Eventually you stopped, hugging your scarf closer to your nose and looking for a stall or shop that caught your eye.

Eventually it did, a quaint cafe stationed between two clothing stores, relatively small and pretty empty. The outside was decorated with white Lilly-of-the-Valley flowers, flower beds filled with the pretty things. Contrasting to the deep Mahogany of the wooden shop. Which looking into the wide window, seemed relatively the same. Deep furniture with white accents and a soft yellow light dancing along shiny hardwood floors.

Swirling cursive words cut into the wooden headboard swinging from a chain outside the door. “Morales Coffee.”

There looked to be seven or eight people in there currently, for how inconspicuous it tried to look, the amount of patrons at such an odd time (10:42 AM, not morning but not afternoon either.), You’d assume that coffee has to be amazing.

The door bell chimed sweetly at your entry, Barista turning to greet you.

The sweet woman gleamed over at you for a moment, turning back to her current customer while he pulled out his wallet. You lined up, looking at the pastries lining the glass displays. The ones catching your eye a Raspberry Danish and a cute baby blue Lunch-Box cake.

The man had moved away, leaving it your turn to order. The woman smiled at you and for once, approaching someone in costumer service didn’t feel as scary as it should’ve.

“Hi, What can I get for you today?” The curly haired woman had a twang of an accent curving her words. And a motherly vibe about her.

“Hey,” You smiled back at her “,Could I get a regular Mocha—.” You paused to let her punch it in. “.—A raspberry Danish and your blue cake.”

You pointed vaguely towards where the blue cake would be to her side of the display. “Yes, of course! That’ll be $18.40, thank you.”

Whilst you pulled out your purse to pay and she began to retrieve the items. She spoke up again. “Someone’s birthday?”

You laughed, not expecting her to speak so suddenly.

“Oh, no!” A chuckle left your lungs “Just want some cake recently. Saw your shop and its cakes. Thought may as well get it while i’m here.”

She laughed along with you, snorting a little as she boxed the small cake in the cardboard lunchbox. “Seems reasonable.”

“Thank you.”

She grabbed your danish and placed it on the counter, putting the cake in a bag and handing it to you.

“Thank you, again.”

“No worries, your mocha will be out shortly!” The bouncy lady turned around, going close to the back of the counter and opened a door you hadn’t realised was there, talking into it.

“Bebé, hay una chica linda ahí afuera que quiere un Mocha. Ve a hacerlo para ella. Y no la riegues.”

"Baby, there's a cute girl out there who wants a Mocha. Go do it for her. And don't mess it up."

Miles glanced up in confusion.

“¿Pero porqué me dices a mi?”

“Why me?”

“Pues es linda, y parece de tu edad.”

“She’s pretty, and around your age.”

“Ma, porfavor.”

“Ma, please.”

“Go.”

“Fine, fine.” He raised his hands in defeat and Rio kissed his cheek on the way out.

You found a seat with a cute view of the street outside and waited patiently for your coffee, people watching to pass time.

There was always a fear of crime in your neighbourhood. The lack of supposed ‘good guys’ coupled with the city being run down by anyone who wanted to escape trouble. Once news broke out of the first robbery in Brooklyn, where no one was caught. It was immediately put on the radar for any criminal looking to live somewhere safe.

The Prowler had been changing that. Little by little the Panther-esc.. Anti-Villain was scraping through the streets of Brooklyn and letting his blood stained claws drag over those in his way.

People feared him, the violence he brought with him.

You thought he was the closest thing to a hero you were getting, so who’s got room to complain?

If he’s not going to do the dirty work, who will?

The chatter of other people in the cafe had gotten slightly louder, four more people walking in while you sat.

“Miles, la chica linda de ahí.”

“Miles, That sweet girl over there.”

“Sí mamá, ya sé.”

“Yeah mama, I know.”

The smooth baritones accent of a boy around your age caught your attention. The way his letters curled giving you a rush of something down your spine. You looked up when you heard feet approaching, seeing probably the most ridiculously handsome man you have ever met bring you your coffee.

The way his jawline sharpened at a point, braids lying on his shoulders just below it. His lips that seemed awfully soft for someone who probably doesn’t even know what chapstick is. Lashes fluttering prettily over his high genes cheekbones, accenting his golden eyes. Jesus christ he’s pretty. His lips curled into a smirk at your face, your doe’d eyes gleaming up at him. He had some sharp canines.

“‘S one’s yours, Miss.” He placed the steaming mug on your table and you smiled. “Thank you!”

“No worries, Hermosa.” He looked at you a moment longer before the sweet lady called him back to make another order.

“Coming, Momma.” He called back to her, turning back to you for a second time and adding.

“I’m Miles, by the way.”

“Miles.. that’s a cute name.”

His lips upturned again at the compliment.

You gave him your name, which he hummed at, repeating it and rolling it around his tongue. His accent was gorgeous.

“Hope to see you ‘round, [Name].”

You choked out a pathetic affirmation, “Mhmma.— Yeah, yep.”

He laughed lightly and dragged his fingers along the table as he left.

Like claws.

—

Two days later you were back. It was some of the best coffee you’d ever had. And the desserts were the same, most of the cake still sitting boxed in the fridge.

Also there was an added bonus, being the coffee house owner, and her son.

The boy was interesting enough to keep your attention, sweet to you but held a sort of curiosity about him. Like he was hiding something but felt no shame in doing it, that it was righteously excused.

And to be real, you were dying to hear his voice again. Two days and all that had been playing in your head was the way he’d said your name, let the word travel down to his lungs and breathed life into it. A longing into it.

Miles was about the same, probably worse.

You saying his name was cute was probably his new lifeline. The way you had said it so innocently, sweetly to the likes of him. A twisted, wretched man. You had him swooning faster than he deemed safe, his body was going into overdrive. He had watched you while in their cafe, having never met someone so.. untainted by the world. Someone so sweet who carried nothing but a childlike innocence in their curios nature. Nothing done out of bad faith or in vain. You were nothing like him, he adored that.

So when you came wandering back into his Mommas cafe, he hoped to every universe it would be something you didn’t stop doing.

“Ah! Miss, You’re back!” His Ma greeted her, watching as the girl told Rio her name, and his Mom in return.

You guys chatted idly for a moment, your expressions clear as day. He could read you like a grown man could read a picture book, so easy it would be insulting to present him with it, if the content wasn’t you. The brightness and easy nature of you was something refreshing, he would say his Momma was easy-going, but times had been hard lately and his family needed a cheering up. You seemed like the perfect candidate.

Sweet, bubbly and looking at him right now- Oh. He waved at you, shivering at the eye contact and watching as you smiled at him and waved back, hands shaking. He likes how nervous he makes you.

You sniffled a little from the cold, dripping your hand as his Mom room your attention again. She handed you a cinnamon scroll and you paid quickly, dropping twenty bucks in the tip jar and quickly finding your way back to your seat.

“Miles! Un Mocha regular porfavor.”“Miles, regular Mocha please.”

He nodded to his mom, like he hadn’t remembered from last time. Like he hasn’t watched as you enjoyed something he made you.

—

“Bienvenida de nuevo, Chiquita.”“Welcome back, Chiquita.”

Sitting in the same spot as last time, staring at the idling passer-by’s, the light of a Winter morning danced off the snowy ground and highlighted your face, leaving a soft glow in your eyes.

You turned to him, paying him your whole mind.

“Thank you, Miles.” He placed your coffee in front of you, slightly leaning over you. He raised his eyebrows and hummed. You inhaled quickly, breath caught in your throat. Now realising the proximity between the two of you. Not only that, but there was a sweet smell that followed him around, coffee and cinnamon. How fitting.

His voice had gone deeper, smoother.

“I’m glad to see you back here—,” He leaned back again, hand dragging the same way it had two days prior. Your slow blink and parted lips made a deep rooted part of him begin to blossom once more.

He wanted to protect you the way he knew no one else could, wanted to lay his Soul down for you. Let you trace the veins imbedded in his skin with your teeth and take as much from him as you could. Run him dry, let him owe you his life so he can die protecting yours.

The speed his infatuation was growing probably wasn’t healthy.

“Really?” Your sweet, breathless inquiry silenced that though.

“Of course, Mami.”

“I—,” You paused, picking at you fingernails for a moment “,—I like it here, a lot.”

You leaned a little forward in your seat. Pressing your forearms against the wooden tabletop and leaning on them. He watched your back drop into a small arch, and for his own health, decided to ignore it. “‘S very cozy.” You glanced towards the window again. Watching another lad and her dog pass. He watched you.

“Mm, it is.”

“And you’re here.”

He sucked in a breath, fingers twitching.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Your gaze flickered to him once more and he held it.

He let his hand drift to your shoulder, rubbing it slowly while he peeled himself away from the table.

“I gotta go, Mami, but enjoy your time.”

“You too, Miles.”

“I’ll be working,” He smiled at you, a small thing.

“I’ll be here. So pretty fun, I’d say.”

He hummed.

“Guess you’re right, Chiquita.”

—

It had been around four Months since Miles had met you. And he was in over his damn head, not that he wasn’t at your first meeting. But progressively, over time, he’d fallen deeper and deeper for you.

Everything you did had him in a chokehold. The way you were so sweet with his Mom, or how even uncle Aaron liked you when he’d stopped by the cafe.

How you offered to help around with no pay, generosity basically leaking from your heart. When you would come over just to see him because you “missed his voice”.

Or would sit in his room and wait for him. If he ever came home late, injured from things you had no business knowing, you wouldn’t ask a thing. You stayed quiet, and patched him up. Let him rest his head on your collarbone while you softly rubbed his shoulders. Trying to lighten the weight of the world off of them.

Every little thing.

He was done pretending like it didn’t affect him. He could barely go a single day without you on his mind constantly, as if.

He knew you felt the same.

Still just as readable as your first meeting. He knew the frequent outings between the two of you were more than just friendly meet-ups to you. To him.

And when your gazes would catch one another, he’d try and tell you. Express without so much as a word how you were the only person he could do this with. The only one he felt comfortable to walk down the street with, and let you chat his ear off about any new movies you’d seen, books you’d have read.

He would let you sleep in his bed, bring little things into his room and give the bland walls life.

You had made a home in him. Cracked chips in his walls on by one until you’d found a single loose stone and happily let everything he’d built up fall just for you.

—

Miles had texted you around mid-day that he’d wanted to see you, in which you’d giggled at your phone dreamily.

Laying on your bed with your stomach down, kicking your legs like a girl gone stupid.

It hadn’t even been much to fret over, just a simple:

Can you come over later?

He had phrased it rather questioningly, but for no good reason. He’d known full well the moment he even insinuated you being with him, you’d jump at the chance.

And you did, swiftly replying;

okayyyy !!

I’ll pick you up at 7.

six…?

7, [Name].

>:(

Don’t be childish.

i’m nvr childish, see u at 6 C:

You got up, threw your phone somewhere on the bed and checked your, admittedly already-packed, overnight bag. Making sure nothing was missing before putting it at your door.

Your phone pinged again.

See you at six.

You smiled.

You spent the rest of that afternoon anxiously waiting for him to pick you up.

—

He showed up at your door five minutes late, greeting you at the door with a soft apology about the tardiness.

“Sorry, Mami. Took a wrong turn.”

“Don’t apologise, Miles.”

You smiled at him, stars in your eyes. He looked away for a second, a bit guilty for lying to you, but he feels it’s worth it.

“Grab your bag, ma. Let’s go.”

You hummed an affirmation, rushing to your room to grab the pink duffel bag.

You grabbed your phone off your night stand and did a double check for everything.

You walked out again, closing the door behind you. Miles was leant up against your doorframe. Forearm pressed on the wood and his torso stretched. A small sliver of his skin had peeked from under the fabric, you thanked the warming weather. Quickly averting your gaze, you noticed him watching your stare in intent, a curious smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“You good, Chiquita?”

“Uhuh—, yep. Fine.”

“Mmhm.”

You huffed out, pouting and pressing your palm to his chest, his very toned chest, and pushed back lightly.

“Get outta my way, lame-o, I gotta lock the door.”

He resisted for a moment longer, gazing down at you in humour. He trailed his hand up your arm slyly and pried your hand off his chest by sliding his thumb up from under your wrist onto your palm. Slowly pulling you off him.

“Maybe ask politely.”

You gave him an unimpressed stare and flipped him off.

“Miles.”

“[Name].”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s just a ‘please’.”

“..-Please, get the fuck outta my way.”

“Of course, Hermosa.” He snorted as he did.

You turned around, Miles still close to you in the cramped hallway, and locked your door.

You turned around, noticing his eyes glance up from where they were before and shot him a questioning look. He turned around and led you through you hallway, dismissing the look.

—

He opened the steel door to the cafe. The scenery of a rooftop garden with the same Lilly-of-the-Valley flowers up here as there were out front of the store.

Shrubbery lined the rooftop edge and the string lights hung from the veranda created an atmosphere that seemed almost cinematic.

“Jesus, Miles. This is beautiful.”

“Mm, thought you’d like it.”

“I do, so much.”

You stated in awe at the mural painted on a buildings wall behind the door. A man who stroke a resemblance to Miles painted surrounded by colours of any.

The moonlight basked against the neon colours, accenting the man’s features.

“My dad.”

Your gaze snapped up to him beside you, brows furrowing in a frown.

“I’m sorry.”

“‘S cool. Nothin’ you coulda known, Ma.”

He sighed at the image of his father, wishing him well rest.

Turning to you, he wasn’t surprised to see the greif in your eyes. He was, though, surprised at the lack of pity.

He was so used to having his far family whisper behind his back at how his soul had died with his fathers. How the light in his eyes had gone missing the day his hand had been forced, unable to get to his dad in time.

There was no escaping his death.

So to feel the understanding coming from you—. The confidence in your sorry but knowledge that pity would do no one any good, it was refreshing. Everything about you was.

He turned away from your watchful eyes, the intensity being unusual for him.

“Come sit, vida mía.”

You followed him dutifully, loyally. Like you had since the last Winter. Like you would continue for the next to come.

A set of pillows had been placed in the middle of the veranda. White wood covered in lively vines and the aforementioned string lights.

There was a layout of his pastries (which you had learned he was the baker of) laid out on a cotton blanket.

You sat on one of the pillows, legs crossed. Miles following short after.

“Oooh,” You begun to tease him “,This a romantic dinner date?” The tone of your voice was in jest, but when he had failed to answer— Your heart rate sped up and your face went hot to the touch.

“Miles? Y’know I— I was just jokin’—“ “If you want it to be.”

You stood stupidly for a moment, not quite reeling in his words like any other person would.

“Wh—.”

It was his turn for unsurity now, eyes dancing nervously between you and the skyline.

“No pressure, though. Just think it’d be nice.”

“It would.”

He refocused on you again, finding you already watching him owlishly. “Yeah?”

“Mm, we could—,”

He anxiously started picking at the blanket. Who knew someone usually so calm could be this nervous asking out the most harmless girl he knew.

“Try. We could try that, together.” You mumbled a bit, seemingly playing it off. “If you want, or something..”

“I do.” He gained some leg to stand on, finding it easier and easier as you spoke, your nerves somehow calming his own.

“I’ve wanted that for a while.”

“Oh good, cause—“ You placed your hand in your lap, cracking your knuckles. “—Me too, so. That’s good.”

He grinned at your awkwardness, knowing your lack of experience in the relationship aspect of life, this mutual agreement, instead of one asking the other out, probably hasn’t been an experience of yours yet. He liked he was the first.

“Don’t get all shy on me now.”

You puffed at him, punching his arm lightly.

“I’m never shy, that’s for dumb stupid lame people. And I am none of those.” “Oh, sure.”

“Wh— Sure?! Which one are you ‘sure’-ing? Dumb, stupid or lame?!”

“Uhuh.”

“Miles!”

“Keep saying my name like that, mami.”

“Oh my goodness!”

—

And when you both finally got into his bed, you’d slept tangled together like you had dozens of times before. But this time, Miles would grab your waist and pull you closer. Settle his face in your neck and trace his nose down the length of your shoulder, peppering a kiss on every inch of skin he could find, and you’d both finally felt sure.

Maybe people were right, maybe Miles’s soul had died with his father.

But meeting you, something new, something rejuvenating—.

It left him with a light he could search for, a new soul. A whisp of a being you’d taken from your own heart and placed in his. It left him breathless with life.

—

YIPEEE!!!!! another one 🗣️‼️

thank you to my translation helpers (bbgs) @kissmxcheek and @millyswife

(oh, wrong Miles! oops! 🤗⬇️)

#across the spiderverse #earth 42 miles morales #miles morales #miles morales x reader #miles x reader #across the spider verse spoilers #earth 42 #earth 42 miles morales x reader

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 2 months

Note

AITA for ruining my cousin's birthday party?

Please read the whole thing before making a judgement.

Real names not used.

So I (25M) bought a nintendo switch for my younger sister Sara (16F) for her birthday. However, mom decided that Sara would be sharing her birthday party with our cousin Cody (12M) as a celebration for him just recovering from having cancer. Mom had also said that it would be family only so Sara was not allowed to have her friends over for her 16th birthday. She was of course upset over that because she had plans on what she wanted to do with her friends. But Aunt (Karen) had told her not to be selfish about it because "you see your friends every day at school."

The rest of our relatives who had been invited hadn't been prepared for it to be a celebration for Cody as well, so none of them had gotten anything for him. Karen decided that it would be fair if Cody got to choose some of the gifts for himself. Of course as soon as he saw Sara open the wrapped up Switch, he had snatched it saying that it was his now. Sara was upset about that because she didn't think it was fair to let him do that, but the rest of our aunts and uncles scolded her for being selfish and being mean to "poor Cody". And "Cody has been sick, just let him have this. He deserves it. You are being greedy for wanting it."

Sara locked herself in her room for the rest of the party and didn't even come out for the cake. She only came out after everyone had left. Her eyes were puffy from crying and it was obvious that she did not have a good birthday because of everything. If anything, the party had been more about Cody while she had just been shoved to the side.

Fast forward a few months to the day of Cody's birthday. Aunt planned a big party for the day. All of Cody's friends were invited along with all our family. Sara refused to go and planned to go hang out with friends instead, but she was forced to go in the end because other relatives were calling her selfish and cruel for not wanting to celebrate Cody's birthday. She said she would only be there for an hour before leaving, and I said I would drive her home.

Aunt and Cody had gone out to buy the cake, so I went to their home early. Luckily for me, Uncle (Tony) was home. He hadn't been there for Sara's birthday party because he had been away for a business trip. He had let me inside when he saw me and I told him what had happened at Sara's birthday. Apparently he hadn't know what had happened. I asked him if they kept the box for the Switch, and he had said yes.

Tony had not stopped me when I packed the Switch back into its box (I removed the game that was in it and put that back in its case). He didn't stop me when I took the packed up Switch out to my car. He said that I was allowed to have it, so I did. I took it back to the store I bought it from and returned it. Luckily, it was still within the return window, so I was able to return it. I bought a few new Switch games for Sara (Some of her friends had banded together and gotten her a Switch). I never went back to Cody's house after that. Instead, I stayed at home with Sara because our parents relented and let her just stay home instead. I played games with her while our parents were gone.

Hours later, Mom and Dad come home bringing Karen with them. Karen was livid. She screamed that I ruined Cody's birthday party by stealing his Switch and that we must hate him for being sick. She knew I had been at the house because the doorbell ring showed I had been there. Apparently they had planned party games that would revolve around the Switch so all of Cody's friends had been disappointed when there was nothing to play. Karen screamed about how Cody had been crying and that it was not right to make the birthday boy cry. I pointed out that they had made Sara cry on her birthday. And Karen said "Sara shouldn't be making a big deal out of it, she is being childish for crying over a game system that she doesn't need. Cody is still a child, and you are giving him a bad childhood."

Karen decided that she would be taking Sara's Switch and giving it back to Cody and that she had no right to be taking Cody's things. Sara argued with her saying that it was her Switch that her friends gave her, but Karen screamed that she was just making excuses to be a thief and "you would probably be happy if Cody died, wouldn't you?" Mom and Dad had made her leave, but Karen has been blowing up our phones since then calling us (but mainly me and Sara) assholes for ruining Cody's birthday.

Yeah I know that taking the Switch back was mean, but I don't like how Cody just has to be the center of attention for everything. Sara's birthday was not the first time he got all attention when the party had been for someone else, but those are stories for another time.

AITA for ruining his birthday?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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nicepackaging123 · 2 years

Text

#1/2 KG Floral Light Pink Cake Box #1/2 KG Floral Light Pink Cake Box with window

0 notes

peachesofteal · 3 months

Text

The Acheron

An Ichor Veil (of Flower Kings) masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 10.6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Modern retelling - Greek mythology AU. Hades and Persephone. Two Kings of the Underworld. Abuse (by reader's mother). Bad BDSM etiquette. Dom Simon Riley. Switch John MacTavish. Impact play, spanking. Ichor (blood) play. Non-con voyeurism. Kidnapping. Submissive reader. Reader is named Persephone but has no physical characteristics. Alcohol. Praise kink. Biting. Anal play. Subspace. Dubious consent. First they're sour, then they're sweet, then... they're sour. Tags are for your health, not mine. .A meeting, a trick, a meal.

Hebe’s is humming.

You nod to her through the crowd, a gaggle of mortals waiting at the counter, the line of them moving swiftly as they order their pastry-coffee duo for this dreary, rain slogged morning.

Her perpetually young face lights with exuberance once she spots you, and you can’t help the smile that fights into place at the sight of her. Hebe is a cherub. Soft, curved for ages, like she had been sculpted by her father himself. Today, she’s dolled up in tones of pink; pink lipstick, fuchsia stained cheeks, magenta streaks in her otherwise dark, tightly coiled hair that sits at her shoulders.

For a while, before you were brazenly corrected, you wondered if maybe your mother wanted Hebe as a daughter, instead of you. A perfect picture of untouched purity and power, an eternal cupbearer, worshipped as the goddess of Mercy. She was sweet, like her famous Portokalopita, orange syrup cake that drew a group of wanting mortals at the door every morning. She’s a stunner. A mountain of sunshine, a ray of positivity.

Sometimes, you hate her for it, even if she is one of your best friends.

Something about her cheerful demeanor can dig at you, scrape along the sticky matter of your brain, gnaw at the soft bits that you’re still trying to protect, tender pieces that match your heart.

You follow the hall to the back room, where bookshelves taper off and large floor to ceiling windows flank the east and west sides to allow as much light in as possible. There are others here, a few mortals curled in overstuffed armchairs, books and cappuccinos in hand, light jazz soothing the atmosphere through a few hidden speakers. Healthy clematis blooms along the stair rail, purple blossoms disappearing into the second floor, where more reading rooms wait, books and plants boundless inside Hebe’s.

A place for everyone.

You feed the clematis a little spark of magic, enough that the vine stretches, shivering and sprouting more flowers. “Aren’t you stunning this morning?” The plant curls around your fingers eagerly, imbued with the essence of power, drinking up the magic drops you encourage into its cell structure. “So healthy and strong, you’ve recovered so well.”

“Good morning.” A wraith of a voice whispers, and you catch the iridescent flicker of a cloud, of Nephele. The clematis will need pruning soon, probably next week, or maybe you can make time in the next few days, you don’t really have too much going on, just your birthday, and that delivery to Hera-

Ghostly fingers stroke the inside of your elbow, and the cloud nymph regards you with an insightful expression. “Earth to Seph.”

“Sorry.” Your apology is meek, and she shrugs.

“I asked what you’re doing tonight?” Oh.

“Dinner… with my mom.” She nods, and says nothing, jaw clenching, apologetic grimace lining her lips.

“And Friday… Aselgeia?” The club. Your muscles tighten. It’s been over a year since you’ve been to Aselgeia, the club of many vices, the ones where mortals and creatures and gods all mix interchangeably, chasing their own pleasure. The memory of last time heats your spine: A private room. A black chair. A stranger swinging a paddle towards your bare-

Nephele coughs.

“Yeah, definitely.” You put the box down that you’re carrying, twelve small pots containing strings of pearls, all crossbred to produce different colors, emboldened by their proximity to you in the Greenhouse for these past few months. They’ll sell well, you have no doubt. “I’ve got a few more boxes to bring inside. Don’t supposed you could do something about this slag weather we’re having?” You gesture, and she snorts.

“Hebe says they’re fighting. Probably looking at weeks of storms.”

“They’re always fighting.” You whisper it, even though most know the truth. Zeus and Hera were explosive. Tumultuous. Which is fine, you suppose, for a private life. A public life, however, one that belongs to the Golden King and Queen, should probably be a bit more… restrained.

After all, why should you and everyone else have to suffer because Hebe’s mom and dad can’t get along?

“I’ve got a lot of cataloging to do, so I’ll catch you around. Text me after dinner tonight, if you need to talk.” She finishes quietly, kindly, but without encroaching, and you squeeze her hand with affection.

“Thanks, Nell.”

The final two boxes stack comfortably for your dash inside. You're eager to get all the plants settled so you can get back to the Greenhouse, slink away to your personal temple, your place of refuge, somewhere quiet to prepare for your dreaded birthday dinner in peace.

“Hello.” A male voice calls, accented so strangely it’s impossible to place. He waves, trying to flag you down.

“Hello?” You turn, nearly stumbling back at the sight of him.

Who is this?

He’s stunning. Brilliant blue eyes study you from a mountaintop, taller than you by more than a head or two. His hair is short on the sides, but long in the middle, a fashion of mohawk you’re unfamiliar with except for in Hoplites, warriors who sacrifice themselves for the sanctity of the state. He’s broad, built like there’s a Herculean amount of muscle underneath his immaculately tailored midnight black suit, and his cheekbones complement the razor edge of his jaw, framing a full set of dark, plush lips.

He looks like a dream you’ve never had. A fantasy that failed fruition.

Fairer than Adonis. Brighter than Apollo.

Butterflies kick up a fluttering frenzied in your belly.

“Sorry to bother ye, I’m looking for Hebe’s?” Ah. You smile.

“You’ve found it. This is just the backside. Front door is around the walk to the left.” He steps closer, and you’re about to introduce yourself when you hear the whinny of a screech owl’s tremolo, a tinned melody that whistles past your ears.

Olympus tilts. Axis trembles. And so do you.

The stranger is keen, and glances around.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I um… it’s just that owl, I swear I saw the same one a few days ago… I didn’t think they were too common around here.”

“Dinnae think they are.” His eyes twinkle, celestial light that has you drifting, floating through time and space into starlit irises. The air turns heavy, hot- fresh fired bricks weighing down your chest, and everything spins, day turning to night, night molting black, deep hues of purple and blues streaking past your vision, spinning like moon, twisting you up until your balance is faltering, and you sway. “Whoa, hey.” Fingers fold over your arm, surprisingly cool, chilled, and it pulls you back into your body, spine uncurling, brow smoothing.

“Sorry, I…”

“Ye alright?” He’s still holding your arm, directing you to a bench, relieving you of your box in a swift motion.

“Yeah, sorry… I… I skipped breakfast.” There’s no other explanation, right? The handsome stranger tsks.

“Can I get ye somethin’? Maybe from inside?”

“No!” You blurt, horrified. Hebe would have a cow if she thought you were feeling faint or had skipped a meal. She takes caring for her loved ones far too seriously. “No, I’m almost done, and then I’ll be on my way home. I’ll eat there.” He raises an eyebrow, completely skeptical. “I swear.”

“Alright then. Let me help ye with the rest at least?” He’s standing with a hand extended, and you track the veins on the inside of his wrist until they disappear beneath his t-shirt, golden, tawny skin just barely allowing them to be seen. You wonder if it’s mortal blood that catapults through his body, or the rich, golden ichor that also spills from yours.

“Sure.” He lifts the box, gesturing for you to grab the other.

“I’m John, by the way.” John. It simmers in the front of your mind, stitching itself into the fabric of your magic.

“Persephone. My friends call me Seph.” Bold. Too bold.

“Ye’re Demeter’s daughter.” He comments, and you blink, fresh wave of regret curdling the sourness of your stomach.

“Yes.” Fool. Give your name to a stranger, and this is what will come. “Do you know-“

“Only in passing, dinnae worry.”

“Who said I was worried?”

“Ye wear yer emotions plainly.” Your cheeks burn, embarrassed at the blatancy of his statement. “It’s refreshing. So many of us, we play too many games, hide our true selves.” Us. Golden ones. Gods.

“You’re Cloaking.” You intend it to be a statement, an observation, but with a tight jaw and frowning brow, it’s an accusation.

“Aye. Wouldnae want to scare ye away, would I?” What? Your steps slow, gait pausing in concern. “Sorry, ah. Bad joke.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” He carries the boxes to the door, setting them down carefully, and then rising back to his full height. You swallow the lump in the back of your throat.

“Well, John,” you say it with a hint of sarcasm, and it conveys your doubt. That’s not your real name, is it? “It was nice to meet you.” You extend your hand, expecting a shake, but he holds it with both of his, back bowing, lips softly pressing the skin of your knuckles, tender touch making your knees weak, your heart swooping and swooning.

“The pleasure was mine, Persephone.”

“Have you given anymore thought to your role in the coming year? Your presence at harvest, or planting, would do-”

“I haven’t.” The wine is too oaky, so earthy it takes like dirt, the opus of your mother’s existence, and you swallow it down in silence.

“Persephone.” She chides, like she has a million times before. “If you just tried, a little harder-“

“I am Spring, mother. Life. Rebirth. Fertility.” You ignore her wince. “But that doesn��t mean I’m well suited for crops, and grain, and harvests.”

“It means exactly that. Otherwise, the Greenhouse would not exist.” Her knife slices into a bloody piece of meat, red dripping down the sterling to her fingertips. “Why must you fight your destiny?” Your mind wanders to your visitors the other day, the sisters. The Moirai. Does she know? Is that why she’s saying this? Did she send them? “You spend so much time actively trying to deny me, holed up with your flowers and silly little house plants-“

“It is you who denied me.” Her eyes narrow. “You who didn’t want me to become a fertility goddess, who wanted me to be some weapon of green light, to be the spitting image of you. You raised me to be a threat!”

“Is it so wrong, that I did not wish for my daughter to become a common whore? That I had hoped to prevent her becoming such a failure? That I dreamed of her becoming so much more than… what sits before me now?” The words do not shock you anymore. You’ve grown to expect them.

That does not mean they do not sting.

“It is wrong that you kept me locked in this house, away from the world, until I was too strong for you to control.” You spit, fork clattering against your plate. Rage sears white at the edge of your vision, overflowing bouquet of flowers in the center of the table blooming into massive blossoms, edges of petals beginning to curl inward.

“Control yourself.” She warns. “Or I will do it for you.” Your pulse thunders. The air in the dining room crackles.

You do not relent. Rationally, you know you should. You know this will only end one way, that this will sever another tie to your past, to your mother, one you won’t be able to repair… but you can’t stop. The magic itches under your skin, screaming.

The ivy that covers the outside brick shatters a windowpane above her head, springing through the opening like a virus seeking a host, sticking to the inside wall. Glass falls to the floor, rain pelts the roof.

“Persephone.” Shining silver spools, churning across the table, through the air until it takes form-

The Whip.

Your mother’s favorite.

It licks your skin, your fingertips, your knuckles. A different touch, from the reverent kiss you received only hours ago. It cracks through the air like the lightning.

“That’s enough.” She vows.

You will not cry. You won’t. You won’t let her get to you like this anymore. You’re a woman now. An adult. You’re not a child, you’re not, you’re not-

She sighs. Your fingers clench the stem of the wine glass so firmly you think it might shatter.

You finish your meal in stiff silence. Its heaviness droops all around you, blanketing the entire table, your fork, the distance between you and your own mother. It’s an eon. A millisecond. Never enough because you always crave more. More space. More time. More distance. Her eyes spark, anger burning hot behind them, but she says nothing.

When she’s finished, she rises from the table without another word, disappearing down the hall.

Happy Birthday, you guess.

In the middle of the night, the Greenhouse is quiet.

Even the plants slumber, most of the daylight seekers, pistils, stamens, all covered by their petals, lying in wait. In the back, you pad along the floor of moss, allowing the tiny tendrils of green to skim along your bare skin, pulling opulent, indulgent specks of power into themselves. Wisteria lines the walls, tiny blooms of purple and white falling like curtains of stars, only parting for the archway that leads to the spring, a small freshwater lagoon that spills from the crust of the earth as hot as tea, bubbling eternally, waiting for you.

Tonight, the water is ethereal. Steam rises from the pool, slicking its stone home, and you bask in it, muscle and bone turning languid, supple in the roiling spring. It’s nearly sublime, almost perfect.

Your mother’s voice still echoes. Even now, hours later, you can hear her.

A failure. A disappointment.

Your knuckles sting from the salt of the Whip, the silver crust that slices so effortlessly, just as it has since you were a child.

You cried a lot, then.

Now, it’s few and far between. You’ve grown, rebelled, retaliated. You’ve become a lost cause.

Ungovernable Persephone.

The pain still sits so heavily in the bottom of your soul, a wretched, tangible thing that sprouts blackened vine from the earth and a whole manner of other things.

You eye the marble encasement, the walls that harbor the spring. They too, are black. Born from your rage, your sorrow. Your uncontrollable, ungovernable power that grew from the depths of your despair and built you a temple.

The Greenhouse. Your home.

Everyone called it a wonder. A feat, proof of your power. Trees and vines and branches all twisted together, building a harbor, solidifying your presence, your Golden light.

You took your first offering in this place, the glass for the windows and the roof, the final piece of your shelter from the storm, the first stake of your life as a goddess, your life of freedom.

You left your mother’s house that day, only returning now on occasions. You never looked back.

Though, you can still feel the Whip, can still hear it whirl through the wind against your supine form. Can still feel the ridges of scar tissue that never fully healed.

You could have called Nell. Or Hebe. Or Melia. Anyone of them would be here for you. Would listen. Understand.

Outside the window, an owl hoots.

You sink beneath the water line, magma rushing over every inch of your body, washing you clean of her, of the Whip, of the wounds on your knuckles.

A trembling fawn. Still to this day.

A wicked daughter to have, they tell her. A vengeful soul. Rotted to the core.

Ungovernable Persephone.

Olympus is buzzing, even on its ninth day of rain. It’s a vibration that all manner of beings can feel, creatures, gods, even humans. The ground rattles like there’s a lightning bolt shoved into the center of the rail system, electrifying the wires and tracks, zinging from pole to pole between the buildings and above the streets where cars putter alongside those who walk to their destinations.

When you were a child, the name of the city was almost dirty. It made your mother’s nose turn skyward, disgust and disdain clear as the day on her delicate features. “The golden city is anything but.” She promised, on her knees before you, gentle hand at your back. “Those who live there are heathens, and naught else. They would seek to destroy you if they knew the truth.”

For many, many years, you never step foot here.

Not until University. Once you graduated, the rope around your neck, the bit in your mouth began to loosen, and you had already lost your taste for the expanse of metropolis, more interested in your own space outside city limits where you could feel your connection to the earth, where you could indulge your power in privacy.

“It’s not the city she fears.” Melia told you one night. “But Aphrodite. Demeter’s worried ‘Di will knock you right off the whole bloody planet.” She peered over your shoulder, catching the gleam of Apollo, his bright eyes tracking her from across a crowded bar. “Trust me. She’s a jealous bitch.”

Tonight, the city is waterlogged, soaked to the bone, raindrops splashing as you slide from the car to the black door tucked inside a black wall, a soft faced Harpy standing in front of the passage.

“Hebe. Persephone.” She greets, turning to your other companions. “Nephelle. Melia.” You pull your power through the earth that sits beneath cracked concrete and heavy asphalt, spinning your Cloak up and over your body, adjusting your appearance just so. Your mask slips into place, obscuring nearly all your face, both Nell and Melia pulling together something similar.

“Ocypete.” Hebe pauses. “Is there a riddle tonight?” The Harpy grins, flashing rows of too sharp teeth, fine points that can cut the flesh from bone in a clean bite.

“No riddle.” The door creaks wide, and she steps aside. “Enjoy your evening.”

You don’t notice the way her eyes linger after you’ve passed.

Aselegia is one of the safest places in the Olympus. Here, Golden ones must be Cloaked, mortals must be masked, and creatures must go to great lengths to hide their identity. All intermingle with one another, safe in the anonymity. Gods and Goddesses usually choose to mask as well, a practice, you believe, stemming from common occurrences of violent jealousy, an effort to prevent becoming the target of one’s wrath.

The club itself is big enough to get lost in. The first floor houses the lobby, and a set of elevators. The walls are covered in shiny waxed mahogany, red wine rich carpet covering the floor, and it smells different, sweet and smoky, cigars and finely spun sugar. Intoxicating.

The elevators will take you anywhere you have access, and most can visit three floors. There’s a dancefloor on the main level, with a giant bar, private rooms in the wings, bottle service, tables. Very standard. Other floors have gambling tables, quieter music, even a dimly lit pool and sauna.

It isn’t until you get above level three that things change. Endorsements or sponsors are required. Waivers need to be signed. Negotiations begin.

Pick your poison.

You start on the main level tonight. Melia insists, and you agree, grateful to the Oceanid for suggesting starting slow, the low rumble of nerves still present in your magic, your body. The music thumps, high to low song and symphony synthesized into something electronic, and it draws you into a sway, shoulders against shoulders, hips moving in time with the melody.

“Shots?” Hebe brightens, waving over a cocktail waitress, a pretty thing who eagerly does her bidding, enraptured with the way she moves in the skintight, cornflower blue dress. Her Cloak has disguised her well enough that no one would know who she is, but she does not ever manipulate her body. A cherished rule of her own, you’ve learned.

“You’re beautiful.” The girl coos, and Hebe nods, singing over the explosion of Nephelle’s laughter.

“I know, sweetheart.”

A slick sheen of sweat coats the space between Melia’s breasts. You’re both on the dancefloor, moving with the music, Melia perfectly in time, like she was born to it, and you pull her close, slinging an arm over her neck to whisper in her ear.

“He’s here.” A god’s dark eyes glint in the night, between the passages of writing bodies. He wears a white mask, stitched with the threads of glowing sun, but his obsessive gaze gives him away. He’s transfixed, focused solely on the Oceanid in the middle of the dance floor, and she giggles, turning so that her ass is pressed against your pelvis, her head tipped back on your shoulder.

Her hand extends, an invitation. A request.

He’s by her side within a second.

“Apollo.” You nod, and he barely spares you a glance, too busy cradling his Oceanid’s face.

“You have been ignoring my calls.”

“I’ve been busy.” He tenses.

“You’re still angry with me.”

“Of course, I am.” She rolls her eyes. “We’re here for Sephy’s birthday, not this.” He peeks towards you, sliver of regret flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry, Persephone.” You wave him off, not wanting to be in the middle of… this.

“It’s fine, we’re just… out. It’s not for anything special.” You look away from them, casually glancing around. You look, but you do not see. Not until…

There’s a male, wearing a pitch-black suit. A god? A mortal? He’s taller than anyone else in the room, broadest shoulders and proud posture, everything about him drawing you in, like blood in the water.

The room stands still. Silent. Empty, save for two.

Tempered water like glass, undisturbed. An undertow vicious beneath the surface, unknown to all.

“Hello.” The pitch of his voice is familiar, almost dreamlike, something that’s never been real, yet startling all the same.

“H-hi.” You stammer. His hand reaches, a magnetic force pulling yours from where it’s clawed against your thigh, and he grasps it like he’s cupping a dahlia bloom, a fragile collection of so many petals that make up an entire beautiful blossom, a universe unto itself.

Black leather caresses your skin. Clear, golden-brown eyes pin you in place, anthracite spiking around his pupils in a halo. You cannot see his face, or his skin, only what’s barely visible of his eyelids and dark spun lashes.

Still…

His beauty is terror. It’s the throat of a lamb, freshly cut. The mutilated carcass of a doe, feeding a forest. Dark. Dangerous. A wolf, circling a kill.

It drags you out into a river, where your feet no longer touch the bottom. It sings to you from the depths.

You cannot tear yourself away.

He does not let go. Even when that same voice fills your mind.

“My darling. You shall rule all that lives and moves, you shall have the greatest rights among the deathless gods: those who defraud you and do not appease your power with offerings, reverently performing rites and paying fit gifts, shall be punished for evermore.” *

Warmth slips from your hand, sand flitting through your fingers, a fleeting touch of comfort and confusion fading into the night.

My darling.

My darling…

When the light comes back to you, the male is nowhere to be found. Only Apollo and Melia stand to your side, still in their own world.

“Will you let me take you upstairs then?” He croons, and your heart dances, nerves and anticipation all spiraling together like a sailor’s knot. You know what comes next.

“Only if the girls can come.”

You try to forget the strange encounter on the main level and focus on your needs instead; you’ll know what you’re looking for when you see it, and you say the same to Hebe, too, when she disappears with a male who seemed much too large to not be the son of a giant, leaving you alone on a small, velvet couch, Nell and Melia already long gone. Your second martini sits untouched, and you keep yourself from looking at any one being too closely, lest you get caught staring.

That’s when you see him.

Light blue eyes. Handsomely styled mohawk. Even with a Cloak and mask, he’s hard to forget.

John.

His mask is a red skull, covering nearly all his face, the sculpted brow severe, almost angry.

His eyes glow behind it, locked on yours.

Oh. Shit. You vibrate like a live wire, hanging onto yourself for dear life.

“Hello.” Your mouth doesn’t work. “I’m Soap.” He extends his hand, and you blink. Oh, right. The alias. Because what is the point in all this, if you give your real name?

“K-kore.” You manage to stammer, and the corner of his eyes crease.

“Why are ye here?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What are ye looking for, little goddess?” He still has not dropped your gaze, and you can almost taste him on your tongue, feel him in your mind, your body.

Myself.

Your teeth dig downward, pressing hard before you whisper the truth.

“Pain.” His eyes flash, and then he tugs.

John- Soap, takes you to a private room. You follow, numbly, shivering with a million emotions, stumbling through the chances, the possibilities of seeing him twice, when before he was a stranger.

A coincidence, you decide, putting it out of your mind. You’re dwelling on it too much, picking it apart, riling yourself up… over nothing. Over a handsome god, existing in the Golden city? Like you’ve never seen those before… like it’s so unbelievable.

“Are ye alright?” He murmurs, stepping up to your back. You can feel the heat of him, his warmth bleeding from beneath the suit to your exposed skin, the dress you chose wholly exposing your spine, your skin.

Your nipples tighten. Your heart races, and your thighs press together inadvertently.

“Yes.”

“Dinnae lie.” He’s gentle in the reminder, and you fill your lungs.

“I’m just… nervous.”

“Ye’ve done this before?” He’s assuming. You nod, quickly, and he motions to a very comfortable looking lounge chair, where you perch on the edge of the cushion. “What would make ye happy tonight?” Anxiety unsettles your posture, and you choke down the embarrassment that tries to claw its way up your throat.

“A… a spanking.” You whisper, pushing flimsy confidence forward. Far away, a piece of your mind, your magic, pleads. It cries, it begs for release. It urges you forward, and you lift your face to his, seeking approval. Comfort.

Reassurance.

The cold hand of doubt rears. It snickers at you. It laughs.

Reassurance from someone, anyone but yourself? Comfort?

No.

“Do ye-“

“My safe word is flower.” You spit, motioning to the stool that waits between you.

It’s an act. A song and a dance, something fake and forced. But he doesn’t know that.

He freezes. Thick tension runs the gamut, heavy and exhausting, and you smother yourself, your emotions, your reactions to this very moment.

Pain. The desire burns. It pushes you to the zenith, until you’re down on your knees, folding yourself forward.

Pain, to turn it off. Pain, to make it all stop.

Pain, to release you into yourself.

What matter of creature are you, that you can only feel whole, when parts of you are carved away?

“Up.” John commands, and you lean back, confused. “Ye’ll do this over my knee.” He bends you, with grace, back towards the soft cushion, laying comfortably, your palms flat.

A hand coasts over the swell of your ass.

“Ye’ll count.” His voice has shifted. Gone is the feather’s edge, now replaced by steel. His accent still rings true, but there’s a firmness to it, a finality. Dominance.

“Yes.”

“Ye’ll tell me yer name, and today’s date, when asked. If ye cannae answer, we’ll stop. Immediately.”

“Okay.”

“I need a yes.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll go to ten, then.” We.

“I can take more.”

“We’ll decide what ye can take, when we get there.” You acquiesce, fingers digging down into the cushion before forcibly relaxing. “Big breath.” He coaches, and then-

The first slap stuns you. Only with his hand, and yet still so much stronger than last time with a paddle. It punches air from your lungs, the noise that rockets out of your throat a mix between a scream and a moan.

“F-fuck.” You croak. “One.” He doesn’t hesitate and rains the next one down on your opposite cheek. Again, it robs you of oxygen. “Two.”

“Good girl.” The praise is very small flame at the bottom of the darkest well. It barely lights the path ahead, desperately trying to catch, to grow, but it’s too easily snuffed out. His palm rubs the base of your spine to the tops of your thighs.

Crack.

The sting sizzles outward from impact, and you gasp. “Three-“ Another, same cheek. “Four!” The whistle of the swing alerts you a second before the next, and when you shout “Five!” it sounds off kilter.

“What’s yer name?”

“Seph-Persephone.” Raw warmth simmers beneath your dress and underwear, and the fire at the bottom of the well starts to rage, growing larger, eating what it’s been given, hungry, seeking, trying to build momentum. He asks you the date, satisfied at the lack of delay, and swings so high, you can see the shine of his palm from the corner of his eye. Your toes curl.

Whack. Two, too quickly.

“Six!” A choked cry. “Seven.” Your face is wet, saltwater tracing the plush swell towards your mouth and chin. You sniffle.

“I know, I know. Ye poor thing.” He bunches the fabric of your dress, scratching it across your scorched cheeks. “Ye’re doin’ so well, almost there.” The words barely register, only the sentiment cuts through the haze. Your thighs are pressed so tightly together, slick dripping from your cunt, the aching throb of your clit rubbing against your panties. You’re desperate… to be touched, to be hurt, to be whole. You need it. Crave it more than anything else.

He delivers two more strong, healthy, swift blows. Eight. Nine. They enflame you completely, fire burning in the pit of your soul, encasing you in a coffin where no one can hear you, or see you. Safe and tucked away, floating into a dark cocoon of eternal night.

At the tenth, the room changes. The air grows colder, nearly frigid, shadows clinging to the walls, and you barely register being moved, held like a child, tucked into a chest. There’s talking, somewhere, in your mind or maybe behind you, two pitches at war, a dance of wills.

“Beautifully done, darling.” Somewhere far, far away, in the last sliver of your sane mind, you realize it’s a different voice, a voice echoed in gemstones, ruby and emerald and pearl, before that too, slips into space, and you drift deeper inside the luxurious praise. A warm bath. A sunlit meadow with thousands of Narcissus dotting the hill, soaking up every ray. A golden fawn, taking her first steps to freedom.

John’s face looms into your line of sight, maskless, no Cloak.

“We need a yes.” He murmurs, cupping your cheek. “Persephone.”

“Hmmm?”

“Need ye to say yes, so we can take ye home, take care of ye.” The words don’t match. They don’t click, they catch, they bump against each other, trying to lock into place, failing over and over.

“Supposed to go… home with my friends but-“ Your tongue is heavy, weighted beneath a giant sequoia, and you shiver. The chest that your head bobbles on catches, an arm securing you in place. It’s warm, and firm, heavier than a tree. Who…

“Little goddess.” He prompts, and you sigh, already wistfully unaware.

“’kay, yeah. Yes.”

You’re already slipping away when the world goes dark.

Your eyes open to a strange place.

You don’t recognize any of it, from the massive four poster bed with lithe, gauzy curtains drawn closed on three sides, to a fireplace the size of a giant, roaring, sizzling flame burning endlessly in its hearth. You don’t recognize the room, the black marble floors, polished to a brilliant gleam, one that you can nearly see your reflection in, or the vanity, dark oak housing a hand carved mirror. You’ve never seen the ornate stained glass window before, stretching from floor to ceiling, the size of ten men. You don’t know the bed, sized for a king, emerald silk sheets and a matching duvet, with a million pillows that were just cradling your head. The robe you’re wearing matches, the green only a shade lighter, and you tuck it tight across your body, realizing you’re fully nude.

The fire pops. It pushes a gasp from you, caught off guard, and at the sound, another being in the room stirs from the plush rug just beneath the bed.

A three headed dog.

It, they, stare at you, tongues wagging, eyes wide. Jet black fur, darker than midnight, white teeth so sharp they could rip your throat free in an instant.

You’ve seen this dog before… in pictures. Schoolbooks. You know their name.

Cerberus.

Panic races through your veins, ratcheting your heart rate higher and higher, your body and mind separating, all synapses dizzy with fear.

Oh gods. Where… where are you? What happened? You were just… you were just having some fun, at Aselegia, with John… weren’t you? Where…

Are you dead?

You reach for your power, digging deep, trying to drag as much as you could to the surface-

Nothing.

You bleat, a scared lamb, in panic. It’s a cry. A scream. An awful sound. You need your rage now, but all you find is fear. You cannot reach your power. There is a blackened lock around it, a casing that holds it away from you, out of reach.

Cerberus whines. They hold their position, tail swishing back and forth, and you scramble towards the middle of the bed. Your ass protests, skin warm and tender against silk. Your knees tuck to your chest, and you force your eyes closed, trying to take long, measured breaths without success.

You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re-

The door clicks. John appears, two palms out, hesitant, and cautious. Your voice shakes, no matter how hard you try to reinforce it with iron will. “G-get away from me.”

“Ye’re alright, Persephone. We’d never hurt ye.” We?

“We need a yes.”

“Need ye to say yes, so we can take ye home, take care of ye.”

Something flickers behind him. A figure, a shape of shadow, shifting.

Dark. Dangerous. A wolf, circling a kill.

The male from the dance floor. He wears no mask now, but the feel of him, the threat of his power, is unmistakable… and familiar. You sputter on it, choking on him and John, the threat of their power combined looming, suffocating. “Oh gods.” You clutch the robe tighter. “Wh-where am I?”

“You know where you are, darling.” The other one says, and you moan.

“N-no. I… I can’t be. I can’t dead. I can’t be here… I-“

“You’re not dead, Persephone.” He cautions. “You’re very much alive.” And shaking, alive and trembling so vigorously you can hear your teeth chattering, chest heaving up and down, desperately trying to suck air inward. Cerberus whines again, and he rubs a thumb behind one of their ears. “Easy, Cerberus. She’s alright.”

“I ca-can’t be here. I have to… I have to go home.” The room seems wet, dollops of tears falling from your lashes, sticking to your skin and the sheets. Reality slams forward, rushing right up against your nonsensical mind.

It takes one gentle pulse of their power, to realize the truth.

Hades. They’re… Hades. They’re Hades and you’re… you’re in the Underworld.

Beg. Beg them for mercy. Whatever it is you’ve done, you must try.

“I’m s-sorry. I don’t know… I don’t know what I did but I swear, I’m sorry, I-“ John tries to reach, seeking your hand, but you curl up into a tighter ball.

“Shhh. Ye hae nae done anythin’ wrong, sweet Persephone. Ye’re alright. Ye’re safe.” Safe? Safe in the Underworld? With them?

Oh gods. You let Hades spank you.

“You… you tricked me.” You whisper, raw betrayal and pain weeping profoundly in your heart. You trusted him and…

You are a fool.

“We did what was necessary.” The wolf-like one says solemnly, gaze heavy.

“Necessary?” You squeak. “What’s… necessary about this?”

“We will explain everything, after we’ve eaten. Or maybe had some more rest? It’s the middle of the night, for you.” What?

“No… I can’t… I can’t stay here. I have to-“

“Go home? So, you can hide away in your temple, kept company only by your plants and the occasional friend you let inside?” You blink, stunned, mouth dropping open.

“How do you... have you been watching me?” The stained-glass window on the far side of the room shifts, drawing your attention, morphing slowly from a tawny blur to a… screech owl.

“Oh, my gods. Oh…” The room shudders. “You can’t keep me here, I have to go…” Wolves circle, flanking where you sit, precarious and hopeless, a hand in front of your body like it will save you. “Please.”

“It’s alright, darling.” The dark one moves, blurred in shadow, magic blanketing you in a warm, comforting hold, heating your bones, encouraging your eyes to slowly shut.

The last thing you see is the ceiling, your body cradled in the embrace of a stranger.

Morning comes slow.

At first, you don’t open your eyes, even though you’ve been long awake.

If you open them, your fear will be real. It will be valid.

So, you keep them closed. Keep them shut long enough you drift in and out of twilight, until someone clears their throat.

Fuck.

“Are you going to open your eyes?” His voice is ruby and velvet. You shudder.

“Hades.”

“Technically. One half of a whole, but my loved ones call me Simon.” Your brow flexes at that, and there’s a soft chuckle in response. “Will you wake? It’s well past morning now.”

“Are you going to render me unconscious again?” you hiss, cracking an eyelid. He’s sitting in a posh armchair, oiled black leather beneath his black suit, eyes steady on yours. His face is a map of scars, but instead of seeming rough, or out of place, they naturally suit him, complementing his broad jaw, severe expression, perfectly sculpted bone structure. His nose is crooked, like it had been smashed and rearranged once or twice, but still sits as if it was meant to be, and you wonder how anyone could do anything of the like to Hades.

He's handsome, in a way you expect to die from.

“Only if you cannot behave.”

“Perhaps I could show you how I behave.” You smile with a full set of teeth, words ending in a snarl, and he huffs another gentle laugh.

“I have seen the victims of your wrath, Persephone. I have no doubt you’d strike me down if you could.” You swallow the nausea in your stomach. Your magic.

“I want my magic back.” You blurt the demand, not even pausing to consider a more tactful way.

“We did not take it, only… bound it, for the time being. It’s still within you, we would never separate you from your power.” He sighs, a golden pearl rocking in his palm, glinting in the fireplace’s gleam. “Contrary to popular belief, we are not a monster.”

“Then let me go home, if you’re not as they say you are.” His eyes harden, face twisting sour, and then… sad.

“I’ll give you some privacy. There are clothes in the closet. Johnny and I expect you for breakfast, and then a tour… if you’re good. Cerberus will show you the way when you’re ready.”

If you’re good.

Cerberus leads you through a maze of decadent marble and arches.

You follow behind them hesitantly, cautious, and they mind you, slowing when you’ve lagged too far behind.

You can’t help it. You’re mystified.

You expected the Underworld to be dark, and dingy. And while maybe it is on the dark side, with glossy, polished marble, giant onyx columns that blot of the sky, and black stone everywhere… when you peek out the windows, you’re gob smacked.

Beneath wherever you are, which you’re beginning to suspect is Hades’ palace, is lush greenery. A verdant, fertile field lays to the south and the east, wrapping around to the edge of a forest, where you can just barely make out a large variety of deciduous trees. To the North, a river winds, separating the palace from a large meadow and… a town? You shake your head, as if to clear your addled mind and cloudy vision. Is that truly… a town?

“Asphodel Meadows.” Someone says from behind you, nearly jumping you from your skin.

“Fuck.” You gasp, hand clutching your chest. It’s a man, not John, or Simon, but a stranger, clad in all black.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s… okay. I- what did you say?”

“The town. It’s Asphodel Meadows. A place for mortal’s souls.” He bows. “I’m Thanatos.”

“I’m… Persephone.” He smiles, just slightly.

“I know who you are, my lady.” My lady?

“What do you…” words nearly fail as you grapple. “What do you do here?”

“I am a child of Nyx. The god of Death.”

“I thought Hades…”

“They are the Kings of the Underworld. I am the personification, the embodiment of Death.” Oh.

“You reap.” You whisper. His jaw tightens, and then smooths.

“Your escort is impatient. I think he’s probably ready for his bacon.” He eyes Cerberus, who whines, tapdancing on slick marble.

“Bacon?”

“Yes. He’s very spoiled. Eats better than the Kings themselves.” He motions down the hall. “It’s just that way. Lovely to meet you, my lady.” He gives you another bow, and then turns down a corridor, one that had not been there before, leaving you and Cerberus alone in the empty hall.

“I- you too.”

The Kings, as Thanatos called them, are both seated when you push the incredibly heavy door open. At the sound, John rises, Simon behind him, and the three of you stare at one another for a minute, until Cerberus barks.

“Please, sit.” John motions to the only other place set, a third chair between them. You swallow.

“Uh…”

“We don’t bite.”

“Not unless ye want us to.” John smiles, sinfully handsome in the morning light. It streams into the surprisingly cozy dining room through a group of five windows, all facing east, capturing the light of… a sun?

“Is that a sun?”

“It’s a sun of sorts.” Simon offers. “We have a sky, weather. A sun, a moon. Clouds. Everything that exists in Olympus.”

“Are ye hungry?” You hesitantly lower yourself into the chair, surprised at the array of food displayed. “We ah, weren’t sure what ye liked so, got a bit of everything.” Meats, yogurts, sweets, cereal, fruit, anything you could want laid out in front of you, but it’s something so near to your heart that catches your eye. Portokalopita.

“They are Hebe’s.” Simon murmurs.

This is a trick. They kidnapped you. They’re holding you hostage. You have to convince them to let you go. The warning resounds, and your stomach thrashes.

“I want to go home.” You push the plate of orange cakes away, disappointment flickering across John’s face, exasperation on Simon’s. “Please. I… I appreciate your hospitality and you… you bringing me home for… aftercare,” you grit the word, shame rocketing up your spine. This is what happens when you trust. You let Hades spank you, for fucks sake. And then they abducted you. “but I need to go home. The plants, they need me. My friends-“

“Your friends are used to going days on end without contact from you.” Simon cuts you off, and the blood drains from your face. “Are they not?”

“N-no. They’ll know I’m missing, they will.” Lie. He knows. You know they both know, just by the way the regard you. Half pity. Half amusement. It makes your blood boil. “Fuck you.” You hiss, shooting up in the chair.

“Seph-“ John tries to soothe you, calm you, using your nickname like he knows you, and it only makes you more irate.

“Don’t call me that.” You whirl on him. “I trusted you! I don’t even know you and I let you-“

“That is the nature of Aselegia, is it not?” He counters, cutting you off. You gape like a fish. “The anonymity. Dinnae turn it on me now.” His tone melts from ice to warmth, sympathy bleeding from his irises. “I assure ye, we are more than trustworthy. We would never, ever hurt ye. We would never let anythin’ happen to ye. Ye’ll see.”

“Then let me go home.” He shakes his head sadly but says nothing, and rage snaps in your heart like the drawback of a rubber band, stinging and sharp. “What do you want from me?” John opens his mouth, and then abruptly closing it, deferring to Simon.

“You are our guest. We’d like to get to know you. I promise, just as before, you will not be harmed in our care. We will never hurt you."

"How do I know that?" You’re incredulous. “You expect me to take you at your word?”

“Let us strike a deal then.” He declares, and John nods supportively.

Don’t, your good sense screams. Don’t be an idiot.

“What kind of deal?”

“You will stay here for two days, forty-eight hours exactly. We will show you this realm and get to know one another in that time, and at the end, we will reveal the doorway that leads back to Olympus.” You raise an eyebrow.

“Two days? And then I can go home?”

“Two days.” John echoes. Sapphire eyes gleam, and you carefully, quickly, try to pick apart every word in the proposal.

“My magic.” You demand, and they both answer immediately with a resounding,

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Your power is wild, Persephone.” Simon tells you, not unkindly. “We do not know how the Underworld will react to it, and we must think of our residents, all the souls we care for here. We cannot let something upset the balance that is so delicate.” Your mouth goes a little dry. You were expecting more of an answer about control, domineering you, your magic, keeping you contained. Not… care for souls.

“Yer mother raised ye to be her weapon.” John says softly, kneeling before the chair where you sit. His hand rests on the cushion, and you wonder if he means to touch you. “We dinnae regard ye as such, but until we understand ye better, we need to protect-“

“I understand.” You cut him off. You don’t need some forced sympathy, pity, thrust upon you by Hades, of all gods. They exchange a long glance, one that gives you a small peek into their lives, layers on layers of words and sentiment, communicated with a single glance.

Simon reaches for John, pulling him to his feet and into his body, chest to back.

“Do you agree?” Two days. Two days and you can leave. You can do two days of anything. You certainly cannot fight them, or your way out. What choice do you have?

“Sure.”

“We need a yes, darling.” Darling. The pet name makes your toes curl. You take a big breath.

“Yes.”

The valley outside of Asphodel Meadows is one of the most stunning places you’ve ever been. It’s lush and lively, covered in Narcissus and Asphodelus, like a meadow one could only dream of. You're not sure why it feels so familiar, like the cusp of another life, or a nightmare, but it takes root inside you. You lay in the field of flowers, letting them cover your body, wishing so desperately to touch your magic, so you could truly feel them, the grass and the dirt and the stems here, all things that seem like they’re so full of life, so opposite your expectations of the Underworld.

“Shall we continue?” Cerberus perks up at the sound of their master’s voice, head popping over the flowers to spot both Kings standing on the path, a good distance away. They peek at you, heads tilted, and you sigh. It seems you’ve been assigned a minder, in the form of a three headed dog.

You join them on the road before long, walking silently, sullenly, John sneaking glances at you nearly every chance he gets, and you can pinpoint the heat of his gaze every time, the throbbing intensity of his focused power nearly bowling you over.

“So, there are two of you?” What are you supposed to talk to the Kings of the Underworld about, anyway?

“Aye. It’s a little-known secret. One realm, two gods to rule.” You frown, perplexed.

“But… you haven’t always been that way?”

“No.” Simon answers. “We were once Golden brothers in battle, long before your time, before becoming this. When we fell in love, our souls split. They merged with our magic, tied us together eternally. Now, we rule as one.”

“So, you’re married.” You deduce.

“In the most permanent way you can think of.” They stop short of a bridge, one that crests high over a roaring river, and Simon gestures broadly. “Persephone, this is the Acheron.”

The Underworld is a place of rivers, you learn. Waterways that hold power, that possess the ability to cleanse you, free you, burn you, punish you. There is a river of fire, a river of weeping, a river to forget.

The Acheron is the river of woe.

Fitting, you think, standing on the bridge. Below, bright turquoise water rushes by, crashing into rock and boulder, each sound more akin to a scream than the thunder of a tributary. Mouths, long and full of despair, wail beneath the current, wraith like creatures with bone white skin and eyes skimming along the top.

You get lost in them. Lost in the irreversible cycle of woe, desolation creeping up inside your own self as you peer down into the depths. Are you not like them? Despondent. Bleak. Isolated. Is that not what you’ve made with your life, what was chosen for you? Hidden away, sharpened like an axe never to be used. Are you not alone, like them? Trapped, like them?

You don’t even realize you’re leaning forward until pressure rests at your back. “Easy. Dinnae want ye fallin’ in.” John murmurs, stepping away the edge, bringing you with him. Your limbs feel shaky, and you wonder if it’s because you just almost went over… or because you didn’t eat earlier.

“Sorry. I uh-“ you don’t know how to explain it, that feeling. The agony that bubbles up in the back of your throat.

“We know.” Simon regards you with empathy, understanding, and you shake the attention loose, pushing ahead of them, down the bridge and into town, into Asphodel Meadows itself, eager to leave the river and its woe behind.

In town, the Kings are well received. It surprises you, to watch them in the street, welcomed by the souls who live there. They take you on a tour, introducing you to residents, explaining the structure, the magic and the infrastructure that makes it all work. Souls take their preferred form in Asphodel Meadows, allowed to choose for themselves, whatever they feel most comfortable in, and you’re shocked that such benevolence would be bestowed upon anyone in the Underworld.

Why are they showing you this? Why go to such great lengths? What is the purpose?

“Hi.” A small voice breaks you from your confusion, and you find a small girl at your feet, bouquet of Narcissus clutched in her tiny hands. You crouch.

“Hello.”

“I’m Phoebe.” She giggles, cheeks round and rosy.

“I’m Persephone.” You incline your head. “Phoebe is a beautiful name.” Your heart pangs. She’s so small, so… fragile. How did she die? Where is her family? Is she here alone?

“Thank you, my lady.” She tries to bow, and you rush to stop her, stilling her with a hand.

“Are those for me?”

“They are. Johnny said they’re your favorites.” Johnny? You glance over to where they stand, both turned your way, something unreadable in their reflections.

“Well, thank you. They’re lovely.” She wishes you well, skipping off in another direction, and you meander across the street, unable to hide your quizzical expression.

“Johnny? Not Hades?”

“Ach. The kids they’re… they’re usually a wee bit scared, first thing. It’s better for them, if we’re friends.” He shrugs, but Simon watches him in reverence, pure love and light beaming from his gaze, adoration in every slow blink.

Your heart skips.

Fuck.

“Are you not hungry?” Simon muses, walking beside you and John in the castle. Your shoes tap along the way, echoing, and Cerberus barks. John glares at them.

“I… I am afraid to eat here.” They both stop short.

“Why?”

“I have always heard… a myth. That if you somehow find yourself here and you eat, you’ll become trapped, stuck here forever.” Simon chuckles, dry and warm.

“No, darling. Please, we do not wish for you to starve.”

“The legend isnae true. Only by eating whole pomegranate seeds that ye pluck from the flesh of the fruit yerself, can ye become bound to the land. And we dinnae serve those.” He winks, stepping a little closer. “Ye can eat, little goddess. Please. Join us for dinner, we insist.”

“Okay.”

Simon is not at dinner.

John makes no mention of it, and only when you’re halfway done does he offer an explanation, something important that needed to be tended to.

“Ye look stunning.” He hums, and you have half the decency to smile. You chose a dress from the never-ending closet, black to match their suits, for fun. Its back is open, and the front offers a generous view of your breasts, but not quite enough.

You felt like sin. Johnny has been staring like you are. And maybe, you didn’t want sex, but you did want to punish them for their treachery. If only a little bit.

For making you a fool.

“So, no Simon?” He swallows a mouthful of red wine.

“He apologizes. Somethin’ came up.”

“That’s alright.” You shift, legs crossing. The transition is unintentional, but it draws Johnny’s eyes to your knees, and up. You lift your glass, the largest goblet of red wine you’ve seen, and allow a small river of red to run from the corner of your mouth to your neck. It traces the valley between your breasts, and Johnny growls.

“Persephone.”

“What?” You ask, innocently.

“Ye’re playing with fire.” He grits, the gleam in his eyes one of a predator.

“I’m not playing with anything,” you hiss, slamming the glass down. It shatters, it sloshes, it spills onto the table and into your lap. “You’re the ones playing with me. Kidnapping me, holding me hostage.” Your anger builds, overflowing inside your soul, clawing at the locked box of your magic. Cerberus whines, galloping across the floor and out the main door, but you hardly notice, too focused on spitting as much fire and venom at your captor as you can. “Touring me around the Underworld, making yourselves look like some benevolent, beloved rulers when really all you are… are gods of death and decay.” John stares at you, wild eyed. Your chair clatters to the ground as you stand, fury rocketing through every vein in your body, ichor pulsing beneath your skin. You’re so, so close to your power; you can taste it. Can feel the way it screams, how it howls to you, churning in the depths of your being, rattling the cage it’s trapped inside.

Trapped. You’re trapped. Like always.

Your vision blurs, and you take a step towards John. It all happens so fast, so lightning quick that it doesn’t even register until your hand is swinging through the air and across his face.

He does nothing. You feel the rumble of his power, pushing and pulling at the seams of your very being, waiting to tear your apart, but he holds himself at bay.

Only watches you with cold, wrathful eyes.

The air chills.

“That’s enough.” Simon stands between your bodies. Power, so potent, so strong, wraps tight, shoving your wrists together, Golden cuffs immobilizing you, holding you still. “You want to be a disobedient little brat, is that it?”

“YOU STOLE ME!” You scream it, raw and agonized. It tries to burst through your skin. Tries to explode your vessels. Your very heart. Your chest heaves, eyes wide, and John flanks you, coming closer and closer until you can feel his heat against your side.

He’s hard.

“What did ye think ye were doin, sweet Persephone? Did ye really think you could strike me?”

You don’t have an answer. Words die on your tongue. Guilt burns. Did you want to hurt him?

Did you?

The cuffs yank you forward. They singe your skin, dragging you to the table. “What’re you doing?” They drag you across the food until you're climbing on top, until your whole body is prone, feet dangling above the floor, bent at the waist.

“Is this what you wanted?” Simon mocks. Hands grip your hips, and your traitorous body clenches. “This what you need, little goddess? Need to be punished?” Your dress is shoved up around your waist, exposing your skin to the frigid air, and you force away a small moan. “You need your pain, darling?” Yes. Fingers pinch the back of your neck. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” You snap, darting daggers with your eyes over your shoulder. His answer is a chuckle.

“Turn your head.” He hisses, hand on the back of your skull. When you do, you come face to face with Johnny’s hips, the length of his cock freed from his suit pants and bobbing right in front of your mouth.

Oh, gods.

He strokes it slowly, the pink- nearly red tip oozing pre-cum, long and thick in his fist, his size enough to make your thighs press together, cunt throbbing with delight. Traitor.

“Open, darling.” He smears it against your lips. You tuck them in tight, trying to keep them closed, and he looks over, to the god who stands at the curve of your ass.

Simon takes a handful each of your cheeks, spreading you wide. He kicks your feet too, knocking your legs into an A-frame, fully exposing your weeping cunt.

“She’s dripping.” He announces, a finger sliding through your folds, body jolting with his touch. He circles your clit, barely, not enough, and you whine indignantly. It’s enough to loosen your lips, enough for Johnny to grasp your jaw, shove the tip of his thumb between your teeth, and then pry you open.

Once he gets the tip of his cock against your tongue, it’s over. Salt and earth dab along your tastebuds, and you drool on the table, trying to breathe through his rhythm, trying to focus as Simon tucks a finger into your hole, slowly pumping in and out, occasionally pulling free to swirl it around your untouched rim.

One finger inside you is enough to burn, heat rising through your belly, walls clenching tight, and John groans, pressing into the back of your throat, cutting off your airway.

“So good, all day.” Simon grits, stroking your clit in tiny circles. “Sweet Persephone, and now,” he’s building you closer, so close to the precipice, to the top of the mountain where you’ll hope he’ll throw you off.

But it’s not enough.

“I know darling, don’t worry. I’ll give you your pain.” He croons. John thrusts hard, drives into you vigorously, head thrown back. There’s a sheen of sweat on his neck, and you watch a slow rivulet dip beneath his collar. He’s so… they’re so…

A hand cracks across the tender skin of your ass, rippling out like a shockwave. You choke.

You clench. The tide rises.

“Fuck. There you go.” Light dances in front of your eyes, small pinpricks of stars, and you gurgle on the dick that shoves down your throat. Another strike, the same side, and you cry out, gasping for air. The tip of his finger gently pushes against your rim, and then it’s replaced with a mouth, a hot, intrepid tongue, swirling around as your hips buck and he plays with your clit.

You’re going to die. You’re going to explode. You need more.

You try to tell him, try to choke it out around John’s shaft, but it’s like he knows, like he’s reading your mind, and he pulls away to dig his teeth into the plump swell of your ass, biting down so hard you think you’re bleeding.

No. You are.

You scream.

Rivers of ichor paint your skin. The next spank comes directly over the puncture wounds, and instead of screaming in pain, you moan in pleasure, head held in Johnny’s hands, your face a tool for him to fuck, your pussy squeezing down around the single finger stroking in and out of your body. He swings again, and again, fire lighting behind your eyes, explosions going off one by one, your orgasm cresting, rising in the swell of an enormous wave, and just as you’re about to come, Simon plunges a finger deep into your ass, shoving you off the mountain.

To where they catch you below.

The rest is a blur. John finishes down your throat, salt and sweat and tears all mixing in your mouth, and he moans your name as he gives you a belly full of seed.

You’re limp, floating, drifting higher and farther than you ever have before, not in your body, not even in your own mind. Hardly cognizant when you’re picked up, tucked away in the shelter of a chest and carried down the hall. You close your eyes.

You come back a little bit when you’re placed in shallow hot water, a steaming, rocky pool, your face settled in Johnny’s neck. Cloth and deft fingers rub your shoulders, your waist, anywhere you might feel sore, even the bottoms of your feet.

All the while, they talk.

It starts simply, sweet words that fills you up until you can’t take anymore. “Did so well, darling. So good for us.” John murmurs in hushed tones as Simon shifts you, turning you on your belly to run the cloth between your legs and over your ass. It stings, and you hiss, but you’re soothed with an apology, gentle kisses down your spine, each one pressed with praise.

It’s not long before you’re tucked into bed, turned over on your side, some sort of magic and salve being applied to the bite in your skin. You’re gone now, barely aware, barely awake, but with it enough to catch the little bits here and there.

“-talk about it tomorrow.”

“If they’re from Demeter, I’ll-“ No. Not this. Anything but this. Distress catches in your chest, and fingers stroke your cheek.

“Shhh, sweet one. Rest now.” There’s a little touch of magic, a barely there pulse of power, and you let it take you into the soft comfort of sleep, bedded down like a fawn, cradled between two Kings.

*Hymn 2 to Demeter, line 347

#peaches writes #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley #ghost x soap #soap x reader x ghost #AIV #ghost x reader #hades and persephone #AIV(OFK)#modern retelling

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facts-i-just-made-up · 18 days

Note

How do you build a atomic bomb?

Easily!

All you need are a few household items, a little bit of patience, and a Class 1 Top Security clearance for the manufacture of biological, chemical or nuclear weapons under the Fermi laws of 1954 contingent to permission from the United Nations Security Council.

You're gonna need-

A box of matches

A blender

Tape

Some wire mesh (Like a window screen, for sifting)

Cake mix (Yellow sponge cake works best)

Ziplock bags

String

Ice cubes (The cold kind, not the rapper/actor)

A toilet paper tube

A Catholic Missal

An empty kitty litter bucket

First, you're gonna need two rare substances- Weapons grade uranium and "heavy" water. For the uranium, just take your yellow cake mix and sift it with the wire mesh. Whatever stays on top of the mesh- That's weapons grade. For the heavy water, take some ice cubes, which are heavier than water but still made of water, and put them in the blender. By breaking up the ice cubes and releasing the water, you keep the weight but make it a fluid. This is a process that scientists call "Putrefaction".

To build the weapon, pack some uranium into one end of the toilet paper tube and then cover that end with the Catholic Missal. This guarantees what we call a "Critical Mass" of uranium. Then take a smaller wad of uranium and pack it into the other end of the tube, leaving plenty of space between the two.

Tape the box of matches to that end of the tube. It will act as an explosive device to send the "bullet" of uranium into the critical mass, thus resulting in a nuclear fission explosion.

You now have a nuclear fission device! This device has a yield equal to about 10 thousand tons of T.N.T. But fission is for wimps, right? So let's turn that fission bomb, into a fusion bomb!

Tape your string to the matches to act as a fuse, and then put the nuclear warhead in a ziplock bag. Be sure to seal it tight! Now place that assembly into the kitty litter bucket. Make sure it's empty of kitty litter before the next step.

Fill the rest of the bucket with the heavy water you made in step one, and seal the top of the kitty litter bucket with the string still poking out. Once the fuse is lit, it will light the matches and detonate the nuclear fission bomb. This acts as a heat source to boil the heavy water, and when heavy water boils- Nuclear Fusion!

Congratulations, your bomb is now complete. Remember that it's illegal to carry or detonate a nuclear fusion warhead in public (except in Texas), and bear in mind this will be quite a bit stronger than your usual firecrackers. We recommend only setting off your nuclear device on official U.S. testing grounds, such as the desserts of New Mexico or islands in the Pacific only populated by tribes under no country's protection, because that's seriously what the U.S. did.

So play safe and have a good time,

-facts-i-just-made-up.tumblr.com

#nuclear weapons #atomic bomb #hydrogen bomb #global thermonuclear war #would you like to play a game #unreality

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calmcoldevening · 10 months

Text

Pov: You knew slashers, when you was a child (Slashers x fem!reader)

I'm back! Well, it os a lazy post from my drafts, until I end my new idea <3

TW: no

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, brothers Sinclair

P.S.: English is not my native language, so lot of these words was translated by simple translator, sorry for misspells and e.t.c.

Enjoy this!

Thomas Hewitt

The transition to a new school has always been a great stress for a child, especially in the middle of the school year.

You and your parents often moved from city to city. Maybe it was their work, or maybe they just wanted to show you as many different places as possible so that your childhood would remain really memorable — you didn't know. But the constant moving was followed by a change of schools and kindergartens. On the one hand, you liked it — new acquaintances, interests and a lot of positive emotions, after all, you were a cheerful and active child — but it also brought its inconveniences — you didn't have "best" friends, you had no more than a couple of months to communicate with each of them, and multiple the change of the team has made you a real chameleon in society.

You were ten years old when you and your parents moved to Texas. The age when most classes have already been divided into peculiar interest groups, which are quite difficult for a new person to join. That's why your mom decided to bake cookies that you could distribute to new classmates. Who doesn't like homemade cakes? You actively participated in the cooking process. A little more practice, and you could learn these cookies on your own. As soon as the treat was ready — several pieces were successfully taken away by your father — your mother beautifully put it in a colored box, now tied with a ribbon. The inscription "Welcome" was painted on the lid in gold paint.

It was very hot in this area of Texas. Therefore, on your first day of school, you decided to limit yourself to a beautiful white T-shirt with some simple pattern and black shorts. The first impression is the most important, right? Your mom took you to school by car. At the reception desk, your mom introduced you and found out the number of the right office. After kissing you goodbye on the cheek, she left you to your own luck. Although you were already used to it, a nervous feeling of anticipation bubbled somewhere in your chest; your palms were sweating.

After a good seven minutes, you were standing in front of the right class, 212, clutching a box of cookies to your chest. Adjusting the strap of the gray backpack, you exhaled anyway.

Your homeroom teacher, Mrs. Sullivan, introduced you in the office. A lovely woman with curly locks hanging down on both sides of her face and freckled cheeks. Her soft figure, dressed in a white blouse and a black pencil skirt, caused a surge of strength and confidence in you. The woman lightly put her arm around your shoulders, so motherly, and asked you to tell about yourself.

"My name is Y/N Y/L," your voice trembled slightly while your gaze ran over the children sitting in the classroom, "I'm ten. I like animals and beading... Mm, my parents and I move around a lot, so I don't think I'll stay here for more than two months. I hope we'll become friends."

You ended your performance with a sincere warm smile. Mrs. Sullivan asked you to take an empty seat. Your choice fell on the farthest place by the window; a guy was sitting behind it, hunched over and staring at the street. Was he weird? No, rather unusual. He had long black hair, so unusual for a boy; his gaze was lowered somewhere on the dusty road near the school, so you couldn't see his eyes. Sitting down next to him, you quickly took out a notebook and pencil from your backpack.

"Hello?"

The boy seemed startled by your voice. He looked at you uncertainly, and you saw a face wrapped in bandages. Sad cornflower blue eyes peeked out from under the white cloth.

"I'm Y/N," you whisper, holding out your hand to the boy, "And what's your name?"

There was no response. Disappointed, you lowered your hand, now paying attention to the teacher's explanation. The woman was writing down her words on the blackboard, and you quickly began copying them into your notebook, clutching a pencil until it crackled.

There was something about this boy that attracted you. It doesn't matter if it was his shyness or isolation — you decided that you definitely want to make friends with him.

At recess, you approached a group of girls. They were dressed up like girls from fashion magazines that you often saw in kiosks by the road.

"Hi," — you said with a light smile.

"Well, hello," said one of the girls, popping a bubble of gum.

"I want to ask. M, that boy," you pointed to the long—haired boy, "What's his name? I asked, and he ignored me."

"Haha, he won't answer you. That's our little Tommy," another girl hissed sarcastically, giggling, "Thomas Hewitt is weird. Very strange. I heard that his father is his brother!"

"And he's also a terrible freak!"

You awkwardly put your hand in your hair. Thomas didn't look as disgusting as the girls described him. It's all rumors. And what to take from these children, they probably didn't even try to talk to Hewitt!

You didn't talk to this company anymore. After waiting for lunch, when all the children went out to the garden at the school, you again approached the boy. He didn't budge. It seems he hasn't even written anything since you sat down next to him.

"Hey, hello?" you waved your palm in front of the guy's face, "Thomas, right?"

This time the boy paid attention to you. There was no emotion visible under the thick layer of bandages, but you were sure that he arched an eyebrow questioningly. He's wondering how you know his name?

"You were sitting alone, so I came over. Your name is Thomas, right?" you repeated the question, finally the boy nodded, "That's wonderful! I'm Y/N, let's get acquainted."

Smiling happily, you hand the guy an open box of cookies. Golden crust with chocolate chips. You had no desire to share such a delicious thing with such terrible and tactless people. And Tommy. Tommy was different. He was timid and calm, unable to cause harm.

"Help yourself," you babble, sitting down next to Hewitt, "I made them myself! Not without my mommy's help, of course..."

You blush slightly and see Thomas's eyes narrow. He smiled! He seems to be starting to like your company.

"Can I call you Tommy?"

• Thomas has become noticeably happier since you met him. The boy began to spend more time outside the house, in your company (Luda was very surprised by this, because usually after school Tommy always came home and sat in his room).

• For your birthday, Thomas himself sewed a soft toy for you, a fox, as he found out later, this is one of your favorite animals. The toy was sewn from different, but matching pieces of fabric, a little sloppy, but quite skillfully. It made you smile. You threw your arms around Hewitt for joy.

• Once you praise him, Tommy immediately blushes a lot. It's good that it's not visible under the layer of bandages. From the moment you became friends, Thomas's self-esteem has risen a little.

• When you first offered to help Thomas change the bandages, he strongly refused. The boy just couldn't let you see his face. But when he finally gave up, Hewitt was pleasantly surprised that you didn't scream and run away. You didn't call Tommy a freak or a monster, but only sympathetically stroked his scarred cheeks.

• Over time, you began to understand Thomas without words, absolutely. You found the right answers in his movements, grunting, awkward head turning or excessive gesticulation. Even Luda was a little amazed at your nonverbal communication, but the woman was glad that her son finally found a real friend.

• Tommy often showed you his drawings. It was like the scribble of a five-year-old child, but you were always happy to accept the leaves and hang them over your bed. Basically, Thomas drew his family: angry Charlie in the corner of the paper, Monty sitting next to him in a chair, a little further away, Luda was cooking, and in the center of the drawing you and Thomas holding hands and smiling.

• It was the first time you begged your parents to stay in this city longer. Fortunately, they agreed after seeing your enthusiasm for the "strange boy".

Brahms Heelshire

• Your parents and the Healers kept in touch for a while, you can say your families were very close. You first met Brahms on his fifth birthday. He was a very well-mannered but private boy, so Mrs. Heelshire was only too happy to introduce you.

• At first, your communication did not work out. Brahms was a rude child in places, took away your toys and teased you.

• His true attitude towards you showed up when you didn't come to his house, although you were visiting the Heelshire family every Monday and Wednesday. He was seriously worried. All morning Brahms sat in his room by the window and looked at the road going through the forest, waiting for your little body in your favorite blue dress to appear from behind the trees. But you were never there. It turned out that you were just sick. That day Brahms went to your house and did not leave your bed, squeezing your hot palm.

• Your parents worked most of the time, so they were not against your games with Heelshire Jr. You stayed in their house more and more often, sometimes even overnight, and you and Brahms made noise all night, forcing his mother to swear. But still, the woman was glad that at least Brahms was behaving quite comfortably and boldly with someone.

• You were only a couple of months younger than Brahms, but you thought it was a good reason to tease you.

• The boy allowed you to enter his room without knocking, consider it a worthwhile privilege, because Heelshire does not let everyone into his personal space.

• When you were sad, Brahms brought you bouquets of flowers hastily made with his own hands. That's why his palms were green most of the time.

• Brahms makes wonderful sandwiches. He often makes them when the two of you are having a "picnic" in the garden. Although in fact he agrees to it only to admire you.

• Heelshire loves sweets very much. Very. His mom doesn't allow the boy a lot of sweets and cakes, so you secretly bring them to him from home. The boy is insanely happy.

• Brahms loves kissing. This habit, or rather the need, appeared in him because you praised the boy in this way. Has he finally cleaned the room? A kiss. Did he break his mom's precious vase during the catch-up today? A kiss! So now he can demand them for any reason. He especially likes it when you kiss him before going to bed, and Brahms falls asleep hugging you.

• You're his best friend. That's why Brahms trusts you with all his secrets. You are the only one to whom he has told about the strange and frightening thoughts that sometimes sound in his head.

"Good night," Mrs. Heelshire said, turning off the light and closing the door behind her.

You smile and blow her a kiss, covering your mouth with your palm. When the woman's footsteps recede, you exhale with relief, plopping down on the pillow with force. Squinting your eyes, you wrinkle your nose, trying to blow away the stuck strands of hair from your face. Brahms giggles and gently tucks your hair behind your ear.

The room is cool. The window is slightly ajar, letting in a light autumn wind. The curtains are swaying from side to side, taking chaotic frightening shadows.

You get under the covers up to your nose. Brahms follows your example, pressing his whole body against you, and you stroke his head.

"If I ever do something very, very bad, will you stay with me?" Heelshire whispers, looking up at you.

You look into his sad emerald eyes and laugh. He likes to put pressure on your pity, because he knows that at such moments you see him as a tiny abandoned kitten.

"I don't think you'd do anything so bad, Brahms."

"But if I do. What if everyone turns away from me. Even mom and dad. Will you stay with me?"

You pressed your lips together, frowning. Brahms had never asked such strange questions before. And how can a child who is only eight years old think about something like that after a while. Looking down at the ceiling, you turned your head, looking into Brahms' eyes.

"Yes. I'll stay."

"Honestly?" Heelshire asks incredulously.

"Honestly."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise you, silly boy!" you abruptly cover his face with a blanket, holding the edges on both sides of his head.

The boy was kicking, trying to get out from under your weight, while you tried not to laugh. Taking pity on his futile attempts, you took off the blankets, admiring Brahms' flushed face. Heelshire was breathing heavily, and his cheeks and nose were burning like Chinese lanterns that your parents launched on your birthday.

"I won. Again," you grin.

Brahms is silent. You sigh and lie down again, turning your back to Heelshire. Your eyes are shining with joy, and your lips continue to curve in a smug grin. You know that Brahms will not dare to do something to you in return. He always let you get away with such antics. Absolutely always.

When you are ready to fall asleep, through the chatter in your head you hear a plaintive whisper. Having opened your leaden eyelids, you groan with displeasure.

"Kiss me," Brahms whines, and you get up on your elbows, chuckling softly.

"Okay," you kiss Heelshire on the lips, "Good night, Brahms."

• "Now I've won," Brahms croaks, pressing you against the wall and spreading his hands on both sides of your head. Just like a child. Except now he's not the victim here, but you. Although was he ever a victim in your games? Rather, he always played the role of a presenter, you just didn't notice it, as if you were looking through your fingers. And who would have thought that that innocent little boy would ever stand in front of you, towering over your body by a good two heads, and grinning with eyes shining in anticipation through the black slits of the mask.

Sinclairs

Christmas is the most mysterious and magical holiday of the year; the day when the whole family gathers at one big table to properly celebrate this moment together; the day when you receive a lot of gifts from all kinds of relatives, which you sometimes did not realize; the day when all wishes come true.

You clumsily shuffled along the road, shaking your back every now and then to adjust the heavy backpack. Things inside rattled a lot, and you tried to straighten your back faster to avoid crumpled packages.

Christmas was your favorite holiday. And although your parents have been working constantly lately, you were glad that you could spend this family holiday with your friends.

You met not so long ago, only about four months ago, when you first moved here. Ambrose turned out to be a very nice and cozy city with friendly and caring people. Mrs. Sinclair, Trudy, and your mom became friends right away— their interests converged on art. That's when I met her sons, the woman suggested that you make friends with them because of their similar age. And it turned out to be a very good idea. The boys quickly became addicted to you.

Once again adjusting the canvas straps of the backpack, you quickly climb the steps requested by the snow and knock on the sand-colored door several times. On the other side, there is a fussy shuffling and dissatisfied grumbling.

"Hello," you say, smiling, when the door swings open in front of you, revealing a view of the timid Vincent.

The guy nods to you and opens the door wider, motioning you to enter. You kiss Sinclair on the cheek of the mask. Brushing off your feet at the threshold, you quickly take off your shoes and leave your backpack at the shoe shelf. Music from an old radio is coming from the kitchen, some station unknown to you is playing old songs from the seventies. As soon as you entered the room, Vincent stood at the stove again, frying something in a frying pan. Whenever Trudy was busy making figures and arranging a museum that she someday wanted to open, it was Vincent who did the cooking and other household duties. Bo was stubborn and didn't want to do "women's" work, and Lester was still too young for such a large-scale activity. The latter was now sitting at the table and skillfully sliced an apple with a hunting knife into neat pieces.

"Morning, Lester," passing by the boy, you leave a small kiss on his forehead.

"Hi, Y/N!" Sinclair winces contentedly, flapping his big copper eyes.

You sit down next to the boy and imperceptibly take a piece of apple from under his nose, throwing it into his mouth contentedly. There were already several plates and cutlery on the table. Vincent loved order, so he prepared everything in advance.

"Where's Bo?" you ask, rocking slightly in your chair, for which you get a menacing look from Vincent.

"Mom asked him to help at the museum," Lester replied, "He should be back soon."

You notice how Vincent turns off the stove and turns his whole body in your direction. The guy takes a notebook lying on the table and quickly scribbles something.

"Have you had breakfast?"

"Yes," you say shortly, when Vincent closes the notebook and puts it back, "Honestly."

Sinclair puts the hot omelette on plates and pushes you a bowl of oatmeal cookies. You happily take one piece. Vincent sits down across from Lester and lifts the mask just enough to see his mouth. You frown, noticing the edge of his deep scar.

"Hey everyone," it was heard from the threshold, when the front door slammed shut with force, "Oh, honey, and you're here," Bo walks past you, lightly touching your shoulder in greeting, and sits down next to Vincent.

During brunch, you watch Lester and Bo actively negotiate. When their plates are empty, you decide to step in.

"Since everyone is here," you babble happily, clapping your hands to attract the attention of the guys, "I want to give you gifts a little earlier than planned, do you mind?"

"Of course not," Bo abruptly pushed away from the table, "I'm all for it, babe."

Bo winked at you playfully, to which you rolled your eyes. Vincent signed something, and you looked at Lester. Your sign language was not yet good enough to understand most of the phrases, you barely remembered the words of politeness. That's why you've always relied on little Lester at times like this.

"He said: "Why are you doing this so early?"", Lester explained, innocently blinking his eyes.

"What's the difference," Bo frowned, "Sooner or later — the main thing is that she gave."

You didn't comment on the elder Sinclair's words, but just got up from the table and went to your backpack resting in the hallway. When you came back, the brothers were already sitting in a kind of semicircle on the floor. Bo sprawled impressively closer to the sofa and grinned in anticipation; Lester, in his usual manner, sat cross-legged; while Vincent tucked his knees to his chest.

You sat down between the twins and put the backpack next to you, unzipping it. You said "Close your eyes" and, as soon as the boys fulfilled your request, you began to take out colorful boxes. All packages had the same color, different sizes. Alternately, you put the gifts in front of them and allowed them to watch. Lester giggled when he saw that his box was the biggest.

"Merry Christmas," you drawled, spreading your arms out to the sides.

The very first gift was opened by Lester. The boy happily tore open the package, scattering the paper around him, and screamed when he saw the cherished surprise. A big stuffed fawn. He had a soft beige body and neat brown horns sticking out in different directions. The muzzle was cheerful, with a big nose and shiny button eyes.

"I knitted it especially for you," you babble, smiling, when Lester looks up at you with an enthusiastic look.

"Thank you!" the boy throws himself on your neck with lightning speed, squeezing your body until the bones crunch; you stroke his back.

Bo was a little surprised when he saw a set of tools under the wrapper. He loved tinkering and was well versed in mechanics; the fact that you remembered about this hobby touched the guy a little; his lips curved in a slight smile.

"Well, thanks, babe," Bo grins, patting your hair.

You're pouting a little. All the time spent in the morning combing this tangled nest has gone to waste. You are dissatisfied with blowing off a few strands that caught your eye.

The last person to open his gift was Vincent. The boy very tenderly unwrapped the package, not trying to tear it, as if stretching and savoring this moment. You watched the deft but careful movements of his fingers with burning impatience. Finally, Sinclair took off all the paper, removing it from the side, and looked down at what he saw. A large set with colored pencils. Exactly the one that the boy looked at with undisguised envy in the window of an art store about a month ago. Did you remember that? With slightly trembling hands, Vincent takes the box and turns it in his hands. There were several more drawing pads under it.

Vincent looks at you, and you see the trembling gaze of his azure eyes in the slits of the mask. Such unbelievers, but at the same time grateful. You crawl up to the boy and hug him tightly, nuzzling his neck. Vincent lets out a ragged sigh.

"Merry Christmas to you, boys," you congratulate them once again, seeing the boys' satisfied smiles.

"So why did you decide to give it to us so early?" Lester asked, clutching the toy to his chest.

"Oh, that," you awkwardly fix your hair, "Well, my parents decided to leave. To another state. We'll leave tonight. So I thought I could have some fun with you now."

There was an oppressive silence in the room. You were afraid to look up, but you could feel the disappointment on the boys' faces. Your heart was painfully squeezed in your chest, from which you gritted your teeth with a creak.

"Will you come back?" Bo broke the silence.

"I don't know. Dad was offered a job in another state. Mom just said I wouldn't be able to see you."

You looked at each of the boys in turn. Vincent's head drooped, Bo's brows furrowed, and Lester's lips tightened into a crooked thread. The elder Sinclair sighed heavily.

"We'll be waiting. All together," he looked at you from under his brows, "Just try not to come back to us."

• Vincent loves sweets; but, often, Bo takes most of the goodies. That's why you put an envelope with several edible bracelets in one of the donated notebooks. Bo will probably consider them girly and will not take them away from his brother.

• You have been knitting a fawn for Lester for about five days; the boy is very happy with your gift. Your relationship is like a brother and a scary sister. He is always ready to rely on you; Sinclair is glad that he has such a caring person, unlike the same brothers (in particular Bo).

• Trudy adores you. You could say that in these few months she began to perceive you as her own daughter. You even know where the spare keys to the back door of the house are.

• Bo always tries to impress you as a self-sufficient high school student. He saw his father's old magazines with tackles, seduction and other materials not for children, so he decided to train on you. He didn't notice how he fell in love.

• Vincent is a good cook.

• Most of Vinnie's drawings in the new notebooks are you. He will paint your portraits for many years after your leaving.

#slashers x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms heelsire x reader #lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair

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rafesfavgirl · 14 days

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gurl i neeed a part 2 of stop asking me to stay, that broke me😭😭😭

you ask, i deliver :) hope you like it!!

i don't regret a thing — r. cameron

part 1.

❝ we're not the only ones, i don't regret a thing every word i've said, you know i'll always mean ❞

pairing: ex-bf!rafe x fem!reader

context: you and rafe have been dating for seven months, and while the relationship started it out well, as soon as the honeymoon phase ended (about 3 months in), everything went to shit. you've been trying to put up with it, knowing the situation with ward, but tonight, you realize you've had enough.

words: 2.4k+

warnings: swearing, toxic relationship, mentions of drug use, mainly fluff, a little angst, might still make you cry. rafe being an absolute simp for you, basically.

rafe wakes up the next morning, faced-down on topper's living room couch with almost no recollection of what happened the night before. except one thing—you'd finally walked away from him.

"not enough to choose me. you give in every time." your words echo in his head, as he opens his eyes.

fuck. what did he do?

"good morning sunshine," kelce comes down the stairs and greets rafe, who looked as if he couldn't move from the couch. "you sleep well?"

"i slept like shit," rafe groans, finally sitting himself up. "what the hell happened last night?"

"you mean other than you getting coked out and royally screwing things over with y/n?" kelce sasses him. "not much bro."

rafe shoots him a glare. "i did not royally screw things over with y/n."

"are you sure about that?" kelce raises a brow at him. "cause i had to drive her home last night crying, bro."

rafe's ear perk up at kelce's confession of you crying over him. you wouldn't have. you were the one who broke up with him.

"she was crying?" rafe asks.

"do you seriously even have to ask?" kelce replies. "i can't even count on two hands how many times you've made her cry the last few months."

no, that couldn't be true. surely he hadn't made you cry that often.

"shut the fuck up kelce," rafe gets up from the couch in complete denial of how shitty he's treated you the last few months and makes his way over to the kitchen.

rafe opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of water, while kelce joins him in the kitchen.

"you know it's true," kelce says, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. "you just never see it, because she won't let you."

was he right?

"you know how y/n is, bro," kelce adds, as i take a sip of water. "she'll never let you know you're hurting her, because you fear nothing more than being the cause of her pain and losing her. but she's also not going to beg and cry for you to stay and fight for her."

i did know that. that's what i loved about her. she didn't necessarily play hard to get when i tried asking her out on a date after months of texting, but she didn't give in too easily either. she wanted me to prove i was serious about her before giving me a real chance. she knew her worth.

i recap the bottle i'm drinking from and set it down on the counter beside me, my eyes focused on kelce. "so what should i do?"

kelce holds his hands up. "if you don't know by now, i can't help you."

—

rafe wasn't an idiot. he knew what he had to do.

so, after going home and taking a shower to freshen up and get a change of clothes, he drove to the flower shop in town to get you a bouquet of lavender and baby's breath, then nothing bundt cakes to get your favorite treat—a white chocolate raspberry bundt cake—and finally, your house.

once he parked his truck in front of your house and got out, he went through his usual routine of rounding around to your backyard, where he moved the ladder the gardeners used towards your bedroom window.

he climbed up and knocked, balancing the flowers and bundt cake in one hand.

you were sitting in bed watching after we fell on your laptop with a box of tissues beside you and puffy, red eyes when you hear the knock on your window.

without even thinking about it, you already knew who it was. this was just what he did. and against your better judgment, you got up from your bed, and walked over to pull the curtains open and find rafe outside with a regretful look on his face, a bouquet of flowers and a small box of your favorite treat.

slowly, but surely, you unlock the window and pull it up.

"i'm sorry," he speaks before you can, and you scoff.

"you know, i'm getting real sick of hearing you say that," you reply, turning around to walk away and reposition yourself back on your bed, while he slips in through your window.

"i got you flowers," he offers you a small smile and holds both items out to you. "and your favorite bundt cake. white chocolate raspberry."

your eyes shift from the gifts in his hand to his piercing blue eyes. they were no longer dark like they were last night, but there was a sense of uncertainty in them. like he wasn't sure he could win you back.

"so what? am i suppose to just forgive you? just like that?" you retort.

he lets out a sigh, and takes a seat at the edge of your bed, placing both items down on your bed next to your box of tissues. he finally gets a good look at you—from the messy bun on your head, to the bags under your eyes from barely getting any sleep last night, to your red, puffy eyes—and realizes just how badly he's messed up this time.

"i should've just fucked all those other girls. at least they know how to have fun." he still couldn't believe he said those words to you last night.

"i don't deserve your forgiveness," he admits. "i know that. but i want it, y/n. and i'm willing to work for it."

while those words were music to your ears, you were apprehensive. he apologizes every time. and while things do change for a while, they're never permanent. and a week or two from now, you'd be back in this same situation again. was that really worth it?

"i know i don't deserve any more chances," he continues, his eyes only focused on yours. "but i promise… i promise just give me one more and you won't regret it."

your eyes shift between his. he looked a little… scared? was he really that afraid to lose you?

"i don't know, rafe," you say honestly, shifting a little. "you've hurt me so bad… i don't know if i can take you doing it one more time."

"i'm not going to," he immediately shakes his head and reaches out to take your hands in his, fiddling with your fingers and glancing down at them. "please, baby, please. just let me show you i'm the guy for you. that i can be the guy you need and want me to be."

"how?"

"you'll give me a chance?" he asks, his eyes lighting up at the idea of being given another chance to win you back.

despite your brain screaming at you not to, your heart wins over and you nod. you couldn't help it. every part of you yearned for him. and if he was willing to show you that he really could be the guy you knew he was—the guy you fell in love with—then maybe it would be worth it.

"wear something nice," he says. "i'll come back to pick you up at seven."

—

at exactly seven on the dot, you hear rafe park his car in front of your house, and look out your bedroom window to see him dressed in skinny black slacks and a long sleeve, white button down carrying a bouquet of red roses as he walked towards your driveway and front door.

you can't help the small smile that forms on your face as you hurry to strap your heels on and look at yourself in the mirror one more time, before grabbing your purse off your vanity and heading down the stairs.

"where are you heading off to?" your mom asks when you pass by the living room, all dressed up.

"date with rafe," you reply, walking towards the front door.

your parents had never been rafe's biggest fan—they weren't exactly unaware of how often he's made you cry the last couple of months—but they also knew they couldn't stop you from dating whoever you wanted, so they never fought you on it, and you were grateful for that. it was comforting to know they'd support you no matter what happened.

taking a deep breath, you place your hand on the doorknob, and finally open the door when the bell rings.

rafe's eyes instantly widen at the sight of you, his eyes trailing down your body wrapped in a tight, short, satin red dress. "wow," he gasps. "you- you look…"

your cheeks redden at his loss of words. "you don't clean up too bad yourself, cameron."

he smiles at your use of his last name as a nickname, and holds the red roses in his hand out to you. "these are for you."

"you already got me flowers this morning, you know," you joke, taking the bouquet from him. your mom was gonna be pleased to know rafe was back to filling up all her flower vases.

"i know, but…" he trails off. "you deserve the best."

the blush on your cheeks deepen at his words. "give me a second," you turn to walk back towards the living room, and set the bouquet down on the coffee table in front of your parents. "don't wait up."

they don't even get a word in before you're walking away again to join rafe outside.

"shall we?" you ask, looking up at him through your lashes, as you closed the door behind you.

"just… one more thing," a sly smile comes across his lips, as he reaches into his back pocket to pull out a black blindfold.

you stare at it, your mouth agape. "you're kidding, right?"

he shrugs, "i want it to be a surprise."

you groan, but give in anyway. "fine. but if i trip in these heels because i can't see where i'm going, consider us broken up for good."

he laughs at the threat, even though a part of him was afraid you still wouldn't forgive him after tonight. "you know i won't let that happen. turn around."

you do as he says, and he ties the blindfold around your eyes, before taking your hand in his and leading you down the driveway towards his car parked up on the curb. he opens the door for you, and carefully helps you into the passenger seat, before closing the door and rounding the car to get in the driver's seat.

the second the engine comes on, your romantic taylor swift playlist plays through the car's speakers.

"you didn't," you say. he would always complain when you had aux because she was all you'd ever play.

"i guess she's not too bad," rafe shrugs, chuckling as you began singing along to the lyrics of wildest dreams.

rafe continued driving through the island for another ten or fifteen minutes, before he finally pulled the car to a stop in front of his family's beach house on the edge of figure eight, completely secluded from everything else.

he gets out of the car first, and helps you out, taking your hand in his to lead you through the house and out to the back porch.

"are you ready?" he leans in towards your ear, and goosebumps rise along your skin at his proximity.

you nod, and he reaches his hands up to the back of your head to untie the blindfold.

it takes a little while for your eyes to adjust, but once they do, a feeling of warmness fills your heart at the sight in front of you.

red rose petals were scattered in the sand of the private beach, along with fairy lights, a candlelit table for two set up in the center of it all, as acoustic instrumentals of taylor's best love songs played through the speaker situated on the porch.

"you like it?" he asked.

you turn your head to look at him. "rafe, i… it's perfect."

"that's what i was going for," he shrugs smugly, and nods his head towards the set up. "come on."

you both remove your shoes, before he takes your hand in his again and leads you down the back porch to the table in the middle of the beach.

"i can't believe you did this for me," you say, as he pulls a chair out for you to sit in.

"i'd do anything for you," he smiles, taking the seat across from you once you're seated.

—

after a three course dinner and a bottle of wine, which was all served to the both of you by a waiter that rafe hired from the country club, the night slowly came to an end, an endless amount of stars filling the night sky above you.

but while you were focused on the stars, rafe was focused on you.

"god, you're beautiful," he says, causing you to look at him now.

you chuckle, "shut up."

"no, i'm fucking serious," he replied, standing up from his seat.

you watched him carefully as he walked over to you, and held a hand out.

you glance at his hand and tilt your head up at him, "what are you doing?"

"dance with me," he says.

"you're asking me to dance?" you raise a brow at him.

"mhm," he nods. "you gonna say yes?"

"well how can i say no?" you reply, a small smile forming on your lips as you put your hand in his.

he leads you a few feet away from the table, and rests a firm hand on your waist, as you trail a hand up to his shoulder.

he locks his eyes with yours as you both begin swaying to taylor's timeless, and scans your face.

"what?"

he shakes his head, "i don't deserve you..."

"rafe…"

"but i'm gonna do everything i can to make sure i become the kind of guy who does," he cuts me off. "i want to be better, y/n. not only for you, but for myself too."

you smile, and pull him closer, your hand snaking to the back of his head.

"i'm sorry for being such an ass the last few months," he says, and you close my eyes, taking the moment in as he continues. "i know i haven't deserved all the chances you've given me, but i'm not gonna disappoint you again. i want to be the guy you think i am."

you pull away, just enough to have your eyes lock with his.

"you are that guy, rafe," you tell him, and you mean it. "you just need to let him show more."

he smiles, "you're pretty damn amazing, you know that?"

"so i've been told," you shrug jokingly.

he chuckles. "i love you, y/n."

"i love you too."

reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated <33

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margotw10bis · 1 month

Text

Welcome Back.JJK [m]

bestfriend!Jungkook x female Reader

Genre: drabble; smut (basically just porn)

Words: 3.6k

Synopsis: After almost two years of military service, you finally meet your best friend again. While you have planned a cosy night, his plans are a little bit on the physical side.

Warnings: oral sex (f. receiving); dom!jk/sub!reader; unprotected sex; rough sex; praising kink; big dick jk; hair pulling; spanking; crying of how good sex is; choking

18 months.

You've waited 18 months to see him again. You diligently mark each day on your calendar, waiting for him. The few weekends he was allowed in the civil life weren't enough to do everything you wanted and honestly, he was so tired that most of the time he just ate and slept.

But today it's different. Because Jungkook is finally free from service. You finally have your best friend back.

You've planned everything for your encounter: cake, embarrassing sign saying 'I CAN TAKE MY BUNNY HOME' and a whole night of snacks, games and movies, just like you used to do before Jungkook got into the army.

You're not the only one waiting for a loved one. A small group of friends and family have gathered in front of the military base, waiting for the soldiers to get off duty for good.

You are clearly feeling impatient, bouncing on one foot to the other. When some squeaks are heard from the crowd, you try to get a visual on the men coming outside by standing on your tiptoes but it's in vain. The only thing you see is a bunch of shaved heads...

It's only when some reunions decide to step aside that you finally see him. And gosh, you are so happy that you could fly. A big fat smile paints your face and Jungkook mimics you when he notices you and your sign.

He looks a little bit tired but he looks good anyway. The months he has spent in the army got him buffer — even though he was already a gym rat — and his military uniform just increases that. His hair is definitely short but he clearly let it grow a little. Honestly, he looks like a kiwi. A cute kiwi.

And his bunny smile is just the same: sweet and feeling like home.

When Jungkook walks to you and hugs you tight, you can't help but shed a tear.

"I missed you so much" You whisper, tightening your arms around his neck — you don't care if you're strangling him at this point

"Missed you too" He whispers back

"And..." You say as you are scooting away to grab the box you left on the ground "I got you a cake!"

Your excitement peaks through your voice, making Jungkook chuckles.

-----

It really feels like old times.

Jungkook's apartment hasn't changed at all. Well, you've been there a few times just to make sure that there wasn't any leaks from the upper flat, or to open the windows to change the air. But you missed it with Jungkook inside. It's like the whole place takes his energy.

As Jungkook takes care of his bag in his room, you settle everything you have prepared on his coffee table: cake and games. Several times a week, you were spending evenings together and you really want to find back this atmosphere.

You happily clap in your hands when your best friend appears in the living room. You light up the candles on the cake and start singing — not so good but you don't care — 'Welcome back, Kookie'.

Jungkook blows the candles and sits next to you on the couch. He has changed his clothes, opting for a style you know very well: baggy black t-shirt and oversized black sweatpants. He must feel good to finally dress as he wants.

"So" You start, already excited about this night "I have UNO, Monopoly, Cluedo but we can also play something on your Switch or we can watch a movie. I heard that the new one with Ryan Gosling is very n—"

"Y/N" Jungkook stops you

You can see he is a little embarrassed at the way he scratches his neck.

"Yes? Tell me" You encourage him, your usual sweet smile on your lips

"I don't want to be rude or anything, because it's super sweet what you've done but..." Your best friend chews on his lower lip — he used to chew his lip rings but they're gone "It's just that... I haven't done it for almost two years and I was expected to, you know, do it tonight"

Jungkook has a light blush on his cheeks that indicates that he is not as relaxed as his manspreading on the couch lets think.

But you're a little confused. You don't understand what he is trying to say.

"You don't want to play the games?" You try and Jungkook shakes his head lightly but doesn't dare to look at you "And you want to 'do it'? You mean going live on Twitch?"

Jungkook growls in frustration. It's so weird to talk about that with you. You're his best friend, it's not really the kind of conservations you two have.

"No!" He whines "God, Y/N, I want to fuck!"

You're speechless. And blushed. Because gosh, you never talk about that and you're also embarrassed not to have thought about it. You totally get that Jungkook wants to... blow off some steam.

You just didn't realize that he might have called one of the numerous girls that were crushing on him before he went to the army and asked her to join him tonight.

"Oh" You manage to say "I—" You clear your throat "I'll get going then. You can call me tomorrow or whenever"

You quickly stand up and try to hide the redness of your face. But Jungkook grabs your hand and pulls you down. You clumsily land on his lap, setting your knees on both sides of his hips last second to avoid hurting him.

Your heart stops at the intimate position. Never in a billion years you could have imagined being like this with your best friend. Your breathing stops too as you get to see Jungkook's face so close, maybe for the first time in your four years of friendship. He is handsome, always has been, so you don't know where to look: his eyes — not in their usual doe shape but way more intense —, his cute bubble nose or his lips. Yeah, your eyes definitely settle on them, especially when he slyly licks them and coats them with a thin and shiny layer of saliva.

You gulp and don't really know what to do. Yet, it seems very easy for Jungkook because his big and warm hands caress your waist, sending shivers down your spine.

"Let me fuck you. Please"

You don't know if he is begging or ordering because his voice is so hoarse. It's really, really hard to resist. And maybe his hot breathe caressing your face makes you a little high because you nod.

You fucking nod at your best friend asking if he can fuck you.

Worse, you feel aroused by the idea if you consider how your pussy is getting wet.

In just one second, Jungkook's lips are on yours. The kiss is not sweet at all, it's rough and urging. You're never witnessed this side of Jungkook and you already can tell that he loves being in control. He always has been the nice and caring friend but right now, he is like a starved man. His inked hand settles at the back of your neck, preventing you from escaping but you have absolutely no willing to do so.

His mouth literally owns yours, pressing his lips so hard that your teeth clink but it's not like you really care — this awesome kiss fogs your brain with horniness. He slides his tongue between your lips and you hum at his velvet muscle against yours.

His hands tightens their grip, bringing you closer to him. Your boobs are pressed against his torso and there is no another place for your arms but around his neck. His short hair tickles your fingers but it feels so soft at the same time. Too bad the kiss completely occupies your brain that you can't appreciate the sensation in your fingertips.

As Jungkook abandons your swollen lips for your neck, his hands are traveling down to rest on your hips as they urge you to grind on his hardening cock. You roll your hips, pressing your core against his crotch and gosh, it feels good. You are so, so glad you've chosen leggings today because you can feel his bulge. You press harder and harder against it, trying to satisfy the need of friction your throbbing clit demands. You are so, so wet that it's embarrassing.

You can't help a sweet moan from escaping your lip and it seems to make Jungkook crazy. He lifts up your body to make you lay on your back and grabs the hem of your leggings, tugging on them and your panties at the same time. You're surprised that he doesn't slide your clothes all the way down but stops mid-thighs, just enough to get a full view of your cunt, already glistening with arousal.

You don't even have time to grow embarrassed at the idea of your best friend looking at your pussy because Jungkook is in a rush.

"Pretty" He whispers with a hot smirk right before he dives into it

His hands strongly maintain your legs up against your chest while his tongue rolls around your clit. It feels so fucking good that you can't think straight. Maybe that's why you can't have enough sense to mutter your loud moans.

Jungkook changes his pattern by taking a big fat lap from your entrance, gathering on his tongue your arousal that was starting to drop through your hole. Your head rolls back and your hips buckle up just to feel more of him.

"Taste fucking sweet" He praises and you don't know why you feel so proud of it

The wet sounds of his mouth on your cunt are sinful and at this point, you don't know if your pussy is covered by your arousal or Jungkook's spit but you don't care. It's even hotter than he is eating you out so messily. The sloppy sounds are scandalous but it arouses so much that you feel like going crazy.

When he harshly sucks on your sensitive bud, you gasp and shut your eyes close. Your hands desperately try to hold on something but there is nothing to help you down the path of this pleasure.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god" You keep moaning

You're close, you know it. Your pussy keeps clenching around nothing and Jungkook's tongue doesn't slow down. His hands grips the flesh of your thighs harder, surely marking you with bruises, so you don't escape from the unbearable pleasure. And then, Jungkook decides to bring you straight to Heaven when his wet muscle enters you as deep as possible, making his nose bump into your clit. Your restrained legs due to your leggings and his grip only add to your arousal. You've never felt so overwhelmed by pleasure before but here you are: being eaten out by your best friend.

"Kookie, wait, I'm gonna— I'm gonna—" But you never finish your sentence

You scream something that sounds like his name as your legs shake in his grip and you cum on your best friend's face. Your walls clench around his vicious tongue that happily gathers your arousal pouring from your hole. You even feel him smirking against your cunt while he takes a final lap.

"Sweet juicy pussy" He says, making your blush "You're cute when you cum on my tongue, baby"

You don't really have time to catch your breathe because Jungkook grabs your waist and tosses you around so you're on your knees. He makes sure to bring your ass up, landing a harsh spank on your flesh. The stinging pain brings tears to your eyes but wetness to your pussy.

You rest your head on your couch, obediently waiting for Jungkook to pursue his needs.

"You're so fucking cute like that, your pussy full on display for me only, right?" He praises and claims you and doesn't miss how you clench

You both didn't know you had a praising kink but Jungkook will sure use it.

"You're gonna be a good girl and let me fuck you dumb, aren't you?"

You can feel the heat on your cheeks and you grow impatient to feel him inside you. Jungkook's hot, that's a fact. And the way he is acting right now makes you know that you won't be disappointed in his sex skills — not really surprising since Jungkook is good at everything.

You nod to answer, afraid to moan rather than to form words but it doesn't satisfy Jungkook. Another spank, way rougher than the first one, lands on your asscheek, making your jolt. A red mark in the shape of his palm instantly appears on your plump skin in the hottest way possible for your best friend. A sob leaves your mouth but you don't have time to realize it because Jungkook's tattooed hand goes up to gently caress your cheek, swiping away the tears.

"Talk when I ask you to"

His tone is quite severe and you're surprised how sexy you find it. You're never witnessed the dominant side of your best friend before, since you always saw him as a cute bunny.

"Yes" You reply, so politely, so innocently while your ass is up for your fucking best friend

"Good girl"

You hear some rustling of clothes, a sign that Jungkook is getting rid off of his shirt and slides down his sweatpants and briefs mid-thighs too.

You turn your head just enough to watch him pumping his absolutely huge cock. Your eyes widen as you wonder if you'll be able to take him. You haven't had a lot of partners but they surely can't compare with Jungkook's size.

The slight fear on your face is delightful for your best friend. He can see your pussy is tight and he can't wait to stretch your hole like it deserves to be. Honestly, he didn't plan to fuck you tonight. He thought he was going to text a random girl but after all, you're his best friend and you're the one who has planned a welcoming party.

Grabbing his thick dick at its base, Jungkook pats your sensitive clit with his tip. You jolt but moan, instinctively pushing your hips towards him. Some sticky links connect your pussy and his member in the most sinful way. Jungkook teases you again, rubbing his angry tip against your clit just to hear you groan his name.

However, he knows he won't last long and he has waited too long for a teasing game.

His free hand roughly grabs your asscheek, spreading it so he can fully see your beautiful cunt clenching. He lets a blob of spit slide along your puckered hole and down your pussy so he can penetrate you easily — actually, you are wet enough for that but your best friend just likes it messy.

He brings his cock to your entrance and pushes in. The tip is enough to stretch you out so much that the air is kicked out of your lungs. Your mouth opens, unable to make any sound, and your hand desperately grabs his forearm.

"You're so big" You gasp, another tear rolling down your cheek

It doesn't help that you're in this position: you can feel him better like this, aware of every since inch inside you.

"Too much?" Jungkook asks, genuinely worried

Despite how horny he is, he doesn't want to hurt you. If you tell him right now to stop, he'll do. Even though the way your walls throb are so fucking good, and he has just put the tip.

"No, it's okay. Just—" You take a deep breathe "Just wait a sec" You say

Jungkook nods and draws some soothing circles on your asscheek. And it works: he can feel you relaxing which allows him to slide more inches of his cock into your tight cunt.

You won't lie: the stretch is almost unbearable but the sensation of being so full makes you high. Way beyond clouds. You're feeling completely euphoric of your best friend's dick inside you.

"Fuck, you fill me up so good" You can't help but confess

"You're such a good girl, baby, taking me all" He smirks, rewarded you with a nice spank on your already red ass

When all his length is swallowed by your dripping cunt, you feel him deep, deep inside. You need a minute to get used to his size but it's damn hard for Jungkook to stay still when he has been waiting for so long and when you poor dripping cunt squeezes him so tightly. He can't control how his dick twitches, making you moan and clench tighter.

Your best friend attempts a faint dick stroke, earning a gasp or a moan from you, he can't define but the bliss on your face is unmistakable. This spurs him to pull out more, until just his tip is caged between your walls, and to slam back inside completely.

"Fuck, Kookie" You moan

"You like that, uh?" You nod frenetically, especially when Jungkook provides a rough cock stroke "Who knew you were such a good slut"

You don't quite know what to respond when Jungkook fucks you so good that your brain can't work. You just moan loudly, not caring one bit about Mrs. Kim, his 83 year-old neighbor.

The strength of Jungkook's poundings makes you jolt and if he wasn't holding you tight by digging his nails into the flesh of your ass, you'd be completely resting on your stomach by now. Even though his grip will surely bruise you, you absolutely don't give a fuck, not when you have such a good dick inside you.

"Fuck, you feel so fucking good, baby" He hisses when you clench around him

You're not sure you'll last long. And maybe your body is not connected to your head anymore because it only seems to seek for your release. You start to bounce back on Jungkook's cock, slapping your ass against his lap each time.

Your best friend watches in awe how naughty you become despite your usual innocence and he just wants to see your fucked up face more. For that, he grabs a good amount of your hair and tugs on it. Your back is so fucking arched that it feels like you're going to break in two but you don't care. The only thing you can feel is this good cock in you.

"Kookie, I'm so close" You whine

Jungkook might have the same goal as you: making you cum, because he wraps his other arm around your chest and lifts up against his torso. He makes sure to have a strong hold on you and forcefully provides you his amazing dick strokes.

The new angle is the perfect one, his cock hitting your sweet spot repeatedily and you have no other choice than to gasp. You've never been fucked this good and you don't even know how to breathe correctly anymore.

Jungkook's growls of pleasure as he buries his face in the crook of your neck and the sound of your skins clapping fog your brain. You grab his tattooed hand and place it around your throat. Jungkook gets the message and chokes you.

"You're such a naughty girl" He teases you, bitting your skin as he gives you powerful poundings "I'm sure that you like being fucked dumb, right baby?"

"Yes!" You scream despite your blocked throat

You're high on sex and low on oxygen: the perfect mix to bring you on cloud nine. It's like Jungkook already knows all the things you love about sex. But he is your best friend, he knows everything else so why not that? And if he is so good with you, then you don't mind sharing all your secrets with him.

"You're gonna come for me?"

You nod at that but almost bend over when Jungkook's vicious fingers find your clit despise your tied legs. He is circling it so fast that your legs shiver. Thankfully, his large palm around your air column prevents you from escaping his delightful treatment.

"Fuck, Kookie" You sob, shaking in his hold

"Cum for me, cum on my cock" He urges you "I know that you're a good girl and good girls cum when they are told to do so"

The specific knot builds inside you, and you don't know what you are saying anymore. You are not even aware of your tears on your cheeks and the drool at the edge of your mouth anymore. Your toes curl and you dig your nails in his forearms when you reach your high. White dots paint your vision, even though your eyes are closed.

You might be screaming Jungkook's name but you're not sure. You are just too far gone.

You fall miserably on your couch, trying your best to keep your ass up because your best friend hasn't stopped nor slowed down one bit. He has pushed you all the way through your orgasm and even beyond, so much that it's almost barely impossible for you to take him anymore. His dick is just too big, stretching your walls that are begging to clench.

"Please, Kookie" You beg, tears of overstimulation appearing on your face "Come now, I can't— I can't anymore"

"I'm almost there, hold on for me" Jungkook reassures you, his voice a little softer

He knows that you are taking more than you can right now: the way your body shakes is a clear sign. He is close too and a last slap on your abused ass helps him.

He pulls out suddenly, leaving your hole gaping and stupidly empty, and pumps his soaked with your juices cock to cum on your ass. The contrast between your red asscheeks and his thick white seeds is perfect. Jungkook pants while he looks at his masterpiece, a satisfied smirked on his lips.

Exhausted, you fall on his couch, almost falling asleep right after.

"You're okay?" He worries

"Uhm, uhm" You nod

"It's the best welcome party ever" He brightly smiles at your tired face and you can't help but give his smile back "Thank you so much, Y/N"

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buysweetboxesonline · 1 year

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millyhelp · 5 months

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How would Jason act if he found out you were pregnant?

Headcanon

warnings: angst! Sad shit with happy ending! anxiety and panic attack! Jason has very low self-esteem, so I warn you that he will depreciate himself a lot. mentions of sex. mentions of death. reader comforting Jason. English is not my first language, sorry for the grammar mistakes (if it have any)

•You had been acting strange for a few weeks now.

•You were eating more than usual.

•And feeling sicker than normal.

•Jason thought it was a virus.

•Then came the mood changes.

"Get out!" You shouted at him and threw a pillow at the man "You don't love me!"

"Doll, I just said I wouldn't make your pancake now because I need to go on patrol..." He said in a calm tone of voice

"It's the same thing!" you whined

•After a while, you were the one who noticed the changes.

•Your period had been late for a month.

•You were feeling hungrier than usual and wanting to eat strange things.

•You wanted to eat that strange mess that Starfire makes.

•Another month has passed.

•Your belly was a different size.

•After noticing this, you purchased 7 tests.

•Only one tested negative.

• Your luck is that Jason wasn't home, otherwise he would have heard your scream.

•What were you waiting for? You have a lot of sex, and babies comes from that.

•You were happy, but worried about Jason's reaction.

•You've been married for three years, you've talked about babies before.

•But you still worry, you know how Jason's mind works.

•You did your best to hide the tests and thought about how to tell Jason.

•He was away on a mission with Bruce and would only return at dawn.

•You decided to tell him in the morning.

•You would wake him up with a beautiful breakfast and tell him.

•As it was still afternoon, you had time to go shopping for a few things.

•You bought a small box with red baby shoes. You also went to the market and bought things to make Jason's favorite cake.

•Everything was perfect, or almost perfect.

•You hid things in the kitchen so you could make them for him in the morning, and went to sleep.

•When Jason arrived it was around three in the morning.

•He came in through the window and smiled when he saw you sleeping peacefully in the bed the two of you shared.

•He needed a shower urgently, so he went to take a shower.

•He took a warm, relaxing bath. When he was drying himself he looked around.

•The bathroom cabinet was not closed properly. It looked like there was something preventing it from closing.

•When Jason opened the closet to find out what was stopping it from closing, all the tests fell to the floor.

•Jason frowned and swore a fuck!

•He bent down and picked up the tests in his hand.

•Six positives and only one negative. Was that yours? It was obvious that it was.

•You don't know how to hide anything from him.

•Fuck, he's going to be a dad!

•Jason began to feel panicked. His breathing became unregulated.

•Still with the towel around his waist, Jason sat on the floor of the large bathroom.

•Suffocating.

•Jason gasped for air.

•Shit. Will he be a good father?

•He doesn't deserve this.

•He must be dead and not reproducing.

•He's just a stupid thing that should be dead.

•Jason tried to get up. His breathing was still uneven, he felt weak and ended up falling with a loud noise.

•You woke up with noise and looked around.

•"Jace? Are you home?" Your sleepy voice sounded loud, but Jason couldn't hear it, he was deep in his own panic.

•You got up and noticed the bathroom light on. Fuck! The tests!

•You quickly opened the bathroom door and found Jason on the floor struggling to breathe and with the seven tests on the floor next to him.

•"Jason!" You ran over to him and sat on his lap.

You placed both hands on his face.

"Jason, look at me!" His eyes looked into yours "Breathe... come on, breathe with me"

•Breathe, he had to breathe.

•"One..." you breathed in and so did he. "Two..." you breathed out and so did he.

"Three..." again you breathed in and so on until he could breathe.

Tears welled up in his eyes and Jason began to cry. It had been months since he had a crisis like this, the last time was when he was kidnapped by the three jokers.

"Jace... talk to me" You gently wiped his tears away. "You found the tests, didn't you?"

You looked to the side where the tests were on the floor.

"I..." Jason sobbed and tears fell "I'm going to be a dad?..."

"Yes, Jace..." you smiled lovingly "You're going to be a dad..."

"I don’t deserve." More tears fell and he closed his eyes shaking his head "I don't deserve it. I don't deserve it. I don't deserve it."

"Hey. Shh, Shh, Shh, Shh" You wiped his tears away again and he opened his eyes "Listen to me. You deserve it. Okay? You deserve it so much!"

Jason's blue eyes looked so deep now because of the tears and the heavy feeling in his chest.

"I should be dead, Yn..." He sobbed again "Not having kids..."

"But for some reason you're here with me, and I'm pregnant." You smiled at him, trying to reassure him.

"I love you, Jason. And this..." you took his hands and placed them on your stomach "It's one of the ways that love manifests itself."

Jason looked at where you placed his hands. He stroked yoour belly.

"Love. This is love." He spoke in a tearful voice and you nodded.

"I'm going to be a father..." He gave a weak smile "That explains your mood swings." He looked into her eyes "I love you so much. I feel like I'm not enough for you, will I be enough for our baby?"

"You are already enough. Always have been and always will be." You spoke with certainty and looked into Jason's eyes.

"You're going to be a great father." You smiled

"Do you really think?" He looked into your eyes looking for an answer

"I'm sure about that." You spoke and he kissed you.

•Jason has always been sensitive. But he's great with kids. So it will be great for your son or daughter (I dare say it will be a girl).

•"You weren't supposed to find out like that..." you giggled as your forehead was on his.

"You don't know how to hide things from me, I'm a detective trained with batman." Jason laughed and gave you a peck.

"Don't judge me." You pulled away and rolled your eyes, "I was going to tell you in the morning. I was going to make your favorite cake and make everything you like. I was going to prepare you, you know?"

"Well, I'll still take the cake." He said playfully.

"Silly. I'll do it tomorrow. But we need to go to sleep" You got up and he got up right behind you.

"Oh yeah?" He adjusted the towel around his waist again "We could practice making future babies..."

"Jason, this one isn't even born yet" You laughed and lay down on the bed

"So?" He shrugged "Practice makes perfect."

"Go to sleep, Mr. Todd." You opened your arms to him and he laid on your chest.

"Hmm... don't think I forgot about the cake you're going to make." He grumbled but soon fell asleep.

•He really didn't forget about the cake.

I CRIED SO MUCH WRITING THIS 😭🫡

Jason dad of a girl team!

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd angst #jason todd headcanon #jason todd x you #jason todd smut #jason peter todd #red hood x reader #red hood #red hood smut

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megalony · 3 months

Text

You Need To Choose

This is an Evan Buckley imagine, requested by anon. I love writing tropes like this so thank you for sending it in and I hope you will all like it. Feedback always makes my day.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz

Buck Masterlist

Summary: Evan saves a woman who then becomes very attached to him. While he is at work, she visits his home and takes his pregnant wife hostage.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh God, why was she back again?

Her smile did something to unnerve Evan, although he wasn't altogether sure why. It was the way she looked at him, like there was some kind of aura around him that nobody else had. It unsettled him, it made him panicked and uneasy and unsure about how to act or what to do.

Evan could feel his hands suddenly start to drag up and down his thighs in an anxious habit that reminded him of (Y/n). He didn't realise how many of her anxious traits he had too until he noticed the way (Y/n) would fidget or cling to him when she was nervous or ready to go home if they were out somewhere.

"Hi Buck,"

He fought hard to smile and try to be polite. It wouldn't be kind if he stared at her blankly or let his unease become visible.

"Hi… are you okay? Can I help you with something?"

Evan tucked his hands into his pockets as he stood in front of her but kept a safe distance of three feet between them.

This marked the third time Cara had come by the station and the second time, Evan had been lucky enough to be out on a call. She was only stopping by to talk to him, she didn't want to see any of the team. She asked for him the first time she popped round and she came to say thank you.

It had been very sweet, not many people willingly came by the station to thank any of the team when they helped people out of bad situations. They said thank you on the scene but never followed up and it was nice for Evan to see Cara was doing well. He often wondered about the people they saved, if they were okay, if they were happy or struggling. If they remembered the people who came to help them.

The second time, Evan had been uneasy when Chimney told him Cara came by again but left when she was told Evan was out.

Now she was back again, and Evan couldn't see why. She had thanked him the first time and he told her it was his job, he didn't do this for praise although it was lovely of her to stop and say thank you.

She had been trapped in a crumbling building when the team turned up at the scene and Cara had been seconds away from crashing through a window and falling to her death when Eddie and Evan got there. Evan went down on a rope and managed to grab her before she fell. He could see how it would shake her up and make her grateful, but he couldn't see why she would come back again and again to thank him when she didn't have to.

"I'm a lot better now, thank you. I thought I'd stop by and give you these."

Evan had been preoccupied wondering why she was here and missed the tuppaware box she had in her hands. When he leaned forward, he realised she had made some sort of cake.

The team got a lot of food, mainly chocolates or baked goods to say thank you and that was usually around Christmas or Easter.

Evan wasn't used to getting gifts from the people they saved, a polite thank you and a hug was always more than enough for him. He got enough gifts from the team and his family on special occasions. The last gift he got was (Y/n)'s gift on his birthday telling him he was going to be a dad. That had given him a whole new high he never felt before.

"Thank you," He tried his best to smile and took the box when she suddenly thrust it into his hands. "You didn't have to do that."

"It's the least I could do for my hero."

He could feel his smile fading away when she reached up and wrapped an arm around his neck to pull him into a hug.

He usually gave small hugs on the scene after saving someone, not weeks later when they came by to say thank you. He wasn't sure what to do. It wouldn't do him good to stand like an uncomfortable statue but he also didn't want to hug her as if they were good friends or give her the wrong impression. Evan was big on hugs and physical contact but only with close friends and family.

He was always messing about with Bobby and Eddie but they were more like family. Evan didn't do so well with strangers.

"Okay… take care." His smile was definitely more forced this time and looked more like a grimace when Cara finally let him go when she seemed to realise he wasn't hugging her back.

It wouldn't be professional to hug her back. He hadn't done anything to warrant a hug, he saved her almost three weeks ago and she said thank you on the scene. She wasn't a friend, she wasn't family or someone Evan knew well enough to have physical contact with. And he was married. He didn't want nor need to be hugging her.

As soon as she left the station, Evan turned around and let his shoulders deflate. He sighed and gritted his teeth as he looked over towards Hen who was checking the inventory in the ambulance.

"What'd you get?"

"Cake, I think." He hoped.

"Taking it home for (Y/n)?" She poked her tongue out between her teeth and grinned widely but the grin started to slip when Evan shook his head and frowned like she'd just insulted him. "You get given cake- something your extremely pregnant wife loves, and you're not taking it home for her?"

"Not when I don't know who's made it." Evan brought the tuppaware box up to his eyes and squinted through the plastic. "I don't know what's in it, I'm not risking giving that to (Y/n). Do you want it?"

He could see the wheels turning in Hen's mind and she hummed, pursing her lips as she suddenly agreed with him.

It was a lovely gesture, but Evan didn't know Cara. He didn't know if she would lace the cake like one woman had done with the brownies she sent in. Evan didn't know if she would drug the cake or add some strange ingredient. It was too risky to take home to (Y/n) when Evan got a bad vibe from Cara as it was. He wasn't giving her food baked by a stranger.

(Y/n) was nine months pregnant, Evan wouldn't risk giving her something that might make her sick. He'd rather play it safe and buy her cake on the way home from shift.

"Erm, maybe not."

Evan nodded her way before he walked towards the stairs and on his way past, he tossed the box in the bin. It was a kind gesture, but he wasn't eating it and Bobby had rules. No food or drink to be accepted from strangers. It didn't matter how kind they were or what lovely intentions they had, no one should accept food. Only close friends and family could bake goods and bring them into the station.

And something told Evan not to try that cake.

***

"What are you doing?"

A gasp burned past (Y/n)'s lips and her left hand clutched the curtain rail while she flapped her right hand out. She grabbed Evan's shoulder to steady herself when she suddenly felt his hands tightly digging into her hips and his chest press up against her hips and bum.

"Evan don't do that!" She bashed her hand against his chest before she moved back to clutching his shoulder when she wobbled.

Her lips pressed into a thin line and she scowled down at her husband while he pressed his chin against her hip and stared up at her with that stern expression that made her weak at the knees. She slowly let go of the curtain rail and shuffled around on the stool until she was fully facing Evan.

Her hands held his shoulders as she hunched over in a silent plea for him to help her down.

"The curtain came down again, I was putting it back up." She mumbled when Evan locked his arms in place and kept her stood high up above him. She watched him tilt his head forward and press his lips against her bump while his hands curved round from her hips to hold the back of her waist.

He let her lean her weight down onto him and slowly eased her down until she was safely back on her feet. (Y/n)'s hands stayed on Evan's shoulders and she tilte dher head back to look up at him.

"And you thought giving me a heart attack was worth it?" His eyes darted between (Y/n) and the curtain until she leaned forward and buried her face in his chest.

He peered into the nursery and saw her standing on a stool, leaning heavily on the window. And from his angle, it looked like she was unsteady and about to fall. Evan didn't need that kind of panic when he was already on edge as it was. He had one more week of work and (Y/n) was bang on nine months now. Her due date was next week and Evan was panicking that she was going to go into labour while he was at work.

He didn't need to walk round the house and see her daring to stand on a stool like that and risk a fall.

"I've done it now, I was fine until you scared me."

"Well next time just tell me rather than risking a fall." Evan was taller, he could reach the curtain rail without straining or going on his tiptoes. (Y/n) didn't have to do it by herself when she could just tell him and he would sort it.

Her hands tightened on his shoulders and she tilted her head back so her chin was tucked into the middle of his chest. The way she batted her lashes at him made Evan's chest tighten and she knew she had won him over when his stern look faded into a soft smile.

"How do you feel today?" He let his hand slide down to cradle her stomach and his head tilted to the side. They both knew what he was actually asking.

(Y/n) looked down and let her fingers glide down Evan's arm until she cupped his wrist.

"Just kicking, they're not coming today. You can relax, baby Buckley is staying put for today." Her thumb smoothed across the back of Evan's hand which she moved to the lower right side of her stomach so he could feel a small kick.

She wasn't feeling any strange movements or feeling the baby turning round yet. No more lower back pain than usual and no dull aches or cramps anywhere that would imply labour. They still had a few more days or even a week left. Evan could go to work calm, knowing he wasn't going to miss anything today.

"Good. You're not allowed to go into labour without me."

"I know, but I'm not holding out much longer. The baby might not be ready, but I am."

"Just three more shifts, baby girl. Wait three more shifts, for me, please?" Evan lifted his hand to cup her chin and tilted her head back while he smoothed his thumb across her lower lip that he pinched to watch her take a sharp breath.

He knew (Y/n) was getting restless. He hadn't known her take so many baths as she had in the last three months, but it was where she felt most comfortable and where the baby seemed to settle and sleep. (Y/n) was tired. She thought she would of had the baby by now, she thought she wouldn't make it to her due date. But the baby seemed very comfy and cosy and (Y/n) was getting fed up of waiting.

Evan, on the other hand, was somehow containing his excitement. He had agreed with Bobby to work right up until (Y/n)'s due date because it gave him an extra two weeks off after the baby was born. Rather than taking time off in the lead up to the birth. He would rather work until (Y/n) had the baby and then he could have a few straight weeks off to be home and help her with the baby.

He had barely taken any annual leave this year so he had a lot stored up that he could take when the baby was born in case (Y/n) or the baby were ill or needed him. Or in case he had a hard time going back to work, he had a feeling he wouldn't be able to settle back at work and leave his family at home.

"Sweet-talker," (Y/n) muttered quietly before she pushed up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips.

He enticed a gasp from her lips when he sank his teeth into her bottom lip so he could swipe his tongue past her lips. (Y/n) could feel his hand tightening in the back of her shirt and he tugged her closer until she was tightly meshed against his front.

"You'll be late."

"Hm," He grinned and panted against her lips as his nose brushed against hers until she shook her head when it started to tickle. "You call me if you need me, even if you just feel sick. I've always got my phone on me now and if you can't get hold of me, call Bobby."

"I promise." Her lips attached to the side of his neck and she curled her arms around his shoulders to pull him down to her. Her face buried into his shoulder and she could feel his chest vibrating with a chuckle.

(Y/n) seemed to be promising Evan every shift that she would call him if she needed anything. She never did. Maddie was always popping round to check in and make sure she was alright when she knew Evan was at work and so far (Y/n) had been fine. But she knew Evan had cleared it with Bobby for (Y/n) to be able to get hold of him because if she needed him, he had to be able to answer.

Her hands trailed to his shoulders and she leaned back when Evan bent forward and pressed his lips against her stomach. His hand slipped beneath her shirt to dance across her skin because he knew it made her shimmy and squirm.

"Be good. Don't make an appearance until daddy comes home."

When Evan felt a kick near his lips, he grinned. (Y/n) tangled her fingers through his curls and steadily stroked them towards the back of his head while she rolled her eyes.

"They're definitely going to be a daddy's child."

***

"Hello?" (Y/n) tightened her hand around the door handle and tried to form a calm smile when she opened the door.

She wasn't expecting visitors today, she wasn't even sure that Maddie would stop by today or if she was at work. (Y/n) had been expecting to spend another calm day at home and tuck herself up in bed until Evan came home later on tonight.

(Y/n) didn't recognise the woman on the other side of the door. She had shoulder-length gritty blonde hair that was slightly damp from the hot weather and it made her hair curl and crimp at the ends. She had one hand curled around her bag on her shoulder and the other was planted firmly on her hip.

Whoever she was, she didn't seem happy to see (Y/n) opening the door. Had she gotten the wrong address? Was she looking for a friend or family?

"Who are you?" Her demanding question took (Y/n) by surprise and the smile faded from her lips as she clung a bit tighter to the door. It should be (Y/n) saying that, not whoever this woman was.

"I-"

"Where's Buck, is he home?"

The way she leaned to try and peer around (Y/n) into the house made a shiver crawl down (Y/n)'s spine.

So whoever she was, she clearly had the right address. She was looking for Evan. (Y/n) dared not think why this woman was looking for him, she seemed rather put-out at seeing (Y/n) instead. And the way she was tapping her foot against the doorstep made (Y/n) uneasy, it was like (Y/n) was wasting her time.

"He's at work right now… can I help you? I'm his wife." It seemed to be the wrong thing to say.

(Y/n) rolled her lips together and braced her left hand out on the wall when the woman in front of her took a stumbling step backwards. It was as if (Y/n) had gone and slapped her.

Who was she? How did she know Evan but not know that he was married? He wore a silver band on his ring finger for God's sake, that was a big giveaway. His lockscreen was a picture of them when they were on holiday and his home screen was a more daring picture of (Y/n) that not many people saw or noticed.

Evan didn't hide the fact that he was married, he told just about anyone and he had been high as a kite these last few months at the notion of being a father. His friends were mainly the people he worked with and the few friends he knew from college. All of whom (Y/n) had met and gone out with on quite a few occasions.

Their circle of friends was close-knit, small and secure. And this woman was not a part of that circle.

"His- no, he's not married." Cara's hand tightened on her hip and she tried to smirk, but the look faded again when (Y/n) simply frowned.

"Excuse me?"

(Y/n) could feel her annoyance beginning to build up like a fire ebbing away at her and growing with each passing second. She was tired, she wanted to go to bed and lie down and dwindle away the hours until Evan came home. The last thing (Y/n) wanted was an argument on her own doorstep because some derranged woman had turned up out of the blue.

"Who are you?"

"I told you, I'm his wife. He isn't here, do you want me to call him?" (Y/n) wasn't playing this silly game. She didn't have to prove that she was married to Evan. It was up to this woman to explain what she wanted Evan for and either call him herself or leave.

(Y/n) leaned her weight on the wall when the baby started to move and press down on her hips.

But when she watched the way the stranger in front of her suddenly stared down at her stomach, (Y/n) felt like wishing the ground to swallow her whole. She could feel the daggers burning into her stomach and the woman's face turned a dark shade of red like the epitome of anger was right here in front of her.

The silence was unbearable, until (Y/n) strained hard to hear what this woman was suddenly muttering under her breath. Then, (Y/n) was suddenly desperate for the silence to come back.

"Pregnant? You're having his kid? You can't be. You can't be."

It was like those were the only words this woman could comprehend and it made (Y/n) shiver.

Was this the lady who kept turning up at the station? Evan mentioned a woman kept stopping by even after she thanked him and the team for saving her. (Y/n) didn't think anything of it because Evan didn't seem to elaborate or make much of a fuss.

"I think you need to leave now."

"I'm not going anywhere!"

(Y/n) shuddered and quickly backed up when the woman smashed her hand out into the door and slammed it so violently it hit the wall and rebounded into (Y/n)'s arm. She felt a bolt of electricity shooting down her elbow towards her hand that spasmed in pain but she swallowed down a cry.

There was no time for (Y/n) to try and slam the door shut, let alone think about locking the door to keep herself and her baby safe.

Before she could move, the woman was over the threshold and pushing her way into the house.

(Y/n) tried to bash her hands out but she recoiled her hands to her chest with a gasp when something sharp caught the side of her wrist and burned down her arm.

She had a knife. A swiss army knife, to be exact.

It was a red rectangular plastic with a lot of various sized blades tucked away and even a thin set of scissors attached. (Y/n) didn't see her take that out of her bag, she moved far too quickly and it was very unsettling to know this woman carried one around with her in her bag.

"Where is he?!"

"I- I told you, he's at work- please stop. Why do you want to see him?" (Y/n) tried to swipe away the small trickle of blood from her wrist but she lashed her left hand out again when the woman moved the knife near her stomach. She wasn't going to harm the baby. (Y/n) wouldn't let her.

"I want him! He's mine- he saved me. We've been out on dates, bet you didn't know that."

It took all (Y/n) had not to roll her eyes or make a sarcastic sound. As if she would truly believe Evan could be the way he was around her and then go behind her back with someone else. He wouldn't be this clingy and attached to (Y/n) if he really was going out with someone else and he wouldn't be so excited about having their baby if he wanted to leave (Y/n).

She knew her husband and she knew he was as devoted to her as she was to him. Everyone at the station was always telling her that. Clearly this woman had either been reading the signals wrong, or she had been living in a fantasy that had just broken.

"He isn't here-"

"So call him and get him here!"

When the knife moved closer to her stomach, (Y/n) backed up into the lounge and nodded. Her hands started to tremble as she turned and looked around for her phone. This woman had to be derranged. She clearly didn't have Evan's number or she would have called him herself and unless Evan had a secret phone he wasn't telling (Y/n) about, he couldn't be having an affair.

No one nowadays had affairs where they only talked in person or through the post. This woman didn't have Evan's number, she had no way of contacting him and it was clear she had never been to the house before. Her fantasy was unravelling because she was realising Evan had a life and a family that she wasn't part of.

(Y/n) slowly pointed to her phone and picked it up just as she felt the knife press against the side of her abdomen. She couldn't make any sudden movements unless she wanted to risk harming the baby.

"H-he might not be able to answer, if he's out on a call…" (Y/n)'s fingers trembled as she unlocked her phone.

Her lips pressed together in a thin line when she looked at her home screen. Evan, lying in bed with one hand tangled in his hair and a cheesy grin on his face as he squinted up at the camera.

Her thumb hovered over Evan's icon at the bottom of her phone where two hearts surrounded 'hubby'.

"Either he answers, or he truly doesn't love you. He wouldn't leave you alone ready to pop without a way for you to contact him, would he?"

It didn't feel safe to tell this woman that they had protocols and plans in place for that kind of event. If Evan couldn't answer the phone, (Y/n) was supposed to ring Bobby. If he didn't answer, she had the fire station emergency line where someone at the station would answer and they could radio through to Evan. He would get (Y/n)'s message either way, but right now, she needed her husband to answer the phone.

God knows what this woman would do if he didn't pick up.

"What do I tell him?" She couldn't risk getting a knife to the stomach if she said the wrong thing or said something this lady didn't want her to say. (Y/n) needed to know what to do.

"Tell him to come home. Tell him Cara's here and she needs to see him, if he doesn't… I think you know what will happen."

(Y/n) let herself slump down on the sofa as she clicked Evan's icon and pressed the phone against her ear. Her free hand tangled in her hair before she moved to press the back of her hand against her mouth to stop herself from crying. But she couldn't fight off the few tears that silently slipped down the bridge of her nose.

The baby was twisting. Her stomach was flooding with adrenaline. Her body was shaking from the panic. She felt like she was going to be sick. (Y/n) wanted her husband more than ever.

"Sweetheart, everything okay? Is it time, is the baby coming?" Words rambled past Evan's lips and he couldn't see the relief on (Y/n)'s face when he started to speak. He knew she wouldn't ring him unless it was urgent or an emergency.

"Evan, can you come home please?"

"Baby are you okay?" He could hear the wobble in her voice and it made his heart clench. He would come home, she knew he would, but Evan had to know what the situation was and why he was coming home. He had to know if (Y/n) was in labour or if she had fallen or was feeling sick or felt like something was wrong. He needed the specifics.

"Cara's here, a-and she wants to talk to you… it's important, please come home."

"Cara? What's she doing at the house- how does she know where we live?" Evan tangled his fingers in the short curls at the back of his head as he spun round in a circle.

How did she know where he lived? Why had she turned up at his house and not the station?

Oh God, had she been following him to know where he lived?

"Baby are you hurt, please tell me she hasn't hurt you?"

(Y/n) darted her eyes to the left and glanced over at Cara to see if she could hear Evan through the phone or not. She looked a little calmer now but the fire was still burning in her eyes. She was sat on the arm of the sofa next to (Y/n), the army knife still dangerously close to (Y/n)'s stomach just to show her she still meant business.

When she looked up, she noticed Cara had seen her eyes darting down to the knife and something sinister flickered across her face.

"You can tell him I have a knife with me. And I will use it if he doesn't take us seriously."

"Did- she's got a fucking knife?!" Evan's feet moved before he could comprehend what he was doing or where he was going. He needed help. He needed someone to come down to his house with him. He was sure he heard Cara say she would use her knife. He couldn't have her threatening or hurting (Y/n). Especially not when she was so close to giving birth.

"Evan-" (Y/n) shuddered and took a sharp breath when the phone was suddenly snatched from her hand.

"Buck, it's me. Are you on your way?"

"What are you doing at my house? Don't you dare hurt my wife! I swear to God I'll-"

"Enough talk. You need to come home now, so you can choose who you really want to be with. You need to choose the right woman for you."

(Y/n) flinched when she heard Evan begin to yell before the call ended and Cara tossed the phone on the floor. At least Evan would be coming home soon. (Y/n) wouldn't have to be on her own with this unhinged woman for much longer.

For a little while, (Y/n) began rubbing her hands up and down her thighs and across her knees as something to distract herself. She was desperate to run her hands over her stomach and try to settle the baby but she didn't dare draw attention to her stomach. Not when the knife was still held so close to her that she could almost feel it.

Part of her prayed that Evan would bring someone from the station with him, maybe Bobby or perhaps he could get hold of Athena. But she wasn't sure what Cara would do if he turned up with anyone else and if he called the police, everything would get worse.

Both women turned to look at each other when they heard the screeching of tyres in the drive.

It had to be Evan.

"Up. Now."

A shiver rocketed through (Y/n) but she did as requested, she didn't exactly have a choice.

Her lips pressed into a thin line and her hands coiled around her chest when the knife jabbed into the left side of her waist. She could feel the jagged edge beginning to pull the threads on her shirt and if Cara pushed just a little, she would pierce through into (Y/n)'s skin.

Cara's other hand moved to grip the back of (Y/n)'s right arm and she pushed her to stand near the window just as Evan banged his knuckles on the door.

"Baby it's me." The door was open but Evan felt apprehensive about going inside. He didn't know what he was going to be walking into, he had no idea if (Y/n) was okay, if she was going to be in shock or crying or hurt or oddly calm. He didn't know what state Cara would be in either.

"You'd better be alone. No one else comes in or I'll hurt her." Cara tightened her hand on (Y/n)'s arm and kept the knife in place to stop (Y/n) from moving when they both watched Evan walk through the hall.

He had his hands out in front of him to show he wasn't about to do anything. He had Bobby waiting outside in the car, but Evan wasn't stupid enough to tell Cara that. And Bobby was on the phone to Athena who was going to send a squad car down here without lights or sirens so Cara didn't get disgruntled.

"It's just me." Evan walked around the corner and paused near the sofa.

(Y/n) saw the way his eyes darkened and his broad shoulders tensed and lifted up when he looked at them. He lowered his hands down to his sides and clenched his hands into fists while his biceps started to push against his cuffed sleeves.

A quiet 'good' murmured past Cara's lips and she smiled triumphantly while her eyes focused on Evan. He stood behind the sofa and leaned his hands down on the back of the sofa. It showed how tense his arms were and they both heard his neck crack when he twisted his head from side to side.

"Are you okay?" Evan focused his eyes on his wife. She had a cut on her right wrist but it didn't look too extensive. He could see her trembling and tears were traced down her features, but she didn't look too shook up which is all he could ask for right now.

"She's fine."

(Y/n) bit her lip but she nodded, she didn't want Evan to worry, she was as fine as she could be in this situation.

"I'd feel a lot better if you weren't holding a knife to her stomach. Can you put it down, please?" It felt horrid to try and be reasonable and bargain with Cara but Evan needed her to stop holding (Y/n) like that. She was going to hurt her or send her into shock and Evan didn't want either of those things happening.

"No. Sit down, we need to talk."

Evan locked his jaw when Cara gave (Y/n) a sudden push towards the armchair beneath the window. He watched with narrowed eyes as (Y/n) slumped down into the chair and dug her nails into the arm rest while her other hand moved to press against her stomach.

When Cara perched down on the arm rest and kept the knife against (Y/n)'s stomach, Evan moved round and sat on the very edge of the sofa. His knees spread out to the sides and his hands clasped together and hung between his knees.

"You didn't tell me about her." The way Cara inclined her head towards (Y/n) and her upper lip curled in distaste made Evan take a deep breath. "You led me on. I've been to visit you at work, I've been out with you, and no mention of her."

For a second, Evan frowned and looked up at Cara like she had grown a second head.

But then it dawned on him. He'd seen her when he was out at the shop last week. He'd seen her again when he went for a drink with Chimney and Eddie after shift. He even saw her at the gas station walking past while he was filling the jeep. Nothing about those instances had seemed strange because Cara barely spoke to him on each occasion.

Had she thought seeing him out in public meant they were going out together? Did she somehow concoct a whole story with Evan without him realising? Had she been following him instead of simply bumping into him in the street?

"I'm sorry, but you can see why I didn't tell you… I was married before I met you." Evan didn't exactly know what to say, but he knew he had to try and go along with this for a little while. He had to calm Cara down enough to get (Y/n) out the house, then he could sort out this mess. He just needed his family out the way and safe.

"Well now you have a problem. You can't have both of us, so you have to choose."

The knife pressed closer into (Y/n)'s stomach and she flinched. She shuffled as close to the right as she could until she was curled around the arm of the chair with her arms around her chest and her eyes locked on Evan.

"Will you let (Y/n) leave then, so you and me can talk in private?"

He could see she wasn't expecting that response, and Cara didn't know what to do. Evan was trying to get (Y/n) out safely, he wanted her out the house and out of harms way and Cara might be able to see that. But she also couldn't pass up the chance that Evan might just want to pick her and talk this through with her.

"What about the baby? If you leave her, will you leave the baby too?" When Cara jabbed the knife into (Y/n)'s side to prove her point, (Y/n) visibly winced and bit down her cry.

"We can talk about that when (Y/n) leaves us alone," Evan was losing his patience now, he couldn't play pretend for much longer.

Cara seemed to debate it for a few seconds before she nodded but her actions contradicted her gesture when she moved the knife and against (Y/n)'s neck. She seemed to revel in the way (Y/n) whimpered and leaned back and more tears drenched her face.

"Go upstairs. You're not leaving the house to call any of your little friends."

(Y/n) could feel the knife pressing tightly into her neck until it pierced the skin and a small trickle of blood trailed down the side of her neck, but she couldn't move. Her hands stayed locked around the arm of the chair and she closed her eyes for a few seconds. She didn't feel well enough to move. Everything within (Y/n) was telling her to move, to get up and go and keep the baby safe.

She knew Evan could look after himself, he could get the knife off Cara and calm her down until they could get the police here. But she couldn't find the will power to move when her stomach was twisting and she felt sick.

"Sweetheart," Evan chomped down on his tongue when Cara sent him a warning look. "(Y/n), go."

"Are you stupid? Move, he's told you he doesn't want you here anymore."

Tears tumbled down (Y/n)'s face and she stumbled up to her feet when Cara gave her a rough shove between the shoulders and she felt the knife slide down her neck, creating a superficial wound.

(Y/n) could feel her knees quaking but she couldn't stop the small cry from errupting past her lips when she looked down. Both her hands cradled her stomach and she darted her wild, panicked eyes to look over at Evan. She watched the way her husband tensed up and his eyes bulged in their sockets.

Her waters had broken.

"Evan…" She didn't know what she wanted to say or what she wanted her husband to do, but (Y/n) needed Evan to do something.

She cringed and pinned her elbows into her waist when Cara snagged a handful of her hair and pulled her head right back until her neck felt like it had broken.

"You've done this on purpose! This is to make sure he won't leave you- you bitch!"

"Let her go- Cara that's enough!" Evan raised his voice out of instinct and bolted up from the sofa when he saw the knife move near (Y/n)'s stomach. He couldn't let her do anything to his wife. She was frightened and in pain and now she was going to go into labour at the worst possible time. Evan had to keep them both safe and away from Cara.

(Y/n) reached her hands out for Evan when he stumbled towards her. She let out a scream when the knife swiped near her stomach just as she tried to lunge forward and pull out of Cara's tight grip on her hair.

Her hands curled around Evan's arm and she let him yank her forwards until he had her safely behind him. Evan hated the way he felt (Y/n) go down on her knees behind him and he felt her hands scratch down his back and his leg but he couldn't grab her. He had to reach forward for Cara who tried to lunge with a violent scream that almost deafened him.

The knife slashed the inside of Evan's palm but the adrenaline countered out the slight sting he barely felt. He curled his fingers around the blade and pulled until he had hold of the weapon which he launched somewhere behind him. He heard it clatter against the bannister and was satisfied it was far enough away so Cara couldn't reach for it again just as he heard the front door swing open.

"Buck?!"

Evan had never been happier to hear Bobby's voice and the thudding sound of approaching footsteps told him that someone else was in the house too. Someone else was here to help. He latched his fingers around Cara's wrist and pushed until they both stumbled and a scream tore from her lips when they clashed into the armchair.

When hands grabbed his shoulders, Evan let go and allowed whoever it was to reel him backwards until he was towards the sofa.

He realised it was Bobby who had hold of him and Athena was now stood in front of him like a bodyguard, trying to move and calm Cara enough to arrest her.

"Buck, Buck, come on, up." Bobby slipped his hands beneath Evan's arms and pulled until Evan bent his knees and managed to stand up. He could feel Bobby turning him in the right direction and giving him a helpful nudge until he moved towards (Y/n).

She was cowering down on the floor behind the sofa, one hand braced on the arm of the sofa with her other hand cradling her stomach.

Tears flooded down her face and she could barely see when Evan held her chin and tilted her head up so they were level again. His thumb swiped across her lips and (Y/n) could see his eyes raking over her to see what injuries she had. Her wrist was aching but it had already stopped bleeding, it was more of a nuisance than anything. There was a slight pinch in the left side of her stomach and (Y/n) knew Evan could see the small trickle of blood soaking into her shirt.

The knife had given her another superficial cut on the side of her abdomen that was nothing to worry about. But the look in Evan's eyes said it all; he wasn't impressed, not in the least.

(Y/n) curled her hand tightly around Evan's wrist when his hand slid round to cradle the back of her neck. He leaned closer until (Y/n) could bury her face in his neck and his other arm curved around her waist to keep her tucked up against his chest.

"Alright, alright sweetheart I've got you. It's okay." He spoke quietly into the top of her head as he felt her tears soaking into his neck and it made him shiver.

"Are you both alright?" Bobby rested his hand on Evan's shoulder as he crouched down and tried to assess them. He knew Evan's hand was bleeding, he could see the blood pooling between his fingers and trickling steadily down his wrist. But he hadn't been inside when everything turned south, Bobby hadn't seen if they had been hurt before he and Athena barged in.

"Her water broke."

"Right, then we need to take a trip down to the hospital."

(Y/n) tried to keep her face tucked up into Evan's neck but he gently reeled her back so he could look down at her again. She could feel his thumb smoothing up and down the back of her neck beneath her hair and his other hand began rubbing circles into her lower back. The smile o his face was calming, but not as much as the way his blue eyes seemed to swirl like a light was being shone in his aqua blue iris.

"Let's go have a baby."

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