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gotham-daydreams · 8 months

Text

Not Here

[Yandere! Platonic! Neglectful Batfam × Gender Neutral! Sibling Reader]

[Warnings: Mentions of neglect, Mild Yandere Behavior, Batfam being hella stupid.]

(Not really proofread. The birds and bats seeing that y'know- maybe not paying attention to people and neglecting them isn't a good thing. Chaos ensues. More of a development thing. Might be a little ooc?)

Tags: @bigcandlesmolbrain

Part 2 of this post.

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Bruce liked to think he was a good father, for anything that was worth. Or at the very least, a decent one.

He wasn't perfect by any means, but he felt like he raised his children the best he could, and had made them into responsible and diligent adults. Dick was a great example of this, and even if Damian was still growing up, Bruce had hope that he'd turn out to be good as well. The hardships his current Robin had to face would pay off in the end, Bruce was almost too sure of that.

Those he decided to take under his wing had their flaws, yes, but even if he didn't say it out loud or point it out often. He did believe that they were good at what they do, or at least were on the right path to becoming good vigilantes. Bruce couldn't help but be proud and prideful of where his children and sidekicks were, and could only look forward to how they would continue to develop as time went on. Despite their feelings towards him, and his own faults, mistakes, paranoia, and so on. Along with how he felt about them, and their flaws — he couldn't help but respect the people those in his little mess of a family where becoming, and turning out to be.

Or maybe he was both overestimating and underestimating himself, and the true effects he had on those he decided to look after.

Since, for a few days now, he felt like something was... off.

The Manor seemed quieter these days, and even if he couldn't remember a time where it was particularly loud, the detail felt misplaced to him. Sure, he hasn't hosted a gala or party in a while, but that didn't feel like it was the reason why the silence suddenly bothered him.

Bruce tried to think of all possible reasons, a little surprised himself that this feeling of his was bothering him so much, but the more he thought about it the more confused he became. There didn't seem to be a particular reason for this... and yet, just as he was about to put this feeling aside, he heard it.

["I, um, I was just wondering..."]

["Oh, uhh, that's quite alright! Oh, one moment please... oh! Second chorus... T'was brilling, and the slithy toves, did gyre and gimble in the wade..."]

It sounded like some sort of... play? Bruce wasn't too sure, but still decided to check it out regardless, wondering why something like that was playing in the first place.

So, allowing the sounds of the play to guide him, he continued on.

["Why- why you're a cat!"]

The voices grew louder as Bruce drew closer, interest peaked as he tried to recall and see of he knew this play. The lines sounding familiar, now that he was really listening to them.

["A Cheshire Cat. All mimsy were the borogoves..."]

Once Bruce rounded the corner he saw a... familiar face on the screen.

A student play was being filmed, and the play itself was Alice in Wonderland.

Whereas Bruce didn't recognize the actor for Alice, he did recognize the actor for the Cheshire Cat, but couldn't quite put his finger on it...

Was... was that...?

"Y/n?" He whispered your name, voice barely above a whisper.

No, it couldn't be. You didn't participate in any plays, and surely if you did he would've known about it. Even then, that didn't explain why he was seeing this now. The play itself had to have been a recording, since you looked so young...

How long ago did this take place?

["Oh, wait! Don't go, please!"]

["Very well. Third chorus..."]

["Oh no, no, no... thank you, but- but I just wanted to ask you which way I ought to go."]

["Well, that depends on where you want to get to."]

["Oh, it really doesn't matter... as long as I g-"]

["Then it really doesn't matter which way you go! Ah-hmm.... and the momeraths outgrabe..."]

Bruce was staring so intensely at the screen that he hardly noticed how the lines and voices faded into the background. His focus centered on you, disbelief gnawing at the back of his head.

He had never seen you smile like that before, not during all the times he's seen you anyway. Even if those moments themselves were small and short from what he could remember, the smile you wore during your performance felt... new in a way. Like something he hadn't seen before — not on your face anyway. Though that wasn't the only thing that made Bruce feel weird as he watched the play.

It wasn't anything to do with your acting skills. They were fine for the most part — and honestly considering the age you probably were during the time of the play, they might've been above average, or even a little higher than that. Not even the girl who played Alice, who also did relatively well, was the source of this odd feeling.

It wasn't the costumes or the set up, or even the lighting, and how he could faintly see the silhouette of other actors and such just behind the curtain, because of the camera angle. No, it hardly had anything to do with anything like that, but, how should he put this...

... How come he didn't know about this? How come he wasn't aware of this play before? Let alone that they had a recording of it, and that you were even a part of it... but Bruce still felt bothered by this whole realization because, well.

Why didn't you tell him about this?

"Master Bruce?"

The sudden voice snapped Bruce out of whatever trance he was stuck in, as he whipped his head around to face the source of it.

He huffed softly, "Oh, hey Alfred." Bruce greeted calmly, acting as if the butler hadn't caught him off guard.

Alred couldn't help but raise a brow at that.

Almost in a silent, embarrassed way, Bruce glanced off to the side only to notice that the recording was still playing, and so he decided to ask about it. Since, if someone knew anything about anyone in this Manor, it would be Alfred.

"Say... what's this playing on the TV?"

"It's a recording of one of Master Y/n's plays, Master Bruce." Alfred answered simply, almost as if it was common knowledge. "Apologies if it's too loud, I decided to play it while cleaning. I can change it or turn it down if you'd like."

"No, no it's fine... but since when has Y/n acted in plays? I don't remember hearing about this." Bruce stated, confusion growing as another emotion began to swell in his chest. One he was all too familiar with, but ignored for the moment.

"Since middle school, if I recall correctly, but it was only while they were younger. Having only been in three school plays in total, I believe." Alfred moved closer to Bruce as he looked at the screen, eyes softening for a moment as he watched you move along the stage. You had grown up so much since then, and the stage fright you used to have felt like nothing more but a faint memory now.

You wouldn't believe how incredibly proud of you he is.

"It's a shame they didn't do any more afterwards, since it would've been nice to have a few more recordings of their performances, but I suppose that's what happens when you find a new passion." He looked back at Bruce. That previous softness in his gaze nowhere to be found.

There was a certain way how his eyes looked at the billionaire, as if expecting something. As if expecting this.

Alfred had higher hopes, but you had left for a reason. Even if he knew what that reason was, it was only now did he see it more clearly. Especially as he witnessed Bruce's face shift into one of shock and surprise.

"They've always told you, Master Bruce, but you're schedule has just always been too full." Alfred handed Bruce a piece of paper, and Bruce took it wordlessly, looking it over.

It was a flyer promoting a play — the Alice in Wonderland play that was still going in the background — with the dates and times listed below, along with some of the cast members. Your name stuck out like a sour thumb compared to the rest.

Bruce did remember seeing this before, but one thing did still confuse him as he looked back at Alfred.

"I'm pretty sure you gave this to me at the time, not Y/n."

"That I did, sir, but that was only because Master Y/n was having some trouble with catching you attention, because they had wanted to give you the flyer themself. So I offered to give it to you for them." Alfred replied truthfully, cleaning up a little more while he was at it, and leaving Bruce to his thoughts for the moment.

He didn't remember you trying to catch his attention... but if what Alfred says is true then that makes sense, even if it made Bruce feel bad in a way. The feeling growing a little more when he realized something Alfred had said.

"And this happened all three times?"

"You sound surprised, Master Bruce."

Bruce ran a hand through his hair, eyes pinned on the flyer as he pressed his pursed into a thin line. Countless thoughts floated around in his head, all of them jumbled up and messy as he just didn't know what to make of this. Missing one was probably fine, and maybe two at a push, but all three? How could he have missed every single one?

Sure he was busy, but he didn't think it was this bad. Did he just forget? How did he not notice such a thing had slipped right past him?

All Bruce could do was sigh. There was nothing he could do about it now, and even if there was a way to make it up to you, he didn't know where to start, or if that would change anything to begin with. Besides, he didn't even know how long it's been since these performances had happened.

...

Wait a minute-

"Alfred, how long ago was this?"

Alfred just looked at Bruce, brows just barely creased before he took a breath of his own.

"A few years ago, sir."

What?

At the look of disbelief on Bruce's face, Alfred could only stand and straighten himself out as he calmly asked, "How old do you think Master Y/n is, sir?"

"Oh, well, they're..."

... Bruce couldn't even think of an answer.

Obviously you had to be in highschool since it had been years since you've performed in a play, with the Alice in Wonderland play being one of them, but how old were you exactly? What year were you in? Were you a sophomore? Junior? Surely you weren't a freshman, but even then — what high school did you even go to? Bruce didn't think you were home schooled, or else he'd definitely notice that... or would he?

Oh no.

What if you already graduated? What if you already had gone and done something that not even Alfred knew about? Did you have a job? Where would you even work? Were you already in college? What college would you even go to? Did you manage to get a scholarship? What would be you major? Where would you be studying? Would you even stay in Gotham? Were you even old enough to be out on your own? Could you even drink yet? Could you drive? Did you own a car? Or even a motor bike? When was your birthday? Did it already pass? What's the month? The day? The year?

How old are you?

"I... I think I'm going to go and just check up on them." Bruce couldn't answer, and while he had a vauge idea. That's all it was, an idea. So he moved the subject along, and made his way up the stairs, leaving Alfred behind. Just watching as the world's greatest detective left the room, all because he couldn't figure out the age of one of his own kids. One he had chosen to take in and watch over like all the rest, and yet left behind all the same in the process.

Alfred could only sigh to himself as he paused the recording of the play. Ejecting the disc and putting it in its respective case, and placing it in its usual spot.

This was the only way, he decided. This was the only way.

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

Bruce didn't feel much better by the time he reached your room. It took him mistakenly stumbling into two guest rooms before he finally reached it, and honestly he felt more regret over that alone.

Most of this time he hardly remembered that the room before him now was even occupied, let alone that you had claimed it as yours. What didn't help was that it was only now that he remembered introducing this space as your own, and yet he had forgotten that small detail so quickly.

Regardless, Bruce just pushed that all to the side as he knocked on the door, taking in a breath.

"Y/n?" He called out, only to get no respose. So he tried knocking again, but he still got nothing.

Sure, he was getting a little confused, but just pushed that to the side with everything else, as he stared down at the door knob.

... Should he?

He had to talk with you eventually, especially considering what he just figured out and how little he actually knew about you. He needed to talk with you. He couldn't just let this slide, not with what he knew now. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

So, be tried the knob, and was kind of surprised that it was unlocked. Though besides that little strange detail, he gently pushed the door open, and took a peak inside.

Oh. You weren't even here...

Bruce didn't know how to feel about that.

Regardless of that, however, he opened up the door a little wider, and stepped inside. What he saw only made him more confused, but also feel so much worse when he looked all over the room. How could this be...?

Various things were on your desk, shelves, and hung on the walls. Your room looked surprisingly clean, but honestly Bruce doesn't know what he was expecting. After all, he didn't even know your exact age or hardly anything about you, and even then — by the looks of things, he had missed out on so much more than he originally thought.

Trophies, awards, medals, and certificates were littered about your room. The very sight of them made the paper in Bruce's hands feel so much heavier, and yet he still held onto it as he further inspected the awards, and few pictures hung on your walls.

Every color was here, from bronze to silver to gold, and at some point it seemed you were able to get a consistent amount of silvers and gold. The awards themselves were from various events and activities that barely corresponded with each other. From fencing to swimming, and dance to pottery. From track and field to literacy, and gymnastics to cooking.

It was like you had tried to do so much of everything, and were trying to collect all of these awards from all of these different activities, rather than earn them because you deserved it for all your hard work and dedication to do that particular activity, but Bruce just couldn't understand why. Why go through all of the effort just to move on to the next thing? It... didn't make sense.

Right next to you black belt for martial arts, you had hung up the few medals you had gotten from track, and right below that were some awards you had for gymnastics. Beside your soccer trophies you had some kind of art award, and beside that was more awards and things you had received from playing and participating in other sports and activities. Bruce had no idea you were even into some of these things, but just from looking at your room, he could tell you weren't all that into or interested in some of the activities you did. Seeing as some activities and such had more awards when compared to others, but one thing in particular seemed to really catch your interest.

Music.

Not only did you have a whole wall and section of your room dedicated to it, but it felt more organized, and the placement of awards and such seemed more thought out in a way.

Countless awards littered the wall, and from the placement alone he knew you were proud of them. The pictures hung on the wall showed you shaking someone's hand as you either held up an award or album cover. You smiled, and Bruce could see how genuine it was as he felt like he could feel your happiness radiate off the photo itself. The people you were shaking hands with looked pretty happy themselves, and Bruce was a little surprised that he recognized them, but that made him feel more conflicted.

The people in those photos with you, were famous, and you had gotten those opportunities to meet them and shake their hand all by yourself.

All of these awards — they were only the finishing products of what you had spent all of your time doing. They were only small glimpses into the person you truly were, and as Bruce looked at the records you had hung on the wall, he could feel his own regret spilling out of his bleeding heart.

He wish he was there with you.

He wish that he had been there to see you even get half of these rewards that you undoubtedly deserved. He wish he got to hear the music you played, and what kind of songs you wrote. He wish he had been there to see you go on, and work your way up, with him being there as your support, and yet...

He had missed everything.

From the plays, to the matches you had, to the games you played in and competitions you participated in, and how could he forget your performances that even earned you such big, important awards. Awards that probably meant so much to you, because of how far it showed you had grown.

Bruce missed it all. Every little thing.

... He had to find you.

No if's or but's this time. No more excuses. He had to find you. Bruce needed to.

So he did a more thorough search of your room. Finally placing the flyer down on your desk as he looked around. He checked your closet, your bed, even under the picture frames, and moved some of the awards around, in order to better check and search for anything. Any hint that could point to where you had gone, and or where you might be. Any clue, any thing that could tell him about you.

He even made sure to take a mental note of the people in the photos, just in case he had to reach out to them and ask if they knew where you were by some off chance. Though that was only if Bruce was convinced that you weren't even in the Manor, and getting some extra information on you never hurt anyway. Seeing as he had a lot of catching up to do.

As he searched, he ran into various things. From equipment, art pieces — most of which were unfinished — and old notes, to other random items. Like an airsoft gun, some glass beakers, various ties, a pair of shades, a glasses frame, and a sewing kit next to a first-aid kit? Bruce didn't want to think about how the first-aid kit both looked used, and was empty.

Bruce even stumbled upon a fancy looking tuxedo he didn't remember buying you at all, but a small tag caught his eye and-

Oh, it was a gift from someone else, and with the note you left behind the tag — most likely with the intention of giving the tuxedo back — it was safe to assume that you and this person knew each other quite well...

Bruce just put the tux back. He would've gotten you a better one anyway if you had just asked, or if he even knew you needed one in the first place. Though regardless of that, he kept looking.

Eventually, he looked under your bed, and found a single box under there. Undisturbed... sitting innocently in the darkness.

Bruce didn't waste much time as he reached out and grabbed it, and placed it on your bed. There was a thin layer of dust on top of it, which Bruce found a little strange but kept in mind as he opened the box and looked inside. There, he saw a variety of notebooks and papers, and from the looks of things, the items in here had been collecting a bit of dust too...

When was the last time you touched these?

It seemed a little strange that these were tucked away from everything else, and clearly you didn't want other people going through it or even seeing them since you kept it so out of view. Were they diaries? Bruce would rather learn anything personal about you from yourself, he didn't want to go through your things like this, but considering the situation...

He sighed, and just picked up a random notebook. If this could help him find you, then so be it. He didn't want to do this but he couldn't leave you alone either. Not again.

Yet, he was so focused on looking through your things that he didn't even realize that someone had passed by, and noticed the odd room Bruce was in. A room that they themselves haven't seen before.

"Woah, what's this place? An old childhood room or something?" Dick asked as he invited himself into the room, mindlessly looking around, not really paying attention to anything in particular as he waltzed around.

"It's Y/n's room." Bruce stated bluntly, still looking over the dusty notebooks in the box. Some simply labeled 'Notes' or 'Practice', while one in particular was called 'Ideas/List & Progress' with little drawn sparkles around it. Another two weren't labeled with titles or words, and instead with small music notes doodled onto the cover in your favorite color. Though Bruce didn't know the color was your favorite.

Nevertheless, Bruce decided to look through one of the notebooks with music notes on it, completely missing how Dick had froze, and turned to look at him as if he was crazy.

"What? You've got to be kidding, right?" Bruce just gestured to one of the records on the wall, flipping through the notebook in his hand as he read through it quickly but carefully.

Dick, still not entirely convinced and honestly just really confused, looked at one of the records Bruce had gestured towards, and felt like he had just gotten ran over by a truck with how hard reality hit him. There your name was, signed and everything, with a well-known producer listened as well.

His eyes even darted to the other records, only to find the same thing, and for just one final check, he looked at one of the awards on the wall.

Your name was engraved on it.

"Holy-" He covered his mouth, more than shocked as he looked around the room again, hand falling from his face, "but that means-" Now Dick was paying more attention to the room, moving from one thing to another as he looked over everything now.

"How did they- there's no way they did all of this? And- what. They even did gymnastics?!" To say that Dick was in absolute disbelief and shock was an understatement. Yet he hardly had any time to recover or process anything as another person popped into the room, albeit only temporarily.

"I'm afraid it is quite possible, Master Dick." Alfred spoke up, catching the attention of the oldest sibling as he moved into the room, and set a stack of papers on your desk, right next to the flyer Bruce had set down.

Confused and curious, Dick looked at the stack once Alfred had pulled away from it, and picked up the first paper.

It was another flyer, but this time for some kind of solo event or concert you'd be doing. The date written down was a few days ago... a week or so having already passed since then, but how could this be?

Dick hesitated, but took another one as he looked it over. Again, it was for some kind of concert or performance, but the date and time was further away. Three weeks to a month having passed since, but how did they not notice? Didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell them?

"This doesn't make any sense... why didn't Y/n tell us about any of these things?" He asked, mostly to himself as he continued to look through the various flyers.

"Why don't you tell me, Master Dick?" Alfred quipped, looking at Dick in a knowing way before stepping out of the room, "Now, I'll be heading off, but I do trust that both of you make the right choice this time around." With that, he simply left. Leaving Dick confused but feeling worse at the same time as he looked back at the flyers, mind racing until he spotted something.

Carfully, Dick pulled out another flyer out of the pile as he placed the others to the side. He recognized this one, but where had he seen it before? Was it...

... Oh god.

Dick whipped out his phone and checked his messages. He had to scroll down a bit, but he quickly found your contact and tapped on it. He flipped through your messages, hundreds upon thousands of which he never responded to, and even if that alone made he feel bad. When he found what he was looking for, he felt even worse.

He found a message of you sending him a photo of the flyer, and said how you hoped you'd see him there. The message itself had been sent almost a year ago, and as he looked back at the flyer, he didn't know how to feel. Yet he kept looking, especially as he spotted another familiar poster.

Some of them he was able to connect back to another message you had sent, and the further back he went the more he responded... but it wasn't much, and he seemed to leave you on read more times than not. He had made an effort, but clearly it wasn't enough.

Dick couldn't imagine how that must've felt for you, and he almost didn't want to. Yet he still continued to search through the flyers, and came across one he had an odd memory of. He did remember seeing a text for it, but also remembered hearing about it somehow? He wasn't too sure, but just incase he did decide to look through his voicemail. He didn't know what he'd find, but he decided to just have a little look, even if he wasn't sure he'd even find anything.

So, he matched the date of the message and scrolled until he found it.

The voicemail innocently stared at him, and Dick couldn't help but hesitate before he tapped on it, and let it play. Heart already heavy as he stared down at the flyer. The kind of look someone gave when they already knew it was too late, and Dick didn't know what was worse. The fact that he basically missed out on your entire life at this point, or that he had nothing to say for it besides that he was sorry, and had just forgotten about these things one too many times.

["Hey, Dick! I, um, I hope everything is going well and that patrol hasn't been too bad." Your voice wavered as you spoke. You were clearly nervous but you tried to push on anyway, and cleared your throat before you tried again.]

["How are you, though? I heard that you had a rough night the other day- and I know I'm not really into all this crime-fighting stuff like everyone else but... I just hope you're okay, y'know?" You chuckled nervously before you cleared your throat again, "An-anyway, um, yeah. I just- hope you're okay." The sound of a paper being fiddled with could be heard, and you took in a small breath.]

["So... I have this performance I'll be doing next Saturday- it's more of a competition really, since other musicians and stuff will be there too. It's at 7 o'clock, and I know you guys mostly work at night and everything- but if you could drop by or even just quickly come around at 8:15 that would be great! Since, um, that's when I'll be performing..."]

Dick looked at awards you hung on the wall as the voicemall continued to play. Based on the date of the performance he was able to find the award. You had gotten second place.

["It's um, it's a piece I wrote that's a tribute to your family- the Flying Graysons, that is, since we're allowed to play songs we wrote if they were approved beforehand, and it was! So, um, I really hope you don't mind. Your family is cool! Not that Bruce and everyone else isn't or anything- um, I'm going to stop talking about that before I say something stupid. But! I couldn't help but feel inspired so I, y'know-" you cleared your throat again. Clearly nervous.]

["Sorry for my rambling- but, yeah. You can pass by if you want or have the time, and it's right by that one place Bruce had that whole charity announcement on Monday. You can't miss it, there will be lights and all this other stuff- not to mention that it'll probably be loud considering things, but uh, yeah."]

["So if you think you can make it or pass by, it's at 7! Next Saturday! And if you can't make it by then, I play at 8:15! So, yeah. Remember that! If- if you want to. Hope to see you there! And if I don't, that's okay. I just hope you enjoy the piece if you hear it. Have a good night! Or-! Or day! Whenever you listen this- um, bye!"]

What? You had wrote a song for him? For his parents? For them?

Dick's heart swelled. He didn't even get to hear it either, he wasn't able to. He didn't have time, and he forgot, but that didn't make things better, did it?

You had gone through all of that effort, and not only made a song for him but even played it during a competition and got second place. Yet he couldn't even put a few minutes to the side to listen to it. He didn't.

Now Dick definitely felt awful.

However, he did notice that there was another voicemail left by you just a few minutes after the last one. So, he decided to play that too before his guilt and regret could fully settle in, as if it'd make him feel better somehow.

["8:45! IT'S 8:45! THAT'S WHEN I PLAY! NOT- Not 8:15, sorry! I mixed up the times- that's when a friend of mine plays, not me! Sorry! Uh, but yeah. I play at 8:45- stop by if you can! I hope to see you then! Buh-bye!"]

Okay, well, Dick officially felt worse now. So much worse.

You had all this character and personality, and yet he was never able to fully see it — to hear it like he has now. Not like this, not while he was paying attention.

Your voice was so much different than what he remembered, and despite your nerves you really tried to tell him because you hoped he'd be there. You tried to tell him in hopes he'd actually show up, and he never did. Even as he listened to your other voice messages, he could hear how his own actions, or lack thereof, were affecting you.

The messages grew shorter, more to the point, and while you did still sound enthusiastic — it's like he could hear the hope dying in your voice. The hope that'd he show up. That any effort would be made, but that didn't happen, and it didn't help that Dick was listening to some of the voicemails he was going through right now, for the first time.

He could only imagine the pain he caused you, and Bruce was thinking the same thing.

Bruce was still looking through your notebooks as Dick was regretting everything he had done to you in the past.

The notebook Bruce was reading now was one where you had written down majority of your more recent song ideas, along with things you wanted to try and melodies you were trying to mix together. It was mostly full of lyrics and small notes to yourself about certain things you wanted to keep in mind, and though there was a lot of things crossed out, Bruce couldn't help but be... charmed in a strange way.

How you talked to yourself was adorable, and seeing your excitement for your own performances and such through each word you wrote, just made Bruce feel so happy for you. He could almost picture your smile and how giddy you felt when you were writing some of these things down, or how focused you were when trying to figure out how to continue the chorus of a song you were making — or if there should even be lyrics to begin with. Along with how you wanted the song itself to sound, and what emotions you wanted to capture in it.

With each page turned it's like he could see the entire process you went through when it came to your song composition. Like he was almost there with you in the moment, watching you do your thing, and honestly? Just by that alone he couldn't help but grow... softer.

Bruce loved seeing how your mind worked when it came to music, and your thought process behind each and every little thing. He just... he felt like through each line and little note he read and looked over, he was falling in love. The kind of love that he couldn't quite describe, besides just the love only a father could feel when they really see their child for who they are for the first time. The kind of love Bruce hadn't felt in a long while, nor this intensely.

You were so creative and passionate, so driven to achieve your dream and do what you loved. You were just so... you, and there was just something about the way you expressed that in the notebook that felt charming. The deeper Bruce got into the notebook, the harder it was to not love you, and each time he saw one of your little notes, he could feel himself smiling. You were so precious, how could he not see that before?

Though, besides all of that, he did notice a small pattern.

Every performance you had, you mentioned in the notebook and would express your feelings about it, and every time you did — you'd write something beneath it. Just a small paragraph about certain hopes you had. Hopes that made Bruce's heart squeeze tighter.

It was you hoping that they'd get to see you perform, that they'd show up, and suddenly Bruce was reminded of why he was doing this in the first place. So, he started to flip through your book, shaking out of whatever trance he was in.

With each performance that passed, the little paragraph got shorter, smaller, simpler. Like a quiet prayer that was dying down, as the believer slowly lost their hope and faith. It even came to a point where only one sentence was written for a while.

"I hope I see one of them."

Bruce's heart broke a little more each and every time he saw it, but the page that really got to him was when the sentence was smudged, small wrinkles and creases were on the page, and you couldn’t even finish writing the sentence as the end of the 'e' in 'them' dragged out.

What didn't help was when he flipped a few more pages, and found the last performance you had written about. It was a few months ago, but the date didn't immediately catch Bruce's eye. No, no, no, what caught his attention at first was the change of that single sentence.

"I hope the audience enjoys it."

His heart shattered at that, smile fading as he took in a breath. A moment passed, with Bruce just stating at the writing. Wishing for the impossible, and to change things that had already been done. It was too late, but he somehow refused to believe that now.

Finally, he noticed the date and paused.

That... couldn't be right. You used to write in this notebook all the time from what he could tell, why did you stop? Did something happen that day?

If months really have passed... then that would explain all the dust on the box and contents within it, but still, it didn't make sense. Weren't you still here in the Manor? Bruce honestly couldn't think of why'd you would stop writing unless you somehow couldn't reach the notebook, but you couldn’t have left, right? Surely, above everything else, he would've notice that, right?

...

Bruce finally looked at Dick, seeing the oldest just staring at old flyers from various events and such you had participated in throughout your life. A life they never got to see.

"When was Y/n's last performance?" He asked bluntly, getting straight to the point.

Dick glanced at Bruce for a moment before looking back down at your desk. He moved some of the papers around before he found the most recent one and looked over to his father with a raised brow.

"About a week ago, why?"

Bruce looked back down at the notebook in his hand, eyes scanning over the date again before he closed it. Looking back at Dick, he asked another question.

"Have you seen Y/n around?"

Dick grew quiet at that, and after a moment he just sighed and shook his head.

"No, I can't say I have." It was only then did he catch what Bruce may have been thinking, "You don't think they-"

"It's a possibility. We can't be too sure just yet," Bruce just wanted to hold onto his hope that you were still here, and even if the chance was small he was willing to take it. He didn't want to believe that they had pushed you so far away that you would not only consider leaving, but actually went ahead and did it. He wanted to be doubtful, but he couldn't rule out anything. Not yet.

"Just keep looking, I'll go ask the others." Bruce stated as he placed the notebook back in the box and headed out the room.

"Keep looking? For what?! Other events we missed? More ways we ignored them? Things they did without us?!"

To say Dick's guilt was eating away at him would be an understatement. It was practically devouring him at this point, and he could just barely take it.

Bruce paused at the doorframe, sighing as he looked back at Dick, "Any hints or clues to where they could be. Favorite spots they might frequent, places where their lessons were held, people they know, anything." He left him with that, causing Dick to just run a stressed hand through his hair as he took a breath.

Worry and regret heavily weighed down on him, but all he could do was carry it for now. He'd make it up to you somehow. He would, and he'd finally get to hear that song one way or another.

As Dick started his search, so did Bruce.

Bruce did a general search around the house, looking for anyone he came across while also trying to look for you. He thought that if he was lucky, he'd run into you. Even if the possibility was small, it could still happen — or he hoped so anyway.

Just this once, Bruce really hoped for the best.

Though, he did end up running into someone, even if it wasn't who he was looking for.

"Woah, someone looks serious. What's got your bat panties in a twist?" Jason asked, amused, "Actually, wait, don't tell me. I don't c-"

"Have you seen Y/n?" Bruce cut Jason off, getting straight to the point.

The sudden question confused Jason as he gave Bruce a weird look, some of his amusment still remaining but it began to die down a bit.

"No... why?"

Bruce took a breath, fingers twitching, "Do you know where they could be?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Jason's own confusion began to take over, his amusement continuing to die down, "Seriously, did something happen? Why are you suddenly looking for them?"

Bruce took a moment, just looking at Jason before he sighed.

"When was the last time you saw them?"

"... A few days ago..." Jason glanced off to the side.

"Jason."

"Okay, okay! Fine. I don't fucking know! A few weeks ago? Maybe?!" He answered, getting agitated already. "I'm barely here enough as it is, how am I supposed to know where they are!"

Again, Bruce took in another breath, but there was something about it that Jason didn't like. Maybe he inhaled too sharply or deeply — Jason wasn't sure, but all he knew was that he wasn't going to like what Bruce was about to say.

"Dick hasn't seen them either."

"And that's supposed to be a surprise, how? He lives all the way in Bludhaven, of course he isn't going to see Y/n. 'Cause they live here-"

"I haven't seen them."

"..." That was a little more surprising, but just a little more. It still couldn’t mean anything... right?

"With all the shit you do, I would be surprised if you even saw them on a semi-regular basis." Jason crossed his arms, still not convinced — not entirely anyway. Yet Bruce could only exhale softly, the action bothering Jason even more.

"It's just a possibility. I'm trying to find them. Think you can help out?" Bruce clarified before asking. Additional help would definitely be great, especially because it meant that they could find you faster. He could find you faster.

"What makes you think I'm gonna do that?"

"Did know that Y/n wrote a song that's a tributed to you?"

"... What."

Bruce sighed, "You don't have to do it because I asked you to, or even because I want to find them. You can do it for yourself, Jason. But I'll leave that decision to you." Then, he just walked off to continue his search for you, and the other occupants of the Manor. Leaving Jason by himself, alone...

"That bitch-" Jason cursed under his breath as he walked off, deciding that he'll help look. Though only so he could ask you if Bruce was bullshiting him or not, and not for any other reason...

... Wait, you wrote songs? Like, actually?

Jason just shook his head, already upset enough as he shoved the thought to the side. When he found you he could ask, and how hard could that be? The Manor was only so big, and besides, you were just one person. He could probably find you before Bruce if he just looked in the right places, but the only thing now was finding those places...

Okay, so maybe he saw the problem, but still. This couldn't be too hard. You were the only one in the whole family who wasn't a vigilante, and so it was only about a matter of time.

Nevertheless, Jason began looking around as well, trying to figure out where he should look as he mindlessly checked every other room he came across. Where would you even go anyway? He'd probably check your room first but he figured that Bruce had already checked there, and it wasn't like Jason knew where your room even was. Though he just chalked that up to how infrequent his incredibly short visits were.

Still, he didn't even know where to start, and would rather avoid searching the entire Manor if he could. He tried to scratch his brain for anything but he just... had no idea.

Well, okay, he had one idea, but that was only because of one night. Even then he's still not sure it was you who he saw on the-

["Master Y/n? Are you alright?"]

Jason's thought process was cut off by a sudden voice. He immediately recognized it as Alfred's, and a realization hit him. Right! He should look for Alfred first, he'd know where you are. Alfred practically knew everything about everyone in the Manor, so he'd lnow something for sure.

So, he followed the sound until he stood in the doorway of one of the lounges. The television was on and playing some kind of recording, but Jason paid no mind to it.

Confused, Jason called out, "Alfred?"

When he didn't receive a response, he huffed as his eyes drifted to the television. What was playing, anyway?

You — a smaller, younger version of you — stood in a door way, looking out in the hall before turning back to the camera. Big, innocent eyes looking up. Looking at Jason.

You couldn't have been no older than eight or nine.

[You gave a little nod with a small hum, "I'm okay, Alfred. Just... waiting, like you said."]

A small, soft huff could be heard from the other end of the camera, and the camera moved to be placed down a counter of some kind. Which revealed Alfred to be the one having been recording everything so far.

["Yes, well. How about we do a little something while we wait, hm?" Alfred asked, moving a stool closer to the counter — moving the camera again to be placed on the kitchen isle this time.]

Ingredients and tools used for baking could be seem on the counter. The stool Alfred had place was next to where he was standing, and a good distance away from the stove.

[You looked at Alfred curiously, "What are we going to do?"]

["Oh, nothing too much, Master Y/n. But... I do require a bit of assistance baking this cake, that is if you'd like to help, of course." Alfred patted the top of the stool as he spoke, "Though you can always just watch, if you'd like."]

[You perked up at what Alfred said, climbing up onto the stool enthusiastically with a smile. "I wanna help!" You exclaimed, looking over the ingredients before looking back at Alfred, "But... what cake are we making?"]

[Alfred hummed, pretending to think before be looked back down at you, "Well, what kind of cake would you like, Master Y/n? It is your birthday after all."]

["Really?" When Alfred nodded, you gasped excitedly before suggesting your favorite flavor at the time.]

["Well then, let's get started, shall we?"]

From there, the rest of the recording was of you and Alfred baking. With Alfred helping you when he had to, and laughing lightly when you would inevitably make a mess.

Laughs and jokes were exchanged, and it was probably the happiest Jason has ever seen you... which made him feel weird in a way. He didn't like it, not one bit, and yet he continued to watch the old, wholesome memory play out before him.

Jason watched as you got a bit of flour on your nose and how Alfred wiped it off. He watched as while Alfred was deciding on the shape of the cake, you gathered all the different colors and types of sprinkles you could find, and was looking at a particular color of food coloring. How you nearly fell trying to grab the food coloring, and how Alfred just narrowly managed to catch you. How after that, Alfred visibly recovered from the near heart attack he had gotten from watching you fall, and just watched you add the food coloring to the frosting after you had thanked him for catching you, and apologized for falling.

... It got Jason thinking, if only a little bit.

He didn't know much about you, not really anyway. Even if his visits were few and far inbetween, not to mention incredibly short, someone would think that he'd catch onto a few things about you, or just generally have more interactions with you, but he didn't. All he really knew was that you knew how to play the violin really well, but that was assuming that who he saw that night really was you. Even if he doesn't know who else it'd be.

Jason still remembered that one occurrence despite how long it's been since then... but that was for a different time. He had to focus now, but he still couldn't help but watch the little version of you trying to frost the cake without being too messy, but failing miserably.

It did get him thinking about how many small moments he had missed with you, and just... how little time he had actually spent around you.

Obviously, you weren't a little kid anymore. After all, the last time he remembered seeing you — you were already a teenager. Though was that really a good thing? Jason did remember having some kind of interaction with you in the past... but it wasn't much of anything, and even then he probably forgot half of those moments. What definitely didn't help is that you both didn't have each other's phone numbers, and the only form of communication you had was seeing each other in person.

.... Okay, maybe this whole 'finding you' thing was definitely a lot harder than Jason had originally thought.

["... Are they going to come, Alfred?" You asked, sitting in front of the cake you and Alfred had just made together, looking up at the camera that Alfred was holding once again.]

[Alfred didn't respond right away, but did eventually say, "I'm afraid not, Master Y/n, but if you'd like we could wait a little longer."]

[You shook your head, looking at the cake before looking back at the camera, "It's okay. We can blow out the candles now, but..." you hesitated, looking down at the table, "could you... stay with me? Please?" You looked away, embrassed for asking but didn't take back what you said.]

[Again, a soft huff came from the other end of the camera. "Of course, Master Y/n."]

After a short happy birthday song, the camera was placed down on the table as Alfred cut the cake. It was only after Alfred had given both you and himself a slice did the footage cut out.

Nothing could describe the face you made when Alfred said that no one was coming. Just like how Jason couldn't even begin to describe what it made him feel.

Even when a new recording started, he could hardly pay attention to it as all he saw was your face staring up at the camera. Expression not necessarily sad or upset, but it was easily the most heartbreaking thing Jason had ever seen. A kid shouldn't have a face like that. You shouldn't have a face like that.

Jason was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even notice Cassandra trying to get his attention, nor did he feel her even pull on his sleeve. All he could think of was you, sitting at that table all by yourself. Alone.

He just turned the other way, practically stomping down the hall as he looked straight ahead, glaring.

He had to find you. Now.

Cass, on the other hand, was just confused. Watching as Jason stormed off before looking back at the recording that was playing on the television. What about it had made Jason sp upset? She didn't know, but she was a bit curious.

Bruce had already confronted her and asked her where you were, and of course she didn't know either. He did mention something about how Damian was trying to help a little, which was a surprise in itself, and how Jason might be trying to search for you too, and had asked her if she could do the same. She agreed, of course, just wanting to help out, but having run into Jason just now? That was... odd. Especially when he suddenly stormed off like that, but that wasn't her main focus right now. She still had to-

["Are you still trying to record this, Alfred?"]

Wait... was that your voice?

Cassandra turned back to the television, only to see the camera pointed towards the floor.

["Of course, Master Y/n. Just give me one moment, I almost have the camera set up."]

Oh, Alfred was there too? What was going on?

[Light laughter was heard before you spoke again, "Here, let me help you."]

The camera began to move, and as it paned up, there you were. A soft smile on your face, shining colored hues looking at the camera as you made a few more adjustments before stepping away.

Now, you definitely looked like a teenager or young adult. Voice more matured and settled, almost calm in a way.

["There. That should be good, what do you think?" You asked Alfred, tilting your head to the side a bit, most likely looking at the butler.]

["I have to agree, Master Y/n. Everything should be working properly." Alfred then came into frame, moving towards the counter as you moved around the kitchen isle to follow him. "Now, what is it that you wanted to make this year?"]

["Oh! Right, well..." and you told him, already grabbing a few necessarily ingredients from around the kitchen.]

It wasn't long before the two of you started baking again, but this time around you were clearly more experienced than your younger self — not that Cass was aware of that anyway. You both did your own parts, working exceedingly well together as the conversation between the two of you was nothing but natural.

Cass never saw you talk so naturally, or even knew you could bake, but there were a lot of things she didn't know about you.

She could see that in the footage, you were really relaxed and happy. Almost at ease as you skillfully moved about, as if knowing the necessary steps to make what you were hoping to bake by heart, and how you navigated the kitchen made it look as if you almost knew it as well as Alfred did. It was almost refreshing to see you just be so... in tune with your surroundings, and Cass almost wished she had been there to see you bake for herself. Though she could settle watching footage of you bake for now.

Even if she didn't know why you were even baking in the first place until Alfred mentioned something about a gift for your Birthday, and how that led you to talking about some of the things your friends had given you.

This was... your birthday? Just you and Alfred?

That didn't feel right... but then again, she didn't even know when your birthday was to begin with — and now that she thinks about, had you ever celebrated Christmas with everyone? As a whole family?

... She wasn't sure.

["Are you certain that you don't want to wait, Master Y/n? You never know, someone could show up this time." Alfred asked, looking at you with slight concern.]

[You only smiled, "I'm sure. Besides, even if any of them did come, we both know that it'd be on accident." You laughed lightly to yourself, looking down at the pastry both you and Alfred had made together. "I doubt they even know when my birthday is, but that's okay." You looked back at Alfred, your smile still happy but... there was something off with it.]

["I've told you before, haven't I? You're all the company I need in this house. I'm happy just spending my birthdays like this with you." You took a piece of the pastry and ripped it off before holding it in the air, as if doing a toast, and held it toward Alfred. "So, happy birthday to me?"]

[Alfred sighed softly, but could only smile as he took his own piece of the pastry, copying your actions as he held the piece toward you, "Happy birthday, Master Y/n."]

The footage cut right after, and suddenly Cass found herself in a similar position that Jason had been in just a few moments ago. Just staring at the screen, unsure what to do with this new information, the weight on her chest growing.

Had you really spent every birthday like that? If so... then why didn't you tell anyone? Or had you tried, only for nothing to come of it?

The thought alone hurt, strangely enough, and all Cass wanted to do was... well. She wasn't sure.

She wanted to do so many things, and yet she didn't know if anything would work. Or if anything she could do would fix... well, anything at all.

She wanted to try your baking and... and celebrate a birthday with you. Or maybe she just felt obligated to do so after having seen the recording, but a big part of her did mean it. Especially because she didn't want you to feel alone or anything ever again, not after seeing the extent it went to. Though perhaps there was some irony in that thought that Cass failed to realize.

Regardless, Cass found herself walking off too. Completely missing the figure who turned off the television, and unplugged the camera from it that held all of the footage both her and Jason were shown.

Cass was practically speed walking as she checked the library — remembering have seen glimpses of you in there before — while Jason checked the music room, only for both to turn up equally empty. Yet they kept looking. Everyone did.

Dick tried calling and texting you while trying to see if there was anywhere you could be outside of the Manor. Tim ended up helping as he ran into Dick, and was basically locating and tracking down all the places you've been to with the help of your notebooks and awards in your room. All the while listening to some very earlier pieces you've wrote and played on the mp3 player he found in your box.

Bruce was still looking all over the Manor for you, each minute that passed making him more paranoid and worried. What started as a small possibility was growing into a certainty and he did not enjoy that at all. Damian had decided to search for Alfred, since it seemed like the smartest choice if they wanted to end this quickly. Yet when he did find Alfred and asked him where you were, it turned out that Alfred didn't know where you were either.

While yes, he did know some of the teachers and coaches you've had in the past, he didn't know where you were at this exact moment. How could that be? It was simple, really.

Alfred hadn't seen you in a while either, and once that little piece of information spread around the family... what followed after could only be described as chaos.

The Manor was practically flipped upside down as Bruce, Damian, Jason, and Cass searched for you. Not a single room went unchecked, and when they still came out empty handed, their own worries began to fuel each others.

Dick was the first one to suit up and head out, already calling Barbara as night fell on Gotham, with Tim beginning to suit up — yet Jason had beat him to the punch and was out the second the Manor was cleared. Cass was next to follow, with Bruce and Damian not following too far behind. Tim only left after informing Stephanie — and after downloading some of your songs — and telling Alfred to keep a look out just in case you came back home.

In just a few hours, what started as an unusually uneventful and calm, quiet day for the family, quickly turned into one of the most panicked induced searches and painful night of their lives.

All because of you.

---------

You were tuning your guitar calmly, tapping your foot to the melody playing in your head as you hummed. The silence surrounding you was peaceful for a chance, and didn't feel suffocating or as unnerving as the silence in the Manor did.

Honestly, it took a bit of getting used to but after a few weeks you had grown to love it. Waking up everyday and having someone there to not only greet you, but actually acknowledge you also took a bit of getting used to, but you managed much more easily with that.

Sure, there were other things as well, but you eased into it and had come to accept these small things as just parts of your new life. Yet, you still found yourself appreciating and noticing the smallest things, and almost crying over them too.

It had been a few months since you had left the Manor, and honestly you couldn't be happier.

You now shared an apartment with one of your closets friends, and your career helped you cover your half of the rent, as well as other expenses. You had truly found comfort with this new lifestyle, and even if you'd like to move out of Gotham one day — you could settle for this for now.

This, you believed, was what peace truly felt like.

Even when your phone started to go off like crazy — you just took one look at who it was and rolled your eyes, putting your phone on silent as you placed it face down on the table in front of you. You didn't know what Dick and Tim needed so badly, but you were sure they'd be able to figure it out themselves. After all, they were the sons of the world's greatest detective, right? They could handle themselves.

So you just leaned back into your couch, sighing softly as you mindlessly strummed away at your guitar, smiling a little to yourself when the tune was just right. Creating a melody came all too naturally to you, and all you did was carry it on — humming softly as countless ideas filled your head. A small song beginning to form, even if unintentionally.

A song that went on — with the suffering of Gotham going on in the background. The city being cleared out and searched by the vigilantes that dared to protect it, all of it being done just to look for one person. You.

The shouts and screams served as the base, with the shattering of glass and bones being the lower kick, perhaps. The heart beat serving as the tempo, and so on.

So, just as you had years ago, you played on. Calm and happy in your own little world, unaware of the horrors to come — and destruction being made in your name.

–––––

Well, that's long, isn't it?

Might be making a another post that kind of details what some of the others did before everything went to hell? We'll see. Maybe.

Sorry again for any mistakes, especially towards the halfway point/end there.

#platonic yandere batfam #yandere batman #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere x gn reader #gn reader #platonic yandere #honestly this is probably the longest post i've ever made

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angelltheninth · 1 year

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Lust at First Sight with Star Rail Men

Pairing: Dan Heng, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Sampo, Welt x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, lust, enemies to lovers (sort of), teasing, one time thing, hallway sex, wall sex, rough sex, gentle sex, fast and sloppy, no protection

A/N: I have something similar just for Sampo but I wanted to bring you this too.

Dan Heng almost never succumbs to anyone's charms at first sight. The fact that he wanted to fuck you so hard only hours after meeting you really scrambled his ability to keep calm around you. Not in the way where he's flustered or tongue tied but more in the desire filled way his hands did away with your clothing and he had you naked under him, his cock hard and ready to give you a night you'll never forget, but a night that might not repeat again so soon. So enjoy every thrust, every brush of his lips against your skin, the way his icy eyes look down at you and the way his cheeks have just a hint of pink in them as he pulls out last second to avoid any incidents. He also didn't expect that he'd be willing to help you clean up, to even kiss your hand in farewell and wish you well until you see each other again.

"What is it about you I wonder, that drew me to you like this? So much desire all releasing to the surface when I looked at you, when I'm still looking at you and how breathtaking you look when you have my entire cock inside you. I'd like to do this again, to see what makes you special of course."

Gepard is really shy about the fact that he's letting his lust get the better of him and rule him so completely. He should be stronger then this but alas he can't bring himself to stop moaning in your ear as you rock on his cock, back and forth while he has great trouble getting you into his quarters. He can barely focus with you squeezing around his cock and you know it, you know that you have the power to bring the captain of the Silvermane Guards to heel just by whispering a few sweet words into his ear. A dangerous power indeed, he better keep a good eye on you from now on. For the safety of the public of course, who know what you might get up with those charms of yours. No, no, you're better off here, riding him for all that he's worth, having your ass squeezed by his trembling hands, his eyes burning into yours as he feels you come undone on top of him.

"You should be careful darling, that mouth you have on you is dangerous to many if used in the right way. I'm not just talking about what you did to my cock earlier either. You've seen sides of me that no one else has, imagine what the people would think if they knew their Captain was so weak to temptation. This has to stay a secret alright? In return I give you my word, you can have my cock as much as you need.

Jing Yuan is no stranger to lust at first sight, he's had many in his bed on a whim and it always worked out quite well for him. You're no different, acting all though but folding even in the hallway, presenting yourself and spreading your legs and pussy open for him to take in the open. You have no shame, which he likes. And since you're being so nice to offer he won't refuse. It takes a little to get used to someone his size and girth but being split open by his cock is a thought that scares you for only a moment before hooks his arms under your knees and heaves you up, fucking his cock up in your pussy, making you lean your hands against the wall for support as your mind slowly goes black in the midst of his hard, fast, deep strokes and his balls constantly slapping against you.

"I have to say I am quite impressed. For someone so... well non-intimating looking you have a lot of bite, a even more bravery. So willing to take me, barely a whimper from you as I push inside. Would you been willing to warm my bed for more then just tonight, we could have a lot of fun together, you and I."

Sampo had every intention of making quick work of you. Just another enemy on his path, a wanna be, someone to be humiliated and left in the dust, if not blood. It turned out that you weren't going down so easily, well you were but not in the way he was expecting. Perhaps you are easy, and easy cockslut that is. Is that how you killed your targets, giving them pleasure and then death? An effective tactic but it won't work if he leaves you so exhausted that you pass out from the sheer force of your orgasms, one after another until you killing him is the last thing on your mind. He didn't realize he damned himself as well, you felt too good to just fuck and leave, in fact you swore you started seeing him more and more on missions, and it always ended the same way, the two of you competing to see who can make the other come faster, harder and more frequently.

"How many does that make? Two to three? I owe you one then. Ha! So cocky when just a minute ago you were choking on your words and milking my balls dry. You think you can win this? Fine, another round then, turn over, lets see who wins."

Welt is hesitant to get involved despite his desires only because he wants to avoid either of you catching feelings. He does not have the time for a relationship right now. A one night stand is fine but it really will be only once and only when masturbation isn't doing it for him anymore. Then and only then he will invite you into his bed, treat you like he would a lover, coo and whisper against your skin as he pushes his cock into your hole bit by bit, relishing in the tight warmth of your pussy. Because this is only for a night he makes sure that its filled with as much pleasure as possible, drawing one orgasm out of you after another and making damn sure to pull out every time, and release onto your beautiful body that he will ingraine in his memory and his dreams.

"There's no need to by coy about this, we're both adults here, we can... control ourselves when we see each other again. Yes, I admit that it will be hard not to think of how well you took my cock tonight, however I will always try to maintain professionalism if you can. So what if you can't? Then I suppose we need to lay down some rules don't we?"

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peachesofteal · 3 months

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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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celeryb1tch · 1 month

Text

spencer reid x student!reader

18+! this post contains nsfw content

when spencer gets home from work he finds that you haven’t finished your essay, so he tries to ease your mind.

content: lots of pet names, fem!reader, you’re getting an arts degree lol, age gap but not too intense since this is early-ish seasons spencer, slight degradation at the end, reader orgasm, oral and fingering (r! receives), overstim, forced orgasm.

(i’m literally gay but i’ve been so delusional and in love with this fictional man lately i had to write something to get it out of my system!!!)

—

when your boyfriend came home from work, tie loose and satchel abandoned on the kitchen counter, you felt a wave of embarrassment flush you. you were still working on the same essay you had been last night; the one spencer made you promise you’d finish today.

“how is my pretty girl?” he asked, laying back beside you on the couch. when he leaned over to kiss you chastely, your stomach churned and you shut your laptop quickly.

you could feel hot tears start to pool in your eyes, biting back the sob you so desperately needed to get out. spencer took one look at your face and sighed, wrapping an arm around you.

“oh, baby. you didn’t finish it?”

“i tried!” you protested, your eyes squeezed shut to avoid seeing his disappointed face. “please don’t be mad at me.”

spencer’s gentle hand cupped your cheek, running his thumb across it lightly. “look at me, angel. i’m not mad.”

the floodgates opened when you finally dared to look at him, seeing his mouth pressed in a flattened line. tears streaked your face and it only added to the embarrassment. your boyfriend was a capable man, and here you were crying because you couldn’t finish a stupid essay before he got home from his 9-to-5.

he tried to hold you closer, but you struggled against him. you didn’t deserve his comfort or his sympathy. he settled for running his free hand through your hair soothingly. “hey, just talk to me. what went wrong, can i help?”

you shook your head, fighting through a hiccupped sob to answer. “i couldn’t find the last source i need. i was sifting through articles for like four hours, and i just gave up.”

ever the problem solver, spencer smiled down at you softly. “okay, let me take a look. you know i have fairly good research skills, they’re kinda required for my job.”

“you don’t get it!” you huffed, frustration evident in your voice. “you go to work all day and i can’t even find one source. one! i shouldn’t need your help for everything.”

recognition flashed in his eyes, and then he really pulled you in. it was useless to relent, you could feel the determination in his touch. he shushed you softly, one hand wrapped around you firmly while the other drew patterns on your back. when your breaths slowed and your sobs subsided, he pulled back to hold you at arms’ length. “baby, you are one of the smartest people i know.”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, and spencer grabbed your chin to ensure you couldn’t look away.

“i wouldn’t lie. no one i know is as sensitive as you are, as empathetic and in touch with their emotions. that’s what makes you so good at this program. i certainly couldn’t complete your degree.”

and you knew how bad at concealing the truth your boyfriend was, so reluctantly you believed him. “thank you,” you just about whispered.

his eyes cast pure adoration on you, even as your tear-stained cheeks were red and raw. “your incredible brain is one of the reasons i fell in love with you. so if you can’t find anything, there must be a reason. could you please just let me take a look?”

spencer had indisputably won you over, one arm still holding you to his side as he opened your laptop on his own lap. you relaxed into him, head pressed to his chest where you could hear his heart beating perfectly. with a hum, he scanned your tabs in a matter of seconds, scrolling to the bottom of the search result page at a speed the computer could barely keep up with. “i know what it is, but you’re not going to be happy.”

lifting your head, you squinted at your boyfriend inquisitively.

“you were typing the date wrong, honey. the last two numbers were flipped.”

you felt that feeling of incapability rush through you again, your eyes stinging in preparation to cry. but spencer was right there to prevent you from shutting down, hand on your head passing slow strokes in comfort.

his lips hitched into a small sympathetic smile when he looked down at you. “my poor girl, worked yourself up so hard your brain stopped working. too much essay writing this week.”

and of course, he was right. you’d been running yourself ragged recently trying to keep up with deadlines, not to mention the extra work you’d taken on early to prevent overwhelm for finals. when you’d told him your plan, spencer had advised against it. he didn’t want you sacrificing your sanity now for a bit more time with your boyfriend in a few months. but never not supportive, he relented and instead helped you draft a schedule to complete everything.

you couldn’t feel too stupid with spencer’s sweet voice telling you that you weren’t. “it’s not even due until next week, remember? i just wanted you to finish it tonight so i could take you out to dinner,” he confided sheepishly. “you’ve been working so hard, i wanted to reward you.”

despite knowing it was physically impossible (as spencer reminded you often), you could feel your heart swell from the overwhelming love you felt for your boyfriend. you pecked kisses all over his face incessantly until he swatted you away, blushing crimson from the unexpected affection. “okay, where are we going?”

spencer hummed mischievously in faux thought, tucking your wild hairs back from your face. “you didn’t finish your essay, so i actually think it’s only fair to punish you. at least before i take you out anyway.”

a heat bloomed in you, both in your cheeks and between your legs. it was rare that your boyfriend was anything but tooth-achingly sweet with you, saving his more dominant side for certain circumstances. apparently this was one of them. “oh, really? how are you gonna punish me, sir?”

he pulled you into his lap, mouth finding your neck immediately. “if you’re going to be stupid, i might as well treat you like you are. i know how much you like it when i call you a dumb slut, despite the fact that we’re both aware of how intelligent you are.”

your core ached with need, fluttering at his words. “that’s kinda fucked up, huh? i shouldn’t want that.”

“actually, it’s fairly common, especially for women with a high amount of stress in their everyday lives. most people enjoy some form of degradation and or praise when having sex.”

“spencer,” you groaned. his beautiful brain always had to get in the way of the fun, not that you seriously minded.

he smiled, pressing his lips to yours again. “sorry, baby. yes, it makes you a very naughty girl.”

despite the pure love in his eyes and his touch, you felt a pang of arousal when he degraded you. it felt good to be demeaned by someone who thought so highly of you. so you let him pin you against the couch, clothes long forgotten, and relished in his nasty words as he sunk to his knees before you.

your laptop was somewhere on the ground, still open to that unfinished document. but it was the last thing on your mind when you felt spencer’s mouth trailing down your front. his fingers hooked your panties, pulling them down with a string of arousal attached. “fuck,” he grumbled. “you are a little slut, aren’t you?”

you struggled to respond as his fingers passed through your folds, thumb toying with your clit lightly. “mhm, yours.”

“that’s right, baby.” all of the showy dominance dropped for a second when he smiled up at you, that familiar twinkle of passion in his eyes. and then he ate you out.

all you could do was grip the bedsheets, small whines leaving you each time he ran his tongue roughly up your clit. he’d take a moment to kiss your inner thighs, slipping two fingers inside to hit that sweet spot when he wasn’t lavishing it with his mouth. it wasn’t long before you were on the edge, feeling the knot snap in your stomach. with a start, you gasped through your orgasm, spencer’s hand finding yours to soothingly stroke his thumb across your knuckles. but as your breaths slowed, he didn’t.

“spence, i’m done,” you panted, hand gripping his hair.

“no you’re not.”

with a roll of your eyes, you tried to pull your hips away to no avail. his fingers were still pumping into you at a relentless pace. his head raised to meet your eyes, slick across his lips. he looked wild like this, disheveled, so different from your normal boyfriend, who was almost too sweet for his own good. “i told you this was a punishment.”

even knelt between your legs, this spencer was in complete control. his gaze was locked on yours, watching every tiny movement when he skimmed his thumb across your clit again. your core reignited when you realized what was going on. he was going to force you to cum again.

“please, too much” you whined, free hand pushing the top of his head away in a superficial effort. you couldn’t think properly with the intensity of the overstimulation.

spencer licked his lips, voice gravelly in a tone it only reached when he was purely aroused. “you can take it, honey. i know you can be a good girl for me. don’t you wanna be good?”

you nodded silently. there wasn’t much you could do but let him fuck you stupid.

“that’s it. gonna make you dumb, yeah? i’m gonna fuck you until you can’t think.” his head dipped down, resuming his wet, sloppy kisses to your clit. and with the combined effects of his words and actions, you were cumming again quickly.

you were unabashedly moaning now, jaw slacked open and eyes screwed shut. you were far past the point of caring what you looked like to the man furiously devouring you between your legs. your hand gripped his tighter, feeling his fingers pound a bit harder in acknowledgment.

your second orgasm felt like being catapulted into the atmosphere. it was sharper, practically knocking the air from your lungs. it took you a few moments to stop panting.

spencer grinned up at you, a sight for sore eyes in your clouded vision. “thinking about anything, baby?” he asked. and when he only received a small shake of your head, “good.”

his mouth returned to your core, soft kitten licks causing you to twitch and wince away. he squeezed your hand firmly, giving you a stern look. “only cleaning you up this time, promise.”

once you weren’t dripping arousal down your thighs, spencer pulled you onto him when he sat back down on the couch. all you could focus on were his warm, strong hands tracing sequences on your skin. he loved to imagine binary code, mapping it out on you because he knew the motion calmed you down.

you were barely conscious, brain buzzing like tv static in the post-sex bliss. you heard spencer chuckle to himself before saying, “so i think we’re getting takeout.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #molly’s!#spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid smut

701 notes · View notes

mandarinmoons · 1 month

Note

Hi! So what about BAU!Reader and Spencer are fresh into their relationship. Like weeks into it. Reader is just as shy and nerdy as Spencer was in early seasons. (This can be any season of Spencer) anyways it’s Spencer’s birthday and Spencer begs reader to not buy anything for him so instead she knits him a replica of Dr. Who scarf because she remembers him mentioning to Garcia he was trying to find the perfect replica for his Dr. Who cosplay (7x23 when Garcia and Spencer go to that convention) so reader, who never watched it before, watches the entire series while knitting the scarf bc she knows how much Spencer loves Dr. Who and she wanted to understand his interests more. Maybe she makes herself a matching scarf or hand warmers in the process. And then she’s like “I have a ton of questions about the series though” and pulls out a notebook of her questions as she’s asking them Spencer realizes she’s THE ONE and it’s all just fluff and two nerds in love 🥰

I've never consumed any content about Doctor Who so I'm sorry if this is a bit vague BUT the idea was so cute so I had to give it a shot x

You and Spencer were both nerds, it’s what drew you two together and keeps you both joined at the hip. Even though you two had been together for less than eight weeks, both of you had your eyes on one another for a good while. When mutual feelings were finally admitted the only thing different from before was that you got to hold hands and kiss each other on the cheek comfortably without having to worry if it’ll make the other person uncomfortable.

Spencer’s birthday was coming up and with Spencer being the way that he is, he was adamant about not letting you splurge on his big day. You were a bit annoyed by it because a part of you did want to go out and treat your special boy the way he deserved to be treated. However, you did not want to argue with him so you decided to get a bit creative.

Long before the relationship had been established, Spencer had talked about how he was searching for a replica of the Doctor Who scarf for his cosplay. Knitting was something you had learned before, although it had been quite a few years since you last picked it up, you decided to try it out again and hopefully make Spencer’s face gleam with joy.

After digging out your old knitting needles and yarn you looked up some tutorials online to familiarize yourself with your old hobbie. A few hours and some messy pathworks later, you managed to remind yourself of how everything went down and began work on the scarf. Luckily the pattern wasn’t difficult at all and as you began working away you thought about looking up the show and getting a feel for what Spencer talks about all the time.

After many weeks and countless trips to the store to get more yarn the scarf was finished and you were both excited and nervous to hand it over to Spencer. A million thoughts ran in your head as he undid the bow on the carefully packed present and removed the scarf from the paper, his eyes went wide and he was speechless for a whole minute.

“Y/N, how did you…”

“Surprise?” you chuckled and Spencer was still speechless, he ran his thumbs over the carefully knitted garment. He wrapped it over his neck and walked over to the mirror to have a closer look, his heart was melting over how you took so much time and effort to make him this. He walked over to you and placed his arms around you in a bone crushing hug which only made you laugh.

“I’m so glad you like it.”

“Like it? That doesn’t even come close to how I feel about it, I love it.”

Spencer held your cheeks as he kissed you and as you parted a thought came to your mind.

“Oh also, I watched a bit of the show!”

“Really? Did you like it?”

“Mhm, I have a few questions though, firstly…”

As you went on about your questions regarding the show Spencer stared at you while a smile crept on his face. He loved how you took interest in anything he was fascinated in, and in return he would do it with your interests as well, it was one of the ways you both showed love to one another.

Spencer guided you back to the couch, pulling you to his lap as he cleared his throat and explaining the questions you just layed out for him. You looked up at him and nodded along as he got into the topic and you were reminded of one of the reasons why you fell for him in the first place, his passion, and that same passion grew now that he had someone like you in his life.

Taglist: @radioactiveinvisible @whoisspence @sreidisms @lanascinnamongirls @luvkatryna @sp3ncelle @iluvreid @khxna @keiva1000 @reidstheyfriend @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden

If you want to be a part of my taglist go here!

You can find my masterlist here!

My requests are open so feel free to send one in! (SFW only)

451 notes · View notes

captainfern · 8 months

Note

MARIGOLD PREQUELLLLLLLLLLLLLL 🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌

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Marigold - Prequel

dbf!Captain John Price x fem!reader

[“Marigold” by Nirvana]

[18+]

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• summary - where it all began with you and price, your dad's best friend. oh and the first time you fuck lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 6.9k [hehe] • warnings - fem!reader, dad’sbestfriend!price, age gap [whatever you want it to be as long as it's legal lmao], f!masturbation, m!masturbation, unprotected piv, soft!price/gentle!price, oral [f!&m!receiving], PRAISE, breeding kink?, strong language

thank you all for the support on this little series that's also not really a series lol. lots of luv <3

unedited but enjoy anyway lol

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In all seriousness, you had rats to thank for starting you and Price's relationship.

No, seriously.

Rats.

"Honey, you remember my mate John, don't you?" Your dad asked one evening as the two of you settled in for dinner.

You looked up from your plate of food, fork suspended half-way to your mouth.

"Price?" You queried, before sticking the forkful of food in your mouth and chewing thoughtfully as your dad replied with a nod.

"Yeah, Price," your dad said. "He's going to be staying with us for a few days while his house gets bombed."

You blinked, shocked. "...bombed?"

Your dad laughed. "Not actually bombed. Pest-bombed. Over his last deployment, rats got into his cupboards and ripped the place up, so it'll be a week of exterminators and contractors until his house's back to normal."

You put another forkful of your dinner into your mouth.

Price had been your dad's best mate since, like, forever. They had served together in the military, and remained in contact even when your dad retired when you were young. You remember seeing Price a lot when you were younger, but after your dad's retirement, the time they spent together got less and less.

Embarrassingly, you remember the last time you had a good look at him and you realised that, oh my god, he's hot. Not long ago, a year or so maybe, when he popped around for your dad's birthday in between deployments. He was polite to you, and nice, but you couldn't help but stare.

His muscular back, strong shoulders, forearms lined with veins. He was fresh out of a deployment with dishevelled hair and a scruffy beard and you just couldn't help but feel a little warm.

But it was a crush. Something stupid, anyway.

"Why's he staying here?" You asked. "Why not just stay at a hotel or something?"

"I invited him," your dad told you. "It'd be nice for us to catch up, anyway. And it'll be good for him to relax before he has to head back to work."

You accepted that answer. Your dad deserved to spend some time with his old friend, and it wouldn't make sense to challenge that. So, after dinner and once you'd helped your dad with the dishes, you both worked together to set up the guest room.

A couple of hours later, the doorbell rung.

You were lounging on the couch, some trashy reality show echoing around the living room. Your dad got off the couch and headed out into the hall, opening the front door.

You knew who it was going to be, so you weren't surprised hearing your dads excitable chatter as he greeted his old friend and welcomed him into the house. You listened as, after a few minutes, their footsteps drew into the living room, and you made the effort to pause the show you were watching and cast your eyes across the room.

"Say hi to Price, honey." Your dad smiled, gesturing to the man beside him.

You smiled, offering a small wave. "Hi, Price."

Holy fuck.

It had been about a year since you had seen Captain John Price in person and oh my god. He was still attractive. So much so that butterflies began fluttering around in your stomach, and you felt your body growing hot beneath his gaze.

He was still as fit as ever. Military-style fit, too. Strong shoulders and arms, lean torso, strong legs too. Big hands enclosed around the handles of two black duffel bags. He wore a beanie, and his facial hair was, like you remembered, a bit on the messier-side. You wondered whether he'd shave it, or clean it up tomorrow.

Then, he greeted you with your name. A deep voice, all rich and warm like the cigar smoke and cologne he smelt of. Your name on his tongue made your stomach pinch with some kind of giddy nerves. It sounded nice. He smelt nice, too. He looked nice.

Holy fuck.

Did... did you fancy your dad's best friend?

You physically shook your head to yourself as you looked away and your dad led Price upstairs. A stupid crush, that's all. You stared blankly at the TV, not even resuming your show. You just stared at the paused frame of blurred colours, your mind running away from you.

And you didn't know if you'd be able to catch it.

•º•

The next morning, you and your dad were both up early for work. You ate breakfast at the table, scrolling tiredly through your phone like you usually did until the sleepiness left your system.

Your dad was humming to himself in the kitchen, fixing himself a cup of tea and his second lot of toast (the first lot he had burnt).

The stairs creaked in the early morning silence, and both you and your dad looked up as Price appeared in the doorway of the kitchen in– oh my fucking god– no shirt.

He'd trimmed his facial hair, too. It was neat against his cheeks and above his full lips, and you couldn't help but imagine what it'd feel like–

No. Stop it.

He greeted your dad, then looked momentarily surprised to see you sitting at the table. He bid you good morning, then loitered uneasily in the doorway, eyes flicking to your dad.

"Sorry, d'you want me to put on a shirt?" Price chuckled, and your dad laughed back, shaking his head.

"Nah, mate, you're all right. Half the time I'm walking around here with no shirt on anyway, so she won't mind, will you, honey?" Your dad turned to you, and so did Price.

You tried your best to ignore Price, looking directly at your dad.

"I don't care," you said as casually as you could muster. "At least he's not wearing a fluffy pink dressing gown."

Your dad rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Don't make fun of my pyjamas, kid. I got it from Marks and Spencer for about thirty quid."

You shook your head in amusement, sparing a glance at Price as you turned back to your phone. Maybe you shouldn't have, because those stupid butterflies appeared in your stomach again.

You caught a glimpse of his abs, faint but chiselled lines along his abdomen. The brush of hair across his chest, and the happy-trail leading down into the waistband of his flannel pyjamas. His arms were so big too.

Okay, seriously. Stop it.

•º•

You got home from work late that evening, the house dark and curtains open. You did your usual routine, going around the house and pulling the curtains so you could turn on the lights. You paused outside the guest bedroom though, deciding against going in, and instead moving on.

You showered quickly, then moved downstairs. Sometimes, you'd cook dinner for your dad, and that's what you decided to do tonight.

Half way through cooking, ingredients strewn across the kitchen, the front door opened. You were expecting your dad, but when Price walked into the kitchen, you hoped you didn't look too shocked to see him.

"Oh, hi, Price," you greeted. "How's your day been?"

He smiled softly at you. Politely.

"Not bad," he said, sliding into one of the barstools across the kitchen island. "You?"

You shrugged. "Work's shit, but it is what it is."

His smile continued, and he watched you cook for a moment. You were acutely aware of the way his eyes watched you, watched the movement of your hands, the movement of your body around the kitchen, the concentrated expression on your face.

"You like to cook?" He asked you eventually, melodic voice punctuating the borderline unnerving silence.

"I like cooking for my dad," you said. "I mean, I'm no chef, but my dad seems to like it."

Price cocked his head, taking in the range of ingredients that were spread out across the kitchen counter, as well as ingredients splashing along the marble surface.

"You like making a mess, too, by the looks of it." Price said jokingly, gesturing to the various kinds of sauces and baking agents smeared over the countertop.

The sentence was innocent enough, but it made your heart hammer faster for some reason. Maybe it was the smooth baritone of his voice, or the fact Price said it. Either way, the pace of your heart quickened within your ribcage as you bent down to place your creation in the oven.

You stood up once the food was in the oven, brushing your sticky hands across your apron. Price was still looking at you, and he laughed at the state of your apron.

"So messy." He tutted.

Butterflies. Fucking hell.

"It's a new recipe," you said quickly before your body could betray you and render you speechless. "I'm usually not this messy, I promise."

He just hummed curiously at that.

When your dad got home not long later, dinner was ready. You, him and Price sat down for dinner, and your dad was like a growing teenage boy shovelling the food gratefully into his mouth. You wondered how he wasn't burning the roof of his mouth.

"This is great, honey," your dad said through a mouthful of food and you tried not to laugh. "Thanks."

"That's okay," you smiled ruefully. "I'm glad it's at least edible."

Price chimed in. "It's great, sweetheart. You did well."

Sweetheart.

You did well.

"Oh, thanks..." You muttered. Butterflies again.

•º•

The next couple of days were much the same.

The three of you would wake up at relatively the same time, having breakfast together and talking about the day ahead. Then you'd all head off, you and your dad to work, and Price to... well, who knows. Then, you'd get home at the end of the day and, surprisingly energised, you'd cook for your dad and Price.

Price would get home before your dad, by at least an hour. He'd watch you cook, chatting to you about anything and everything you wanted to talk about. He was attentive when you spoke, or when you yammered on about something that made you excited. He'd listen with a smile, asking you questions about your interest that had you spiralling happily again. You somehow almost burnt your pasta the last time you were telling him about your favourite movie.

Then, your dad would get home and you'd all eat dinner. The conversation was pleasant. But most of the time, you sat silently and listened to Price and your dad talk about the, quote, "good old days". Listening to military stories was also on the agenda. Not that you minded. It was nice seeing your dad happy.

After dinner, you'd do the dishes. Price offered to take over, and you refused. He struck a deal though, your dad helping too, and the three of you made it a military-style regime to wash the dishes and get them away in record speed. You laughed at the goofiness of it all, and how Price ordered your dad around. Your dad would salute and march around the kitchen with a stack of plates in his hands, making you and Price laugh.

But it was nighttime where things differed.

You'd say goodnight to Price and your dad. Sometimes, they were still awake in the living room, or maybe in the kitchen. Other times, they'd retired long before you. Either way, you'd find yourself beneath the covers of your bed, the silence of the night drowning you.

Of the almost four nights Price had stayed, you'd gone to sleep with him on your mind each time. Three of those four nights were all fluffy and cozy and warmth-inducing. Images of him in your head, being so nice to you, being so polite. Such a gentleman. It didn't take long to fall asleep with a content smile on your face.

Tonight was the outlier though.

You'd manage to fend off the nighttime bombardment of butterflies on previous nights. But tonight, they returned with a vengeance. Your stomach was swarming with them at each thought of your dad's best friend. Flipping and swooping with nerves, your body growing hot. But with this warmth came an ache that made you scold yourself.

Stop it.

But you couldn't.

Price's handsome face– glimmering eyes, full lips, neatly trimmed facial hair. His body– the abs, the hair, the muscles. Damn.

You whined softly to yourself, the ache in between your legs intensifying, something pulling tight in the base of your tummy.

You just couldn't help it.

Another quiet whine on your lips, you impatiently shoved your hand beneath your pyjamas. Your middle finger made contact with your clit, puffy and swollen with your arousal, and you sucked in a breath when you began to circle it gently.

The relief was almost immediate, the tight feeling in the base of your stomach drawing tighter. Your body hummed with warmth as you sped up the movement of your circles, pleasure creeping through your veins. You probably didn't even need to fuck yourself. Judging by the way your body was reacting, you were close enough with just the attention to your clit. So, so sensitive.

You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip to keep yourself quiet, small moans and airy whimpers caught in the base of your throat. Your skin was becoming dewy with sweat, your legs beginning to shake as your finger pressed and drew shapes across your little bundle of nerves.

In your mind, flashing images of Price. Everything about him, physically and not. His voice, his words–

"So messy."

"You did well."

"Sweetheart."

A desperate whimper fell past your lips, your back arching, clit pressing tighter against your finger, hand beginning to ache. Your thighs trembled, heart-rate spiking as the coil in your stomach balled the tightest it had been all night, before it snapped.

"Price." You whispered into the darkness of your room as you came. It hit you hard, too. Sparks floating behind your eyelids, your entire body trembling against the mattress as your cunt spasmed around nothing, your clit pulsing in time with the beating of your heart.

You came down from your high with a wave of embarrassment crashing over you, and you broke the surface of it with a gasp and a frustrated sigh. You kicked off your blankets, burning up, sticky with sweat.

"Fuck..." You whimpered, eyes suddenly pricking with tears.

Maybe this wasn't just some stupid crush anymore.

•º•

Price heard you that night.

It was an accident.

He couldn't sleep after hours of pacing his room. So he ducked downstairs, grabbed himself a glass of water, and drank it whilst staring into the darkness. After, he rinsed the glass clean and dried it, putting it back in the cupboard, and then making his way back upstairs.

In his efforts of trying to be quiet, he heard you. Creeping past your room, he paused when he heard the soft creaking of your bed and a soft sigh escape beneath the small gap beneath the door. He cursed himself, initially believing he'd woken you up. But the more he listened, the more his cheeks began to heat up, and his cock began to stir in his pyjama pants.

It was wrong.

But you sounded so fucking pretty. Touching yourself, sighing and whimpering, trying so hard to be quiet. He wondered how you were touching yourself, how fucking wet you were.

His chest tightened in shame. What the hell was he doing? His best friend's daughter of all people?!

But he couldn't move. Not when the mattress shifted, the bed frame creaked, and a few more airy whines flew out of your mouth before you were whimpering his name.

His fucking name.

"Price."

He could've come right then and there.

He held out, gritting his teeth and shuffling silently back down the hall and into his room. He closed the door as quietly as he could and found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, taking his cock out of his pyjamas.

Already painfully hard and sensitive, he fucked it in his fist dry at first. The pre-cum dribbling from his slit made the movements glide after a moment, and he was quick to start moaning under his breath. He'd always been good at remaining silent with these types of things. But with you in his head, your whimpers in his head, he was trying desperately and almost failing to keep quiet.

Price stroked his cock, thinking about you. His best friend's daughter. He felt guilty. Dirty.

But it was no match for the feelings of lust and pleasure. He grit his teeth, trapping a moan between his molars as he circled the tip of his cock, more pre pearling at the slit. He imagined it being your pretty cunt, so wet and tight.

He grunted, tightening his grip, and then had to restrict another warbled groan. His balls tightened, stomach quivering as he came in a sudden hot spurt, coating his fingers and thighs. He jerked himself through it until his tip was flushed an angry red and he was on the verge of overstimulation.

"Christ..." He muttered, looking down at the mess he'd made.

He wanted to make a mess of you.

•º•

You didn't make dinner the next night after work. You were too tired, and you knew your dad would be sympathetic. So instead, you opted to have a nice, long shower. And by long, you meant long. You scrubbed yourself clean of the day's extremities, leaving you to smell really, really good.

It was much later by the time you got out, dressing into your pyjamas. You went downstairs. You'd probably just eat some leftovers, or dig something out of the freezer. Entering the kitchen, you were taken aback to see Price sitting at the kitchen island, arms folded along the marble surface. He looked up as you entered.

"Oh, hey, Price." You greeted, heading for the fridge.

His mouth curled into a small grin. "You can call me John, you know."

"Eh," you opened the fridge, your back to him. "I like Price. John make's you sound old."

"Is that so?" He cocked his head at you, watching you dig through the fridge. "Do I look old?"

You threw him a look over your shoulder. "Not really."

"Not really?" He chuckled.

"Mhm. The beard makes you look older."

He stroked his face while you pulled out some leftover pasta, closing the fridge and placing the container on the counter near the microwave.

"I like it, though." You told him with a smile, and your brain didn't quite register what you said until you were beginning to reheat your pasta.

"You like it?"

Fuck.

Damn it.

"It... suits you, yeah." You said shyly, not making eye contact. Your body was growing warm. It might as well have been you in that microwave by the way your skin was heating.

Silence filled the kitchen until the microwave began to beep. You took out your steaming pasta and dropped it noisily on the countertop.

You could feel his eyes on you, and it made your heart race. But it was racing in a good way. The way he looked at you, the way he made you feel, was something you'd never experienced before.

Slowly, you turned to look at him. He was looking at you, eyes soft and deep and warm and everything you wanted. It was like he was waiting for you to speak– waiting for you to open your mouth and tell him everything you wanted too. It's like he knew.

The butterflies were back.

You chewed nervously on your bottom lip, and Price's eyes followed the movement.

"Not making dinner tonight?" He asked you, voice smooth, eyes still on your mouth.

You shook your head. "No... sorry."

"Don't apologise, sweetheart."

You wanted to scream into a pillow or something. Sweetheart? Did he want you to have a fucking heart attack?

"Are you hungry?" You asked.

His eyes flicked up to yours. "Yeah."

You felt guilty. "Did you want me to cook–?"

"No," he said simply. "No, don't worry about that. I don't need food."

You cocked your head and he watched you do so. Confused, you frowned, sucking your bottom lip back into your mouth. Once again, his eyes darted downwards to catch the movement, his eyes flashing.

"Then what do you want?" You asked him, and deep down you already knew. Somehow, you knew what he wanted.

And you wanted it too.

Price got to his feet, casually rounding the kitchen island until he was standing beside you in the kitchen. You turned, your lower back pressed up against the adjacent countertop as he approached you slowly. You craned your neck to look up at him, your heart hurting from how hard it was beating inside you.

"I want you to be honest with me, okay?" He said softly, his voice comforting. "D'you want me to touch you how you touched yourself last night?"

Your entire body was on fire. Every nerve, every blood vessel was blistering hot. Your shame was the gasoline. But your lust was the fucking spark.

You let out a breath, a whine mingling with it. You averted your eyes, looking away. Immediately, a large hand gently took hold of your chin and guided your head back upwards, lightly guiding eye contact.

"It's okay, sweetheart, I promise," he told you in a whisper, the caring look in his eyes soothing the flames within you. "I want you to tell me. I want you to be honest."

For a moment, your lower lip trembled. A mix of embarrassment and arousal was confusing your brain.

You swallowed thickly. "Yes..."

"Yeah? You want me to touch you like you touched yourself? Make you feel good?" He probed, careful not to raise his voice above a whisper. "You want me to take care of you, sweetheart? It's okay, you can tell me."

You nodded. "Yes please."

The hand Price had on your chin moved to cradle the back of your head as he leaned down, his face hovering just above yours. His eyes scanned your features, his other hand moving to hold your waist.

"Can I kiss you?" Price asked, the words brushing over your own lips.

"Yeah..." You whispered, breathless from your impatience.

He smiled, then kissed you. It was so gentle and warm and everything you'd thought about the night before. It wasn't rushed or rough in anyway. He was taking his time– smoothing his lips against yours, cradling your head, slipping his tongue along the seam of your lips. You opened for him, your tongue meeting his, the kiss deepening.

He pressed you further into the countertop and you arched, chest meshing with his. His tongue was solid against yours, and you whined into his mouth, your hands moving to clasp the back of his head, fingers delving into his soft hair.

The hand on your hip pulled your pelvis flush with his. You groaned when you felt him hardening against your lower stomach, and Price pulled out of the kiss with a light squeeze to the back of your head.

"Feel that, sweetheart?" He said breathlessly, leaning himself heavier against you. "Feel how much I want you."

He took your hand in his, letting go of your head. He guided your hand between your bodies, and you took initiative in pressing your palm flat to the front of his jeans. He groaned, head flopping forward to rest on your shoulder. You palmed the solid imprint of his cock, your core throbbing at the muffled grunts eliciting from his throat.

"Price...?" You whispered, and he groaned again.

"Fuck... yeah?"

"I want you."

He groaned for the third time, low and breathy, before he pulled away from you. He grasped your hand, before dragging you out of the kitchen and towards the stairs. You giggled, giddy with excitement, as he led you upstairs.

"Your room or mine?" Price asked, bending down to kiss you again.

You pulled away, and he proceeded to kiss a wet trail down the bare expanse of your neck. "Mine..." You said, backing towards your room and urging him inside.

He closed the door behind you as you flopped onto your bed. You grinned when he followed you, crawling over top of your body and slotting himself against you, kissing you again. He licked into your mouth as you tugged and pulled at his hair.

A minute later, Price was crawling back down your body until he rested between your legs. He took hold of your pyjama pants and pulled them down, discarding them, while you threw your t-shirt off. You unclipped your bra and tossed it across the room when Price hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of your underwear.

He looked up at you. "Is this okay?"

"This is perfect, Price."

He took a deep breath as he pulled your underwear down your legs, so slowly you thought about kicking him. But you didn't. His eyes were transfixed on your core, his mouth agape.

"Christ," he muttered, flinging your underwear away. He ran two fingers slowly up your slit, collecting your arousal, before drawing them into his mouth. He moaned around his fingers. "S'fucking perfect."

You whined as he tucked himself between your legs, his breath fanning over your glistening core.

"Watch me, sweetheart." He told you as he languidly licked a stripe up your slit, before latching his lips around your clit.

Your eyes rolled, but his words forced you to maintain eye contact. You watched his lower face disappear between your legs, his eyes hooded and locked onto yours as he ate you out.

He circled your clit with his tongue, his top teeth brushing lightly against the nerves. Your body jolted, a moan falling out of your mouth, before his tongue was laving over you once more. He then dragged his tongue in a zig-zag motion downwards until he circled your cunt. You whimpered loudly when he pushed his tongue inside you.

He grunted with each movement of his tongue, eyelids threatening to close each time more of your arousal trickled into the back of his throat. Your thighs were warm around his head, squishy against his ears. He couldn't help but grab a fistful of the flesh in his hands, kneading contently as he fucked his tongue into you.

You were on cloud-nine. His tongue was warm and solid inside you, your stomach fluttering with a build-up of pleasure. You reached a hand down, the other balled in your sheets, and grasped his hair, still maintaining eye contact. You moaned, the sound making Price groan into your cunt.

"P-Price, sir, m'gonna come." You told him desperately as your impending climax began warming your body, thighs growing tighter around his head.

The word sir made Price moan into your cunt and redouble his efforts, fucking his tongue into you at a renewed pace that made you sob out his name in pleasure. Your thighs shook against his head, your cunt fluttering around his tongue, arousal dribbling down the sides of his chin.

He was throbbing in his trousers, your noises and taste building his own arousal. His cock twitched painfully in the confines of his boxers and when you came, he almost came with you. Almost.

You came with a whiny "Price", pushing his head further into you. He licked you through it, dragging his tongue out of you once your hole stopped spasming, suctioning your swollen clit back into his mouth. You whimpered curses, pulling at his hair. He conceded, and detached his mouth.

"Feel good, sweetheart?" Price asked, kissing up your body as he crawled back over top of you.

You hummed your agreement, still fizzling down from your high.

After kissing along your breasts, Price slotted his mouth back to yours. You moaned when you tasted yourself on him, his face sticky against yours.

When he pulled back, his pupils were blown. "Tell me what you want, pretty girl."

"Want you." You whimpered, and he kissed you again.

He then stripped himself, discarding his clothes on your floor. When he removed his boxers, you tossed your head back and groaned. His hard cock bobbed up against his abdomen. A slight curve, a prominent vein along the underside, leading to a ruddy tip already leaking pre. You took hold of it, feeling the soft, velvety ridges against your palm.

Price hissed. "Sweetheart–"

"Can I use my mouth?" You asked, slowly starting to stroke his cock.

He groaned, head dropping back as if the words you said struck him across the face. He seemed to contemplate it for a moment, really thinking hard, as his eyes dropped down to yours.

"You don't have t–"

"I want too," you smiled, before you were pushing him off of you and slipping off the bed.

He watched you patiently, situating himself on the edge of the bed and planting his feet on the floor. He parted his legs, allowing you to settle between them. You took hold of his cock again, and his hips twitched, a sound like a whimper being whispered from the depths of his throat.

Price looked down at you, stroking your hair as you worked your hand up and down his length. His eyelids drooped when your fingers neared his tip, and when you worked them around the underside, he whispered your name in a pleasured sigh.

He continued stroking your head and face. "Are you sure you want to do this, sweetheart? You don't h–"

You shut him up by leaning forward and licking a stripe up his cock. He choked on his sentence, hand resting gently on the crown of your head as you licked him from base to tip. You kept one hand around the base of him, pumping as you worked your tongue up the vein on the underside of his cock.

He hummed a moan, something vibrating deep in his chest, primal almost, as he watched you. His eyelids had dropped, his pupils stretched wide, hips twitching each time your tongue skimmed the base of his tip. He was fucking leaking, now, and you wasted no time in cleaning him up.

Retaining eye contact, you wrapped your mouth around the tip and he moaned. A pretty, desperate sound that made your wet core flutter around nothing. You sunk deeper and deeper, taking more of him, until your mouth was stretched wide, your lips pressing against the side of your hand where you squeezed him. Price moaned again, head of his cock nudging the back of your throat. You gagged, pulling up slightly, and he let out a deep grunt.

"Easy, sweetheart, s'alright..." Price dragged out, hand warm on the top of your head.

Saliva dripped from the corners of your mouth in strings, smearing down his length as you brought your head up. You circled your tongue around his head again, swiping against the slit and making his hips buck. You withheld a smile and took him deeper again. You repeated this action a few times, until Price had left that tentative, almost nervous view behind him.

Now, he had a firm but guiding hold on the back of your head, groaning and panting as you sucked his cock. He urged you gently to take more of him, and you eventually removed your hand so more of him slid down your throat. You gagged, and he groaned and pulled back slightly, before repeating the action again anyway.

A hand to your head, he pulled your head all the way back until your lips wrapped around his tip. You looked him in the eyes, tears along your waterline, before he was pushing you back down.

"Yeah, that's my girl," He groaned as you took him all the way to the base. "Fuck, that's my girl. My good girl, baby, fuck."

You whimpered around his cock, the praise making your stomach flip and your cunt ache. Your arousal was physically dripping down the curve of your thighs, and you shivered.

Suddenly, his hips began twitching and his mouth dropped open, a breathless moan filtering out. He grabbed hold of the back of your neck and slowly pulled you away from his cock.

"I need you, sweetheart, come on." Price whispered when you whined, your mouth detaching from his cock with a wet pop.

You wiped the saliva away from your mouth with the back of your hand. "But–"

Price urged you to your feet, pushing you back onto the bed and flattening you against the mattress with his frame. You smiled at his desperation, feeling his wet cock against your inner thigh as he spread your legs with a squeeze to the backs of your knees.

He leaned down and kissed you. "I– fuck– I need to be inside you, sweetheart. Let me inside you. Please."

You'd never thought he'd be the type to beg. Holy shit.

You giggled nervously, kissing him again. Price groaned into your mouth, one large hand coming to hold the side of your face, caressing it gently. He then grabbed his cock near the base and guided it to your dripping cunt. He ran the tip up and down your folds a few times, making you mewl into his mouth, before tapping the head against your slick hole.

He broke the kiss, panting. "Oh fuck, I don't have a con–"

"Birth control," you said quickly, body writhing beneath his. "Please, just–"

His brows pinched together in light concern. "Okay, okay, but you need to stop me if I you–."

You were begging now. Desperate for him. "I'm okay, Price. Please, sir, just please–"

With a low grunt, Price pushed in slowly, the tip of his cock stretching you open. You moaned loudly, nails dragging down his muscled back as he slid more and more inside you, inch by inch. He groaned, caging your head between his arms, his eyes locked on your face, searching for any sign of hesitance. But he only found pleasure as your mouth dropped open and your eyelids flitted.

You were so tight around him, warm and wet. He closed his eyes for just a second. He was focussing on not coming straight away.

You mewled loudly when the tip of his cock nudged your cervix, his hips flush with yours. Your nails scraped down his back, and he grunted, dipping down to kiss you. The kiss was sloppy and messy, all tongue and no direction. He didn't move his hips, and the feeling of him inside you, warm and heavy, made you break the kiss with a moan.

"Price, oh my god." You breathed against his lips, hole clenching around his girth.

He groaned. "I know, sweetheart, I know."

You whimpered when his hips shifted, pelvis grinding against you. He paused, moving his head back to look at you.

"You okay?"

You nodded, humming your approval. "Mhm– yes, m'good, Price. Mmm feels so good– please don't stop, please–"

Gently, he pulled out until his tip was just barely inside you, his length and the hair at the base glistened with your arousal. Then, he was thrusting back into you, making you moan his name again.

"Fuck, that's it, good girl, sweetheart," he murmured, sucking a kiss to your jaw. "There you go, just take it... taking it so well, sweetheart."

You moaned, arching your back. The sounds of his thrusts were wet and loud in the silence of your room, accompanied by the slapping of skin and your mewls of pleasure.

"Feels like you were just made for me," Price whispered, cock bullying the plug of your womb, making your eyes roll. "Mhm... this pretty cunt was just made for my cock."

"Sir..." You dragged out through a moan, hands flailing to keep you grounded, dragging up and down the plains of his back. You wanted to say something else. It began slipping out of your mouth, "Cap–" before you stopped yourself.

Price groaned, slamming into you harder. "Yeah that's right, pretty girl. Call me captain, baby. S'your captain making you feel so good, yeah? S'your captain filling this tight cunt."

You moaned loudly. You hoped your neighbours weren't home. Your nails dug into his back as tight pleasure built up in the base of your abdomen. Your thighs were quivering, your entire body being consumed by him.

Price, Price, Price.

He slammed into you again and again, drawing more sounds from you. His body was warm over yours, solid and comforting and you almost wanted to sob. You felt so good. He was making you feel so good. Your dad's best friend. Fuck.

You couldn't help but whimper at that thought, your clit pulsing, sitting shiny and puffy. And it's like Price knew– he always seemed to know what you wanted. Still fucking you steadily, he reached downwards, dragging his hand down your body. The rough pad of his middle finger found your swollen clit, and you keened, sobbing out a moan as he applied pressure.

"S'that feel good, sweetheart?" He asked in a whisper, pressing tight circles as his hips worked his cock into you. "Is this what you needed? Wanted me to play with this pretty clit, is that it?"

Your eyes rolled, his words turning your brain to mush. "Y-yeah," you stuttered, tummy drawing up tighter, legs quivering faster against the mattress. "F-feels... g..."

You sentence was lost as his cock hit that spot inside you over and over again, making your blood pump hot and the base of your belly flood with a burning kind of pleasure that had tears falling from your eyes.

Price kissed your tears away as you moaned, arching your back, your tits pressing up against his chest.

"Captain, please–" you choked on a pleasured sob. "M'gonna–"

"S'alright, sweetheart, come for me," Price said softly, kissing a tear from your cheek. "Good girl. Come for me."

He shifted his head and kissed you deeply when you came. Your tongues pressing together as you trembled against him, cunt squeezing his cock. Your release made your body burn up, and you felt it drip hot and wet out of you, dribbling around the sides of his cock. You moaned his name into his mouth, and he swallowed it whole, continuing to rut into you.

"Good girl, good girl..." Price muttered, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth.

He moved his hand away from your clit, back up to the side of your head.

He released your lip when he groaned. "Fuck, m'not gonna last, sweetheart."

Dazed, you pressed your mouth to his again. It was sloppy and wet, uncoordinated through your post-orgasmic haze. He grunted against your tongue, thrusts losing rhythm as he neared his peak.

"Come for me, sir, please." You whispered into his mouth, and that sent him over the edge.

He groaned your name into your mouth, coming deep inside you. The warmth that filled you made you keen, and Price kept thrusting, panting with his lips brushing yours.

"Fuck, baby, fuck..." He whined, finally stilling inside you, plugging you full of him.

After a long moment of basking in each other's heat, he pulled out. You mewled as he sat on his ankles, watching his cum leak out of your dripping core. He gathered the mix on two fingers, shoving it back inside you with a satisfied grunt.

"So messy..."

•º•

Price cleaned you, applying a warm, damp cloth between your legs. He dressed you, too. While you were still laying down, he pulled your clothes back onto you– minus your bra, which you didn't want back on as that would've involved you actually sitting up– then he tucked you beneath the covers.

He placed a kiss to your forehead, before he ducked into the bathroom and cleaned himself up. When he returned to you, he put his clothes back on, and then leaned over to kiss you on the forehead again.

"You still hungry?" He asked, cupping your cheek and rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone.

You shook your head. "No... m'gonna sleep for a bit."

He smiled, kissing you briefly on the lips before leaving your room, closing the door behind him. He made his way downstairs and into the kitchen, your pasta sitting cold on the countertop. He tossed it back into the microwave and heated it up again. When he pulled it out, steam curling upwards, the front door opened.

Price felt a pang of guilt in the depths of his stomach, just briefly, before his mind was flooded with images of you, and he was desperately trying not to get hard again.

Your dad walked into the kitchen, dumping his work gear near the dining table.

"Hey, mate," your dad said with a smile. "Good day?"

Price couldn't help but smile, disguising it by stabbing a fork into the past and bringing it towards his mouth. "Yeah, mate, really good. You?"

Your dad continued on about his day, telling Price animatedly about his activities at work. Once he'd concluded his story, he looked around pointedly. "Where's our chef?"

Price laughed. "No chef today, mate. She's in bed."

"Oh, strange. Rough day at work, probably," your dad said. "She's a good girl, you know. I'm really proud of her."

Price smiled. He couldn't help but agree.

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

was this ok? idek lol

#captainfern #captainfernsalutes #call of duty #captain john price #call of duty mw2 #fem reader #captain price #captain price smut #captain john price x you #captain price x reader #cod smut #cod price #price smut #price call of duty #cod mwii #captain'snirvana

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d1xonss · 1 month

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so ours babys a lil insecure bc of reader and his lil age gap he vents it to rick a little and since shes such a social butterfly literally talking and befriending everyone he gets upset and starts to think lowly of himself like theres younger men men who arent busy leading the community so they can spend all their time and affection on her blah blah he gets these crazy thoughts and she comforts him eases all his worries ):

Forever

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 6

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : Angst/Fluff

✧ Word Count : 3.1k

AN ~ Aww sad:(( but we love Reader comforting Daryl, it's one of my favorite things to write. And an age gap too?? I love it. Hope you enjoy!

“You’re ridiculous.” Rick spoke with a scoff.

Daryl’s eyes narrowed slightly at the man, not necessarily because of what he had claimed, but because it almost seemed like he hadn’t listened to him at all.

He already felt a little ashamed going to his friend in the first place to talk about how he was feeling, something the man rarely ever did. But that alone showed how desperate he seemed to be for any kind of advice, willing to put himself out there to express what had been going through his mind recently in hopes of some sort of reassurance.

He didn’t really know what had been going on with him recently, but ever since the group had made it to Alexandria, his insecurities slowly began to eat him alive. He started to take note of his appearance a little more, now that they actually had mirrors in the houses provided for them, seeing for himself how much older and tired he really was. It shouldn’t have bugged him as much as it did, but yet, it seemed to be all he thought about. And that constant loop of thoughts only traveled to another, thinking about how much living on the road seemed to age him, while the woman he was madly in love with stayed so young and beautiful.

She was absolutely perfect, not a single flaw, while he on the other hand had countless ones that he couldn’t seem to just get over and ignore. But that wasn’t the only aspect about her that seemed to cloud over his mind. She was quite the extrovert, making friends everywhere she turned as she was constantly radiating such a good and friendly energy. It even drew him in towards her from the start, falling victim to her charming personality. Though it wasn’t her kindness that made him a little more self conscious than before; it was the fact that a few younger men had obviously taken a liking to her natural sweetness ever since they moved here.

Now he knew that she would never cheat on him, the thought never even crossed her mind, but that still didn’t stop his jealousy from bubbling over to a point of no return. Wanting to beat the shit out of any guy who looked at her for just a little too long. He wasn’t blind by any means, and some of them had a hard time hiding the sneaky glances they were taking at his woman whilst she was just in her own little world.

Though the longer he seemed to stew over it for the months and months they had lived there, it made him start to wonder if maybe she would be better off with someone else. Someone a bit younger, more energetic, more outgoing. Someone that matched her personality better than he did. It was no secret that they were polar opposites, but he always imagined that they completed each other in a way, not even thinking twice about it. However, now that he had all the time in the world to think, it slowly started to consume him, thinking more about how he didn’t deserve her at all. But hell, maybe no one deserved her.

The man then seemed to snap out of his thoughts, scoffing toward Rick who was looking at him with a small smile, “Man, m’ bein serious.” he grumbled.

“So am I.” Rick shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he tilted his head a bit at him, “I really don’t think you have anything to worry about man. You two are always attached at the hip, she loves you…I think you might just be in your own head about it.”

He sighed heavily as he thought to himself for another moment, his thumbnail in his mouth as he contemplated why he was confiding in Rick in the first place. At this point he had it in his head that the man was just telling him what he wanted to hear. “I dunno…” he eventually muttered in response.

Rick only shook his head, “You shouldn’t be so focused on this. You’ve always known how nice she is, everyone loves her-”

“Man, that ain’t the problem. I already told ya that.” Daryl interrupted with irritation in his voice.

“I know…I know.” he assured, “I guess I just don’t see the connection of how you came up with the idea that she suddenly deserves someone “better.”

The archer shook his head with a light scoff, “Seein her talkin with those guys…something kinda just clicked that she should be with someone more fit for her…” he trailed off for a moment, before pathetically shrugging his shoulders again, “I dunno.”

Rick honestly couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Although, he could, he knew that Daryl sometimes got like this, thinking he didn’t deserve the things that he was given. But he never thought he would be standing here listening to him speak about how you would be better off with someone else. Anyone who even caught a glimpse of the two of you could easily see how in love you were with each other. He swore the sight could potentially make someone sick.

The man then cleared his throat, “Well…if you want to know what I think, I say you should talk to her.”

“Talk to her?”

Rick couldn’t help but laugh at how baffled he looked at the suggestion, “Yeah, talk to her. Besides, I think she’ll have a better chance at reassuring you about this than I will, she seems more fit for the role.” he joked.

But Daryl on the other hand scoffed, not exactly loving the idea, “This shit’s already embarrassing, why would I wanna bring it up to her? Didn’t even really wanna bring it up to you.”

“Thanks.” Rick said dryly before stepping closer to slap a hand on the man’s shoulder, “But just trust me on this, alright? You need to tell her how you’ve been feeling. Because if I know you at all, I know you want to keep this bottled up. But that’ll just make it worse and you know it.”

He was right. As much as Daryl hated to acknowledge it, he knew deep down he was right.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting to put it off every chance he got, pushing it into the back of his mind as he always seemed to do in hopes that it would just go away. Though he knew it wouldn’t, he couldn’t bring himself to want to think about it right now.

He went home later that night utterly defeated and clueless on how to even approach the topic in the first place. When the time dreadfully came around, how would he even bring it up? He was never good with words, especially when it came to something about how he was feeling. It was all just stupid and complicated in his mind, not knowing how to actually piece together the things he wanted her to know. But he knew he had to try.

The front door opened and shut with a small creak as he entered the house, kicking his dirty boots off to the side before he softly called out your name. But all was quiet, not a single sound of your voice calling back to him, to which he only assumed you were still out somewhere in the community. It wasn’t often you stayed out this late, but he silently knew that if someone needed the extra help, you would do it in a heartbeat.

The older man sighed deeply to himself before trudging up the stairs, wanting to get out of the filthy clothes he was trapped in before settling for the night, waiting for you to come home. He couldn’t ever really fall asleep without you there. He didn’t know if it was because he would always worry too much if you weren’t right beside him, or if he just physically needed your touch to relax, but it had to be somewhere in that ballpark. Perhaps both…definitely both.

He entered your shared bedroom with a tired huff, beginning to undo the buttons on his vest before folding it sloppily and setting it off to the side on the dresser. His hands then moved to peel off his dirty shirt that stuck to every part of his tanned skin, raising it over his head before throwing it in the hamper across the room to be washed. He ran his hands through his hair to get it out of his face as he crossed the space to get himself another pair of pants to sleep in, when suddenly his movements stopped short.

The tall, full length mirror that sat off in the corner quickly caught his attention as he saw just a brief glimpse of his reflection dancing behind the glass. He blinked a few times as he knew he shouldn’t look too close, knowing it was only going to add fuel to the already ongoing fire. But a part of him couldn’t help it, seeing as it was too late now that he had taken notice of a few new flaws he hadn’t spotted before. It was like some kind of sinkhole that he couldn’t escape from, looking over the things he hated the most about himself over and over again.

He slowly stepped closer toward the object even though he knew he shouldn’t, seeing himself a little more up close as the moonlight poured through the window just above him to illuminate his figure. His eyes scanned everything he could make out in the slight darkness, seeing the wrinkles that were now more prominent on his forehead. Seeing the dark circles under his eyes from the exhaustion and stress that had been weighing on him constantly. And seeing the scars that littered over his entire body.

“Daryl?”

The man nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of your soft voice from behind him, spinning around to see you standing in the doorway. Your eyes widened a little in surprise. Never had you recalled a single time where you had been able to catch him off guard, accidently sneak up on him enough to make his heart skip. He had always been aware of his surroundings, the man had the instincts of a goddamn cat. So to say you were surprised when he hovered about five feet in the air at your presence, would be an understatement.

You raised an eyebrow at him in slight concern, “You okay?” you asked softly as you approached him with hesitance.

Daryl’s stomach had plummeted to his ass, a heat rising in his cheeks from embarrassment as you caught him staring down at himself for a bit longer than usual. He swallowed thickly as he saw you walking further into the room, nodding a bit quickly, “Yeah…m’ fine.”

Though the way he spoke was far from convincing, his voice coming out a bit higher than usual, and the reassuring smile he tried to send your way being a little too forced for you not to realize. Your eyes narrowed toward him in slight suspicion as you came to stand right in front of him, taking in his appearance. There was something that was clearly circling his mind, you had noticed for far longer than he thought you did. But you always knew when there was something off about him.

You gently reached out to grab one of his hands in your own, “Come on…don’t lie to me.”

He sighed softly, knowing that he should just bite the bullet and tell you, but he couldn’t bring himself to just yet. “Just…just had a rough day. That’s all.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” you said with a slight shake of your head, watching as he furrowed his brows a little in question. “You’ve been acting off for weeks now, you really didn’t think I was going to notice?”

His eyes widened. Shit.

A small smirk formed on your lips as you clearly saw that you had caught him in a little white lie. It was written all over his face. You squeezed his hand in reassurance, “I’m not upset…I just want you to talk to me.”

He knew he couldn’t avoid it forever, especially after Rick gave him that little wake up call earlier to just rip the bandage off. But he hoped he could put it off for at least a few more days, wanting a little more time to prepare the things he wanted to express to you honestly. Though he could tell just by the way you were looking up at him, that you wanted answers, and he couldn’t just ignore what was standing right before him.

He sighed softly as he looked at the ground for a moment, before slowly nodding his head, “Alright…” he started, not even knowing where to take this. “Look…maybe…maybe this ain’t workin.” he blurted without thinking.

Your eyes widened a little, “What?”

Daryl’s eyes then grew as well realizing just how bad that sounded, quickly shaking his head, “No, no, I- I mean…that ain’t how I meant for it to sound at all.” he reassured, before taking another moment to collect his racing thoughts. “I’ve been…thinkin recently and…I ain’t gettin any younger. Hell, I feel like I aged five extra years just from bein out on the damn road for so long.”

You nodded along slowly, not really seeing where this was heading, “So?”

He sighed softly, “So…I’ve been thinkin bout how…maybe…ya deserve to be with someone a little more fit for ya. Someone younger than me…someone who can give ya what I can’t.” he spoke almost regrettably, like he dreaded even saying those words out loud in the first place.

The truth was, he never wanted to let you go, that was a knowing fact that didn’t need to be proved. But at the same time, he didn’t want to hold you back from a chance at a better life. One that you so clearly deserved.

But your expression seemed to soften drastically, now hearing his explanation out loud, it all seemed to click in your head. Why he had been acting off for the longest time, it was because he was just thinking too much about something that meant absolutely nothing. When you first noticed his odd behavior, you automatically assumed you had done something wrong without realizing. But now hearing it out loud, hearing how hurt he sounded, all you wanted to do was hold him and never let him go. Wanting to reassure him for the rest of your lives if you had to that he was truly the only man you would ever want.

A small huff passed through your lips, “Sweetie…that’s what this is about?”

Daryl shrugged a little in response, “Well…yeah. I’ve seen ya makin friends with a lot of the people round here…it just crossed my mind that…maybe-”

“Stop.” you said gently as you moved even closer to him, reaching up to give his arms a gentle squeeze, “Don’t say another word.”

His gaze softened as he stared down at you, regret filling him completely as he saw just how his words had affected you.

“I love you…so much.” you whispered as your gripped his arms a little tighter, “I’m not looking at anyone else…I don’t want anyone else. No one else on this whole damn planet would be a better fit for me than you. I don’t need some younger guy. I’m not even friends with them, they only come talk to me if they have a question about something. And most of them aren’t very bright.” you said bluntly, earning a small chuckle from him. “I just wish you had told me about this sooner.”

He bit his lip a bit shamefully, “I know…m’ sorry. I just thought…ya might be better off-”

“I won’t.” you insisted, “You’re all I will ever need…you hear me?”

A small smile grew on his face upon hearing that, knowing that you meant every word. Though there was still another thing hovering over his mind. “Even though m’ an old man?” he asked half heartedly, though a part of him was still serious.

You rolled your eyes a bit, “Just because you’re older than me doesn’t make you an old man.” you laughed softly, “But if that’s something you’re really worried about…I promise to stick around even when you’re eighty.” you winked.

His lip quirked up a bit in amusement as he reached out to place his hands on your hips, gently tugging you closer, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” you nodded, “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

You then felt his thumbs start to rub soothingly along your hip bones, still a little unsure if this was truly what you wanted. To be with someone like him. “Ya promise?” he eventually asked.

You tilted your head a bit at him, “Come on…what do I have to do to convince you that I want this forever?”

The man was silent for a long moment as he thought to himself, absentmindedly still running his thumbs along your hips as he stared down at you. The truth was he didn’t really need anymore convincing than what you had already told him. Just by the small bit of reassurance you provided, he felt as though he was lighter, a weight being lifted from his shoulders knowing you were his. But still, he couldn’t imagine a more perfect time to make it even more official.

“Marry me.”

Your eyes widened a little in surprise, not expecting him to be so blunt let alone say those words to you at all. He never really struck you as someone who would want to get married at a time like this, but it’s not like you minded. As long as you were with him, that’s all that truly mattered to you.

Only now it felt as if the wind was knocked out of you, hearing him utter those words so clearly as if he meant it with his entire being. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit nervously, “Don’t joke about that, cause you know I will.”

He smiled down at you, shaking his head softly, “M’ serious.” he assured, raising one of his hands to run his thumb along your cheek, “Marry me.”

A lump began to form in your throat as you felt yourself get a little more emotional seeing how real this was becoming. Seeing how serious he was. He really wanted this.

“Okay.” you whispered with a small nod of your head.

His smile only grew, “Okay?”

You nodded a bit more frantically as a large smile broke out onto your face, “Yes…yes I’ll marry you.”

He chuckled, pure relief and happiness filling him completely as he picked you up in his arms, spinning you around lightly as you squealed in surprise. Though he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to seal the deal as he gently set you back down on your feet, kissing you deeply as he felt you hum into his mouth. A part of him almost couldn’t believe that you had agreed, wanting to truly be with him forever. But then again, with the way you looked at him, with the way you said yes with little to no hesitation at all, he knew. You were his forever.

~ Thanks for reading!

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