#Meal box delivery

[papertakeawayfoodbox]

Reasons behind the Growing Demand of Disposable Lunch Boxes

There is a growing demand for disposable lunch boxes wholesale especially among office workers, school kids or in the food business. These paper meal boxes are durable and light in weight to keep the food fresh for a long time without contaminating the items inside.

[six-of-ravens]

no bounty hunter is more dedicated than the meal subscription service I ordered one (1) box from over 3 years ago who has now upgraded from sending me desperate junk mail to sending me desperate spam texts

[elisamaza]

Pizza delivery drivers of Reddit, what are some of the craziest reasons people have ended up on the “no delivery list”?

gameryamen

I worked for a pizza place that was near a very large software company. Deliveries to the neighborhoods or offices where all the tech workers lived was usually pretty awesome because they'd tip rather well. But there was one apartment that started to become a concern for us drivers. The man ordering was always polite, always paid, always tipped $4, and he would have been a perfect customer. He'd order breadsticks and a salad twice a week, and sometimes he'd include a bottle of root beer. Except when he opened his door, you could see an alarming amount of our breadsticks boxes stacked everywhere inside. Not like a few on the counter and a couple by the trash, stacks and stacks of them. Even worse, it was only our boxes in there. He wasn't just ordering from us often, we were the only place he was getting food outside of work. Now, I've worked in some of those tech offices myself, I know that there's enough decent food options just hanging out in the break rooms that this guy was probably not malnourished, but the way his living space was a shrine of greasy cardboard was a clear sign that this guy didn't have a healthy relationship with our food. Our manager was a really cool dude though, and he heard the drivers joking about the boxes and asked a couple of us "Is this like a messy guy or a guy who needs help?" We agreed it was probably the latter. So on his day off, the manager went to the guys apartment with an envelope that had gift cards for several other restaurants that delivered in that area and chatted with him. Manager found out that the guy was an immigrant on a Visa who was struggling to find American food he liked, and too socially awkward to ask anyone. So he talked with him through a few menus and helped him with some recommendations. Then he helped the guy load all the old boxes into his truck to take to the dump, in exchange for a promise not to order from us more than once a week. For a little while, the manager had a note on the calendar showing the last time the guy had ordered, and a couple times he had to hold his ground and refuse the guy's order. But after that chat, I never saw the stacks of boxes again, and the guy would boast about the different meals he'd had.

what the fuck dude, this is so sweet.

[kidzcaters]

School Lunch Catering in Coppell: Providing Healthy and Delicious Meals for Students

As schools in Coppell prioritize nutrition and well-being, many are turning to catering services to enhance their lunch offerings. School lunch catering not only provides students with delicious and healthy meals but also alleviates the stress of daily meal preparation. Here’s a comprehensive look at the benefits of school lunch catering in Coppell, popular catering options, and tips for selecting the right service.

Benefits of School Lunch Catering

Balanced Nutrition: Catering services often focus on creating well-balanced meals that meet dietary guidelines. This ensures students receive the necessary nutrients to fuel their learning and growth.

Variety of Options: Catering allows schools to offer diverse menu choices, accommodating different tastes and dietary needs. From vegetarian and gluten-free options to international cuisines, there’s something for every student.

Time-Saving: With a dedicated catering service, schools can save valuable time that would otherwise be spent on meal planning and preparation. This allows staff to focus on other important tasks.

Quality Ingredients: Many catering companies prioritize using fresh, high-quality ingredients, which can enhance the overall taste and nutritional value of the meals provided.

Customizable Menus: Catering services can often tailor menus to fit specific themes, events, or dietary requirements, making lunches not only healthy but also enjoyable and exciting for students.

Popular Catering Options in Coppell

Local Caterers: Many local catering companies specialize in school lunches, providing fresh and nutritious meals designed specifically for kids. These services often emphasize seasonal and locally sourced ingredients.

Meal Delivery Services: Some companies offer meal delivery services that cater directly to schools, providing pre-packaged, healthy lunch options that are easy to serve.

Specialty Cuisine Providers: For schools looking to introduce students to diverse flavors, specialty catering services can provide international cuisine, offering meals from various cultures and regions.

Food Truck Partnerships: Some schools collaborate with local food trucks to provide unique lunch experiences, allowing students to enjoy freshly prepared meals on-site.

Tips for Choosing a School Lunch Catering Service

Check Nutritional Standards: Ensure that the catering service follows nutritional guidelines and offers balanced meal options that include fruits, vegetables, whole grains, and lean proteins.

Read Reviews and References: Look for testimonials from other schools or parents to gauge the quality and reliability of the catering service.

Menu Variety: Choose a caterer that offers a wide range of menu options and is willing to customize meals based on student preferences and dietary restrictions.

Communication: Establish clear communication with the catering service to discuss specific needs, such as allergy considerations, meal frequency, and portion sizes.

Trial Period: If possible, arrange for a trial meal service to evaluate the quality and acceptability of the meals among students before committing to a long-term contract.

Conclusion

School lunch catering in Coppell offers a fantastic solution for providing students with nutritious and delicious meals that support their health and well-being. By partnering with reliable catering services, schools can ensure a diverse menu that keeps lunchtime exciting for students while freeing up staff to focus on education. With the right catering service, school lunches can be an enjoyable and enriching part of the school day.

[best-office-catering]

MealPe | India’s Best #1 Office & Corporate Meal Delivery Solution

Introduction to MealPe

Empowering Your Workplace with Seamless Meal Delivery

In today's fast-paced corporate environment, providing nutritious and delicious meals to employees is essential for maintaining productivity and satisfaction. MealPe, India's premier office and corporate meal delivery solution, stands out as the best choice for businesses looking to offer their employees a top-notch dining experience. With its advanced digital cafeteria solutions, MealPe connects workplaces with local restaurants, ensuring that office meals are always convenient, diverse, and delectable.

The Future of Corporate Dining with MealPe

MealPe Cafeteria Solutions: Revolutionizing Office Food

MealPe offers a comprehensive and futuristic approach to corporate dining. By collaborating with the best local restaurants, MealPe brings individually ordered boxed lunches to offices, consolidating multiple orders into a single, seamless delivery. This innovative approach ensures that employees enjoy a variety of meal options without the hassle of managing multiple orders and deliveries.

Key Features of MealPe

Individually Ordered Meals: Employees can choose their meals from a curated list of top local restaurants.

Consolidated Delivery: All meals are delivered together, ensuring timely and organized distribution.

Diverse Cuisine Options: From Indian staples to international delicacies, MealPe offers a wide range of choices.

Advanced Logistics Management: MealPe handles all aspects of meal delivery logistics, making the process smooth and efficient.

Why Choose MealPe for Your Office?

Elevating the Office Meal Experience

MealPe understands that providing food at work is more than just a perk; it's a way to show employees that they matter. With 69% of employees reporting higher happiness levels when provided with food at work, investing in a reliable meal delivery service like MealPe can significantly boost workplace morale and productivity.

Seamless Food Delivery

Real-Time Order Tracking: Employees can track their orders and check rewards on the go.

On-Time, On-Taste Delivery: MealPe ensures that meals are delivered fresh and on time, every time.

Technology-Driven: Utilizing market-leading technology, MealPe offers a seamless ordering and delivery experience.

Flexibility and Satisfaction

MealPe empowers employees with the flexibility to order individually boxed meals from the city's best restaurants. This not only caters to diverse tastes and dietary preferences but also provides a personalized dining experience, enhancing employee satisfaction.

MealPe: Partnering with Local Restaurants

Boosting Visibility and Growth for Restaurants

By partnering with MealPe, local restaurants can reach new customers and increase their visibility. MealPe's platform helps restaurants tap into the lucrative corporate catering market, unlocking new growth opportunities.

Benefits for Restaurants

Expanded Customer Base: Access to a large number of corporate clients.

Increased Sales: Regular meal orders from businesses.

Enhanced Brand Visibility: Partnership with a leading corporate meal delivery service.

The Cloud Canteen: A New Way to Feed Your Team

A Comprehensive Office Food Solution

MealPe's Cloud Canteen is the ultimate office food solution, designed to meet the needs of modern workplaces. It focuses on delivering variety, value, sustainability, affordability, and deliciousness, ensuring that every meal is a delight.

Key Benefits of Cloud Canteen

Variety: A wide range of meal options to cater to different tastes and dietary preferences.

Value: Affordable meal plans that offer great value for money.

Sustainability: Eco-friendly packaging and sustainable practices.

Deliciousness: High-quality, tasty meals that employees love.

Ideal for Large Offices and Corporate Spaces

MealPe's Cloud Canteen is available for offices and corporates with 300+ employees, making it perfect for large workplaces. It is also ideally suited for coworking spaces, IT companies, KPOs, BPOs, and coliving spaces.

Advantages of Using MealPe

Operational Efficiency

MealPe streamlines the entire meal delivery process, from ordering to delivery, ensuring minimal disruptions to daily operations. This efficiency helps businesses save time and resources, allowing them to focus on core activities.

Cost Management

MealPe offers cost-effective meal plans that cater to the budgetary needs of different organizations. By reducing food wastage and optimizing delivery logistics, MealPe helps businesses manage their meal-related expenses effectively.

Enhanced Employee Satisfaction

Providing employees with a variety of meal options that are delivered on time can significantly enhance their satisfaction and productivity. MealPe's user-friendly app and seamless delivery process ensure that employees have a positive dining experience every day.

Features and USPs of MealPe

User-Friendly App

MealPe's app is designed to be intuitive and easy to use, allowing employees to place orders, track deliveries, and manage their meal plans with ease.

Comprehensive Meal Plans

MealPe offers a range of meal plans to suit different needs, including daily lunch buffets and individual meal subscriptions. These plans are customizable, allowing businesses to choose the best option for their employees.

Real-Time Updates

With real-time menu updates and order tracking, MealPe ensures that employees always have access to the latest meal options and can track their orders from start to finish.

Personalized Dining Experience

MealPe's platform allows employees to personalize their meals based on their dietary preferences and restrictions, ensuring that everyone has a satisfying dining experience.

Sustainable Practices

MealPe is committed to sustainability, using eco-friendly packaging and promoting sustainable practices to reduce its environmental impact.

MealPe in Major Cities Across India

Nationwide Availability

MealPe is available in all major cities across India, making it accessible to businesses and employees nationwide. This widespread availability ensures that companies in different regions can benefit from MealPe's top-notch meal delivery services.

City-Specific Customization

MealPe tailors its services to meet the unique needs of different cities, offering a diverse range of local and international cuisines to cater to varied tastes.

Customer Reviews and Testimonials

Positive Feedback

MealPe has received overwhelmingly positive feedback from its users, who praise the platform for its ease of use, variety of meal options, and reliable delivery service.

Satisfied Customers

Corporate Clients: Many businesses have reported increased employee satisfaction and productivity after implementing MealPe's meal delivery solutions.

Restaurant Partners: Local restaurants appreciate the increased visibility and sales resulting from their partnership with MealPe.

Final Verdict: Why MealPe is the Best Choice

Superior Technology and Service

MealPe stands out as the best office and corporate meal delivery solution in India due to its advanced technology, user-friendly app, and comprehensive meal plans. By connecting workplaces with top local restaurants, MealPe ensures that employees always have access to high-quality, delicious meals.

Employee Satisfaction Guaranteed

With its focus on variety, value, and sustainability, MealPe enhances employee satisfaction and productivity, making it an invaluable asset for any business looking to improve its workplace dining experience.

Conclusion

In conclusion, MealPe is the ultimate choice for businesses seeking a reliable and efficient office and corporate meal delivery solution. Its advanced digital cafeteria solutions, seamless delivery process, and commitment to variety, value, and sustainability make it the best option for enhancing employee satisfaction and productivity. By choosing MealPe, businesses can ensure that their employees enjoy a top-notch dining experience every day, contributing to a happier and more productive workplace.

[sqoa]

cw stalking

☓☓☓ stalker!satoru likes exploiting his heightened senses to learn everything and anything he can about you. he doesn't even need to be in the fucking room to know that you're sitting with your thighs pressed together because you're still thinking about the letter he slipped under your door that morning.

the letter, in which he wrote the dirtiest details about yourself that not even you picked up on. like how when you're really horny you become restless and can't keep still for too long, or how when you cum your eyes squeeze shut and you almost look scared of the pleasure you're giving yourself. which he loves, because your fear is an aphrodisiac to him.

but you figure whoever it is that's stalking you is only stabbing a guess at what could be true. because there is no way he's someone you've fucked, because you don't fuck on a whim. the only other explanation you can come up with is that he's been in your home, either to install cameras or slip into the shadows late at night when you're touching yourself. which is a ridiculous thought, so he must be assuming.

until you come home from a particularly gruelling day to find a small box on your pillow.

it's black, and wrapped in a blue ribbon that looks hauntingly familiar to the shade of blue—you shake your head. with trembling hands you open the box to find three things. one of which is a baby blue vibrator, the same shade as the ribbon and a certain set of eyes you often think of when you touch yourself. you also find a smaller box with a note attached.

'a promise, until you trust me enough to replace it with the real thing, doll.' it reads, and doesn't make sense until you open the box and find a ring inside. expensive looking and glistening under the moonlight coming in through your window. it fits your ring finger perfectly when curiosity bests you and you slip it on. You should be panicked, locking your doors and calling the police but there's a horrible ache in your lower abdomen that has you awful restless, and you realise that perhaps your sweet-tongued stalker knows a little more about you than you do yourself.

weeks of gifts like this go by, from sex toys to expensive meal deliveries each night, you're starting to feel more like a sugar baby than a victim. and still, you haven't even given in to your stalker... you've been too scared to touch yourself, to put the box of toys he's gifted you to use, because each night as you fall asleep you dream of vile things done to you by a man you can't see the face of. you worry that if you give in, let him watch you fuck yourself stupid on the toys he brought you, you won't want to hate this. to hate the way he calls you his doll, like you're a toy to be played with, in a home he somehow has access to despite how many times you change the locks.

it's not until you're on a mission one day, alongside satoru gojo. you're in an awfully tight space together, stuck in an abandoned warehouse and boxed in by curses that you're sure he could handle in the blink of an eye if he wanted to. but you're here, pressed chest-to-chest and breathing in the scent of his sweat and cologne mixing together—sugar on his breath.

and you're just so needy, after weeks of denying yourself in hopes of boring your stalker away. you have to press your thighs together, satoru's hard abs against your stomach is too much: and the way he looks down at you, laboured breath and glossy lips parted... you have to look away. but when your gaze meets the ground, you catch a glimpse of something that you hadn't noticed before.

a ring on his finger, one that matches yours—hell, it even looks cut from the same gem.

and his voice is poison. "you've been hiding from me haven't you, my doll?"

[fingertipsmp3]

Local woman realises classmate she has a crush on looks a bit like Sideshow Bob, 8 dead everyone injured

[456foodrecipe]

Order Online Homemade Food Delivery & Catering Services in HSR Layout 

Tired of searching for homemade catering services? Order online Pure- Veg Tiffin Services. Customized cakes. Bulk orders for parties and snacks orders are undertaken.

[temiizpalace]

☆┊DEAR FUTURE HUSBAND..

SUMMARY: little things he does that remind you you’re going to marry him someday.

CHARACTERS: all dorms (-ortho)

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: none

reader gender is not mentioned, reader is not mentioned to be yuu

MAKING YOU MEALS

he makes sure you eat RIGHT. no more skipping meals throughout the day on his watch. every lunch he’ll make you a cute little bento box so you don’t have to wait in line. and when i say cute, i mean cute. it doesn’t matter what gender you are your rice balls will have cat ears. dinner? come over to his dorm and he’ll make something for you. don’t feel like it? he’s going to your place and cooking there. breakfast? he makes something quick yet delicious for you. he’s like your own private chef, and you can only imagine what it’d be like to see a ring on his finger someday.

trey, ruggie, azul, jamil, lilia (good luck), silver

CLEANING YOUR ROOM (and everything else)

it doesn’t matter if your room is messy, tidy, or anything in between, every month he’ll make sure it is SPOTLESS. is there dust on your shelves? nuh uh. are there random stains on your floor that you thought were impossible to get out? he’s rushing to your rescue and somehow got the stain out. did you not want to go through your homework? everything is suddenly organized in its respective subject, going from A-Z. you’ve never seen your room so tidy before, it was like an epiphany. please just marry him on the spot, he’s begging.

riddle, deuce, jade, jamil, vil, sebek

LEAVING LITTLE POST-IT NOTES ON YOUR BELONGINGS

without fail, you’ll find a cute little sticky-note on your almost all of your belongings. sure, it gets annoying once in awhile, but reading the sweet message on it changes your mind almost instantly. “you’re going to do great today! stay strong. :)” “don’t forget to drink water! love you 🫶” “can we go out soon? my treat. text me when u see this!” it’s almost frightening to see how much yellow papers you keep inside your desk every time you opening it, but can anyone really blame you? you’re going to keep these til the day you die, and that grand total might be at the very least over 100,000.

ace, deuce, cater, jack, floyd, kalim, epel, rook

RANDOM GIFTS

expect to see a neatly wrapped gift on your doorstep almost every week. seriously. it’s like a delivery service except the company is literally your boyfriend. “dear, did you get me this?” you ask as you enter the room. he looks up from his phone as he looks at the expensive name brand sweatshirt in your hands. “yeah.” he answered so nonchalantly!! like sir!!! this sweater was 1000000 thaumarks!! what!! while you do appreciate the gesture, you feel bad he’s spending so much money on you. he doesn’t care though!! he’ll spoil you rotten til your very last breath.

leona, azul, floyd, kalim, vil, idia, malleus

PREPPING YOU SNACKS

depending on who this is, he may not be some gordon ramsay level chef, but he’s definitely more than happy to cut you a some apple slices while you study. sometimes he’ll come into your room with a backpack full of your favorite snacks just left at the side of your desk so you can reach down and grab the one you want to eat that day. sometimes all you need is an energy boost and he’s more than happy to make some coffee or tea for you if you’re busy. he’ll press a kiss or two on your forehead before placing the plate of beautifully cut fruit down and continuing on with his day and going back to his thoughts. now, what will the theme of your wedding be?

ace, deuce, trey, jade, jack, jamil, epel, malleus

A/N: notice how jamil and deuce are in almost every category. (sorry this one was kinda rushed 😭😭)

date published: 7/30/24

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!

[papertakeawayfoodbox]

Buy Meal Box and Disposable Lunch Box in Bulk or Wholesale

Looking to pack your lunch in a paper meal boxes? Gujarat Shopee is an online store to buy disposable lunch box in wholesale or bulk quantity. It offers a wide range of Kraft paper meal box, paper lunch box with compartments and window to store food items fresh and hygiene for a long time.

[mistaeats]

Subscription based Homely Meal at your desk

Mista Eats provides you with the best customized, Homely, Healthy & Hygienic Meals at your doorstep. Best meal subscription in Hyderabad

[aeth-eris]

★ how to maximize profits via 2nd house ★

aries in the 2nd house can maximize profits by capitalizing on their entrepreneurial drive and competitive spirit. aries benefits from fast-paced, high-energy ventures where they can lead and make quick decisions. they might excel by launching a fitness training program, offering personal coaching services, or starting a motivational brand that sells products like athletic apparel, energy drinks, or performance gear. aries could also find success with subscription boxes focused on high-adrenaline hobbies like hiking, martial arts, or adventure sports. by embracing ventures that allow them to innovate quickly and take the lead, aries can build profitable businesses that leverage their passion and high energy.

taurus in the 2nd house is well-suited for steady financial growth through high-quality, long-term investments and products. they thrive in businesses that emphasize luxury, beauty, and quality, such as a high-end skincare line, organic foods business, or eco-friendly clothing brand. taurus could also consider starting a boutique furniture store that sells artisan-crafted or vintage items, as they appreciate products with enduring value. with their talent for creating a comforting atmosphere, taurus might excel with a bed and breakfast, a spa, or a wellness center that offers relaxation services. taurus maximizes profits by focusing on products that prioritize quality and offer a luxurious experience, appealing to clients who value longevity and craftsmanship.

gemini in the 2nd house can boost profits by tapping into their adaptability and communication skills, especially in diverse, mentally stimulating fields. they could thrive by starting a digital marketing agency, offering copywriting or editing services, or launching an online course platform that covers a wide range of topics to cater to curious minds. with their natural social skills, gemini could also excel in creating a networking app or social media consulting service. offering services like translation, podcasting, or even freelance journalism can keep income flowing, as gemini is well-suited to manage multiple streams of revenue. their knack for curiosity-driven ventures and networking makes them ideal for businesses that involve idea-sharing, quick adaptability, and community engagement.

cancer in the 2nd house can increase earnings by focusing on nurturing and emotionally resonant businesses that bring comfort to others. they might start a home-cooked meal delivery service, a childcare center, or a family-focused event planning service that organizes intimate gatherings like birthdays and reunions. cancer could also do well in real estate, particularly with home staging or property management that emphasizes creating warm, inviting spaces. they could excel in interior decorating, especially with a focus on cozy, family-oriented spaces, or start a handcrafted candle or blanket line. by building businesses that revolve around care, comfort, and family, cancer can create loyal clients and establish long-term success through emotional connections.

leo in the 2nd house maximizes profits by showcasing their creativity and leadership, often excelling in businesses that allow them to stand out and build a brand. leo could find success with a personal brand consultancy, fashion line, or luxury event planning business. they might enjoy launching a social media channel focused on lifestyle or self-improvement, where they can attract sponsorships or sell branded merchandise. leo also thrives in roles where they can influence and inspire others, so they might consider starting a motivational speaking business, an acting or dance academy, or a high-end boutique. with their flair for self-expression, leo profits best when they create high-quality, visually captivating products and services that let their star power shine through.

virgo in the 2nd house finds financial success through practical, detail-oriented services that provide high value and efficiency. they excel in businesses that involve organization, health, and precision, such as financial consulting, tax preparation, or a personal organizing service. virgo might also thrive with a nutrition or wellness coaching business, offering tailored health plans or holistic products like herbal supplements or self-care kits. a digital bookkeeping service, copyediting business, or virtual assistant agency could also bring them steady profits, as virgo’s meticulous nature appeals to clients who seek reliability and structure. by focusing on services that emphasize quality and organization, virgo builds a reputation for excellence that attracts a steady client base.

libra in the 2nd house can increase earnings by leveraging their skills in diplomacy, aesthetics, and partnerships. they could start a wedding planning business, a floral design company, or a luxury lifestyle brand that sells carefully curated home décor items. libra would also excel in public relations consulting or brand management roles, where they can help clients present a refined, balanced image. creating a high-end art gallery, a boutique law firm, or a relationship coaching service could also align well with libra’s skills. libra thrives in partnership-focused ventures, so building collaborative business models or co-founding a business with others can also enhance their profitability and bring a sense of harmony to their financial life.

scorpio in the 2nd house maximizes profits by tapping into their ability to handle intensity and complexity, often succeeding in fields like finance, psychology, and research. scorpio could build wealth by creating a private investigation firm, a psychotherapy practice, or a financial planning service specializing in wealth management or estate planning. they might also thrive in real estate investment, particularly with properties that need transformation, such as flipping houses or managing rental properties. scorpio may also excel in businesses related to holistic healing, offering reiki or shadow work coaching. by focusing on industries that require trust, depth, and resilience, scorpio can attract clients who value privacy and are willing to invest in transformational services.

sagittarius in the 2nd house can increase profits by embracing their love for adventure, growth, and education. they could launch a travel agency specializing in unique cultural experiences, a language learning platform, or a motivational speaking business that offers courses and workshops. sagittarius could also thrive by creating a publishing company focused on philosophical or inspirational content or starting a tour guiding business for international destinations. their enthusiasm for knowledge makes them great at teaching, so they might consider offering online courses or starting a coaching business in a field they’re passionate about. by aligning with growth-oriented ventures, sagittarius can attract an audience that values inspiration and big-picture thinking.

capricorn in the 2nd house maximizes profits through disciplined, long-term planning and a practical approach to business. they’re well-suited for businesses like a corporate consulting firm, project management agency, or investment portfolio service. capricorn could also do well in real estate development, particularly with rental properties or commercial buildings. they might find success by starting a financial advisory firm or creating a luxury goods company focused on high-end, timeless products like leather goods or fine jewelry. by aligning with industries that reward patience and professionalism, capricorn can build a solid financial foundation and enjoy steady growth, often seeing long-term success through conservative but reliable investments.

aquarius in the 2nd house can increase profits by focusing on innovation, technology, and humanitarian ventures. they might launch a tech startup, a renewable energy company, or a social media platform that prioritizes community and ethical interaction. aquarius could also find success with a nonprofit organization focused on social justice, an eco-friendly product line, or a collaborative workspace for creatives and freelancers. their futuristic mindset makes them perfect for ventures in artificial intelligence, blockchain technology, or virtual reality. by aligning their finances with progressive and forward-thinking industries, aquarius can attract clients and customers who value innovation and social impact.

pisces in the 2nd house maximizes profits by leaning into their creativity, compassion, and spirituality. they may thrive in a music or art therapy practice, a spiritual coaching business, or a holistic wellness center that offers services like yoga, meditation, and crystal healing. pisces could also succeed by creating a boutique art studio, a dream journal line, or a subscription service for wellness products like essential oils, herbal teas, and calming rituals. they’re drawn to businesses that help others heal or connect with their inner selves, so they may also find success in fields like astrology, psychic readings, or intuitive counseling. by aligning with businesses that emphasize emotional well-being and creativity, pisces can build a profitable venture that resonates deeply with clients who seek personal and spiritual growth.

[kidzcaters]

Convenient Kids’ Lunch Delivery in Coppell: Healthy Meals Made Easy

In today’s fast-paced world, finding time to prepare nutritious lunches for kids can be a challenge for busy families. Fortunately, Coppell offers several excellent kids’ lunch delivery services that provide delicious, healthy meals tailored to young tastes. Here’s a look at some of the best options available, ensuring your children enjoy satisfying lunches without the hassle of meal prep.

1. Healthy Bites Delivery

Healthy Bites Delivery specializes in nutritious meals specifically designed for kids. Their menu features a variety of options, including whole grain wraps, lean protein bowls, and colorful fruit and veggie sides. Each meal is crafted with wholesome ingredients to provide essential nutrients, making it a convenient choice for health-conscious parents.

2. Kid's Kitchen

Kid's Kitchen offers a diverse range of kid-approved meals that make lunchtime fun. Their menu includes favorites like mini pizzas, pasta dishes, and tasty sandwiches, all made with fresh ingredients. With customizable options and dietary accommodations available, Kid's Kitchen ensures that every child can enjoy a delicious meal that meets their needs.

3. Lunchbox Heroes

Lunchbox Heroes delivers exciting and healthy lunches right to your doorstep. Their offerings include bento-style boxes filled with a variety of foods, such as proteins, grains, and fresh fruits. Each lunch is thoughtfully designed to be visually appealing and nutritious, encouraging kids to eat well.

4. Fun Lunch Co.

Fun Lunch Co. focuses on making healthy eating enjoyable for kids. Their menu features creative and playful meals, such as build-your-own tacos, DIY sandwich kits, and colorful fruit skewers. The meals are packed with nutrition while keeping the fun factor high, making lunchtime something to look forward to.

5. Little Gourmet

Little Gourmet is dedicated to providing high-quality, nutritious meals for kids. Their lunch delivery service features seasonal menus with a variety of options, from hearty soups to pasta salads. Parents can trust that their children are receiving balanced meals that support their growth and energy levels.

Conclusion

With the abundance of kids’ lunch delivery in Coppell, busy parents can rest easy knowing their children are enjoying healthy and delicious meals without the stress of preparation. These services not only cater to young tastes but also emphasize nutrition, making it easier for families to maintain healthy eating habits. Explore these convenient lunch delivery options and make lunchtime a breeze for your kids!

[genderqueerdykes]

for people who are often in need of food and/or find themselves in a food emergency, it's more than okay to utilize your food bank. there are no requirements, it doesn't matter if you're totally homeless, on disability, disabled with little/no income, working under the table, a parent in need of help, working but poor, working and barely making ends meet, mentally ill, neurodivergent, or other situations where food is difficult to keep on the table, you are more than welcome to show up and get some food

some food banks require you to have proof of address (i know, it sucks) but in some cities some homeless shelters have the option for homeless folk to get their mail sent to the shelter's P.O. boxes, which will give you the "proof of address" they need, which is usually just some form of mail received at an address. always check with your local food bank to see what documents they require, if any, when possible

some food banks don't require any of that. some do require that you have a car so you can drive through and get boxes, but many do on-foot distribution. some even have delivery options. one of my food banks here does deliveries. it's worth looking into whatever you have going on in your local area if you struggle to keep food in your home. especially fresh fruits and vegetables. i can finally keep a steady supply of vegetables because i'm able to walk to a distribution a block away that happens every friday. it's been a blessing now that i have to cook all of my meals COMPLETELY from scratch to ensure i dont encounter trigger foods

engagement helps these types of programs stay afloat. the more people who show up, the more resources they will get. the government or whatever body runs these organizations need to know the community wants/needs these services in order to continue operating. don't feel bad if you stop by and grab some things if you're genuinely struggling to buy food and keep it around. it's okay to utilize these programs, that's what they're there for.

[peachesofteal]

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

[sluttyten]

Freaky Love

Kinktober Day 6 | Ten Masterlist | Member Masterlist

tags: stalking, obsession, smoking, masturbation, pillow humping, voyeurism, dub/noncon, gloryhole, anonymous sex, blindfold, riding, fingersucking

length: 7717

You’ve been watching him for days now.

Ten.

Studying his movements, his schedule. You know that he goes into work every day at two in the afternoon, except for Wednesdays and Thursdays. You know that he takes a thirty minute break around 5:30, that he sneaks several smoke breaks in periodically throughout his shift, sneaking out to the dumpster behind the restaurant or sitting in his coworker Mark’s car. You know Ten gets off work around 11 o’clock at night, that he walks back to his apartment, maybe stopping at the corner store for some drinks, maybe ordering delivery.

It’s because of his bad habit of just ordering in that you met Ten, that this whole obsession began.

It had been a miserably misty evening in early October. Sunday nights usually weren’t too busy, and this night was no exception. You’d been twiddling your thumbs for the better part of your shift, and finally Ten’s order came in, and you’d immediately taken it. 

The entire ride to the delivery address, you kept wondering what kind of name Ten was. That’s a number, not the name of a person, in your experience. And any time you’d had deliveries to people with weird names, they’d been weird people too. So you were curious what to expect when you reached the door of the apartment building, as you buzzed up on the box outside the door, as someone inside let you in, and then you were climbing up the stairs, breathless by the time that you arrived at apartment 5A.

Ten opened the door, and you were amazed. He wasn’t the weirdo you’d been envisioning. He was pretty cute. His hair was a little scruffy, dyed a deep navy blue. There was a pair of wire-frame glasses sliding down his nose, and he was wearing an oversized hoodie unzipped, basketball shorts, and a pair of mismatched socks. A cat poked its head between his legs, wrapping its tail around his calf as he grabbed cash to tip you.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized as he handed you your tip, offering you a sweet, charming smile along with the meager cash. “This is all I’ve got.”

His fingers brushed yours, and you felt the tingle shoot up from your fingertips right to your heart like Cupid’s arrow. 

And just like that, you were hooked.

For the next few days, you kept eagerly waiting for Ten to order again, hoping he would while you were on shift, and you’d be able to claim the delivery before any of the other drivers. You wanted to see him again, and after three days, it got to the point where you decided to just take a walk by his apartment building, hoping you’d see him.

You passed by right around two, just in time to see Ten flying down the stairs of the building, sprinting down the street in the black slacks and pressed white button down of his work uniform, apron fluttering in his hand. 

Curiosity got the better of you, and you’d followed him. That’s when you saw where he worked. You went inside, got a table, and delightfully, Ten was your waiter. He was flirty and sweet, chatty since you were dining alone. And it was when he was coming back to your table with your meal, as he sat it down in front of you, he’d said, “Were you my delivery girl the other night? I swear, I recognize you from somewhere.”

He recognized you! 

But you had to play it cool. Casual. “Oh, probably. I deliver for the restaurant I work at. Do you order from there a lot?” 

He’d stood there for a few minutes, chatting with you about that, about regulars and the pains that they could be. He had to walk away to take care of another table, but your heart was soaring. Ten remembered you! He’d stood here and talked with you, and you couldn’t help thinking that he’d only reluctantly left to go take care of the other table, that he’d wanted to stay here talking with you. 

That was just another layer on top of your growing obsession with him. 

You sat there for another couple hours, nursing your drink, slowly eating your food, ordering dessert, keeping an eye on Ten as he danced around his section, grinning and flirting with customers for tips. You loved watching him move; he was graceful like a dancer, light on his feet, and well-balanced even when laden down with a heavy tray of meals for a table.

It became a hobby of yours after that, to just check in on Ten occasionally. You couldn’t afford to  eat all the time at the restaurant where he worked, but there was a coffee stand right next door that offered a nice view in through the plate glass windows, so you could often sit on one of the tables at the coffee stand, sipping at your drink, pretending to read or work on something for hours while you watched him.

And then one Friday night, you were sitting outside when he got off work. You overheard him talking to his coworker – Mark, you’d helpfully learned when you “accidentally” ran into him in the back alley while he was smoking – about plans to go out to a bar later tonight. 

The bar was notorious for being a hook-up spot. It gave off more of a club vibe than just a bar, but it was grimy enough that it wasn’t one of the chic clubs that people typically favored. You were surprised to hear that Ten was going, and although your plans for the night had been to simply follow him home before heading back to your own place, suddenly your plans shift. You’ll be going out tonight too, coincidentally. 

Maybe you would accidentally bump into Ten there. Maybe he would be excited to see you again, like he’d been at his restaurant.

You get to the bar after Ten and Mark, spotting them as soon as you walk in. Ten’s at the bar ordering drinks while Mark stands right behind him, talking with a pretty girl. You linger in the shadows, observing them as they take shots, as Mark disappears onto the dancefloor with the girl, and Ten soon follows them into the press of bodies.

There are so many people dancing, pressed together that you struggle to squeeze through the crowd, trying to search for Ten among the writhing bodies. People are just dancing on each other, touching and grinding in an orgiastic ecstasy along to the beat of the music. You manage to squeeze between Ten and some girl, edging yourself between them until you’re the one dancing with Ten, his hands on your hips.

He must recognize you, you think, even with your back to him. He holds tight to your hips, and you grind back against him, swaying your hips to the music while he rolls his hips forward against your ass. 

You lose track of time like that, reveling in being in Ten’s proximity, being touched by him. His hands eventually skim across your belly, down to your thighs, up your chest. You’re soaking your panties, so aroused as Ten’s grinding against your ass, as he squeezes your tits. His lips brush along your throat, licking and sucking. 

And maybe if cruel fate hadn’t intervened, you could have gone home with Ten, could have fucked him and made him really fall in love with you. But some fool set a fire in the bathroom trash can, setting off the sprinklers. In the panic of screams and pushing and shoving, you and Ten are separated, and even once you make it outside onto the street – looking and feeling like a drowned rat – he’s nowhere to be seen.

But you hold the memory of the dancefloor close to your heart over the following days, treasuring it late at night when you’re in your bed, touching yourself thinking about what could have been. You wonder if Ten’s thinking about you too, wishing that he’d have held onto you a little tighter when you first sprang apart as the sprinklers unleashed overhead. You wonder if he’s been sitting in his apartment, considering if he should order delivery again to give him an excuse to see you.

Whether that’s actually the case or not, on the Tuesday following your night at the bar, Ten orders again.

It’s too early in the evening, so you weren’t expecting him to order just yet. He’s never off any earlier than 11, or so you’ve noticed in the last few weeks of watching him. But it’s only 10:45 right now. Had he left work early tonight? Was he sick? Was something wrong?

You take the order, and rush to Ten’s apartment. 

You get there a few minutes after 11. You buzz his apartment, but he doesn’t answer, and then you start getting worried all over again. You buzz his neighbors until finally one of them lets you in. You race up the stairs to apartment 5A, and when you reach it, knocking on the door, there’s still no answer. 

And then you hear a clatter on the stairs behind you.

“Ah, shit!” Ten hisses, reaching down to pick up his keys and his phone. He’s clutching his apron in one hand, balancing his order pad and a bottle of wine in the other hand. He snatches up his fallen possessions, and then climbs the last few stairs to the landing. “Oh, hey, I’m sorry!” Ten apologizes, walking quickly over to you standing in front of his door. “I didn’t think you would be here so fast, usually you guys take around half an hour to get here. I had a stressful night at work so I ordered before I left there, thinking I’d have plenty of time.” 

You step back a bit as he comes up beside you, as he reaches for the keypad door lock. You watch as he punches in the code – 0228 – and then he’s shoving the door open, scrambling inside. He kicks his shoes off into a pile of other shoes. He skids across the floor in his socks, ducking through an open doorway.

You take a step inside.

You’re in Ten’s apartment!

A different cat than the one you’d seen that first night trots towards you before it freezes, tail bristling, and then it bolts through the door Ten had vanished through. He emerges a second later, cradling the cat in one arm, and holding out a few dollars to you with the other. He takes the bag of his food from you, you take the cash, feeling that zing in your fingertips again when your hand brushes his.

“Thank you! Have a great night!” Ten says, shifting the bag from one hand to the other so he can reach for his apartment door. 

Reluctantly you step back out of the apartment, and Ten’s cooing at the cat in his arms as he closes the door, leaving you out in the hallway. 

You try not to let your heart sink. There was no flash of recognition in Ten’s eyes. He didn’t mention the moments you’d shared the other night on the dancefloor at the bar. But he’d told you that he had a stressful night at work, maybe he just wanted to be alone, he didn’t want to burden you with his stresses, he didn’t want to invite you in because he wouldn’t be able to devote his attention to you the way that he knows that you deserve.

But as you’re leaving, as you’re slogging back down the building’s stairs, you pass a pretty young woman climbing up. She’s talking on the phone, giggling as you pass by her. You’re about four steps below her when you hear her giggle into the phone, saying, “Yes, Ten, I’m almost there. Don’t worry, I know the perfect destresser.”

Heat boils in your belly as you twist around to watch her climb the rest of the stairs. She’s going to Ten’s apartment? To help him destress? Is Ten fucking her?

You’re halfway tempted to follow her back up there, to see with your own two eyes that she’s going into his apartment, that Ten’s letting her inside. It can’t be true. Misery weighs heavily in your gut, and you decide you’d better not go up there. You need to get back to work; you’re on shift until 1 o’clock in the morning. 

But the next morning, you’re up early. You couldn’t sleep last night after you got home. You’d been boiling with jealousy at the idea that there was another girl in Ten’s apartment right now. So you’d grabbed yourself a coffee and then plopped yourself down on a bench situated right across the street from Ten’s apartment building. It was really early. The sun was just rising, pouring through the streets to eat away the shadows. And you waited. 

And waited.

And waited.

Around 7:30 you see the building’s door open, and this time the girl from last night walks out. She’s got a bounce in her step, her hair clipped back from her face, and she rummages through her bag as she walks. You hate her. 

Shortly after that, Ten emerges, looking like he’s still half asleep. He’s on the phone, and his voice carries across the street as he says, “Yeah, Kun, I’m on my way. No! I would never forget a brunch date that you set, why would you think that? Oh, yeah, just because YangYang says that he had to text me to wake me up? No!” 

He’s still denying that he forgot his morning plans when he turns the corner. You’re caught for a moment, stuck between following him and doing something a little riskier. You want to go inside his apartment. 

Since watching him punch in the code last night, it’s all you’ve been thinking about. You now have access to Ten’s apartment. You could go in there, surprise him any time that you want.

0228.

The door beeps when you punch the numbers in, the lock clicking as it unlatches, and you turn the handle. The door swings open, and you slip quickly inside.

You wander around for a few minutes, learning the layout, just looking around. The cats – it turns out he’s got three of them – curl together on Ten’s bed, watching you suspiciously. 

Ten keeps a tidy house. There’s not a thing out of place. His bed is made, erasing any sign of the woman from last night. His clothes are all put away in drawers and in his closet. There aren’t any dirty dishes in the sink, the cat’s litter box is clean, there’s a horde of cleaning products tucked beneath his kitchen sink. 

You check out his bedroom. There are a collection of fragrance bottles and skincare products sitting on his chest of drawers. You find a box of sex toys and lube beneath his bed. There’s a stack of books sitting on the floor in the corner, dusty and surrounded by forgotten cat toys. You examine the products inside his bathroom as well – shampoo, conditioner, bodywash, etc.

There’s a half-damp towel hanging to dry in the bathroom, and you wrap your hands in it, bringing it up to your face, breathing in the clean smell of Ten.

Before you leave, you run your fingers through your hair, and with one of the loose strands that tangles around your fingers, you leave it beneath Ten’s pillow. A memory of you.

That night, Ten orders again. It’s his day off, so you’re a little surprised by that. Typically, you’ve learned that he goes out more on his nights off. He doesn’t usually order in. You hope he’s not having that woman over again tonight.

But when you arrive, Ten opens the door by himself. He’s wearing just a tshirt and sweatpants, bare toes sticking out from the dragging hem of the sweatpants. 

“You again,” he smiles. “I bet you’re getting tired of seeing me. Again, sorry about last night, leaving you waiting at my door like that.” He counts out the cash tip, passing it over to you. “I was so all over the place after my day, I wasn’t thinking straight about anything. Ended up having to relax with a bottle of wine, your delicious takeout, and my best friend.” 

Best friend? Not a hookup?

“I hope your day was better today,” you say, “And I don’t mind delivering all the way out here.” You feel heat rising in your face as you admit that. Ten’s at the very edge of your restaurant’s delivery range; most other delivery drivers don’t like coming all the way over here, eager to let you take it when Ten’s order comes in.

Ten smiles brightly. “My day was pretty good, actually.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you hold out a card to Ten. It’s got your store’s logo printed on one side of it, the other side has a QR code. “Um, we’re doing a contest sort of thing. Free delivery for a year. All you have to do is scan the code, fill out the survey, and you’re entered to win.”

Ten takes the card, flipping it one way and then the other. “That would be awesome. Thanks.” 

“Anyway, have a good night.” You take a step back, your heart racing. You can’t believe you did that. There’s no contest, not really. It’s a QR code that once he scans it, a bug will be on his phone. Yeah, there’s some fake survey on the other end of the link for Ten to fill out, but a tech whiz friend of yours that created this for you assured you that Ten wouldn’t be able to tell that you’d put a tracker on his phone. 

“See you around.” Ten waves as you start to walk away.

Hours later, you’re lying in bed at home when your phone dings with the email notification your friend set up once Ten scanned the code. You quickly click through, and there it is. Ten’s location. Now you’ll be able to see wherever he goes.

It’s probably about a week later when you see Ten’s girl best friend again. She’s at the restaurant, standing out by Mark’s car while Ten and Mark sit inside, all three of them smoking. Ten’s laughing at something she’s said, and you move a little closer, hiding behind a fence at the edge of the alley so you can hear what they’re saying. 

“You little freak,” the girl teases Ten. “Listen, some girls might find that hot, but I am not one of them.” 

Mark leans forward then. “Oh, what are you into?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Markie.” She steals the cigarette from his fingers, taking a puff. “But not this, like, voyeuristic, anonymous thing Ten likes. I want a man that wants me for me, knowing everything he’s getting, who knows me.”

“I know you,” Mark mumbles. 

Ten smacks Mark’s arm. “You couldn’t handle her.”

Ten’s best friend laughs, agreeing with Ten’s assessment. “But, seriously, Ten. You need to be careful. That’s risky behavior.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine.” He promises, taking the cigarette back from her, taking a drag from it before dropping it to the ground outside the car and stubbing it out with his toe. “She’s into it, too, I promise.”

The boiling jealousy starts up again in your belly. He’s seeing someone? You haven’t seen anyone over at his apartment except for this woman, and she’s clearly not the one he’s talking about. 

He still has several hours left for his shift, so you go to his apartment. You punch in the code and step right in, and you begin your search for any evidence that Ten’s hooking up with someone. He’d better not be. He’s yours. 

But maybe if there’s some other girl in his life, maybe you need to stake your claim, mark him as yours.

Ten’s cats are running around the living room when you walk into his bedroom and close the door. You lie down on his bed, bury your face in his pillow and breathe in. With your eyes closed you can almost pretend like he’s here with you, that you’ve spent the night and now you’re waking up beside him. You can almost imagine what it would feel like to have the memory of his hands on your bare skin, and thoughts of that lead you to thinking about his hands on your thighs, pressing them apart for him to fit between.

Your pussy throbs. 

You sit up, climbing off Ten’s bed only long enough to take your clothes off, stripping down to nothing. But that’s not enough. You walk over to Ten’s closet, run your hands over his clothes hung so carefully, and you select a tshirt, drawing it over your head. It falls to the tops of your thighs, just barely covering your bits. The shirt is so soft against your skin, it smells like Ten.

You lie back down, your hand immediately slipping between your thighs. 

You dive back into the fantasy, letting it take over as you slide your fingers over your slick pussy. In your fantasy Ten kisses and bites at your thighs, marking you up as he fingers you, all the while telling you how much he loves you, how much he needs and wants you, that he just wants you to cum for him before he takes care of his own wants. 

Ten’s name is on your lips as you cum around your fingers, but even that’s not enough. You’re still needy for more.

You hesitate for only a moment before you sit up, grabbing one of the pillows from the head of his bed. You grab your phone from where you left it on the floor, and you prop it up on Ten’s bedside table, aiming it towards the bed, angled just to the point where you can’t see your face. You wad his pillow up between your thighs, and you sink down onto it.

It feels so good to just hump the pillow, the friction of the fabric against your clit, knowing that Ten will lay his head to rest on this pillow after you’d soaked it in your wetness. You drag the hem of the shirt up, pinching it between your teeth as you bring one of your hands to your chest to tease your nipples, and your other hand you clench in the pillow. 

You let the fantasy take over again, imagining that you’re above Ten, riding him, grinding on his cock while he touches your chest. You ride his pillow like you would ride him, enthusiastically bouncing, moaning his name, and when your orgasm sears through you, you collapse to the side, grabbing your phone to end the recording. 

Before you leave, you put the pillow back where it belongs. You take the shirt off and hang it back in his closet. You straighten the bed up, leaving no obvious sign that you were there.

You didn’t see any trace of any other woman that Ten’s fucking around with, and that does leave you with a funny feeling in your belly. The whole way back to your apartment, you’re busy wondering what that was about, what Ten’s best friend meant about his risky behavior, but maybe if he’s doing anonymous sex with random strangers, she’s just worried about him practicing safe sex.

For the next few days, you watch his location, checking to see if it looks like he’s going to any apartments that aren’t his. And when it looks like he’s going out, whether that’s to a bar or a restaurant or anywhere public, you quickly make your way there. You just want to see who he’s hooking up with, want to see who they are so you can make them end things with him.

But every time, he’s either alone or with his friends; the only girl you ever see him with is his girl best friend. Sometimes you check his location while you’re at work, curious what he gets up to when you’re not watching him. 

One night while you’re at work, around the time that Ten’s getting off, you check his location. He’s walking, walking home probably, though he’s gone a little bit out of his way. He’s closer to your restaurant than he is to home. You watch the dot move, bobbing along the sidewalk, down streets that you walk every day, by your favored convenience store, the grocery store at the end of your block, and then you watch when the dot blips out of existence.

His phone died. That, or he shut it off. 

Maybe he’s meeting up with the mysterious girl he, Mark, and his best friend were talking about. You let rage boil in your belly, pissed that you can’t leave work right now because you were short-staffed for delivery drivers tonight. You could be out on the street looking for him, figuring out where he’s gone, but instead you’re stuck here. 

When the dot marking his location returns, it’s at his apartment. 

It’s out of your way, but you go by there, and you stand on the ground looking up at the fifth floor, at his windows. Ten’s standing there in his bedroom window, looking out at the city, at the street, at the sky. He’s naked. You can see all the bare skin of his chest, his stomach, his hips. You stand down there, looking up at him, studying the shadowy smudges of his tattoos from down here. 

When you get home, you climb into bed, you curl up and pull up the video from when you’d been in his room, when you’d cum on Ten’s pillow. You touch yourself again, thinking of him and that video, and as you cum on your fingers, as you close your eyes, you imagine that Ten’s there with you, that you can smell the familiar combination of his cologne and shampoo. 

You want him.

You really, really want him.

Maybe you should let him know. Maybe you should stop hiding, stop watching him from the shadows, and you should ask him out or something. You can’t just keep waiting for him to make a move.

A few days pass. You sit at the coffee stand beside Ten’s job, and you watch him work. You’ve noticed a few times in recent days that after his work day is over, Ten’s phone will die or he’ll shut it off for a few hours, his location only resuming once he’s already back home. You’ve decided you’re going to have to watch him if you want to figure out where he’s going.

You sit there for the rest of his shift, and at eleven, when he walks out the back door of the restaurant, you follow behind him, keeping your distance.

He doesn’t go home, instead you follow his footsteps as he walks to the bar where you danced with him that one night. You linger a dozen feet behind him in the line to get inside. Some rich bleach-blonde woman , comes flouncing out of her fancy car parked at the curb, cuts in front of you, and when you say something about it, she ignores you, turns to one of her friends and says, “I didn’t know they let him bitches in this place.” At which point, you’re seeing red. 

But if you fight this lady, if you get barred from the bar, you won’t get to see what Ten gets up to inside. So you hold your tongue and let the bitch in front of you. By the time you get inside the bar, you’ve lost Ten.

You decide you may as well get a drink while you’re here, and you sit there at the bar, looking out at the crowd, searching for Ten’s face. Eventually you spot him across the bar from you.

He’s leaning against the bar, talking to that woman – the blonde fancy bitch. You grip your glass tightly, overcome with jealousy when the woman lays her hand on Ten’s arm. You leave your drink at the bar, slowly making your way around it to where Ten and the woman stand; you’re not really sure what you’re going to do when you get over there. Maybe bump into Ten and strike up a conversation, get between him and the woman?

As you approach, Ten leans in to whisper in the woman’s ear, his gaze flicking up and briefly touching on yours before he’s closing his eyes once more. You’re close enough then that you can read his lips as he says to her, “Meet me in the bathroom.”

Absolutely the fuck not.

Ten steps away from her, heading right for the back of the bar where the bathrooms are. The woman spins in her seat, watching him go, and as she moves to stand and follow, you quickly cut in front of her.

“Hey,” you say, raising your voice to be heard over the music. “Is that your fancy car parked right out front? Someone just side-swiped it.” 

“What?!” She cries out, and then she’s gone, running for the front door.

It’s not a very good lie, you think. Once she’s outside, she’ll see that her car is fine and just come back inside. Regardless, it got her out of your way.

You walk to the bathroom. 

Ten’s standing in one of the two stalls. You recognize his shoes, and you can see him turn at the sound of the door opening. The second, unoccupied stall’s door is covered in graffiti, most prominently the word COCKSUCKER. 

“Is it you?” Ten asks from within the first stall.

You hum a sound of confirmation, and you step deeper into the bathroom, noticing that within the cocksucker stall is a hole in the wall separating the two stalls. There’s an X graffitied on the floor right in front of the hole. You take that as a guide, and you walk into the stall, heart racing, wondering if this is what Ten had in mind when he invited the woman.

You drop to your knees on the X, and you wait.

“Baby, I’ve been thinking about this since I first saw you,” Ten says from the other side of the wall. You can see his feet shifting, moving closer to the wall. “When we talked, all I could think about was your lips around my cock.”

And there it is. You hear the wall pop slightly as Ten leans his weight against it, as he thrusts his half-hard cock through the hole in the wall. 

This is it. This is finally it. 

Ten’s head hits the wall when you wrap a hand around his cock. He moans softly as you start working your hand up his length, twisting your hand on the upstroke, as you stick out your tongue and tap his cockhead on it before pushing forward to take Ten down your throat. 

You love sucking Ten’s cock. The weight of him on your tongue, how he’s the perfect length. He doesn’t try to tell you what to do, just lets you take control and do what you want, even when that means you’re just drooling around his tip, hands stroking the rest of his cock. 

“Shit,” Ten moans, thumping against the stall’s wall, hips bouncing off of it as he tries to thrust deeper into your throat. “C’mon, baby, show me how much you love my cock, how much you’ve been wanting me too.”

It’s sloppy and wet sounding as you slurp around Ten’s cock, bobbing your head, popping your lips off of his tip to give him little kitten licks along the slit. 

“Shit, shit, shit!” Ten bucks forward. The stall rattles. He cums over your tongue, down your throat. Some of it dribbles down your chin. “God, baby, you feel so good.” He rocks shallowly between your lips, and you suck at his tip, savoring the last couple dribbles of cum across your tongue. 

He pulls away, back through the gloryhole carved in the stall. You hear him hit the opposite wall, he sighs. 

You don’t wait around. You get up and push out of the stall, out of the bathroom, fleeing before Ten gets the chance to open his stall and see that you’re not the woman he thought you were. You run out of the bar, noticing as you do that miracles do happen, and someone did in fact side-swipe the car of the fancy bitch. 

You walk away from the bar feeling a little better.

You’re even more deeply obsessed with Ten than you were before, now that you’ve had a taste of him. You dream of that night often, of his cock on your tongue, of his taste spilling down your throat. 

You dream of him touching you. You dream of sneaking into Ten’s apartment at night and climbing into his bed, of kissing him, having him react to you in a lustful, favorable way. 

You still watch his location, and still there are times that his location dot disappears from the map, always times that you can never go check where he’s at, figure out what he’s doing. 

And then one night, his dot disappears while you're at work, but you find out exactly where he is.

“Hey, that Ten guy ordered a pick-up,” your coworker says a few moments after you notice the missing dot. You look up to see that she’s waving a to-go bag at you. “That’s weird, right? He always orders delivery.”

Ten ordered pick-up? He’s coming here?

The door jingles as it’s yanked open, and you look up just in time to see Ten striding inside. He doesn’t spare you a glance as he walks up to your coworker at the pick-up counter. 

“Hey, I have an order for Ten.” 

Your coworker turns, very obviously looking at you. “We’ve got it right here. You know, she’s pretty disappointed you didn’t order delivery. She loves running your order.”

Finally, Ten looks at you. 

He smiles. “I know. We’ve talked about it before. Sorry, but I’m seeing a friend tonight, so no delivery. I thought I’d pick it up on the way.” Ten takes the bag when your coworker slides it over to him. He glances your way, waves, and says, “See you around.”

As soon as the door swings back shut behind Ten, your coworker is already making sad sounds. “Babe, I’m sorry! I was trying to help you out, y'know? Let him know that you’re interested, but I’m sorry. I didn’t think he’d say he’s seeing someone.”

You shrug. “It is what it is.”

But it’s not okay. 

For the next two hours of your shift, you’re constantly checking your phone to see if Ten’s location has reappeared. You’re just thinking about him, wondering, worrying that you’ve actually lost your chance this time. This isn’t like at the bar where you stole him away from the blonde bitch. This is him coming here to where you work and telling you that he’s seeing someone tonight, and you have no way of intervening. 

But you’re off at 1 o’clock in the morning, and by the time you get home it’s about 1:30. You open your apartment door, flip on the entryway lights, kick off your shoes. You walk into the kitchen without turning on the lights in there, reach for the bottle of water you left there on the counter. 

Your hand finds nothing but empty air. You sweep your hand over the counter. Nothing. Maybe you actually threw it away in your rush out the door this morning. You head to the bathroom, hop in the shower, and then you climb straight in bed, hating that even after you’ve showered off the work stink you can still smell it on you. 

But you quickly fall asleep, ready to dream about Ten. 

Only you feel as if you’ve only just drifted off when you’re being awoken by the sound of something moving in your apartment. You open your eyes, but the room is pitch black, and after another moment you realize that it’s because you’ve been blindfolded. And someone is prowling around your bedroom. 

You try to sit up, but a hand presses to your chest. You reach out to slap at the man holding you down. 

“Oh, calm down, baby,” he says. “It’s just me.”

“Ten.”

He laughs when you freeze. “Yeah, baby, it’s me. I got tired of waiting.”

His hand runs over your cheek. 

“Waiting?” You shiver. 

“Yes. You’ve been watching me, breaking into my apartment, following me.” He didn’t sound mad at all. “I’ve been waiting for you to make a move ever since you masturbated in my bed. But you didn’t.”

“How did you know?” You try to sit up again, but he lays his hand on your chest once more. 

Ten waits for you to settle, and then he says, “That first night you delivered to my apartment, I thought you were beautiful. Maybe I was a little crazy, but it felt like there was a connection. And then you came into the restaurant? It felt like fate, the universe throwing us together.” He trails his fingers down your sternum, between your breasts, all the way down to your belly button. 

You’re not sure whether you’re grateful for or mortified about your present nudity. But Ten seems to be appreciating it. 

“And then you started letting yourself into my apartment. I found your hair beneath my pillow, such a pretty color. And then one day, my pillow smelled like… like pussy, sweat, cum. I found another hair from you, but it was on the shoulder of one of my tshirts in my closet, one that was in a different place than I’d left it. I decided to return the favor.” Ten flicks his thumb over one of your nipples. “I knew it was you, I know where you work, and around how late into the night you work, so one night I followed you home. I watched as you climbed up here to your apartment, as you used a key to get in, and I knew it was time to brush up on my locksmith skills. 

“I’ve been in here a few times too, baby. When you were at work. Touched myself in your bed.” Ten’s hand slides lower, all the way down your belly. “It was enough for a little bit, and then I just wanted you. But you weren’t coming to me, so I had to draw you in. At the bar. I wasn’t interested in that other chick, just using her to make you jealous, to tease you into the bathroom, into that stall beside mine.”

“What?” You gasp. He’d known it was you?

“You were exactly where I wanted you to be. Everything I said was about you.” Ten leans in, and you feel his breath on your lips. “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you. Every time I’ve spoken to you, I’ve done nothing but thought of your lips.”

“But earlier tonight when you came into the restaurant you said….”

“I said I was seeing a friend. You.” Ten moves away from your face, and you feel his lips skim your throat. “God, baby, I’ve been obsessed. Ask my friends, and they’ll tell you that I talk about you all the time. They know I watch you. My best friend and Mark, I’ve pointed you out to both of them, and they think I’m a freak for acting this way. Especially after I told them about one time you came home while I was here, and I hid in your closet, watching you.”

You moan. That’s hot, to think about him watching you when you didn’t even know. 

“They made fun of me for being a freaky voyeur.” Ten kisses down your chest. “But I just… I want you. And I know you want me too, that I had nothing to be worried about because if I’m a freak, then so are you.”

“Yes,” you sigh, arching your chest off the bed. “I’m a freak for you.”

“Yes, you are, baby.” Ten’s moving over you now, sliding between your legs. He flicks his tongue over one nipple, his fingers massaging the other. 

You roll your head against your pillow, wishing you could see Ten right now. You groan, “Ten, why the blindfold?”

He laughs, lifting his head from your tit momentarily to say, “I was going to have some fun, make you try to figure out who I was. You figured it out a lot sooner than I thought you would.”

A moment later, the blindfold is torn away. At last, you look at Ten, finally seeing his face tonight.

“Kiss me,” you demand. “It’s not fair that you haven’t kissed me.”

“I’ve just been waiting for you to ask, baby,” Ten coos, and then he’s there above you, his hand on your cheek, and you lift your head, closing the distance.

The kiss is exactly what you need, the key to unlock your ravenous desires.

You roll Ten over beneath you, pinning him against the bed. You kiss him like it’s the last one you’ll ever have. You don’t bother trying to strip Ten, just sliding your hands down his torso, tugging his shirt up away from his waist, sliding your hands into his pants. 

You’ve had enough of all of this teasing. The past weeks have already been enough foreplay. You just want him, you want Ten entirely.  

Judging by how hard he is, how he’s rocking forward into your touch as soon as you get your hand on his cock, you’d say that Ten feels the same. 

You guide his cock out of his pants, and immediately you’re rolling your hips against his hardness, gliding your pussy along Ten’s length to hear him moan. And if that’s not the most god-damned beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

“C’mon,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands drop to your hips. “Ride me, baby. Ride me like you did my pillow. It still smells like you, y’know? I jerk off with my nose to the pillow. Thinking of you.”

The moment that you sink down on Ten’s cock, you feel euphoric. This is all you’ve been waiting for for weeks now, to have this object of your desire, the heart of your obsession, finally buried inside your cunt. You’ve finally got him right where you want him, and it’s just as good as you’ve imagined. 

Ten isn’t just a passive partner while you’re riding him. He’s not making you do all the work. He’s lifting his hips off the bed, grinding up into you as you roll your hips down. Ten’s touching your breasts, your hips, your ass. He leans up to meet you in a fiery kiss as you boldly take what you want.

“So good, baby,” Ten moans. “Wish I’d have fucked you the first night at the bar, right there on the dance floor when you were dancing on me. And the night you sucked my dick in the bathroom, I was moments from coming over there, fucking you in that stall, but you were sucking me so good, baby. I couldn’t leave your sweet mouth.”

Right now, he puts his hand beneath your chin, slipping his thumb against your bottom lip. 

“Ten,” you moan, sinking towards him.

“Baby.” He echoes your tone.

Ten’s thumb dips between your lips, and you close your lips around the digit, sucking, flicking your tongue over the tip. He must sense you’re getting tired of being on top, or maybe it’s just that with you sucking on his finger, he’s decided to put you in a more submissive role. Either way, Ten suddenly flips you beneath him onto your back. His thumb is still between your lips as he starts moving, rolling his hips roughly, thrusting his cock inside your pussy, each deep thrust, sending ripples of pleasure through you. Electricity zings from your fingertips to your core as you touch Ten, and you cross your ankles at his tailbone, hugging his hips between your thighs.

You’re too far gone to really be able to listen to anything else Ten is saying, but he’s still talking, watching his thumb disappear between your lips, gritting his teeth as he holds back his orgasm. You claw your fingers down his back, cry his name around his thumb, and your orgasm snaps through you like a firecracker.

Ten pulls out at the last second, a broken moan forcing its way from his throat as he cums too, spilling across your belly and pussy before he plunges back in, getting a few last good thrusts in as that last spurts of his cum shoot out, leaving you with such a warm, glowy, fuzzy high.

He untangles himself from your limbs pretty quickly, slipping from the bed, and leaving the bedroom. You can hear him rummaging around in your bathroom, turning on the sink, and then he’s back. Ten gently spreads your legs, dragging one over his lap as he gently takes a damp cloth to wipe away his drying cum, trying to clean you up a little.

“Mm, stop.” You reach down, tugging the cloth from his fingers, tossing it aside so it hits the floor. “I don’t care. I just want you to come back up here. Kiss me again, Ten.”

He’s smiling when he heeds your wish. Ten throws himself down among your pillows, looking perfectly at home, and he wraps his arms around you, drawing you against his chest. 

“They’ll be so proud of me for finally doing this,” Ten sighs. “Mark told me he was starting to get worried that I’d be arrested for stalking. I tried to tell him that you’re worse than me.”

You tilt your head back to look at him. “How am I worse?”

Ten laughs. “You, my little freak, put a tracker on my phone. Don’t try to deny it. I know. You camped out outside my workplace all day at least a few times. You’re a little freak, and I love you for that.”

You preen, tucking yourself back against his chest, sinking in to enjoy your happily ever after moment.

a/n: slight Watch Me vibes (the Mark fic), but I just decided I kinda wanted the twist of Ten being equally as obsessed with her, that he's been stalking her like the whole time too. This one doesn't have the supernatural element that the others this far have had, but I feel like them being stalkers kinda falls under the monsters category of gods & monsters.

I hope you enjoyed! Reblogs are deserving of my eternal gratitude, likes are greatly appreciated, and your thoughts and comments are always welcome !