#the author wrote something that I'm sure they like and are proud of and I'm not here to harsh their mellow

[saltofmercury]

"a.m."

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Summary: Early morning scenes, small nightmare.

Author's note: HOLY CRAP it's been a while! I haven't written anything in almost a YEAR. I'm glad that I've finally got a lil kick of writing back in me :) This is something small I wrote back in May just to get the gears working again.

"a.m."

You can hear his breathing to your left. 

Morning is just peeking through– a soft gloom enveloping your room. You’re not sure what time he got in, or how he got in this time.

“Why do you even have a key?” you ask when he unlocks the balcony window.

“In case you’re not home to unlock it for me.” He smiles big and wide, stripping the weapons aside.

It’s become a running joke to you both on how he decides to enter your apartment.

Your eyes shoot open. There’s a mountain of pillows surrounding you, warm blankets on top of you. The room is dimly lit from streetlights. You're almost sure it hasn't been a full 8 hours and yet—- your body is telling you to wake up.

You turn towards him. You almost never get to see this side of him. His breathing, slow and rhythmic. He looks so much younger when he’s relaxed. He takes over most of the bed. Arms curled above him, he’s wrapped most of the top blanket around him.

The scar below his left eye is raised, his lips are puckered out. A soft moan escapes his lips, then his body twitches. You’re on high alert.

Nightmares aren’t new. The first couple of nights that he decided to stay over your apartment, you were woken up by whimpers and sudden movements. You would sometimes catch them before he woke up and carefully soothe him back to sleep– rubbing his cheek, placing kisses along his face. Whispering careful “i love you’s” and “you’re alright i’m here now”

By morning, it was like nothing happened at all.

For him, though he may never admit it, it was nice to experience vulnerability. The constant battle he has to get a full night's rest. A plague that encases him at night.

You move closer, placing your hand on his cheek, tracing the scar with your thumb. You place a kiss on his forehead between his brows, then over the scar on his cheek. 

“You’re alright, you’re okay” you murmur.

An exhale — 

his face contorts a bit, brows furrow, then an inhale through his nose.

A hand cups your elbow, rubbing side to side. He’s fighting sleep. His eyes try to peel open.

“What time is it?” His voice, low and groggy.

“It’s too early, almost 5 am” You kiss him, apologizing. 

He groans —not even an hour of sleep. 

“Were you having a nightmare?” 

“No, I got in around 4…” He adjusts himself, the bed springs, a yawn escapes. Deflecting the question.

Sleep carefully disintegrates from his eyes. He inhales, and his eyes blink open. He can make your face out in the darkness, the gloom behind you haloing.

His body, heavy with fatigue, he pushes it aside to get closer to you, wrapping himself around you.

Warmth, vanilla, home, love.

“I used the front door today…” he mentions. He's a little proud of himself.

You giggle, adjusting yourself under his chin. His hand pulls you closer, rubbing warmth to your back. His legs warm around you. 

“Wasn’t it so much easier?”

He scoffs, remembering how ridiculous it felt to walk in with his helmet. He had to disable the cameras in the entrance then double check for anyone in the hallway to not scare them off.

“Everyone was asleep… thankfully. I just couldn’t help but think someone would see me, then see me use a key to enter an apartment.”

You smile at how silly it sounds. The Red Hood having an apartment to come home to.

“It’s much better than entering through a balcony window.” you whisper.

He hums, “Entering through a balcony never gave me nightmares.”

Tracing circles on his back, you lull him back to sleep, waiting for his breathing to even out. You whisper more love into his ear, hoping it reaches his subconscious.

[totalswag]

Drew Starkey and actress!reader are dating for a long time now, he's invited to be present at the premiere of the film where his girlfriend and Jacob Elordi are part of the cast. Drew gets kinda jealous of the chemistry between them, during the scenes of the film, the interviews, the fans who ship them...even he knows they're just a good working duo and he's a good guy...

(Also it's a bit similar to how reader felt between Drew and Odessa cause they're very close each other, except that with Jacob it's much more faithful than they are...)

Can you write this please 🙏

jealousy jealously - DREW STARKEY

authors note thank you for this request. please let me know what you think of it. i haven't written something like this before and it was cool to write for sure. i hope you like what i wrote and it was what you hoped. sorry it took awhile for me to upload this, i had the request saved in my docs and finally got to it. feed back is always appreciated <3

requests are open

summary you are staring in a movie alongside jacob elordi. your boyfriend of two years, drew starkey, gets a little jealous of the chemistry between jacob and you even though he knows you two are good working partners.

warnings jealousy, kissing, acting, mentions of sex

Tonight is the red carpet premiere of your new movie, which will be released in theaters all around the world tomorrow. You are one of the main characters in the movie, and your co-star, Jacob Eldori, another main character and love interest.

You can't wait till tonight since the movie has been the talk of the town for months. The actors and fans are thrilled that the film will be released tomorrow. You and the cast are seeing it tonight, and we can't wait to see how it turns out.

Everyone is welcome to bring a guest. Drew Starkey, your two-year boyfriend, will be your plus one for the premiere. He is also an actor, well known for his role as Rafe Cameron in the Netflix series Outer Banks. He was so happy when you invited him.

The outfit you have on tonight is a lovely long black dress that falls to your feet and is complemented by black high heels with sparkle. Your makeup artist and you settled on a more natural look that will make your eyes stand out more. The hair is curled.

"I'm so proud of you, baby," Drew said, holding your hand and lightly squeezing it as you two came to a complete stop in the SUV.

Your heart melted hearing those words, “thank you bubs, I love you so much,” smiling up at him.

“I love you more though,” he playfully argues back, grinning.

The entire cast was already getting their pictures taken on the red carpet along with other well-known celebrities. You can tell how crowded it is outside just by gazing out the window.

When you first went onto the carpet, you took a few solo photos before moving on to photos with Drew. The paparazzi's lights flashed back and forth, calling your name and uttering weird things in order to get you to turn in their direction.

The film's director and producer requested everyone to gather for a group photo for the paparazzi. Seeing everyone was the icing on the cake for you. Promoting the movie with them was a blast. It's a joy to be able to collaborate with such talented actors too. 

Jacob approached you when you were talking with your manager, Britney, about giving a couple of interviews, engaging with fans, taking a group cast photo, and then stepping into the venue. Drew was next to you, his right hand on your lower back, but drew you closer when Jacob approached.

Drew's body tenseens as he holds you tight. You place your hand on his free hand, gently stroking it with your thumb to reassure him. The only reason he acts this way is because he sees how Jacob looks at you when he knows you are with Drew.

“You are okay, don’t worry” you whispered so only Drew can hear.

“You have nothing to worry about baby,”

Drew feels the same way about Jacob as you did about Drew and Odessa when they began filming Helrasier. The opening scene of the movie made you uneasy since your partner was having sex with someone who wasn't you, but it wasn't real, just acting. Reading how many fans shipped them when they found out Drew and you were together.

You understand why he’s feeling this way. It’s not a good feeling to feel. Both of you have been in the acting business for a few years now and know everything’s professional.

Jacob knows his boundaries and only sees you as a friend.

As you saw the two tall guys in front of you shake hands, Jacob was asking about how things were going in Outer Banks season four filming. Drew will keep things professional no matter what, and he will keep his sentiments within you.

Jacob leaned in for an embrace, "have you spoken to any interviews yet?" he asks, pointing back with his thumb. "No, not yet, but will be soon, you?" you respond.

"No, not yet, but I heard they're asking some good questions and some that are questionable," he says hesitantly when questioned about the specific questions that may be asked.

You three had a lovely talk until Britney informed you that it was time for the interviews. You spoke with five different interviewers, and during those interviews, some of them questioned Jacobs and your friendship because the chemistry between you two is strong, talked about the film and how excited you are for everyone to see it, what it's like working with the cast, and, of course, Drew.

"One question I have to ask because fans have been begging me to specifically mention this to you," the interviewer laughs, catching you off guard by the first part of her sentence, "will you be appearing on your boyfriend's Netflix series, Outer Banks?" You couldn't help but laugh a little.

"Ahh, you are not the first person to ask me this question today," you add, adjusting your hair, "I guess you would have to wait and see if I’m on the show or not this upcoming season” shrugging your shoulders with a grin.

Everyone in the theater room was waiting for the movie to begin. The director stood next to the screen giving a small speech about the movie. Drew sat next to you, his left hand resting on your thigh and gently rubbing it with his thumb.

"Before the movie begins, I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you and everything you have accomplished to get to where you are now, baby." Drew whispers in your ear, then kisses your cheek a few times. 

You felt your face get red from his compliment. Drew told you multiple times this week how proud he is of you. Both of you have been so supportive of each other since before you got in a relationship.

“I love you bubs” you smile before kissing his lips.

When the lights dimmed down everyone cheered with excitement.

When you landed the part and read the script, you told Drew about the two parts in the movie where your character and Jacobs' character have sex. As a result, he was already prepared for these scenes in the film.

The movie has been great, everything you thought. You are so proud of your hard work and everyone else’s hard work that was put into this movie. Once the lights turned on, everyone around started cheering and clapping.

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[creativewritersposts]

not true - Luke Hughes

summary; Luke Hughes x f!reader. You're daydreaming and writing fanfiction about your favorite player until he reads one.

warning(s); maybe grammar errors, angst, fluff

author's note; it's a mix from my old blurbs/imagines in a new one. Part 2 ?

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

Does anyone know the moment, having a crush on an unknown, famous person? Like saving pictures on your phone and using as wallpaper and thinking about how is it to know this person?

You have this moment. It's no secret you're daydreaming much but you're crushing on Luke Hughes for a weeks now. His curls, his smile, his whole attitude looks perfect. You're in your own world thinking how your life would look like- three perfect Luke baby's, a big house and a cute dog. Yeah, you're daydreaming too much.

"I wrote a new Luke fic, wanna read it?", you speak to your internet friend.

It's not like you don't have friends in real life- but talking with them about cute hockey players you don't feel comfortable with. It's your little secret.

"Sure", she replies and excitement swings in her voice. You send this short story with a proud grin, it took you hours to finish it.

"You have to post this! I love it!", screams Jess through the phone speaker.

"I'll do", copy it in your blog and posting it. You're reading nice comments, when a new notification comes on your screen.

'I'm definitely not the worst cook'. That's it, no profile picture, no caption who this person is. It could be fake. Luke Hughes would never read fanfiction about himself.

You're typing fast, 'who are you?'

An reply comes fast.

'Luke Hughes'

You laugh hysterical, someone wants to fail you. Without an answer you go to bed. It's too much information for you and it's late.

A phone call is waking you up, it's vibrating nonstop next to your bed, tired you grab after your phone, "hello?". Your raspy voice is not powerful.

"WHY IS LUKE HUGHES FOLLOWING YOU", Jess talks without friendly manners.

"No he's not, maybe fake", you rub your eyes. It's too early.

"No it's Luke himself! I'm not blind", she talks nonstop like a waterfall.

You check your Instagram - hundreds of new followers and she's right- Luke Hughes started following you.

"I have no clue", you get in shock. You're still dreaming, there's no other explanation for this.

"You better find out why", Jess laughs happy for you. "I'm not living in New Jersey so I don't think there are chances".

You dressed up, went to work and forgot the time like always - until something rings on the phone again.

The phone rings the last hours more than in your entire life.

"I'm not a bad cook", notification from Luke Hughes himself.

The curly man with incredible hockey skills and two hockey brothers and a legend as mom. This Luke Hughes who's your wallpaper like everywhere you use.

You dance with the phone in your hands before you reply. Breath in, breath out; let's go.

"Ok". Not that bad. Unimpressed.

"I can prove you. I'll cook dinner for you".

Dude, there is some space between you two. You don't think he has a private jet.

"I don't live in New Jersey", you smirk whilst sending him. You're a fangirl but not a puck bunny.

"I have a car", with an winking emoji. How can he dare to be such a tease?

Before you could react he calls per chat, his face comes on the screen, his cap on his head, tired looking face. "Hey", he smirks chill and pets his curls.

"Hello", you wave awkwardly. You're in work clothes so you don't look stylish. "Can you give me your adress?", he asks with a voice crack. "I'm not for one night, Hughes", you warn him. You're disappointed, you always thought he's a gentleman.

"Oh no not this way!", his face gets closer to the screen, "you know I love all my fans but I'm really interested to meet you. Not as what you think", he shyly says. He bites on his lip, waiting for your answer. Honestly you don't know how to react. "I'm not a supermodel. And I like to eat, not just salad", you tell him. "Why are you guys always thinking we just like supermodels?", he's frightened. "Because you follow 45 blonde models on Instagram", the answer comes out your mouth like a pistol.

"Instagram is not real life. Do you like meat?", he's still interested in this conversation.

"Yeah", "ok my navigation says I'm there in 3 hours so better be prepared for the best meal you ever ate!", "wait you know my address?", you get worried. "Your friend Jess told me", he laughs shy.

"Oh my God I'm gonna kill her for that",you mumble to yourself. "Do you want to meet me? Your friend told me you're interested, too", he bites in his nails. "yes!!", you scream louder than you should.

"See you later!", he laughs friendly and closes the video chat.

Your poor heart.

[ihavethedreamies]

First Kisses | NCT 127

NCT 127 - All Members

Rating: E for Everyone

Word Count: About 300 for each, so about 2.4k total

Pairing: NCT 127 x GN!Reader (Separate)

Genre: Reader-Insert, Drabble, Fluff

Summary: Your first kiss with each member of NCT 127!

Author's Note: I have never wrote drabble-length things before, so I am proud of myself I kept these so short.

I tried to keep these gender-neutral, so let me know if I didn't, but it might still be slightly implied in these the reader is AFAB, I don't think so though…

PS. Mark's and Haechan's are different from the ones for Dream…

Edited (8/28/24)

-> NCT Dream <-

-> WayV <-

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other site. Happy reading!

Taeyong

You chewed lazily on a strand of licorice, chest pressed to the back of the chair Taeyong stole from Doyoung's room. While you were by no means a noob when it came to video games, you knew little about battle royale shooters. However, Taeyong wanted you to watch while he played. You didn't mind, you constantly watched YouTube games, but not games like that. Not really caring about what he was doing, you found your gaze drifting to his face. He really was so freaking gorgeous. "Did you see that?" His question snapped you out of your daze and you quickly looked back at the screen. Replying with a vague hum in agreement, the pause menu flashed over his screen. "You okay?" Taeyong turned to you fully, looking over your face. "Y-yeah, why?" "You're really quiet today, you normally comment more." "Oh, yeah, just…thinking." "About what?" HIs foot rested on the base of your chair, pulling it closer, only the backrest between you two. HIs concerned look had morphed into something more playful. You licked your lips, trying to think of a lie, not about how hot he was. You tried not to reel back when he brought his face closer. Why was your friend so- "Thinking about kissing me?" He smirked and your face erupted into a blush. You nearly went cross-eyes when he leaned in, "Hm?" You took the chance, closing the distance, softly pressing your lips to his. He smiled against it, kissing you back, deepening it. When you separated, his fond smile floored you. "Been thinking about that awhile."

Johnny

You could feel his eyes on you, but you chose not to acknowledge it. Continuing to chop up the various ingredients for the fried rice you were preparing, his eyes followed. But he wasn't watching what you were doing, Johnny was staring at your face. Why? You weren't for sure. "Everything okay?" You finally asked him. "Yeah, why?" He rested his chin on his palm. "You're staring. Again." "You're just so pretty." Johnny smiled. It wasn't his, 'I'm sexy and I know it,' smile; it was warm and soft. Like when he sees a puppy; it was pure. That's what threw you off. To the point that you halted all action, paddle held over the steaming rice in the cooker. "Huh?" "You're beautiful." He had no room to talk. "Is that why you've been staring at me?" "Of course." You balked at his response. Your friend was an amazing flirt, but that's not what he was doing. He said it like he was informing you of something you should already know. "You think I'm beautiful?" You put the rice paddle down. Johnny sighed dramatically, getting up off the stool, coming around the counter to your side. He cupped your cheek in his big hand, and before you could question him further, he leaned down and kissed you. Johnny swallowed your gasp, deepening the kiss. You gaped at him when he pulled away. "(Y/N), you're the most beautiful person I have ever seen." He had no room to talk.

Yuta

Your eyes fluttered open, trying to recognize where you were. The TV was on, the sequel to the movie you had put on playing. Still trying to form a coherent thought, you heard a soft grumble behind you, an arm wrapping tighter around your middle. This sensation brought a flood of recognition over your mind, realizing you were in Yuta's living room. You must have fallen asleep together on the couch. You startled when you felt him sigh behind you, his warm breath ruffling the hair on the back of your neck. The arm of his you were laying on moved under your head as he brought his hand up. Yuta's hand rested on your forehead, which he used to pull you back into him more along with the arm around your waist. "It's late, just stay the night here." His voice was rough from sleeping. Were you two dating? Pretty much. But sleeping over? You haven't even kissed yet, still transitioning from friends to something more. "Stay over?" We haven't even kissed yet." You huffed, letting out a nervous chuckle. Yuta hummed in response, then your view of the room spun as he rolled you to face him. You barely got to see his cocky, smug grin before he closed the distance, lips sealing over yours. When Yuta pulled back, you whined in protest, making him chuckle. "There, now you can stay over."

Doyoung

You shuffled out of your room, rubbing sleep out of your eyes. The morning light shining in your room had no access to your living room, keeping it dark. Your guest was still asleep, wrapped in your spare comforter on your couch. Smiling to yourself, you padded softly toward him, sitting on the floor to get a better view. It was late after you two finished your dinner and movie date, so you let Doyoung stay the night. Ever the gentleman, he insisted on the couch. You smiled, only his face was visible out of the blanket cocoon. So cute. You felt a bit like a creep, just watching him sleep, but he was just too precious. Gently, you brushed some errant hairs from his forehead, looking at every detail of his face. Flinching back when he groaned a bit, you held your breath, worried you had wakened him. "(Y/N)?" His voice was quiet, eyes still closed, you didn't know if he was still asleep or not. "Yes?" You whispered in reply. When he didn't respond back, you assumed he was still asleep, or had fallen back to sleep. Carefully getting up so you could let him continue, you yelped dramatically when his hand grabbed yours, yanking you down onto the couch with him. He had sat up as he pulled you down, so you ended up in his lap. Doyoung wrapped his arms around you, laying his head on your shoulder, cheek on your collarbone. "Morning, precious." You kissed the crown of his head. He pulled back after this, frowning slightly. Before you could ask him what was wrong, he clicked his tongue, kissing you back, but on the lips instead. When he retreated, he flashed a sleepy grin. "Morning, love."

Jaehyun

Slamming the door to your car, you sat back in the seat with a huff, fuming. You thought girls bullying other people over boys stopped in high school, yet here you were, in college. You know about Jaehyun's not so little fan-club but had been able to avoid them. But they had learned that not only were you two friends, that there was something more going on there. God forbid they learn how long it had been going on. Not wanting to drive while angry, you just sat in your car. You jumped when your phone started to ring through the car speaker when you started it. "Hey." Your voice was obviously strained. "Where are you?" Jaehyun sounded out of breath. "In my car-" "Don't go anywhere." He hung up. You blinked in shock at the call-ended flashing on the screen. Your attention was pulled away by someone knocking on the window. It was some girl, and two others were behind her, arms crossed. You sighed, rolling the window down just enough. "You're (Y/N)?" You hummed and she scoffed. "You need to leave Jaehyun alone-" "And you need to leave." You sighed as he arrived, opening the passenger side door. After he was seated, you pulled out of the parking spot, leaving the girls gaping. Neither of you said anything till you parked again at your apartment complex. He took your hand in his, "I'm sorry." You met his guilty gaze, then shook your head. "It's not your fault." He stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. Instead of replying, he leaned over the center console, capturing your lips with his. You smiled when he pulled back, "do that again and we'll call it even." So, he did.

Jungwoo

The show playing was one you had seen many times before, but since Jungwoo never had, you were rewatching it with him. Your elbow was rested on the armrest of the couch, cheek resting on your fist. Your other hand was stroking Jungwoo's soft hair as he laid on your lap. He was getting over being sick, but since you were the one who gave him the cold, you didn't mind him being all over you. He was normally clingy, let alone if he didn't feel good, like a small child. It was fine to you though; he was too cute to not let him get away with just about anything. "(Y/N?)" His soft voice was still a bit nasally. "Yes?" "I'm sorry I ruined out first date…" "What do you mean?" Your hand halted, looking down at him. He rolled over so he was laying on his back, letting him look up at you. "I nearly passed out when we were walking to the restaurant…" He drifted off, fingers coming up to nervously fiddle with your hoodie string. "Jungwoo, you had a fever, its fine." You huffed, shocked that he felt guilty about that. You were the one that got him sick. "Still… We had finally decided to go for it, then…" "Jungwoo-" He continued to ramble, apologizing, and complaining about himself. It was getting on your nerves, there was no reason for him to feel so bad. Wanting him to stop, you leaned down, lips briefly pressing to his still moving ones. You sat back up straight, face pink from the act. His was as well, but it already was from the cold he had. You flinched when his hand rested on your cheek, pulling you back down. "I can’t give this cold back to you, right?"

Mark

"Can I get this?" Mark asked, coming up to you with a frozen cheesecake. You glanced at it, not liking that he asked you as if you were his parent. "Sure? Why are you asking?" You shook your head as he put the dessert in the cart. "J-just making sure." You rolled your eyes, continuing down the aisle, glancing at your shopping list to make sure you got everything for the meal you were going to prepare. Having to buy enough food to feed nine ravenous young men was a little pricy, but everyone agreed to split the cost and send you the money, so it didn't matter what extra stuff Mark wanted. As you traversed the next aisle, you noticed his gaze focused on something on the shelf. He halted in front of it, so you turned to look at it. It was a candy necklace kit. "Let's do this!" He grabbed it and you chuckled, nodding for him to put it in the cart. "B-but just us…" He added and you raised your eyebrow. "Just us?" "Not the others. We can just make them for each other after they leave…" "You want to make me a necklace?" You teased, the tips of his ears turning red, his characteristic laugh leaving his lips. "Yeah… and I don't want you to eat it or take it off!" Mark's determined look went to your face, and you had a hard time not guffawing. "Okay, Mark." "I'm serious, don't take it off." He reiterated as you got in the car to head back to your place, the box in his hands. "I won't." "Promise?" He held out his pinky and you shook your head but completed the hand motion. Before you could your hand back though, he used your linked pinkies to haul you closer over the console, gently pressing his lips to yours. You sat back slowly, gaping at him, face equally as red. He raised an eyebrow.

Haechan

"I'm getting tired of this, (Y/N)." Donghyuck huffed at your side, and you tilted your head, confused. When he noticed your glance, he sighed, stopping. Holding your linked hands up between you two so they were in front of your face, he sighed. "This is about as far as we've gone." You looked around, wondering what the hell he was going on about, you were only halfway to his place. "This, (Y/N)." He shook your hands to draw your attention there. "What do you mean?" "We've only held hands! You've kissed my cheek and that’s about it! I'm tired of it!" If it wasn't for the silly whine of his voice, you would think him genuinely upset. "What are you getting at?" You continued your questions and he groaned; you were very smart for being so dense. "Kisses! I want you to kiss me!" Donghyuck whined louder, it nearly echoed off the stone walls of the back road you were walking. His frustration took you aback. "Why do I have to initiate?" You nearly shouted, annoyed with his dramatics. He immediately quieted, blinking at you, so very pretty- "Fine!" He yelled back and hauled you even closer with your linked hands, his soft lips touching your chapped ones. As soon as he tasted the lip balm you had put on just minutes earlier, he groaned and deepened the kiss. You squeaked a bit when your back hit the stone wall, trying to match his pace, but he was fervent. When he finally stepped back, you were almost panting. He nodded with a satisfied nod and continued on with your walk like he hadn't just swallowed your tongue.

-> NCT Dream <-

-> WayV <-

Master-Master List

NCT Master List

[captainjamster]

Price x Reader - Training and Punishment

Pairing(s): John Price x Reader Warnings: NSFW, blowjob, face-fucking, authority imbalance, choking, Y/N is used once, light dom/sub, reader is short and a bit of a brat, also not so subtle ghost/soap if you squint Wordcount: 6.4k Summary: Captain Price is a man that prides himself on his strong sense of justice and sensibility - so he knows that stupid feelings for his inferiors are the last thing he should be having. Yet thoughts of a new Second Lieutenant plague his mind after an off-hand comment, and when he sees the opportunity for an intimate scolding, he quickly finds it incredibly hard to walk the line between his desires and maintaining professionalism. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

A/N: I've been meaning to post this on Tumblr for a while, but I've been holding onto it so I can post it when I'm struggling to write/upload - aka right now :p

This was the first COD fanfic I ever wrote and uploaded, and I think it's one of my most popular so I'm proud lol

Full fic is under the cut <3

John Price is a good man.

At least, he thinks that he is for the kind of man that the world has made Price to be.

But lately, devilish temptation has been weighing on his shoulders in an unfamiliar way.

"Good morning, Captain."

Your eyes glance over him in a flash that he hopes he doesn’t imagine as you settle in your chair. Price doesn't care for formal seating positions in these meetings, but as you take your seat just two across from his, he can't tell whether he appreciates that decision or not.

The scent of your shampoo and fresh soap tickles his nose and he takes a sharp breath in, lustful images flooding into his mind like they were just waiting for an excuse. But like the hardened, controlled man Price tells himself that he is, he's shaking away the thoughts before they can go any further.

"Good morning, Second Lieutenant."

For a second he isn't sure whether you appreciated his reflection of rank in his greeting, but as he sees the corners of your lips quirk, a delighted warmth builds in his stomach. Before he can find anything else to say, Ghost pushes through the doorway, nodding at Price. Price doesn't even have to raise an eyebrow before Ghost speaks gruffly. "Takin' a piss. Said he'd be quick."

The large man seats himself at the opposite side of the round table and to anyone else it would seem like a calculated move to make distance, but as you pour over your morning notes, Price notices how Ghost shifts his foot to push the chair next to him out in expectation.

The files are still warm in his folder as Price opens it, spreading out training schedules, operation plans, tactical maps and other notes to go over. Ghost's absence of a folder is displeasing to Price, but equally unsurprising. As he shifts through the folder and passes two pieces of paper to Ghost, he's grateful that at least Ghost gets his paperwork done, compared to another one of his Lieutenants.

Like that Lieutenant was summoned by Price's thought, Soap can be heard from the corridor before he even enters the room, trailing behind Gaz as he babbles about something. His demeanour is too bright for such an early morning start, but at least he looks much more awake than Gaz, who is nursing a steaming cup of coffee between his hands, strong enough for Price to smell immediately.

"Mornin' Cap'!"

"Captain."

Soap takes the pushed-out seat next to Ghost, and as Gaz follows suit, Price is relieved to see they've managed to bring their folders; despite how he cringes at the torn, dog-eared edges. Ghost hands Soap the second paper as Price slides another to Gaz across the table.

Two other second lieutenants make their way through the door. They move to sit next to you, finding companionship amongst the shared rank, though Price notices one falter as they observe your proximity to him. It was a brazen move to seat yourself so close to the captain. He likes your boldness, respectful but confident. As a couple others filter in and take their seats, Price begins the meeting. It's a standard monthly meeting, something Price has done so many times he doesn't even need to think, but today he feels nervous. It would make him a poor excuse for a captain if he let it slip him up, so he powers through the unrest in his stomach each time his eyes catch yours.

He tries to keep his eyes off you during the meeting, tearing his eyes away each time he glances at you. When you stand to speak, he almost feels relieved to have a reason to look at you while you address the table. Price doesn't know why he finds himself so distracted by you during the meeting, or why he wants there to be something behind the way your eyes linger on him.

When he dismisses the meeting, his shoulders release a tension he didn't know he was holding. Another effect of your presence, he thinks, and this realisation sparks something impulsive within him. He watches as everyone moves to the door, eyeing you lagging behind as you shuffle your notes, a pace behind your companions.

"(Y/N)."

Your name is out of his mouth before he realises it and you pause in your step, turning to look at him. "I..." Price falters, wracking his brain for something. "You spoke well in the meeting." He nods stiffly and manages a smile, kicking himself for speaking in the first place.

"- no way the Lieutenant worked for it; I'm telling you the bitch sucked someone off."

Confusion furrows your brow for a moment, but you look pleased as you smile, nodding back in thanks as you continue out the door. Price sinks back down into his chair, pulling a cigar and lighter from a pocket on his pants and sparking it. Off the field, he tries to limit himself to just a morning and afternoon smoke – not that he’s happy about it. He takes a long, slow drag as he eyes the "no smoking indoors" sign, neatly paired with the smoke detector that seems to be blinking at him disapprovingly. Next to fucking his inferior officer so hard they couldn't walk for days, smoking indoors seemed like a minor rule to break.

----------

It had started weeks ago, after a bitter comment he half-heard from some rookies in the common room after an exhausting session, designed during the previous monthly meeting and run under your command.

Their backs were turned to Price as they sat at the table, unaware he stood a distance behind them – seeing the captain occupying such spaces was rare, his work keeping him cooped in his office, and it was only checking the supplies that needed to be replenished that had brought him here.

"The Captain is too old to fuck with her, I'd bet Lieutenant McTavish. She serves under him anyway, yeah?"

The other rookie scoffed. "I bet she serves under him alright."

Price decided he’d heard enough and cleared his throat, turning around and stepping over. The soldiers bolted up, standing to attention.

There was no need for you to hear this, he mused, especially when he could handle it himself.

"Finished with training, boys?" They respond with a “yes sir” in unison, and Price saw the hope in their eyes that he missed their conversation.

"Not if you have breath to talk like that. Do it again, whole thing."

A cruel punishment when an office discussion would have served, motivated by the flush of anger he felt in the moment at the suggestion his officers would be so easily corrupted. But as he laid in bed that night, their words echoed through his mind. Sleeping with you? He could genuinely say he had never thought of that before; the battlefield keeps his mind hostage, no space for fleeting fantasies. He was a good captain and respected his inferiors, perhaps beyond what other captains would deem as wise. He wasn't going to fantasise about you because you were a human with breasts and a vagina.

But then he thinks about your first meeting with the team, remembers shaking your hand, the firm grip warming his palm as you beamed at him. Your hands were soft in his, barely weathered despite your time in the field. Soap was delighted at being the only Lieutenant assigned a Second Lieutenant that had to be transferred in, despite Price's insistence that it was a purely random decision to implement someone trained in new combat drills. You were equally as smile-y as the Scot behind you, and Price thought if your smile was any brighter it would hurt his eyes.

Your hands and that beautiful mouth. He wonders if all of you is soft, how your work has left you scarred, what else is hidden underneath that tight-fitting uniform and heavy gear. How it would feel to run his hand up your arm, pull him against you under the sheets, his fingers wet with your spit as your tongue runs over them, keeping those pretty eyes locked with his as he’s pushing right up against there –

He shoves his face against the pillow until his lungs ache for oxygen, only pulling back for a gulp of air when he feels the burning in his lower stomach dissipate. These were just silly thoughts the rookies planted in his mind, and his tired brain indulging in primal nonsense. There was nothing deeper, certainly nothing regarding you. You were a good recruit and he liked that; he’s just looking out for you, right?

I would’ve reprimanded any junior talking about their lieutenant that way – nothing more.

For a second he falters, dragging his step as his brain works to compute the next best option; does he wave? Pretend he doesn’t see you, lost in thought? Smile and hope you don’t want to stop for a conversation, busy with work?

A small spark of rage reignites within him as he thinks of the comments, rolling himself onto his side with a huff. And as he falls asleep, the captain tried to ignore the quiet voice asking him whether he feels angry at the idea of his Lieutenants being tempted, or if it was the temptation being you.

----------

The next time he bumps into you is the evening a few days after the meeting, when dinner has finished, and most are retiring to their rooms. There's an unmanageable amount of folders in your arms as you hurry down the halls.

“Lose another bet with Soap?”

It wasn't that he was hoping to avoid you, but your presence makes him feel stupid, unassertive as he fumbles uncharacteristically through sentences. The next morning after his encounter with the rookies, he burnt himself pouring water into his mug when you walked in, and soon Price realised he stumbled every time he noticed your presence. The latest meeting affirmed what Price had been trying to deny; not only did you stir something within him, the times you look at him make him hope you feel something back.

Your eyes automatically flicker to him as each footstep brings you closer, a smile growing on your face when you recognise him, accompanied by a respectful nod. He could just nod back and keep on walking. Yet despite all his hesitancy, he finds himself to be the first one opening his mouth.

You let out a laugh this time, better than the small smile he got before and after the meeting. He can’t help the way that a smile tugs at his lips from just hearing the melody. The papers rustle as you readjust your slipping grip to stop and talk, and he prays that you don’t notice his lingering look at the way the folders pressed against your chest.

“Let me help you, soldier.”

From the apprehension that flashes across your face, he can predict your rejection before it leaves your mouth, cutting you off.

“You think a captain doesn’t do paperwork too? C’mon. You’ll save me from doing more when you drop those folders and lose something important; missing file reports are a bloody bastard to get done.”

To his relief, the smile returns and blooms into a grin.

“When you put it that way sir, I can’t refuse.”

You struggle to keep everything organised as you separate the piles, and Price instinctively swoops his arms underneath yours to catch any strays that might fall. The move pulls him closer to you, and he hates how he can feel his heart beating faster in his chest. Mumbling a thanks, you manage to divide the stack and hold out a half. Price grabs them, ignoring the way his fingers brush over yours as they hold the stack steady. The pile he takes is heavier than it looks, and he’s surprised you were carrying double the weight without more strain. They’re warm from your grip and he ignores the terribly childish thought about how this is some kind of indirect hug.

“Gettin’ in some extra weight training lugging this around, son. Got a strong set of arms on you.”

He needs to stop complimenting you during every goddamn interaction.

“Thank you sir, guess it’s assurance our training works well. It’s just to my office; you won’t have to carry them for long.”

He hums in approval, letting silence fall between you as he keeps a slow pace, listening to your footsteps fall in tandem. The hallways are empty, and a selfish part of him hopes they stay that way as he basks in your presence.

“It wasn’t a bet, by the way.”

“Sorry?”

“The paperwork, sir, it wasn’t a bet. It was actually really funny – we had some time to kill after training, and Lieutenant Riley and Lieutenant McTavish thought they would try and give me some lessons on hand-to-hand combat.”

“Based on your evaluation feedback, eh? Good lad, working for improvement.”

His approval seems to bring a warm flush to your cheeks that he can just catch in the poor barrack lighting, and suddenly he’s not sure he wants to stop complimenting you.

“Yes sir, thank you sir. L.T. McTavish promised me some lessons and it was convenient that Lieutenant Riley was there too.”

“What was so funny about training, then?”

He can see the door to your office come into view as you turn the corner, and his weary arms feel a little grateful it isn’t much further.

“Oh, it wasn’t the training, sir! They decided to show me some basic combat, and when we’d played around with that, we got to using prop guns as close combat weapons. After a while they started using the guns as weapons to fight each other, and then – “

Price frowns as you cut yourself off sharply, falling silent as the smile drops from your face. He raises a thick eyebrow at the break in speech, but your eyes are suddenly glued to your destination of the door with a feverish interest.

“And then?”

There’s a hesitant quiet before you respond, and Price thinks he can almost hear the gears in your brain turning.

“Lieutenant McTavish… thought it was not a good idea. Because it was irresponsible and could break the decoys or hurt someone.”

If the pause wasn’t suspicious enough, the (rather specific) answer most certainly was. Lieutenant McTavish? Thinking something is a bad idea? You come to a halt at the door, and he stops in turn, watching you.

“And that was funny?”

“Uh… Yes, sir.”

The door swings open as you turn the knob, stepping in and letting the folders fall on the desk with a sigh of relief. Price follows suit, letting the door fall closed behind him as he places his folders neatly next to the pile on the table before turning to you, crossing his arms and resting his hip against the desks’ edge. You stand next to him in front of the desk, eyes flickering between his intimidatingly relaxed stature and the closed door. Instinctively assessing the room and its exit points. Like prey.

“Can’t imagine McTavish would suddenly find such sensibility in the middle of fuckin’ around.”

The way your eyes look anywhere but his face would be amusing if he wasn’t slightly concerned about the state of his Lieutenants and the training equipment. Though, he assumes since Soap and Ghost thought they could get away with it by using you as their little lackey, nothing serious enough had happened to warrant any immediate action; he would confirm with his lieutenants later though, knowing their irritating tendency to shrug off anything but life-threatening injuries.

“You had to…” He watches you swallow as your eyes finally meet his. “You had to be there to get it, just... Funny in the moment kind of thing.”

“Right, right, ‘course. So, if I was to look through these folders…” He picks up one sitting on top just to make a point, watching your reaction. “… This extra paperwork wouldn’t happen to be accident report and equipment replacement forms, eh?”

Nothing comes from your lips as you part them to speak, and you settle for a nervous shake of your head. He notices the flexing of your arms as they rest behind your back, at an informal stance of attention; fiddling with your hands, he suspects, and the way he’s making you nervous sends a rush to his head. You were never arrogant in your responses, but sure and steady, and the sudden change in your demeanour was thrilling to him. Lying to others clearly escaped your many capabilities, and although he could just bust you right now, he doesn’t.

“And if I went to the infirmary logs, I wouldn’t find a muppet or two listed as treated at some point today? All prop guns will be neatly organised in their respective storage spots?”

There’s a pleading in your eyes as they meet his again, and Price knows he should stop tormenting you with this game. That this game is leading his mind to a dangerous place, and he doesn’t know how long he can maintain the boundaries of professionalism as you tremble in front of him. But he won’t be the first one to break, and something inside him can’t but enjoy the interaction, egging him on – so he lets you suffer before applying more pressure.

“You were asked a question, soldier.”

“Sir?”

He watches you flounder for a few more seconds, stuttering and stumbling over the excuses racing through your mind. “I-I think I should start my work sir, thank you for helping me carry-“

As you reach out to take a folder from the top of the pile, he uncrosses his arms and moves in a flash to capture your hand against its surface, pinning it there.

The silence is almost ringing in his ears as he takes a moment to watch you, caught into leaning closer towards him. If Price took not even a step closer, he’d be towering over you; any further and he could feel you pressed up against him.

“I think there’s something you’re not telling me. S’important to keep the Captain informed.”

Every muscle screams at him to give in, to pounce on you. To satisfy the urge to move he slides his arm between you to put the folder back on the table. He lets it fall from his grip before he forces it back to his side, goosebumps prickling where his arm brushes against your shirt. He doesn’t know what miracle is keeping his self-control hanging by a thread, but he’s listlessly thanking every lesson in self-restraint and patience he’s had. He can’t keep the gruffness out of his voice, scratchy as it rumbles out of him.

“Not bein’ entirely honest.”

His eyes flicker down to your lips, and the stutter in your breath tells him that he wasn’t as inconspicuous as he hoped. But you don’t pull away and your hand stays under his, warm, the shaking lulled beneath his steadying hand.

“Sir…”

He takes the step closer, keeping his hand atop of yours. You need to look up to keep eye contact with the captain, and he knows that this is the last time he’s ever going to get to be this intimate with you. Even as they rush by faster than he can keep up with, one stream of thought is loudest: he can’t be doing this. Price had seen this path before, dismissed soldiers from service who had followed it. Even if he did resign to the idea he liked you, it couldn’t go anywhere. Two soldiers couldn’t fraternise, let alone an inferior and their captain.

And it wouldn’t even matter; you were going to pull away. He was making you nervous, wishfully interpreting your fear as desire. Classic fuckin’ projection. This was going too far; a creepy, old officer taking advantage of a good, young soldier. He can’t make himself move, can’t retract his hand from yours, and he knows it’s a matter of time before you do it for him. He breathes in your scent, surprised he can even inhale and waits for you to move, wishing the moment wouldn’t end.

The world doesn’t feel real when you make the first, most unexpected move. You close the gap, body finally against his, and he knows that this is all a dream when your lips connect. But the way your hand cups his cheeks, rubs against the bristle of his beard feels so real, and the shock begins to subside as he kisses back tenderly, afraid the move will shatter whatever illusion he’s experiencing.

His heart wrenches as you’re pulling back too soon, missing your skin against his lips and cheek, but looking at your expression immediately tells him why. Something almost like shame stirs when he realises he’s been paying enough attention to you that reading your thoughts has become easier, but it’s not a challenge when they’re just an echo of his own; we shouldn’t do this, I shouldn’t have done that, we need to stop right now. But Price’s thread of self-control has snapped – it snapped the moment your lips met his – and he doesn’t care about regret or reservations anymore.

There’s only one thing that’s stopping him. He wants to be sure you want this, wants to know this isn’t a mistake.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t–“

“Will y’do it again?”

The question makes you look as stunned as he feels by the kiss, and the playing field suddenly feels a lot more level. Confidence surges back into him, and as words escape you once more, he has a better idea.

“Just tell me to stop.”

His empty hand snakes to your waist and pulls you back into him, letting you rest for a few moments as he waits for rejection. Nothing but a small huff escapes you at the collision, and Price has never moved faster in his life. When your lips meet again, he kisses you like every second breathing is a waste of time; passionate, breathless and hungry. Finally unpinning your hand from the folder, he moves it against his chest. It spurs you to life, fisting the material in a tight grip as your other hand makes itself home in his hair. Price feels himself twitch in anticipation for the moment that it’s guiding him between your legs, and the jolt keeps him grounded. He needs to take it slow, give you enough time to stop. This was already taking too much in his mind, and he was only stealing as much as you would give him. But the way you kiss him back is almost bruising, and the grip on his shirt wouldn’t let him step back if he tried. He breaks the kiss to press his mouth into your neck, and the way you whimper rips a groan from somewhere deep. It takes effort that makes his body hurt to not bite down as he leaves a trail of kisses, finding a place on your collarbone to suck at, until there’s the smallest mark fluorescing against your skin.

Straightening up lets him take a good look at you, flushed and out of breath from his ministrations. He wishes that he’d done this sooner, and an overwhelming urge to make up for lost time hits him so hard that he feels lightheaded. It’s delightfully easy for the captain to man-handle you, spinning you against the desk and nudging your thighs apart with a careful but firm knee. The hand that was in his hair clutches his shoulder for support, and he keeps his hand steady on your waist. But his knee doesn’t press up yet, keeping his distance.

“Y’know what happens to inferiors when they disobey their superiors, don’t you?”

The way your pupils dilate is exhilarating and he feels him twitch again, slowly pressing against the tightness of his pants. Whatever doubt that’s rooted in his brain is drowning underneath the hunger for you, but he refuses to take chances. He can feel the need rising in his stomach, and the fiendish desires that come with it. He wants you to know what you’re getting into – and maybe a small part of him is still in denial, craving reassurance. One last chance to back out.

“They get punished.”

Anything; the grip on his shirt slacking, a twitch backwards, a crease in your brow. But you just peer up at him with anticipation, unswayed by his conviction, jaw slightly agape as he watches the words sink in. He takes his hand from his chest where it encapsulates yours, bringing it to meld against the plush of your cheek, and the way your bottom lip catches under the thumb tracing it has his mind set on what’s coming next. You kiss the pad of his thumb, and as a small hiss slips from him, something sparkles in your eyes.

“Punished? I’m just doing paperwork, like I’m told, sir.”

Then he feels it; the roll of your hips, barely enough to brush your crotch against his thigh. His grip on your waist stiffens as he tries not to tremble. Your breath catches in your throat at the pressure, and he hopes it frightens you. So unaware of what he wants to do to you.

“Doing like you’re told?”

A stray piece of hair brushes against his hand and he pushes it behind your ear, meticulously using the move to drag his fingers down your neck until he can extend his digits, fitting your neck into the crook of his hand. Feeling you swallow underneath his grip is pushing him, and the way he throbs against the seam of his pants is fighting his urge to drag this moment out until he can commit it to memory.

“Funny. I didn’t tell your hips to move. Didn’t tell you to give me cheek.”

With his hand around your throat, you still give him that bratty attitude.

“Part of the service sir, free of charge.”

He has no question that you want this, the reality has sunk in, and it’s only a matter of how fast he can get you on your knees.

“Second Lieutenant, I think you’ve forgotten how this works.”

A gasp breaks from you as he tightens his grip, just enough to make breathing difficult.

“I think you… need another lesson. Y’need a reminder of what your mouth is for, how you should be usin’ it. As Captain of this platoon, it’s my duty to reinforce punishment for misbehaviours.”

“You report to my Lieutenants. My Lieutenants report to me. I am your Captain. You report to me, with honesty.”

Price squeezes harder, completely restricting your airway, watching as your face reddens.

The hand around your throat falls to his side, and he lets go of your waist to pull your hand from his shirt, the fabric wrinkled and creased. It pains him to vacate his leg from the warm, plush thighs around it as he takes a step back, but he’s well aware that it’s going to be worth it.

“On your knees, solider.”

Without a word you push off the desk, sliding down the sturdy wood of the desk and to your knees, right at his feet. The lack of resilience is intoxicating, wrapping around his lungs and squeezing the air out of them. Without waiting, your hands are running up his thighs but before they can get to his zipper, he snatches them into a tight grip to press against your head.

“I don’t think so. No hands.”

The stare he fixes you is stern enough to keep you in place as he unzips his pants, just slightly tugging them down. His fingers slip further to his pocket, pulling out a cigar to hang in his teeth and an accompanying matchbox. A lifetime of smoking has the move perfected, and he doesn’t even need to watch, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he strikes the match and burns the cigar butt with a slow, deep inhale. Anticipation is doing his job teasing you, and he can see your thighs squeezing together; good, wearing yourself out for him. When you squirm on your heels, he exhales a plume of smoke, dropping the matchbox on the desk.

“See? Wasn’t that hard t’listen.”

The conflict in your mind is apparent; take the degradation or not. Heat rushes through his stomach at the way your jaw clenches, biting back whatever retort was on your tongue, and he thinks the attitude adjustment deserves a reward.

“Good pet, keepin’ your mouth closed. Maybe you won’t be too hard to teach.”

Price takes another long drag, taking the cigar between his fingers.

“Hands behind your back. Get started.”

“Of course, sir.”

He tries to open his mouth to reprimand your snark but instead a growl tears through him as your cheek rubs over the damp material at his tip, leaving it sticky and glistening when you pull back.

You don’t let him catch a breath, delicately grasping the band of his underwear between your teeth to begin tugging them down. The grip on his cigar is precarious and another drag steadies it as you pull down far enough for his cock to fall free, already tacky and wet from being pressed against him.

“Everythin’ out love, not just my cock.”

The small noises of surprise are muffled as he pushes your face into the shaft, an upwards roll of his hips pressing his balls against your lips. It’s almost pornographic as each thrust of his hips drags his aching cock across your face, leaving your skin shimmering with trails of pre-cum. Your cheeks are soft and pliant as they smush against his cock, and the hot rush of air and wetness of your spit each time his cock glides over your lips is almost unbearable. A needy moan vibrates against his cock, the sensation eliciting one of his own. The idea of cumming from just rubbing against someone’s face sounds ludicrous, but as his muscles tense, he needs to pull away before he splatters across your pretty face and gasping lips. Your hair falls from his grasp as he clutches your jaw, gripping it with enough force to hurt, tilting your gaze towards his.

Teeth graze against his skin as you nip the band again and he hisses, fixing you with a stern glare. But the way his dick jumps at the pain betrays him, so he settles for another long drag, watching as you finally accomplish your goal. You let go of the band with a snap, the tight pressure of the elastic under his sack making his shaft throb; on purpose, he suspects.

You sit back on your heels and take it in, almost admiring your work. He loves the way you look at him, studying his twitching and weeping cock, but Price wants to be in control of this moment. A hand tangles in your hair to attain a dominant grip, tugging your head to stay still exactly where he wants it.

“Gonna tell me what my Lieutenants did?“

“They were…”

Satisfaction bubbles in his stomach as you look up at him, sticky, flushed and messy while you lick your lips. He wants you to give in, admit defeat and let him reward you.

“They gave me a close combat lesson and then cleaned down the room, sir.”

It’s so quiet he can hear each breath you take as the satisfaction is replaced with a fiery determination. He doesn’t react or respond, just watches as your eyes dart around his face, trying to gauge some level of reaction. Nothing gives as he rights himself up, dropping your jaw from his grip. The spark of his cigar is dying out, and the last embers glow as he takes a final puff.

“Y’had more than a fair chance, soldier.”

The cigar crunches as he fully extinguishes the expired butt on the desk, letting it fall with a thunk. With both hands free, he tenderly gathers your hair into a bunch, before yanking it back and pinning it against the desks’ surface. The back of your head hits the edge, and he’s satisfied at the yelp and indignant frown it draws from you.

“I’m gonna fuck this mouth ‘til you remember how to be a good soldier. At least work out the fuckin’ stress y’cause me.”

Keeping one hand to trap you against the desk, he wraps the other around his shaft. Spit gathers on his tongue before he opens his mouth, letting it fall down and splat onto his member, making a sticky noise as he rubs it along the length.

“Open up.”

You part your lips, hanging out your tongue and he can’t stop his eyes from rolling back when his cock finally enters your mouth. He knows this isn’t going to last long; Price is a man of drive over energy, stamina ebbing and flowing that’s compensated for by his meticulous touches, manipulative and focused on drawing out every pleasurable sensation he can create whether it’s with his cock or another tool. But in your office, after hours and pressed up against a desk isn’t the right place to bring you apart underneath him, and he has to settle with leaving you a taste only he can satiate.

The way you can’t do anything but let the captain work his hips is erotic, brows crinkled in desperation, eyes wet and pleading, helpless to do anything but speed up the process. It's a miracle he remembers how to speak as shallow jerks massage pre-cum across your tastebuds. In the same moment, he can feel your tongue press against him and his hips stutter.

“Bloody hell, darlin’. Use that fuckin’ tongue.”

Price thrusts further into your mouth, working his way in. You try to swallow around him, spit dribbling from your lips as you do your best to manage the intrusion, and he grunts at the suction it causes.

“Needy little love, eh?”

Another moan vibrates his cock stronger than before, and an animalistic growl is the last thing you hear before he forces the full length in. The way your throat tightens as you gag has his knees weak, and when his balls are flush with your chin, he takes a moment to regain his breath. A slick noise catches his attention, and he realises a hand is between your thighs, slipped under your panties and working away. He’s too close to draw the punishment out any longer, ignoring your absence of permission, and the fact that you’re getting off to being face-fucked is enough to reinvigorate the man.

“Can’t lie for shit, hm? Your body can’t either, just fuckin’ look at that. Playin’ with yourself as I use you.”

Every noise you make courses through him like electricity, and the degradation has you humming and whimpering. Picking up the pace again, lewd, watery plaps fill the air as he fucks your throat. Fluids trickle down his balls, droplets splashing onto your clothed chest with each slap against your chin. The deeper thrusts keep you gagging, stimulating tears that fall down your face, running the military-permitted mascara in black streaks as your eyes squeeze closed. The way you’re falling to pieces underneath him is exhilarating, better than any wet dream or weak fantasy he’s been entertaining himself with. His thrusts grow more erratic, both hands gripping the edge of the table.

“Look at me. Fucking – Look at me.”

Tears drip down your cheeks, nose buried against his pelvis as he feels your throat convulse around him. You blink rapidly up at him, trying to clear your eyes to meet his.

“Watch me while I fill your fuckin’ throat.”

When the words leave his lips, he can see your hand working faster and he feels heat rushing to his loins, thrilled at the idea of coming with you. He picks up the pace, each rough movement driving your head against the wood, and a faint voice in the back of his mind notes to grab Panadol after. The peak of his climax rapidly builds as praise falls from him between pants, telling you how "fuckin’ good" you look taking every bit of his cock.

As he throws his head back, a hand wrapping in your hair and driving his cock the deepest it can go, he prays the walls are thick enough to muffle the depraved grunts and groans he makes while emptying his balls. He feels your body spasm as your own orgasm rushes through you, the high-pitched vocalisations ringing around him as your hips gyrate into your palm and the other clutches at his pant leg. The adrenaline is rushing through him, feeling lightheaded but finally satiated. A hand unclenches from the desk and the other releases your hair, massaging your scalp almost apologetically. When he feels himself soften, he resigns to slowly pulling out, wishing he didn’t have to break the intimate connection. The cum you can’t swallow spills, leaking out and slowly seeping down your neck, onto your chest and shirt.

You look beautiful, face covered in liquids, dishevelled, and still recuperating from your orgasm. Affection overwhelms him and he crouches down, hooking his arms under yours to pull you up from your kneeling position, and sitting onto the desk. A small noise of discomfort makes him feel guilty and Price pushes between your thighs, tentatively pulling you closer into him as a hand rests against your back. The other covers your knee, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the pressure marks. He feels relieved when you melt into him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your head to his chest. The room is peaceful, heavy with the scent of sweat and sex, and he rests his chin against the top of your head. Although logic returns to him and rationality begins compiling the consequences of his disobedience, he can’t find himself to care, breathing in that same shampoo smell. He hopes next time – will there be a next time? – he can shower with you, surrounded by your scent. As he loses himself to thoughts of possibilities, a small voice breaks him away.

“It was only a decoy pistol, sir.”

It takes a moment to comprehend what you mean, but the realisation snatches a snort from him.

“... And two SA80s.”

Suddenly, the situation is a little less funny, but he settles on the idea it could have been worse.

“… They ripped a mat open and Ghost had a concussion.”

Of course. He closes his eyes, mentally cursing the two idiots and the additional work they’ve added to his already bursting schedule. But he feels your shoulders shake with laughter, and he can’t keep a smile from his own face. While he’d never tell the two men, they could’ve burnt down the barracks and Price wouldn’t care; as long as it led to right here, with you in his arms.

[thefrogdalorian]

The Best of Both Worlds

Din Djarin x Female Reader Modern!AU

Summary: When a new Star Wars TV show called The Mandalorian premiered, you found yourself completely enamoured with the titular character. Enjoyment of watching the lone bounty hunter travel through the galaxy quickly turned to obsession. There was just something about the show that captured your imagination. Now, you spend much of your free time — when you're not working a fast-paced, minimum wage and incredibly stressful job at a prestigious London Museum— speaking to your online friends about your love for the show. There's just one thing... Despite how much you love The Mandalorian, no one knows the identity of the man behind the helmet... either in the show, or in real life. You only know him as Mando. No one has ever seen his face, no one knows his name.  Even after the countless hours of speculation from fans online, which even you have occasionally participated in, no one is any the wiser to the identity of the mysterious man who wears the shiny armour.  Surely, given the depth of your love for the show, you'd recognise if the man who you spend so much time obsessing over online was to ever cross paths with you. Right?

Content Warnings: Reader is AFAB, uses she/her pronouns and in her mid 20s. Age gap between her and Din is noted but not really central to the story. Grogu is human, hints of past trauma/child abuse before Din adopted him are mentioned but not described in detail. Some mature scenes later on in the fic but not explicit smut... because I just cannot write x reader smut! Author's Note: SO very excited to finally share this fic! Thank you to the lovely @suresnips for being my beta. I really appreciate you ♡ This baby was originally my NaNoWriMo 2023 project and was inspired by this post from @toxic-seduction that I saw one evening and couldn't stop thinking about! POVs will alternate chapter to chapter from Din to reader. It was fun to write that way! Set in London for a few reasons: partly because I love the movie Notting Hill and it has some of those vibes (if you squint), also, the village where Din lives is based on Elstree Studios just outside London, where the OT was filmed and ultimately because NO WAY was I writing a modern!AU set in the states, it would've been painfully obvious a Brit wrote it. While there are lots of references to places in London, I don't live there so it might not be truly accurate (Londoners don't come for me). Also, to be political for a sec, reader works at the British Museum and I hate that institution. This was actually the line of work I was interested in when I was at Uni but for many different reasons I did not pursue it. However, it works for the plot of this story and as you'll see, she doesn't exactly love it either and goes on a few rants. Just wanted to make that clear that her job there is not an endorsement of it or anything. I can't stand them or their historical apologist bs and I wish we would give back all the things we stole (including the Parthenon Marbles)! Finally, it was incredibly important to me that the actor behind Mando in this fic clearly be the fictional character of Din Djarin rather than the real person Pedro Pascal, because rpf is not my jam! I hope I did that pretty well but just wanted to warn that if you're expecting me to use Din as some kind of way to write a Pedro fic, this won't be for you! Okay, I'll shut up now! This fic is fully written, just needs editing so hopefully I'll get a couple of chapters up each week, but life happens. I'm very proud of this one and I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Also if you would like to be added to my taglist for this fic, please let me know! Happy reading ♡

❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁

Why Does It Always Rain On Me? [Reader POV]: After a dreadful day which saw you drenched by a rainstorm after leaving a hectic day at work, you reflect on your love for Mando and upcoming excitement for the sci-fi convention you will soon be attending with your internet best friend.

He Is My Only Priority [Din's Pov]: The character of The Mandalorian is known and loved by millions. But there is another, much softer side to the man who portrays him that Din Djarin is determined to keep hidden from the world, despite the challenges that presents for him and his beloved son, Grogu.

This Is Why (I Don't Leave The House) [Reader's POV]: Your internet bestie arrives in preparation for the Star Wars convention you will attend together. Everything is set for the greatest weekend of your life! Until you arrive at the con and find yourself overwhelmed by all the crowds and noise. At least you have numerous incredibly realistic Mando cosplays to distract you from how stressed you feel, and there's one in particular which is uncannily accurate...

Curiosity Killed The Cat [Din's POV]: Despite his reservations and against his better instincts, Din heads to a Star Wars convention that he was invited to. Although he fears that his cover will be blown, curiosity gets the best of Din and he can't resist attending a panel. But Din doesn't exactly find the answers he was looking for. Instead, he finds something far more precious. Something that he would never have expected...

He's So Tall (And Handsome As Hell) [Reader's POV]: Being back in the real world and returning to work after an incredible weekend at the convention where you had so many fun experiences is taking its toll on you. The thought of collapsing on your couch in front of The Mandalorian is the only thing keeping you going. However, the universe has other plans for you. News of an out-of-hours tour for a private client that you are asked to lead almost sends you over the edge, but when you finally meet the man, he is the opposite of what you were expecting. Weirdly, he seems familiar...

With A Little Help From My Friends [Din's POV]: Din returns to the set of The Mandalorian to begin filming a new season. Despite his experience and capability, he finds that he struggles to focus as his thoughts remain firmly fixed on a certain someone...

You're The Sunflower [Reader's POV]: Despite feeling certain that you'll never see the ridiculously handsome man you gave a tour of the museum to, a special delivery is about to change everything...

Your Face Hung Up High In The Gallery [Din's POV]: After a difficult few days of filming The Mandalorian, Din is excited to spend time with you as he finally takes you on your first proper date...

Have I Known You Twenty Seconds or Twenty Years? - (Reader's POV):  Despite a messy evening which led to you waking up in an opulent hotel which you have no memory of falling asleep in, memories of kind brown eyes and breathless kisses soon come flooding back to soothe your soul. Your relationship deepens as the two of you spending time together whenever your busy schedules allow. But one night, a turn of events causes you - despite Din's reassurances - to wonder if everything you have been working so hard to build together has just come crashing down around you...

There's A War Inside Of Me - [Din's POV]: The realities of the secret he is keeping from you begin to weigh heavily on Din's mind and he seeks advice from a certain curly haired co-star on what his next move should be. Things don't go exactly according to plan, not least because of the typically awful English weather...

It Could Be Love, We Could Be The Way Forward - [Reader's POV]: With your respective busy jobs keeping you and Din apart, a mystery date after a hectic day at work is exactly what you needed.

The Calm - [Din's POV]: When filming overruns and conspires to keep Din from the fun weekend he planned for you, he agonises over his decision. Fortunately, he manages to salvage the weekend, even after a calamity involving a rowboat...

The Storm - [Reader's POV]: The happiness you feel in response to a question Din posed to you is somewhat clouded by lingering doubts. Yet your affection for each other helps you to push those emotions down, until a weekend spent at his cottage changes everything...

P.S. - I tried to be inclusive for all body types and skin tones in this fic, but if I missed something, I do apologise. If you do spot something that takes you out of the fic, I am more than happy for constructive criticism as I wouldn't want anyone to be excluded on those grounds. I am always trying to do better and would love to know where I went wrong so I can improve and be more aware of these things going forward, so I would appreciate it if you could let me know if you do spot anything. Thank you so much! ♡

[7-wonders]

To the world we dream about (and the one we live in now)

Calliope & Reader, Morpheus/Dream of the Endless & Reader

Summary: Being in the right place at the right time turns everything you thought you knew on its head when a woman, imprisoned and battered, is literally thrown into your life. Left with no choice but to do the obvious, you offer her shelter and support in her time of need.

Unbeknownst to you, said woman is a powerful and ancient being who now belongs to you in accordance with the old laws. This situation definitely won’t become complicated, right?

Word Count: 14.5k

Author's Note: A couple of months ago, I received an ask, seen below, and have not been able to stop thinking about it since. After a lot of brainstorming with the wonderful sender of the ask (not sure if they want to be named!), I finally sat down to write it.

So, here we are! This story took on a mind of its own the longer I wrote (perhaps the Muse Calliope paid me a visit haha), and it's genuinely something that I'm so proud to have produced. It's not necessarily an x reader fic—right now, though depending on reader reaction there may be future parts (including a Calliope/Morpheus POV of these events)—so I absolutely understand if you choose not to read, but I hope that you do. In the end, this is truly Calliope's story.

A story of empowerment, friendship, freedom, and self-discovery.

Content warnings for this work include allusions to sexual assault, general trauma, Richard Madoc, vomiting, kidnapping, realizations of inadvertent kidnapping, mentions of death, and Nightmare!Morpheus. Reader discretion is advised.

The man standing at the front of the room taps his fingers along the edge of his lectern, savoring the enraptured faces that stare back at him. For those in his class, this is expected of him—he always gets a dramatic air about him when he’s on the verge of making the point that he had been working towards for the entire lecture and looping it back to the thesis statement from the beginning of the hour. Though it was routine by now, practically tradition, the students still ate it up every time.

“The theme between all of these authors–the Fitzgeralds and the Hemingways, the Tolkeins and the Orwells–is that their words carry power and strength. While they may look like mere letters strung together on a sheet of paper, when read together, these words have a weight behind them. They can conjure up worlds, inspire the masses, make readers think critically; it’s a type of magic when you really think about it.”

He checks his watch before clapping his hands together in finality and smiling out at the room.

“Well, my friends, I’m afraid that’s all the time we have today. Thank you very much for joining me, and please make sure that you have your essays on the influences of World War One and its aftermath on the literature of the time ready for our next class. See you then!”

When your university announced that world-renowned author Ric Madoc would be a visiting professor for the semester, you immediately jumped on the long list of students interested in taking one of the three classes that were going to be taught by him. You had absolutely no hope that you would get into the class, not when it seemed like half the student body was also signed up, but you had to at least try. The Spirit Who Had Half of Everything was one of your favorite books of all time, and you’d be remiss not to attempt to learn from the master himself.

Somehow, much to your surprise, you had received an email informing you that you earned a spot in Madoc’s “Great Works of the 20th Century” class. The class had lived up to the hype so far and you were thoroughly enjoying it, even though it wasn’t exactly related to your field of study. In fact, you enjoyed it so much that you normally stayed behind with a group of students to continue having a discussion with Madoc about the aforementioned great works. Today, unfortunately, you couldn’t, having to rush out immediately after class was over to make it to your group project meeting in the library on time.

Of course, it’s difficult to get any sort of work done when one happens to be randomly paired with their best friend, but you’re trying your hardest.

“Psst.” You don’t look up, choosing instead to try and finish the sentence you’re writing, but a balled-up gum wrapper hits you smack in the center of the forehead. “Hey!”

After you’ve finished typing, you look across the table at Evie, your best friend. “Can I help you?” you ask.

“Do you wanna come out with me and a couple of others tonight?”

“It’s Thursday.”

She shrugs. “So?”

Points were made, and who are you to resist a good argument? “Convincing. I’m in! I just have to run home real quick and get changed.”

As you search through your bag, you start to feel your heart plummeting in your chest as you realize that you can’t find your keys. Digging through the contents furiously in the hopes that they’ll turn up yields no results, and neither does patting at the pockets you know are empty. With horror in your eyes and fear in your heart, you look back up at her.

“Fuck, I lost my keys.”

“Shit, dude. Do you remember where you last had them?”

“Um.” 

You have to think for a moment, mentally retracing your steps until you can definitively pinpoint the last time you saw your keys. They were with you in the parking lot, because you remember locking your car twice just to be sure that you did. From there, you would have been holding them in your hand as you walked to Madoc’s class. Considering you went straight from class to the library, there are limited options for where they could be. Either you left them in the lecture hall or you dropped them somewhere on campus. For your sake, you hope it’s the former.

On the syllabus, Madoc had given the class his work cell phone number in case of emergencies like being unable to make it to class or an act of God destroying your homework. Though you doubted you would need it at the time, you still saved it in your phone to be on the safe side. Now, as you pull up his contact and start a new conversation, you thank past-you for having such good foresight.

You: Hey, great class today! Did you happen to find a set of keys left behind in the lecture hall? I’m missing mine.

After a second of contemplation, you send another text with your first and last name when you realize he probably doesn’t know who it is texting him. It only takes a couple of anxious minutes before your phone chimes. 

Richard Madoc: Hello! Would these happen to be the keys in question?

Richard Madoc: Attachment

The keys are immediately recognizable as yours, thanks to the keychain of a possum wearing a cowboy hat that’s attached to them. You sigh in immense relief before glancing up at Evie, who’s been watching with bated breath the entire time. “I left them in Madoc’s class.”

“Oh thank god!”

You: They are! Any chance you’re still on campus so I can swing by and grab them?

Richard Madoc: I’m afraid I’ve already left for the day, but I live pretty close to the uni if you’d be willing to pick them up from my flat.

He sends an address in the following text, which you promptly input in your maps app so you can see where said address is located. It’s maybe a five-minute drive from campus and conveniently located in the direction of your apartment.

You: Will be there in a bit! Thank you :)

“He already left, I’d have to pick them up from his place,” you explain.

Evie immediately fixes you with a look, one that says she’s seen this particular move before (and she didn’t like the ending). “Do you want me to come with you?”

The unspoken words hang in the air between you: Do you feel safe going to an unfamiliar man’s house alone? Should I come to make sure nothing bad happens? It’s very thoughtful of her, and you consider saying yes for a moment.

But Evie lives in the opposite direction of you, and she doesn’t have a car. While you don’t know Madoc well, you’re also not expecting him to try anything on you, especially when it’s still light out. 

“I should be okay,” you say.

“You’re sure?” Evie double-checks, and you nod. “Call me before you get there, okay? Just…have me on the line, in your back pocket. It’d make me feel better about letting you go on your own.”

How did you get so lucky to have such a great friend like Evie? Of course, you would do the same for Evie in a heartbeat, but it’s so nice to have found a kindred spirit, someone who truly understands you and all your little quirks, so early in your adulthood.

“You’re not letting me do anything,” you tease. “But yeah, I’ll call you when I get there.”

“Thank you,” she says sincerely, sliding her papers and her laptop into her backpack. “Now let’s go. The sooner you get your keys, the sooner we can go and get drunk.”

It feels a little dumb to be driving such a short distance, from the campus to the address that Madoc had given you. You’re exactly the type of person that’s killing the planet with unnecessary carbon emissions when you could just as easily walk, you chastise yourself on the way over. 

But you had driven to class this morning, that being a distance actually too far to walk, and it would be stupid to walk to Madoc’s, get your keys, walk back to campus, and then drive home. So here you are, beating yourself up over something stupid and inconsequential while you try your best to parallel park in a respectable manner in front of Madoc’s little townhouse.

It’s exactly the type of lodgings you’d expect a university professor to have, yet almost the opposite of what you envisioned as a successful author’s home; a small, yet stately, townhouse with a little fenced-in front yard. Plants try their hardest to survive in the patch of dirt that’s probably supposed to be a garden, and there’s a small chair and table perfect for Sunday mornings sitting on the front stoop.

The gate creaks when you open it, and even more when you close it behind you. At the last second, you remember that you promised to call Evie, so you pull out your phone and do just that. 

“Hey, you there?” Evie answers her phone.

“Yeah, just got here. Putting you in my pocket now.”

Even though the idea felt a little like an overreaction, you can’t deny that you feel safer now knowing that Evie’s listening on the phone.

You knock on the dark blue front door once, twice, three times before taking a step back and waiting patiently. After about thirty seconds, you start to worry that Madoc’s not home. But no, that wouldn’t make sense; you talked to him maybe half an hour ago, and he knew that you were on your way to pick up your keys. Frowning, you knock again, followed by holding your ear to the door to see if you can hear anything.

He’s definitely inside. Though the sound is muffled, you can hear what sounds like him yelling at somebody through the door. Who the source of his ire is, you can’t say, because there’s nobody saying anything back to him. Maybe he’s having a really heated conversation on the phone? If that’s the case, it’s a pretty inconvenient time to launch into a virtual argument.

You don’t want to be rude and knock for a third separate time, but you really do need your keys, and you’d prefer to not be kept standing out here waiting. Begrudgingly, you knock yet again, putting a considerable amount of force behind it this time. 

“Mr. Madoc?” you call through the door, raising your voice enough that you’re sure he’s heard you. By the way that he suddenly falls silent, you’re assuming that you’ve been successful. Pulling back from your position right up against the door, you wait for him to appear.

When the door is yanked open, you’re shocked at what you see. Gone is the confident lecturer who stood at the front of your class this afternoon. The man in front of you looks positively haggard. His eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed, and his bottom lip quivers almost as furiously as his hands shake. His hair is a mess, as though he’s been pulling at it, and his shirt is weirdly rumpled like he fell asleep in it.

You take a big step back when his eyes land wildly on you without really seeing you. Your hand goes to your back pocket, hovering just above your phone in case this encounter goes south and you need to have Evie do…something. Call the cops? Yell at Madoc through the phone? Scream? Whatever it is, though, she’ll do it for you.

“Hi. Um, you–”

Madoc shakes his head back and forth and begins to mumble something, completely ignoring you and your presence. He reaches one of his hands further inside the house, grabbing at something unseen. Your body tenses, preparing to fight this man that, up until two minutes ago, you had believed to be completely sane and rational.

His hand comes back into view, tightly gripping a woman’s upper arm. She’s barefoot and clad only in a thin silk nightgown, and you can see the goosebumps already appearing on her skin.

“A city in which the streets are paved with time,” he mumbles a little louder, allowing you to hear what he’s rambling about. “A train full of silent women, plowing forever through the twilight. Heads made of light. A small piece of blue cardboard. A plum, sweet and tart and cold.”

“Mr. Madoc, are you alright?” 

Instead of answering you, Madoc throws the woman across the threshold and towards you. You catch her in your arms, both of you stumbling backward, but you let go when you notice how she immediately tenses at your touch.

“She’s your problem now, I can’t do this anymore!” Madoc begins to pull at his hair, so hard that you think he might end up pulling it out of his head. “I refuse to be tortured any longer!”

“What are you talking about?” 

He’s lost his damn mind, you think to yourself as he continues to spout the most random of ideas. You thought that you had properly calculated the risks of coming over here on your own, but apparently, you’re bad at math.

“A were-goldfish who transforms into a wolf at full moon. Griffins shouldn’t marry. Vampires don’t dance.” Madoc shakes and smacks himself multiple times as if to try and snap himself out of whatever he’s gotten into. “A man who inherits a library card to the library in Alexandria. A rose bush, a nightingale, and a black rubber dog collar!”

You’re so thrown off by what you’re witnessing that you don’t even realize he’s closing the door until the sound of it hitting the doorframe reminds you why you’re here. You bang your fist against the door and yell at him, “Hey! Give me my fucking keys!” 

Madoc opens the door just enough to throw your keys at you, which you fumble and nearly drop until catching them by the stupid cowboy possum keychain, before slamming it shut again. From within, you can hear several locks clicking shut loudly in quick succession.

The speed with which this entire interaction has occurred leaves your head spinning, and you have to take a moment to realize that yes, what you just experienced was real. Even then, you stare at the door bemusedly. “What the fuck?”

“I do not believe he will be coming back,” an accented voice says from behind you.

You can’t stop the little scream of surprise that leaves you when you whip around to face the woman who, until this moment, you forgot had been kicked out of Madoc’s house. She stares at you, just as warily as you’re probably staring at her.

She’s otherworldly beautiful, with olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. But what stands out the most is just how visibly scared she is. She watches you like you’re a predator readying to attack. You hate it because you’d never do anything like that to anybody, but especially her. What had Madoc done to cause her to have this reaction to a stranger?

Evie’s voice rises tinnily from the phone in your back pocket, loud and panicked, and you remember that she’s been on the phone this whole time. You pull your phone out and hold it up to your ear, having to put a little distance between it due to how she’s yelling.

“—I swear, I’m two seconds away from calling the cops! Please just let me know you’re okay!”

“Evie, hey, I’m here,” you say, making her cry out in relief.

“Oh my god, are you okay? I was scared when I heard yelling!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright. Pretty sure I just watched Madoc have a mental breakdown?” Is that what that was? You can’t say for certain, considering this is your first such occasion.

“Seriously? Well, did you get your keys, at least?”

“After he finished rambling about were-goldfish and plums.”

“Jesus Christ. Are you going to call somebody?”

“Who would I call? And anyway, maybe this is normal for him.”

“If that’s normal, I’d hate to see what abnormal is.” She sighs. “So, I’ll see you soon?”

“Um,” you trail off, looking at the woman. “Y’know, I might take a rain check, if that’s okay. I’m a little shaken up by everything that just happened.”

“I bet, that sounds like it was really scary. We’ll miss you, but take care of yourself. If you do decide to come out, just text me and I’ll tell you where we’re at.”

“Thanks, Ev. I’ll, uh, talk to you soon.”

You hang up the phone, and now you and the woman are left awkwardly staring at each other. How are you supposed to approach a situation like this? Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you hold your hands with the palms facing out so that she can see you’re not holding any weapons and decide to just start from the beginning.

“Hi.”

She nods back in greeting, trying to hold herself with as much dignity as she can in this situation. The chill of the night and her lack of proper clothing leave her trembling in front of you, though some of that is likely from fear too, and you can see bruises in various shades of healing up and down her arms. Worse, there are visible fingerprint-shaped bruises ringing her neck. Though you’ve never been particularly violent, you’re tempted to break down Madoc’s door and do unto him what he’s obviously done to this woman.

“Are you cold? I have a spare jacket if you want it.” You point the hundred or so feet to where your car sits. “Here, let’s go over to my car, I’m just parked on the street right there.”

The woman attempts to gauge you and, presumably, your intentions. Though this is her decision to make, you give her a friendly smile in the hopes of convincing her that you have no ill will toward her. After a moment, she nods hesitantly.

You take the lead as you walk down the front path to your car, mainly to show that she holds the power here. There will be nobody sneaking up on this woman or trying anything, and she’s free to run far away from you if that’s what she chooses. 

Still, she follows you, and waits patiently while you dig around in your back seat until you finally come up with the light jacket that you had tossed back there after an outdoor movie night. You hand it to her and she shrugs it on, holding it tightly around her and trying to hide within the cotton fabric.

You don’t want to ask the question that’s on your mind, but you know that you have to. You need some sort of context for the situation. “Was…Madoc keeping you locked up in there?” She nods, and you feel your stomach roil with sick nausea. “Okay. We need to call the cops, so they can come and arrest him.”

“No!” she says firmly, a departure from how soft-spoken she previously was. “Please, I beg you, no authorities.”

“But…” 

Maybe he hadn’t kidnapped her like you found yourself assuming at first. Perhaps this is a severe case of domestic violence? Regardless, she looks like the poster child for abused women, and you’re not about to disrespect her wishes when this is probably the first choice she’s been able to make for herself in a long time.

“Okay,” you agree. “No cops.” 

“Thank you.” She sounds so relieved that it makes you want to cry.

An idea begins to form in your head, but one that you’re not sure how to begin to broach. After all, the woman in front of you has absolutely no reason to trust you. “I’m guessing you don’t have anywhere to go?”

She shakes her head. “No, I have…nowhere, and nobody.”

That settles it. You’re not about to leave a battered, formerly-trapped woman to fend for herself on the streets. “So listen. I have a spare room at my place, and you’re completely welcome to it for as long as you need.”

“Oh, I could not impose.”

“You wouldn’t be!” you assure her. “Please, it’s the least I can do. At least until you get back on your feet.”

She studies you again. Though you don’t know what she’s looking for, you can tell that she’s the kind of intuitive person that sees beyond that which is only skin-deep. Finally, she says, “Alright.”

You grin and open the passenger side door, gesturing for her to get in. “Alright.”

After getting the car started and the heat turned up all the way, you watch as the woman fiddles with the airflow of the heater until it’s blowing directly on her delicate hands, which she holds in front of her to warm up. She looks at you as if realizing for the first time that you could betray her trust much in the same way as Ric Madoc had. To prove to her that you won’t, you unlock the doors when they try to lock automatically in response to you putting the car in ‘drive’.

You tell her your name, and for the first time, she smiles. It’s a small thing, barely a quirk of the lips, but it’s there. “I am Calliope.”

“Oh cool, like the Muse!” Her smile widens until she’s actually smiling, leaving you delighted. “Your parents were into Greek mythology, then?”

“Something like that, yes.”

As you drive to your apartment, Calliope turns in her seat and watches as Madoc’s apartment grows smaller and smaller behind your car. Even after it’s disappeared behind turns and other buildings, she still watches, perhaps waiting for him to come back to his senses and come after her. But there will be none of that tonight, or ever again. Not as long as you have anything to do about it.

When you get home, you continue the routine of taking the lead and allowing Calliope to decide whether or not she wants to follow you. Calliope lingers in the entryway of your apartment, taking her time carefully cataloging everything that she can see as you work at getting the lights turned on and trying to clean up a little bit—after all, you hadn’t exactly expected a houseguest when you left for class this morning. 

She runs her fingers along the walls and the frames of artwork that you’ve acquired at festivals and flea markets. She feels the coats on your coat rack, and her dark, inquisitive eyes scan over the battered toaster and soft fruit in your kitchen. As she walks further into your home, she takes care to take up as little space as possible until she reaches where you stand in front of a closed door.

“My old roommate moved in with their girlfriend a couple of months ago, and they don’t know what they want to do with her furniture, so they’re just storing it here until they can figure it out,” you explain as you open the door and flick on the light switch to reveal a bare bedroom. It’s sparsely furnished, with just a full bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and a desk and chair. “Now, it’s yours.”

“Mine?”

“For as long as you need it,” you repeat.

Hesitantly stepping inside, Calliope looks over the room before nodding in satisfaction. You can only hope that she had a space of her own in Madoc’s house, but by the way that she looks around like she’s never seen something so wonderful as an empty bedroom before, you’re left with a sinking feeling that this wasn’t the case.

“So! I’ll grab some sheets and a blanket from the linen closet and get the bed made up for you. Um, all of the doors lock on the inside, so feel free to keep yourself and your space private. Do you want to take a shower? Because you definitely can. Avery—that’s my old roommate—left some of the clothes they didn’t want behind, and they’re about your size, I think.” You’re rambling, but you just want to make her feel as welcome as possible. 

“A shower would be…nice,” Calliope decides.

“Awesome! The bathroom’s right through here, c’mon.”

In the bathroom, Calliope watches as you grab a couple of towels from the closet, along with the sheets and blanket you mentioned earlier. You set the towels down on the closed toilet lid next to the shower.

“Feel free to use any of my stuff here, it’s totally fine,” you explain, pulling back the shower curtain so Calliope can see your haircare products and body wash.

Instead of looking over that array, she simply stares at the chrome of the shower faucet in confusion.

“Oh yeah, the shower’s a little weird here. All you have to do is turn the handle, and then pull the plug on the faucet for the shower.” You show her as you explain it. “Turn the handle left for hot water, and right for cold. Got it?”

“I believe so.”

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it, then. Just yell if you need anything from me.”

You close the bathroom door behind you and after a long moment, you finally hear the lock turn.

Good. In the meantime, you’ll make a quick meal for her, in case she’s hungry. Plus, you need to keep your hands busy. It will help take your mind off of the horrors you’re trying desperately to forget that you witnessed.

•••

Four days later, Evie runs up to you on campus when she sees you and wraps both of her hands around your upper arm before pulling you towards her. “Did you hear?”

“What?” You’re more focused on not falling over your feet at the sudden change of pace you’ve been forced into than you are wondering what you did or didn’t hear.

“You were right. Mr. Madoc had a complete mental breakdown! Somebody called in a welfare check on him, and the cops found him curled up in a ball mumbling gibberish. He hadn’t moved for days. You know the worst part, though?” 

You shake your head. 

“He covered every single wall of his house with the most random words and phrases, and they were all written in his own blood.”

You reel back. “Jesus!”

“I know, totally gory.” By her laugh, you can tell that she enjoys the gore.

It’s at this moment that you realize that you haven’t told Evie anything about what happened after you hung up with her that night. It certainly wasn’t deliberate; you’ve just been so caught up in the sudden change in your living arrangements that you haven’t had the time to text or call her about what you went through.

With that in mind, you say, “I have something to tell you.”

Evie’s eyes immediately light up at the prospect of gossip. “You do?”

You nod. “That night, when I went to his house? He grabbed this woman from inside his house and just threw her at me, saying that she was my problem now. She was all bruised and wearing nothing but a nightgown, and he treated her like she was his property. Evie, she said he kept her trapped there.”

“What the fuck.” Evie stares at you in horror. “Is she okay now?”

“Physically, yeah. She’s staying with me.”

“At your apartment?”

“Where else? Her name’s Calliope. I’m letting her stay in Avery’s old room until she gets back on her feet again.”

Evie whistles lowly. “I can’t tell if that’s kind of you or stupid of you.”

“Probably both.”

“Yeah, probably.” 

As you walk, an astute observation comes to your mind. “Y’know, it makes sense that he’s such a piece of shit. Now that I think about it, the only authors we ever discussed in class were white guys.”

“Hmm, typical white man.” Evie rolls her eyes before she grins. “Hey, can I meet her?”

“Calliope?”

“Who else?”

You have to think about that for a minute. Would she be comfortable with meeting new people and putting herself out there? While you think that your friends are great, especially Evie, you just don’t want to force her into anything before she’s ready.

Evie seems to sense this hesitation, and explains, “She just seems like she needs some friends. A support system might be good for her while she tries to get her life back!”

“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll ask her if she wants to do something like that.”

“That’s all I ask,” Evie says. “In the meantime, is there anything that I can do to help? Like, does she need clothes? Kiara’s aunt owns that boutique, and she would probably be willing to help out.”

That’s a good idea and one that you hadn’t even considered. Obviously, Calliope’s going to want some clothes of her own instead of Avery’s hand-me-downs. It’ll probably help her to feel more like a human being, one with choice and agency over herself.

“Oh, would you ask her to talk to her aunt?” you ask. “That’d be great.” 

Evie nods. “Definitely. I feel like that’s, like, the least I can do.”

“I wish there was more that I could do,” you admit.

“You’re doing what you can, and that’s what matters. Hell, most people wouldn’t have even offered to let a woman in Calliope’s situation stay with them. You’re a good person, you know that?”

“Thanks.”

“Eh, what are friends for, if not to reassure you that taking in a random woman on a whim is the right idea?” You huff in mock anger, and Evie laughs. “Anyways, you’ll never guess what the university is trying to do about the whole Madoc situation now…”

•••

Calliope doesn’t come out of her room when you’re around, not that you blame her. If you had gone through even an ounce of what you suspect she had, you’d want to be safe and alone for a long time, no matter how nice your new roommate is (and you like to think you’re pretty nice). You hear her sneak around when she knows that you’re in your own bedroom, as quiet as a mouse, and every night without fail, she takes a long shower. Other than that, it feels like you’re still living alone.

Since you don’t know how often she’s eating, and she doesn’t leave dishes or any sort of indication that she’s getting food for herself, you leave meals out in front of her door for her, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sticky notes accompany them, because you have things that you want her to know and this is the only way to communicate with her right now.

“Feel free to grab food from the kitchen whenever you want!”

“I have great books, and you’re more than welcome to them.”

“If you find yourself wanting to watch TV, the remote is on the coffee table!”

Each message is signed with a smiley face, and each one is gone when the empty tray is returned outside her door.

The empty trays and, eventually, the books that go missing from your bookshelf are the only signs of life that you receive from Calliope. 

When Calliope finally emerges while you’re home and not in your room, it’s six days after Ric Madoc threw her into your arms. You’re sitting on your couch reading fanfiction, a random YouTube video playing in the background when Calliope’s door creaks open and she peeks her head out hesitantly. Immediately you pause the video, smiling brightly when she notices you looking at her.

“Hi!” you greet.

“Hello.” She slowly exits her room clutching the book she’s been reading, as skittish as a feral kitten, and you slide over on the couch before patting the now-empty other side in invitation.

“You can come sit if you want. I’m just reading.”

“What are you reading?” Calliope asks, perching on the edge of the cushion as though she’s preparing for escape at any moment.

The smile freezes on your face. Just because you’re happy your new roommate is here doesn’t mean you’re about to out yourself as a fanfiction reader. “Oh, just a fantasy book.”

“Why do you have that…television on, then?” Calliope says this as though she’s still unfamiliar with the concept of television.

“I like the background noise of putting on shows that I’ve already seen. Helps me focus.”

She looks at you like that’s one of the oddest things she’s ever heard. Maybe it is, but it’s your little habit, and it has been for so long that it’s normal now. You hit play again, and Calliope starts a bit as sound comes through the speakers on the TV. Funnily, even though she seems to not understand your reasoning, the sound itself helps her to relax enough that she’s sitting on the couch with you instead of hovering like she’s preparing to bolt at any moment.

You don’t say anything, not wanting to make her think that you’re dictating what she can and cannot do. Eventually, Calliope decides to follow your lead and open her book, though she keeps getting distracted by the TV and eventually forgoes the book entirely in favor of watching the show.

“The tall one does not believe in ghosts, but the little one does?” Calliope asks out of the blue. You swallow down your laugh at her description of the hosts and nod.

“Mhm, and that’s what makes the show so good, is that dichotomy between the two hosts. One is so serious about everything they do, every noise that they hear, and the other is just dancing around and begging the demons to possess him or whatever because he thinks they’re not real and so saying this stuff can’t hurt him.”

She watches silently for another few minutes before asking, “Why are they searching for ghosts in the first place?”

“Well, because people love trying to solve the unsolved. And I think ghosts and the question of their existence is one of the ultimate unsolved mysteries.” She nods in satisfaction and turns back to the show, and you decide to turn off your phone and join her.

Calliope, as it turns out, enjoys television, if only for the strange concepts of some of the shows. You’re more than happy to show her all of the strangest and best shows, with the bonus of getting to see them anew through her eyes, which seem to be watching everything for the very first time.

•••

It’s mid-afternoon, and instead of being outside on what’s turning out to be a beautiful day, you’re stuck doing homework.

Everybody had assumed that Ric Madoc’s classes would be canceled after his abrupt admission into the Saint Dymphna Mental Health Hospital. The university, however, not wanting to just give out automatic passing grades without merit, had scrambled to try and find professors to teach Madoc’s classes. Somehow, they had succeeded, and you were now once again immersed in the world of 20th-century authors. Though your new professor didn’t have the ability to truly capture a room in the same way Madoc had, she was a fine replacement, and she devoted a good chunk of class time to women authors.

It’s too nice of a day to not take advantage of, though. That first true spring day after a long, harsh winter has finally arrived, and you won’t let it pass you by. All of the windows are open to allow the stale air of the apartment to dissipate, and as you write, you listen to the birds chirping and people doing yard work. Maybe, if you finish quickly enough, you’ll be able to take a walk yourself. 

Calliope would probably enjoy that as well, you think.

The woman in question knocks on your open bedroom door, and you look up at her with a smile from your desk. She clocks the computer and the notes spread around you and grows sheepish.

“I’m sorry, you are busy. I’ll–”

“No, don’t worry! Just finishing up an essay for a class. Got a crazy burst of motivation for it, and ended up knocking it out in a couple of hours. It’ll be good to look away from the screen.” 

Calliope gets that funny little smile on her face, the one that says that she has found something amusing but is going to keep it to herself. She waits patiently as you stretch, wincing when she hears the way that your shoulders pop and crack after hours of stagnancy.

“What’s up?” you ask. “You seem like you want to ask me something.”

Calliope points out of your bedroom. “What is out there?”

You stand so that you can see what it is she’s referencing, and find that she’s pointing to your sliding door.

“Oh, it’s a little balcony. I don’t go out there much right now, still a little too chilly, but it’ll be nice to sit out there once summer comes. Here, I’ll show you.”

It’s the first time this season that it’s been nice enough to have the door open, which is probably why she’s only just now realized it’s there. You open the screen door and lead her out onto your balcony. It’s small, but you spent last summer adding to it and making it a comforting place to relax. Now, there are lights strung up above your heads, and there are two chairs with a table in between them. Planters sit lined up along the iron of the balcony railing, ready to be filled when planting season comes around.

Calliope gasps, and you’re about to ask what’s wrong (part of you is worried that a snake managed to find its way up to the third floor), when she tilts her face up to the sun, leaning over the railing to try and get as much of the light on her as possible. She looks like a painting come to life, probably with a name like “Muse Bathed in the Sun”, because truly, Calliope seems like the type of person to inspire every person lucky enough to make her acquaintance. 

“Helios,” you hear Calliope whisper reverently. 

It’s obvious that she isn’t aware that she said that out loud, and you start to feel embarrassed before she turns back to you with a true smile and tears running down her face.

“I have not been outside in the sun in so long.” 

She explains this simply and factually, as if she’s talking about why the sun is where it is and not about all that she was deprived of during her captivity. Madoc didn’t even let her go outside. It’s a good thing that he’s under secure watch 24/7, because there have been many times over the almost-three weeks that Calliope has lived with you that you have wished to be able to go and inflict upon him a modicum of that which he did to Calliope.

Now tears are running down your face too, and you wipe at them harshly with the backs of your hands. This is Calliope’s moment, Calliope’s joy, and you won’t have her feeling sorry for making you experience such happiness and broken-heartedness by watching her.

“It’s here no matter what. Even if it’s a little cold, bring a blanket out and sit whenever you want. Soon, we’ll be able to plant some stuff. You can help me if you want!”

Calliope’s back to facing the sun directly, but she still nods to let you know that it’s a good idea. Quietly, you back up into the apartment and close the screen door behind you, letting her have this time of reconnection to herself.

Most mornings after this rediscovery, you find Calliope already sitting on the balcony by the time you wake up, a blanket around her shoulders, a mug of something hot in her hands, a book on her lap, and the sun bathing her skin.

•••

“Y’know what, I’m gonna give that one a three.”

“A three?” Calliope tuts. “That is cruel. His performance was at least a six.”

“C’mon Cal, you’re just saying that because you see the best in everybody! The rest of us saw a douchey frat bro drunkenly singing ‘SexyBack,’ which earned him a three. And that’s me being generous.”

Calliope and your friend Ethan are, of course, judging the karaoke performances of the bar patrons brave (or stupid) enough to sing in front of others. They, along with your friend Kiara, take this tradition very seriously. For every performance, the three of them have detailed notes and a rating out of ten to go along with it. 

You had finally given in to Evie’s pleadings and decided to broach the subject of going out in public to Calliope. Much to your surprise, she accepted when you first invited her to karaoke night with your friends at the group’s favorite bar. She accepted when you offered to bring her to trivia, and she accepted when your friends finally got around to doing a book club meeting—which was mainly just drinking and eating appetizers while you talked about the books you’d read, but it still counted. 

(Taking Calliope to her first drag show quickly became one of your favorite and most cherished memories)

She took to your friend group like a duck to water, and in return, they embraced her wholeheartedly. Now, none of you could imagine a life without her in it. 

And slowly, it seemed as though Calliope began to start to heal. With every bar meetup, movie night, or random coffee date, you saw a bit more light return back to Calliope. Flashes of the woman that she once was, vibrant and funny and elegant and wise, begin to become more frequent as the days pass. Every time she allows for a hug or every time she smirks into her glass after saying something that has the group erupting in laughter, she becomes more and more herself.

“Oh my god, it’s our turn!” Ethan yells suddenly after the karaoke emcee calls his and Evie’s names. He stands and holds his hand out to Evie, who happily takes it and jumps up with him. “Let’s go knock some socks off.”

This will either go one of two ways. They’ll either perform their serious song, “Bennie and the Jets,” which they’re surprisingly good at, or they’ll go funny and perform the Sharpay and Ryan version of “What I’ve Been Lookin’ For” from High School Musical, which they’re also really good at. By their tipsy giggles, you’re guessing it’s the latter.

The second they both start doing the Sharpay and Ryan hype-up routine, Kiara sighs and grabs her drink and phone.

“I promised these dumbasses I’d film them the next time they performed this,” she explains before going to work as an unpaid videographer.

Throughout their entire routine, Calliope’s enthralled, as she should be. It’s a good performance, of course, but Evie and Ethan together are a true comedic duo. The matching jazz squares during the instrumentals truly bring the whole piece together, and you’re in tears from laughter by the end of their routine. When they return to the table after a rousing standing ovation from the patrons of the bar, Calliope gives them her own round of applause and beams.

Naturally, she bestows upon them the highest ranking one can receive during karaoke nights. “Now that was a ten.”

Ethan bows as Evie kisses Calliope’s cheek. “Thank you, m’lady,” he says proudly.

“When do you get the time to practice this?”

“Nights like this, usually,” Evie explains before Ethan interrupts.

“Though we have been known to skip a class or two when we were trying to work out the kinks in our performance.” Ethan picks up his drink before frowning when he sees there’s nothing but melting ice cubes in the glass. “Well, apparently I need another drink. Anybody else?”

Everyone at the table shakes their head, but Kiara reaches into her jacket. “No, but I am gonna go hit my pen.”

“Ooh, I’ll come with you,” Evie volunteers cheerfully.

“Weed thief,” Kiara teases.

“Are you telling me no?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“That’s not a no!”

Your friends go their separate ways, leaving you and Calliope to sit alone at the table. The next singer has already started, and you grin when you hear what it is.

“Oh, I love this song,” you tell Calliope before singing along. “‘Cause I’m dreaming of you tonight, ‘til tomorrow I’ll be holding you tight!”

Beside you, Calliope grows a little gloomy. She’s frowning a bit; even if it’s barely there, you can always tell because it completely transforms her beautiful face into something so sad. You stop humming and look over at her, watching as she slowly swirls her straw in her drink repeatedly to give her something to do.

“Having fun?” you ask, slightly worried at the sudden melancholy that seems to have draped over her like a shroud.

“Yes,” she tries to assure you, but it sounds clipped, like she’s holding back.

“You know you don’t have to come just because I invited you, right? You can do whatever you want.” You never want her to feel as though you’re forcing her to do anything, and even though she’s been having fun up until now, there’s still that anxiety that tells you that she’s just going along with it because she feels like she owes you.

“I know,” Calliope assures. “But I enjoy you and your group of friends. You make me feel…welcomed, and accepted, in a way that I have not felt in a long time.” 

“They’re your friends now too. Pretty sure they decided that the second they met you.”

“I consider them friends as well. I consider you a friend as well, though I hope you know that by now.” She smiles down at her drink. “Besides, I quite like the karaoke nights.”

“I can tell. You never sing with us, though.”

“I don’t need to, I just enjoy listening. The people singing, and enjoying themselves, it reminds me of my son. He, too, loved to sing, and he was gifted with such a beautiful voice.”

“You have a son?” This takes you by surprise. Though Calliope seems to be very maternal, she’s never mentioned anything about a child until now. The fact that she talks about him in the past tense has your heart sinking into your stomach from the implications.

Calliope nods. “My sweet boy, my Orpheus. He was beautiful, and heartbreakingly sweet. He had a voice that could bring even the gods themselves to tears. He was taken from me…far too soon, and I miss him every day, with every fiber of my being. Being here, among so many people happy and making music—I see his face in all of theirs, and it brings me some sense of peace, to know that I can find pieces of him here, in the most unlikely of places..”

It’s sweet that she kept the Greek mythology theme going with her own son, you think, though it’s tragic that he suffered the same fate as his namesake.

“He was so lucky to have a mom like you, Calliope. Any child would be.” You lick your lips and taste the sweetness of alcohol on them as you ponder what to say next. “His life might have ended too soon, but he knew that he was completely and truly loved until the very end, which is such a gift.”

Tears well up in Calliope’s eyes, and she dabs at them with a napkin grabbed hastily from the table. “Thank you,” she chokes out. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“Ah, now you’re gonna go and make me cry too. Can I hug you?” 

You always, always ask for permission before hugging her or touching her. She doesn’t seem to mind anymore when friends do it without asking, but you can’t break yourself of the habit. 

Not after seeing what you saw the night that you met her.

She doesn’t give you an answer in the form of words. Instead, she simply falls into your arms, both of you clinging to the other.

From behind you, Ethan whispers, “Uh, are we interrupting something?”

•••

Evie has a date tonight and is naturally freaking out about it. She doesn’t know what to wear, she doesn’t know what she’s going to say, she doesn’t know if she’s even going to like the girl. Though you can provide her with all of the moral support in the world, there’s only one problem that you can currently help her with, which is how she ends up rifling furiously through your closet on a random Wednesday night.

You and Calliope sit on your bed, watching as Evie grabs different outfits and either critiques them herself or holds them up for you to do so. This is a tried-and-true routine for you, but Calliope’s experiencing the joys of helping a friend in need pick out a first date outfit for the first time. As a result, she puts far more thought into her responses when Evie asks for an opinion.

“You know, I believe I may have just the shirt for you in my room,” Calliope says after the outfit rejections have reached double digits. “Come.”

Calliope has truly made her room her own in the almost two months that she’s lived here, which makes you so happy to see. She’s decorated with items found antiquing (Calliope always manages to come out of an antique store with a haul—you think it's her superpower), and her room has an actual personality now.

She goes to her closet and begins searching through it before finding what she’s looking for; a white blouse with bell sleeves and delicate embroidering along the cuffs and collar. It’s beautiful, and exactly what Evie was looking for. Her attention, however, is drawn to something else in the closet, and she grabs at one of the hangers after approving Calliope’s choice. To your surprise, Evie comes up holding a cream-colored, silk nightgown.

“Wait, Cal, you still have the nightgown you were wearing the night you got away?” you ask.

It would be cruel to say anything more than the most vague descriptions regarding Calliope’s imprisonment. Nobody particularly wanted to remind her of that dark time in her life, so great care was taken to make it the least bit triggering as possible when it needed to be brought up.

She nods. 

“Why?”

Calliope thinks about that for a moment. “I am not sure, to be honest. I certainly do not want to keep a relic of such a terrible time, but throwing it away does not feel…right.”

Evie perks up. “Ooh, y’know what we should do? We should burn that bitch!”

Calliope looks perturbed. “I thought you said that he is still in a mental hospital? Besides, I believe that immolation is still a crime.”

You and Evie both laugh when you realize that Calliope thought she was talking about Madoc.

“Not that bitch, though you’re giving me great ideas. I meant that we should burn the dress. I saw it on TikTok; these friends did a ‘burn and release’ ritual. They had a fire going in their backyard, and they all wrote down and talked about things that they wanted to release before burning it and physically releasing themselves of that. It looks like it’s super empowering, and it might give you the closure that it seems like you’re looking for.”

She doesn’t say anything, but you can tell that she’s intrigued. 

“We’d participate, too,” you chime in, Evie nodding along with you. “I think we all have things we want to burn so that we can give ourselves permission to move on.”

“I would like that, I think.”

Evie smiles. “Perfect. Leave it to me.”

It only takes Evie a couple of days to coordinate everything. Her parents live just outside of town, and they happily offer up their backyard to their daughter and her group of friends. When you and Calliope arrive, there’s already a fire pit set up with a ring of camping chairs surrounding it. Kiara waves from one of the chairs, a bag of marshmallows sitting in her lap, as Evie works at getting the fire going.

“Yay, you made it!” she says when she can finally trust the fire to not go out the moment she looks away from it.

Calliope nods graciously. “Thank you for hosting us this evening.”

“You’re so formal sometimes! If anything, I should be the one thanking you for going along with my crazy idea.”

“I do not think it is crazy at all,” Calliope assures.

“We’ll see, won’t we? Anyways, pens and paper are over in the empty chair next to Kiara, and there will be drinks and snacks momentarily.” Evie turns to you. “Wanna help me grab said drinks and snacks? I need an extra set of hands.”

After helping Evie with procuring and setting out a few bottles of wine, plastic cups, and a bunch of different snacks, the four of you each pick up a pen and paper and begin to write. Calliope writes furiously, her pen seeming to fly over the paper as she jots down her thoughts, and is done first as a result. The rest of you take a bit longer to write, needing to stop and think about what you want to put down before you do so.

In a group chat, you, Kiara, and Evie had decided that one of you would automatically go first, to make Calliope feel comfortable about participating. When you’ve all finished writing, Kiara stands and clears her throat.

“Well, guess I’m first up,” she says.

In hindsight, you should have guessed how emotional a night of talking about things that you need to release and then burning them as a physical manifestation would be. Still, the teary eyes from everybody when Kiara finishes reading her letter to her ex-best friend and tosses it, along with a small box of mementos, into the fire catch you off-guard. Though you said that everybody had things that they needed to release the night that Evie first brought this up, you just didn’t realize that everyone was carrying their own burdens that, to them, are just as heavy as Calliope’s is to her.

You volunteer to go next, reading about how you release all of the expectations that you’ve had about your life and where it’s meant to go. Even before Calliope arrived in your life, you struggled with the idea that your life was not going according to the plan that you had in mind. You weren’t hitting milestones that you had plotted out, and your life “schedule” kept imploding time and time again. Now, you hope to be rid of that, and the constant feeling that you’re failing yourself and your life. 

As you watch the paper burn in the flames, you try to convince yourself that all of those feelings are burning along with it.

Evie follows, with a big “fuck you” to her biological dad, who she recently found out only tried to form a relationship with her so that he could get money from her. It’s such a terrible situation, and though she’s handled it with her classic brand of humor, you can all see the hurt that she carries with her. Her letter is funny and biting and makes you all laugh, but she’s openly crying by the time she tosses it into the fire, and she gets a long hug from each of you after.

Finally, it’s Calliope’s turn, and she takes a long moment to stand. She’s been holding your hand since you finished reading her letter, and you give her a comforting squeeze before letting go so she can properly hold the letter. After taking a deep breath, she looks around the fire at the encouraging faces before her before she begins.

“I have often lived my life in the service of others, though most of the time, it was something that I willingly and happily did. That choice was removed from me when I was stolen from my home and bound to a truly vile and horrid man. He took everything from me. My thoughts, my inspiration, my—” Calliope’s voice breaks. “My body. Nothing was mine anymore, and I was told that that was how it should be, that it was the natural order of the world. He beat me down, physically and emotionally, to the point where I started to believe it. 

“Though I had long since lost hope, I prayed for some sort of salvation, and I prayed to whomever I could think of. Nobody answered, either because they could not or would not, and I believed myself truly alone. Eventually, my former lover, Morpheus, was the only one who could, or would, help me, and even then, there was only so much that he could do. I do not fault him for that, because he did the most that was possible for him to do.

“And then one day, somebody knocked on the door of my prison and demanded their keys back.” She looks at you with a wobbly smile, and you sniffle in an attempt to hold back tears. “I know not why that was the tipping point for my captor, and frankly, nor do I care. He threw me out like trash, but I was not really in a place to question a gift such as this. And it truly has been a gift for me. In the two months since I escaped captivity, I have been able to heal, slowly but surely, even though I did not think such a thing was possible. I have found my laugh once more. I am free to do whatever I want, whenever I want. To sit in the sun, or read a book, or be with my friends.”

Calliope picks up the nightgown from where it sat next to her chair. “With this, I release every last hold that my captivity has had on me. From now on, when I think about that time, I shall think about survival, and how I refused to be kept down. I am free, and I shall remain forever free.”

She tosses the dress and the letter into the fire, watching intently as the flames catch the fabric and begin to work through it. Then, she laughs. Her laugh is beautiful and like the peals of bells, and it’s infectious too. Soon you’re all laughing, and you all have the same idea to hug Calliope. It turns into a group hug, the four of you laughing and hugging and watching as the smoke of the fire carries away that which you do not want to carry with you any longer.

•••

Calliope takes her time getting out of the car when you arrive back home, still basking in the euphoria of emotional release. When she turns to look at you, you already know what she’s going to say.

“Go in without me.” She sighs happily and looks up at the moon. “I wish to remain outside for a moment longer.”

You squeeze her shoulder before letting go. “Alright. The door’ll be unlocked whenever you decide you’re finished.”

You hum while unlocking the door, kicking your shoes off and hearing them thump against the wall of the entryway. Fumbling, you curse under your breath as you try to find the light switch—really, you’d think that after living here for almost a year, you’d be able to turn the lights on on the first try.

Light finally floods the room, and your humming resumes as you head into the kitchen to grab a drink. There’s a chill in the air, more figurative than literal, that causes goosebumps to rise on your skin. Your heartbeat quickens as you remove a glass from the cabinet, like your reflexes are trying to warn you of some unseen danger. Nervously, you hum a little louder while filling your glass up in the hopes that you’ll feel better. 

You don’t. How could you, when you look over the kitchen island into the living room and see a figure standing silhouetted against the back door? In fact, you feel much worse than nervous; now, you’re scared out of your wits, enough so that you scream upon realizing that there’s actually a man in your home, a man who is most definitely not supposed to be here.

You scream.

“Hello.” 

The man’s voice is deep, deeper than you think you’ve ever heard before. If he wasn’t currently in the act of breaking into your home, you’d think about how nice of a voice it is. Right now, it’s simply disturbing.

His eyes seem to twinkle in the darkness before he takes a step toward you, thus putting himself in the light. He’s paler than any living being you’ve ever seen, with long, unkempt black hair and cold blue eyes that seem like they can tell everything about you just from looking at you. He’s dressed in all black, with a long black coat completing his ensemble.

He’s not human, that much you’re sure of. You’ve spent enough time around Calliope in the past couple of months to guess that she is something more, and this stranger is the same. Power radiates off of him in waves, the same as it does with Calliope. Both are ethereally, sharply beautiful, in a way that lets lesser beings know that these are the true apex predators.

Even though it probably won’t help (now that you have the barest idea of what you’re dealing with), you pick up a kitchen knife from the dish rack and brandish it in front of you, thankful that you had cut up an apple last night and thus had needed your largest knife to do so. 

“Get the fuck out of my apartment!” 

He doesn’t move, choosing instead to just keep staring at you with those piercing eyes. You come out from behind the island, still holding the knife towards him. 

“Seriously, leave or I’m calling the cops,” you threaten, pulling your phone out of your pocket with your free hand.

This decision quickly has the situation going from bad to worse. The man seems to cross the entire room in a single step before slamming you against the wall, one hand wrapped dangerously tight around your throat. You gasp at the sudden violence, as well as the strength that he possesses under his lean figure, and both the knife and the phone fall from your hands as you try to figure out what to do. 

“Be quiet, mortal,” he spits venomously, his hand flexing around your throat. You attempt to grab at his hand to get him off of you, but he doesn’t budge. When you try to kick at him, he just leans more of his weight against you and renders you virtually immobile. “You are keeping a woman here, against her will. You will release her immediately, or suffer the most dire of consequences.”

“What? No, I’m not!” you argue.

Is he talking about Calliope? If so, he’s about two months too late in coming to her rescue. The only one that was holding her against her will was Ric Madoc, and he’s facing his own set of consequences for what he did.

Speak of the devil. Calliope chooses this moment to come in from her nighttime sojourn. You and your attacker both stare at the door as Calliope enters the apartment. She’s humming, much as you had when you first came in, completely in her own little world.

“Cal!” you cry out helplessly in an attempt to warn her, the only sound you can make before the man’s hand tightens again and cuts off all but a bit of your air supply. If given the chance, you’re not sure if you would tell her to run or ask for her help.

She takes stock of the situation before her with calculated eyes. Instead of surprise, shock, or fear, Calliope just looks…angry. Her bag drops to the floor next to her feet, and she makes sure to shut and lock the door behind her.

“Let them go, Oneiros,” Calliope commands, her hand landing on his shoulder.

Wait, Calliope knows him? Internally, you chastise yourself; obviously, she knows him, she called him by name! Still, you find yourself confused. She hasn’t mentioned having any contacts in the area. In fact, you distinctly remember her saying that she had “nobody” that first night you met her.

The intruder—Oneiros, apparently—does as Calliope asks, and you slide to the floor without his interference keeping you upright. Calliope slides down with you, landing on her knees in front of you as she looks you over with her big, brown eyes.

“Are you alright?” she asks, using her thumbs to wipe away your tears, tears that you weren’t aware you were shedding.

You nod. “I–I think so.” 

Despite your reassurance, your hand goes to your throat, and you try to rub away the soreness that’s already settling beneath the skin. When she begins to rub her hands up and down your arms, you realize that you’re shaking violently. Calliope stands and briefly leaves the room, leaving you and Oneiros in awkward silence until she returns with a blanket, which she gently wraps around you.

After she’s completed this task, Calliope wheels around to point accusingly at the man. “You are a fool, and you allow yourself to act without first thinking far too often.”

“Calliope–” he tries to interrupt, but Calliope shakes her head.

“What are you doing here?” she demands.

He scowls. “You called for me again, did you not?” 

“I did no such thing!”

“Really?” he questions with a raised eyebrow. “You did not write my name down prior to burning it?”

Calliope falls silent, because apparently that’s exactly what she did.

“I thought that what I had done to Richard Madoc worked, Calliope. Why did you not come to me sooner to tell me that he had sold you off instead?”

“Nothing of the sort has happened!”

“Then how did you end up bound to yet another mortal?”

“It is not what it looks like, Morpheus.”

“Explain it to me, then,” he pleads.

As the two continue to bicker above you, you feel increasingly like you’re interrupting in your own home. You shift uncomfortably, and Oneiros—Morpheus? Seriously, how many names does this guy have?—turns his sharp gaze upon you.

“You. How did you come to bind the Muse Calliope? What spell have you used to bewitch her?” He demands answers that you don’t have, and your shaking becomes worse under the full brunt of his stare.

“What?” You scramble to your feet so that you can at least pretend to be on the same ground as the two others here. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please, let us sit down and discuss this civilly,” Calliope interrupts, gesturing both of you towards the living room. 

After a moment of consideration, Oneiros/Morpheus nods tersely and walks in the direction that Calliope had pointed as though this is his home and not yours. You try to get your legs to move, but they steadfastly remain stuck to the spot you’re standing in. Calliope notices this and loops her arm through yours before gently guiding you into the living room.

“Why did he call you a Muse?” you whisper to her.

She presses her lips together in a thin line. “I will give you answers, I promise. It is…complicated.”

Though you’re not exactly satisfied by this answer, you trust Calliope, so you nod and silently agree to wait.

You don’t have to wait for long. Once everybody is seated (you in the chair perpendicular to the couch, with Oneiros/Morpheus on the couch and Calliope sitting next to him while simultaneously acting as a buffer between you), Calliope takes a deep breath and begins to explain everything. About who, and what, she is, how she came to be bound by a writer named Erasmus Fry, and how she was basically bartered for by Ric Madoc. She explains what they wanted from her, and she explains, unflinchingly, what they did to her to get it. Though it’s horrific, you listen to all of it. After all, if she’s willing to give, it’s only fair that you be open to receiving.

Calliope’s words seem to hang in the air long after she’s finished. The three of you sit in silence; Oneiros/Morpheus with a stony expression, you crying (you think you’ve cried more today than you’ve cried in a long, long time), and Calliope waiting calmly for you both to digest what she’s said.

In the end, it’s you who speaks first. “So you’re a goddess?” you ask.

“A Muse, yes,” she says.

“Like, of the Greek variety.” You need to confirm this for some reason, even though you already know the answer.

She laughs. “Yes.”

“A literal Muse is my best friend and roommate?”

You think that you might be going into shock right now

Oneiros/Morpheus scoffs, and you glare at him. “You have something to say?”

“You say that Calliope is your best friend. Then why do you not set her free?”

“Set her free? She’s a person, she’s free to do whatever she wants.”

“No, she is not. Calliope is bound to you, by the old laws.”

“Morpheus,” Calliope says sharply, a warning, but the man continues.

“You are enslaving a goddess and calling it friendship.” The disgust is clear on his face. “How can there be any sort of friendship when she is unable to leave, to do anything, without your say? You have complete and utter control over her, and you force her to pretend that it isn’t so. This farce that you’ve concocted must end now. I implore you to free her before I am left with no choice but to take further action against you.”

The room begins to tilt, and you shake your head in disbelief. “No…”

“They don’t know, Morpheus!” Calliope snaps.

“Cal, you—” 

You feel sick, and you genuinely think that you’re about to throw up. All this time, you thought you had helped to free her from her prison. Instead, she’s remained trapped, bound to you just like she was bound to Madoc and, as you’ve now learned, Erasmus Fry. These men took everything from an unwilling goddess, a Muse, and you’re basically no better than them. 

Swallowing down the bile that rises in your throat does nothing, so you close your eyes to take a couple of deep, shaky breaths in an attempt to calm down. That doesn’t work either, and you rise shakily to your feet before rushing over to the trash can in the kitchen and throwing up the wine and snacks that you had eagerly partaken in at Evie’s.

It’s humiliating, doing something as base and human as retching in the presence of two godly creatures. Everything about this situation is humiliating, if you’re being honest with yourself. You’ve unknowingly extended Calliope’s incarceration and deluded both of you into believing that it was friendship. How could you be a part of such a heinous act? Truly, are you no better than Madoc?

When you’ve finally thrown up everything in your stomach and then some, you’re full-on sobbing as you clutch at the trash can. Your knees give out, but Calliope catches you as you fall to the ground and wraps you in her embrace. She soothes you and murmurs words of comfort as she runs a hand through your hair, letting you cry in her arms when it should be the other way around. You don’t deserve her comfort, you think to yourself.

Once you finally have enough breath in your lungs to be able to talk, you gasp out between hyperventilating, “I’m so sorry. I–I didn’t know, and if I did, I would have never–”

“Shh,” she hushes you, grabbing your hands in hers. “My sweet friend, you have done nothing wrong.”

“But I–”

“I am the one who chose not to tell you. I trusted you in the beginning, and I trust you now. You have not failed me or abused me, or been a captor to me. Do you hear me?” She holds your face in her hands to make you look at her, and she waits until you nod to hug you once more.

“How do I free you?” you ask her. “Please, let me free you.”

“You must say that she is free,” your uninvited guest speaks up, making you remember that there’s a whole other person here. “And mean it.”

“Calliope, you’re free. You’ve always been free,” you say immediately, looking at her earnestly and hoping that she can see in your eyes how sorry you are.

Nothing physically changes. No burst of light envelops her, and she doesn’t undergo any sort of transformation. Yet, something in the air changes and becomes lighter. That inner glow that Calliope’s always carried seems to beam brighter now. Her shoulders look less weighed down now, no longer burdened by her forced captivity.

“Thank you,” Calliope says profusely.

“Don’t do that,” you say, feeling sick all over again. “Don’t thank me for something I should have done the second that Madoc threw you at me. I should have been smarter, more observant than I was. God, you deserve so much more than anything I can ever begin to give you.”

She’s not happy about your self-deprecation, but you will not be the source of her rage tonight. No, as she helps you once more to stand, her anger lands squarely on the man who barged in here and turned everything on its head.

“Apologize. Now,” Calliope demands. “What you have done here tonight is completely unacceptable and a new low, even for you.”

After thinking for a moment, perhaps to consider if he did transgress against you, he nods and stands like some sort of gentleman to properly address you. “The lady Calliope is right. I have acted deplorably towards you this evening, when you have done nothing but offer shelter and companionship to one needing it. I sincerely apologize for the pain and anguish that I have caused you.”

You nod warily, still tucked into Calliope’s side. “Thank you,” you say quietly. 

Truthfully, you do appreciate the apology. If he’s as powerful as you think he is, then he could have just as easily decided that you weren’t worth the breath it would take to form words, and that would be well within his right.

“Well, now that we’re all close to being on the same page here.” Calliope gestures to the man. “Allow me to introduce you to Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Ruler of the Nightmare Realms, et cetera, et cetera.”

“You’re a god too?” you ask.

“Not a god. I am Endless, one of seven anthropomorphic personifications of natural forces. I am far older, and far more powerful, than any god, and will remain long after all of your gods are dead and gone,” Morpheus explains.

You try to ignore the fact that one of the most powerful beings in the universe is currently sitting in your living room, lest you start to have an existential crisis in front of him. Now that Calliope’s told you his name, it rings a bell. “Wait, is he your ex?”

Morpheus looks at you both in surprise. “You have spoken of me?”

“Only tonight,” Calliope assures him. “When I…accidentally summoned you.”

The longer that you can think clearly without the threat of bodily harm, the more the puzzle pieces keep clicking into place for you. “He’s Orpheus’s dad, isn’t he?”

Calliope nods, and so does Morpheus, though he’s far more reluctant than she is. You don’t notice that, though, too caught up in your thoughts.

“Ha, Morpheus and Orpheus.” Maybe all of the crying has made you dehydrated, which in turn has left you a little delirious. That’s the only reason why you say this train of thought out loud. “What, if you had a daughter were you going to name her Alliope?” 

Calliope snickers at that, though Morpheus doesn’t share her amusement. “His name fit him perfectly, even though it was quite the coincidence that it was one letter off from that of his father’s.”

“God, I’m so stupid,” you bemoan. “How did I not know you were a goddess? I literally said, ‘Oh cool, like the muse’ when you introduced yourself! You must have thought I was an idiot.”

“It is difficult for the mortal mind to comprehend that which it believes to be fake. To you, that was the only connection that you subconsciously deemed possible,” Morpheus explains. Though he does it to make you feel better, it feels a little patronizing when it comes from someone as powerful as him.

“I wish you would have told me. Did you think that I wouldn’t have freed you? Because I would have!”

“I know that,” Calliope says. “Truthfully, I…forgot to tell you.”

“You forgot?” Morpheus says in disbelief.

At the same time, you ask, “How the fuck do you forget to tell someone that you’re accidentally bound to them?”

“At first, I was scared. That it was a trap, that you would be worse than Madoc. Of course, that lasted about twenty minutes.”

“What made you realize I was different?”

She smiles. “When you told me that the doors only locked from the inside. You cared about my privacy and that I was feeling safe, and I figured that you had no clue about anything that had happened, or about who I was. From there, it just wasn’t something that I thought to bring up. I was too frightened to leave the apartment, and I had been cut off from the world for over sixty years. Frankly, the idea of going out without you terrified me. As I began to regain control of my life and heal, it just became something that I thought about less and less. You are my best and dearest friend, and we do everything together, so why would I think about a bond other than the one that formed naturally?”

It’s very sweet of her to say, but you still have questions. “So you were just going to continue to live like this?”

“I did not have a plan, but I suppose so. I was happy here, with you.”

“Okay, but what happened if I got married one day, or like, had kids?”

“I would just be the fun aunt that lived with you and your family?”

“Jesus Christ,” you groan before sitting up suddenly. “Wait, is Jesus Christ real too?” 

Calliope and Morpheus share a look, and you’re suddenly frightened of the answer.

“No wait, don’t tell me, I don’t wanna know.”

You really, really don’t want to have an existential crisis until you can be alone in the comfort of your room.

Thankfully, Calliope and Morpheus take over the conversation from there, because you don’t think you have the mental capacity to try and further any conversation right now. They obviously have a lot to catch up on, since it seems like the last time they saw each other was when Calliope broke down and asked him for help escaping Madoc.

Instead, while they converse, you take a moment to zone out and try to process just what has happened in the past hour. The stranger that broke into your apartment turned out to be the powerful, eldritch nightmare king ex-husband to your roommate, who’s actually a goddess that was unintentionally bound to you. For reasons beyond your comprehension, he thought that she needed rescuing, and that you were the one that she needed rescuing from.

Your thoughts chase each other like a cyclone, and you try not to panic as you think about all of this. God, you need a drink right now.

When Morpheus and Calliope both rise, with Morpheus saying that he really must return to his kingdom, you rise with them. After all, how will you ever feel at ease if you don’t ask him what’s on your mind?

“Are we good now?” you ask. “Like, you’re not gonna hurt me or curse me? I promise I had no idea about any of this.”

“Yes, I know that now,” Morpheus says. “I will not harm you. If anything, I should be offering you a boon, for being such an immense help to one such as Calliope.”

“You owe me nothing. Neither of you do.”

Calliope leans in and kisses Morpheus on the cheek, so gently that you wonder if she even made contact. “Fare you well, Morpheus.”

He bows his head. “Goodbye.”

Between one blink and the next, he’s gone as though he was never here at all.

•••

That night, you dream, and for the first time, you’re aware of the fact that you’re dreaming.

You don’t know where you are, but it’s the greenest, lushest meadow you’ve ever seen. Wildflowers dance lazily in the breeze, and you can hear the low rush of a river behind the treeline. You’re tempted to lie down in the impossibly soft-looking grass and watch the clouds drift overhead, but before you can, you see them standing next to you.

Morpheus looks just as he did when you saw him in your apartment, only a lot less like he’s ready to murder you. The main difference is that he now sports robes fit for a king instead of his coat. His eyes, you also notice, are black pools of stars.

On the other hand, the Calliope you see before you is a complete departure from the Calliope you know and love. She’s wearing a white chiton that’s belted at the waist and her hair, which normally falls in curly waves, is braided back intricately. She shines, in a way that you’ve never seen, looking every bit the goddess that she is.

“Is this real, or am I dreaming?” you ask.

“Dreams are real,” Morpheus says with the slightest of smiles.

“Of course, my bad.”

Though it’s a picturesque dream, it’s stained with strokes of melancholy. On some level, you know what’s going to happen, and what Morpheus has brought you here for.

“You’re gonna leave, aren’t you?” you ask Calliope.

Selfishly, you’re hoping that she’ll say no. That she’ll tell you that your home is her home and where she’s meant to be. Yet even as you foolishly hope, you know that your ordinary apartment, your ordinary life, is no place for a goddess. No, she deserves far greater than that.

She smiles sadly, and that’s all the confirmation you need. “I think I must, at least temporarily. There is…much for me to do, back home on Olympus. I wish to reconnect with my sisters, for one. And though it is lofty of me, I wish to change the old laws so that we may never be enslaved on the whims of mortals ever again.”

“If anyone can change laws that are thousands of years old, it’s you.”

“Thank you…for everything these past two months. Truly, I do not know how I can ever properly thank you for what you have done for me.”

“You don’t have to do anything; just knowing that you’re safe and happy is enough for me. I’m so proud of you for taking your life back after everything you went through. You deserve all of the happiness and goodness that the world has to offer you.”

“I would not have been able to do it without you, you know. No matter how we came to know each other, I am glad that we did. You saved me.” She says it so earnestly, needing you to truly understand your impact on her recovery.

“You did that yourself, Cal. I was just along for the ride.”

“You have my utmost respect,” Morpheus says. “Not many would have taken in a stranger needing help from off the streets with nothing but the purest of intentions, and fewer still would have offered them friendship. Your bravery and kind heart shall not be forgotten.”

“You have my respect too, for what it’s worth.”

He looks at you in surprise. “Why?”

“Calliope told me that you didn’t end things on the best of terms. But still, when she called for help, you answered with barely a second thought, and did all you could to help.”

He stares for a moment before nodding and turning to gaze out across the meadow. To your unabashed delight, his cheeks tint a light lavender in embarrassment, unsure of how to take your compliment. You bite your lip to stifle your laugh and decide to not tease the King of Dreams…for now.

Though you’ve been putting it off, some sixth sense tells you that your time here is nearing an end. You turn to Calliope again, who already is trying desperately to keep her tears unshed. When you meet her eyes, she holds out her arms to hug you, and you gladly accept.

“I’ll miss you,” you mumble.

Calliope kisses your forehead before pressing hers to yours affectionately. “I shall miss you as well, more than you can even imagine.”

“Call me if you need anything, okay? If–if your sisters are ganging up on you, or if you need someone to watch the best movies of the two-thousands with you, or if you’re missing going to karaoke with the gang. I’ll drop everything and go to Greece, just say the word.”

She laughs, the sound uninhibited and joyful. “I know you will.”

“Goodbye, Calliope." You have no choice but to finally, reluctantly say the words you've been dreading to say. If you weren't to do it now, you know you'd never let go of her.

Calliope pulls away just enough so that she can look you in the eye. “May fortune go with you, my sweetest friend.”

•••

Calliope’s gone when you wake up, her belongings the only sign that she even existed here in the first place. Though you cry, they’re not tears of sadness; rather, they’re happy tears, because how could you not be happy for Calliope? She’s found her freedom and the strength to return home, to try and make a better world for herself and her fellow gods and goddesses. Truly, this is all that you ever wanted for her.

On her nightstand sits a folded-up note, your name written on the front in Calliope’s ornate script. You open it up to read it, and when you finish, you hold it to your heart.

I will always be close by in your heart, as you will always be in mine. No distance can change that. Should you need me, you need only pray to me, and I shall hear you. Continue to make the world as bright as you.

-Calliope

[mystarsohee]

HI KAEBAE !!!! I'M GETTING TO UR REQS I PROMISE PROMISE PROMISE . was just wondering if i could request some cg!seungcheol headcanons? he's literally loml <3 thank you! - @swee7dream

seungcheol as your cg !

genre: fluff, comfort

!!! non-sexual agere, only cg name used is cheolie

cg!seungcheol, fem!reader

- im just gonna say what we're all thinking

- seungcheol as your cg is just a giant personal teddy bear

- big strong and cuddly

- thats it

- whenever your pouting at him he'll just pick you up

- or if ur mad for whatever silly reason

- "cheolieeee put me downn ಠ_ಠ"

- "oh? but my baby is mad at me.. you know i'm sorry."

- "so (kiss) so (kiss) sorry (kiss)

- will pout right back at you

- then you just giggle but it makes him pout even more

- literally your biggest supporter ever

- like actually your #1 fan

- hypes you up whenever you do karaoke together

- actually just hypes you up every day

- always has the proudest smile on his face whenever you try something new, or just because hes proud all the time

- seungcheol loves to take candid photos of you

- sometimes you'll see a pic your not quite fond of

- "delete that please cheolie.. im not very pretty in that one."

- "whaatt?? thats impossible."

- proceeds to exaggeratedly clean his glasses/rub his eyes to do a double take

- his baby is ALWAYS pretty 🫶

- he'll delete it though if your adamant on him not keeping it

- speaking of taking photos

- you somehow learned how to take 0.5x photos of people..

- (cough cough, hanging out with his members too much)

- his phone is just full if 0.5x photos of him. and you. and the both of you. and his members.

- oh, and all your stuffies too lol.

- on the topic of stuffies

- he treats all of them very kindly

- "ah! cheolie, you're sitting on mrs. bunny!!!"

- immediately panics

- "huh? oh!"

- picks up the stuffie and makes sure its alright

- "m'sorry mrs. bunny, are you okay?"

- gives it a hug, then places it back down with a pat on its head.

- on the rare occasion you misbehave, you usually just get a light scolding

- the second you start to tear up, he feels sooo bad

- tries so hard to stay the slightest bit mad at you

- when hes done talking to you he'll give you the biggest hug ever

- he could never put you in timeout or anything, he gets sad and feels lost when you're not there with him lol

- i think he'd also love to nap with you

- caregivers deserve naps too lets be honest!

- he loves you so much TRUST

- if he can't fall asleep while you're napping

- he'll just admire your face

authors note: AHHH i'm so excited to get this one out! i wrote this for my sweet sweet vix!!!! i loved writing this one omggg!!!!

my first time writing for a group that isn't my ults, so i wasn't as familiar with seungcheol compared to like, riize or xdiz ya know? so i did plenty of research (watched clips of him on tiktok) LOL !!!! i really hope you guys enjoy this one !!

writing headcanons is something i'm not used to yet, but i'm having fun doing them! they definitely get my creative juices flowing since i don't have any prompt or anything to go off of, just an idol and my brain :3

[bluejayblueskies]

the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the ambition of the world | phynoma

[ID: Two pictures of two hand-bound books, the first of which shows their front covers and the second of which shows their spines and part of their front covers at an angle. The leftmost book is bound in yellow bookcloth and has a hand-embroidered smiling mouth with bloody teeth on the bottom portion of the front and back cover. The title, "the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the ambition of the world" is in the top right corner in black as well as the words "volume one" in maroon. The rightmost book is bound in red bookcloth and has a hand-embroidered ribcage on the lefthand side of the front cover and the righthand side of the back cover. The title, "the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the ambition of the world" is in the top right corner in black as well as the words "volume two" in white. Both volumes have stitching across the spine that joins the embroidery on the front and back covers so that the design stretches across the spine. /End ID]

It's finally time to share the books I made for the 2023 Rusty Quill Big Bang, hosted by @pilesofnonsense! This year, I was paired with the wonderful @phynoma, who wrote a post-circus AU entitled the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the ambition of the world where Jon is marked by an entity known as the Consuming that feeds off hunger and desire and focuses, in Jon's case, around sexual hunger and desire. It's a truly spectacular fic with excellent worldbuilding, spot-on characterization, and a wide variety of sexual encounters of all flavors, and I highly recommend it!

As this fic is written in transcript format, I wanted to go with an open-spine binding style that would have the advantage of both lying extremely flat when opened and giving the fic a more screenplay-like appearance. Also as a consequence of the transcript format, the final page count ended up being large enough that I split the fic into two volumes, the first of which covers season three and the second of which covers seasons four and five.

[ID: Two pictures of the same hand-bound books, the first of which shows volume one and the second of which shows volume two. Both books are fully open to display their front and back covers touching. We can see that the embroidered design, half of which is on the front cover and half of which is on the back, forms a complete picture when the book is fully open. /End ID]

Each volume has hand-embroidered front and back covers, with titles done in black, white, and maroon gel pen. The covers were designed so that when the book is fully open, the front and back cover designs come together to form one single cohesive image. Additionally, when the book is closed, the spine stitching was done so that the design stretches across the spine, thus making the full design complete whether the book is fully open or fully closed. I'm really proud of how these covers turned out, and even though the embroidery took much longer than I anticipated it taking, it's definitely something I would do again!

More description and pictures of the interior of the books are below the cut:

I went with a visually simple yet technically complex design for the typeset of this fic. Microsoft Word's styles were very much my friend, as well as its advanced find-and-replace feature, to automate a lot of the formatting for this fic. The most complex bits were the group chat excerpts and making sure all the profile pictures were positioned correctly, as well as the email chain excerpts in volume one. The text messages were done separately in an HTML workspace and then included via screenshots, and because I had an HTML/CSS text message code already sitting around from a previous project, those were relatively simple to format!

[ID: Eight pictures of the interior of the hand-bound books from previous photos. The first picture shows the title page of volume one, which has the title and author name in black and "volume one" in red, as well as a picture of a ginko tree. The second picture shows the title page of volume two, which has the title and author name in black and "volume two" in red, as well as a picture of a cherry blossom tree. The third picture shows the colophon and table of contents for volume two, highlighting the binder logos--a bluejay and a bookpress--and the faux-label table of contents title. The fourth picture shows the chapter header page for the chapter "voyeurism" in volume one, featuring brackets around the notes, content warnings, and pairings for the chapter as well as a quote from the confessions of augustine, which is separated from the warnings with an open eye graphic. The fifth picture shows the beginning of the chapter "hunger in the garden" in volume two, displaying the transcript formatting of the text as well as the faux-label chapter name on the top left. The sixth picture shows text messages in volume two, which are formatted the same as text messages on an iOS system with blue and gray bubbles and a name header that says "Jonathan Sims." The seventh picture shows some chapter text as well as a faux-office memo, done in a sans serif font, written from Elias Bouchard to the Archives team. The eighth picture shows on the left page faux emails, done in an iOS style with profile pictures for each email, and on the right page a faux-group message with profile pictures for each member and a header that labels the groupchat as the Snarkivists. /End ID]

The fonts used for this typeset were chosen based on those used for the unofficial Magnus Archives transcripts--DejaVu Sans Mono for the chapter intro pages and Libre Baskerville for the body text. I'm not 100% sure that those are the actual fonts used for the unofficial transcripts, but based on the reverse font search I did, those seem to be a close match for it.

This was a big project for me, and I'm so happy to finally see it to completion! Once again, a big thanks to Phynoma for being such a wonderful partner to work with--I'm excited to send you these books so you can see them in person 💜

[crowandmousewritingco]

Death Row

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x gn!Lannister!reader

Words: 6.1k

Rating: T (more for violence and angst. Think like a PG13 movie)

Summary: The Red Viper is finally brought to justice, but to you there is more than meets the eye.

Warnings: Murder, implied past rape (not the reader), implied past child murder (both off screen) The Lannisters being the Lannisters, use of poisons, hanging, death. (I might have missed a few)

Author: Mod Mouse

Notes: I wrote this fic for the #almostfoxgloveangstchallenge put on by the wonderful @almostfoxglove. The song I was given with this prompt was Death Row by Chris Stapleton so if you want to listen along to get you in the mood go right ahead! I'm actually super proud of both 1) writing a pretty angsty fic since I'm a solid member of the fluff committee and 2) I usually don't write this long of fic. So I hope you all enjoy this work.

They did it. The Red Viper was finally captured after avoiding different law enforcement across dozens of counties. He could hide in plain sight and only peek out of his burrow when he was ready to strike. There were many reported deaths tied directly to the outlaw, and they were always closely tied to the Sherriff which caused a stir in this section of the country. 

But now the region didn’t need to worry about this mysterious man any longer. He was brought into local custody when he was detained at the scene of the murder of Sheriff Tywin Lannister’s Gregor Clegane aka The Mountain. By the time the Sheriff got there The Mountain was already dead and the Red Viper who, surrounded by a group of the Lannister’s men, was just staring at the corpse of his victim. He didn’t put up any sort of fight when he was arrested, nor did he defend himself during his very short trial. 

You were there despite your dad’s attitude towards you. Considering you were his bastard child he didn’t want you anywhere near the judicial area of town, but that still didn't stop you. Your other siblings were regular attendants so you would be too. 

 You took in the man on trial. The Red Viper was someone to be feared and brought nothing but death in his wake. But when you looked at the golden man on the judgement stand you saw the expression on his face. He was calm and even a bit cocky as he leaned back in his chair with his feet on the table. 

Of course he was sentenced to death by hanging. The evidence against him was undeniable, and soon he would be left to rot in his cell until the day they called up to the gallows. You lingered in the courtroom that day, staring at the door the guards let him through long after he was gone. Something about his expression made you want to visit him. 

That day you came up with a plan. Luckily you had your father’s schedule down to a science. After he left in the morning you knew he wouldn’t be back until supper giving you plenty of time to sneak into the jails. The only problem was the guards. Unfortunately they were all too aware of who you were, so going in the front door wasn’t an option. Behind the prison would be your best bet. 

With your plan in motion, you set out to discover who this man was. You peaked out the backdoor of the house making sure the coast was clear. When you saw no one you quietly ran across the street. Taking the familiar alleys and backways you found yourself at the back of the holding cells. As you thought there were only two guards at the front which meant no one would be inside. The building was top of the line, but you knew the backways into the cells thanks to your years of sneaking behind your father’s back. 

You approached the barred window and gave each of the bars a tug. Just like you thought a couple of them were loose from the recent rain and you were able to pull them just enough to shimmy inside. You really ought to tell your father about this escape route, but you also weren’t too keen on your father. 

The holding cells were as musty as you remember. There were hardly any windows so the air felt heavy and old. Years of prisoners breathing the same air as they awaited a similar end created a sense of weight to the area. All of the cells were empty save for the one the Red Viper was held in which from the clinking of stones being thrown was the last one of the left. 

Slowly you approached being as quiet as you can be. Despite this though a rough accented voice flowed through the quiet hallway. “I told you I had no intention of giving you a statement.” 

“I apologize I’m not the press.” You reply and step out of the shadows. 

The Red Viper leaned against the far wall, hands in his lap picking absently at his nail, the pile of tossed stones at the edge of the bars. What little light trickled into the jail beamed against the prisoner’s bright yellow outfit. But the luster of the outfit was damped by the dust and grime that gathered on the material over the course of time. His face matched his clothes. What was once a well trimmed and care for beard was ragged and well past its shave date. 

When you came into view, he raised his eyebrows confused at your presence. “Well you are not what I was expecting to waltz through those doors.” His dark eyes raked over your body curious about the creature in front of him. 

“It seems I’m not the only one visiting the infamous Red Viper.” You comment. 

He rolled his eyes. “If you are here to spit and drag my name through the mud. I’m not interested.” 

“How can I drag your name through the mud if I don’t know your name,” You quip back. 

The Red Viper smirks. “Smart mouth on this one. I quite like that. Makes you different from the other rats of this town.” 

“Well unfortunately some of those rats are my family so I’m supposed to be offended for them,” You sigh and sit down in front of the bars. 

The prisoner leaned forward taking a better look at you since you were more in the dim light. “I recognize you from the trial. You sat with the other sheriff's children. Since when did Lannister children converse with criminals?” 

“Just now. I guess one of us has to break tradition.” You shrug your shoulders. 

“And I am the one you’re breaking tradition for? Truly an honor.” He gently tips his head to you. 

“Well you are infamous in this area. A lot of people hate you,” You tell him bluntly. 

“They hate me for all the wrong reasons.” 

You look back towards the doors. Still as silent as when you came in. “I don’t hate you.” 

He scanned your face looking for anything that would give you away. “Why?” 

You took a deep breath. “I saw the way you held yourself at the trial.” You turned your head back to him. “There’s more to you than meets the eye.” 

“Clever thing you are,” He muses dark predatory eyes raking up and down your body. “You are correct. I’m not just some senseless killer.” 

You leaned forward bracing your forearm across your knee. “Then tell me.”

He was quiet for a long time and you almost thought he fell asleep, but his voice spoke again. “Come back tomorrow and I will tell you my story. But there will be an equivalent exchange.” 

You mull over his words. “And what are you looking for in exchange?” 

The Red Viper leaned his head back against the dirty bricks and gazed at your form. “Bring me something that is dear to you. It will be enough to match the importance of my story.” 

You were quiet for a moment thinking over his offer. There was something that was near and dear to your heart that you knew that would satisfy the stranger, but was this story really worth the possibility of losing your precious item. A soft sigh escaped your lips and you smirked. “Your story better be damn important.” 

The stranger smirked and nodded his head. “That will be determined by you.” 

Carefully you stood up and brushed off the accumulated dust from your pants. “Fine, expect me around the same time tomorrow.” 

“I’ll be waiting with baited breath for your return.” He replied, that cocky smirk returning to his lips. 

You gave him a small nod before quietly retracing your steps out of the escape route. Just as carefully as you arrived you returned to your house. It was silent as a morgue, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Gods only know what would happen if you had to explain where you’ve been all day to any member of your family. 

You returned to your bedroom and sat down on the familiar furniture. The silence allowed you to ruminate on the day. A stranger walks into your life and you had no idea how this was about to change your life. Thoughts kept rolling over in your head, leaving your appetite less than ideal. Your family wouldn’t miss you for dinner. This was your safe haven. 

Carefully you lit the candle beside you bed and grabbed the book you had been reading opening it up to your saved spot. Though you only made it a few chapters. The weight of that story made your eyes drowsy making the idea of a nap sound like the best idea. You kicked off your shoes and let yourself curl up on your bed. The thoughts in your head drifted but you soon found yourself in a deep sleep. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun slowly filtered into your room adding a warm glow to everything. The light hit your closed eyes and pulled you from the land of dreams. You grumbled annoyed to be awakened in such a manner, but the events of yesterday trickled back into your mind. That was enough to motivate you to get out of bed.  

Slowly you went over to your water basin and cupped the water in your hands splashing it into your face. The feeling of the cool water woke you up more allowing you to take a breath. You took your wash cloth and gently rubbed the sleep from your face wanting or rather needing yourself to be fully awake today. After you finished your morning routine, you traveled downstairs. 

The remnants of breakfast were on the table and an array of meats and breads were left messily on the counter, but yet no one was around. You sighed. This was the usual. Your father and Jamie always left at the crack of dawn, and Cersei couldn’t be bothered to talk to you. Who knew where your other brother was which gave you too much time to yourself. 

You sighed and gathered what you could for a meal, and luckily they had left enough for you to eat your fill. Staring at the empty chairs in front of you really did solidify what you were about to do. It was obvious that your family didn’t give two shits about you. A “bastard” claimed as a Lannister so their name would be smeared through the horse’s shit they rode in on. Why would it hurt to hear the story from this man.The Mountain had only done harm and it was under your father’s command that he committed such actions. With those thoughts you were resolved. 

Leaving the table how you found it, you hurried back up to your room to find the item the stranger wanted. With some effort you pulled the chest from under your bed and with the sleeve of your shift gently wiped the dust from the lid to reveal the pattern underneath. With familiar ease you traced the name that was etched into the wood. 

You missed your mother. Another victim of this wretched town. You popped the lock open on the trunk and rummaged around until your fingers hit the familiar cool metal. Carefully you pulled the necklace out from underneath the pile of her clothes. The heart shaped locket rested easily against your palm. Tears pricked at your eyes and you gently pressed a kiss to it. 

Emotions stirred in your chest, blurry memories coming to the forefront of your mind. But you didn’t have time for that. The stranger’s story was waiting for you. You took a deep breath before gathering the chain and setting it on your dresser. You made sure the chest made it back under your bed before you got changed for the day. Carefully you slipped the necklace into your pocket giving it a gentle pat.

Without losing another moment you hurried out of the house. Following a similar path as you did yesterday, you sneaked your way back to the holding cells. Everything seemed the same as yesterday and plopped down from the bars, falling harder than you were expecting.

You froze for a few seconds making sure that the guards didn’t hear the sound. When there was no indication of the guards sensing your presence, you tipped-toed your way back to the holding cells. Just like you left him yesterday there the stranger was against the wall with his head against the bricks. 

His head tilted towards the sound and the corners of his mouth tipped upward  when he saw it was you. “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

You rolled your eyes but there was a grin on your face. “You just met me.” You comment as you sit down on the dirty floor once again. 

“And yet you came back all for a little story.” He mused his eyes following your movement. 

“I did.” You answered and reached into your pocket. While holding the chain you held the locket in front of you. The Red Viper sat forward in interest and for the first time since meeting him he got up and sat in front of the bars. With well worn and bruised fingers he caressed the metal with a surprising gentleness for a so-called ruthless killer. 

“Who did this belong to?” He asked, not taking his eyes off of the metal. 

“My mother.” You whispered 

The stranger looked up at you. “I’m sorry.” He whispered understanding the situation and yet no words were exchanged. 

He opened the locket. “To my beautiful child. May the fawn protect you from the wrath of the lions.” You quoted the inscription from memory. Everynight when you were growing up you fell asleep with the memento under your pillow. You didn’t know your mother, but you knew she would always protect you. 

With curiosity etched in his expression, the stranger looked back at you. “I take it the Lannisters aren’t good to you either.” 

You scoffed. “You could say it. My father decided to bed a daughter of a man whom he wanted for his land. So he had me as blackmail and took what he thought was his. My mother was ruined and I’ve never seen her.” You were quiet for a moment. “It only seemed fair that a story about the Lannisters be met with a similar fate.” You let the chain slip from your hands letting it hit the floor with a clink. 

The Red Viper watched where the jewelry hit the ground for a moment. “Yes, unfortunately our stories are not that different.” He said as his fingers brushed the metal of the fallen memento. 

You leaned your weight against your arm. “Tell me what my father did against you.” 

 “I hope you didn’t have plans to go anywhere else. For this is a long story.” He answered, tilting his head. 

“I am here until you finish your tale.” You reply honestly. 

The Red Viper took a deep breath and released it slowly through his nose. “Okay then you shall hear my tale.” 

Flash Back 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fires of the town were still smoldering by the time he arrived. Heat blasted his face as he frantically searched the town. Many were screaming and running away from the danger, but he was racing into the flames. “Elia!” He yelled over the crack of the ignited wood. The sweat from the heat kept his hair in place as he whipped his head around to get even a glimpse of his sister. 

“Please where are you?” He whispered to himself as he desperately ran from building to building hoping that they were okay. His chest heaved with each pant and would’ve kept running forever, but a sound as loud as a thundercrack bellowed across the crumbling town. 

He whipped his head around and saw what he had been dreading. The familiar house where his sister and her children resided in past familiarity was all but rubble under the broiling flames. Ignoring any sense of safety, the stranger hurried up the broken sign hoping of the slim chance he could pull them out. 

Smoke filled his mouth and burned his eyes, but a simple pain like this wasn’t going to stop him. His family needed him. Without a care for his own wellbeing, he barges through the charred door. 

“Elia!” He screamed over the fire’s roars as he once again tried to find his sister desperately searching every charred nook and cranny. Until his eyes landed on something, and it wasn’t the smoke that caused his tears this time. With shaking legs, he kneeled in front of a fallen beam. Peeking underneath it was a charged hand. On that hand was the ring he recognized all too well. He was there when that ring slipped on his finger when she married Rhaegar. He was there when he held his first nephew and she was exhausted from giving birth. He was there when she told him of her husband’s divorce, and subsequent cheating. 

A crushing sob escaped out of his parched lips and he desperately clung to what was left of his beloved sister. Oh he wanted to stay with her as she burned away to ash, but the gods were cruel and just like the beam that took his sister, another one crashed beside him pulling him from his grief. 

Without a second thought he pulled the ring off of her charred hand and rushed back to the safety of the dark night. He stumbled along the charred pathway eventually tripping on a loose branch. There was nothing he would do but let himself fall. The stranger let himself weep as his world burned around him. His eyes blurred with the tears that continuously fell for his sister and her children. Embers rained around him leaving burn holes in his once vibrant clothing.

When there were no tears left to cry, he didn’t move. He didn’t have the energy to even think about escaping. Though something did catch his eye, something flashing with the dying flames. With all the energy he could muster, he reached out and grabbed the mysterious object. A five star badge with the infamous silver lion etched in the middle. An emblem only used by one family in the area which he knew all too well. 

Sorrow reversed to rage. A rage as hot as the fires that took his sister. The damned lions were responsible for this. He gripped the badge in his hands, the points pressed into his palm causing a slow stream of blood to flow down his arm. He would get his revenge. He would undo this wrong that was cursed upon his innocent family. He glared at the star. Lannisters aren’t the only ones who pay their debts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You didn’t realize but tears were streaming down your cheeks until you felt a rough hand caress the droplets from your skin. The touch pulled you out the trace and you looked back at the prisoner. 

“I’m sorry.” You sniffled as another round of tears sprang to life. 

“What are you sorry for? Did you kill me sister?” He joked tilting his head. 

“No but I carry that name therefore I carry a part of that sin.” 

The stranger shook his head. “My strange dove, you have no reason to be responsible for your bastard of a father.” 

You took a deep breath calming yourself. “Weirdly enough you're the first person to say that.” You chuckle sadly as you wipe away the spent tears. 

The Red Viper gazed at you with a glimmer in his dark brown eyes. “You really are fascinating.” 

“You’re the fascinating one. But please this isn’t about me. Continue your tale.” You shook your head hiding the heat in your cheeks. 

The way he stared into your eyes it was evident that he wanted to continue his compliments, but for your sake he continued his tale. The stranger leaned back on his hands and tipped his head back. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Through many sleepless nights he rode through all the cities, taking names of anyone who might have been involved. He slaughtered many who even had a chance of being involved in the death of his family. If a man had any chance of involvement with the Lannisters, they were questioned on Tywin and his monster of a sheriff, but when they offered no information they were slain on the spot. The only lead the Red Viper could glean from the loyal rats was a preacher in the next town over who was a pastor for a town the Lannisters owned. So as quickly as the stranger could, he mounted his horse and spurred the creature to gallop as fast as its legs could carry them. 

By the time he arrived at the small town, the church crowd had dispersed and were already gathering for the after-sermon meals. Most of the people didn’t notice the outlaw riding into town, but a few jumped back when he stopped his horse a few feet from the entrance. Quickly he tied a loose knot with the reins and stalked up the stairs. 

The church was nothing like the grand sanctuaries in the other bigger towns. It was large enough to house the town's inhabitants with minimal iconography with a simple altar at the head of the church. There stood the Father clearing up the remnants of the sermon. 

“I had a feeling you would find me sooner rather than later,” The man remarked not turning around to meet the stranger. The Red Viper pulled his gun out, pointing the barrel at the back of the preacher. “Shooting me will do you no good either. You can’t get information out of a corpse.” At this remark the preacher glanced over his shoulder at the outlaw. 

“Then talk, Varys. I know you who burned my sister’s town to the ground,” The Red Viper growled, cocking the gun. 

“My my my you are a volatile creature. It’s a wonder you haven’t been caught soon with the trail of bodies I hear you’ve left in your wake,” Varys turned and tucked his hands under his arms. “You seem tense. A cup of tea will calm the nerves.” He turned and ducked under the doorway leading down to the secluded areas of the chapel, unperturbed by the angry man standing in the aisle.

The Red Viper stared at the empty space where Father Varys was standing and cautiously followed him to the chambers. The priest was already preparing the tea with the two cups set on the table. “I figured you could use some chamomile to soothe that seething soul of yours.” 

The stranger didn’t respond but sat down at the empty spot across from the priest. “I swear to the heavens if you try to poison me.” 

Varys smirked as he sipped from his own mug. “You are the Red Viper. You are the king of poisons. The lowest level thug wouldn’t be dumb enough to test your prowess.”

Staring at his cup for a moment, then took the warm liquid up to his lips for a drink. A few sips weren’t enough for him until he finished the whole mug not caring about the burn down his throat. 

The priest sighed as he set the cup back down on the table. Oberyn stared at the priest.  “Now tell me when I can find the Mountain.” 

“He will be at the King’s Landing Tavern for the next few days. Tywin has a new mission for him.” 

“You know for someone who is loyal to the Lannisters, you spill their secrets like a drunken wench.” 

Varys chuckled. “Claiming I was ever loyal to the Lannisters was your first mistake.” 

“A man must have some loyalties.” 

“My loyalties lie with me and only me.” Father Varys gazed over his cup before taking another sip. 

The Red Viper narrowed his gaze. “What then do you get out of telling a wanted criminal the location of the Lannister’s right hand man?” 

Varys shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Let’s say the Mountain has also done some less than savory things to ones I care for as well.” 

The outlaw was silent for a moment. “Thank you,” The stranger answered as he turned away from the doorway. 

“Be careful Viper. The lions will writhe when you succeed,” Varys warned. He dipped his head in acknowledgment as he headed out of the sanctuary. The time was now to prepare for their fateful meeting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The King’s Landing Tavern was alive and music poured from the swinging double doors as the Red Viper stood outside. He had been prepared for this moment since he found his family destroyed by this man. Taking a deep breath letting the anger fuel the energy he needed to move his limbs into the establishment. 

Pushing the wooden doors open, he stepped into the saloon and everything stopped. This bar was only for a select few of the Lannister elites and seeing a stranger meant you were in for some trouble. Scanning the seats his eyes landed on the giant of the man taking up two seats at the bar. He was easily bigger than any of the other patrons, and the Red Viper had his target. 

Ignoring the stares from the rest of the group he sidled up to the bar and plopped down in an empty stool beside his target. “A whiskey dry.” The Red Viper ordered the bartender who without a word took an empty glass and poured two fingers worth of whiskey in the glass. 

With the ease of years of bartending, he slid the glass down to him, but a big arm intercepted the glass. “You shouldn’t be here.” 

“And you shouldn’t have messed with my family,” He calmly replied, staring at the shelves of dark liquor. 

“I don’t remember the names of those I’ve slaughtered.” 

The stranger had to keep his anger under control as he felt his blood boil. “I will make you remember this one.” 

The large man scoffed. “Good luck with that.” He whipped out his shotgun as The Red Viper leaped off his chair. The bullet buried itself in the wall behind him. 

The outlaw jumped, rolling as he hit the floor and pulled his own six shooter out. The rest of the bar whipped out their own guns and the stranger waved it at the crowd. “This is between me and the Mountain. If anyone else decides they want to intervene, then I shall send them to an early grave.” He swiveled his feet and turned to point the barrel at his opponent. “My wrath lies with this man.” 

The Mountain cracked his neck and shook out his limbs. “And tell me what are my crimes.” 

“Elia Martell. You were ordered to kill her by Tywin Lannister,” He growled and fired a shot at his enemy. One missed Gregor who dodged out of the way, but the other one grazed his retreating limb. But a single scrape wasn’t enough to even make the Mountain grimace. 

“I kill many people with or without the Sheriff’s command. What makes you think she was any special?” The Mountain sneered and spit at the ground beside the stranger. 

“Tywin Lannister gave the order to murder and raped her and you will confess to every person here who is loyal to the pack of lions!” 

At his words the Mountain cocked his shotgun once more and The Red Viper dodged once more as he leapt onto a nearby table. Using his own momentum he turned and fired two more shots at the giant both embedding themselves into his right bicep. This time a groan emanated throughout the bar as a thick trail of blood streamed down the curves of his arm before dripping onto the floor. 

The Mountain snarled, flashing his teeth at his opponent and went to shoot him again when an empty click. The Red Viper took the opportunity to shoot again burying the remaining two bullets this time in his left leg. Gregor stumbled and landed on his knees. 

“What did you do?!” He screamed unfamiliar with the feeling of his life draining out of him. 

“Besides shooting you five times, I laced the bullets with poison,” He answered as he swaggered forward. Out from the creases of his pants he pulled his faithful dagger. “I wouldn’t try anything.” He tipped the knife under his chin forcing him to meet his gaze. 

“Now confess your crimes.” The stranger growled down at his enemy pressing the tip enough into his skin for a dribble of blood to bubble up. 

The Mountain sneered at his face. “Fine, yes I killed your sister and her children. And you know what? I enjoyed every second.” He spit a wad of spit up at the outlaw, landing on his fine clothing. 

With a yell as loud as a thundercrack, The Red Viper grabbed the Mountain’s damp hair tugging it violently to show the crowd. “Everyone will bear witness to the man who avenges his family against the Lannisters.” He screamed, his voice booming in the closed environment. With surgical precision he sliced the blade across his vein sending waves of crimson blood pouring down his shirt soaking the material with his life force. The multiple gunshot wounds had made his opponent unable to resist. The gurgles slowed as The Red Viper watched as his sister’s murderer’s soul left his body leaving his eyes and finally stilled. 

The bar was silent for several ticks before all hell broke loose. People tore the outlaw away from his body and immediately arrested him, keeping him pinned until the authorities arrived. But he didn’t resist. He had finished what the Lannister’s had started. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So that’s why you were so calm. You completed your quest,” You concluded in a whisper not taking your eyes off of his tear stained cheeks. Unsurely you reached up and cupped his damp cheek with your soft palm. The Red Viper sighed and nuzzled into your touch. The weight of his story now shared between two instead of his own conscience. 

“Elia and her children can rest easy now knowing they have been avenged,” He said as he gazed into your eyes. 

Your heart pulled out his look. Your souls have now mingled when you realized how badly the world had treated both of you, and the pull toward him was greater than any consequences that might come of this reunion. 

Together you kissed with reckless abandon and yet a gentleness that you had never experienced before. The feeling of wanting every inch of this man you had come to care for in a matter of days and yet wanted to take as much time as you could before they called him to hang. 

The unfortunate need to breathe in oxygen pulled you aparted but you stayed close. “What’s your name stranger?” You whispered against his chapped lips. 

“Oberyn.” He replied gently, nudging your cheek with his nose. 

You pulled him in by his dirtied shirt and desperately kissed him again. Lips grazed his stubble cheeks and you whispered your name into the shell of his ear. 

A shutter surged through Oberyn. “My little dove, such a stunning name.” 

Your soft hands gently cup his thick neck, your thumb gently caressing his Adam's apple which bobbed as he swallowed, taking in your touch. Carefully you brought your lips to his once again kissing him with both fierceness and tenderness. You etched every feeling into every inch of your brain, willing yourself to keep him in your thoughts forever. 

You ached to stay by his side wishing you could touch him, caressing him like his damaged soul needed. But noises from outside cause you to whip your head away from Oberyn. 

“Go get to safety,” Oberyn whispered, stealing one last kiss from your lips.

“I’ll come back tomorrow” You promised as you took your time letting him go. With one final glance you hurried out of the cells and escaped before you could get caught. 

That night you couldn’t sleep, the vivid story replayed on an endless cycle in your mind. With each replay your soul burned hotter with hatred for the name that was forced upon you. You were not a Lannister, you were your mother’s child, and this miraculous stranger revealed to you that you could change your own fate. 

With a renewed vigor you quietly gathered your most essential items into a small pouch. You would save Oberyn and take him away from this place, away to a place where the Lannister’s influence hadn’t spoiled. The night passed as you worked away devising a plan. Just as the light filtered in your bed just like it did yesterday before you knew Oberyn’s story and the months and years spent under the glaring eyes of your “family,” you were ready for your plan. 

You tiptoed down the stairs past an empty table and hurried down the familiar path. Though when you passed the town square you noticed a crowd was forming. Peaking around the corner of the alley, what you saw sent your heart plumpting. The familiar gleam of that fabric that you had become quite intimate in knowing was standing on the crudely made structure. There your Oberyn stood atop the gallows staring out at the jeering crowd. 

Without a second thought you rushed to stand in the crowd. You had to get to him. You pushed and shoved trying to get to the structure but just like the world was cruel to Oberyn, the Fates decided to turn that cruelty to you. No one would budge and break. You would have to witness from afar as his neck snapped on the rope of death. 

Bitter tears stung your eyes as the executioner read out his last rights. Oberyn was tense and silent as his eyes scanned the crowd in search of something. Your eyes met his, and his shoulders relaxed. Just like that day at the trial, resolve was etched on his tired face. 

The hanging rope was slung over Oberyn’s neck with a roughness only hatred could bring.  “Does the felon have any last words?” 

Oberyn took a deep breath and without taking his eyes off of yours. “All you may hate me for my actions,” a loud boo emanated from the crowd. He raised his voice to be heard over the yells. “But I will never forget one of you,” He started and raised his palms to the crowd, “I’ve engraved your name on the palms of my hands.” A sob escaped your lips as you read the scabbed markings on his worn hands. There in bloody letters read your name. He would take your name to the grave with you and your heart clenched. 

The crowd jeered louder at him, finding his stunt to be another cruel jab at the Lannister name, but for you it meant the sad reality that a man who you had known for only a few days would take you to his grave. Your memory of your kindness would keep his soul company as the angel ascended him to his afterlife. 

The executioner spit by Oberyn’s feet a wad of shame at the crimes this man had committed. “‘Nough out of you murderer,” He sneered as he tied the wounded hands violently behind Oberyn’s back. 

But Oberyn didn’t react, didn’t say anything in his defense. He kept his eyes on you, and as the executioner marched to the lever that would take your man from this world, Oberyn smiled softly and mouthed something that would stay with you for the rest of your life, “I love you,” as the lever was pulled. You closed your eyes as his body fell through the floor and a crack boomed across the crowd. 

Sobs racked your body as the people around you cheered. Everyone could rest easy as the Red Viper was finally slain. But safety wouldn’t come to you not when your family still ruled this town. So with the cover of the cheering crowds, you darted away from the people carrying your meager belongings. You ran. It didn’t matter what direction. It didn’t matter where you were going. You were going to run until the Lannister name was just a last name, and not a name that brought blood and sorrow to everyone around it. Until then your legs didn’t stop moving as the wide vance of the country spread out before you. 

Your legs collapse from beneath you and your breath heaves. It was now when your emotions caught up with you. There on your knees in the middle of the wilderness did you finally throw back your head and wail like a wild animal letting out the sorrows of its ancestors, and yet the birds still chirped and the world spun as if the life of Oberyn didn’t matter to anyone else but you.

```````

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[tenpintsof-sundrop]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

Thank you so much for sending me this!

I am proud of so many of my fics and I'm not even fully sure how to go about this, so... I guess I will just make one rec from each of the fandoms I have written for?

(Warning for some blood in gifs below - but generally there is blood and violence in this fics anyway, so...)

From DC Titans:

No Place Like Home on AO3 - Gar Logan x Fem!Powered!Disabled!Reader x Jason Todd. Friends to Lovers. (Poly Soulmates). Smut, Angst, Hurt and Comfort with a Happy Ending. 90k across 7 chapters. When Jason leaves the Titans broken and battered, he gets set on a dangerous path. It's up to you and Gar, the two people who care about him the most, to bring him home.

Oh, another day on the assembly line, everybody better march in time,

Cause the factory don't care why, you been sayin' coulda, shoulda, woulda.

(There's no place like home. There's no place like home.)

If I could recommend one singular fic and say 'this fic encapsulates my style and summarises everything I am proud of when it comes to writing fanfiction' - this would be it.

I have so much to say about this fic and a lot of it I probably have already said it - but basically, this fic is the reason I started writing. I started writing long before I actually wrote this fic, but everything I have ever sought in terms of creative satisfaction came from this fic. This feels like my orgasmic climax in terms of creating things.

And if this fic is something I could be buried with, I would be proud. If this fic is something that people remember me for, I would be so fucking proud. (Which is not likely, because it's from a very small fandom and I know people are gonna remember me for fics from bigger fandoms that are way more popular, and I wish I could shove this fic in the faces of people who read my other popular fics and make them read it lmao.)

If for some reason I had to quit writing right now - I would be most proud of this singular piece. Especially because so much of this fic, the characters, and the dynamics has been inspired by my real life relationship with my lovers, and the reader character was inspired by my struggle with disability and coping with the loss of control as I became more disabled over time - but having my lovers there for me made that loss of control easier to swallow. It's about how trauma can ruin you and letting someone love you when you are broken is one of the hardest things you can do, but one of the most radical and most rewarding. If you ever liked my writing and my style, even if you don't like Titans - please go and read this.

From The Walking Dead:

(I know this gif is sad but it fits the fic so well.)

Hold Me Tight Or Don't on AO3 - Glenn Rhee x Fem!Reader x Maggie Greene. Established Poly Relationship. Smut and Heavy Angst (No Happy Ending). Set during Season 3, Episode 4. 7k (Oneshot). You are bitten by a Walker while trying to help get Glenn and Maggie to safety, and you are facing your last hours of life. And in those last hours, you only have one wish - to have sex with your partners one last time. Luckily for you, they would do anything for you, and they can’t help but to oblige.

Oh no this isn't how our story ends,

So hold me tight, hold me tight. (Or don't.)

This fic has had some more attention lately, since I have been wanting to write for The Walking Dead again, and I just really want to re-state - I fucking love this fic. This idea came to me so randomly and struck me like lighting and I am so happy that this fic came to fruition. This fic represents so many things that I am excited about writing - poly relationships, relating the themes of sex and death, sad endings (I weirdly prefer writing sad or melancholic endings instead of traditional happy ones).

I am really proud of this fic. If you can handle angst, you should go read it.

From Criminal Minds:

From Your Lips on Tumblr - Jennifer Jareau x GN!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut, Hurt and Comfort. Set during Season 2, Episode 15. 3k (Oneshot). After JJ is attacked by dogs on the Hankel farm, you take the time to check on her and distract her flustered mind with a loving touch.

So, most of my Criminal Minds fics have done really well and don't need to be recommended just because it's a really popular fandom, but JJ fics don't really do well? Idk why she's not a popular character?

But I love this fic. I had so much fun working on this fic, and working in the religious references and imagery from the show - this fic was just so much fun for me. And I think it needs more love.

From The Last of Us:

IFHY (I Fucking Hate You) on AO3 - Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader. Enemies with Benefits. Smut and Angst. Set during the main events of Part II. 8k (Oneshot). You and Abby truly hate each other. So when you find Abby handcuffed inside an elevator, instead of being kind and just letting her out, you make her pay a certain price for the key.

I fucking hate you - but I love you.

I'm bad at keeping my emotions bubbled.

You're good at being perfect, we're good at being troubled.

There are so many fics from TLOU that I loved writing and that I'm really proud of, but this one really caught my eye on the list. I love writing about conflict, and I really love writing reader characters who are so bitchy and just cause conflict. (Maybe it's because I'm so nice irl and I never cause conflict, I get out all my internal chaos in writing characters who shit disturb and cause chaos all the time.)

I loved writing this because it's so non-traditional. It's not sappy, it's not romantic - again, it has a really melancholic ending. The characters are so toxic for each other (which is also something I love writing - because it's horrible for relationships irl, but for fiction it's so interesting to explore and observe).

I think this is one of my best, most interesting fics and I really loved doing it.

From Harry Potter:

King For A Day on Tumblr - Poly!Golden Trio x Fem!Reader. (Fem!Reader x Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger). FWB to Poly Lovers. Smut (with slight Angst). Set during Deathly Hallows. 22k (Oneshot). While Horcrux Hunting with your closest friends, the dangerous influence of Slytherin’s Locket causes Ron to snap. And it turns out - he brings on something that everyone in the tent really needed.

You told me think about it - well I did.

Now I don't wanna feel a thing anymore.

I'm tired of beggin' for the things that I want.

I'm over sleepin' like a dog on the floor.

Imagine living like a King someday - a single night without a ghost in the walls.

I have spoken about this fic at length, and how this was a spirtual awaken for me - if No Place Like Home was a culmination of everything I am as an artist, then this fic is an echo of those things. Again, I fucking love writing about poly relationships - and I think this fic has one thing that was missing from No Place Like Home. And that is exploring each individual thread of a poly relationship and how someone interacts with each person in the relationship outside of the poly group functioning as a whole. That is definitely a strong suit of this fic.

Also it's amazing filthy nasty smut, which is something I love writing, and something I am really talented at.

From Stranger Things:

I'm Still Standing on AO3 - Nancy Wheeler x Fem Disabled/Chronically Ill Reader. Best Friends to Lovers. Angst, Smut, (slight Fluff). Hurt and Comfort. Happy Ending. Set during Season 4. 37k across 3 chapters. You start having horrible waking nightmares, but you don’t want to worry your best friend Nancy by telling her. She’s already occupied trying to chase down a trans-dimensional killer wizard, and you are convinced that the two problems aren’t possibly related.

There's a cold and lonely light that shines from you,

And you wind up like the wreck you hide, behind that mask you use.

This fic is so interesting.

I wrote this fic shortly after Season 4 came out - and even though I had a few fics for Stranger Things that were pretty popular, everyone just collectively ignored this one? And I know for a fact that it is because Nancy is the love interest. I know that if I had picked Steve or Eddie as the love interest for this fic, then this fic would be just as popular as my other ST fics - but because the subject matter is so deeply personal, I connected with the scenes of Nancy kicking ass at the hospital and worked from there.

(And tbh, if I had to choose a male love interest for this concept, I probably would have chosen Billy, because I relate to him on so many deep personal levels.)

Literally everything in this fic is very personal to me - this is all about my own raw traumas. From the abusive father to the extreme medical trauma to the strained caretaker mother, to the older sister who distances herself from it all - even though this is set in the universe of Stranger Things - this is the story of my life. And idk if I would have wanted it to be a more popular fic, because it is so personal? But I am upset that I worked so hard on it and so many parts of it are so raw, and nobody really saw it. I am upset that I had the bravery to post something so personal and it was just - crickets.

There are so many parts of this fic that I am so insanely proud of. The horror sequences are something that I worked so hard on - not just with the emotion of translating my own trauma, but I wanted to make something honestly scary and I wanted to pay tribute to the tension and emotion and visuals of all my favourite horror media - including Stranger Things and the beautifully tense horror aspects of Season 4. And this is another fic that I feel truly, absolutely represents me as a person to my core. And I feel like it's worth reading if you wanna know more about me and who I am.

(And lastly)

From misc. horror fandoms:

No Brainer on AO3 - Derek Cho (Steven Yeun) x Fem!Reader x Melanie Cross (Samara Weaving). Co-Workers to Lovers. Smut. Based on the film Mayhem from 2017. 7k (Oneshot). When you are the last person alive with an elevator key that Derek and Melanie desperately need, you agree to make a trade. Turns out, when what you're asking for is a threesome - you don't drive too hard of a bargain.

This is one of my favourite fics of all time. This is proof that I do not write for popularity - this fic is written for a fandom on AO3 with a total of five fics FIVE (including mine) and 2 of them are about characters from other media experiencing the plot of this movie as an AU, and mine is the only fic that is x reader. So I didn't just fill a niche - I looked where there was no niche and I dug a hole.

But like - Steven Yeun. Yes, I fell in love with Glenn from TWD, but this is a movie where he is also covered in blood, and rather than being Glenn's meek, reserved self (which I love) - he is outraged and swearing and killing and it makes me foam at the mouth. And I am already in love with Samara Weaving from The Babysitter - so this is literally a killer combination.

My bisexual ass did not even finish the film before I was typing out this fic on my phone.

And I am so happy that I wrote it - because sometimes you just need a self indulgent, blood covered smut.

And you guys can read it too if you want <3

[freakspectors]

i am saying this loud and PROUD and non anonymous

MADNESS COMBAT HANK SMUT HCS🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡

youre welcome

𝐻𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝒥 𝒲𝒾𝓂𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑜𝓃 𝒮𝓂𝓊𝓉 𝐻𝒸𝓈 .

Hank J Wimbleton | "The Protagonist" x Gender-Neutral Reader Smut Headcanons .

warnings ; smut , degradation , rough sex mentions , bondage , dumbification if you squint , brat taming .

author's note ; AAAGGGHHH JOLIE I LOVE YOU FOR THIS . /P hank is SOOOO fine you don't get me.... i'm gonna keep it real with you i think my pussy wrote this instead of my brain BUT ANYWAYS enjoy the hcs y'all !!! shoo go read

✦ He's aggressive. Like, REALLY aggressive.

✦ Hesitance to fuck you rough and deep is at an absolute zero. He wants to see you writhe under him for hours on end, it's thrilling to him. If I had to label someone as 'THE rough dom' it would be Hank.

✦ The biggest sadist you will ever meet in your lifetime. He's all for spanking, humiliation, choking, everything of the sort. The type of guy to smack your cock/pussy then continue stroking you off/fingering you.

✦ On that note, Hank loves fingering. He thinks fingering you fast as fuck then slowing down right as you're about to cum is the funniest thing in the world.

✦ Huge on degradation. Calls you a whore and slut any chance he gets. Possibly one of his favorite things to do.

✦ A brat tamer if I've ever seen one. Hank loves when you act like a bitch, it gives him reason to fuck the daylights out of you. Your pleas and apologies spur him on as he's pushing you into the mattress, a brutal pace being put on your poor, fucked out hole.

✦ Definitely loves Bondage and Ropework in general. He'll be intricate with the rope or just tie you up and fuck you -- it depends on how he feels and how bad he wants you.

✦ Likes to cum inside and on you. Specifically on your face and stomach. Hank thinks you look pathetic and it's attractive to him. He makes a smiley face with his cum. He's a silly billy at heart I swear <//3

✦ Hank's favorite position is the Full Nelson. It's something about how he can lift up your legs so effortlessly and make you bounce on him that makes him insane.

✦ Now, Hank may be brutal, but he's not a complete monster. You two have a safe word, and as soon as you utter it he's off you like that.

✦ I imagine him not being the best at aftercare, but he certainly tries for you. You're one of the few people he deeply cares about, after all. He usually makes sure you're not majorly hurt and goes to sleep with you in his arms, big spooning.

@ orpherizz 2023 . do not share or repost .

[blackgirlwhowrites2k23]

A/N: Inconsistency is my middle name💀. But here’s this idea that came to my mind that I just HAD to write. Also sorry if the emojis look terrible, I wrote some of this on my phone, some on my iPad and then the rest on my computer so the format is kinda crazy.

Summary: You’re a well renowned actress and bachelorette that many have been trying to get at. Unfortunately, you never gave them the time of day. Until, someone comes along.

Possible Continuation: This may (emphasis on may because you know me💀) be a part of series I’m planning on doing. If not, I'll just come back and delete this paragraph and pretend nothing happened.

You have one message from...(Jamal Musiala)

Part 1:

Song:

Yourusername added to their feed

Liked by jordan_poole, judebellingham, keke, and 7,006,726 others

yourusername: Can’t believe how far I’ve come! Taking home not one, but three. Forever blessed💕 🙏🙏🙈

View all 21,346 comments

fan1 WOW. WOW. WOW.

fan2 W actress >>>>

zendaya Words cannot describe how proud I am of you 🥹❤️❤️❤️

↪️yourusername Love you loads🥹💕💕

fan1 Did I mention WOWWWW😍😍

fan3 Ok, but who’s doing it like Y/N. 3 Back to Back,!?!?! Literally making history🥳😍😍😩

fan4 Y’all peep all the athletes in her likes and comments. I wonder how many are in her dms👀🫣

↪️fan5 Shiiittt. Im in them too!!😭😭💯💯

↪️fan4 Me too🤦‍♂️

skaijackson YUP!! I know that’s right!!💁🏾‍♀️👸🎉🎉

❤️ liked by author

Jamalmusiala10, judebellingham, and 1,274 others started following you

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yourusername added to their feed

Liked by judebellingham, jamalmusiala10, cocojones and 6,697,442 others

Yourusername: Party, afterparty, after party🥳🎉

Tyla: The prettiest!!!

↪️ yourusername: And that's what they prefer😝🤩

↪️ tyla: LMAOOO love that!💖💖💖

Judebellingham: 😍😍

↪️random1_Hey Jude??🤨...

random2: The way both Jude and Jamal started following her at about the same time.

↪️random3: Real ones know he's been lurking for a fat minute now!!

↪️random2: Guess I'm not a real one. Who?

↪️random3: Mr. Jude Victor Bellingham

↪️random4: And she's liked some of his pics, even though they don't follow eachother. Looks like Musiala already lost LOL

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

The weight of exhaustion presses down on you as you sink into the comfort of your bed. It's been a relentless week, filled with auditions, interviews, and movie filming sessions. The tranquility of your bedroom offers a brief respite from the chaos that typically surrounds your life.

But of course, that doesn't last forever.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You debate ignoring it, anyone texting at this time falls into one of two categories—people who are wayy too thirsty for their own good and miserable haters. For some reason tonight, perhaps out of boredom or a faint hope for something different, you decide to check.

You received one instagram notification from JamalMusiala10

The name doesn't immediately register with you since it's so late and your mind is still heavy with sleep, but you open the message anyway.

You groan inwardly, already regretting your decision to open the message. Jamal Musiala—the famous soccer player that plays for that German team? Bayern? You only recently got into football, so there was still much for you to learn but you're pretty sure that's who he is. You'll stalk his socials tomorrow.

For now, though, what could he possibly want from you? It's 2 in the morning. Again, he's either wayyyy too thirsty or maybe he's a possible hater?

How's it hanging?!?!?

This boy can NOT be serious.

You can't help but stifle a laugh at his attempt at casual banter. Is he a middle-aged white dad?

Wayy too thirsty it is! Never fails.

To be continued…..

[quinloki]

quin-uhhh:

would you?!

Fic authors self rec! When you receive this, reply with favorite five fics you've written (include links, and if you want- a few thoughts about each one), then pass on to at least five other writers if you're up for it. Spread the self-love ✨

If you don't, I'll just... I'll just... well I won't do a thing but please?!

many fist pumps,

▲ I'm a symbol now

\o/ Tri, my sweet friend, you are - if anything - a symbol of good cheer =D ♥

Let's see, five favorite fics I've written. That's much easier than trying to pick just one ^_^

Birds of a Feather Marco/Reader ( tumblr / Ao3 / Wattpad ) - This is my most recently completed fic, at least at the time of this post, but I love it so much. My passion for Marco feels like it came out of nowhere and has made itself reigning champion in my thoughts. But a story I expected to be relatively short, ended up almost twice as long as I expected, and it was so easy. It was fun to write, and I think it goes down smooth, despite being nearly 90k words people consistently devour it in a single sitting.

Quicksand Sir Crocodile/Reader ( tumblr / Ao3 / Wattpad ) - Not sure if you're a fan of the sandy crocodile-themed warlord? Tread carefully, reading this title is statistically likely to convert you. Quicksand has an alternative ending because the story was originally intended to be a very dark Yandere - to the point that Doflamingo would've been the "good" guy. That's not how things went, and I'm quite glad for it. Quicksand going its own direction is what helped seal the deal in creating the Tales of the Grandline Metropolis, which is currently 3.8 completed stories. (it'll be at least 8 before it's done).

A Light Touch Eustass Kid/Reader ( Ao3 / Wattpad ) - My first Eustass Kid/Reader story. Set in the same AU as Quicksand, it was started from a pun, of all things. I figured Kid would be fancy tech stuff like neural-linked prosthetics, and the idea that would make a prosthetic for the reader after they lost a hand was something I wanted to write. Creating something like that would take a light touch, and if it glowed, that would be a different kind of light touch and getting close to Kid requires a light-- you get the point. Like I said, it's all based off a pun, but I'm really proud of the story, it's one of my favorite re-reads.

Some Direction Zoro/Reader (tumblr / Ao3 / Wattpad ) - A Modern AU where the government mandates who you marry. I have to give thanks to @lyndsyh24 for not only inspiring me to write this one (start to finish in a single month, I was obsessed!) but also for allowing my to play in the AU she'd built up. From Matchbook to the laws themselves, it's all thanks to Lyn. Zoro started out as one of my favorite characters in the series - I still have love for him, and I'm always happy to write him, but he's taken a bit of a back seat to my top three. Still Some Direction is a story I'm really proud of - even if I worry there'll be a mob after me for who the antagonist is 😅

Family Ties Doflamingo/Reader ( Ao3 / Wattpad ) - I was torn on this last choice - even with five slots it's hard to decide between stories I suppose ^^; Also, oops, apparently I only put the first ten chapters on tumblr... I need to fix that >.> Ahem, anyway, Family Ties is the first fic I wrote after over ten years of not writing at all. It's my first reader insert, my first true multi-chapter too. When I wrote it, it was the longest fic I'd written by nearly 50k words. I wrote it because I wanted a more morally ambiguous reader compared to what I'd been reading. It's not a dark fic though, it's pretty tooth-achingly sweet, honestly, but it's currently the only fic I have where the reader is a murderer in a very undisputed and direct manner.

Honorable mention I almost posted as piece 5 - The Dragon's Clause - my Sabo/Reader Noble/Fantasy/Magic AU, and also the only title I mention that's incomplete. But it's a an ode to my favorite genre, and a great many of my favorite tropes.

[donotaskwhyiamhere]

SHANKS X SUICIDAL M!MARINE READER♡♧♡ part 3

Part 1 part 2

..............................................................................................

Warning ⚠️: Drinking, slight making out, pure fluff

Summary: You've finally broken free from your mental chains, and you've grown a lot braver then Shanks remembered.

Author note: i don't know how to feel about this one, I did have another idea where the readers dad trys to take reader back but I wasn't sure how to go with that so I wrote this sweet tooth breaking story. I deeply apologize if this wasn't what your guys wanted 😔

...............................................

It's been a couple of months since you've been on Shanks crew. The frist few days were hard to get use to. You weren't use to a relaxing pirate life, the random partying, the songs, the freedom. Benn, who you had grown close to since Shanks asked him to take you under his wing till you get use to everything, was always so patent with you. He took time to understand your mind and how it was arranged and bundled up, and so he helped unwind those bundles till you were comfortable enough to work on your own.

You climb the ladder fast in the shadow from marines and in the light of the crew, wanting to help the man who gave you your wings of freedom, to help with anything your body can handle. You trained, fought, drank with them and most importantly you learned from them. You were still a weapon, but you were your own weapon now, using yourself for your happiness, and your captains.

You were docked on an island on the beach having partied the night before. You fell asleep on a log and woke up to a crew mates yelling of excitement.

"Hey guys! Our little boy got his first bounty!" Shanks sat up with a headach, rubbing his forehead "What?" The crew mate held a bounty poster in front of Shanks and on the bounty was you, with a good old starting bounty of a 100 million. Your picture was one caught mid battle of you fighting someone, you looked menacing to say the least, your E/C trained on something else like a sinper with you weapon of choice held in your hand mid strike.

Shanks took the bounty and laughed "What a frist bounty. You see this Y/N?" You stood next to Shanks and looked at your bounty, you've seen many bountys as a marine, never once did you imagine yourself on one. You felt... proud. Shanks patted you on the head "Way to go!" You couldn't help but blush slightly at the praise, even if it was small. "Bet you the marines are pissing their pants over this one, we got their own turning against them" Said Lucky giving you a few good slaps on the back. "Not bad kid" said Benn gently patting your head. "This calls for a celebration!" Yelled Shanks. "We just had party last night, you're hungover Captain" you say looking at him "Ah, who cares, get the drinks!"

A few hours later

You decide to go back on the ship, to give your poor ears a break from the loud party, you leaned on the other side of the ship where the others couldn't see your flushed cheeks, half drunk. You held your favorite drink in hand, you managed to grab the last of what was left. You happily sip the drink savoring the last of what's left. You hear footsteps approaching from behide, you turn to find your red faced captain walking over and tossed his one arm around your shoulder "Hey little one, what're you hiding here for, praty is on the other side!" You chuckled. "You guys know I'm not a child, right?" "You will always be our little guy" Shanks ruffled your hair and you swatted it away. Shanks eyed your drink and grabbed it without warning and and took it all in one go with a smirk. You glare at him for stealing what was the last of your favorite drink, you wouldn't be able to get more till the next island, if they even have it that is. Without thinking you grabbed his collar and pulled him to your height, connecting your lips, evading his mouth with your tongue in search of your drink, a few drops flow down your chin as you steal back your drink. After a few seconds you pulled back and wiped your mouth and leaned on your back against the ships railings. "..." As you finally realized what you had done your hesitantly looked at your captain.

Shanks touched his lips, wiping them with his thumb and smirked "Oh? clearly you're not the same little mouse I asked to join this crew." He pulled you closer to him with his hand around your waist. "You're lucky I really like you... wait was that your frist kiss?" Shanks asked as he looked at you, he remembered how you were raised and that you most likely never tried any romantic acts with anyone before. "That wasn't a kiss... I was just taking back my drink" "That was your frist kiss" "...yes" "...your sure? Didn't feel like a frist kiss to me" "I'll take that as a compliment... wait you like me?" "How could I not? With you following me around for the frist week like a duckling, I got to know you and I got to watch your grow into someone that fits you. As much as i look like someone who doesn't pay attention, I do, I know how you watch my back when we go out, how protective you are of me and Benn. It's cute. It's something small and don't really need but it's nice" Shanks smiled at you, closing his eyes as he placed his forehead against yours. "It all makes me just want to hold you close. Everyone one on the crew has a dream or job. But your still discovering yours but it feels nice to think that your job is to keep everyone safe." "I want that to be my job... keeping you and everyone safe. Its what makes me happy" You say as you looked at him, wrapping your arms around him and holding him close "and... it makes me feel safe too..." "...I'm glad to hear that" Shanks hugs you back, holding you close. You both stood there in silence, enjoying each other's company.

"So about that kiss" You both chuckled and you hit his chest playfully "Shut it" Shanks kissed your forehead "You know I won't let you go now?" "That's perfectly ok with me, as long as it's you.." Shanks kissed your right above your ear before whispering to you "How about continue that kiss in my room?" "Whatever the captain wants" You whisper back as your wrap your arms around his neck as he picked you up with his arm, taking you too his private room.

Extra

The day after the party.

Benn rubbed his head and went looking for his captain. He had a job to do and things to look over, and he knew dame well his captain was gonna try and avoid it. Benn held a few pain killers in his hand with a glass of water for Shanks since he knew he most likely had big hangover. He didn't bother knocking as he opened the door and walked in "Shanks its time to-" Benn stopped dead in his tracks as the scene unfolds before him. Y/N laying on top of Shanks, both clearly naked underneath the blanket, y/n's head layed on Shanks's chest comfortably, Shanks arm wrapped around Y/N's waist. As realization dawned on him he grioned, he owes Yasopp so much money...

[hitomisuzuya]

I've been curious on how Xiao and Scaramouche would be like if they had ruts/heats like Tighnari.

For Xiao I can imagine being a good friend occasionally seeing him at the inn since you work there but being worried he didn't show up like he usually does, so you go to his room to see if he's ok-

For Scaramouche it would make it more interesting if you're the Tsaritsa's daughter or creation so you're held in a higher rank then him. So of course when you needed to ask him something and can't find him in his office, you barge into his home(not sure if they have homes or have rooms?) Or maybe he seems you out despite the power difference

These thoughts live in my head rent free 🥴

a/n: I love writing Genshin boys in a rut. I hope you enjoy. I wrote a piece about a month ago about Xiao in heat. I'm very proud of it. Btw, I love the touch about the reader being the Tsaritsa's daughter.

Scaramouche x fem!reader Xiao x fem!reader Smut.

You'd been going up to the area on the roof of Wangshu Inn where Xiao always frequented. It was getting late, and he still wasn't back yet. Verr Goldet told you go home hours ago, but you insisted on staying.

Verr let you do as you pleased. You were a model employee, and she knew you were worried about Xiao. She knew it would be good for Xiao to know that someone was worried about him.

A soft gust of wind ruffled your hair. It wasn't any ordinary wind. It was a gentle breeze of Anemo. Your heart leapt when you realized Xiao was finally back. Your eyes widened when you saw the condition he was in.

Xiao was littered with cuts and bruises. His cheeks were flushed. He was panting quietly, his eyes looking slightly unfocused. You'd never seen him this way before. You immediately went to his side.

"Xiao, you are hurt? Let me you clean these cuts up. Some of them look painful," you said, quickly scanning him for bruises.

When your fingers brushed against one, he grabbed your wrist. "Stop (you were confused that he was panting quietly), it is best if you leave. I can do this myself," Xiao said.

"What's wrong, Xiao? Please let me help you. It's what friends do. I saw Qiqi playing outside before you got back. Let me tell her to fetch Baizhu."

Xiao slapped a hand against the wall next to your head. "Friends..help each other," he mused out loud. His hands were already starting to roam over your body. "Consider for a moment if you want to use your body to help me. I'm.." gritting his teeth, Xiao looked away, embarrassed, "in a rut. If you say no, I'll leave and take care of this myself."

You gulped. You couldn't deny how you felt about him. Waiting around practically all night proved that. You nodded, making his eyes widen in surprise. "I want to help you in any way I can, Xiao, whether it be with my body or any other way."

Bunching your skirt up around your hips, Xiao pushed your panties aside while he took his cock out of his pants. He took you right there against the wall., rubbing your clit when he heard you whimper softly in pain. "I'm sorry, the scent of your arousal is driving me insane."

You didn't think you'd cum so hard in your life that night.

Scaramouche would be different from Xiao when he was in a rut. You were the Tsaritsa's daughter, and her right hand woman. Your rank was equivalent to her's. You'd started receiving complaints from his subordinates because he wasn't around to direct them for the past few days.

The authority you held over him made it okay to just barge into his quarters. He was sitting in the dark, jacking himself off, his hands sticky with cum. At some point, his hand just wasn't enough anymore. Let's call his ruts an unfortunate (or was it now that you were there) side effect of being created.

"What do you think you are doing? I'm busy here. This has better be good," Scaramouche barked rudely.

"I demand to know where you have been the past few days," you replied, feeling embarrassed that you'd caught him such a compromising position.

"Don't think you can order me around, I don't care if you are the Tsaritsa's daughter. Get out," he snarled, glaring at you. Don't take it personally, he was frustrated.

"Oh, but I can. And I will," you shot him a glare of your own. Walking over to his bed, you picked up his hand, licking some of his cum off his fingers. You had to tempt him, Scaramouche had too much pride to ask you to help him.

When he yanked his hand away from you, you sighed and stripped yourself of your clothes. He was watching you now. You'd piqued his curiosity.

"We are going to fix this here and now. You have been causing a lot of trouble for everyone lately," you proclaimed, straddling him, his hard cock sinking into your pussy.

As you started to ride him, Scaramouche gripped your hips, his eyes never once leaving yours as he thrust up into you. "What would everyone think if they knew that the Tsaritsa's daughter was fucking me right now, moaning like a little bitch."