#I wonder if dream three is me getting kidnapped

[durdurdurrrb]

Ouu, I just woke uppp. I love it when my dream is a sequal to one from many months ago. I wonder when I'm getting the third installment :>>

[flannelfaggot]

holy crap my dream last night was disturbing

[rafesbabyg1rl]

The Watcher ~ Part Two

Part One, Part Three

Summary: Rafe Cameron x Reader, Stalker!Rafe x Pogue!Reader Your parents work late on Friday nights, which you spend alone. Except you haven't been alone in a long time, not that you know of at least. Rafe has watched for years, he's very good at it. His idea of staying an anonymous stalker is ruined when you catch him in your bedroom one Friday night. Rafe has to figure out how to fix his mistake before he loses the only thing that makes his life worth living. After you find the surprise he had left for you, you choose to believe that his threats were empty and try to turn him in. But, your plans are interrupted and you take an unexpected visit to Tannyhill.

Warnings: Rafe stalks reader...that's literally the plot. Strong & descriptive language, suggestive themes, death threat(?), manipulation, kidnapping (?). If I missed anything from this part that I should include in the warnings, please let me know!

Word Count: 3.5k

Author Note: Part Two is here!! I know this chapter is shorter than the previous, but I figured it's better to get what I had out. Also...I'm not sure if I like where this is going, so please share your thoughts about this part and ideas for future parts. Thank you all for the support on the first part of this story. Especially with this being my first work I've published on tumblr, I am very pleasantly surprised with how everyone has reacted to it. So, please enjoy and feel free to leave feedback! I love you all, thank you so much!!

CREDITS: The foundation of this fic was heavily inspired by/ based off of one of @faiszt 's bots on character ai. So, if you like this and you like character ai, I greatly suggest that you check out the bot!

The blinding morning light shines into your room through your curtains. You sit up and rub your eyes. You glance at the digital clock on your nightstand which currently reads: 10:34 am. Those sleeping pills really worked, you think. Your parents are already at the restaurant, probably just getting over with the morning rush. 

Your eyes begin to focus, your brows furrow as your eyes land on one of the posts of your footboard. You lean forward to grab the pair of panties you had just worn yesterday which are hanging from your bedpost. You’re pretty sure you had put these in your hamper last night and wait, why are they sticky…? You wonder, you examine them and come to the realization of what it is. Immediately you toss them away, that was not from you. It was your stalker, it had to be. Of course, the first night you spend alone since four weeks ago and he already breaks in. And he does this? You think about his words, “tell anyone and I’ll come back and fuckin’ kill you”, shivers roll down your spine. 

You hadn’t even had time to realize how horny you had been when you had woken up; and now that you have you feel so wrong. But your dream…oh god your dream. You can still remember it vividly, even more so the longer you think about it; you can see the face of the man who fucked you stupid in your dream. You know who it was, who your subconscious mind let you fuck while you slept. It was your stalker. 

Without another thought, you’re in the shower scrubbing the shame and disgust from your skin—or at least attempting to. When you feel somewhat satisfied, which also happens to be when the water begins to run cold, you finally get out. Wrapping a plush towel around your freshly clean body, you lean over the bathroom sink and wipe the condensation from the mirror leaving just enough space to see yourself. Before the glass fogs back up you’re able to see a small part of what appears to be a bruise poking out from underneath the towel wrapped around your chest. You lean in closer using one hand to re-wipe the mirror and using the other to pull your towel down past your boobs. Looking back at the bruised area on your chest, you can see that the closer you look at it, the more it looks like a hickey. You just about stumble backwards at the realization. 

You’ve had enough. After you quickly toss on some clothes, you grab your keys off your dresser with a shaky hand. You rush out towards your car and get inside, pulling out of your driveway carelessly and speeding off. When you arrive at your destination, you take a few moments to rethink this plan. You have to do this. You can’t keep living with some creep sneaking in your bedroom and touching you as you sleep. You twist the keys in the ignition and pull them out, you confidently strut towards the entrance of the building. When you feel the vibration of your phone in your pocket you pause, sighing as you reach back to take it out. When you read the random number, with the same Outer Banks area code as you, your brows furrow. Typically you wouldn’t answer a call from an unknown number, but something in you is telling you to answer. As you press the green button and bring your phone to your ear, you glance up at the building you were about to enter which reads, ‘Kildare County Sheriff’s Office’. 

“Hello?” You ask warily.

After a few long seconds, the person on the other side of the line answers you. “Stop.” The man’s voice sends familiar chills down your spine. 

“Excuse me?” You respond, your voice audibly shaky. “Who…who is this?”

“C’mon pup, you already forgot what I sound like? It’s already been that long?” Your eyes widen at the realization of who this voice belongs to. You’ve heard it one other time, well one time that you remember.

As your head darts around the parking lot looking for your stalker, your voice comes out in a tone that easily betrays you, revealing your fear, “No…no…what the hell do you want?”

Rafe smirks from his truck as he watches you from afar. “I want you to turn around and get back in your car, m’kay princess? And I highly suggest you do what I want.” 

“Or what? What’s stopping me from walking in? Or from yelling for help?” You take a step closer to the building’s entrance.

“Stubborn, stubborn girl…” the man chuckles, “If you don’t get back into your fucking car right now, you’re gonna really fuckin’ wish you had just listened to me. I’m gonna get what I want no matter what, baby. You’re mine.” And with that, Rafe hangs up the phone, still watching you from a distance. 

As much as you want to just run into the building and beg for help, you know that unfortunately since you’re a pogue, the cops aren’t going to believe a single word that comes from your mouth. In their minds, all pogues are liars and thieves. And since you don’t have the slightest clue on who the man you saw in your bedroom is, you figure there’s not much they’d be able to do even if they did believe you. So you reluctantly turn back to your car and get inside. The moment your door shuts you inside, your phone buzzes yet again with another call. It’s coming from the same number, but this time you don’t answer. This was your second mistake. 

Rafe’s already pissed off. You went against his rules, you didn’t listen to him, none of this will work if you don’t listen. He thought he had been threatening enough that you’d behave, but clearly you need another scare. You need to be taught that disobeying him does nothing but hurt you more. When you don’t answer the phone when you definitely know it’s him calling, this is just the cherry on top; the icing on the cake. Rafe is fuming. 

You drive out of the parking lot, breath heavy as you stay on high alert–searching for him. A truck suddenly pulls behind you, tailing right on your ass. You can’t see through the truck's front windshield due to the dark tint. You being paranoid, step on the gas and speed up a bit, well exceeding the speed limit. A few quick seconds pass by and you jump at the sound of sirens. It doesn’t take long for you to check your rearview mirror and realize that the sirens are coming from the truck behind you, which is flashing its red and blue lights. You let out a breath of relief. You’re being pulled over yet you’re relieved because it means you aren’t being trailed by your stalker. The feeling is short lived as you flick your signal on and pull off to the side of the road. You roll your window down and shut off the engine.

The officer approaches you and goes through the typical routine and you try to calm your nerves. All sound is drowned out as you get lost in your thoughts. 

“Ma’am?”, the officer repeats. “Do you know why I’ve pulled you over today?”

The sharp and unintentionally threatening voice of the deputy snaps you out of wherever the hell it was that your mind had taken you to. “Yes, sorry sir, I…I was going over the speed limit.” You submit, wanting to get this over with. You can’t help but worry what your stalker would think if he saw this, he’d probably think you’re turning him in. But, you’re not. Really this whole thing was a misunderstanding, but you can’t explain that to the cop. 

“And why is that?” He questions you ever further, his gaze staring at you intensely. You get nervous and want to look away, but you worry that might make you look guilty of something. You’ve been pulled over before, it’s not usually a big deal for you. However you’re just so goddamn nervous and need this moment to be over. You feel like you’ve done something wrong; like you’re hiding something. But you aren’t.

“I–I thought…I just got distracted sir, wasn't thinking about speed. I apologize for the inconvenience.” You catch yourself, technically you aren’t lying; you just aren’t explaining why you were distracted. The threatening words of your stalker still echo around your head. The deputy gives a small lecture as he writes up a ticket for you. Once he gets back into his truck and drives off, you rest your head back against the seat and let out the breath you’ve been holding. When you start your car back up and finally open your eyes, you look straight out across the road. You can see a tall man leaning against a truck parked across the road, staring right at you. The familiar grin on his face has you sick to your stomach. 

After making direct eye contact with him, you pull off the side of the road and do an illegal U-turn so that you’re heading in the opposite direction, leaving the man behind. You know that he’s following you, so you drive around aimlessly until you get another call from the same unknown number. You want to decline, but you’re too afraid to face the consequences that might follow. 

“What do you want?” You ask, voice full of faux confidence. The only thing you hear on the other side of the line is a heavy breath that causes your skin to become full of goosebumps. 

After you’ve had a few moments to panic, he finally speaks, “Keep driving”. His words are not said lightly. This is undoubtedly a command, not an option. 

“Keep driving to where?” You stammer with nervousness. 

“Tannyhill.” He replies strictly. 

“Tannyhill?” You question before being able to stop yourself. You can’t help the attitude that slips into your voice. When a few more moments of silence pass, you get more and more anxious for his response. “Hello…?” You ask quietly, wondering if you lost connection. Still nothing. “Hello?” You ask again with more volume. After another minute or two, you hear the phone beep; the call disconnects. 

Why the hell does he want you to go to Tannyhill? It doesn’t make any sense. But you don’t exactly have a choice. He’s following you either way and it’s not like he doesn’t know where you live…and just about everything about your life. So, it’s probably best to just play along and obey his commands. 

When you get close to the general destination, your phone rings with yet another call. You answer, already knowing who it's from. This time you don’t speak first, you wait to hear what he has to say. It takes a few moments, almost like he’s trying to wait long enough that you’ll talk. The silence starts to get unbearably awkward, but your mind is set on waiting for him to speak and Rafe doesn’t have the time to wait; having to give you directions and all. When he finally talks he doesn’t greet you. His voice breaking the silence startles you as he instructs you with the directions to get wherever it was he was forcing you to go. 

“Wait…turn left h-here?” You ask, confused at his directions. You had missed the beginning of what he said since you had to collect yourself after being frightened. 

He sighs in impatience, “No dammit, the next one. Were you not listening?” 

“I…no I-I was listening–” you stumble over your words as you turn onto the street he wanted you to. 

“Bullshit. You need to learn how to fucking listen to me, don’t you?” When you don’t respond, trying to focus on remembering the directions he gave you, it only serves to piss him off even further. “Huh?! Don’t you?!” He shouts into the phone as he follows behind you.

You whine in fear, “No..I can listen. I promise I can listen to you.” You practically beg. “J-just tell me where to go?”

Rafe directs you to his house, which you of course recognize as the Cameron’s mansion. You’ve heard about the Cameron’s, but you wouldn’t be able to point them out in a crowd or anything. Besides from the father, Ward Cameron, whom you’ve seen on the news several times. Is he a Cameron? As you park in the large driveway, you rack your brain trying to recall the name of the Cameron son. 

His truck parks behind you, blocking your car in. He quickly kills the engine and exits his vehicle. You don’t notice him walking up to you until he’s yanking your car door open and pulling you out by the arm.

“R-rafe?” You mumble insecurely. He pauses to look at you, chuckling at your words. He mutters a quick ‘smart girl’ before retightening his grip on your arm and continuing to pull you into the large mansion. You start to cry, getting overwhelmed as you imagine the many possible scenarios that may occur. “P-please,” you manage to choke out. “What do you want?”

Unlike the last time you cried to him, this time he doesn’t stop. He drags you up one level of the large, spiral staircase; pulling you into his bedroom. As soon as you see the bed, you’re already feeling it beneath your back when he shoves you down just a few seconds later. As if you hadn’t already embarrassed yourself enough, you can’t help the tears that begin to stream down your flushed cheeks at a flooding rate. 

“Wait…no, please, please!” The way you keep shouting and choking back sobs causes you to gag from how worked up you’ve gotten yourself. All the Cameron son does in response is lean back to get a full view of you as a smug grin spreads across his face. “Please, I—oh god, I’m gonna be sick…” You mumble, which is quickly followed by another gag that interrupts your constant sobs. 

Rafe snakes his hand up from your arm to your hair, wrapping his first tightly around a large section of it. He tugs on your hair to force your head to look up at him, causing a small whine to escape your lips. “Shhh…baby, shhh…” He mumbles, his ‘worried’ tone working to oppose his previous amused expression. “Calm down, alright? Calm down. Ain’t gonna do nothin’ you don’t want, m’kay pretty girl?” The way he says that last part…you’ve never heard his voice sound like that before. You didn’t even think he was capable of talking in that tone. He sounds like he might actually truly care about you. You’re relieved; maybe even a bit…comforted by the fact that he might be telling the truth about not doing anything you don’t want. Well, besides having you basically held captive in his home. 

“What…what are you gonna do?” You manage to choke out between sobs, trying to catch your breath so you can calm down.

“I just wanna talk to you baby. Alright?” Rafe mumbles your name into your ear, allowing you to feel his hot breath against the side of your face. Immediately you’re taken back to the first time you had met him, in your bedroom a few weeks back. You try to push that aside and bring yourself back to the present; the memory only brings back the feelings of complete and utter fear you experienced at that time. Not that the present was any better, hell, it was worse. 

Hesitantly, you nod. He waits a few minutes to speak; waiting for you to catch your breath. Once you’re calmer, at least on the outside, he finally starts to talk. “I wanted to talk about my proposition…” He looks down at you, bringing his hand up to cautiously run through your hair. “Last time I got cut short…remember that?”

You nod. “I…I tried to warn you my parents would come home. I-I swear I didn’t tell them anything.” You say frantically, trying to prove your innocence.

“Hey, shh…it’s okay babe. I know. I know.” Rafe speaks slowly, his eyes never leaving your lips. He pauses to momentarily dart his tongue out to wet his parted lips. “I know. You haven’t told…you’ve been a good girl and listened to me, hm? Haven’t you baby? Haven't you been a good girl?” 

You nod frantically. “I…I’d never turn you in…” The false seductiveness in your voice turns him off, if that’s even possible. 

He pulls back from you and sighs, “Shut up.” He runs a rough hand over his buzzed head and begins to quickly pace across his bedroom. 

“B-but you wanted to talk…” You remind him. The way his attitude was constantly shifting in great amounts had you furrowing your brows as you tried to figure him out. 

“Yeah, I do. But not to a goddamn filthy, lying whore.” He retorts, a large grin appearing on his face while he watches your beautiful features move on your face, displaying your thoughts  as you take in his words. “Just be yourself alright? I can always tell when you’re not you.” He says almost sincerely. “I want…I need you to want this. Don’t try to pull that fake crap on me ever again, yeah?” 

Immediately you nod. “I…yes-”, you stammer, instantly regretting even trying to talk in the first place. Rafe chuckles, making your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He stops pacing and lets out a long sigh, turning to face you again. His steps pause when he’s standing just before you. 

He leans down to whisper in your ear. “I really need this to work, okay…? This is good, this can be good for the both of us. I can help you; we can help each other, baby.” A silent tear rolls down your cheek from the fear of what’s to come. “I know…I know I messed up, alright? I know. But, you don’t have to be scared, baby. It’s all gonna be okay.” He brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Please…I just wanna go home, let me go home!” Your cries are ugly, and very, very real. The fear in your voice only worries him. Worries him that you may never get past this. But you have to. You don’t have another option. And he really, really doesn’t want to have to hurt you. That was never his intention. 

“But you are home, baby. You are home.” He mutters as his fingers brush over your cheeks, smearing your tears. Your breath hitches at his words and your eyes slowly move up to meet his. This cannot be happening. Why is this happening? You think.

“No…please I…just let me go home. I won’t tell. I promise I won’t. I’ll…I’ll never tell anyone about any of this okay, I’ll never say anything about you.”

“I can’t do that, baby…you know I can’t do that.”

“Why not? I swear, I’ll never ever breathe a word of this to anyone.” You say enticingly.

Rafe sits down besides you, causing the mattress to dip and make you lean towards him. He puts an arm around you and his hand lands on the back of your head, pulling it into his chest.

He leans down to speak into your ear while his hand pets over your hair as you cry into his chest. “Because I need you baby, I need you. And I need you to let me take care of you, yeah? I know…I know you’re scared, but you don’t have to be. Just trust me okay…we’re gonna be so good together baby.” He tugs at your hair, gently guiding your face to look up at him. “Just listen to me and nothing will happen, I don’t wanna have to…do anything. I just need to know that you’ll listen to what I say.” Immediately you nod, going along with what he says. He tugs on your hair harder, eliciting a gasp to fall from your lips. “Ah ah, I know you can talk. You’re a big girl, now fucking act like it.” He says forcefully.

“I-I’m gonna listen, I’ll listen to you, just please, please don’t hurt me.”

He smiles softly as his eyes dart across your face, unable to pick a feature to focus on, everything about you is just too damn perfect. “Don’t worry I won’t hurt you, not as long as you listen.” His grip loosens on your hair again. “But you’ll be begging for it soon enough.” Rafe’s whispers are enough to make your sobs start again; in which he pulls your head back into his chest. Your tears soak into his shirt as you have no choice but to cry into him.

To be continued...

Thank you for reading! I hope this was enjoyable. This part took quite a bit for me to finish, since life has been a bit busy and I haven't had much time to plan or write. I apologize for the short chapter, I'll try my best to make up for it with the next part! I never really feel done with anything and as I said before I'm not sure if I'm a fan of this part or not. So, if you have literally ANY feedback, questions, or suggestions, PLEASE feel free to let me know! I don't really have any solid plans for this fic so if you have any ideas I just might include them in future parts. And there's not much I won't write!

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - mentions of kidnapping, controlling behavior, lyla is both Miguel's number stan and number one hater, and blood.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Hey, show a little faith. Have I ever steered you wrong before?” LYLA whispered, hovering just above your shoulder. You paid her a skeptical look, and she sighed, rolling her eyes. “Okay, whatever, but you know who programmed me! You cannot believe Miguel would be able to give me this shining sense of humor.”

That point, you couldn’t argue – even if you still had your reservations. With a deep, faltering breath, you slipped through the barely cracked door and into Miguel’s shell of a bedroom. It was dark, save for the faint red glow emanating from some half-finished electronic weapon he’d been revising and adjusting for as long as you’d known him, and of course, Miguel was still asleep. It looked like he’d made a half-hearted attempt to pull one of his thin sheets over himself before collapsing face-down on the center of his bed – which was, in all fairness, probably exactly what happened. You’d learned his routine, by now, knew that he’d likely only sleep for another three hours or so before dragging himself out of bed and back to his surveillance room. This might’ve been the first time you’d actually seen him in bed, rather than hunched over one of his many consoles or laid across a bench in one of the lesser-used hallways, having given into his exhaustion before he could make it anywhere more private. You didn’t like it. It reminded you too much of waking up in the middle of the night to Miguel looming over you, silently leering as you pretended not to notice him, even if there was a world of difference between what he’d done to you and what you dreamed of doing to him.

You stepped over the threshold, then paused. “Why am I here again?”

“Blackmail.” Miguel had mentioned off-handedly that LYLA couldn’t feel human emotions, just imitate them, but you could’ve sworn you heard a note of pure zeal in her voice. “You get the picture, I spread it around, and we both benefit.” Your phone buzzed, and you fished it out of your pocket. It was practically a brick (being locked inside Miguel’s spider-fortress meant you were blocked from contacting anyone outside of that fortress, apparently), but you still liked to keep it nearby. In the futile hope that you’d be able to call someone, anyone if you did ever make it out of Miguel’s reach, one day. “He still hasn’t gotten over the 2099-Burger. You’ve seen it, right? That was some of my best work, you should’ve seen—”

You shushed her, and LYLA flickered out of sight before reappearing on the foot of the bed, a polaroid camera now hanging from her neck. Slowly, carefully, you moved forward, only to pause when you actually reached Miguel. He wasn’t wearing anything, because he never wore anything aside from his nanotech and maybe a threadbare pair of sweatpants, if you caught him after a shower. It’d been too long since his last haircut. It was already splitting at the ends, fighting against his half-hearted efforts to comb it back and falling over his face, distorting part of his (relatively) peaceful expression. Even unconscious, he was frowning, but the dark circles under his eyes were less pronounced, his lips contorted into something that was more of a pout than his usual scowl. No wonder LYLA wanted a picture. There had to be more than a few Spider-People who’d want proof that their irritable leader could be something other than angry.

Half stalling for time, half trying to talk that better taste off of your tongue, you turned to LYLA. “Remind me why you can’t just take you own pictures, again?”

“Some of us are just a bunch of flashing light. Hot flashing lights, but y’know, lights.” She held up her miniature camera, and you looked away before the flash could blind you. “C’mon, you can’t say you don’t want to get back at him.”

Right. Getting back at him. This was supposed to be your way of getting back him. He kidnapped you, tore you away from your loved ones, locked you in a case of glass and metal, and you were going to help his AI assistant take a picture of him sleeping. The perfect revenge.

Digging your teeth into the inside of your cheek, you raised your phone, but before you could take LYLA’s picture and retreat back to your own room to sulk, an alarm you hadn’t set went off at full volume. You cursed under your breath, stabbing blindly at the screen in a panicked effort to shut it up before Miguel woke up, but an arm lashed out from Miguel’s heap before you could, catching you by the waist and dragging you into his chest just as the alarm mysteriously when silent. You clenched your eyes shut, bracing yourself for his claws embedded in your skin, for a growled threat, but nothing ever came.

You forced yourself to open your eyes and found that, despite everything, Miguel was still unconscious. You heard a camera shutter behind you – LYLA, her grin too smug not to be genuine. No doubt, you’d be able to see her handiwork on every screen she had access to by tomorrow morning - meaning, of course, every screen in Nueva York. “I thought you said you couldn’t—”

“He’s a deep sleeper. Very reactive, though – did I forget to mention that?” There was a pause, a wink. “Oopsies.”

You grit your grit your teeth. “Are you at least going to make him let me go?”

“Ah – flashing lights, remember?” Again, she flickered, reappearing an inch or so away from your face. “I’ll see you in the morning, lovebirds!”

You opened your mouth, but she was gone before you had the chance to protest. Still, you squirmed against Miguel’s vice-like hold, attempting to shove at his arm only for another to wrap around his midriff, only for him to pin you that much more tightly to his chest. There was a low, heavy grunt, then his nose nudging against the side of your throat, his lips ghosting over your skin. Slowly, instinctually, his fangs pushed into the curve of your neck, drawing out a pained whimper, a thin trail of blood. His teeth lodged in your throat, his body wrapped around yours, he settled against you, his breathing falling back into a steady rhythm. Making sure you’d stay where you were until he woke up – whether that was in one hour or eight.

It was all you could do to take a deep breath, close your eyes, and hope LYLA would lead you to a swifter death, next time.

[mj-iza-writer]

Stockholm Syndrome Vibes. Special thanks to @weirdthingweee for the request.

Whumpee had fallen asleep on their back. It was quiet in Whumper's room. They barely even woke up when Whumper crawled into bed.

"Goodnight", Whumpee tiredly whispered.

"Goodnight", Whumper sighed.

Whumpee was woken up by a loud snore a while later. They sat up and glared at Whumper.

"I told you you need to see your doctor about that snoring", they mumbled.

Whumpee rolled over and felt their nose.

"Why is it running?", Whumpee sat up again. They could see discoloration on their fingers in the dim light.

Whumpee hurried out of the bed and ran into the attached bathroom. They attempted to look into the mirror, but they had to hurry to the toilet.

"Whumpee?", Whumper sat up straight when they heard Whumpee throwing up. "What's going on?", they slid from under the covers and went to the bathroom.

Whumpee shook as they looked up at Whumper.

"I don't know."

Whumper reached for the light switch.

"Igh", Whumper grimaced.

Whumpee had blood dripping from their chin onto the toilet seat and floor. Droplets also trailed along the floor. Whumper guessed they would find more blood on the bedroom carpet and even Whumpee's pillow.

"What did you do... knock yourself out during a dream?", Whumper knelt down and reached for some tissues.

"Nuh", Whumpee stated as Whumper started to squeeze their nose.

"Don't tilt your head back. That's probably why you threw up.... you swallowed to much blood already, your body had to get rid of it", Whumper glanced into the toilet, "and by the looks of it you had swallowed a lot."

Whumpee winced as Whumper squeezed their nose harder.

"Hold that there for a few minutes. I'm going to clean some of this up", Whumper stood.

"Kay", Whumpee whispered, "reminds me of when you hit me that one time."

"That was a while ago", Whumper nodded, "I wonder why you're bleeding now though. We got past those days. I haven't hit you in years. I didn't hit you in my sleep did I?", Whumper looked at them with concern.

"No, you woke me up with your snoring though", Whumpee grinned.

"Hmph", Whumper chuckled, "I guess that was a good thing. This time, at least."

Whumper went on cleaning the floor.

"I think it stopped bleeding", Whumpee peaked out from the bathroom.

"Oh good", Whumper sighed, "nothing like a bloody nose at three in the morning."

"Where should I sleep now?", Whumpee looked down shamefully.

"Uh, in my bed like normal", Whumper looked back at them. The pillow already has blood on it, so it's not going to get any dirtier. I still need my Whumpee sized heater beside me to keep me warm."

Whumpee looked toward their pillow and saw the cover had been changed and it was now wrapped in a towel.

"Just in case", Whumper smirked, "can't have you getting blood on everything."

Whumpee nodded.

"Go ahead and get back into bed. We can clean the rest of this tomorrow. I'm too tired right now", Whumper yawned, "I'm going to the bathroom and going back to sleep."

Whumpee nodded.

"Could you tell your dream bullies to not beat you up", Whumper watched Whumpee walk past and crawl onto the bed.

"I'll try", Whumpee sighed, "can you tell your doctor that you have a problem with snoring, and that it is keeping your slave awake."

"You're not my slave.... you're my special baby", Whumper turned to walk to the bathroom, "and occasionally my pain in the butt."

"Who kidnapped who?", Whumpee smirked, "you asked for this."

"I said I was sorry", Whumper spoke over their shoulder, "you just looked so sweet when you walked past me. I just couldn't stop myself."

"Would you do it again if you knew this was how we would end up?", Whumpee's smile dropped. They had been nervous to ask that. "That snuck out... I'm sorry."

Whumper peaked out of the bathroom. Their face calm and serious.

"I wouldn't do it again if I knew this would have happened."

"Oh", Whumpee looked down.

"Because, I wouldn't want to kidnap you. I would hope I would be in a better mindset and be able to treat you well. I caused a lot of pain to you and I'm sorry for that. I only try to make it up to you."

Whumpee looked up quickly, "I would want that too."

Whumper got into bed and pulled the blankets up for them both.

"Try to get some sleep. Let me know if something else happens", Whumper sighed in relief.

Whumpee's eyes had already gotten heavy again.

"Amazing, you just woke up with a bloody nose. Plus, you threw up blood. Now you seem incapable of keeping your eyes open", Whumper chuckled as they tenderly moved Whumpee's hair away.

"Mmm sorry", Whumpee mumbled.

"It's alright. Get some sleep my dear", Whumper whispered.

Whumpee closed their eyes one last time.

Whumper listened to Whumpee's heavy bleeding for a few moments before turning over to go to sleep.

It was quiet in the room, or at least until Whumper started snoring again.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath

@porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst

@generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened

@freefallingup13 @notpeppermint

@cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet

@painfulplots @whumpbump

@everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee

@expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson

@legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace

@whumpanthems @lavndvrr

@ivymyers @starfields08000

@a-living-canvas @lumpofsand

@watermeezer @indigoviolet311

@whumpy-mountains @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @castiels-favorite-hunter

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown @jumpywhumpywriter

@blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @mylifeisonthebookshelf

@thenormalestever @whatwhump

@galatic-worm @starmoon-constellation

@bacillusinfection @whumpsandbumps

@tobiasbones @octopus-reactivated

@string-of-broken-hearts @weirdthingweee

[twstfanblog]

~Manhwa AU- A Fairytale Do-Over~ Pt 3

A/N: Writing has been so hard recently and there's no reason for it. Other than making me mad I think >:( But here's the next part! I'm going to start making a taglist for this series, so reply if you want to be added so you'll be alerted to the next part being posted! thank you and have a grand time reading! Word Count: 3.7K Pairings: Sibling Leona & Farena Warnings: Alluded to child neglect Lilia's cooking Prev / Next

A month had passed since Malleus’s birthday and Yuu still refused to accept any of Lilia's requests for playdates.

She sighed, turning the page of a book she remembered never finishing. Her family's personal library had become a small sanctuary for her recently. The magically enlarged room was like a maze; towering dark wood shelves filled with books that were easy to get lost in without a map. A hidden nook close to the three floor-to-ceiling grand windows, the enchanted fireplace crackling peacefully while Yuu or her fathers would rest on overstuffed decorative pillows reading together. The perfect place to run and hide from a very overzealous bat fae who wanted to feed her a ‘home-cooked meal’ to make her feel better enough to come visit the imperial palace. Yuu only needed to glance at the pot of noxious black sludge to be given a traumatic memory of what would happen to someone who ate Lilia's cooking…

While Lilia was more than free to chase her around the manor, her father was quick to stop the fae from running after her into ‘his library’. The family library obviously held the precious books of the Crowley family; Yuu’s favorite playscripts and fairytales, Divus’s historical fashion logs and his various past fashion sketchbooks. Dire even kept a small collection of older spell books in the room, some possibly older than the empire itself. Lilia's cooking could melt the bones of a whale, Yuu was sure of it, divine only knows what it'd do to a poor flimsy book.

So, the library was safe. For now at least. There was no telling where her parents would forbid her from entering in the name of her ‘health’ if they worried anymore.

Her parents continued to grow more and more concerned over her personality shift. They thought she didn’t notice, standing at her bedside in the middle of the night and speaking in hushed tones about what to do. Her papa would sit on her bed and run his hand along one of her braids while he grilled her father on what he was doing to get a mage doctor to their home.

Yuu couldn’t use magic, so she wasn’t entirely sure why her papa thought a mage doctor was needed (Only a few days later did she realize that her papa thought she had been cursed. Which was possibly true, time travel and all…). Dire had managed to deflect each time Divus asked, tucking her tighter into her covers before leaving the room, a silently furious Divus following after him. They’d try to broach the topic during breakfast each morning, asking if she had anymore strange dreams, if something new had appeared in her room, or even if someone had spoken to her.

It didn’t ease their concerns when Yuu denied anything new or strange happening, but Yuu wondered how much they would panic if she said something did happen. While it could potentially be funny, she’s almost completely sure her fathers would put her through an intense magical purge ceremony that would actually make her ill.

Sighing, Yuu closed the book, placing it on her reading nook’s ‘to be continued’ pile. It had been at least an hour since Lilia had shown up to the duchy, her parents had hopefully either sent the old fae home or were having a discussion over wine. Leaving Yuu to freely walk around the library again.

Thumbing through a book on gardening (though the pictures were more interesting than the semi-faded blocks of text), Yuu suddenly felt a chill creep into their spine. Kalim had described the feeling to her once, recounting one of the many tales of failed kidnappings and assassinations; the feeling of being watched.

Yuu did their best to remain calm, following Kalim’s advice. It's no good to let them know you know, act as nonchalantly as you could until you were in a safer location. (A conversation that had originally terrified them, only for Kalim’s beaming smile to promise that no harm would ever befall his dearest friend. Not so long as she had him and Jam-)

Swallowing, Yuu slowly closed the book and started to walk down the aisle. Maybe they were just there to steal something and Yuu had unfortunately been in their line of sight. A notion that was quickly dashed feeling the eyes stay on them and the sounds of footsteps following them. Yuu hates to admit it, but she panicked and broke out into a sprint.

Whoever was following her remained silent, keeping up with her easily through the turns and weaving between aisles. A part of her wanted it to be Lilia, since the worst that could happen was she'd have to have a bite of whatever he brought masquerading as a stew. Then again, that might actually kill them…

Panting, fed up with the sudden game of cat and mouse, Yuu ran around a corner and turned around quickly. The heavy book on plants raised in the air over her head and thrown blindly to whoever was chasing them. A multicolored blur appeared from around the corner, narrowly dodging the book in a sloppy side step. The two children looked at the heavy book on the ground, the thud it made echoing through the library briefly but the true horror was the fact the book had nearly exploded on contact with the ground. Pages of text and a stray beautifully illustrated flower fluttering to the ground in their silence.

The other child stared at the pile of paper that was once a book, blinking in shock before turning to Yuu with a glare and crossed arms, “What, are you trying to kill me?”

Yuu blinks then yells at the boy, poking a finger furiously into his chest, “You were the one chasing me!?”

The boy huffed, rolling his eyes and swatting her hand away, “I was just playing around. You're the one throwing ancient texts at people.”

“It wasn't ancient.” Yuu hoped it wasn't ancient. But, casting a glance at the pile, Yuu wondered if they were stronger than they remembered being as an eight-year-old…

Shaking her head, she brushed off the concern. The book was probably just…very old (please not ancient), her father would be able to replace it easily or fix it, “Anyway! Why are you in here? I've never seen you before.”

The boy raises an eyebrow, almost sneering back at her, “I'm a guest. Why are you scurrying around here like a rat?”

“Like a-I live here, you shithead!”

The boy stepped back, eyes wide in shock either from her yelling or from realizing who she was, “Wait…you're the Crowley girl?”

“What of it? You haven't even introduced yourself to me in my own house!”

Rolling his eyes again, the boy stepped closer to walk a slow circle around her, studying her with a sharp eye, “It's just surprising, ya know? Rumor has it, you're supposed to be sick as death in bed. Not taking any visitors nor going to any of your little friends’ socials.” He smirks, tilting his head, “But instead of seeing some sickly child, I see a little rat who's healthy enough to throw books with deadly force.”

“...” Yuu frowns, nearly sneering at the smug boy, “I'm not going to stand here and listen to some boy in a hand-me-down dashiki-...you're Leona Kingscholar.”

Leona was taken aback, tilting his head, “How do you guess? Other people wear dashikis, you know…”

Yuu nodded, but pointed to various areas of the garment as she spoke, “Yeah, but very few have actual gold embroidery on them. not to mention the overall state of it; it's faded but only in high friction areas. Meaning it was for casual wear instead of formal seeing, again, the authentic gold threading. And the sleeves's been stitched up, not professionally since it's affected the appearance of the pattern. It's not concrete, but that's normally a sign of sentimental value since it's merely to keep the fabric intact instead of presentable to the public.”

“...” Leona sighed, crossing his arms as he looked off to the side annoyed, “And that clearly shows you're the child of Duke Crewel. Only someone with his textile-obsessed blood would deduce me as a Kingscholar from my clothing rather than being a lion beastman…”

“Who else would I be? Though my parents love each other, they aren't having another baby anytime soon. Plus, I'm already an only child…”

Leona coughed, struggling to hold in his laughter before clearing his throat to speak, “I assumed you were Duke Crowley's oh-so-elusive student I've heard the adults whispering About. Many of them were pretty pissed after learning their darling little brownnosers weren't going to get access to your family's private collection of ancient grimoires.”

Yuu's face pinched together, eyes scanning along the floor as she dug through her mind. Just like a normal dream, her past life had quickly started to fade from her memory as the weeks went on. Anything past her 12th birthday had become hidden in fog though anything before then was slightly clearer. But even so, she had no memory of her father having a student of any kind. In fact she's not even sure her parents allowed other children in their manor besides her, she couldn't remember ever hosting a playdate at the Crowley duchy at least…

“My…my father doesn't have a student? At least I've never met them…”

“...” Leona hums, short and absolute, as though he had gained a piece of a puzzle no one else had noticed on the table yet. Yuu watched in real-time as Leona made the mental decision to keep said piece to himself.

The beastman smiles, his ears flicking only once in what could only be excitement, “Interesting…oh well. It's only a rumor after all.”

Yuu rolls her eyes. From memory, Leona did have a bad reputation as a troublemaker, “Fun. You still haven't told me why you're in my house though. I'm pretty sure the Kingscholar duchy is to the east of the capital, not the north.”

Leona shrugs, fingers gliding over ornate spines of books before he pulls his hand away, making a face when it comes back covered in dust, “My brother is getting a measurement done. He brought me along claiming I could be fitted for my coming-of-age robes if there was time.”

“...But your 10th birthday has already passed, hasn't it? You should have had them by now.”

“...” Sighing, the beastman clicked his tongue in a moment of annoyance, “Shut up. You don't even know anything…”

Yuu tapped her chin, thinking hard about what she could remember of the Sunset Savanna clothing culture, “You're supposed to get them on your tenth birthday, As a rite of passage right? Thanking the gods for allowing you into your first stage of life or something like that…” Lord, just how much knowledge about clothing did she have at this age? It was hard to tell what were bits and pieces from her past life and what was simply drilled into her young by her papa.

Leona was quiet, looking away from Yuu's curious expression, “It's a ceremony of blessings. In the Savanna, once a child reaches ten, it's thought a number of bad omens aren't able to take hold of them anymore. But that also leaves them vulnerable to omens that plague adults. So either the community chief or head of the house is supposed to anoint them; bring them the blessing and protection of their family or community's ancestors…”

Yuu nods, Dire had talked about the ceremony once or twice, having barged in during one of her lessons with Divus to deliver unasked-for information, “Your father is the heir to the Sunset Savanna kingdom, but he stays near the Noctorn capital to build alliances. As the Savanna prince, he'd be liable to use the family sword to-”

…

Yuu paused in her stream of conscious babble. The ceremony could use a number of items to bless the child so to speak. Her father had told her of a number of ways he had personally bore witness to; an elderly woman shaking a branch over children, fine gold dust being spread on cheeks in patterns, even fresh spring water being poured over their heads and clothes.

But the Kingscholars, the Kingscholars used a sword. Tapping the unsheathed blade along the shoulders and then once against the forehead.

Looking at Leona, she finally noticed that one side of his bangs were longer. Dark brown waves that framed against a eye that was a shade lighter than the other, slightly hiding the clean vertical line of raised dark pink skin.

“...” Yuu bit her lip, wondering…if she should ask, “...Leona…how'd you get that scar?”

Leona stared at the floor, gently pressing a claw down the still-sensitive skin.

Leona sat beside a vent in the hallway, legs pulled up to his chin and arms wrapped around them. He was looking down to the ground, eyes unblinking as he listened to his father rant and yell.

“-utter embarrassment! And you want to reward another one of his tantrums!?”

Farena’s voice rings out, softer yet still carrying the hard edge his father's had, “I'm not rewarding him. I'm taking him with me to my appointment with the Duke Crewel. Leona's only getting a fitting if there's time-”

“You don't need that design book then! That mutt of a duke doesn't need it because he isn't making traditional garments. Especially not for that-”

“Enough!” Leona could hear the snarl in his brother's voice, clearly able to imagine the fury on the face that matched their father better than his ever did, “Just because you're upset Lord Lilia hasn't responded to your letters yet, doesn't mean Leona is at fault! I refuse to let you place it on him just because he acted out on the prince's birthday!”

“BAH! So you admit it! He's acting out and you're-”

“I'm giving Leona his due! You know damn well he was supposed to have his ceremonial dressings last year. You were supposed to send for someone from the homeland to fit him properly! You were supposed to bless him! You go on and on about how back home we are kings and not dukes and should act as such, and then you treat your own son like he's less!”

“He is LESS! Sickly! Defiant! Brazen! He's been weak and less than since the day he was born!”

“...How…DARE YOU!? Don't you dare blame that fever on Leona! He only got sick because you forbade the physician from tending to him when he got hurt! He may fully lose his sight in his eye because you wanted to punish him!”

“He should have never touched that sword! That is for the heir or head of the house! The true princes of our family line, he had no right to touch it!”

“We are all the princes of this family. Grandmother rules the Savanna in your place while you continue to make fancy with dead royalty you never even liked.” The rustling of papers, a flourish of fabric, “I'm leaving for my appointment, I'm taking Leona with me and that is final.”

It was soft, angrily and bitterly mumbled as Farena stomped out of the room. The sound of his father's liquor cabinet opening, the older man muttering, “Leave him there while you're at it.” 

The sound of Farena slamming the door made his ears hurt.

And that's how his brother finds him, back against a wall with his eyes pressed into his knees and arms to hide away his tears. Farena sighs, kneeling down and putting a hand to his shoulder, “Leona-”

Leona quickly shrugged his brother’s hand away, moving to stand on his own and rubbing harshly at his eyes, “I don’t want your pity, Farena-”

He was pulled into his brother’s arms, the older prince breathing calmly in an effort to center Leona and himself. Farena pulls away once he feels Leona untense his body, smiling and brushing the younger boy’s hair from his face, “It’s not pity…No matter what we become to each other. Know that I never pitied you…”

“...” With a final sniffle, Leona rubbed his eyes one last time before he nods, “Okay…”

“Come. We have to leave if we’re going to have time for you to get your fitting.”

“...It was an accident.”

As though that wasn't the most heartbreaking and concerning thing Yuu had ever heard. But Yuu wasn't going pick at an already tender wound, “I see…what…what was the Sunset Savanna like? There’s a lot of various areas like deserts and jungles, right? Was it fun exploring there?”

“I wouldn't know. In theory, I know what it's like there but I've never been, I was born here.”

“Oh!?”

Leona nods, “My brother remembers moving though, he's told me stories and every now and again we get visitors or refugees coming to our duchy.”

Yuu hummed, looking down the aisle, “I think we have a book on the Savanna somewhere…” She waved Leona away, “There should be a table with snacks around. Wait for me there while I go get it.”

“Don't you order me around…”

She was already walking away, looking over her shoulder with a glare, “Just go eat some snacks while I go find the book.”

Finding the book wasn't too hard. The library was normally organized weekly, though even then random books would appear in the wrong place. Luckily, Yuu was able to find the book of their desire easily. Pulling it off the shelf they nearly fell to the floor at the sheer weight of it. Huffing, maneuvering it in their arms to rush off to her and Leona's meeting spot.

The other young lord was luckily seated at the table, picking at the selection of cookies and other finger foods left out. He looks over, snickering at seeing just how much she was struggling, “Poor, sickly, Yuu. Even a book is too much for the grand lady now…”

Yuu glared over the large book, managing to haul it with her onto the stool before dropping the book on the table and releasing a cloud of dust. Her expression turns malicious as Leona starts hacking and coughing, sending more dust in his direction as she opens the book and lets the heavy pages fall to the table.

Leona waves the dust away from his sensitive nose, glaring through his teary eyes as he sneezed again, “Brat.”

“Bastard. Your family is the reigning line, isn't it? So you'd have stayed in the capital, right?”

For the next hour, the two spent their time looking through the book, Yuu asking him questions for a more in-depth look at the foreign land. And while Leona had never been to his homeland, he still knew more than Yuu and was more than elated to lecture the younger girl on what she had gotten wrong.

Soon, Leona could hear his brother calling out to him in the distance. He looks to Yuu, tugging on her hair to gain her attention, “I’ve got to go, my brother is calling me.”

Yuu nods, closing the book and holding it out to Leona, “Here. You can take this home with you.”

“Why are you giving me one of your books?” Leona still takes the book, tucking the hardcover under his arm and looking at Yuu in question.

Shaking her head, Yuu smiled, “Not giving it to you. It’s a loan. So you’ll have to come visit me again.”

“...” Leona laughs, short and behind his hand before returning Yuu’s smile, “Deal. I’ll come visit again since you clearly need someone to ramble to. I’ll bring the book back when I feel like it.” He ruffles Yuu’s hair roughly, making the younger girl almost fall over from the force of it.

“HEY!” Yuu smacks at Leona’s hand, pouting as the beastman runs out of the library to meet his brother. She sighs, trying to smooth down her hair lest her papa see her with her hair in disarray.

Leona Kingscholar was a troublemaker, that was the common trait anyone could give him. She remembered bits and pieces of her fathers talking about the young lord, each of them remarking what a shame it was. Leona wasn’t as physically strong as the rest of his family, but the younger lord was smarter, a fact his father always overlooked in favor of his older brother. Yuu couldn’t remember the two brothers ever having a negative relationship. Then again, she remembers one of the Kingscholar brothers leaving with their father back to the Sunset Savanna when the queen mother is on her deathbed. Sadly, she couldn’t remember which went.

If anything, Leona would be a good person to talk to if she went along with her plan. Breaking ties with Malleus was impossible, but her other two playmates would be easy enough, though it would be painful. And while it had only been a few weeks, things settled well enough. Malleus didn’t ever send her letters anyway, she would simply stop sending him letters. The hardest part would be breaking her friendship with Kalim and running from Lilia’s visits.

Leona wasn’t meant to be a replacement in any way. The youngest Kingscholar was almost isolated from others because of his abrasive attitude a trait Yuu unknowingly shared. Even if they didn’t become anything more than library friends, they’d at least have each other to speak to this time around.

Leona looked out the window of the moving carriage, the borrowed book resting in his lap while his brother rambled on.

“-weirdly thorough. I had thought we’d have more time for your fitting, but it wasn’t in the cards this visit. I did leave the book of designs with Duke Crewel, though. So when I go back for my second fitting, I’ll make sure you can see him.” Farena looks over, frowning as Leona doesn’t respond to him. Sighing, he tugged on his little brother’s ear to gain his attention, “How about we go out for lunch? We don’t need to head home just yet.”

“...” Leona’s eyes glance down at the book on his lap, smirking as he looked up to his brother, “I met a ghost in the Crowley library.” “You what?"

You made it! Have some art I did of the babies and their outfits in this chapter

[eternalfics]

hihi!!! first ask ever so sorry if this comes off as nonsense ahhh 😭😭😭 but i was wondering if you could do like a saiki k x male reader? where male reader transfers into pk academy and is like teruhashi in terms of looks but in terms of personality, he's a more socially awkward quiet and introverted person? so whenever a whole group of students swarm around him, he just freezes in place like he doesnt know what to do and waits for someone to save him like a teacher 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

awkward..?

a/n: hi pookie bear 😘 totally understand you and hope you request more! I was kind of in the writing mood 2day anyway so 😌

warnings:

summary: you find yourself in an awkward situation in the new school you transferred to? is it gonna get better? worse?

okay, this wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be? just a couple stares and gasps as you walked around the school, completely lost.

sure you could have asked a student, but the way they just stared at you in shock when you asked them creeped you out. was there something on your face?

oh! what about that girl with blue hair talking to somebody? it’s rude to interupt a conversation, but it’s just a quick question, it won’t hurt anybody.

you walked up to her and tapped her shoulder. you squinted your eyes slightly from the light she gave off, is this normal? “excuse me, do you know where class-“ you paused. your eyes bulged out of your head. she was gorgeous! you weren’t really looking, expecting that she wouldn’t say anything too but when you met eyes with her you didn’t realise that she was that pretty!

“hm?” she smiled at you gently, waiting for you to say what you were gonna say. come on y/n, she probably dosent have all day and that girl next to her with short brown hair looks.. sad? it’s fine. “do you know where.. year two class three is?”

“oh yeah, I’m in that class!” the girl grinned at you. “my name is kokomi teruhashi, by the way,” teruhashi introduced herself. “come on, I’ll show you where you have to be,” she grabbed your hand and lead you to your class. is she an angel?

after awkwardly introducing yourself in front of the class, sitting in front of a pink haired weirdo and having a few people stare at you, class was over! you were having a good day so far.

as you stepped out of the class, people started to quickly surround you, asking a lot of questions or admiring you way too close.. is this what it was going to be like everyday? girls giggling and squealing over you? you felt trapped and a bit flustered.

“what’s your name?” “let’s hang out some time!” “can I do your homework?” most of the girls questioned you. you should have known this would have happened, now your a frozen, awkward person in the hallway, currently getting harassed 😢

you also saw a guy with purple hair with a furious expression. he was looking at you too, is he jealous of the attention? what is wrong with this school..?

you blinked for a second, and pop! your on the rooftop! what the hell just happened, first you got actually got some girls, now there’s witches in this school? oh, there’s that pink haired weirdo that you were sitting in front of, STANDING. RIGHT. IN. FRONT. OF. YOU.

is this a dream? it totally is a dream because it’s not normal for a pink haired to kidnap you on a roof top. saiki, who was so offended after being rudely insulted as a ‘pink haired weirdo’ two times already, was already getting tired of your thoughts. just for one day, he wanted to do something nice for someone and he gets this.

“u-uh, thanks for getting me out of there,” you said, scratching the back of your head. “atleast he actually has some decency to thank me for that,” saiki thought. he nodded, turned around and started walking away.

“wait!” you called out to him. “not this again,” saiki thought as he turned around. “what’s your name?” you asked him with a gentle smile. “saiki kusuo,” he replied with a blank expression, before walking away. wow, he really didn’t want anything do to with you. but at least you gained a new friend! we’ll see..

[milliesfishes]

⋆౨ৎStar Girl (Part Three)⋆౨ৎ

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖masterlist⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ [fem reader] contains: kidnapping, blood, angst pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: troubles throw a wrench in yours and billy's plans author’s note: tagging @phantomamor because <3 babes you really helped me with this last part and with this entire au <3 thank you all for being so lovely and supportive of this series! my apologies for the wait on this last part <3 enjoy! Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

The fascination anybody felt with you was everlasting, bound to stretch the eternities just like you.

Billy could feel it now as you spoke to the vendor before you, the diamond he'd so dangerously retrieved in your hands. The man had given him a decent price, but you'd stepped in, starting to speak to him in a language Billy only knew bits and pieces of. Your tone was firm, but still with a tint of sweetness to it. You were still you after all.

The second you'd begun to speak, he'd stepped aside, unsure exactly what you were doing but trusting you anyways. The vendor looked a little taken aback, but he finally nodded, saying something begrudgingly. You smiled and turned to Billy. "He's gonna give you eighty instead."

His eyebrows shot up, lips parting. "Eighty?" That was twice the original price, three times what he'd expected to get.

You stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "You worked so hard to get the diamond, you risked your life. The least you could get is more money for it."

Billy laughed a little in disbelief, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You're a wonder darlin', honest."

While waiting for Billy's reward to be counted out, you leaned back into his chest, his arms around your collarbone. He'd been hesitant about taking you outside the ship given the status of you with his gang, but figured this was an early enough time of day that it wouldn't do any harm.

You were no longer wearing one of his shirts- the first thing he'd done upon landing was go find a kiosk selling dresses and fetch one for you. He had to admit that he missed seeing you in one of his button downs, but you were ethereal in the blue, flowy thing he'd picked out, as radiant here as you would have been wearing a ball gown. Just peeking out the slit of the dress when he looked down, there was pretty garter hugging your thigh, the point of a glass dagger restrained by it.

Billy had presented it to you just before leaving today, and the excitement in your eyes was a lovely thing to behold. He'd smiled as you tucked it under your dress, telling you it was "Just a precaution, angel." He wasn't going to have his girl walking the streets unarmed, even though he wouldn't be letting you out of his sight for a second.

He was glad he'd brought you out- the way you were looking around so excitedly was worth it alone. The way you bounced excitedly on your heels and squeezed his wrist whenever you saw something you liked was ecstasy. There weren't enough words in any language to emphasize how much he loved you.

Indeed it had been a time for firsts.

Before last week you had never kissed before, had someone to lie down with. These were beautiful things he got to teach you about.

He didn't consider having to teach you about bad things too.

One night you'd sprung upright in bed, clutching your chest and gasping, eyes blown wide for someone who'd been asleep a few seconds ago. Always a light sleeper, Billy had woken with you, seen your distress and pulled you into him. He wrapped his arms around you like wings and held you tight into him. "Shh. Baby, you're okay. You're safe, you're okay."

"I was having...a...dream," you hiccupped, fisting his shirt. "And then...it...turned...bad."

"Slow down, sweetheart. Deep breaths." Billy rubbed your back, breathing deep in and out so you would do it too. "You're gonna work yourself up." He kissed your hair, scratching your side gently.

You slowly but surely began to calm down, holding his wrist in your hand. Billy rocked you back and forth, watching the storm within you quell. "Shhh, sweet girl. It's okay."

When your breathing was steady again, you looked up at him with wide eyes, and he knew what you were asking. "'S a nightmare," he whispered, barely disturbing the quiet of the ship. "Like a dream, but scary."

Brow knitting, you cuddled back into his chest. "I've never had one before. It felt real."

"'F course it did, sweetheart," he murmured, carefully lying back down with you. Billy lifted the hem of his shirt, maneuvering it around you until it was off, tossing it away. You pressed your cheek to his chest, the sensation of his skin on yours untensing your muscles. He slid his hand under the shirt of his you were wearing, settling a warm palm on your lower back. "D'you wanna tell me what it was about?"

You were quiet for a moment. "You. You were gone." The confession shredded his heart in two, and he buried his nose in your gold-streaked hair.

His stomach dropped. Truthfully, when he'd imagined what scenarios would play out in your subconscious, he'd imagined something like your kidnapping, what the Seven Rivers had done to you. He didn't even stop to think you might be worried for him.

"'M right here, baby." Billy reached down to your waist, pulling you to rest between his legs with your head on his chest. You let out a little sigh, shifting to get comfortable. He was content that he had been able to calm down. But it terrified him that he couldn't protect you from everything.

Reaching up now, you touched his arms, thumbs rubbing him there. He kissed your temple. Ever since the day he'd been injured, you'd been clinging to him like he was the last thing in the world, trying out what he'd taught you. Your lips had touched every bit of his face and then some, every kiss setting his heart blazing. He loved that you wanted to have him near like this.

As he looked at you now, light as the air and happy as always, just watching the surrounding crowd, there was such an air of innocence about you.

You were glowing in the light of day, a goddess in your own right. Billy couldn't help staring- it didn't matter how many times he woke up next to you or even looked at you. He would always be enchanted by every little detail you exuded. The best of the universe gathered together in your shape.

Turning in his arms, you kissed him lightly, smiling adorably afterward. Billy's own smile was sparked by yours, and he lifted you up by the waist, letting you stand on his boots so you could reach. "Hi angel," he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. In the sunlight you shimmered like glitter, and he swore whenever you walked a trail of magic followed like fairy dust.

When the vendor passed him his money, Billy shoved it in his pocket, turning his attention back to you. You clung to his arm, squeezing him there and smiling adoringly up at him. "Everything okay?"

"Perfect." He took your hand, unable to stop touching you for more than a few minutes. "C'mon sweetheart. I owe you some cuddles."

You bounced on your heels, a spark lighting in your eyes. Billy was about to lead you away, wishing the walk was faster. He could practically feel the mattress under his back already, his hand maybe sliding up your skirt-

There was a shout from nearby, and he froze mid-step, startled by it. You squeezed his hand, and he pushed you a little behind him, protective instincts flaring like a fire.

A crowd was forming a little bit away, and you stood on tiptoes, trying to see what was going on. He smiled. His curious girl.

"Let's see what all the fuss is about," he said, rubbing your fingers and letting you lead him over to the crowd. When you were still craning your neck, he slid his arms around you, lifting you up to his eye level. A smile bloomed over your face at the motion, and he pecked your cheek, turning to the scene finally.

What he saw made his veins freeze like ice.

A woman restrained, her hair golden and loose, struggling against the surely rough hands of an officer wearing the official patch of the IJF. He was shouting, but the brazen remarks fell blurry on Billy's ears.

There was a man standing a few feet away, his yelling adding to the chaotic swirl. He was holding his arm, a gash dripping crimson onto the cobblestone. "She stabbed me. Did you see? She stabbed me-"

"My blood isn't yours to take," she snarled, shiny freckles catching the light as she whipped her head to look at him.

"Both of you shut it," the officer barked, restraining the woman in handcuffs. Now her chest was heaving, and he could see the fear in her eyes. It reminded him of-

Turning to you, he saw your round eyes and stiff limbs. You slowly lifted your gaze to his, a wild desperation in it. That was a woman just like you, another person of the stars, the same blood running through her veins. She was practically a sister. He could knew what you wanted to do before you moved.

Billy's arms tightened around you, and he swung one down to lift your knees, anticipating your next actions. "Let's go."

You struggled, looking over his shoulder as he began to walk away, boots clunking rudely. Tugging on his shirt, body twisting in his arms, your breathing sped up, voice nearly tearful. "We have to go...we have to help her-" Billy shook his head once, and your fist pounded his chest. "Billy. Billy put me down-" your voice was as serious as death, and you sounded mad.

"You can't do anything for her now...honey..." He patiently held firm to you, sucking in a breath when you tried to undo his hand from your waist, nearly making him drop you. "Don't do that, sweetie."

There was a tear on each of your cheeks like sunspots, and his heart broke. Your breath hitched and you began to cry, taking his face in your hands and trying to turn it back toward the scene. "Take me back...please..." Every syllable was broken, like a crumbling bridge.

Painstakingly, he ignored your words, not pausing once in the journey back to the ship. Having been involved in a crowd often targeted by the law, he knew if not anything that in the heat of the moment, two people in the same group would be seen as one. He wouldn't risk the officer seeing you and finding some reason to take you away too, especially if you tried to help the other star-woman he was detaining.

No matter how right you were to try.

Billy only put you down when he was in the ship, shutting the door quickly. But at that point, the fight had been taken out of you, and you stood in front of him, eyes trained on the ground ashamedly.

He moved cautiously to you, reaching out to grasp your hands. You still wouldn't look at him. Taking in a breath, Billy was about to say something comforting maybe, when you rushed forward, burying your face in his chest.

Warm tears bled into his shirt, and he secured an arm around you, pressing the other to your head. There was no need to say anything.

In all his years collecting bounties, he'd never held anything near as precious. For all the places he'd travelled, his eyes had never taken in anything as beautiful. You were the reason the word treasure was invented.

And he was no fool. He knew what he had and he knew to keep you safe.

You made his lap look like a throne.

Sitting with your legs on either side of his on the mattress, skirt pulled up your thighs, kissing him slowly, he could have mistaken you for a deity. Your hips were rocking slightly back and forth into his, as if you weren't aware of it. One of his hands was tangled in your soft hair, the other on your thigh, rubbing up and down. You liked those little comforts during kisses, he'd learned, and it only made him love you more.

He kissed your nose, pulling back for a moment. Wrapping his arms fully around your waist, Billy rolled you over, making you laugh as he held himself up above you, dipping his neck to kiss your forehead. Then your cheek. Then your nose again, just because you were so cute.

Neither of you had spoken about the day in the market since, although it had shaken you, he could see. Knowing you didn't want to bring it up, he showed you he cared instead, giving you extra loving day and night.

Both of your arms was flung above your head atop your hair, which was spread out like a halo. Billy gave you a fond look, kissing your collarbone and letting his chin nestle between your breasts. The dress you were wearing was cut deep in the neck, and so he had plenty of access to your skin.

You hummed, your chest vibrating under his chin. "Billy?"

He kissed your tummy. "Yes, angel?"

That got a little smile out of you, and you slid a hand into his hair, scratching his scalp gently. "Don't you have to be to the other ship in twenty minutes?"

"Ah-" Billy kissed your tummy again with a smack, sliding his arms under your waist and rolling you over, making you dissolve into giggles. "But that's in twenty minutes." Your hair fell on either side of his face like a curtain, and he stroked your cheek, nudging your face closer to his. "So gimme some more kisses, darlin'." He knew how much you loved them.

You giggled again and pressed your lips to his, eliciting a satisfied hum from him. He blinked lazily at you, gathering some of your hair and pressing it behind your ear just so he could touch it. Where you had been hovering over him a bit before, now you let your body nestle in, chest pressed to his as you rested your chin on folded arms. "I don't want them to suspect anything."

"They won't suspect a thing." Billy sat up, his big hands under your arms to steady you. He pressed one, then two kisses to your nose. "Ain't the first time I've been late cause I was kissin' you."

"Yeah?" Your knees were bent, positioned under his arms as you sat facing him between his legs.

"Yeah." He stroked your thighs, and you smiled sweetly before untangling yourself from him and standing up, leaving him with his legs sprawled out on the bed. Billy made a disapproving noise, reaching for you again.

You straightened your dress that he'd artfully messed up, adjusting the top back over your chest. "You should hurry and get it over with."

Billy held out his arms, playing his final card. "You sure? We could have some cuddles 'fore I leave." He said it in a tempting way, shifting comfortably on the bed.

When you bit your lip, he could practically hear you considering. You loved cuddling more than you loved kisses, which was saying something. He'd never met anybody who liked physical affection as much as you, and it heartened him. That was something he could give in abundance.

For a moment he thought he had you, but then you shook your head. "No. I wanna have longer cuddles later."

Sighing, Billy dropped his arms, swinging his legs to the edge of the bed and reaching for his boots. "Alright, alright." He stood, stopping right in front of you. You were giving him a look that suggested you were expecting him to pull you back into bed for just a few more minutes.

Instead he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, reveling in your glow for just a brief second. "I'll hurry, angel. Won't be gone longer 'n an hour."

The stars in your eyes were a supernova.

They were burned into his vision the entire walk to the Seven Rivers ship, and he kept your imprint on his heart close as he handed over the dealings to Jesse. "You get a good vendor this time?"

"No, just decided to take more blood." The words were foreign in Billy's mouth, and they felt strange coming out. He reminded himself that he was just playing a part, even though it made him feel awful. He'd repent with extra kisses later. "There's another job I took a little out of bounds. Figured I'd get you the money for a few weeks' worth for while I'm gone."

It was a half-lie. Billy was planning on going out of bounds, but really he was spiriting you away for a little while. Some time with his girl without the looming threat of the gang hanging over your heads.

Jesse raised an eyebrow, but nodded, looking back down at the money. "Seems right. Y'know, prices for this stuff've been goin' up. Don't know why." Billy swallowed, remembering the incident in the market.

His eyes lifted to a healing scratch on Billy's arm, one he'd obtained while stealing the diamond. "You have some trouble gettin' it?"

"Gettin' what?"

"The blood." Jesse gave him a funny look, nodding at his arm. "She scratch ya or somethin'?"

Billy followed his eyes. "No, ah...shirt caught on a corner. Got me bad."

His friend looked wary, leaning back in his seat. Jesse's makeshift office on the ship contained nothing but two chairs and a large crate that acted as a table. Right now it was strewn with papers and coins. Still, Billy felt himself shrink back, feeling as though his mind was being read.

Jesse clicked his tongue. "Y'know...after we had her aboard and got blood out of her the one time our fingers were stained for weeks with gold." He looked pointedly at Billy. "Ya'd think for all the blood you're gettin'...your hands'd be shinier 'n silver."

Billy couldn't help looking at his clean hands even though he knew what he'd see. Roughened but not dirty. He bit the side of his cheek, scrambling for an answer. "Well...I had to figure out a new way, y'know? Didn't want blood all over me all the damn time." He was playing defensive and he hoped it wouldn't come across as fake. Jesse was better than a hound when he wanted to be.

Holding his breath, Billy watched the other man watch him, eyes boring in. He could have beamed a hole through Billy's chest with that stare. Mind racing, he prayed he would take the bait, be satisfied with his money and not bother to discover how he got it.

Finally Jesse stood, holding out his hand for a shake. "Well, good on ya for figurin' it out. Ain't that somethin'?"

Withholding a sigh of relief, Billy smiled, nodding and standing, clasping his friend's hand. "It is."

But the conversation didn't leave his mind for a long while as he meandered back to his ship, cutting through the marketplace. Maybe Jesse had let it go for now...but what if he decided to come check up just in case? What if you were alone when he did? Billy's blood ran cold as he imagined you defenseless against the same group of men who'd attacked and kidnapped you.

He drummed his fingers on his thigh, looking around. The crowd wasn't as thick as it usually was whenever he walked through here. He could clearly see the vendors and their wares, their tables of goods. The memory of you raising his pay for the diamond rose up, and he smiled, remembering how impressed he'd been. How he'd wanted to shout to the world that that was his girl.

Then he remembered the look on your face as you'd watched the woman arrested for protecting herself. The way you'd cried quietly after you thought he'd gone to sleep, his arms wrapped around you.

Suddenly the desire to get back to you was paramount. Billy was about to move forward when something caught the corner of his eye, making him pause and turn to look at it fully.

Red boldened letters stamped to a piece of paper already worn by the climate. When he turned back to the side, he saw dozens more plastered to walls and even the poles of vendor stands.

Billy's brow furrowed. Was there a new policy he was unaware of? Something that would limit his comings and goings? He thought anxiously of how he'd been planning to take you away. His permit to travel so far wasn't valid for at least a few more days, and he wondered if whatever was posted all over the city would prohibit it.

Tearing the poster from the clumsily hammered nail, he scanned the contents of it- one enormous headline and fine print scrawled underneath.

Something doused him like a bucket of ice water, the hair on his arms standing at attention. Billy could feel his heartbeat in his ears, and he crumpled the paper into his pocket, breaking into a run for the ship.

Star People To Be Apprehended

"Anyone fitting the description of a Star Person will be detained upon sight. Citizens are encouraged to alert the authorities if they see a person or persons they suspect may be of this variety in exchange for a monetary reward. The punishment for harboring a Star Person is detainment for life."

By the order of the Intergalactic Justice Forces

"Fifteen minutes?"

"Fifteen minutes."

You pouted, folding your arms and giving him doe eyes. "Why can't I just come with you? If it's not even going to be that long?"

Billy gave you an exasperated but fond smile. "Because I've gotta stop for a few things on the way back. Can't have you in the market out in the open, sweet girl." He looked down at you, head in his lap. He'd been absentmindedly playing with your hair, braiding a strand the way you taught him how. There was a flower in your hair, stem woven around your ear, completing the vision. You were heavenly, even when you were frowning so adorably up at him.

"Maybe I can go to the market while you're getting the permit," you said, looking up at him hopefully. The messy bedsheets pictured you so perfectly.

He rubbed his thumb over your cheek, watching you melt into his touch. "No."

Huffing, you sat up, giving him a longing look that pulled at the loose threads of his heart where he'd stitched it up from the last time you'd pulled that face. "I haven't left the ship in three days Billy. I wanna go outside."

"I know, honey," he soothed, hand on your thigh stroking gently. "But we're gonna be outta here as soon as I get back 'n then we'll go far, far away from. We'll land somewhere real pretty." He said the last part hopefully, wanting to placate you for now.

But if you were a flower, your petals would be wilting. He could see your spirit dissipating like a misty cloud. Even on the road you'd been able to come outside provided you stayed in the vicinity of the ship.

But Billy wasn't about to take a single risk now.

He clasped one of your hands, meeting your eyes. It felt like every time he did he was starstruck by your sheer beauty. There wasn't a way to turn it off and he didn't want it to. "We'll be gone soon. It'll all be okay. Yeah?" Billy cupped your cheek in one hand, his palm shadowing your golden freckles.

You looked tired. He felt a pang of guilt, the emotion chewing at the corners of his organs. It had been a constant weight like a stone in his core ever since he'd seen the notice.

Asking around, he'd found out it had been triggered by the incident he'd seen with you. The Seven Rivers member he'd talked to had made it out to be a good thing, like your people were a vermin to be exterminated. "Lotsa folks’ e been feelin' the same way," he'd said proudly, adjusting his holster. "'Bout time someone did somethin' bout it. Filthy bastards."

It'd taken a massive amount of self-control to walk away.

The notice angered him beyond belief. It was well-known, if not acknowledged, that the Star People were treated as less than all because of the value of their life source. And now the law was using one incident to determine the fate of your entire species.

There had been whispers of the IJF selling blood in the past on secret markets. But Billy hadn't subscribed to it-he'd had no reason to. Now his only reason for anything was being threatened because of it.

He was grateful that the two of you were planning to leave anyways. Only he was damn certain that wherever he was taking you, he wasn't coming back. He'd wire Jesse and tell him that you had passed from blood loss (though the thought made him sick) and the two of you would be free forever.

There had only been the matter of his permit, and now, on the day he was set to pick it up, liberty was so close he could taste it.

Even though it was for a brief period of time, Billy couldn't stand the thought of you being miserable. He felt like a jailer, keeping you hostage aboard this ship even though it was for the best.

You never said anything of the like about him. No, you were too sweet, too good. It wasn't in you to resent him. But he resented himself for it.

The instinct to get you off this planet as soon as possible was surging within him now, and so he reached for you, relieved when you let him pull you into his chest. Your arms wrapped around him, warming a fire in his chest like always. Billy dug his nose into your hair, kissing your part. "I'm sorry. It's been tough, huh?"

"Yeah," you breathed, your fingers trailing up and down his back. His lips nudged your hair once more, and you looked up, a tiny smile on your face. "It's okay though."

Billy shook his head. "We can do better than that, angel." He framed your face in his hands, growing your smile a little bit more. "We will. There's lots of flowers where we're goin'."

"Lots of flowers?"

"Lots," he promised, thumbing your cheeks. "'n they're all growin' there, waitin' for you, sweetheart."

Now your smile had spread tenfold, and you tilted your chin up, your darling way of asking for a kiss. He indulged you with a smile of his own, and you muttered against his lips, "You should get going then."

"There's my girl," he chuckled, giving into the urge for one more kiss and standing up. You fluttered your fingers at him, and he tipped his hat as he put it on his head. "I'll be back soon, angel."

"Mkay," you hummed, rolling over onto your stomach and playing with a strand of your hair. He let his eyes linger on you before he left, your memory following him like perfume.

The exchange for the permit was fairly quick, and he whistled as he went about his business in the market, ignoring the guards blatantly stationed at the edges. They were eagle-eyed, scanning the perimeter and clutching their weapons. Always wary of the law, Billy kept his eyes down as he made his purchases.

He had been about to make his way out of the area that was now so tainted in his eyes, when a circlet with a simple star affixed to it caught his eye. Stopping to examine it, he nearly lit up from the inside out. Oh it was perfect for you. Something pretty to mark the start of your new life together.

Unfortunately, the line for that particular stall was long, and Billy thought about backing out a few times before ultimately deciding to stay. You deserved something nice after the hard few days you'd had. Besides, he knew you would love the bracelet. Jewelry was something you were utterly fascinated by, and he'd have you dripping with it if he could.

Finally he was able to pay, pushing through the hot crowd in a hurry. Where he had said he'd be gone fifteen minutes it'd now been nearly forty. Billy could only hope you weren't worried, that maybe you'd fallen asleep and he'd be able to crawl into bed with you in a few minutes.

Turning the bend into the grove where his ship was parked, Billy shifted the bag on on his hip when the scene before him made him freeze cold.

The door to the ship was open. And Jesse was kneeling on the ramp, holding a familiar flower between his fingers. One that had been lying amidst the stripes of gold in your hair almost an hour ago.

The bag slipped from his arms, and he hurtled forward like a meteorite, grabbing Jesse by the shirt collar and pinning him to the doorframe, breath hot as an angry bull's. "The hell did you do with her?" Billy demanded, grip tightening by the second. Images of the Seven Rivers Gang turning you in for a cash prize filled his mind, only furthering his rage. "Where is she?"

"I don't know!" Jesse held up his hands, eyes like saucers as he took in Billy's white hot rage. "Swear. Promise. I just came by-"

"Did you see who took her?" The words tumbled from his mouth like dominoes.

"She was just out here," Jesse managed, looking between Billy's eyes. His hat was askew, and he was clinging to the wall, collar pulled taut as he backed into it. "By herself. She was just standin' here. 'N then one 'f the IJF came outta nowhere and got her."

The IJF...no... Billy let go of Jesse's collar, the world spinning beneath his feet. He stumbled back, turning to look into the distance as if he could spot them taking you away. No no no...how had they found out? How did they know...? Someone must have seen you with him in town... But it didn't matter, not really. All that mattered was that you weren't safe.

There was a hand on his shoulder, and Billy nearly drew his gun. But it was just Jesse again, a strange look in his eyes like he'd never seen before. His friend was known for being cutthroat, a gang member down to his details. But now he was softened like butter in the sun. "She was your girl?"

It didn't matter anymore. "Yeah."

Flatteniing his lips, Jesse nodded. "Figured. Came by here to catch you in the act. Or somethin'."

Billy said nothing. He felt utterly despondent now, every sense blurring him. You must have been worried, wondering where he was. Maybe you would have wandered into the marketplace in search of him. Eyes falling to the plank, Billy noticed a spot of gold staining the metal that hadn't been there before. Something constricted in his chest, and he shut his eyes.

"Hey." Jesse shook his shoulder, his mouth set in a rigid line. "We can get her out."

"How?" The single word was dry, void of any emotion. All he could think of was you, terrified and helpless in a faraway place. Who knew where they had taken you, if you were even still alive?

"I know where they hold prisoners." Billy perked up, eyes lighting like fireworks. Jesse nodded again, patting his holster. "Ain’t the first time I’ve needed to break someone out. If we both go in, it'll be an easy take. You'll have 'er and then you can get outta here fast."

As Billy looked at his friend, turned foe for a while over the greatest love of his life, a flash of memories flooded him. All the times Jesse had stood up for him, helped him when nobody else would. He'd forgotten the brotherhood of bearing arms together, of making a hard living over and over while living in close quarters.

He'd forgotten his first friend.

Straightening up, Billy nodded, brows knitting together. "Lead the way."

With a half-smile, Jesse clapped his shoulder, turning to walk off the ship. The sun was setting, and it outlined him in gold. Billy couldn't help but think of you, the way you glowed without the radiance of any star behind you.

You were the star.

Jesse was right. It hadn't been a problem getting in. Two guards were taken out no problem, passed out in the dirt from the force of his punch. He and Jesse found a corner to hide behind, shoulders pressed together as they watched the passing patrols.

The structure was surprisingly simple, hidden not too far from the marketplace in the trees. And, he realized with an ache, terribly close to where you had lived when you'd first met him. The concrete walls were made for secrets of the law that he didn't even want to imagine, and he realized how lucky you'd been not to be eyed by the IJF before.

It was hauntingly silent, like a dug grave. Billy certainly felt six feet under as he looked down the hallway, at the row of doors, numbers written in chalk below the tiny windows.

There was no way to know which one you were behind, and he took in a frustrated breath as he thought about it. Sneaking through the forest, he'd caught glimpses of your ancestors winking down at him against the darkened sky. Billy had begged in his head for them to keep you safe, to protect you as best they could until he could get to you. I'll take over from there, I'll never leave her alone again.

Jesse nodded at the empty hallway, Billy's signal to start moving. He crept carefully into the area, glancing briefly through every window for your distinct glow. It ached his heart that he did see a few shining people similar to you, those who had gold in their veins. But they weren't you, and so he pressed on, thinking of the way you'd tried to run to the woman in the market that day.

You were brave, boldly beautiful in every one of your desires. He hadn't ever told you that, he needed to tell you that. Billy chided himself. You weren't dead. He would tell you when you were snuggled up in his arms again, far away and safe.

Approaching the last door, his heart fluttered hopefully. You had to be in here. There weren't any other cells in the facility, he'd made sure of it. But it hit him like a gut punch when the square space was empty.

Dread fell on him like rain, soaking every bit of his mind. You weren't here. A thousand other possibilities swam through his head, most of them assuming the worst. You'd been taken from him without doing anything wrong, and it was like ripping an angel from heaven and sending it to hell.

Grasping the door handle, eyes combing every bit of the space as if he'd somehow missed you. As if he couldn't have picked you out of a crowd of millions. No, no you had to be here. How...

No.

He didn't know what they had been planning on doing with those they captured. The rumors of blood use swam before his eyes. They wouldn't...they couldn't...

His heart sank, a stone in a river. As it thudded at his stomach, his mind unwillingly produced visions of a life without you. A life missing you. Billy had tossed aside all prophecies of what he'd thought his life would be before he met you. But now they were swimming to the surface, poking their heads up and waving. He would never find it in him to reach for any of them, put them on his mantle of dreams.

Knees weak, he shut his eyes, feeling faint. Oh claim him, stars above. Send him to be with you in the sky, your natural sphere. Or tell him at least which star was yours so he could gaze upon it every night. He'd settle for it, he'd get on his knees and thank your ancestors for that. If only to keep some semblance of you in his life.

He could imagine himself old and gray, no longer your handsome outlaw, staring up at the sky and hoping you remembered that he loved you. As unworthy as he had been, he had gotten one thing right.

Jesse came up beside him, gun drawn, and Billy forced himself to look up, not caring if his friend saw him in the depths of despair, where he would remain forever. Maybe he'd take him back in, to live on the Seven Rivers ship. Billy couldn't imagine going back to his ship, where he'd kissed and loved you so obviously. Your memory would haunt those hallowed halls, a spirit he would never be able to hold the same way again.

"C'mon, we've gotta go." Jesse didn't look excited about it, his eyes heavy. "They're gonna find us if we stay any longer-"

A scream tore into the night's poetry, blood seeping from the pages. Billy's ears perked up, and his heart grew lighter, floating back up to its place as he realized. Maybe it was a lover's instinct, but he knew.

It was you. It had to be you.

Turning to Jesse, Billy said, "Cover me." Hardly a pause passed before the other man nodded, holding his gun at the ready. Billy no longer cared about being quiet as he clomped through the halls, guards springing up from nowhere and aiming, firing shot after shot. Billy's gun was ruthless, and he shot without thinking, head only in one place. The scream had come from the furthest end of the prison. He could see the door in the distance, the only one in the area. When he'd searched the area earlier he'd assumed it was just an office.

Jesse shouted something and Billy ducked, narrowly missing a well placed hit. His feet couldn't move quick enough, and he grew impatient of the guards that kept coming up. It was endless, it seemed, especially when you were waiting at the end of the hallway.

One guard tossed aside his weapon and tackled Billy, knocking him flat to the ground and sending his own gun clattering. He was beefy, thicker, and Billy struggled under his arms, fists swinging. Firm knuckles smashed into his nose, and he winced, eyes watering, the familiar wetness of blood on his lip.

Adrenaline surging, Billy jammed his elbow up into his chest, hitting the sweet spot and making his opponent wheeze, body going limp. In a quick motion, Billy was able to shove him to the side and grasp his gun, scrambling to his feet and sprinting toward the door. It was like a golden beacon in the distance.

There were shots behind him, but he didn't risk a look back Jesse was a more experienced fighter than he was, and he could hold his own against a great deal of men.

Heaven was the touch of the doorknob under his fingers, cool metal on his hot skin. You were inches away, practically in his arms already. Billy swung the door open, gun drawn and ready to end whoever was holding you hostage.

The sight that greeted him nearly made him drop it again.

A body on the floor in a pool of scarlet leaking like a waterfall from the wound in his chest. Punctured by a glass dagger.

And you standing over it, hands over your mouth, dress a mess of gold and crimson.

Relief cascaded Billy like an avalanche before he had a chance to dissect the scene. He said your name once, voice gravelly, and your head snapped up, eyes going round. The tear tracks on your face may as well have been rivers. Your lower lip trembled. "Billy."

He stumbled towards you, taking you in his arms and collapsing to his knees. You were shaking like a leaf in autumn, shivering against his chest. Billy held you so tight he was worried you weren't able to breathe. But you clung to him, crying desperately into him.

Billy looked down at the body, recognizing the dagger and going still, realizing what had happened. He said a silent thank you to whatever had inspired him to get it for you.

No matter the reason, you were stricken with something beyond what Billy had seen in you before. Something he hadn't been able to protect you from, something he should have been there to defend you against.

Following his instincts, he stood, bringing you up with his arms supporting your body. You weren't walking out if he had a thing to say about it.

Jesse appeared in the doorway, blood on his clothes. He hardly blinked at the scene before him, instead gesturing to Billy. "Hurry. Think I got 'em all for now but there's more coming."

Before Billy could start to run, you reached up, burying your face in his neck and fisting his shirt. Your words were muffled, but he felt them. You were a language he was better versed in than his native tongue.

"I left the ship." The blame in your voice broke his heart.

Billy pressed his lips to your forehead, wincing when some of the blood from his lip came off on your skin. With your ancestors as his witness, you would never see another drop of blood, yours or anyone's again.

"No, I left." He heard footsteps in the distance and started to run, keeping you tight in his arms. "And I'm never doin' that again."

Exquisite things came in abundances in nature. Billy needed more than two hands to count them all, especially on this planet.

It was the epitome of peace, with towers of greenery, cities of flora and fauna as if a storybook had come to life. The wildlife was abundant and willing and beautiful, fluttering through the air and lying down in patches of sunshine.

He couldn't have dreamt up a better place to settle with you.

Here where he was standing on the porch of the cottage he'd built you, ship a greyish dot in the distance, he had a clear view of you in the field before the house, gathering flowers into bouquets of your own marvelous creation. There were flowers on just about every flat surface of your home, but he wasn't about to tell you to stop bringing them in.

You brushed your hair over one shoulder, grass tickling your calves as you moved to the side to pluck the perfect flower from the earth. Beautiful things find beautiful things.

This was one of his favorite things. To watch you in your element, when you were quiet, content in your heart. It had taken months since everything to get to this point.

He didn't know if you would ever forget that night. The things you'd been forced to do. Billy would suck that memory from your mind with a straw if he could, only leaving you with happy things. Every night that you woke up crying from more nightmares, which had become frequent, he pleaded with some higher power to put all the pain on him. He would bear your cross and let it weigh him down because it was yours. And if you ended up consuming his being he wouldn't complain for a second.

Billy began to make his way to you, never in a rush. He'd done enough running in his life. Now was a time for staying. Wanderlust was a thing of the past. Maybe he hadn't realized that he'd really been searching for something. And that something was looking up at him now, beaming like a sun and holding up a handful of flowers.

Reaching out, he smiled when you wrapped your arms around his neck, nuzzling into his chest. The star bracelet on your wrist caught the light, as did the gold in your hair. He inhaled softly, your ambrosial scent overwhelming his senses.

Thick and thin. The worst of the worst. He'd do it all over again if it meant he got to have this forever.

There was a wire from Jesse waiting inside. Likely something lighthearted, letting Billy know the comings and goings of Seven Rivers as usual. He smiled at the thought, but then you leaned up and pressed your mouth to his and he decided it could wait.

When you bounced on your tiptoes, Billy lifted you up and your legs wrapped around his waist. You leaned forward and nudged your nose against his. "You know, I think we'll be a constellation someday."

"Yeah?" The idea turned the future from silver to gold. "When you're in the sky again I'll be there too?"

You giggled, a swan song, and kissed him again, murmuring into him, "I'll hold onto you so tight that you can only come with me."

That sweet sentiment crawled over Billy like a vine, and he let his fingers glide up your back, eyes melting like warm chocolate.

"You hold onto me as tight 's you want angel. I ain't goin' anywhere."

Previous Part

[thatstheproblemwithnapkinman]

A love letter to Haley Grayson

to honour her introduction into WFA canon, let me introduce you to my actual favourite DC character, the little three-legged pitbull (but i prefer her as a staffy) puppy...

Haley

god i could go on about bitewing so much but we'll give you the run down of her as she is iconic

so, haley was first introduced in Nightwing (2016) Issue 78, the first of Tom Taylor's run. she is being chased and tormented by some thugs in Blüdhaven and Dick saves her

he takes her home and tells babs he is taking her to the pound and babs is like "no you aren't" and she was right.

in issue 80, she makes her first journey to vigilante status by joining Tim as he goes to talk to the street kids

she then gets blessed with her codename by Tim in issue 81, giving us her two names, Haley and Bitewing

she mostly exists to be cute but hen in issue 87, she gets kidnapped!

who would be so cruel!

but dick and babs save her and we get a cute family photo

she's mostly just for cuteness for a while but she makes an appearance in issue 90, when dick's apartment is blown up and he goes to stay with wally. nothing important happens with her but i have to point it out

Then issue 98 happens

Nite-mite gives haley a cute matching outfit and she can talk!!!

so they go on an adventure and its super cute and haley saves the day of course

she makes a brief appearance in issue 100 but her next notable one is in issue 105, the wonderful first person issue

he appears again in 106 with gar and it is very cute

the other amazing haley moment is in the 2022 annual where we get this awesome dream sequence where haley is Bitewing again and she trashes the apartment. it's so good and so cute

TL;DR Haley is the best DC character and you cannot tell me otherwise

[lillaydee]

One Heart Part 2

Sheriff Joel Miller / Reader

Trying and failing miserably to recover from an inconceivable loss, you accepted your best friend's invite to spend time with her and her family for a summer, hoping for a chance at a new beginning. Little did you know that the new beginning you were stepping into was a little too close to home.

WARNING:

Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Grief/Mourning, Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Ellie is mentioned, Sheriff Joel, Sarah plays matchmaker, No age gap, Joel is in his 30s, Joel is Trying His Best (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Fluff and Angst.

SERIES MASTER LIST

PART 1

---

You felt all the blood in your body rush to your face. What the fuck? Did he seriously just say that to you?

“Excuse me???”

“I woke up with my daughter missing from her room and saw her climbing out of your kitchen window. What the fuck was my three-year-old doing climbing out of your kitchen window at 7 in the morning lady?”

“I don’t even know who your daughter is, okay? I don’t even know who you are. Where the fuck do you get off accusing me of being a pedophile?”

“My daughter, Sarah. Why was she at your house? And why was she climbing out of your kitchen window?”

“Sarah?” Your mind thought of the weird happening from last night. “So that was real? I thought I dreamt it.”

“What exactly did you dream about, hmm? You’re using sleepwalking as an excuse for kidnapping and molesting my daughter now?”

“Hey! I did not kidnap or molest your daughter, alright? I woke up in the middle of the night and she was standing by my bed, and she was gone when you so kindly banged on my door, so I thought I dreamt the whole thing, OKAY? Which, by the way, Mr-accuse-me-of-being-a-pedo-sir, makes me wonder. Do YOU get off on teaching your daughter to break into single ladies’ houses, hmm?” Your arms went from crossing on your chest to your waist now, annoyed at his accusations when his daughter clearly broke into your place.

He stared at you, looking like he was about to yell some more, when his eyes travelled down from your eyes. He immediately looked away, looking a bit flustered, his whole body turned away from you, hands fidgeting with his shirt, pulling at the hem, mumbling something about your blanket.

You looked down, and to your horror, your blanket had fallen off when you moved your arms, revealing your sleepwear, which, last night, consisted of Eric’s old boxers and your old tank top, which, conveniently, had a huge rip on the chest area, and your movements had left your left nipple exposed, all erect and puckered up in the cold morning air.

To say you were mortified was a huge understatement. The angry, ridiculously gorgeous man just saw your nipple. Your hand immediately went up to cover your chest, you scrambled down to pick up your blanket, and you did the only thing that made sense to you at that very moment.

You slammed the door in his face.

Yeah… you were never leaving this house ever again.

This was a great day to start off your summer, the one where you were supposed to be healing yourself and restart your life. You moved into a new place, in a new town, and on your first morning, had a screaming match with your handsome neighbour, where he accused you of kidnapping and molesting his daughter. And the cherry on top of it all? You exposed yourself to him. Great. How the fuck were you supposed to show your face around here again? Maybe you can ask Jenny who he was, and where he lived, maybe there’s a way to avoid him.

You peeked out the kitchen window to see which way he went, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shit.

---

There was a knock on your door just as you finished breakfast. You stood there, contemplating whether or not to answer. What if it was the angry man again? Correction. The angry, indescribably handsome man. You gave yourself a once over, making sure all indiscreet body parts were hidden, before opening the door. A cheerful looking Jenny greeted you, a golf cart parked in front of your house.

“Morning! Wanna come with me for a tour of the farm?”

You were so relieved it wasn’t the angry man, you jumped at the opportunity to go with her, but not before looking left and right, making sure he was nowhere in sight.

The two of you got on the golf cart. When Jenny put her foot on the pedal, you were sure that this was no ordinary old lady. You had never hung on for dear life more than you did at that moment, certain that you were gonna get thrown off at some point.

The perimeters of the farm went beyond what you saw yesterday. There were about 20 to 30 houses scattered about, each unique, each beautiful in its own way. But beyond the houses was a working farm, with chicken coops and a large barn, a stable and pens. There were areas filled with rows upon rows of vegetables and a large pond in the middle of it all. Jenny showed you around, telling you that she and her late husband started the farm when they started taking in the foster kids, wanting them to have something to do with their hands, keeping them out of trouble. The boys built some of the houses too, she said. She looked so proud; you couldn’t help but admire this lady. She was so small and petite, and yet she had people like Tommy doing her bidding at the snap of her finger.

There were men milling about the farm, Jenny telling you some of them were her older boys, some new ones whose parents sent over to work for her, hoping that whatever magic she possessed that turned her boys into the men they were today would rub off on their troubled teens, and some were just men who had always worked the farm alongside her late husband.

When Jenny drove you back to your house, you saw your next-door neighbour for the first time, a beautiful lady with long black hair and her mini me, just arriving home, a basket full of produce in her hand.

“Morning Omera,” Jenny said, hopping off the cart, running her hand on the little girl’s head. “This is Lynn, she just moved in next door. She’s gonna be helping Maria at the restaurant. This is Omera, and her daughter Winta.”

You shook their hands, Omera politely welcoming you to the area. You heard the slam of car doors. You turned around, and immediately froze.

It’s him.

It’s the angry, devastatingly handsome guy, walking towards you. He had Sarah, who was holding a fluffy purple teddy bear, in his left arm, a scarf in the other.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw you. Sarah turned, saw you, and squirmed off her father’s hold, her little legs running towards you, immediately stepping on your left foot, hugging your leg, fluffy purple teddy bear squished between your leg and her tiny body.

“Hello Lady,” her little voice said to you.

You giggled, and rubbed her head, “Hello Sarah! Nice to see you again, and I can see you are real too!”

She giggled, rubbing her face onto your leg. She showed the purple teddy bear to you, holding its right hand out to you.

“Who is this fine bear?”

“Jello,” she said. “My friend Jello.”

You took its hand and shook it. “Hello, Mr Jello. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Jello’s a girl, Lady!” she said, giggling.

“Oops!!! Sorry Ms Jello!”

You tickled Ms Jello, Sarah laughing out loud.

The angry man, Jenny and Omera looked as if you had just performed a magic act. It was silent for an uncomfortably long time, so much so you felt as if you had just done something wrong. But Sarah pulled on your hand and said ‘uppie’. So you picked her up. She pressed her head on your shoulder and said sorry.

“Why are you sorry, Sarah?” you asked her quietly.

“Daddy yelled at you because I go in your window.”

“It’s okay Sarah, but next time knock on the door, okay? Don’t climb in through the window. Daddy was just worried you might hurt yourself.”

“I can come knock?”

“Of course you can.”

“Jello can come too?”

“Of course she can!”

She grinned at you, took your face in her hand, and rubbed her nose against yours.

“Thank you, Lady.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie.”

She held her face to yours a few seconds longer, and suddenly you felt like yourself again, the you that you had lost for over 18 months.

You put her back down, and she ran into Omera’s house with Winta.

The three adults were still standing around looking at you as if you were about to squirt them with the imaginary fake flower on your non-existent lapel.

The angry man got closer, handing Omera the scarf that he had in his hand, his eyes still on you. “You left this in the car,” he said.

“Oh, thank you Joel,” she said, taking the scarf. “And thank you for taking me to the market. I’ll make sure Sarah gets home before lunch,” she said, leaning up to him, kissing him lightly on the cheek, before turning around to go inside, softly shutting the door closed behind her.

Jenny cleared her throat, speaking with a slightly choked voice, “Lynn, this is one of my boys, Joel. He’s Tommy’s brother. I see you have met my granddaughter, Sarah.” She looked at Joel nervously, “When… and how did you meet her?” Are there tears in her eyes?

“I’ll tell you later,” Joel quickly cut in, before you could answer.

Why were they still looking at you like that? Did you have a booger up your nose or something? Now you just felt really off. Not only did this man yell at you and accuse you of being a pedo this morning, and now, somehow, the very moment you saw him again, the friendly faces you had met before his reappearance had gotten all squirrelly and weirded out by you for whatever reason.

Oh God.

They were judging you, right? Did they know what happened? Did they think you were a bad person? Cause you certainly did. And now they all know, right? They somehow knew? Did Maria tell them? Did Tommy? You suddenly felt as if the open air was suffocating you, their eyes daggers stabbing into your chest.

You decided you had enough for the day, made your excuses and ran into your tiny house, locked the door, closed all the curtains, crumpled onto the floor and sobbed. You heard Jenny outside your door, softly knocking, calling your name, but you were too mortified to answer. She eventually stopped and left you alone. Maria and Lennie called, and you ignored them too. Maria finally texted you, asking you if you were okay, and if she should come over. You replied to her, telling her you’d be alright. Just needed some time.

You spent the rest of that day in the darkness of your house, laid up in bed, staring at the TV, not really watching anything. Come dinner time, a soft knock came on your door again, this time it was Joel’s voice calling your name, his tone a massive contrast to the way he was yelling at you this morning. You ignored him. You really didn’t want to face him. You heard his footsteps walking away and heard Jenny’s kitchen door closed. You were about to release a sigh of relief when you heard the door open again, followed by the pitter patter of tiny footsteps running, and the climbing of the two steps it took to get up to your porch, and a few tentative steps to your door. A very soft knock came, followed by a familiar, tiny voice.

“Lady?”

Shit, he weaponized his daughter. What a low life. What kind of man would use the cuteness of his daughter to get a lady to open the door?

Another knock.

“Lady? I knock.”

Fuck, this girl’s adorable. How can you not open the door? You may be a bad person, but you can’t possibly not open the door to that. You can practically see her big brown eyes and that little pout of hers preparing to greet you when you open the door.

You reluctantly did so, Sarah standing in front of your door, looking cute as a button in her pajamas, covered in butterflies, holding a Tupperware container out to you, Jello squished under her other arm.

“Daddy said give to Lady.”

You looked to Jenny’s kitchen door where Joel stood, leaning against the door frame, watching you interact with his daughter, his face the grumpy one you have seen so far, but sort of blank at the same time. You took a knee in front of her, and took the container from her, thanked her, and told her to thank her Daddy and Grandma too.

“Lady sad? I can stay?”

You looked at Joel again, his eyes fixed on you, his arms still steadfastly crossed on his chest. You cannot read his expression. What was that look? You remembered what he accused you of this morning, and immediately shook your head.

“No, sweetie, you should go home and sleep in your room, okay?”

“Jello can stay?” she asked, offering her to you, her little face full of concern now.

Your heart melted. “It’s okay, sweetie, I don’t want you to miss her.”

She looked to be deep in thought for a while, before nodding, and saying okay. But before she left, she gave you a hug, her little arms giving you the tightest squeeze they could muster. She rubbed her nose against yours, and told you good night, before running off to her father. You didn’t look at Joel again, you just got up, and shut the door behind you, before eating the pasta Jenny made in the dark.

That night, you dreamt of standing in the same glass room, Omera, Jenny and Joel standing outside, staring at you, Sarah trying hard to open the door, asking you to let her in, Jello in her arms.

---

You promised Maria you would have breakfast with her that next day. You woke up, got yourself ready, checking the vicinity to make sure no one was around, before getting on your bike, planning to pedal as fast as you could out of there. As you were about to lift your foot off the ground, you heard the front door of Omera’s house open, followed by Jenny’s kitchen door. You didn’t look back, just pedaled out as fast as you could, hearing Jenny call your name.

You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t face them. Maybe later. You were not even sure what you did wrong, you just knew that they saw you differently for some reason, pre and post Joel’s arrival.

You got to the diner about 30 minutes too early. Maria wasn’t even there yet. So, you sat out front, wheeling your folded bike absent mindedly with your foot, looking at your phone, trying to answer Lennie’s worried text from last night, when a shadow blocked out the sun from you.

It’s him. In his police uniform. Sherrif badge on his chest and everything. Holding out a cup of coffee towards you.

Shit. Coffee and a police uniform. This man was just here to torture you, wasn’t he?

But you were still mortified at everything that happened yesterday, okay, mostly the bit where he accused you of molesting his daughter, and especially the peekaboo that happened after. Really. The first time anything remotely sexual had happened to you in over 18 months, and it happened while a gorgeous man was accusing you of being a pedo. Just your luck. So, you just bent your head down and refocused on your phone. He heaved a big sigh and sat down next to you on the bench, placing the coffee between the two of you. He cleared his throat.

“Listen, Lynn, right?”

You didn’t respond.

“I just wanted to apologize for yelling at you yesterday. It’s just, I woke up, couldn’t find her, I panicked, the kitchen door was partly open, went outside looking for her, and saw her climb out your window like she just escaped captivity or something, and my mind just… went places. Occupational hazard. I really am sorry.”

You still didn’t say anything, but you lowered your phone, and focused on your feet instead.

“And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you did anything to her. The way she was so excited to see you… she wouldn’t have done that if you did anything bad to her, I don’t think… she barely… anyway… I just wanted to say sorry again, for the yelling and the accusation. I just hope that you don’t punish her for something I did, she seemed to like you, so… I’ll… leave you be now.” He stood up and began walking away.

“Why were all of you staring at me like that? Did I do something wrong? Did I overstep? What did I do?”

Joel stopped walking, turning back to face you, your eyes still on the ground.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just, you see, Sarah, she…”

“Hello, you… am I late?” Maria’s voice chimed in, before bending over and giving you a hug. “Hey Joel,” she said, giving him a hug too, receiving a kiss from him on her cheek. “Shall we? I am starving!” she said to you, pushing the door, holding it open for you to follow. “Join us, Joel?”

“No, I should get back to work. I’ll see you ladies around.”

You stood up, picked up the coffee he brought you, took a small sip, and followed her in, still not looking at him, missing the small smile that graced his lips when he realized you had accepted his peace offering.

---

“So, what happened yesterday? Jenny called me, all worried about you. She also said you… communicated with Sarah? Did she imagine that?”

“She snuck into my house, and Joel sort of accused me of something. He apologized, but something is off. I think I got off on the wrong foot with him,” you told Maria.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know how to explain it, per se. But Sarah apologized to me for sneaking into my house, and…”

“Wait, so, Jenny wasn’t imagining it? Sarah really apologized to you? Joel Miller’s daughter, Sarah? As in, she said the word sorry?”

“Yeah…”

“She spoke words to you?” her face was in disbelief.

“Well, yeah…” Maria’s eyes were staring into your soul now. “Stop looking at me like that. This is exactly what I’m talking about. They were all staring at me the way you are now. What is the big deal? Did I do something wrong?��

Maria took a few more moments of stunned silence.

“No… you didn’t do anything wrong… it’s just… that girl had never spoken. Ever. To anyone. Not one word. Not even to her father. In fact, we all thought she was non-verbal.”

Oh.

PART 3

[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

[moonchild1]

AO3 List PT.2

here's part 2 of my favourite bts fics on ao3 ♡ if you have any of your own recommendations feel free to tell me I would love to hear them ♡ some contain smut so no minors do not interact find pt. 1 here...

s- smut a- angst f- fluff

all of btssmutgalore’s work (sadly they aren’t on tumblr anymore)

all of univsa work

all of personasintro's work

roommates with benefits by joonswhistle f s a

↬ You and Namjoon are roommates. You're both really horny one morning. So you come to an understanding:

1. It's not a regular thing.

2. It happens on the couch.

3. Kissing is allowed.

4. Condoms, always.And just like that, you're roommates with benefits

seoul underground by hunniejimins s a ft. jungkook

↬ You're a crime & corruption journalist for one of the most esteemed newspapers in Seoul currently investigating drug trafficking in Hong Kong. A hit is taken out on you and as a twisted stroke of luck, a member of a rival gang inadvertently saves you - Jeon Jungkook. He kidnaps you and brings you to the gang's kingpin, Kim Namjoon, who initially had plans to kill you, but a certain bracelet ends up buying you time. Things only get further complicated when they realize who you are and what you can offer them.

OR

Namjoon and Jungkook both fall in love with you and it's a mess, but monogamy is overrated anyway, right?

Covenant by fringesofsanity f s a

↬ You are betrothed to Kim Namjoon, the heir of a real estate mogul. To say that it was a fairytale romance would be erroneous. You’re instead loped in the sad tale of the rich and melancholy.

Faith by AndrastesChosen f s a

↬ It's time to let yourself believe in someone. You're probably an idiot for it, but you're going to put your faith in this man named Namjoon. (AKA You fall in love with underground rapper Namjoon and make a difficult choice so he can follow his dreams)

Partners by btssmutgalore f s a

↬ As a part of a literature assignment, you get paired up with Kim Namjoon, a guy you’ve never even heard of.

the wedding arrangement by sugalights f s a

↬ You are in love with your best friend, the only man who matters, Kim Seokjin. Unfortunately, he's just gotten engaged to someone who isn’t you. Even more unfortunately, he expects you to help plan the wedding alongside Kim Namjoon, his other best friend and, based on your first meeting, just another judgemental jerk. Putting aside your distaste for the sake of your friend’s happiness, you both set about giving Seokjin the wedding of his dreams. Following a rough and satisfying affair at the caterer’s, you strike an unusual deal: you and Namjoon will be enemies with benefits until the wedding is over. And after six months of wedding planning, you both just might learn that weddings aren’t usually the end, but a brand new beginning.

formula for love by bluesxde f s a

↬ newly single and in the midst of a bitter divorce, with a custody battle thrown in, chemistry professor kim seokjin tries not to fall in love with the new library assistant. and fails, horribly

The Stranger by btssmutgalore f s a

↬ When your plane hits turbulence, you start panicking and tell some of your biggest secrets to the attractive stranger sitting next to you.

Before Your Very Eyes by vyduan f s a ft. myg poly au

↬ After decades of being friends, Y/N finally realizes just how attractive Yoongi and Seokjin are and wonders why she never noticed. Except, Seokjin might be getting back with an ex and Yoongi is a permanent fuckboy. Is Y/N just desperate to get laid or does she love them? (And if she loves them, is she too late?) Oh, and also, THEY WERE ROOMMATES (but there are three beds)

Amalthea by Daechwitatamic s a

↬ You can count on two things in life. One: that your lifelong best friend Minji will always be there for you, in your corner, your brightest star. Two: that you'll never be free from her older brother Seokjin's orbit - the gravitational pull is just too strong.

Paris For A Day by automnesleaves f a

↬ On his last stop of his European tour to spread Korean culture, Kim Seokjin, the South Korean president's son, plans to escape his duties for a day to enjoy the sights of Paris with your help.

In other words: a slight adaptation of Roman Holiday, one of my favorite romantic films.

arranged by obiwrites f s a

↬ If you thought entering an arranged marriage with the person you love would be a dream, you were in for a rude awakening. Jung Hoseok was far from the doting husband you’d dreamed of and most of it could be chalked up to the fact that he was in love with his best friend. And you are without a shadow of a doubt, not her. But what happens when Hoseok starts to realize he doesn’t want you to be her? That there might be more than meets the eye with you?

piece by piece by underthejoon f s a ft seokjin

↬ a collection of drabbles where your love life is muddied up by two men – the one you love and the one that loves you.

tip 143 (for ∞ seconds of love) by minlouvre f s

↬ Even though he is everything you find attractive in a man, your friend and co-worker Jung Hoseok is just exactly that - a friend and co-worker. For some reason, you have never found yourself attracted to him even though all the girls and guys around you go absolutely crazy for him. But that all changes for you one night while scrolling through Heart2Heart, a sex live cam website...

the december of our adulthood by vyduan a

↬ Jimin collapsed all over you and the middle console from his seat in a fit of giggles and did his best to tease a smile back onto your face. “Thanks for picking me up so early on a Saturday morning, Y/N. You’re the best friend a guy could ever have.” Even after all these years, you couldn’t control the dip of disappointment at his words. It wasn’t that you didn’t love being Jimin’s best friend. It was more that you knew you would never be anything more. You grunted in acknowledgment and pushed the sadness down, burying it under years of practice and half truths. You would be content with what you had. You would be satisfied with the love Jimin was willing and able to give. You were not entitled to anything more. It was enough. It was enough. It was never enough.

[butterflydm]

processing the new! s3! trailer

Okay, this morning my brain was Rings of Power but now the Wheel of Time brain has activated and I must devour and process this trailer before anything else can happen in my life.

Overall vibe: Wow.

Anyway, this breakdown is mostly for my own reference.

Fascinated by the idea that Egwene is potentially going to take a bye on going to the Waste? I thought they mentioned her going at some point in this season in some earlier interviews, though, but now I wonder if her dream training going to be all via TAR?

Them going back to the White Tower after Moiraine's break with the Amrylin seems like it will be very dangerous for all of them, which was a large part of why it seemed plausible to me that they wouldn't (plus Sheriam not being in s3), but I'm interested to see how that happens. It really does depend on what the show views as their most important endgame threads for the characters, which we don't know.

I'm also not sure what's real and what's vision or dream. Because some stuff (dark!everyone) definitely seems like a vision Moiraine has (in the orb that is taking the place of the silver rings?).

Okay, okay. First I'm going to go through all the shots to see what I can see.

0:01: Looks like we're standing at the cusp of Rhuidean. Moiraine, Rand, and Rhuarc (doesn't look like Lan to me) are my guesses for the three at the front. Can't tell who the others might be.

0:02: Moiraine. Dead? Dying? Just injured? Her face looks like she took a slide in some sand.

0:03: Three statues of ladies. Might be in the White Tower? Very big place. We have some people charging forward at haste. Might be Aes Sedai.

"The world is changing."

0:06: Moiraine stands in the rain in a city.

0:07: shot of Rand dressed up... very old-fashioned english lord prep, with very defined lip makeup, in a room that appears to be white. Vision of some kind?

0:08: Lan in the desert/

0:10: Liandrin pulling down some cloth from over her face but I think she might have the lower part of her face covered in blood? Several figures dressed in black behind her. Black Ajah?

0:10b: Elayne puts a crown on over her head. Is that a novice dress? It looks different than the ones from last season? I think? Lots of buttons on the cuff.

0:12: Is that the Hall of Servants in the White Tower, maybe? Siuan talking to Leane, maybe?

"Who knows how deep the shadow's roots have taken hold here."

0:14: Moiraine gently cradles An Orb. My thought here is that this will replace the silver rings from the books. We see threads begin to channel into the orb.

016: wide shot of someone (Moiraine?) standing on a pile of rocks in the desert as the Power swirls around.

0:19: Egwene getting rushed through her Accepted test, maybe? We appear to be in the correct room, with the Power being used on the rings. Sheriam not being there seems odd, because it doesn't seem like the actress was unable to shoot for s3, at least from what she said in her interview a while back.

Moiraine: "I have seen a thousand thousand futures."

0:20: Moiraine lying on the dirt on her side.

0:21: an eye opens. I am not good enough at eyeball recognition to know who it belongs to. My guess is Moiraine, due to context clues.

0:22: Moiraine stands up as the sun potentially is rising behind her.

0:22b: A foot drags through dust. That's all I got. Maybe Rand going through the columns? I'm also bad at legs and feet.

0:23: Nynaeve, back in the Tower in her Accepted clothes? Again, it seems so reckless to go back to the Tower considering that the Amyrlin tried to kidnap Rand. But I guess the Wondergirls are known for doing incredibly reckless things so... that's in character.

0:23b: okay, here it looks like maybe Egwene and Rand are in the Waste together? Her outfit seems odd for the Waste though. They are lying together on a circular rug but not touching at all. Egwene is looking over at Rand. He looks like he might be in pain? Could be a modified version of one of her Accepted Tests or she could really be in the Waste or they could be in TAR. At the very end of the clip, Rand looks over to meet Egwene's gaze.

0:23c: Moiraine is flailing around upside down. Maybe channeling?

0:24: Lan and Rand training together.

0:28: two people walking in the desert. they are becloaked and so I cannot tell who they are.

"In every future where I lived..."

0:29: Rand and Moiraine speaking to the Wise Ones in the Waste, I bet. Rand is down to his shirtsleeves. He is looking over at Moiraine and then she looks back at him at the end of the clip.

0:29b: it's the tree! The big one in Rhuidean that I will surely spell wrong if I try it here. I think we see the tips of the glass columns around it.

0:31: yeah, I think the foot drag from earlier was Rand in the columns because the lighting seems similar in this shot of Rand in what are probably the columns.

"...Rand dies."

0:34: dramatic shot of Rand dying. There's a bloody sword next to him and he's being cradled by a woman who is screaming but things are moving too fast for be to certain who. Blurry face.

0:34b: Aviendha walking in the Waste?

0:36: Lanfear macking on Rand's neck.

"And the only way he lives..."

0:37: Rand nuzzles Lanfear back.

0:37b: completely different setting and outfit, Lanfear is annoyed at someone. I think this is TAR because it's the kind of outfit we've seen her wearing in TAR.

0:38: Lanfear strangles Moiraine in a bed.

0:39: Lanfear strangles Moiraine in the desert.

0:40: Lanfear kills Moiraine on a city street (there is blood)

"...is if I don't."

0:42: Moiraine is telling this all to Lan, the two of them appear to be alone.

0:43: Alanna, Ihvon, and Maksim, prepping for battle. They are in a city of some kind. Maybe Tar Valon. She channels and rips up some massive amounts of pavement, damn girl.

0:44: this looks like Rand having another power explosion, maybe in his room at night.

0:45: Rand is in the Waste -- maybe this is him about to go off to Rhuidean? There's a bunch of people up the stairs behind him, like this is a spectator sport. I think that might be Moiraine near him? Maybe?

0:46: Lanfear, I think in TAR again.

0:46: A wider shot of Rand with the steps and the people who are standing up there, with I think maybe Moiraine standing with him on the platform.

0:47: Warder training in the Tower? Apparently this is the actor tipped as Galad? There are Accepted/Novices/Sisters standing behind and admiring, as they were wont to do with Galad.

0:47b: Lan twirls his sword.

0:48: Blacksmithing is going on.

0:49: A woman who is at the blacksmith's. I thought it was Min maybe but the hair seems way too long.

0:49b: Mat, who is in a very dark place. But hey, new clothes! But also I think he might have blood on his neck.

0:50: Moghedien is talking to Liandrin. Moggy has gotten out of Ishmael's spare shirt and is in a more tightly-fitting black outfit now.

0:51: Moiraine and Siuan kiss in a building that has sides that let in a lot of light.

0:51b: someone kisses Perrin? Is this a Faile sighting? Is that the woman from the blacksmith's in the earlier shot?

0:52: woman with long reddish-blonde hair wearing a dark red shirt and a very dark black hat of some kind? when I first saw her, she reminded me of Elayne but I don't think it's Elayne

0:52b: Egwene. I think she's in TAR, because of the blurry way it's being shot.

0:52c: Rand screams in the glass columns.

0:53: I'm pretty sure this is Janduin finding Shaiel/Tigraine's dead body (and their baby missing). :-( I'm guessing Rand sees it in the glass columns and that's why he's screaming in the earlier shot - they seem like they're in the same position.

0:53b: Liandrin fighting on city streets. Bloody face. It looks like she's fighting Alanna.

0:54: Perrin all dressed up in armor, with flames behind him. Battle of Two Rivers, I'm guessing.

0:55: Alanna is screaming in grief. :-(

0:55b: We are in the Ways, and it looks like Lanfear is leading a shadow!crew of all of our mains, hunting down someone who is crawling on the floor away from them bleeding.

0:58: Rand carrying Moiraine. Maybe unconscious. Maybe.

"You cannot afford to fail again."

[orginllazyblog]

Where Are You?

Summary: Yuu stopped showing up in the HoM mainly because of the canon story still processing. This took place before and during Book 7.

Note: Gender-neutral Yuu (can use your Yuu oc for this)

It has been an exhausting day in school for Yuu. They just dealt with Idia's and Ortho's overblot a few weeks ago, and now Yuu has started to gain awareness. They notice how each overblot resembles the Great Seven's by the vivid dreams they are having, and now worrying for the next one. 

"*Sigh* I need to get ready for work. Just need to rest for a while before dinner." 

As minutes went by, Grim woke up Yuu to remind them that it's about to be dinner time, well, mainly to remind them of his tuna. Yuu couldn't blame Grim for this one, he did get kidnapped and probably never eaten his favorite food. 

"Sure, Grim. Let's go to Mr. Sam's shop. Maybe get more than three this time."

"Fnagh? You will?"

"Yes, I have been saving up from my job. Remember?"

"Oh yeah."

"Well then, let's go in a hurry as I have to go to work in about an hour."

*

*

*

In the House of Mouse, Yuu serves the food to the great sevens as they are the only waiter who wasn't afraid of them. Also the fact they can handle it. Yuu also knows about their evil deeds from their vivid dreams, but after dealing with the OB boys, they kind of got used to them and see the similarities between them. 

After their work hours, they are on their break so they went to the seven's table to chat with them.

"So Yuu, how's your day in Night Raven College?" (QoH)

"Busy as the upcoming exams are coming next month." 

"If you need help, you can ask one of your classmates. Why not ask Azul? I'm sure he'll help you without paying any debt." (Ursula)

"I'm pretty sure they'll ask Riddle as they are not what they call "shady" Ursula." (QoH)

"Aren't you forgetting that Leona is wiser than those two. He's even older than those brats." (Scar)

'Oh boy, here we go.' 

"Oh wait! I forgot to mention that I won't be able to come back to work."

"So when will you be back from your exams?" (EQ)

"I would say about a week or two. I'm not sure how long it'll take considering it's a different school system from my home world, but I know it won't take long."

During the conversation, Yuu didn't bring up another overblot incident, which happened to be the shroud brothers. They didn't want to make them worried, but Yuu still needs to tell them about their vivid dreams and know the truth about them. They just need to wait until the time is right. 

After hours pass, the clubhouse is about to close. Yuu farewell to the great sevens and the other disney characters as they left. Mickey congrat them and gave them their paycheck of 5,000 thuamarks. 

"Thank you, Mickey."

"No problem, Yuu."

"By the way Mickey, I won't be able to work in the next couple of weeks. I have an upcoming exam so I would need time to study and a small break as well."

"Oh okay, thank you for reminding me, Yuu. Remember to take it easy. I'll have to tell the other staff about it."

"No worries, I also told the great sevens about it. I'm sure the rest will understand my situation."

"Okie dokie! Good night, Yuu." 

Little does Yuu know this might be the last time they see the rest of the disney characters again.

________________

After a couple of weeks, Mickey and the staff were able to work knowing Yuu is busy with their education. There was some mischief going around, but it was only from Pete, and one of the great seven's shows up one time only. So far, everything seems normal. Nothing can go wrong… right?

It's been about a month, and the whole House of Mouse Club was panicking. Yuu should have been done with the exams. Where are they? Did something happen to them? 

Of course it wouldn't make sense, Yuu wouldn't just quit their job as they need money to buy their needs or send a message to Mickey or anyone to let them know. 

Even the great seven's were wondering what happened to them. Someone like Maleficent, who has access to travel to Twisted Wonderland world only to find out she can't.

 As if there is a barrier that she can't enter. That's when things are going downhill.

Mickey and his friends try to calm everyone down, but nothing seems to work. Until the lights went dim, the front stage, the screen went black. Then the loading screen started, which is not just any loading screen but the twisted wonderland loading screen. Everyone then quieted down as they sat down at their table as they watched how book 7 started.

*

* half an hour later…

*

With all there is, the screen went black again. With half of them, questions to what just happened and the sleeping beauty cast, now know what's going to happen next. 

Then again, 2 months later, the theater screen went black and the twst loading screen play. Now playing Book 7, chapter 2. 

"Hey Mal, do you know what's going on?" (Hades)

"How I'm I supposed to know? I can't enter Twisted Wonderland because the canon story is happening so I can't interfere." (Maleficent) 

"But do you know what will happen? This is where he will began to overblot." (Jafar) 

"Let's just watch it. There's no way my descendant won't-" (Maleficent)

*Malleus OB by end*

"..." (Maleficent) 

"You were saying~?" (Scar)

"Shut up." (Maleficent)

_______________________

Knowing there's like 5 chapters in Book 7, I have no clue for how long will I continue writing. So I just stop at where chpater 2

[rxmqnova]

I don’t know if you’re taking requests, but if you are, can you write about when Nat kidnapped Wanda’s daughter when she was 4? Like what happened that day and Wanda’s reaction when she realized her daughter was gone?

I love your writing BTW!! <33

Kidnapped

Y/N: 4 years old ——————————————————

NO ONE'S POV "Sweet dreams, my little monkey" Wanda whispers to her little daughter and presses one last kiss to her forehead.

The witch just put Y/N down for a nap, so now it's time for her to get some work done. And by work I mean study the Darkhold.

Y/N only just turned 2 when the whole Thanos thing happened and Wanda's lover died. Vision isn't Y/N's dad, Wanda had her with someone else before her and Vision became a thing. However, things didn't work out really well and they decided to go separate ways, but raise their daughter together as the two were living in the same building.

That was the original plan, but Vision died and everything changed. Wanda took her daughter and left New York with no trace left behind. Then this hex thing happened which fell apart as well and Wanda didn't only lose her lover for the second time, but also her two other children.

That brings us to the Darkhold thing. Wanda's been studying the book whenever she can to bring her twin boys back. She has a library in the basement where Y/N is forbidden to enter as Wanda doesn't want her little one to get hurt. So usually the witch locks herself in there when Y/N's napping or after Y/N falls asleep in the evening and this is exactly what's Wanda about to do now…

Meanwhile Natasha's watching the witch from distance. Y/N's her daughter too after all and she really wants to be her mom, but she knows that Wanda won't let anyone near her daughter, not even her other parent.

She knows Wanda will be furious and most definitely will come for her daughter as soon as she finds out Y/N is gone, but the redhead talked to the other Avengers who agreed that Wanda needs to come back to reality.

"Clint, I'm going" Natasha announces through the earpiece.

"Be careful" Clint tells her back.

The plan is that Natasha takes Y/N while Clint's waiting in the Avengers jet. Then all three of them will fly to the compound and wait what'll happen next. Natasha believes that Wanda isn't completely corrupted by the Darkhold and will listen to her when she'll have Y/N.

Wanda's now deep down in the book, so she doesn't hear anything when Natasha manages to get into the house through a window. The redhead makes her way to Wanda's bedroom where Y/N's napping and carefully takes the little girl into her arms, smiling when she sees how much has her daughter changed over the time she hasn't seen her.

"You're so beautiful, детка" Natasha whispers as soon as she leaves the bedroom, knowing Wanda has a baby monitor there if Y/N needed something. She presses a kiss to her daughter's forehead and tears fill the redhead's eyes. (baby)

Natasha realizes she should probably get out though as Wanda might soon notice something. So she leaves through the same window she came in, quickly carrying Y/N to the jet.

As soon as Natasha gets to the jet, Clint closes the door and gets on the way back to the compound while Natasha holds her little girl tightly, smiling at how cute her sleeping daughter is.

It doesn't take long until Y/N starts waking up though. She rubs her eyes and looks around, wondering where she is.

"Mama?" Y/N calls, her eyes filling with tears when she doesn't see Wanda anywhere and finds herself in Natasha's arms. "Mama" Y/N cries out, trying to wiggle out from Natasha's arms.

"No, no, it's okay. Don't cry, sweetheart. I won't hurt you" Natasha panics, not knowing what to do. Deep down she was hoping that Y/N would remember her, but that's clearly not happening.

"Where's mama?" Y/N sobs, looking at Natasha and waiting for an answer.

"She's okay, sweetheart. She asked me to watch you, because she needed to… she needed to solve something. We'll have so much fun, you don't have to be scared" Natasha smiles warmly, hoping this will calm Y/N down.

"You're doing great" Clint says playfully, earning a glare from the redhead before she looks back at her baby and smiles.

"Have you ever been on a plane?" Natasha asks on which Y/N shakes her head. "No? You're on one now, do you want to look out of the window?" Natasha asks softly. Y/N hesitates a few seconds and then nods, so Natasha carefully lifts her daughter up, sitting her on her hip and walking to the window.

Y/N gasps, covering her mouth with her tiny hand when she looks outside.

"That's a cloud?" Y/N questions, pointing at the white clouds outside and wiping away her tears with her other hand.

"Yeah" Natasha smiles warmly, giving Y/N's tummy a little tickle before letting out a breath of relief.

———

Three hours later Wanda leaves the library confused as why hasn't Y/N called for her in the baby monitor yet. She walks upstairs to her bedroom to check up if Y/N's still asleep and eventually to wake her up.

"Y/N?" Wanda calls when she finds her bed empty. "Y/N, where are you?" She asks, her voice full of worry as she's looking around the room.

Wanda rushes around the entire house, calling Y/N's name, but gets no response. Tears fill the witch's eyes as her little monkey isn't anywhere.

She runs outside, calling her daughter's name over and over again, but suddenly stops, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She's learnt a lot from the Darkhold and if Y/N's near the house then locating her daughter shouldn't be much of a problem.

Little does she know that her daughter is already on the Avengers compound and right now eating a snack Natasha has prepared for her.

"This place is so cool! Why mama never takes me here?" Y/N pouts before shoving another piece of apple into her mouth. "When will mama come?"

"I have a feeling she'll be here very soon, honey. But who wants to play now?" Natasha smiles, booping Y/N's nose which makes the little girl giggle.

"Mee!" Y/N squeals with a smile, jumping off of the chair and lifting her arms up for Natasha.

"Slow down, детка. You still have some apples to eat" Natasha chuckles, sitting Y/N on her lap and handing her baby a bowl with the last few pieces of apple. (baby)

———

Wanda's eyes glow red as she lands in front of the compound, she's really mad. She slams the door open with her powers and makes her way straight to the living room where Y/N and Natasha are currently playing.

"Natasha, where is my daughter?!" Wanda's voice is full of anger as she's walking towards Natasha with a red magic ball in her hand.

"Wanda, calm down" Natasha says, standing up from the ground and keeping Y/N hidden behind her legs.

"Mama" Y/N sobs, hugging Natasha's legs tightly.

"Y/N/N" Wanda breathes out in relief that her daughter is okay, her magic disappears and she reaches her arms for her daughter, but Y/N only flinches away. "What have you done?" Wanda asks, looking at Natasha and tilting her head in anger.

"Nothing. You're scarying her, Wanda" Natasha says, lifting Y/N up and sitting her onto her hip.

"No, no, I… Y/N/N, it's mama" Wanda smiles at her daughter, tears in her eyes. "Please, my little monkey… Why did you do that? Why did you take her away? She was perfectly fine with me" Wanda blurts out, wiping away the tears that's escaped her eyes.

"No, she wasn't, Wanda. What you do is dangerous and Y/N's my daughter too. You don't have the right to just pack her stuff and leave without telling me" Natasha starts while Y/N's resting her head on Natasha's shoulder, now interested in playing with Natasha's arrow necklace and not listening to anything. "You have to stop, Wanda. That book is dangerous and you know it. You need to stop before it takes control of you"

"How do you know about the Darkhold?" Wanda asks confused.

"Strange… Wanda, I just want Y/N to be safe and I want to be her mom… And believe it or not I still care about you… You can't bring them back, Wanda… Look how beautiful our daughter is" Natasha smiles, tickling Y/N's tummy which makes Y/N giggle. "She needs you, Wanda. Don't let the power of the book control you or you might lose her" Natasha says, her speech bringing tears into Wanda's eyes.

Wanda let's out a sob on the thought of losing her daughter, the only family she has, and nods which makes Natasha smile.

"Can you give mama a hug, детка?" Natasha asks her daughter, poking her side which makes the girl squeal. (baby)

Y/N reaches her arms for Wanda which makes the witch smile. She takes her daughter from Natasha, hugging her tightly.

"I'm so sorry I scared you, my little monkey. Mama loves you so much" Wanda says, kissing her baby's cheek.

"I love you too, mama"

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

Came up with this reason of Y/N's kidnapping, hopefully it's not too chaotic…

Also, thank you so much for sending requests, I'm working on every single one I've received! I'm really happy you enjoy my writing!!

WandaNat masterlist

Masterlist

[johnwickb1tsch]

THE DEVILS' TRIANGLE

A Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick (& now John Constantine) Imagine Part 8 by:

@treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @johnwickb1tsch and @tammykelly (with honorary dream weavers / shit stirrers @lilspookymeh & @kurai-hono-blog 😘)

Warnings: So many dead doves! Do not eat! Unless you like dead doves, that is. You're in good company here. 😘 Violence, sexual content, blood, murder, kidnapping, possessive behavior, dubcon, yandere sh!t...it's all here! Please take care! 😘

ALL CHAPTERS

PART 8

Johnwickb1tsch:

"Come on, we've got to get you somewhere safe," says John Wick, trying to hustle you down the street.

"No," you protest, resisting. "We have to find John and Tex. They might need us."

You were skeptical about demons and the occult, God and the Devil and everything in between, at first. But after hanging out with Constantine, you'd seen a few things. Just enough that you had sense enough to be scared. You clutch the protection amulet around your neck that John had given you. You'd laughed at him at the time, but now you were glad to have it.

"They're both grown men, honey. I told Tex to leave you alone. This is what he gets."

Suddenly you're angry all over again. "Oh, you told him, huh?" You push John's chest--its like having a disagreement with a brick wall. "Do you have any fucking idea how much I've missed you? How it destroyed me to be thrown away like an old shirt you had no more use for?"

He is still as a mountain as he holds your wrists, preventing you from striking him, but not hurting you. Those dark eyes bore into you, through you. How does he not see you? "Y/n...I did what I thought was best for you."

"But you didn't fucking ask me! Or at least, you didn't listen! But you know what, it doesn't matter right now. John had to put some kind of a curse on Tex in self defense, because Tex is such an asshole, and now they're both in danger!"

"A what?"

You pause to think, and you're pretty sure you know where Constantine would go. There's an old church a few blocks over. Consecrated ground. It's where he's always told you to go if something came after you. It would be a good place to regroup.

"Come on," you say, pulling John in the opposite direction down the street.

For once, he actually listens, a shadow at your back ready to protect you, but he lets you lead the way.

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

The old building looks like it should probably be condemned. It's definitely seen better days, and hasn't seen a congregation in at least a decade. However, the ground is still holy, untouchable for the Unclean, and when you burst through the doors after John has already shot down three demons, you are so relieved to see Constantine and Tex sitting in some of the old pews. They definitely look like they've been through a battle, disheveled and beat up. You wonder how much was demons, and how much they did to each other.

"Thank God!" You run to them, and Tex's expression rises and falls as you go to Constantine, pressing your mouth to his in what you know is a needy kiss, assuring yourself as much as him.

He smirks down at you, well aware of the death- stares he's receiving from both sides. It's possible he makes a show of grabbing your ass, just to rub it in to your two Ghosts.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah. You?"

You nod. Then Constantine rolls his eyes upward, over your head to John Wick. He is quietly forbidding in his black suit, standing watch by the door. "That your other Ghost?"

With a tired sigh you nod.

"Ghosts? The fuck is Harry Potter here talkin' about?"

The urge to punch Tex or kiss him is strong as ever.

"The two of you ghosted me, didn't you?"

"Baby girl, I missed you. That's why I came to get you." He shoots a telling glare over at John Wick, who only returns a disinterested look. Maybe the master assassin had been keeping tabs on you, but he hadn't shared everything with Tex, it seems.

Constantine looks between the two assassins, then you, with an infuriating smirk.

"What?" you demand, more than a little exasperated with everthing.

"Nothing. Just seems like you have a type, angel."

You can't even argue.

"Angel?" Tex snorts at your pet name. "Does he even know you?"

"Does he ever shut up?" asks Constantine, raising one dark eyebrow.

"No, never," you sigh.

There is a howl outside that lifts every hair on your body, an unearthly sound that makes your fingers grip in Constantine's suit jacket.

"What are we going to do?"

"Good question." Constantine tugs you over to a different pew, sitting down with his arm draped around your shoulders. His message is obvious, and it's new to you. Constantine rocks your world on the nightly, but he's never been possessive before. It really shouldn't, but it ignites a warmth in your chest that makes you feel ridiculously, stupidly, giddy inside.

"Seems like we're at an impasse, gentlemen."

Tex frowns. John seems less than impressed.

"Sorry, what's stopping us from killing you and taking her?"

You tense, watching the gun John holds loosely at his side. You know Wick can move like lightning, and your heart leaps into your throat. You are ready to fling yourself between them if you have to.

"John..."

"It's ok, sweetheart. He's not going to kill me."

"No offense, but I've heard that before from lots of people who are dead now."

Constantine snorts. "You can't kill me, because I've put a curse on your friend here, and you need me to lift it."

"So lift it."

"Can't. Got a friend who can though. You'll never see him without me."

You know Constantine must be talking about the famed and powerful bokor, Papa Midnite. A chill runs down your spine. You've met him precisely once. He was polite--and hot as fuck, if you're being honest--but you knew he was not to be trifled with.

"So let's go, then," says Tex, his patience lost about three dead demons ago.

"Hold up, Howdy Doody. We got to talk first."

"Bout?"

Constantine nods down at you. "Maybe I don't know all the details, but I've heard enough. And as much as I've enjoyed filling the hole you assholes left--I can't let you hurt her again. I'll let the demons feast on your souls first."

Almost on cue, that demonic howling sounds again outside, and a chorus of hellish hissing rises. It sounds like you are surrounded.

Tex leaps to his feet. "You smug little fucker--"

"Shut up, Tex." It's Wick who shushes his friend. "What do you propose?"

Finally, Constantine looks down at you. "It depends on what she wants."

Your mouth drops open at that. You have to decide that, now? As though he can read your thoughts, and sometimes you're convinced he can, Constantine pays you an infuriating smirk.

"I...don't want them dead. Or...devoured."

"That's a start, I guess. Do you ever want to be with them again?"

Your eyes go wide as saucers. The simple answer, of course, is yes. You love them. You miss them.

However, answers are never so simple, with your Boys involved. Like an idiot, you dare to look at them, taking in Tex's hang-dog puppy-eyed look, and John's quiet but intense yearning. Then, of course, there is the man beside you, who despite his aloofness and his prickly manner, has been nothing but good to you.

You've never said it out loud, but the truth is, you love him too.

"I don't know."

"Yeah. I figured." He smirks at you, inexplicably smug, and you kind of want to smack him too.

Which always leads to interesting things, with John Constantine, your stupid lady parts sing out. Jesus Christ on a cracker, what a fucking mess.

"You got a point, Gandalf?" demands Tex, paying a nervous look to one of the cracked stained glass windows. Ominous dark shapes are flying past outside. This is not good.

"I want you assholes to accept a Spell of Submission to her."

"The fuck does that mean?" demands Tex with a thunderous frown. John remains neutral as he listens.

"It means, if you ever try to make her do something she really doesn't want to do, again, she can say the magic words to fuck up your world. Pardner."

"No fuckin' way," Tex scoffs.

At the same time, John answers, "I'll do it."

Your eyes meet across the aisle of the church. That he would take such a leap of faith-- for you-- drops the floor out from under you.

Tex, of course, interrupts your moment of soul- searching eye contact with John.

"Wait, so we could be havin' an argument and she can drop me dead with the evil eye or somethin'?"

Constantine snorts. "It would probably serve you right, Hee Haw, but no. Cause you extreme pain? Yes. But it comes at a price. All magic does. I know she wouldn't use it lightly."

It would potentially even the playing field quite a bit between you three. The balance of power amongst you had never been fair.

"What's a matter, Tex? You don't trust me?"

"Only as far a I could throw you, darlin'." But his hawk-like look softens for you after a moment, and then surprisingly he grins. "Got me over a barrel now, don't you?"

You shift a little in your seat, so that you're flush against Constantine. The solid line of his lithe warmth beside you is anchoring. You glance up at him, finding he looks arrogantly amused-- and surprisingly, a little sad. If you didn't know him so well you would have missed it, like ripples in a pool.

You turn back to Tex, an uneasy excitement thrumming in your chest.

"If the curse fits?"

The cowboy sighs, frowning at the hellspawn waiting to rend his flesh and eat his soul outside. "Alright, fine. Guess you might as well take it all." He can't look at you while he says it, but you sense his surrender-- or at least, his resignation. It's not exactly a victory, but it's something, and it pulls at your heartstrings.

"Alright, wizard boy. Hoodoo me up."

Constantine snorts, leaping up from the bench. "First we've got to get out of here. You're going to want to cover your eyes." He starts muttering an encantation and walking in a circle, sprinkling a powder on the ground from his pocket. "When this goes off we'll have ten minutes. Either of you assholes have a car nearby?"

"Yeah."

"Great. Hope you like to drive fast."

His chanting gets louder, and you see he's produced a lighter. He never uses it for cigarettes anymore, but portable fire to a magician has its uses. You can tell he's reaching the crescendo of his spell, and you scrunch your eyes closed. Even through your eyelids you see the flash, and the boom of a magical fireball that should have burned you all to dust.

However, only the things outside incinerate, their agonized cries echoing through the cavernous stone building.

"Let's move."

****

As it turns out, John Wick can drive very fast.

You already knew this, of course. Constantine, however, seems to be regretting his life choices as Wick weaves in and out of traffic, trying to find a hand hold as you are whipped around in the cramped back seat of the vintage Chevelle. He clenches his square jaw and glares daggers as Wick makes a quick left juke, the force of it pushing Constantine into the side of the car furthest from you.

You think it's a coincidence, until you meet John Wick's eyes in the rear-view mirror, and you see a glimmer of amusement. On anyone else, it would be all-out gut-busting laughter. You open your mouth to tell him to play nice, but Tex interrupts you—just like old times.

"3 o'clock," barks the cowboy assassin from the shotgun seat. It's fitting, because he quite literally has a sawed-off shotgun in his lap, something from Constantine's cabinet of goodies with arcane symbols scratched into the barrel. Tex and Constantine fought over this seat like it was worth a million dollars, and only the interruption of the literal Hell’s Angels roaring up on you on motorcycles re-focused their attention.

They’ve been trying to run you down for blocks like wolves on a caribou, and with a whip of Wick's wrist on the steering wheel, now you’re being pursued by one less. It over-corrects and crashes into a concrete barrier. Constantine laughs under his breath at the thing’s demise.

However, there are still three more to contend with.

“The club is just ahead,” directs Constantine. “Good luck finding parking.” 

“Hold on.” 

There's nothing to fucking hold on to in the bare bones back seat—except for Constantine, so that's what you do. He holds your hand with a white knuckled grip that betrays his nerves far more than his expression does

John tricks the motorcycle-riding demons by suddenly slowing down, then gunning the engine, running one over with a sudden burst of speed, then smacking the other two like a pinball flipper with a sudden shift and drift turn.

The car is totally fucked, but so are the hellspawn, so it feels like a win. 

When one of them tries to stagger from the wreckage towards you Tex shoots it from out the window. The sound is deafening—and the ball of fire from the barrel of the gun makes you all jump. 

“What the fuck is that, John?” you demand. 

“Dragon's breath,” he answers you with a little smirk. “Nice work, Hee Haw. You should hunt demons instead of people.”

“What's the pay?”

“Absolute shit with possible stock options in Heaven.”

“No thank you then.”

The four of you pile out of the car and hustle towards the doors of Midnite's. 

“This place is supposed to be neutral ground,” says Constantine, “but it's going to be full of demonic half-breeds, so walk fast and stick close.”

Tex turns to you with an incredulous frown. “Baby, I seriously gotta question your taste. Where did you find this wizard boy?”

Constantine looks at you with a smirk, no doubt thinking about your first animalistic tryst in that alleyway by the bar, and how he’d made you cum on his dick with your back chaffed by the hard bricks behind you, your legs wrapped desperately around his slender waist while he pounded inside your needy little cunt.

It had been glorious.

Just the memory of it floods you with a searing heat from your loins to regrettably, your cheeks.

Constantine loves it when he manages to make you blush, and a wicked gleam sparkles in his jetty dark irises.   

“Shall I tell him, dear?”

You can tell that Tex’s head is about to explode.

“Not while he’s holding a fire-breathing shotgun, honey.”

Constantine has never really used lovey pet names with you before. It’s almost the weirdest thing that’s happened today.

As you push through the doors of the club it’s almost like entering another dimension, the red lights and bass thump of hedonistic music beyond, the steps down down down like a descent into a nether realm. The bouncer holds up his tarot card, the entrance exam, that Constantine passes like a breeze. “Rat in a dress.”

Bouncer turns to Wick and Tex with a new card, who look at Constantine with almost comical consternation. “They’re with me.”

“Still gotta pass.”

A beat later Constantine punches the burly bouncer out, shaking the sting off his hand. “Sorry,” he says to the unconscious man on the ground. To the rest of you, “Shit. Move fast.”

He bursts through the doors to the main club, striding with purpose on those beautiful long legs. You always feel too cool for school, when you’re on a magical side-quest with John. His broad shoulders part the crowd around you all, and when you’re with Constantine, everyone is looking at you. Half-breed angels, demons, and who knows what in between. Their eyes glow eerily in the low crimson light of the club.

Neither Wick nor Tex betray any fear or surprise at descending into this eldritch side of the City of Angels, intimidating towers at your back, glowering at anyone who looks your way.

Maybe it’s stupid, but in this moment you feel pretty fucking invincible.  

It’s definitely stupid, because the creatures on Team Lucifer start to take an acute interest in Tex, their eyes glowing. Even you can feel them pressing closer around you. Constantine is standing at the tufted leather wall, what you know is an illusion hiding a door.

A tall, unfairly hot half-breed saunters into Tex’s personal space, reaching up to touch his cheek with a sultry come-hither smile. Succubus, is your guess, though the possibilities are literally endless. For a moment Tex seems utterly entranced, and it’s all you can do not to roll your eyes. “Sorry, he’s taken,” you say, pulling Tex back with your fingers in his tooled belt to sandwich him between you and Constantine.

Are they going to open the door for you or what? Any time now would be excellent…

Suddenly the half-breed seems a foot taller, looming over you with glowing red eyes. With your heart in your throat you hold up your amulet between you, and though she doesn’t exactly flinch and hiss like you’d hoped, you can tell she doesn’t care for it, her fine features twisting in a sneer like she tasted something nasty.

“Fine,” pouts the demoness. “Change your mind, handsome, you know where to find me.” She punctuates the offer with a flash of razor-sharp teeth before she saunters off with extra swing in her hips.

Tex makes a small sound of pain behind you as he watches her go, and you know he can’t help it. Desire is the Succubus’s power, and she was clearly hunting tonight. It doesn’t stop you from rolling your eyes though, turning to catch John Wick’s gaze. You can tell he’s keeping watch on the room, but he’s also got his eyes on you; that weighty, yearning look that never fails to tie your heart—and your lady parts—up in knots. A wholly inconvenient throb of lust between your legs makes you shift where you stand; suddenly you are soaked, so aware of the solid warmth of Tex at your back, and John towering before you.

Just like old times.

A part of you wants to reach for him, location be damned, an ingrained urge that would be a terrible idea at this time in this place, because if you touch him you’ll have to kiss him and who knows where that will end.

Jesus, was the succubus’s energy affecting you too? Or is it just…them?

There is a heady weight in the air, like something malevolent is about to descend upon you all. With your heart in your throat you clutch at the talisman around your neck, and though you’re not really sure which deity you’re entreating for salvation, you pray.

At last the door swings open, and Constantine finds your elbow, tugging you none too gently with him inside Papa Midnite’s inner sanctum. Naturally, where you go, the boys follow close behind.

“John Constantine,” says Papa Midnite in his melodic baritone. “Been some time. I see you’ve brought friends.”

  “Wouldn’t go that far,” snarks Constantine with a baleful look at the two assassins at your back. “But I need your help.”

“The Great John Constantine needs my help?” mocks Papa. “Must be sometin’ bad.”

You’re not proud of the panic that rises in your throat at the sound of Midnite’s reluctance to help you. You know that pretty much everyone in the supernatural world has been pissed off at Constantine for some reason or another, but you pray this man can rise above his grudge. If not…Tex is fucked, and maybe it’s stupid after everything he did to you, but just the thought leaves a hollow ringing inside your heart.

You dare to peek around from Constantine’s imposing form. “Please, Papa?” you entreat, your eyes wide. You have met once before, and on that occasion the powerful witch doctor seemed to like you, though he didn’t cease to deride what a girl like you could possibly be doing with the likes of John Constantine. “We really need your help.”

Papa Midnite tilts his fedora-topped head to regard you with curiosity. He is wearing one of his delightfully loud shirts with a fur collared jacket. A gold necklace gleams against the dark skin of his throat. “Who needs my help, little girl? You, or him?” He points at Constantine with the jut of his chin.

“I do,” you both answer at the same time. You realize Constantine doesn’t want you to owe the powerful Bokor a favor—but you’re reading the room, and you’re pretty sure if the magic is for Constantine, Midnite is going to tell you all to pound rocks.

Midnite, understanding all of this, sits back in his throne of a chair with a little chuckle, drumming gold-bedecked fingers on the carved wooden arm.

“What is it you need?”

“A curse lifted,” answers Constantine. “And a spell cast.”

Midnite whistles at hearing that, and only then does his attention turn to the assassin at your back. “I can sense the dark mark from here,” says the witch doctor. “Let me see.”

With a grumble Tex pulls at his collar, pearl snap buttons popping to reveal the blackened circular pentacle, its 8 radii tipped with symbols, embedded beneath his skin. At the sight of it Midnite smirks, his eyebrows lifting high.  

“Set thou a wicked one to be ruler over him, and let Satan stand at his right hand,” cites Midnite. “That a powerful curse t’set on someone, Constantine.”

“It was a heat of the moment thing,” grumbles the demon hunter.

“I can tell. Takes some big feeling, to conjure a curse like dis from thin air.”

That’s when Midnite looks at you, and that stupid blush of heat ambushes you again.

Feelings were not something you and John Constantine talked about. Sure, they were there, but you never really gave voice to them. You demonstrated them, physically, and often. Midnite seems bent on embarrassing both of you.

“Yeah, yeah,” grouses Constantine, only daring to glance in your direction. But in that single moment, the raw look on his face makes you feel like you need to sit down. “So can you lift it or not?”

“Course I can,” says Midnite dismissively. “What you bring me in return?”

“’Fraid I’ll have to owe you.”

“Hmm. I’ve heard that one too many times from the likes of you, Constantine. I’ll need somethin’ up front.”

“Do you like gold?” asks John Wick blandly, producing five glittering yellow coins from his pocket, setting them on the table in front of Papa Midnite in a neat stack one by one. The pretty tink tink tink of metal fills the air, and Midnite nods with his lips pursed, paying Wick an approving look. However, as he examines the death’s head emblazoned token, it is you he speaks to.

“How did a nice girl like you get tangled up wit Underworld boys like dis?”

A shuddering sigh escapes you, as a montage of the absolute fire you walked through to get to this moment flashes in your mind. The murder, the kidnapping, the chaos and corruption. The passion, the pleasure, and the quieter moments that made you think you might be content to stay with your Boys forever—until they forced you to go.

“It’s a long story, Papa,” you answer, barely able to raise your voice over a whisper.

“Some other time, you’ll tell me, then. Step into my office.”     

Midnite leads you to his back room, a cavernous space built in the breathtakingly ornate style of the Moorish palaces of Andalusia. At first you don’t know where to look. The arabesque carved walls, the scalloped arches, the honeycomb vaulted ceilings, or the cacophony of antique relics stacked high on all sides. There are statues and busts and boxes and dolls, this and that and bric-a-brac and every category of precious old junk you can imagine, is here. Your eye is drawn to an old wooden chair against the far wall with leather straps that for some reason gives you chills.

The center of the room is empty, the demarked circle where Midnite performs his workings outlined with bones, half-burnt candles, and rusty lines on the tiles that look like blood.  

“Now then,” says Midnite, taking a sip from a bottle of dark rum before offering it to Tex. “Drink up, man. Dis not gonna feel good.”

***

When all is said and done, the four of you all feel like pieces of chewed up gum. You are utterly wiped, and it’s all you can do not to fall asleep in the back of the car with your head on Constantine’s shoulder. Fingering your new tattoo, a mystical symbol that binds Tex Johnson and John Wick to your will, you think on what Papa Midnite said to you before your departure.

“Hard to live with a heart divided in three pieces, girl. You playin’ a dangerous game.”

“It’s not a game to me, Midnite. It’s just…my life, somehow.”

“Dat fair. So you know, I told that silly boy of yours to put a ring on your finger ‘fore he lost the chance. Never seen him like dis, wit any other.”

You’d paid him a grim smile, amused at the thought of Constantine asking you to be his wife. What a laughable prospect. Sweet, but there was no way he felt that about you. “Are you telling me not to break your friend’s heart, Midnite?”

He’d snorted and taken a drink of rum. “I know better than that. But you might tink about what he’ll turn into, if tings go badly.”

Truth be told, you didn’t want to think on that, because it terrified you. All you wanted right now, was to curl up in the bed you shared with John Constantine, and sleep for about seven years.

Midnight had given you a herbal potion that had to be administered to Tex every six hours for a week, and a magical salve to apply to the burn upon his chest where the symbol had, at one point, burst into white-hot flame. You’d feared he’d been at death’s door, until he took your hand with a smirk and mumbled half to you, half to himself, “The things I do for my little rattlesnake.” It had squeezed your heart with a fist, utterly wrecked you, and you knew you couldn’t kick him to the curb just yet.

You were headed back to Constantine’s house, (which you had helped him get together the down payment for, with no strings attached, so…) and the four of you would have to figure out how to co-exist, at least until Tex was back on his feet.

Then…who the fuck knew what was going to happen.

You’d think about that, tomorrow.

Tammykelly:

- a flashback -

Sleep long forfeited to yet another night full of vigorous dance that is the celebration of passion and ever growing connection and affection between two souls who’d found one another amidst chaos that unfailingly enters one’s life book when it flips through the pages onto the next chapter. Gradually, chaos learns the code of order, tamed by the new rules and beginnings, sought after by you and Constantine in an unhasty pace.

You feel the blossom of his soft lips on yours for a while, before you pull away to take a long look at him, running your fingers along his sweaty forehead and through his slightly damp hair. He feels his chest tighten at the way your gaze moves across his tilted up face and lingers on his eyes, entering beyond the physical and reaching for subliminal.

“Hi”, - Constantine croaks, his arms draped around your waist, steadying you, as your heated bodies stay impossibly close.

“Hey, baby”, - you breathe out, your touch leaves traces on his skin in feather-like movements, making his heart flutter.

“You call me that like it means something”, - he wonders out loud.

It must be true, that the eyes are the windows to the soul, for when he says that, you feel the heat of your body grow stronger when his irises light up with an inexplicably warm spark that transforms into the taste of him on your ever waiting lips, while your hips drag out the sensually slow pace. You try to find the perfect rhythm again, having felt yourself folding under the intensity with which your heart blooms and expands every time his dark eyes capture yours.

“I…uh…I’m….”, - you blurt out, the right words stuck at the edge of the said sacred dilation.

Maybe it is love. Love that sprouts across the silver lining that is the tenuous punchline between sanity and deliberate madness of passion. Constantine’s body reacts to yours before his mind has to think about it, as he gently tugs you closer. He doesn’t let you finish, his lips connecting to yours, catching your love on his tongue in a long deliciously flavorful kiss.

He touches your bullet scar, his jawline playing, his eyes darkening.

“They’re gonna pay for what they did to you”, - he quietly tells you again, voice filled with determination that invites more ephemeral warmth into your chest.

“They already did”, - you reply, reminiscence of their absence dissipating into the background of your subconscious when your tongue slides along Constantine’s jaw, tasting tiny droplets of sweat.

“They gotta pick someone their size, yeah?”

His reply makes you smile: “Please, we’ve talked about this, baby”, you feel goosebumps arise at the back of his neck at the nickname, no matter how nonchalant he wants to appear each time you call him a random pet name.

“You care about them? Even after everything they’ve done to you?” - his raspy voice is low but the tone sets a prelude to a gradually boiling point.

“They’re the best I’ve ever had”, he leans back and quirks his eyebrow at your tease, “after you, of course”, you add, smirking.

He lets out a sigh of frustration: “Jesus, it’s like talking to a fucking brick wall”, you feel his fingers dig deeper into your soft skin. You lean closer, your breath over his mouth.

“Calling God’s name when you’re balls deep in me?” your voice akin to a purr, “what a profanity”, a smirk curls up.

“Mhhmm, funny thing is He made this happen”, Constantine’s tone matches your game.

“And is Jesus present in the room with us?” your head tilts.

“Oh, you think it’s funny?” he bucks his hips up.

“You literally just said it is”, an involuntary moan escapes your mouth, lost in the grunt of the man underneath you, when you match his cheat code with a harsh movement of your own.

“It’s an expression”.

“Okay and?”

“Watch your mouth”, - Constantine’s eyes transform into a pair of two burning coals, sending shivers across your whole body, accompanied by the way his fingertips trace down your spine.

You can barely make a sound due to his manipulations: “Can’t read minds, baby”, making it his turn to shudder.

“What, don’t have any better ideas?” he recuperates, the warmth of his arms leave you, as he places his hands behind him on the bed to support his weight. You don’t wait to connect your mouth to his, your teeth sinking into his lower lip before you lightly tug at it and let go. A cocky grin instantaneously leaves his handsome face when he feels your tongue crash into his mouth, which he reciprocates with twice as much force and eagerness, his arms lock back around your waist, and he notices a triumphant smile display itself on your features.

“An angel risen from ashes picked up by the devil reborn”, you answer his question, teasing the idea of which one’s which when you first met. Him - a cancer free phoenix-like angel of death, or you - a devilishly sweet temptress, who, unbeknownst to herself, exchanged two deadly ghosts for the black cat of a man, stuck in between both realms.

You continue: “He always had a rotten sense of humour. And His punch lines are killers”, Constantine’s gaze darkens at the mention of your ghosts.

“Ha-ha, very funny”, his tone less than amused.

“Oh, you find this funny now?” you bite his neck, which makes a deep husky groan erupt from his throat.

“Don’t tell me you believe this fate bullshit”, you say, as you fight the urge to speed up your pace to chase the way his sultry sounds bounce around your insides.

His low growl nearly shatters your self control when he tells you: “Fate or not, you’re mine now. Mine”, you feel his teeth sink into your skin, “you hear me?”, his gaze when he looks up akin to the explosion of a sleeping volcano underneath an already blazing ocean, edging you onto the border of a slippery slope that is the point of no return once you process the 3 magic words that are glued to your tongue.

Instead two short words roll off, as a soft moan:“Yes, baby”.

“Gonna give you everything you want”, you feel his hands roam all over your body, “all of me”.

You lean back.

“All of you?”- your expression flickers with darkness, showing him your devilish desire, as his silent gaze shaves off the outer layers down to your core.

“You son of a bitch”, you breathe out, smiling, after a brief pause, for your racing heartbeat shifts to a contracting and pulsating firework, overtaking all of your senses. You study his handsome face, drinking in all the details you’ve grown so attached to, florescence of affection tugging your lips upwards in a gentle smile.

Constantine’s eyes set the fire in the pit of your belly ablaze on the scale that you’re sure will be the death of you some day, for being with him is like Heaven on Earth and being apart now seems like a cruel tool of a ghostly destruction.

His playful grin pulls you back in: “Calling me a son of a bitch when I got you on my dick? You’re brave, kitten”.

“That’s exactly why I can call you that. You’re my son of a bitch”, you grab his hair and give it a nice pull before you lean down to lick up his neck, placing a gentle kiss right under his ear, feeling him twitch inside you, “and Devil’s right hand, yeah?”

“More like his puppet”, Constantine grunts, as you look down at him, sensing him barely able to maintain the slow[ish] pace you’ve set, holding onto the last threads of self-restraint.

“So, no rewards for that, I suppose?”, you tease further, testing the limits of the mind games he’s been playing with you all day long.

“Afraid not, angel”.

“Let me be the one to send you to Heaven then”, you whisper right against his ear and kiss his temple.

All the blurry lines of will power come tumbling down, when the sound of him sucking air through his teeth enters your inner space, as Constantine’s hand finds its place between your jawline and neck.

Gradually, you encourage his index and middle fingers between your lips, his irises unable to focus anywhere else but the way you take them in, his whole body akin to a molten liquid metal, his fingers melting on your tongue. You giddily lick them, your tongue swirling around them, playing with his digits like lollipop toys, until you let go and take care of the saliva under Constantine’s furnace of a carnally hungry gaze.

You feel your hips stuttering against the increasing pace, when you hear his raspy voice: “Fuck, kitten, you feel like Heaven”, the energy between your bodies and feverish kisses multiplying in increasingly all consuming vehement abundance that can crack the earth open.

“Touché”.

A half smile coats his lips at your cute quip.

“Watch”, you tell him, his eyes shifting to the mirror somewhere behind you.

The heat of his hips rolling against yours at the speed that finds you both panting and sweaty messes is more than enough for him to tip over the edge but as his eyes take in the scene of your power over him, his body proceeds to come apart under you when your fingers wrap around his throat and apply pressure, slightly tipping his face up.

“Open”, you say, your thumb glazing over his soft lips, and he raises an eyebrow, “don’t you wanna cum, baby?”, you sweetly inquire.

“Fuck”, his voice is barely audible, Constantine’s eyes glimmer under your watchful lust, the darkness in the depth of the bottomless abyss that is him transcending what has become of his power over you. His eyelids flutter slightly, as your spit falls on his tongue.

“Swallow”, you reward him with a particularly harsh snap of your hips, seeing his Adam’s apple bobble.

“You’re gonna pay for that”, he growls.

“You’re a drama queen, you know that?”, you point out, leaving a love-bite mark on his collarbone, knowing damn well at the way he’s twitching inside you, he won’t be lasting long. You smirk, as you slow down the pace to a damn near full stop, eliciting a low and deep whine from him.

What the fuck, his eyes show you, roaming over your face hungrily.

“Tell me how much you want me”, you purr, feeling his fingers next to your scalp, tugging you closer.

“Fuck, angel, wanna feel you so bad”, an angelically evil smile plays on your face at his response, “need you on biblical level”, he finishes, the butterflies inside you catching aflame, their fiery wings spreading across every fibre of your being.

Constantine feels like he might go insane without you, your whole existence being the lone salvation he’s been seeking his entire life. He twitches again.

“Say that again”, your sultry tone pervades his mind, the pace picking up just a tiny bit.

“Need you to move, right now”, he begs.

You look at him expectantly.

“I can’t control myself any longer. Please, fuck me”, he looks up into your eyes that have turned into blazingly bright gates to the oblivion that is his path to purgatory. His gaze diverts back to the mirror and your goddess-like form against his.

“God, you’re sexy when you beg”, you whisper, Constantine can practically hear the cocky smirk in your voice, as a loud moan erupts from his throat, while he watches himself get ruined by everything that is you.

“I wanna hear how good I’m making you feel”, you exhale, listening to the way your name exits his lips akin to a gust of wind, blowing across an infinite ocean.

“Cheeky little girl”, he barely replies between the chain-smoke of moans.

“Fuck you”, you breathe out.

“Say no more”, he chuckles, his lips and teeth leaving bruises all over your sensitive chest, his hips meeting yours at an increasingly high speed.

“Fuck me harder”, he growls, his lips soliciting moans from yours.

“What a good girl”, he purrs and smiles against your neck, feeling your speed folding, as you attempt to gain the upper hand.

“My beautiful angel”, Constantine praises, kissing down the valley of your breasts, enjoying every single breathless moan that you leave for him to treasure, “you’re doing so well”, he continues, “I love it when you fuck me like this”, his lips graze yours before another storm of a kiss unfolds itself.

“Oh, yeah?”

“So good, I need you to fuck me like this every day”, his teeth tug your lower lip and let go, his open-mouth kiss then imprinting a picture of his love for you on your tongue.

“Need this pussy for breakfast, lunch and fucking dinner”, - a husky growl of his makes your insides deliciously twist.

“Say less”, you giggle after the kiss breaks apart, only for a yet another wave of kissing, biting, hair pulling and power play, resembling a balanced match, surpass the two of you.

You feel as if the sun that is the man, obeying your all desires, is scorching you with a strong nurturing vitality, meeting you halfway anytime you slip.

The sun, sometimes deadly, shining its light on you and sharing the experience of birth of the stars with you, until all you and Constantine know is that you can’t tell where one begins and the other ends.

“Cum for me, baby”, you whisper, your eyes hazily gazing into his.

“Fuck”, he moans into your mouth, as you and him become one in an endless explosion of lustful starlight.

You both take a moment to steady your breathing, the pulses of your bodies streaming along the lines of your silhouettes akin to the red string of fate. Suddenly, you feel yourself getting lifted and plopped on the bed, the heavy weight hovers above you.

“My turn”, Constantine growls, worshipping you and your body in a form of myriad of kisses, adoring your skin.

“I’m not finished with you”, you chuckle, pulling his face to yours.

“Wanna ride your pretty face so badly”, you breathe out shakily, watching his pupils dilate, turning his dark chocolate eyes into jet-black colour of the night outside your windows.

He kisses you deeply before teasing: “Should’ve said sooner, princess”, and flips you.

Before you know it, his lips are connected to your nether ones, placing sweet kisses on God’s bewitching and intricate creation.

“Oh, fuck!”, a scream leaves your mouth, as you lose control over your limbs when Constantine demonstrates his vicious payback for all of your previous manipulations, the delirious temptation to play him exiting your body like it was never there.

The way his tongue devours you till the last drop like a man starved, you assume you’re not the only one losing yourself to this trick of devilish pleasure, pulling you deeper into the whirlpool that keeps expanding wave by wave until it comes thundering through your body like a tsunami, then crashing onto a shore over and over, the sound of your screams mixing with the magnitude of Constantine’s sonic savouring of your most precious parts till his immeasurable hunger for all divinity that is you is satiated beyond your limits.

Songs for the delulu meal:

The best I ever had by Limi

Obsessed by Zandros ft. Limi

Dangerous woman Call out my name mix

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

You don’t know if it’s some kind of magic, or if you’re just this petty. But, damn, that succubus did piss you off. Even worse than her, with her silky black hair and sweet milk skin and inviting, rosy eyes and cheeks.. You catch yourself mid thought, determined to pluck her from your brain. 

Yes, even worse than that half breed bitch - Jesus, who are you? - was watching Tex suffer and bleed. Blue lips forming around a silent scream; a beg for the ritual to stop. Tan, supple skin turned ashen gray and tented. Dark eyes blown milky and wild with terror.

There’s another memory you have to get rid of somehow: Tex dying a slow, grueling death in some hellish, accelerated time loop. In front of you. Powerless you. 

You have his take home medications clutched tightly to your torso as the Johns lug him inside, one under each arm, his feet stumbling and dragging so much that Wick decides to just pick him up. 

Why in the world did that make you so delighted? To see John Wick carrying Tex Johnson bridal style across Constantine’s threshold?

Your smile wipes clean, though, when you realize that Tex has not made a witty quip or even grinned at this show of brotherhood. John deposits him on the couch, and you sit on the floor beside, holding his hand. Your stomach lodges into your chest when you feel how cold he is. Your human heater turned ice box. 

“Tex,” you say softly, brushing the untamed thicket of hair from his eyes. 

He keeps his eyes closed, but that fond little tick of his mouth lets you know he hears you loud and clear. 

You swallow your pride. “I missed you, too.” 

You hope to God he’ll harass you for saying that, later. 

For now, a grunt will suffice. 

This man has put you through hell, but fuck, if he hasn’t been heaven all the way through it. You had really thought he was dying back there, and it…. put things into perspective.

Wick is in the kitchen dwarfing the tiny dining table with Constantine. Not talking, not even looking at one another. Some kind of tension exists between them, but at least it’s not the awkward or homicidal kind… well, at least as far as you can tell. 

You grab some cold bourbon from the fridge, pour 3 glasses, and dish them out. Then, you hop up on the counter and join this sinewy silence game. 

Wick breaks the skin, twin eyes meeting Constantine’s. “Thank you,” he says.

Constantine grins tightly. “Consider it repayment.”

“For?” 

Oh, here we fucking go.

Constantine, the bastard prodigy of Lucifer himself - or, he might as well be - doesn’t answer, instead nudging his chin and shoulder toward you, as if you’re some prize Wick handed to him on a silver platter. 

Now, you don’t really know what to expect from John. Fiercely protective, aloof John. But it’s definitely not a grin. A fucking grin. Yeah, he really has gone totally batshit. Terrifying.

Constantine looks stumped, and so do you. 

“I’m gonna get going,” Wick says, standing and draping his jacket around his arms. You get a strong wiff of delicious leather and diesel and gunpowder.

“You’re leaving?” This comes out of your mouth before you can stop it.

“Yeah.”

“What about Tex?” 

“I’ll be near.”

No use fronting now.

“What if something happens? What if we need you -“

Constantine cuts off your increasingly frantic voice. “I think you should stay.”

It’s Wick’s turn to look stumped. He raises a dark eyebrow. Constantine rewords.

“Please. Stay. We may need you.” Constantine looks over at you, giving that you owe me leer. 

Your nerves settle when Wick puts his jacket back on the rack and slips his shoes off, looking at you all the while. 

John Wick sleeps in the little broom closet turned guest room, and you and Constantine retire to your bedroom. This place is purely a you sanctuary, with incense burners and tapestries and little trinkets you’ve collected from your travels. It’s a souvenir from your limited therapy sessions, and a much needed safe space. 

Before you can shut the bedroom door, you hear John’s monotone voice turn doting. It reminds you of being soothed through an orgasm, him cradling you when you cried - the hum that disarms and breaks you. 

You go to him, peaking inside the narrow door that he had to duck to get through. Killy is rubbing against Wick’s torso, purring, headbutting, her tiny fluffy body practically vibrating from the attention of his big hand. 

He smiles at you. “Who’s this?”

“Oh, meet Baby Killy. She’s so shy usually.”

“Pretty kitty,” John coos, scratching behind her ears as she chirps for him.

Great, you’re jealous of a cat. Which is stupid because you have a whole other man in the next room that can’t keep his hands off you. You’re selfish, you realize. 

“Sorry it’s not comfortable,” you tell Wick, looking at his calves hanging off the tiny mattress. “I can buy an air mattress.” 

He twirls Killy’s tail softly around his finger. “It’s fine, y/n. Get some rest.”

“Yeah. Night John.” You leave him, pretending it’s not reluctantly. 

Constantine is already in his boxers, cigarette nipped between his teeth. You pluck it from him and take a long drag. “Thought we were supposed to be quitting?” Blowing smoke over his lips. 

He tugs you down into the bed with him. “I’ve had a long day.”

“Aw, poor thing.” You kiss his jaw, shimmying the white stick back into his mouth. 

Your lips trail feather light down his quivering throat, nose pausing, nuzzling against his quickening pulse. A shy, involuntary smile slides into his collarbone divot. Your magic man shivers under you, makes you feel like you can kick God’s ass if it really comes down to it. 

He gently fists your hair in his fingers while you suck the hard day off his skin, hand trailing south on his tight twitching tummy, lazily perusing in search of a swelling, sensitive, beautiful cock trapped in cloth.

He smushes the half cigarette out in your little pearlescent ashtray, tips your face up, kisses you soft. Kisses you like you like you’re some being of fleeting, fragile light and hope. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You grin against his mouth, using that familiar formal, ironic greeting that he favors when you’re both wading knee deep into eachother’s personal space already.

You pull away to look down at his tenting boxers, but your eyes snag something on the way. A big, fresh bruise to his opposite collar - wide and diffuse as if from a large hand. It’s normal for Constantine to have bruises, and he did fight demons today. But this mark? Fresh. Just blooming. Plus, the only one on his long, expansive body. 

Your mind thinks back to the kitchen, how they were both so quiet. Looking far too innocent. You feel stupid for not expecting this. 

“Did John hit you?” You’ve gotten really good at talking before thinking. Just one of many Constantine mannerisms you’ve picked up along the journey of knowing him. 

“We talked.” 

You go to get up. No plan in mind except hurting Wick. Really hurting him. Either with words or a quicker fist than he can catch. Probably the latter,  since John excels at catching fists, but you still think you can slice him just as much with a few well placed sentences. Of course, you could also try out this nifty new spell of submission..

Constantine holds you in place. “I started it.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” You see him wince at the sinister growl in your voice, and your spiked fur smooths a little bit if only for his benefit. “He’s a fucking asshole. He thinks he can just bully people into submission. Let’s see how he likes it.” You’re talking loud enough that you hope Wick can hear it. You know he’s not scared… because it’s John Wick, but, you at least hope he knows you’re coming for his throat. 

“Angel.” Constantine’s long, careful fingers cup your face. “It’s alright. Not tonight. Let you kick his ass tomorrow, okay? Right now, I need you with me. Hey, look at me…. There you are. You hearing me?” 

You lean into his touch and kiss his wrist. “Yeah, okay.” 

“C’mon.” He pats his chest and you lay your head on it. “Now, where were we..” 

You give a little chuckle. “In the pit of despair?” 

He gathers your hair and pulls it off your shoulder, tickles his fingers over your neck. “I think…” he murmurs.

“Yeah?” It thrills and scares you a little bit that this man can make such a breathy, desperate mess of you from just a tiny touch. 

“Think you should put on some pajamas and let me read to you.” 

Suddenly, your anger runs dry, replaced by excitement. He laughs at your hopeful, mystified expression. 

“You’re gonna read to me?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Better hurry before I change my mind.” 

You love it when Constantine reads to you, always mesmerized by that smooth, baritone voice, and it’s not often that he’s up for it. 

You don’t bother going into the bathroom to get dressed, which you can tell he appreciates. You can also tell that he loves the fact that you bypass your own clothes entirely and instead throw on one of his big flannels. 

You cuddle beside him, wrap your arms around his waist and tuck in for your after dark entertainment. 

“Hey, hey, Angel.” It takes you a minute to open your eyes. Constantine assists this process with a pleasant rub between your shoulder blades and a hushed voice. 

“Huh?” Your voice is groggy, far away, brain still swimming in twilight. 

Constantine gives you a patient stretch of time to wake and groan and wipe the spare drool from your chin. The blue dawn outside tells you that it’s early - way too early. You don’t remember falling asleep, and it must have been a glorious one judging by your wicked bed head and sore voice. 

“What? What’s going on?” 

“Clint Eastwood won’t let James Bond give him his medicine. He says he wants you to do it.” 

“Are you serious?” You ask. 

Constantine opens his mouth, then shuts it again. He sighs. “Yeah.” 

“What the fuck,” you mumble. 

Tex, eyes open, sitting up, cat on his lap, looks at you like you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread. Big, appreciative grin. You can’t be annoyed for too long when you see that he has color back in his face.

“Hello, nurse.”

Damn his infectious grin. “What? John’s not a good enough nurse for you?” 

“He’s alright. Not very cute, though.” He sizes you up as you roll your eyes and snort. 

He gives you a little wink. “See you still hate wearin your own clothes.” 

You look down at yourself - at the big cozy button flannel that falls mid thigh with nothing else on under or over it. You really didn’t even think about how exposed you were when you got up and came out here. But, now, you’re flushing and shifting on your feet.

“Oh, don’t get shy on me now, rattlesnake. I’ve had all of it in my mouth anyway, yeah?” 

Sinful reels flit through your memories. And, fuck you, but even that makes you so wet you can feel it in the crease of your thighs already. 

The reality hits you that this could be a thing, somehow: Johnson and the Johns with you pressed between. You short circuit thinking about it for a solid twenty seconds.

Tex chuckles, pets Killy. “Your momma’s too easy,” he tells her, and the traitor purrs and merrs and pushes into his doting palm as if in agreement. 

Great, two treasonous pussy’s in this house. 

Plus, you’re about ninety nine percent sure Constantine will do more than curse them if he sees their hands on you in any carnal way. Even though this thing between the two of you is unestablished and unlabeled, your magic man is more than a little possessive. 

You remember, fondly, the time he pissed you off, so you went on a date with a nice young gentleman who also happened to be a cop - Johnny, you think his name was. Jesus fuck, you really do have issues - and Constantine blew every fuse in that restaurant with a spell. In the pitch black, no one saw him come pick you right up and carry you out. That night started with “fuck you, Constantine” and ended with “no no agh fuck please m’ sorryjohnsosorry.” 

Wick’s nowhere to be found, which you don’t really mind. If you see him again, you might just try kicking him in the dick. You mix Tex’s medicines in the kitchen, heating up the thick herbal soup in a little pot. It smells bad, kinda like fish, draws Killy’s attention really quick.

She brushes against your legs and reminds you that she’s hungry and that oh, that smells good, mom. 

You scoop her out a cup of kitty kibble while the stove simmers, then give her a few pets. It’s not often that she’s so doting on you - she prefers Constantine and solidarity over your company. But, she must know something’s up - either that or it’s the fishy concoction steaming up your little kitchen. 

Tex winces when you rub the salve into his burn. It looks awful - dry and necrotic, little charred skin flakes sticking to your fingertips. 

You scrub them off on a towel, grimacing. “Does this hurt?” 

“Numb,” he shrugs. Reaches out to tuck hair behind your ear. Your body reacts violently and insistently. Constantine’s touch, pleasant and warm and diffuse; that’s what you’re used to. You forgot about Tex’s sharp edges, the scary thrill of him. Like the first drop of the roller coaster. 

“Tex,” you warn.

“Sorry, darlin. Just so fuckin pretty. Forgot how beautiful you are, is all. How good ya smell. Christ, even with Houdini’s scent all over you.” He pinches your chin in his fingers and makes you look at him, at the sincerity in his blown black pupils and hooded, lustful gaze. “He eatin your pussy right, huh? Need me to show him how to do it?” 

“You know,” you say, hating yourself for the thick in your voice, “I have this nifty new spell I can use…” 

He chuckles. “Settle down, honeypie, I’m just trying to be nice, is all.” 

“Nice.” You glare at him and he lets you go. 

The fishy stuff in the mug wipes the grin right off Tex’s face. He chokes and sputters. “Good God, what in hell’s name is this Guacala shit.” 

You smile at him and take the empty cup. “Every six hours, cowboy.” 

On your way back into the bedroom, he watches you unabashedly. Killy is back on his lap. “You got a shower here, rattlesnake?” 

“Bathroom’s down the hall,” you tell him. 

“Think I need some help.”

“Uh huh. You can manage.” 

“Alright, you got me. I don’t really need help I just wanna fuck the shit outta ya.” 

“Sorry, Tex, but that’s-“ you look pointedly at the purring feline in his lap -“the only pussy you’ll be getting in this house.”

You shut your door before you can catch his mumble: “we’ll just see about that.” 

Constantine is in his study. You debate going and fucking him on the desk chair, working off this sticky arousal coating your cunt and inner thighs. But, also, you’re still sleepy, and laying down in the bed already has your eyelids fluttering closed and brain going mushy. You struggle between options until your body eventually decides for you. 

You wake up to the delicious evocation of salt and fat and heat. John Wick is back. He’s in the kitchen cooking one of those five star breakfasts that are worth letting him live. For now. 

Bread pops up from the toaster, startling you. “Hey, that’s been broken.” 

“Fixed it,” he says, dexterously flipping his pan. “Got the faucet to work in the bathroom sink. Your drain’s here are built wrong. I’m gonna take a look after I finish breakfast. There’s fresh orange juice and chocolate milk in the fridge. Coffee on the warmer.” 

“That’s not my coffee pot.” You eye the expensive looking, silver, sleek appliance with steaming black, delicious smelling brew under.

“I got a new one.”

Are you really surprised at this point? You grab some orange juice from the fridge, and find the once bare shelves stocked and organized with fresh fruits and veggies, eggs and jams, healthy pre-made snack boxes. 

The cupboards have also magically filled themselves with canned fruits and veggies, organic breads, high end trail mixes, protein bars. 

The place is spotlessly clean. New microwave, an ice maker beside the stove. Real glasses and plates stacked in the cupboards.

Wick has been busy, it seems. 

Constantine walks into the kitchen, paying attention to the newspaper in his hand instead of his surroundings until he sees you. “Hey, Angel-“ looks up, takes in the practically brand new kitchen. “What in the fuck.”