#in order from left to right (I will die on this hill)

[nightwingenjoyer]

….jason kori and roy

[whereimnotme]

Photo taken during climate action protest in Canberra, January 2020, featuring another of ScoMo’s tone deaf quotes - ‘thankfully we’ve had no loss of life’ - from that ill-fated small town PR tour.

"Yes, two, that's quite right. I was thinking about firefighters really," said Morrison, before expressing his "sincere condolences" for the 27 lives lost during the ongoing disaster.

Officially, 33 people were ultimately killed directly by fires that summer with another estimated 445 people dying from smoke inhalation.

Meanwhile the PM fucked off to Hawaii on holiday.

I am still incandescent with rage.

I just spent some time scrolling through this blog and am suffering from sever laughter. Thanks so much for collating the countries craziest moments. One of my favourites is when Scott Morrison was in Hawaii while the bushfires where burning.

December 2019: As Australia's east coast is engulfed in the worst bushfires in living memory, rumours begin to circulate that Australia's Prime Minister Scott Morrison may have secretly fucked off for a holiday in Hawaii.

Keep in mind, this is what is going down in Australia at the time:

The Hawaii rumour is initially written off as a fringe conspiracy, because surely nobody could be that fuckin tonedeaf, and it was quickly forgotten about... until an Australian man visiting Hawaii UPLOADED A SELFIE ON THE BEACH WITH THE PM THROWING A SHAKA.

At which point all hell broke loose.

Overnight the formerly popular "Scomo" became the most despised man in all of Australia. Think "firefighters shouting out of their windows to news cameras" level of despised.

After about two days of radio silence and pretending like he was still at home running the country, the Prime Minister's handlers finally dragged him onto call with an Australian radio station, where he pinky promised to return to Australia as fast as he could in an attempt to calm things down.

Unfortunately Scott's empathy consultant (a real job) then had to watch Scott pour more gasoline on the dumpster fire by uttering the now famous phrase "Look I don't hold a hose mate" when asked by the radio interviewer why the fucking fuck the fuckhead wasn't fucking in Australia doing his fucking job during a massive fucking crisis.

Testing just how much worse things could get, Scomo then proceeded to NOT rush back to Australia as promised, instead attempting to complete the rest of his holiday, a fact that was exposed when a passerby snapped a picture of him still lounging on the beach two days later.

Eventually, holiday complete, Morrison did reluctantly slink back to Australia, and in an attempt to calm things down, he decided to pay a visit to a small town that had been destroyed by the fires.

Which was a big mistake.

Scomo still had not registered how absolutely and totally he had screwed the poodle with his Hawaiian beach vacation, and he walks into what is now taught in PR classes as one of the greatest examples of "what not do do in a crisis" in all of history.

Scotty from Marketing, as he is now dubbed by the nation, spends a painfully cringe-inducing hour wandering around a burned down town with TV news cameras in tow, having to FORCE PEOPLE TO SHAKE HIS HAND in what is some of the most awkward footage you will ever see.

At this point it's probably also worth mentioning that, before becoming Prime Minister, Scott Morrison's biggest claim to fame in politics was being the guy that was so far up the coal lobby's arse that he literally brought coal into parliament and waved it around, claiming it doesn't hurt people.

So when a protest was organised it turned out to be one big national fuck you to the Prime Minister, the likes of which the world has never seen before or since.

Needless to say, at this point Scomo's career was dead in the water, but thanks to the rules brought in to stop Australian political parties from knifing their leader every two weeks (a popular Aussie passtime) Morrison basically couldn't get fired until after the next election.

And so, when the election rolled around in 2022, we decided that was an opportune time to travel over to Hawaii to erect this bad boy tribute to the Prime Minister, on the very beach where Scomo had sat and drank margaritas that one fateful week in December as Australia burned (thanks to @chaser for funding the ticket)

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 12) [note: trigger warning for a pretty rough spanking scene with a belt and minimal aftercare. if you need to, you can skip to the midway point (there's a line between the first half and second).]

first chapter >> last chapter

-

He keeps your hands tied behind your back on the ride home.

All that does is confirm the fact that he must know. Graves must have tracked him down or perhaps he was approached by someone who did consider your sudden arrival in town suspicious. Why else would the sheriff chase you all the way into the mountains on horseback and then take you back with him? He would’ve within his rights to leave your thieving self to wander alone in the woods and succumb to the elements.

John doesn’t say a word the first hour of the ride back. You can feel the anger emanating from him though. He almost shakes with it. His anger somehow upsets you more than whatever is left to come. 

“Anytime you wanna start talkin’, I’m all ears,” John finally says, breaking the silence. 

You keep your lips pressed together, stubbornly silent. There’s no use giving yourself away before you’ve learned how much he knows. You haven’t built this life of yours with loose lips. 

“I don’t know what in the Sam Hill has gotten into you,” he continues, and his voice is cobblestone tread rough in the night. “Running off all by yourself. There ain’t nothing out in these parts except outlaws and highwaymen. There are men out here that’d love to get their hands on a woman like you—not even a knife to defend yourself with. You haven’t even got a scrap of food on you, never mind water. You’d’ve been dead in a week if the men out here hadn’t picked you off themselves.”

His words make your stomach ache. You know that there are worse things out there. A thousand gruesome ways to die. You’re less of a lady than John might think—you’ve heard stories. You’ve brushed close to that reality yourself. You wonder how he’d take it if you were to tell him about what had happened back east. 

Maybe running away this time hadn’t been your smartest idea, but it had been your only. You can’t fault yourself for the instinct to survive. 

“I know,” you mumble, dropping your chin to your chest. 

“You gonna explain to me why you stole my horse and ran off in the first place?” he asks. 

It’s the strangest interrogation you’ve ever heard of—sitting on the same horse with your back to the man questioning you and your hands tied together at the wrists. You wonder if you leaned back whether you’d feel his heart beating furiously in his chest. 

You remain mulishly silent though, reticent to answer the question.

“Maybe I’ve been spoiling you,” he continues, trying to rationalize it to himself. “After the fuss you put up those first few days, I thought a bit of structure and discipline would do you well, and it did. Giving you a bit of slack was my mistake.”

You frown at that. Those don’t sound like the words of a man with any knowledge of the circumstances leading to you running off. He might not even have come across Graves at all in the hours since the man made his appearance in the general store. Otherwise, you can’t imagine how he wouldn’t make the connection. 

Still, you can’t make yourself come right out and say it, even though every iota of your being aches to let the truth out. Call it nerves overpowering the need to be truthful and good. You vacillate between honesty and self-preservation, but each avenue feels like being dropped into a nest of vipers. 

But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t question you like this. It’s a boon you can’t give up, not yet. Not when the thought of his inevitable righteous fury fills you with dread and self-loathing. 

“I don’t have to explain myself,” you spit out suddenly, and it’s not you saying those words but something ugly and sad in you. “You’re not my owner.”

“I damn sure am your husband though,” John growls, winding his free hand around your hair to tug you back into his chest. “And I know these parts far better than you, little miss. Beyond running off on me for no good reason when I thought we put your reticence behind us, you went and put yourself in danger the likes of which you couldn’t even fathom.”

“I’m not an idiot,” you snap. “I know what men are like.”

“You’re telling me you pulled that stunt knowing what kinda danger is out there in the woods?”

“I wasn’t thinking!”

“I know you weren’t,” John grunts. “That’s the issue.” 

The rest of the ride home is uncomfortably quiet. John keeps one hand clamped on your waist while the other holds the reins of both horses, the two walking alongside each other back down the trail towards the house. The ride home is a lot longer than the ride out into the woods since John refuses to let either of them go faster than a slow trot while your hands are tied behind your back. 

He snorts in derision at your suggestion to undo your binds. “That eager for your punishment?” 

That gets you to zip your lips. 

When you get drowsy, John tips your head back and makes you sip from his waterskin. His hand fits carefully around your throat to hold your head in place, his fingers curling around to just graze the nape of your neck. Your throat pulses under his palm when you swallow. It’s far too intimate for how restless you feel, damn near shaking out of your skin, but it briefly shushes the voice in your head until he pulls his hand away. 

A shadow under the doorway of the house startles you at first before it takes a step into the faint light of the setting sun and you recognize the bristly blond of Simon’s shorn head and the red bandana shrouding the bottom half of his face. The tension ebbs back into you when you realize with creeping humiliation that the black horse you rode home on must belong to him. 

He watches the two of you approach with predictable disinterest, his eyes betraying nothing. The shame is excruciating. 

John brings the horse to a halt some feet from Simon, not bothering to greet him. You wonder if it’s the anger choking him or if this is just routine, men trading favors in silence lest a word in gratitude break the spell. After dismounting himself, John helps you down, all but picking you up and lifting you off the horse. 

Simon doesn’t say a word to either of you when he takes the reins from John’s hands, giving him only a curt nod and you a cursory glance before leading his horse away to mount. He doesn’t spare you a backwards glance before taking off back towards town. You watch him over your shoulder while John guides you up the porch steps and into the house, until the shape of him disappears into the horizon. Then the door shuts behind you. 

Alone now, your attention turns back to John. He stares down at you consideringly, a hand planted on the door he just shut until he lets it fall to his side. You can see the gears turning in his mind, weighing something out. 

It wouldn’t be right to call it anticipation; it’s not quite dread either. 

“I don’t make idle threats, you know,” he says, apropos of nothing. 

His words make you frown until you glance down to find him undoing his belt. Your blood turns to ice. He tugs the thick strap until it comes sliding out of each loop around his waist. The buckle rests heavy in his palm, thick fingers curling around it, and when he bends the belt in two, you already know that he intends to follow through with his threat from earlier, the one you said you’d gut him for.

“I’ll scream,” you warn, heart in your throat. It almost chokes you. “I mean it. I’ll scream like the devil.”

“Don’t go makin’ no empty threats now, darlin’,” he says in a low voice, almost taunting. You can hear the hard edge in his voice though. It’s not something he craves, but he’ll take it. 

“You touch me with that thing and I’ll never forgive you.” 

John’s eyes go hard. “I’ll just have to take that chance.” 

And then he’s on you.

He hooks an arm around your waist when you try to rush past him back out the door and it forces the breath out of you. 

You struggle as best you can with your hands tied behind your back, trying to wriggle out of his hold even as he heaves you up into his arms and climbs the staircase towards the bedroom. The steps creak under the added weight of you in his arms. The screams come tearing from your throat, ripping your vocal cords and nearly sending you into a coughing fit. 

“Let—me—go—” you shriek, kicking out wildly, hoping to catch something that’ll make him lose his balance. 

“All that squirmin’ ain’t making me feel more merciful,” he growls. 

John kicks the bedroom door open with his foot when he reaches the top of the staircase. The room looks ominous without the oil lamp lit, the shadows growing in the corners swallowing up the end table. The bed is just as you made it this morning, the sheets pressed tight and neat, and you only get a second to take that in before he marches towards the bed and throws you down onto it.  

You hit the bed hard, bouncing slightly. He sits down heavily enough to jostle you and when you try to roll away on instinct, a hand catches you by the bicep and pulls you back. He hauls you across the bulk of his thighs this time, far different from your first meeting back in the sheriff’s office all those weeks ago. Your feet don’t even touch the floor this time around, dangling in the air and flailing for purchase. 

“You brute—you bastard!” you screech.

“I’m not gonna be as charitable this time,” John says, yanking your dress up and your drawers down until your bare bottom is exposed. You gasp at the cold air, murmuring something like please, please, please under your breath. “Even if I knew why it was you decided to run off, that doesn’t excuse the fact that you did. You coulda been hurt or worse out there, darlin’, and I’d never have forgiven myself. I’m gonna make sure the lesson sinks in this time.”

He folds the leather belt to hold it in one hand, leaving the other to pin you down over his thighs, making sure you don’t wriggle out. The leather is cool at first when he drags it over your butt. It makes your breathing pick up. It’s so gentle that you can almost trick yourself into thinking that it’s all he intends to do. 

The first lash comes so quick that you barely register it. The second knocks the wind out of you, and then the pain sets in. 

It stings something fierce. Where his palm hurt that first time he bent you over his desk and spanked you, the belt burns. It goes deep and it lingers when he pulls the leather away from your stinging bottom. 

“Hurts like the dickens, don’t it?” John asks, not bothering to wait for confirmation before bringing the belt down again. “You’re lucky it’s only ten this time.”

You howl into the bedsheets, eyes tearing up and spilling down your cheeks. When you try to cover your ass with your bound hands, John grabs them and pins them to the small of your back. 

“What’ll you never do again?” he growls. 

“I—I’ll—”

“Say it, darlin’: I’ll never run off on my own again.”

“I’ll—n-never gonna—oh, it hurts, John—please—”

At some point, you must say the words he’s looking for. You lose count of how many times his belt has struck across your ass. Like thunder coming after lightning, you feel it and then you hear it. The sharp snap comes as a second wave of agony in and of itself. 

Your throat is stripped raw by the time it’s over. The aftermath finds you with a puddle of drool under your cheek, hair matted to your face. Sweat slicks the backs of your thighs and down your spine. Even the gentlest brush of John’s hand over your backside, the belt deposited off the side of the bed, makes you flinch, the skin there tender to the touch. You’ll surely feel it deep in your bones come sunrise. 

Too exhausted for anger, all you can do is lie there. It sits heavy in your stomach though, a pit at the center of you. You want to say, who gave you the right? The answer burns a ring around your finger though. You want to say, you don’t understand, it had nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with him and you. 

You can tell he wants to say something. It gets choked in his throat, but you can hear it in the way his breath draws in, like he’s trying to coax it from his chest but it simply won’t come out. 

“Stay right there,” John rumbles instead, shifting you onto the bed to let you lie on your belly. 

You moan in pain when he moves you, sniffling into your arms. The crook of your elbow is sticky with your tears and snot. 

The bed dips under his weight when he comes back. You flinch violently when he draws the skirt of your dress up again and smooths his hand over the tender cheeks of your backside, spreading a cool salve over your skin. The first touch of his hand makes you hiss, tears beading in the corners of your eyes again, but then the cool sinks in, alleviating the ache. 

He does that for another few minutes in silence. Gentle, tentative touches, only stopping when the salve has been spread evenly over your bottom. He’s quiet when he shifts you up the bed until your feet are no longer dangling off the end. You’re distantly aware of him taking off your shoes and tucking you into bed, but the events of the day have finally gotten the better of you. It would be easier to push a boulder up a hill than crack even one of your eyelids open.

Time passes slowly; sluggishly. Your thoughts can’t quite catch up with it, either too quick or too slow. You’re stuck in thoughts of the desert, caught in a sandstorm that manifests too suddenly for you to take cover. All you can do is close your eyes and wait it out. 

Morning comes like a brutal summoning into the waking world. 

It hurts, but you expected that. Before your eyes even open, you’re aware of a throbbing pain coming from your backside. You wince when you shift to your side, squeezing your eyes tight. You contemplate rolling over and taking your chances with John’s temper. The thought isn’t as appealing in the light of day though. 

It takes some time to get out of bed and when you do, you have to step tentatively from floorboard to floorboard, the ache making it decidedly uncomfortable. You can’t imagine what sitting down will be like. Riding a horse is just out of the question. 

From the bedroom window, you see John standing in front of the house with Simon, back again not even twelve hours later. With the window closed, you can’t hear their conversation, nor can you read their lips. Their exchange doesn’t last long though. After another minute or so, and a nod goodbye, Simon walks back over to his horse standing nearby and lifts himself up and over onto the saddle, taking off towards town. 

When John turns back towards the house, you see him glance up towards the bedroom window where you stand. The circles beneath his eyes are dark, pronounced. On another day, you might’ve ducked out of sight or jumped away from the window, but now you hold his gaze. 

He breaks your stare first this time, heading back inside. It’s less satisfying than you thought it’d be. 

You spend the day resting in bed and avoiding John for the most part. He spends the majority of the day out of the house. You hear him downstairs in the kitchen around midday, fixing himself up something to eat, and you listen attentively to the scrape of the chair across the floor and the pan on the stovetop. Like the day he brought you home, he brings you up a tray only to leave it at the door, rapping the door with his knuckles to let you know before heading back downstairs. 

When he comes up for bed, you’re already lying down with your back to the door, the oil lamp left unlit. John doesn’t say anything to you as he changes into his nightwear. He smells fresh when he climbs into bed, like he bathed in the creek out in the woods. You breathe in deeply, trying to keep your breath quiet enough to not disturb the silence. The pillow under your head is saturated with his scent. You turn your nose into it when he lies down on his back instead of curling into you like he usually does. 

Your chest aches at that simple denial. There’s a wall between the two of you and you know where it came from. Any trust that you’d built lies in ruins now. 

Perhaps that’s not quite right though. It’s a romantic notion that you’ve been building something together all this time, but it doesn’t feel right now that you have the wherewithal to look back and reflect. All this time, whenever you’ve touched, you’ve held him steadfast and at an arm's length away, stopping two degrees short of intimacy. 

Deliberately effusive; and worse, you’ve called it affection. 

The tenderness in your heart is the worst of it. There’s a bruise there, and it’s been there awhile. It’s only grown with your recent troubles. You tell yourself every year that you’ll air it out come spring, but then the winter comes and it freezes over again.  

The pillow under your chest grows damp with your tears. 

Your dress the next morning is cornflower blue. The wheatfields are golden stalks swaying in the breeze. It’s a pleasanter day than how you feel. 

The ride into town is as painful as you thought it might be. You wince with every stride, your bottom still tender as a rose. John’s arm tightens around your waist when you squirm, like you might slide off the saddle and try to flee again, and you bite your lip to hold back the urge to snap. 

The little bit of independence you’d grown to enjoy is snatched away from you. You expected that as well, but that loss of privilege comes with a biting ache. You fight the urge to gnash your teeth and bark at him that you’re not a child when he grips you under the arm and leads you down the road. It wouldn’t do you any good. 

When John leaves you off at the general store, you’re surprised to find Kate back, hale and hearty. She looks up when the chime over the door jingles and raises her eyebrows in greeting. The sound makes you flinch, memories coming back unbidden. 

You look over your shoulder to say something to John before he leaves, but the door is already closing behind him by the time you turn around. Your lips are pursed on a word that dissolves in your mouth. It has a bitter aftertaste. 

“Thought you wouldn’t be back for a few more days,” you say instead, turning back to Kate. There’s already a chair pulled up for you by the wall and you make yourself comfortable there, grimacing at first when your sore backside touches the wood before settling in. 

She shrugs. “Plans changed. Gaz and I made it back late last night.”

You frown. “Gaz?”

“Kyle Garrick. Sorry—slip of the tongue. You’ve met him already. He used to go by Gaz way back when.”

“Way back when?”

“Not my story to tell. You should ask one of them, if you’re curious.”

You are, but not enough to ask. “Maybe.”

The two of you lapse into silence after that exchange. Before leaving the house, you remembered to bring with you some needles and wool to pass the time. They’re not as familiar in your hands as you’d like them to be, but you suppose, barring the possibility of Graves or another bounty hunter showing up in town to cart you off, you’ll have time to learn. 

The thought leaves you anxious. It feels distinctly more possible now. 

“You met Miles while I was away?” Kate asks, out of the blue.

Your head comes up at her question. “Miles?”

“He was minding the store for me while I was away. Said you came in the other day.”

You swallow reflexively. “Oh. Yes, I suppose I did meet him. I didn’t stay long, since you were gone and all.”

She hums and looks back down at the book in front of her. You feel nervous all of a sudden. 

“He said you were very helpful,” she says abruptly, breaking the silence. You flinch. “Told me some gentleman came by with a warrant for a murder back east and you were kind enough to take it to your husband for him so he could keep minding the shop.”

Your throat constricts. She pins you under her gaze, unblinking eyes staring into yours but not looking for anything. Wispy blonde bangs brush along her forehead when she tilts her head ever so slightly. 

You nod instead of answering. 

“Did you give it to him?” she asks.

“I didn’t have a chance to. The day got away from me,” you say tersely. 

“I heard something about that. Kyle said John had to borrow Simon’s horse the other day. Said something about him taking off in a hurry.”

Again, you don’t answer. It feels like without knowing it, you’ve crossed over a threshold. 

“Do you still have it?” Kate prompts when again you don’t respond. You don’t tell her that you don’t because in all the fuss the other day, it must have slipped out of your pocket and drifted off into the wind. “The warrant?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. 

“That’s alright. I have a good enough idea about what it might’ve said.” 

Sweat beads on your upper lip. She all but says it outloud. You’re as still as a ferrotype under her gaze, imprinted in place, unable to move so much as a muscle or force a word past your stiff lips. 

“You’re under no obligation to tell me or anyone,” Kate says, and her voice is suddenly gentle, softer than you’ve ever heard it before. “I’m sure you had your reasons. I won’t be telling John, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh. Thank you,” you breathe, throat so tight that the words almost don’t come out. 

It’s the closest you’ve come to admitting to it, tangentially or not, and even now it’s spoken only out of the corner of your mouth. You don’t think you have it in you to recite the events sequentially. Even in the privacy of your memory, it comes piecemeal, in fragmented images that flicker across your mind because maybe to remember it whole would be too much. 

You don’t say much more after that, and neither does Kate. That wasn’t the point of bringing it up, you think. You'd know if it was. 

When John comes to fetch you at the end of the day, you leave without saying goodbye to Kate. Only a stiff smile before heading out on your way. If she returns your smile, you don’t notice it. To John, you simply duck your head and follow him out the door, letting him help you up onto the horse without a word. 

If it bothers him that you refuse to speak to him, he doesn’t show it. 

It’s so many steps back that you might as well be back where you started. Maybe even further back, a voyage gone so wrong that when you look over your shoulder, you can’t make heads or tails of where you came from. The trees from the other side of the trail never look quite the same. 

If you could open your mouth and say it, you would. If you knew he’d listen. But you don’t think John is that kind of man. Against the gold of the setting sun, he cuts a figure from times of yore. He speaks plain while you tend to speak in fricatives and bilabial stops, incapable of enunciating the words. 

You feel like a wound on the world. Getting it wrong again and again. 

It’s an old pain, one that started back when you were too small to hold it all. Now, you’ve grown large enough to hold it, though it holds you back in turn. You remember your parents studiously ignoring first creation like some noxious cloud billowing from the chimney. There’d been too many children for them to care about the runt. Shipped off to your aunt’s and uncle’s just for the cycle to repeat itself. 

It’s an old grief, this one, friendly because it nudges at your hips when you brush by, striking in the blue-green. And when it burns, it burns.

“John, I—” you say when he helps you down back at the house. 

He stares down at you, waiting you out. Your mouth goes dry, the truth beyond your grasp again. Your heart aches when his brows furrow and the lines around his eyes crease again, frustration welling beneath the surface. 

You understand. It sits under your skin too. 

"Go inside," he says instead when you don't go on. "I'll bring in the horses and start supper."

Your God sits at the edge of the bed, wholly lacking praise. It’s not His fault that it’s been awhile. These days, you can hardly muster up the energy to say hello. You gargle saltwater before you bathe and scrub your skin free of blood, waiting for the next morning to come.

And you think, lying on your side while John sleeps on the other side of the bed, wouldn’t it be lovely to get it right now, rather than in retrospect?

[planetaryupscaled]

Newfound Wonder

Male OC x Newjeans Hanni

Tags: 9k, first time, creampie, dub con, tw

The story is not ours, we alternate the original story to match our desired settings.

“Come on, hurry up already!” Under the watchful eyes of her friends, Hanni stumbled out of her parents’ house while dragging along a suitcase nearly twice as heavy as her petite body.

“Ye-yeah, I know, I know!” The stuffed container dragged across the asphalt while she put all remaining energy into pulling it towards the parked camper van just a few feet. After which she uttered a sigh of defeat upon realizing that she would still have to lift the suitcase at least a foot off the ground in order to haul it into the back of the rusty old van.

It sucked. It hadn’t even been her idea to go on this spontaneous camping trip, it had been her friend’s, Danielle. A childhood friend, she was pretty and clever, even if she had a tendency to always see the best in people.

Difficult to decline such an offer to be away from home for a day. At least sometimes, Hanni had to pretend that she enjoyed going out instead of sitting at home all day. Her parents were happy to remind her that doing new things, helps to turn you into a responsible adult. It’s not like her genes were making it easy to spend time outside even if she wanted to.

The sun is Hanni’s worst enemy. She’s like a vampire, just without any valuable superpowers other than the ability to get a sunburn twice as easily as her friend.

“Need a hand with that? I don’t want to be stuck here for the rest of the day.” The third and final victim to join the small adventure was Danielle’s boyfriend. A tall handsome guy — Minsoo. Pretty athletic and in very good shape, he enjoyed working out and has more flavors of protein powder at home than any sane person should possess. As to why he decided to start dating Danielle, it’s a mystery. He’s a few years older and already done with college. “Here, there you go.” Minsoo easily lifted the suitcase up and into the back of the van before returning to the passenger seat.

Hanni climbed in as well and took a seat herself, brushed some dust off her jeans and shot her friend a quick glare. Danielle’s family was seriously well off, it must’ve been an itch for nostalgia that urged her to rent a cheap old vehicle like this.

“There you are Han! You got all your stuff, then? I swear you’re gonna love this!” Danielle was grinning from ear to ear, giddy as a kid for this opportunity to go camping. Another advantage of having plenty of spare money — if she really wanted something, she simply went ahead and did it. It’s a surprise she managed to remain a grounded, decent person.

“I guess.” The engine gave a loud groan, but started dutifully and the trio’s journey began. Through the city and plenty of farmland, over a mountain and past large patches of empty land before eventually arriving in a dense forest, hours away from where they had left. It was a decently idyllic place, untouched by civilization. Bumpy hills and vegetation as far as the eye could see.

“You doing all right?” Danielle kept one hand on the steering wheel while handing her girlfriend a bottle of water, something to get by for another hour.

Hanni happily accepted the treat. “Are we there yet?”

“Add another ten minutes for each time you ask that question,” came the witty response. The road was getting rockier, harder to traverse without slowing down significantly. At least the atmosphere changed dramatically, lush colors were surrounding the area. Trees large enough to pierce the sky. If you pay enough attention, you could even spot a natural lake here and there.

Not like Hanni was paying any attention, she held her smartphone tightly and stared at the bright screen while playing games. Old habits die hard.

The car eventually came to a stop, and Danielle basked in relief at the sight in front of them. The road ended right into a large open space in the midst of towering trees in all directions. “That’s what I’m talking about!” she announced gleefully. “Told ya we’d find a nice spo-” she turned her head, glancing at her distracted companion. “...spot. Han! Are you even looking? Come on!” she insisted. “Look!”

Finally the distracted teenager lowered her phone and gazed out the window. “I guess, it doesn’t look half-bad. Good graphics, ten outta ten. Just be careful not to get eaten by a tiger. “

A sigh of frustration followed. “Tigers live in India and Russia. And apparently in your fantasy.”

Minsoo opened the door to exit the vehicle and a fresh breeze of nature greeted the trio. It was a damp, wild forest smell. It’s something you just don’t have in the city — no impurities, no weird unidentifiable stench around every corner. Just nature. He took a pleased deep breath. “Worth it.”

“Oh shoot!” Danielle reached into her pocket and rushed out of the car. “I almost forgot!” She began to frantically toy with her phone only to utter an annoyed groan. “I can’t get a signal! Crap. My parents wanted me to leave them a message before we go! Aw...” she whined. “It uh... it should be fine, I guess. I already sorted the important stuff before we left.”

In the meantime, Minsoo already opened the backside of the van to retrieve the tent and various supplies. “It would be even finer if you’d lend me a hand over here.”

Hanni used the opportunity to retort. “Ah-huh. The dude who is into weightlifting is asking girls for help? You can lift things ten times heavier than what I can carry!” she scoffed.

“Perfect, then you can grab the tent while I carry the heavy anchors and the hammer. See it as opportunity to show some...female empowerment or something.”

Hanni rolled her eyes at that and reluctantly climbed out of the car to follow his instructions. After the tent was set up and ready to go, Hanni waited to continue helping but was left dumbfounded. “Uhh- where’s the second and third one? Where are you guys going to sleep then?”

Minsoo gave her a quizzical look. “We...share one tent? Obviously? If you don’t spread your arms and legs in all directions we’re going to fit in just fine. Just please, try not to eat any beans before we go to sleep.”

Hanni face flushed a bright red, eyes wide open. She quietly turned and walked off, using the lack of knowledge of the area as excuse to go for a walk. Maybe she would find something of interest. Or perhaps...maybe not. It was an uneventful walk and she found little besides more trees and insects everywhere. Seriously a lot of bugs. It would’ve been nice to find a secret cave, or waterfall. Like in the movies. Alas reality was harsh and dull.

She returned an hour later to see that Danielle and her boyfriend had set up a proper campsite. A big log had been cut in half across the center, to create two comfortable makeshift benches. They were strategically placed around the campfire for maximum comfort. The large flame already helped to illuminate the nearby area, and the soft crackling of burning twigs and branches was a soothing sound to behold.

Both lovers were already seated by the fire and cuddling closely, Danielle clung tightly to her boyfriend’s arm and affectionately rubbed her cheek against him. “Dan! Did I miss anything?” Hanni approached and reluctantly sat down on the second, unused bench. The wood was hard, nothing like her computer chair.

“Not really. I think.” Danielle reached to the side and slid her hand into a bag of chips, retrieving a handful and leaning back to enjoy the view. “Oh! But! We did think about playing a round of truth or dare, if you’re up for it. Could be fun. Also a chance for you to get to know Minsoo a little better! It would be amazing for the two people I care the most about to become close friends too!”

He agreed as well and conjured a bottle of bourbon from behind the log. “Every time you get picked, you take a shot. To up the stakes a little.” Minsoo produced three shot glasses, and rearranged the seats so that each person would be seated near the tip of an imagined triangle.

Hanni watched on. “I...guess it’s too late to say no. Sure, whatever.” Once more did she take a seat, and Danielle — as host — went ahead to be the first one to spin the bottle. It pointed at Hanni.

“Do you have any secret boyfriend you haven’t told us about?” asked Danielle, grinning slyly.

Her friend shook her hand and furrowed a brow. “No? You’d be the first one to know. I already told you that I don’t have any plans to waste time on that stuff, not until after we’re done with college anyway, and that’s still years away.” Hanni leaned forward and gave the bottle a new spin, it pointed at Minsoo this time. “Since you two seem to be into asking private questions, here’s one. Have you banged yet? You two seem awfully close so I can only imagine that you’re going at it daily, like clockwork.” There was a hint of jealousy in the way Hanni said those words, and Danielle instantly averted her gaze and stared at the ground.

“Nope. She wants to wait.” Minsoo answered. Nothing else was said and there was a brief silence while Hanni was torn between nagging for more information, or leaving the topic alone. Minsoo reached for the bottle and gave it another spin, it spun and spun before slowing down and pointing at... Hanni!

“Hold on, I already had a turn just now!” Hanni objected.

“We are just three people,” he pointed out coldly. “Bold question you gave me. Have you even had sex yet?” His gaze was entirely focused at Hanni, and she had no choice but to lean back, completely taken by surprise.

It was Danielle who interrupted the awkward, tense moment. “Okay, okay. This was a bad idea. That wasn’t at all how you’re supposed to play the game. There’s also another thing both of you forgot, I guess now is as good as time as any.” Her slender hand reached for the shot glasses and she filled each one, after which she quickly drank one in a single gulp and poured herself another.

They sat there, quietly. For the longest time they simply looked at the campfire and listened to it. Occasionally drinking another glass of strong whiskey. Each one of them thought about something different. Hanni felt a deep pit in her stomach, awash with the guilt of prying into something she should’ve left alone. Danielle felt both upset, and embarrassed — her family valued chastity until marriage. An outdated concept, but not something that’s worth getting disowned for just to break it.

More time passed without any of them speaking a word, they kept going until the bottle had been emptied. Danielle managed to pass out while still seated on the bench. Her head was tilted to the side with closed eyes, and the empty bottle slipped out of her lap. Minsoo caught it just in time.

“That’s it, then.” He slid his arms underneath her and lifted her up. There’s no way she could walk, he had to carry her to the tent. “This night is officially over, let’s get some sleep,” he spoke, only to notice that Hanni was nearly equally smashed and moments from falling off her seat. Swaying from side to side, much like the subtle movements of the large flame in front of her. It was a dreamlike sequence, almost like watching a pair of innocent twins — the girl’s flowing mane scarlet hair and the identical red fire.

Hanni’s eyelids felt incredibly heavy. Each time she blinked, it was a taxing achievement to open them anew. Her vision became a blurry mess.

Every time she opened her eyes, she felt slightly more...at ease. Comfortable. She began putting more effort into narrowing her eyes, focusing her view, only to stare up at the ceiling of the tent they built earlier. How did she get in there, when did she get there?

Hanni raised her head up, straining to do so. Her entire body felt stiff and heavy. As she looked down, she stared back at her naked breasts, even though she couldn’t remember removing her top, or taking off her bra. Her legs began to move on their own, rising up...and there in the dark she could see two hands manipulating her body.

Minsoo looked back at her, while his hands were holding onto the waistband of her underwear to peel them off her body. Just like that they came free and he tossed them off to the side. With her legs still up like that, Hanni could look at her own crotch. Her hairless, bare slit was completely exposed. It took her another moment to fully comprehend — she’s completely nude, and Minsoo was able to look straight at her womanhood. “Wha...what’s happening?” she groaned. “What the heck’s going on...” she slurred drunkenly.

“It’s cool, relax. We are going to help each other out tonight.” Minsoo gently lowered her legs back down to the cushy blankets that layered the ground. “I totally get why you were asking those things earlier.” His hand reached for his belt buckle. As soon as it came loose, he removed his pants completely, followed by his boxers. As soon as that fabric was out of the way, his erection jumped into sight as it bounced in excitement. A shimmering fat bead of pre-cum rolled off the engorged tip of his organ and dripped onto Hanni’s inner thigh.

The rapidly panicking teenager reached to the side, reaching for her friend. “D...Dan!”

Minsoo swiftly grasped her wrist and pulled it back in. “It’s all right, she’s sleeping. This is going to be our secret. You want her to be happy, right? Since I haven’t gotten laid in... fucking months. But something tells me that you don’t care about meaningless shit like remaining a virgin, right? It’s ridiculous. Tiny bit of skin. That stuff shouldn’t prevent you from enjoying your life, yeah?” His much larger body size made it nearly impossible for Hanni to squirm away, with a simple grip on her wrist he was fully in control of her actions. It didn’t help that her petite, small body was a much easier victim to the alcohol they consumed earlier. It had barely any effect on him, but she had become an utter mess and could barely even remain awake. Minsoo’s grip moved up to Hanni’s shoulder and hips, and with a single push he rolled her over onto her belly. She could feel the pit in her stomach, her intoxicated mind was spinning out of control.

He spat, presumably into his hand, since she could soon feel his fingers applying something wet to her labia. He spat again, but this time he shoved a finger into her slit and began spreading the lubrication around within her vagina. There was an immediate resistance and she moaned in discomfort. “What the...fuck, man. I am not Dan.” Hanni crawled a few inches forward, but he chased after her and simply shoved his finger back into her to finish applying his saliva to her delicate insides.

“I know, I told you. She wants to wait with sex, but you don’t. Either we fuck, or I’ll break up with her since lord knows I need some action.” Minsoo withdrew his finger and inhaled the subtle scent of her pussy. It clung to his finger after what he did. Hanni almost retched at the thought that he now knew exactly what her pussy smelled like.

She drunkenly pulled her arms close and placed her hands flat on the blanket, attempting to push herself off the ground while cursing under her breath. Her muscles behaved like wet noodles, there’s no tension. The tent began to feel even darker when she noticed Minsoo’s large body hovering over her own and casting a shadow. One of his arms moved underneath her to pull her in for a tight embrace. Her breasts were squished up against the blanket because of the added weight on her back.

There was a pause, until she could feel something fat and blunt kissing the lips of her pussy. His dick. Another push allowed it to nestle right there between the soft embrace of her labia. He simply needed to keep applying more pressure and that mushroom-shaped head would follow the trail of spit, right into her snatch. “That’s...all kinds of mes...messed up, cut it out...! You’re... her boyfriend. Boyfriend,” she repeated twice. The world continued spinning even faster now. Hanni reluctantly took a deep breath and stopped trying to talk, she was moments from throwing up. Any more effort and she would lose control.

A wet smooch announced the sudden entry of his dick, her insides were immediately stretched to the brim to try and accommodate the bloated, smooth crown. “Ahnn! Nnnnh...!”

The tight grip of his hand suddenly pushed against her mouth, silencing her almost entirely. “I know, babe. The first time is always the hard part. It’s just like opening a wrapped gift, ‘kay? After you’ve opened the box once, there you go, it’s always going to be nice and... accessible, right? I’m gonna open that little gift you’ve got down there, okay?” The remnants of saliva inside her did little to help his advances, and her gaze constantly shifted back to Danielle still sleeping just a couple feet away. Would their relationship really come to an end just because he didn’t get laid? His reasoning almost made sense, maybe she should let it happen. She stared down at the pillow while struggling to decide.

An angry demanding shove forward, out of nowhere, suddenly sunk his entire length into the petite girl. Her fragile hymen tore and disappeared. Her pussy instantly clenched down hard, a futile attempt to expel the invader while she sharply inhaled through her nose. Everything inside her felt sore, stuffed, stretched! For the first time in her life, she had the entire length of a cock wedged into the deepest parts of her cunt. She hadn’t even noticed herself groaning into his palm, a sound of pure defeat.

While Minsoo remained still and completely sheathed within her body, Hanni gradually became aware of...more. The shape of his cock. Every ridge, every bump, every vein. She fit like a glove, that soft warm flesh of her deflowered womanhood offered a loving embrace around every inch of his manhood. It was an intimate connection unlike anything else she ever experienced. Even moments after his rough intrusion she could feel her insides rhythmically tensing up and squeezing down on his erection. Loving spasms that caressed his appendage despite her reluctance.

It’s like her own body was betraying her. Tightness, heat, stimulation. Her pussy freely offered him everything he could’ve hoped for, including plenty of convenient space to dump his seed into.

“Come on, come on...fuck.” Hanni was vaguely aware of Minsoo’s annoyed tone, just an inch or two away from her ear. His breath was caressing her neck, it felt impossible to tell how many moments had passed.

Every sensation, every feeling, all of her attention was centered on her crotch. It’s the only thing she could do to keep her head from spinning all over again. All nerves inside her remained utterly overstimulated, firing off like a million alarms while her pussy refused to relax. She was torn between terror, confusion and uncertainty. If only she hadn’t touched that stupid alcohol. Her mind was the only thing that even remotely functioned, her body was all but useless.

Was she supposed to try and struggle, or was she meant to accept her situation however cruel it may be. The choice slipped out of her grasp when she felt herself blessed with another unfamiliar sensation.

More wetness, deep inside her loins. It was warm and gooey, pouring into her. The result of months of forced celibacy. Cloudy globs of Minsoo’s sperm were rapidly spurting into her crotch and splashing into the deepest corners of her love tunnel. His cock was quickly delivering it all, pumping and pumping it through the entire length of his manhood and depositing it inside her. Minsoo kept himself hilted inside the unfortunate girl, to make the most of his premature explosion by relishing the grip of her cunt for as long as it would last. His masculine erection continually throbbed and thrashed against her tightness, dumping as much seed as possible inside her pristine cunt. It was his first proper climax in so long that he made sure to get the absolute most of it, the idea of pulling out hadn’t even crossed his mind.

The former virgin struggled to keep up. The warm and slippery sensation... it began to awkwardly spread and ooze into every corner of her womanhood...everything inside her felt sticky and gross. It dawned on her that she just received her very first creampie, willingly or not. Her pussy had succeeded in gulping down every drop of semen that his cock had to offer. He was the first man to truly inseminate her little cunt.

His sweat dripped onto her back and he collapsed, pinning her in place and sinking his dick just a tad deeper into her abused twat. He had popped her cherry for good. The aftermath of losing her virginity was nothing to write home about either...there had been no romance involved. He didn’t kiss or cuddle her. He didn’t whisper into her ear that he loves her.

Hanni is stuck with the sensation of warm goo sloshing around within her most intimate parts.

She wasn’t even on any birth control, and there had been nothing to separate their genitals when he ejaculated all that pent-up semen into the welcoming comforts of her pussy. They had been intimately connected — like only lovers should be. It absolutely messed with her mind that she hadn’t been able to put up more of a struggle. Her only comfort was that she had done Danielle a favor, essentially by taking care of her boyfriend’s needs. While Danielle receives the cuddling and love. Hanni was only there to satisfy his cock and to carry his seed inside her — that thought was the last thing on her mind before the last remaining energy in her faded away.

Absolutely drained and exhausted, she passed out with his softening appendage still being kept in place by the lips of her cunt. Those soft folds remained neatly wrapped around the very base of his dick, just barely tight enough to prevent him from going completely flaccid. Her limit had been reached long ago and her body surrendered, there was no way she would wake up again anytime soon.

And when Minsoo woke up an hour later, it only took a few strong, deep thrusts into her before he sighed his approval — moaning into the sleeping girl’s ear while allowing his cock to twitch and squirt another helping of fresh cum deep into her unprotected loins. Two more times did his insatiable need return, and each time he took full advantage of Hanni’s peachy cunt. Every time he managed to last longer. For her final ride, nearly half an hour passed before another creampie was forced into her.

She was in absolutely no shape for repeated intercourse, not after she had just lost her virginity. Her tightness provided so much friction that she had rapidly reached her limits, and it would take her a long time before she would return to normal down there. It was her first marathon fuck, and she slept right through most of it.

Her sleep had been restless, fueled by negative emotions.

It was only sometime in the late morning when she stirred and woke up, the pesky chirping of birds surrounded the tent. An intense headache assaulted her long before she even managed to open her eyes, and she regretfully remembered the night of drinking. Those cursed birds weren’t making the morning any more pleasant. She felt like she awoke from a terrible dream, her entire body was sticky with sweat and she looked around to find herself safe and sound in her sleeping bag. Her memories weren’t all there, she couldn’t quite remember what happened after the little game they played. “Dan?” She glanced at two empty sleeping bags nearby.

Hanni slipped her arm out of the tight comforts of her sleeping bag and unzipped the sides, but she winced as soon as she attempted moving her legs. Her crotch felt horrible bruised and sore! While trying to remember what had happened after the game by the campfire, she slid the zipper down to the bottom and took a better look at herself. All of her clothes were gone. Her perky breasts had nearly a dozen of bite marks and hickeys, especially her nipples — usually pink — were reddish and tender.

A soft gasp escaped her mouth when she lowered her gaze further and spotted the current state of her womanhood. It wasn’t the sight of a subtle slit, the unremarkable view she was used to seeing between her legs. Her labia was fully engorged and red, the swollen flesh was glistening and wet after an entire night of being stimulated. The intense, pungent smell of unprotected intercourse assaulted her nostrils and she coughed in protest. The usual, ladylike smell of her vagina was overshadowed by something else. Her cunt had the smell of a good few hours of fucking.

Upon leaning forward, she also spotted a string...a cotton string dangling out from between the raw lips of her pussy. A thick, sticky substance kept the folds of her cunt almost glued together and a pool of mostly translucent fluid had gathered underneath her crotch. She gingerly touched the string and gave it a gentle tug. There’s a familiar feeling somewhere in her tummy. It’s a tampon. And it’s pretty deep inside her. It was then that she noticed the...sheer wetness inside her. It’s like someone had popped a water balloon in there. This wasn’t the normal default state, this wasn’t even arousal. Her memories came flooding back.

She carried his sperm still inside herself. Millions and billions of those grotesque tadpoles. All of them swimming around inside her genitals, hoping to find an egg. He had happily transferred the contents of his testicles into her defenseless womb without thinking of the consequences. Hell, he probably had no sperm left inside his balls at this point, all those wiggly excited things were now safely stored inside her young and receptive vagina. And the tampon kept her nicely plugged up, giving his spunk all the time it needed to get the job done. The fool probably thought he was doing her a favor, a real gentleman, plugging her up like this so that she wouldn’t spent the entire night leaking cum.

Again she felt her stomach churning. Her highest priority was to get back to the city and to get a morning after pill. At least he had been right about one thing, she really didn’t care about her virginity all that much. Sex is just that, a physical act. Dick goes into vagina, both participants have a good time, dick pulls out and you’re done. Nothing special.

When she stood up, Hanni could feel the mass of goo shifting around somewhere inside her flat stomach. She’s gonna have to remove that tampon as soon as possible, this felt just too weird. It sent a cold shiver down her spine. It’s creepy that a guy had taken full control of her lady parts like that, and it felt even weirder to think that she’s carrying a batch of his DNA inside her crotch. Literally the only purpose of that stuff was to plant a baby in her tummy, it was repulsive.

Hanni carefully gathered her panties and her shirt and began to get dressed, enough to conceal the awkward cotton string dangling below and to hide the marks on her tits. Every step made her wince in discomfort, but she simply couldn’t leave the tent while naked.

Upon brushing the flap aside to peer outside of the tent, she spotted Danielle and her boyfriend by the campfire as if nothing had even happened. The two lovebirds were affectionately cuddling and whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears. It was a golden opportunity for Hanni to sneak just behind the tent, squat down, and to peel the crotch of her undies aside before removing the plug that had kept her sealed for lord knows how many hours.

A gush of liquids spilled out of her almost instantly, and she gasped at the awkward realization that nearly all of it was just...remnants of serving as that guy’s cum dumpster for a night. It poured out of her tender slit. The pressure faded rapidly, and as soon as it did, the stream began to trickle down her inner thigh to create even more of a mess. “No! No, no...shit.” This wasn’t at all like in the movies, why did she have to put up with this humiliation when she hadn’t even been the one to enjoy an orgasm? She reluctantly stayed put, awkwardly peeing out that guy’s cum for the next few minutes...

Simultaneously, Danielle experienced a whole different kind of adventure. She was entirely locked up in her own little world of fun and experimentation, knowing nothing of the struggle that happened just a few feet away. Her eyes were fixated on what was just a few inches in front of her face. “Are you sure? I didn’t think we would need this. I’m not even sure if it works,” Danielle laughed nervously, staring at the object of her desire.

“Yeah of course it’s going to work, Dan. Just try it.” Minsoo did his best to reassure her, right now there was only one thing he could think about.

“All right! I’m going to do it!” With a nervous grin, Danielle continued holding onto the heavy cast iron skillet before squeezing a big chunk of pancake batter out of the plastic bottle, which she held in the other hand. As soon as the thick fluid spread into a large enough circle in the midst of the pan, she moved the frying pan to hold it over the open flame of their wild campfire. Soon enough, the batter formed bubbles and she yelped in amazement upon flicking her wrist and successfully flipping the pancake in the process. She felt like a master chef. This was her world. This was all she ever wanted, pure joy.

“This is the best thing ever!” she cheered in bliss. Cooking in the kitchen just didn’t quite feel as special and raw as this. After preparing the first few pancakes, she also spotted her friend appearing from behind the tent. “Han! Breakfast is ready! I didn’t even know you were awake!” The petite girl approached on unsteady feet, more hungover than anyone else by the looks of it.

“Ye-yeah. Nice. Coming.” Hanni struggled to keep herself from walking bow-legged. The events of last night need to remain a secret for the time being, regardless of what’s going to happen in the future. Her gaze lingered on her bestie instead of the guy by her side — she couldn’t bear the thought of looking at the one who pounded her into submission just a few hours prior. She could still vividly remember the distinct feeling of his dick as it plunged into her over and over. Up until then, nothing had made her feel so out of control. But after what happened, it didn’t even feel like her pussy was still entirely her own. A part of her now belonged to him. She couldn’t deny that there had been some weird, primal connection between them. Perhaps sex was more than just a physical thing after all.

Hanni half-heartedly nibbled on her breakfast while sitting on her lonely bench by herself.

“Oh I almost forgot!” Danielle interrupted. “I got...some good news and some bad news, which do you wanna hear first?” she asked while looking over to her absent-minded girlfriend.

“I guess the good news? Are we leaving after breakfast? I need...to do something. We gotta stop by the pharmacy. I’m not feeling so well.” She took another bite of the pancake and lazily chewed the soft texture.

“Well that’s going to be a wee bit problematic. I mean you see, the good news is that you’re gonna get to enjoy the mountain air a little longer since we may be here for a bit.” A nervous laughter followed and a faint blush crept onto Danielle’s cheeks. “You see, I kind of forget the car keys in the ignition, so the car battery’s all dead. It doesn’t help that our phones can’t get a signal here. But!” she said while reaching an arm forward and raising her index finger to the sky. “Don’t you worry! I had told my parents where we are going. They’re on a trip for the weekend but they’re without a doubt going to pick us up as soon as they return! With some rationing, our food’s easily gonna last for two days! Two or three days and we’re gonna be rescued with an amazing story to tell! So yea, take the good with the bad, yup?”

Hanni’s heart sunk right down into the dirt beneath her feet. She doesn’t have two days, even one day would be stretching it. Remnants of his spunk still lingered inside her. At this rate she would’ve left home as pristine virgin, and she’s bound to return home as freshly pregnant teenager just a few days later. This camping trip had been just the worst so far.

She could feel Minsoo’s gaze stripping her again. He’s an asshole all right, and there’s no doubt he’s had sexual intercourse with her without a trace of consent, and his sperm has got to be one of the most vile things she’s ever had the displeasure of dealing with...but she couldn’t deny that having his cock inside her tender slit felt lewd, perverse...natural.

And now that Minsoo had gotten a taste of the paradise Hanni’s carrying between her legs, he couldn’t wait to get back in there and to continue where he had stopped. Strangely enough for Hanni, a tiny part inside her was actually beginning to look forward to it. There had been countless times when Danielle and her gossiped and chatted about that curiosity, about what it may be like to have sex.

Neither of them had ever been in a position to experience it, but now Hanni had a chance. Her memories of the first encounter were foggy at best...but simply by remaining quiet about the ordeal, she would soon enough be forced to repeat the encounter. While sober. Perhaps it would feel good this time. Better. It could even end up feeling amazing, like the only part she’s been missing her whole life.

Needless to say, breakfast had done nothing but to fill the teen with more anxiety and reasons to doubt both herself, and the situation she’s in. At least she didn’t have to worry about it until nighttime, or so she thought.

“All right...” Danielle glanced back at her childhood friend. Something was quite clearly upsetting her a lot, and Dan had nobody to blame but herself for the dead car. “Since we might be stuck here for at least two or three days, I guess we should try to make the most of the situation, right?” The reasons eluded her, but both her boyfriend and Hanni had been completely distracted. As far as she knew, they were bothered by the dire circumstances. “How about you two stick around and give it another try to fix the car battery? Han is good with electronics, and Min knows how to handle a car!”

She reaffirmed her beliefs with a confident nod. “And for the worst case scenario, I’ll go ahead and grab the backpack with some snacks and see if I can find a lake somewhere nearby. At least we can take a bath and clean ourselves if I find one. I did notice you two were a bit sweaty...but no pressure. It’s supposed to be a hot day today, so a bit of sweat is normal. I’m sure I will find something!”

“Wa-wait, already? I think you should stick around for a bit.” That nervous stutter was more than enough for Minsoo to realize that Hanni must have remembered what happened during the night — if the sticky mess between her legs hadn’t already clued her in. That simple thought was already enough to fill him with a familiar ache in his loins and an urge to bend her over again. On the contrary to his expectations, the rumors about the petite girl were true. Her pussy was the tightest he’s ever had, and the orgasms with her were addictive. He could still remember struggling to pull out of her in the early morning, it was like a damned vacuum seal, her cunt was practically sucking him right back in.

“I think that’s a great idea Dan,” Minsoo pointed out. “If anything happens, just yell and I’ll be right there for ya,” he added while leaning in to give Danielle a kiss on the cheek. She beamed with pride and quickly retrieved her backpack. She was determined to make them happy.

“Okay! Great! If you do manage to fix the car, don’t forget to pick me up before leaving!” The way he suddenly seemed to be at ease was enough motivation for Danielle to get right to it — if finding some fresh water would be enough to redeem her for her mistake, then that’s something she would happily do, without hesitation. “I’ll see you guys later, good luck!” With that, she took a quick look around the area before walking forward and entering the shadowy area of dense forest vegetation.

Which left Hanni entirely alone with the guy who had stolen her virginity. They sat on different benches just a few feet from each other, and he stared at her. There was no love or affection between them. No romance. What they both felt was little more than pure instinct, a physical need. They both had something which the other person needed, like two pieces of a puzzle.

Hanni could feel it. Despite her hesitation, her body was already taking over in anticipation of what’s likely to happen. She could feel the blood rushing into her crotch, her natural lubrication began to flow more freely, and a vague emptiness inside her was yearning to be filled. She didn’t even like the guy! Even less so after he casually blackmailed her. But her pussy was trembling and aching. Subtle contractions squeezed her pussy around an imaginary invader, and jolts of pleasure teased her from head to toe. Every spasm left her a little more breathless.

“Same deal as before. Get naked, or I’m going to break up with Dan.” A long moment of silence followed while her eyes wandered across the earthy ground, pondering her options. Almost in slow motion did Hanni eventually give in and surrender to Minsoo request. She hadn’t always been a perfect friend to Dan, but at least like this she could keep that relationship intact. Assuming he didn’t break his word. Plus, she couldn’t deny being at least a little curious about what sex is like without being drunk.

Her petite hands moved down to grab the thin fabric of her panties, and she gradually pulled them down her slender legs until she held the bundle in her hand. Even now, her peachy slit was glowing red and had dried white flecks of cum across her labia. Her inner conflict grew even more when his hungry gaze pinpointed that delicate triangle between her legs. “Just... just promise to keep it secret, okay? Don’t tell Dan...and you have to pull out! You can’t come inside me!” She quickly dropped a hand down to block the view at her battered womanhood.

This was a terrible idea, what was she thinking? She once more realized that she’s entirely unprotected, there would be absolutely nothing to separate them once he’s inside her. Bareback, that’s how they would be doing it. There was too much at stake, and she definitely didn’t want to get knocked up before graduating. She didn’t want to get knocked up at all. The idea was repulsive, she didn’t want to carry some guy’s DNA inside her belly for nine months.

“You are way, way overthinking this,” Minsoo told her while approaching. It was easy for him to pick her up, one quick arm underneath her knees and one to support her back, just like that he lifted her up and she yelped in surprise. He began carrying her towards the tent, the same place where he robbed her of her virginity. This is what he had always wanted. Not a girl in her mid-twenties, who already fucked a dozen guys and learned to rely on rubbing her clit just to tease an orgasm out of her twat.

He was Hanni’s first. He had a chance to teach her what she’s allowed to enjoy. In addition, her body was untainted and never endured all the chemical changes that can be caused by using a hormonal birth control. Plunging into her bare, unprotected cunny was as natural and desirable as it could get.

He could barely wait to bust another nut inside her, to force her vagina to absorb more of his spunk. It’s like a delicate ecosystem in there. Dump enough sperm inside and things will go haywire. He looked forward to filling her many more times. Until he managed to erase every last trace of the girly scent her vagina used to produce, and she’s stuck with the musk of his own semen continually escaping her slit. He loved the idea of completely owning her sexuality. Even if she were to sneak off to rub an orgasm out of her little cunt, she would be forced to inhale the warm pungent smell of his cum as soon as she got wet enough. It would be an instantaneous reminder that her pussy belonged to his dick and nothing else.

Hanni had no idea of the consequences if she were to keep welcoming him with spread legs and a bruised cunt willing to accommodate his fuck-stick, despite the discomfort his size was causing her.

“I ain’t overthinking anything, okay!? Dan is my best friend so this is something I do only for her sake. And you can’t come inside me! Do you even know how high the risks are? The average sperm count of a normal ejaculation is-” Hanni was instantly interrupted when Minsoo dropped her onto the blankets and zips the tent back up, closing the only exit. “Ou-ouch...what the hell, man?” She had dropped right on her perky bum, and rubbed the sore cheek. She didn’t even notice that she was sitting spread-eagled and gave him a good view of her pussy. There was a faint glistening, a shimmer of arousal. It was obvious that her body was at least slightly interested in repeating their previous encounter.

“It’s just sex, all right? What do you think a pussy is for anyway? That’s like...literally what it’s made for. I think you spent way too much time on the internet or something, just accept you’re not a guy. You are a girl. This is your purpose.” Minsoo began removing his shirt, followed by his pants. “You’ve got a perfect little cunt down there, so we’re going to use it. I’m going to use you. The less you talk during it, the better.”

A furious blush crept across Hanni’s cheeks. Did he seriously just dare reducing her to little more than what is between her legs? She furrowed her eyebrows. That charming personality he’s putting on around Danielle had all but disappeared, he didn’t even attempt to be pleasant. He spat into his hand and once more lowered it down to her crotch before thrusting two of his fingers into her, coaxing a gasp out of the startled teenager. He gradually moved those digits back and forth, spreading his saliva inside her.

“Did no one ever tell you that’s...gross and unhygienic?” She gazed down and looked at the vile combination of lubrication her pussy was coated in. A mixture of her own juices, his frothy spit, and old cum that had still been inside her. He was able to shove his fingers in much deeper than in the past. Her hymen was no longer in the way. He had made sure that one is permanently gone.

Even if he was right and getting laid is just a simple matter, it was still heavily nagging on Hanni’s mind that he treated her like a pile of meat. On the other hand, it was difficult to care a whole lot about having sex one more time, considering the...current state of her vagina. It wasn’t flattering. She was a sloppy mess down there. His choice of words was pretty spot on. This didn’t look like a cute virginal slit anymore. It was a cunt, one that looked like it had been fucked a few times, by a cock that had been just a tad bit too large to fit in properly. Nothing would change if she took him in just one more time.

It was so incredibly difficult to think straight with so many emotions in her head. She felt furious but excited. She felt shame and arousal.

He removed his underwear and revealed his cock once again, semi-erect. It was slowly pulsing to life, still growing and hardening. It’s the first time that she saw one in person, in broad daylight. It was veiny and grotesque, dicks are not an attractive sight. But it didn’t need to be. She knew where to hide his fat erection. Inside her.

A warm throb echoed through her crotch and she was reminded of that dull empty feeling inside her. It was disgusting how needy her body felt. It only grew stronger when she inhaled that musky scent of sex that still originated from her pussy despite her earlier attempts to clean up. It was their combined smell, their mingled juices, his cum as well as her own. Her vaginal walls were saturated with it, her pink flesh had soaked up every last drop of their intimate encounter and she knew that she would never again feel clean on the inside.

“Whatever,” the feisty girl added with her eyes embarrassingly glued to his appendage. She remembered his insulting preference to take her from behind, and reluctantly rolled over onto her belly. It was a mutual preference, at least this way she didn’t have to look him in the eyes while he used her. It only took him a few seconds to climb on top of her while he kept a fist wrapped around his chubby dick. He placed it right up against the entrance of her well fucked pussy, and unceremoniously shoved it inside with a single greedy thrust until her labia snugly engulfed the base of his member.

“Ahnn! Nnhaah!!!” Hanni tensed up, every muscle in her body went stiff, and it suddenly felt like her entire cunt was stretched to the brim to make space for his cock! However, she knew well enough by now that complaining or whining would just urge him on to be even more of a dimwit. Minsoo proceeded to hold himself there for a few more moments while she endured that unpleasant, sharp feeling somewhere in the back of her lady parts. Unbeknownst to her, he had managed to hilt his entire length within her — that smooth crown of his dick touched the end of her love tunnel, smooching her cervix. A milky bead of his pre-cum already escaped his tip, joining what he had dumped inside her during the night.

He began with slow, steady thrusts. Mechanically. Fucking into her and loosening her up from the inside. Every now and then he would change the position of his hips a little bit to the left or right, causing him to thrust in at an unusual angle and straining her insides further. Hanni didn’t make a sound, she was firmly biting down on her pillow to prevent herself from moaning out loud. There was a growing feeling of pleasure the longer he kept going, her pussy was surprisingly quick to adjust. It was humiliating to think that she was gaining something so pleasant out of having sexual intercourse with her friend’s boyfriend, it was so wrong but was beginning to feel so incredibly right.

Her bigger concern was that she noticed how it wasn’t merely the presence of his meaty package which turned her on so immensely, it was also the needle-like sharp pain whenever he pushed too deep. It made her flinch and groan into the pillow, but it felt so oddly arousing at the same time. It was a good pain.

His pace quickened, and his carelessness grew. Both of his hands grabbed a tight hold of her hips while he aggressively hammered into her snatch, filling the small tent with the audible sound of sex. His crotch slammed against her shapely ass repeatedly and audibly, akin to getting spanked, and it only drove her crazier. Hanni could feel herself reaching it, the peak, way up high and just barely out of reach.

But then he simply groaned into her ear and collapsed on top of her. He had finished just as she was about to have a good time. His entire weight fell onto her backside, which in turn pressed her breasts uncomfortably against the ground. They had been bruised already, so this pushed her right off track and ruined her orgasm.

Instead, she was treated to a warm wet sensation spreading inside her loins, and the dull throbbing of his appendage while he pumped wave upon wave of fresh cloudy cum into her receptive cunt. His balls contracted rhythmically, dutifully delivering his seed at a rapid pace, as nature intended. She immediately blamed herself more so than anyone else — she should’ve known better. Of course he didn’t pull out. This was her punishment. She’s his cum receptacle.

However, Hanni could feel her own excitement coming right back at the thought of him using her for nothing but his own selfish desires. It’s the first time a guy had ever shown such an obsession with her, even if that interest lingered mostly on her privates. She could feel her heart beating faster. Her skin tingled with desire. By sheer instinct she suddenly began to buck her hips back against him while inhaling sharply. Her own eyes widened in surprise as she felt spikes of pure pleasure thundering through her entire being, robbing her breath and making her acutely aware that she’d just climaxed at the mere thought of being used like this.

A small orgasm, but she’d undeniably gotten off to the thought of being his puppet. She enjoyed that he cared so little about her that he didn’t even bother to pull out. For a split second, she even thought she could feel his sperm as it began to swarm her cervix, swimming inside, chasing down the egg that may be waiting inside her. “Oh god...what the hell is wrong with my pussy, why does this turn me on so much,” she mumbled to herself, after which she immediately rushed a hand up to cover her mouth. She did not mean to say that out loud!

She waited. She couldn’t tell if Minsoo had managed to hear her words. He must have, considering she could feel his breath on her cheek. Slow and calm. “Wait, are you...” Raising an eyebrow, she twisted her head to glance up at his face and confirm her suspicions. He had fallen asleep, with his flaccid dick still lodged inside her womanhood and his weary testicles resting against her tenderized labia. She was uncomfortable, sweaty, and the obscene scent of unprotected sex began spreading inside the small tent...it couldn’t get any worse.

Until someone began unzipping the tent...and Danielle stuck her head inside with an innocent expression on her face.

“Where is everyo-” she interrupted herself, after which she at first coughed in disgust, and then took a step back. “What the...Han? Min? What’s going on?! What are you two...?” Her gaze lowered down to where their genitals were still connected. The vaginal lips of her best friend were horribly stretched around the thick penis of her boyfriend. She struggled to believe her eyes. Unlike Hanni, she was a devout religious person and had never even seen the privates of someone other than herself. Her world begun spinning, she felt dizzy, this couldn’t be...

“Da...Dan! This isn’t what it looks...no, I can explain!” as the girlfriend just kept watching from the entrance of the tent, watching the way her friend suddenly squirmed and struggled to try and get free from underneath her lover. Danielle stumbled backwards on unsteady feet before collapsing to the ground. The shock had been too much for her to endure. She passed out.

Her vision went black.

It felt impossible to tell how much time passed.

Consciousness returned only slowly and Danielle couldn’t manage to open her eyes just yet. She could however hear and listen well enough, to the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. There was also a distinctly wet and slippery sound, a perverse squelch that accompanied the rhythm. Danielle parted her eyes and found herself on top of her sleeping bag with a blanket to cover her. She was inside the tent.

And in plain sight, she watched Hanni on all fours, completely naked, with widely parted legs while being taken from behind. Each eager thrust from her partner caused a small shockwave to ripple up along her body, the force caused her breasts to jiggle and bounce in tune to the primitive pounding. She still couldn’t believe it. How could this have happened? Her heart broke into a thousand pieces, and shattered into another thousand each time she listened to the sound of their lovemaking.

“I’m breaking up with you,” Danielle spoke weakly, her voice trembling. “This is disgusting! You are both disgusting...!” Minsoo glanced at her for just a moment before gazing right back at the ravishing girl he mated with. He had a newfound interest in knocking her up. It was entirely new to him, but the idea of inseminating Hanni’s cunt and forcing a baby into her belly was hot. She had to be the most petite girl he had ever seen, and it was a thrill to think how she may look like with his child growing inside her.

“I don’t even care anymore, you should’ve introduced me to your friend earlier.” He began speeding up, feverishly fucking into that pristine pussy. There was no grace to his actions, this was all about taking charge. “It took a single day to get into her panties, and she gets off on being treated like a slut,” he added. “She’s prime fuck-meat. A perfect little whore.”

Right there between the teenager’s legs was their visible connection. Minsoo’s hairy crotch repeatedly met with the hairless opening into Hanni’s pleasure box. It was an airtight vacuum. Nothing escaped her, nothing else entered her. They had become one, together. Every inch of cunt meat inside her was stretched taut around his erection.

Hanni buried her face in the pillow, both to muffle her gasps and sighs, but also to hide her face. It stung that he was telling the truth. When he finally reached his orgasm to end the ordeal, he used his grip on her waist to sheathe every inch of his dick inside her while uttering a guttural, pleased groan. He injected her with multiple thick bursts of his semen, pumping her full until it was overflowing and dribbling out of her peach to join the puddle underneath her crotch. Hanni cried into the pillow upon feeling her own climax triggered by the sheer humiliation of it all. Her body shivered uncontrollably. She hated just how much she loved the discovery of her own perversion. It wasn’t going to end. She had gotten addicted to it. At this point she would do almost anything just to keep her womanhood stuffed with his prick as much as humanly possible. They belonged together.

And so, for the following three days, Danielle had no choice but to accept the new circumstances. She lost the two people she cared most about. Not only that, but she had to watch them — and listen to them — having sex for nearly the entire time up in the mountains.

The two lovers didn’t care for the lack of privacy. They went through every possible position, wherever they could, while keeping Danielle as spectator. The entire campsite reeked of their combined cum. When they ran out of clean clothes, they simply remained naked. It wouldn’t make a difference. Hanni kept a rich coating of dried semen along her thighs and her entire vulva was kept sticky and gooey. Minsoo had remained true to his words, every creampie was served directly into the girl’s twat while Dan had to watch helplessly.

When her parents came to pick everyone up, the car was dead silent. Overall, it was the complete opposite of what Danielle had hoped to achieve with the spontaneous camping trip. She never told her parents what happened. She cut off all contact with everyone, to focus on her studies. To distract herself. To pretend none of it ever happened.

Her only relief, bitter-sweet as it may be, was seeing a familiar face a few months later at the prom party towards the end of high school. Hanni wore her jet-black hair in a long ponytail, cute red blush adorned her cheeks. She almost looked like a princess. Almost.

Some girls envied her, others laughed at her. She was the only girl at prom with a big healthy baby bump.

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

Best friends-part 1

Pairing - Rafe Cameron x best friend!reader

Summary - it’s been 2 years since you’ve seen Rafe, he has a gf and a business degree. You are dating his cousin Cooper and still very involved with the Cameron’s.

Warnings- Descriptive sexual assault, mention of domestic Violence, drinking, language. 18+ no minors

Your families had been friends for years, you had grown up with Rafe. He was your best friend, you couldn’t do anything without each other. Your parents would always joke around that the two of you would get married.

When you turned 14 you realized you might be in love with your best friend romantically but you knew he didn’t feel the same way. He was popular with the ladies, usually bringing a new date to a party each night. He would still tell you that you were his number 1 girl.

That’s when you become self conscious of the way you looked, you started wearing makeup, getting your hair done and exercising religiously. Just so you could match up to the girls he was hitting on.

When you both turned 18, he took off to college. Getting his business degree so his dad would let him run part of the business.

You stayed back though, doing most of your courses online. You couldn’t leave, not when your dad was so sick. So you stayed and wondered what Rafe was up to, you didn’t see him for over 2 years.

You messaged here and there but things weren’t the same anymore. After a while of waiting for him, you realized you needed to move on. You wouldn’t hope and pray that one day he would wake up and feel the same way you do.

So when his older cousin Cooper asked you out on a date, you said yes without a second thought. He was exactly 2 years and 6 months older than you, he’d never given you a second look until the New Year’s party, you had been waiting for Rafe to show up. But to avail he never showed, you met Cooper properly that night and he was instantly obsessed.

Fast forward 8 months into a relationship with him, you found yourself sat on the floor of Tanny Hill. Watching as everyone opened their Christmas presents.

You had been invited by Ward before he had even thought of inviting Cooper and his side of the family, you had to pretend to act surprised when Cooper asked you to come. You knew he had invited you since your dad had passed away, your mum had gone back to work not long after he passed and she was apparently to busy to come home for Christmas.

This year Rafe came on, he was sitting on the large black lounge, arm slung around his girlfriend Lola. She was lovely, blonde with a die for figure. Everything you weren’t. Rafe looked more mature, but happier.

He still caused butterflies to swarm your belly, your heart to stammer in your chest. He still hugged the same and spoke the same, still picked on you in a way that had you giddy.

“Who wants a drink?” Coop questions, stumbling in his step slightly. You shook your head and stood up, he had been drinking since 9am and it was 2pm now. He was wasted. He could hardly stand by himself, using the door frame for support.

“Coop I don’t think you need another drink” you whispered, following him into the kitchen. He waved you off and continued to mix liquids into a shaker.

He had started drinking a lot in the past 3 months, work had been stressful and deadlines where being thrown left and right at him. You suspected he was also nervous about Rafe coming home, he knew how close we used to be.

“Could you open that?” He asks, pushing you the unopened bottle of champagne. His hands gripped the table to steady himself, he chuckled under his breath and looked up at you.

“Open it!” He ordered, you jumped slightly at his aggressive tone. You hated when he drank, he was a whole other person. Mean, manipulative and always ended up hurting you in some way.

You proceeded to uncork the champagne and passed it back to him in silence, he snatched it from you without a thank you and went back to making his drink.

He took a gulp of his drink and walked around to you, sculling back the last of it, he reached out for you. flinching away from him as he placed his hand on your hip.

“Oh come on babe, I didn’t mean to yell” he whispered, pressing his lips to your cheek. You nodded your head in silence, holding your breath. The stench of alcohol on his breath made you woozy.

His lips trailed down your neck, sucking harshly at the skin. He pushed your back against the island bench, trapping you between his large arms. Grinding himself against you.

“Coop, not now. Someone could walk in” you whispered, moving to duck under his arm. He grabbed the pony tail that sat low on your head, pulling you back up to him.

“You don’t get to deny me what’s mine” he growled, his hand gripping the base of your throat. Tightening his fingers around it roughly.

“Coop” you cried, your throat began to burn and the breath you desperately wanted to take was trapped. “You're hurting me!”

He wasn’t listening though, his eyes were glazed over and the expression on his face was no longer him. He was the Cooper you had started to hide from when he came home at 2am in the morning.

“Shut the fuck up” he shouted, his fingers slipped under the material of your sweater. Groping the flesh of your breast roughly, scratching the skin raw.

You had started to cry at this point, tears staining your cheeks. You were thankful that this house was so big, no one would be able to hear you. You didn’t want anyone to witness this.

Cooper began to unzip your jeans, sliding his shaky hand under your panties until he found what he was looking for.

“Cooper!” You cried out, searing pain shooting through you as his fingers roughly entered you.

Tears were blurring your vision now, his lips were all over you. You were struggling to breath from his mouth on your lips and his fingers around your throat.

He began to unzip his own pants, pulling your hand away from the bench and down his jeans. Your fingers frozen, he manipulated them until they wrapped around his cock. “Come on y/n, just a quick fuck and you can go back to the fucking Cameron’s” he slurred, pulling your jeans down to expose your green panties. “Fuck, my favorite” he laughed, he spun you around pushing your face into the table.

The alcohol Cooper had spilt was now all over your face and in your hair, he had you pinned under his hand. Pulling his cock out of his pants, he didn’t warn you or ease you into it. He slammed his hips into you, causing you to cry out in pain.

You squeezed your eyes such and dug your fingernails into the wooden bench, trying to take yourself to a happy place. Anywhere but here.

“Fuck! Get a roo-” Rafes voice filled your ears, the once deafening buzz was gone and you pried your eyes open. Rafe only needed a second to realize you were in distress.

The once disgusted look in his face had vanished and was replaced with anger, his brows knitted together as he took in the scene in front of him.

“Fuck off bro” Cooper shouted, pushing your head back down onto the table and thrusting his hips again, he had no shame.

“Rafe!” You choked, pleading for him to do something. Rafe seemed to have gotten out of the trance he was in and he began bounding towards the two of you.

Cooper pulled himself out of you, tucking himself back into his pants stumbling backwards into the sink.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!!” Rafe screamed, he fisted the front of Cooper's shirt and pulled him closer.

You could tell he was fighting with himself, he didn’t want to cause a scene. Not when his dad was around, he couldn’t risk losing the business.

You had pulled your pants up in hurry, clutching the table in pain as Ward stepped into the kitchen the moment Rafe’s fist was in the air, he took one look at you crying and looked back at the boys.

“What happened?” He questioned, causing Rafe to drop his fist and look back at his dad. “He was assaulting y/n”.

This seemed to anger Ward as well, he nodded his head and stepped over to you.

“Let’s take you somewhere else” Ward whispers, he puts his hand out for you to take. You look back at Rafe and cooper, Rafe nods his head towards his dad. Cooper doesn’t even look at you, he’s so far gone his eyes are rolling behind his head.

You step over to take Ward’s hand and let him take you to his study, he situates you on the couch and hands you some water. You give him a soft smile and move your head to stare out of the window at the sea.

“I’ll be next door” he states, he wants to give you a moment of privacy. He also knows you won’t talk about it to him, you’ll want to talk to Rafe.

You're unaware how much time passes but the door to the study creaks open, Rafe steps in with a bag of ice over his hand.

“Y/n”

You turn your head back to the window, cradling your throat in your hands. The aching hadn’t stopped, the burn in your throat was brutal. No amount of water was easing the pain.

“Can I use your shower?” You asked, moving from your spot and walking towards him. You winced in pain, you hadn’t realized how sore you were. Cooper had been much rougher this time. “Here I’ll help you”.

You let him walk you up the stairs to his room, he pushes the door open. His girlfriend Lola lay on top of his mattress reading a book, her head whips around and sorrow feels her features when she looks at you.

“Sorry babe I thought you were downstairs” he smiled at her, she pulled herself from the bed quickly and flattened her dress. “I’ll use Sarah’s shower” you stated, pulling away from Rafe and walking yourself across the landing with a whimper.

“I have to help her babe” Rafe states and his arms are back around you in a second. You let him lead you into Sarah’s room, he flips the switch in the bathroom and turns the shower on.

“Thanks Rafe” you whisper, you give a soft hug in appreciation and he kisses the top of your head like he used to. Your heart swells, he pulls away and gives you a smile.

“I’ll get you some of Sarah’s clothes” he states and steps out of the room, he goes to close the door but you grab the handle before he can. “Leave it open a little please”.

He nods and steps away from the door, he searches through Sarah’s draws and grabs her a pair of loose shorts and oversized shirt. This should do, he thought to himself.

He walked back to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of you reaching for the towel. He could see old bruises on your arms and the fresh bruises on your hips, he closed his eyes when he caught sight of the harsh scratches on your breast. He knew he shouldn’t look, but you’d seen each other naked before. Okay maybe you were only 15 but still.

“Rafe” you called out, he was at the door in seconds handing you a pile of clothes. “Let me get yours washed” he says, you look down at your clothes and back at him. “No I’ll do it” you went to grab the clothes on the bench but he was faster than you. “Rafe” you warned but his eyes were already looking at the clothes in his hands, the sight of bright red blood stained on your once favorite pair of panties.

“Fuck” he grunted, balling your clothes up in his fists. “I’m getting dad to call the dr” he states, you shake your head grabbing his bicep. “No please Rafe, I’m fine. I don’t want another dr looking at me” you cried, he pulls you into a hug and squeezes you softly against his chest.

“Does this happen a lot?” He questions, he knows he doesn’t have a right to ask. The two of you hadn’t spoken properly since he left and he knew that was all his fault.

“When he drinks a lot he is this whole other person, it only started happening recently. I was never around when he drank before” you mumbled against his chest, you could hear the harsh thump of his heart as he took in the new information.

“He pushed me around a couple of times, forced himself on me a few weeks ago when I told him I missed you. Today was different, he was brutal.” You say, pulling yourself away from his hold. You grab the clothes he brought in and begin to change, keeping the towel around your body until the oversized shirt cover your naked body, stepping into the shorts.

“I’m so sorry I haven’t been around y/n” he says, taking the towel from you and hanging it on a hook. He watches you throw your clothes into the trash, and lets you walk out of the bathroom first.

“Y/n”

Cooper's voice frightens you, you step back hitting Rafe’s chest in the process. Your heart races as you take in his swollen bruised face, you didn’t like it. “Coop, Ward told you to leave” Rafe states, stepping around you and walks towards him. “I know I know, I just needed to see y/n. I’m so sorry this happened again baby, you know I love you”.

You shake your head and walk back into the bathroom closing the door behind you, you didn’t want to hear it, he was just trying to get you to forgive him. Take him back and pretend like none of it happened.

It was the same every time, this time he’d gone too far.

“Get out Cooper now, I’m fucking serious. Your lucky I didn’t call the fucking cops you piece of shit!” Rafe bellows, you hear a thump against a wall. Either Rafe hit the wall or he hit Cooper who fell into the wall.

“Fuck!” You hear Cooper shout, the door slams behind him. You're pressed against the bathroom door in silence, body shaking in fear.

Rafe taps on the wood quietly and you open the door for him. “He’s gone, let’s get you something to eat yeah?”.

Part two

Taglist - @laylasbunbunny @h34rtsformilli @lydiasxxsworld @hallecarey1 @mountloverr @outerbankspov @cameronmedia @crunchy-leaves77 @vigilanteshitposting @pedrisgatorade @phoenixssugarbaby @rafemotherfuckingcameron @s-we-e-t-t-ea @rafesthroatbaby @alltoomay @moremaybank

(please note a lot of people who commented or like my taglist post I am unable to actually tag, so sorry!! And if you no longer want to be tagged just let me know)

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (22)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, sexual tension, smut, angst, swearing ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He cursed himself in his head for giving in to her, for letting her fly on Larax, soaring towards the skies on Vhagar, looking out for her from afar with a clenched throat. Despite the fact that she hadn't run away with Daemon, he couldn't get over his fear that she would flee, that she would abandon him again.

That she would rip his heart out.

A sigh of relief left his lips as he caught sight of the shining, shimmering blue and silver slender figure of her dragoness in the distance, finding with satisfaction that they were heading in the right direction. He turned over his shoulder, terrified as he flew over them and heard a squeal below, Larax terrified by Vhagar's sudden presence panicked.

He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a sigh when he heard his niece's commands, and after a moment her dragon calmed down and joined him, flying a little lower at his side.

He could not contain an involuntary smile of satisfaction as he felt the heat that filled his heart at the thought that here was his dream come true, and he was at last roaming the skies with his wife.

Although Aegon sometimes allowed him to accompany him on his visits to the Dragon's Pit, when he could get a close look at Sunfyre, it brought him neither joy nor comfort. He knew it was their mother who had forced him to take his little brother with him, thinking it would help him, meanwhile it only deepened his grief and sadness.

It wasn't his dragon, but his brother's, so what was he to be happy about?

His attitude, however, was quite different about his niece's dragoness when their betrothal was announced.

She was to become his wife, and as a wedded pair they were to share everything with each other, so he felt that he could also partly acknowledge Larax as his own.

When he saw her for the first time he thought that only Sunfyre matched her beauty.

Larax had blue-silver scales shimmering in the light of day, her nature gentle and docile, at the sight of his betrothed she acted and squealed in excitement like a small, happy child.

At first she hissed at him when he tried to approach her, however, when his niece took his hand in hers and placed it on her back, Larax allowed him to stroke her and from then on she accepted his presence with calmness.

Her scales were rough and sharp, yet smooth and pleasant to the touch, sparkling with various shades of blue like a gems, making him gasp in delight.

Looking at her now, he could not get out of his mind how she had grown, how wide and slender her wings were, with what lightness she swirled in the air.

Compared to her, his beloved old Vhagar was like a great flying stone fortress.

When they arrived, his wife landed by the fortress itself, but he had to find a lair for Vhagar in which she would pose no threat to anyone; he finally spotted a small grassy hill from below and ordered her to lower her flight, finally landing with a sigh of relief.

For some reason he was both joyful and terrified of what awaited them, hundreds of thoughts running through his head.

What if Rheanyra wants to kidnap her? What if she orders her to stay in the Eyrie? What if they reject their terms?

What if he has to kill them?

Despite the beautiful sunny weather and the wonderful journey at his wife's side, these gloomy thoughts consumed his mind completely. When he finally reached the gates of Harrenhal and spotted the figure of Larys Strong in the distance, he only prayed that he would be allowed to rest at least for a moment.

He glanced at his wife, who smiled at him uncertainly, tense, something about the person of Larys Strong or the woman standing next to him had obviously made her uncomfortable.

He decided it did not matter, tired and sore from sitting in one position, and directed his words to the heir of Harrenhal.

"Lord Strong. Take us to our quarters."

Larys Strong did indeed direct them straight to his rooms, much more modest and cramped than those in King's Landing. He pulled off his leather gloves, frustrated that the Lord kept speaking and speaking and speaking, glancing up at him only when he mentioned that he had prepared other quarters for his wife.

No, he thought.

Her place was with him.

They were staying in a nest of vipers and he had no intention of letting any of them bite her.

"No need. My wife will spend the night in my chamber." He said impatiently; Lord Strong raised his eyebrows as if genuinely surprised by his words.

"As you wish, my Prince. However, I will leave the rooms I spoke of at your wife's disposal for her own convenience. I have also assigned her a servant to ensure that while we men are conversing, she will have company. There are several matters I would like to discuss with you." He said lightly, and he pressed his lips together, casting a tired, enraged look at his wife, who stared at him with her big, warm eyes full of understanding.

They were both exhausted, but nothing could be done.

He sighed and nodded, ordering her to leave them alone, leading her and the woman who had followed her away with anxious gaze.

Was this the famous Witch of Harrenhal?

What if she does indeed cast a spell on her?

What if she pours poison into her honey or wine?

Larys Strong snapped him out of his reverie by sitting down at a table standing just beside the window, leaning his staff against the back of his chair, sighing softly.

"Your grandfather has conveyed to me what matter has brought you here, my Prince, and has asked me to personally take care of everything if the matter gets out of hand." He said meekly, as if he had just been telling him about the weather or what meals would be served to them at supper.

He felt an unpleasant shiver run along his spine, a cold sweat on the back of his neck as he threw him a quick, shocked look, his heart pounding like mad.

Lord Strong seemed amused by his reaction, a smile appeared on his face from which he felt an unpleasant squeeze in his guts.

"I have my little birds in the Eyrie who chirp to me about everything that happens there. Daemon and Rhaenyra arrived there this morning − they will also spend the night there after your negotiations. If their answer is not to our satisfaction, the matter will be resolved in a slightly different way."

He swallowed loudly, trying to calm his breathing, feeling like if he moved even a little he would vomit immediately, disbelief, shock and horror vibrating through his entire body.

They wanted to take advantage of the fact that they felt safe in their kin's fortress.

They wanted to kill them.

They wanted him to betray his wife.

He answered nothing, unable to even find the words for what he was feeling as he stared blankly out the window, noticing the silhouette of Larax shining in the sunlight, his hands clenched into fists.

"It is for the good of the kingdom, my Prince. War is no one's desire." He said lightly, rising on his staff, walking with difficulty out of his chamber, leaving him alone with the cold, terrifying chill he felt in his chest.

He pressed his lips together, trying not to cry like a child.

What if Rheanyra did not accept their terms?

What option would be left for them?

He felt devastated at the thought that none.

There would be nothing that could be done.

They had to do anything to make them agree.

They had to lie.

His mind was filled with dark, gloomy thoughts as his wife stepped into the chamber where he and Larys were already seated, waiting for her to begin supper. He squinted as he saw that her hair was entwined around her head in braids, for some reason he felt frustrated thinking that this was surely the witch's idea.

What were they discussing?

What had she said to her?

"Beautiful hairstyle, Your Grace." Said Lord Strong; he pressed his lips together, impatient, thinking he was a fucking snake plotting how to kill her mother while throwing her sweet, empty compliments.

He wondered, horrified, if, as far as she was concerned, he and his grandfather had their own plans too.

His wife expressed her gratitude to him with a happy smile and turned her eyes on him, her gaze bright and warm, completely unaware of what was happening around her.

"And you, my husband? What do you think?" She asked lightly, and he licked his lips, furious, horrified, devastated.

"I prefer it when your hair is loose." He replied drily, feeling however instantly remorseful at the look of sadness, pain of rejection that flashed across her face. She blinked and lowered her head, swallowing quietly as she grabbed for her cup, his heart beating harder at the thought that the wine might have been poisoned.

Nothing happened to her, however, and she did not look at him again for the rest of the supper, smiling despite her distress, exchanging courteous remarks with Lord Strong. When she rose, saying that she was exhausted and wished already to prepare for sleep, his heart pounded harder.

"As soon as you have finished, come to my chamber." He commanded. She nodded and left, leaving them alone.

There was an awkward silence between them.

"Your wife is indeed a sweet and innocent creature, my Prince." Lord Strong said, and he cast him a stern, furious look, sensing the subtext in that sentence, some kind of malicious threat from which he felt unpleasant chills running through his veins.

"If anything happens to her, I will rip out your tongue, I will gouge out your eyes, I will cut off your hands; I will cut off parts of your body piece by piece until only your torso and your head remain. Do you understand?" He asked in a low, calm, cold voice − Larys Strong looked at him piercingly, a smile on his lips from which he felt that terrible squeeze in his stomach again.

"Yes, my Prince."

When he returned to his chamber he was just a bundle of nerves, pacing around as if in a trance, terrified, confused, horrified, thinking only of the fact that he needed her, that he had to look at her face, speak to her in private, come up with some plan, anything from which he would be able to sleep a wink that night.

Should he tell her or not?

What if she decides that his family has betrayed her, that she can't trust them?

What if she panicked, if she changed her mind at the last minute, changed sides?

FUCK!

He waited and waited and waited, and she did not appear. He growled loudly, burying his face in his hands, desperate and impatient − the tension in his lower abdomen caused by the lack of their closeness for the last few days was unbearable for him.

He didn't want to make her suffer discomfort when she was already in such pain, thinking that if he waited and let her rest, he would thereby prove that he didn't just care about their physical intimacy, that he respected her and was willing to wait.

He broke from his seat, deciding that enough was enough, and walked out, heading aggressively with a quick step towards her chamber, opening the door with a loud slam. He froze in place, looking in disbelief at the scene before him.

The Witch of Harrenhal held his niece's hand close to her face, kneeling by her tub, his wife submerged in the water with only her nightgown clinging to her bare body, which was clearly visible through the thin material.

For one brief moment it seemed to him that the woman removed her free hand from under her skirt at the sight of him.

What the fuck was she doing?

Both of them looked at him in shock − the witch stood up and bowed to him, bending her head humbly.

"My Prince."

"− get out −" He growled enraged, feeling his whole body quiver in fury, his hands clenched into fists.

The woman left the chamber without a word, and he rushed towards his niece like a lion about to pounce on its prey − her large eyes widened in shock, her lips parted in a hastened breath, her cheeks all flushed in a way she looked when he took her in his bed.

The thought enraged him even more.

"− what is the meaning of this? − hm? −" He hissed, looking at her expectantly, but she merely raised her shoulders in a defensive gesture, her hand clenched on the edge of her tub.

Gods, give me patience, he thought in fury.

"− can't I leave you alone even for a fucking moment? −" He asked with rage as if he had just reprimanded a small, disobedient child. She blinked, clearly trying to get something out of herself after all.

"− I-I asked her for help −"

What?

"− help with what, that she had to kneel beside you and hold your hand? − you are fucking bare −" He burst out, not believing a word she said, her cheeks turning scarlet at his words, the innocent hot look in her eyes killing him.

"− I − I can't tell you, it's embarrassing −"

"− gods, I swear I'm about to rip you to shreds −"

"− we were discussing embarrassing feminine matters − she showed me something…important − for you too −" She finally mumbled out, and he furrowed his brow, understanding absolutely nothing of her explanation, increasingly frustrated that she wasn't telling him the truth.

"− I want to know what this brazen whore was doing to my wife −" He growled in a cold, enraged voice, and she swallowed hard, knowing he was about to explode.

"− very well − I − I will try to show it to you − just − just don't get upset and sit on the bed −"

He was distrustful at first, but did as she asked.

And then his concerns, his fear and terror vanished, replaced by a complete dullness of his mind due to the surprising delight that the touch of her soft, warm lips on his fat, throbbing erection gave him.

When she added her fleshy, moist tongue to her caresses, licking the pink, swollen head of his cock with its tip he thought it was over for him.

He fucked her throat like there was no tomorrow, panting loudly with clenched eyelids, holding her hair in the firm grip of his hands, thrusting his hard cock deep between her sweet lips with the deep stabs of his hips, moaning helplessly as her tongue teased him with the sticky click of her saliva.

She squirmed loudly as he quickened his pace, again and again hitting the back of her throat, tears of exertion running down her cheeks as she tried to breathe loudly through her nose to keep from suffocating.

"− I know − please, please, let me − oh, fuck, yes, swallow it, swallow, swallow, swallow −" He mumbled out panting heavily, tilting his head back as his seed spilled down her throat at last. He heard her cough quietly, shocked, and swallow loudly, some of his spend trickled from the corner of her mouth down her chin.

It was the most indecent sight he had seen in his entire life.

Indecent and wonderfully beautiful at the same time.

"− come − come here − your husband need to take care of you −" He breathed out, grabbing her around the waist, lifting her lightly, sitting her on his lap. His niece sat down on top of him, cupping his cheeks in her hands, joining their lips in a hot, sticky kiss, her tongue slightly salty from his seed.

His cock pulsed hard at that thought.

He turned and threw her onto her back on the soft bedsheet, pulling her wet nightgown off of her, his swollen lips running over her sternum down her stomach leaving a wet, warm, sticky trail behind. Her body quivered all over as he took her thighs in his hands and spread them in front of him, her hands trying to stop him from doing what he wanted to do when his face leaned over her heat.

"− n-no − I'm still dirty −" She mumbled helplessly, embarrassed; he gasped at her words, looking at her swollen folds, from between which her moisture leaked, running the tip of his tongue over her sensitive, fleshy womanhood. She tilted her head back with a moan of delight and desire, her body arching like a string, her hips involuntarily pushing forward to meet his lips.

He couldn't deny himself this, he was too desperate, too terrified, he needed her too badly to stop, to stop himself from sinking his mouth into her weeping cunt, begging him for fulfilment, the tip of his nose running over her bud while his tongue teased her opening with lazy, slow licks.

"− who made you so wet? − her? − hm? −" He hummed, feeling her quickly shake her head, her hands tightening in his hair, pressing him closer, wanting more, her breathing quick and raspy.

"− n-no − I was thinking about you − about you deep inside my mouth −" She muttered, a low, throaty groan escaping his lips that flowed in vibration through her body at her words, his cock swelling all over in his breeches at the memory of what her sweet mouth had done to him as he peaked deep into her throat.

"− did you enjoy it? − the taste of your husband deep in your belly? −" He cooed, sliding his tongue deeper and deeper into her tight, puffy slit; she cried out loudly at his question, her moist walls clenching greedily around nothing.

"− y-yes − oh, gods, please − put it inside me −" She begged, repeating it again and again, his fingers digging deep into the soft skin of her thighs.

How could he deny her?

He lifted himself up on his arm, panting hard, directing his once again swollen erection at her entrance – she was so wet that he thrust into her with one deep push of his hips. They both threw their heads back, delighted at their closeness, at how shockingly pleasurable and intimate the experience was.

"− I've waited so long for this − fuck, this warm cunt is my doom −" He exhaled, despite her cries and the shudders that shook her body imposing a fast, aggressive pace on her at once, pounding into her with the brutal, deep thrusts of his hips, her insides slick with her moisture, making their bare skin slap against each other with a sticky smack again and again.

"− u-uncle − ah − mghmm −" She mumbled, clenching her hands on the material of his tunic, responding devotedly to each of his stabs with the rocking of her hips, her eyes closed, her puffy lips parted sweetly in pleasure.

He leaned over her and kissed her greedily with her sigh of delight, his tongue full of her flavour bursting deep into her throat as he pressed her to the bed, thrusting into her so deeply and quickly that he was hardly slipping out of her.

They both moaned loudly and tightened their fingers on each other's bodies as she threw back her head in wonderful fulfilment, through which her fleshy walls began to squeeze and suck him inside. He cursed under his breath and sighed in relief as the heat in his lower abdomen became unbearable and his seed filled her again, this time taking root in her womb.

They both rocked their hips for a while longer, whimpering and panting into each other's mouths, their lips brushing and teasing each other, their hands stroking each other's faces and hair as they tried to calm down and come down from their peak. He fell on top of her at last without strength, closing his eyes, nuzzling his nose into her hot cheek; he murmured contentedly as her tiny fingers combed through his hair.

"− good gods − I needed this so much −" He muttered, allowing himself to feel like a small, helpless child again in her arms, with his eyes closed, focusing only on the tender, warm touch of her hand.

"− me too, my beloved −" She whispered, and he felt the heat in his heart, the love for her that filled his members like a living fire.

And then he felt a cold sweat on his back, his heart thumping hard at the memory of Larys Strong's words.

It is for the good of the kingdom, my Prince.

War is no one's desire.

He opened his eyes, looking at her soft face, at her closed eyelids, at her lips parted in a calm breath. She murmured with a gentle smile as his fingers ran over her cheek − he felt a squeeze in his throat at the thought that perhaps he should tell her.

But what if it was necessary?

What if Rheanyra and Daemon didn't agree, what if they threatened his grandfather, his mother and his siblings?

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, not making a sound when a single, solitary tear of pain and grief ran down the side of his face onto the pillow beneath their heads.

A peaceful, deep sleep did not come to him that night.

Instead he fell into restless slumbers, during which he dreamt that for some reason his niece had stayed with her mother in the Eyrie, that a servant boy had walked into her chamber in the night and cut her throat.

That she had tried to scream his name, her husband's name, terrified and distraught, but only a grunt had escaped her lips.

He awoke with an aggressive tug, feeling his heart pounding like mad, looking down quickly at her body snuggled into his chest, entwined with his legs. His arms closed her in a tighter embrace with her silent sigh, his face sinking into her soft, fragrant hair, inhaling her addictive scent.

The next day, just before they set off to the Eyrie, he left her bed reluctantly, telling her, while she was still sunk in half-sleep, that he would only go and change into his riding attire, that she would not eat or drink anything but wait for him outside the fortress gates.

He was afraid that someone would try to poison her.

He stepped into his chamber feeling that he was shaking all over, repeating in his head the elaborate plan he had devised.

He would lie that she was expecting his child.

That they were in fact supported by the gods themselves, that his father was right when he said that the kingdom could not be divided.

That if he becomes king-regent until his child is born, his queen-wife, her mother and Daemon will be given a seat in the Small Council.

That their family will have a say in all things concerning the kingdom.

In the meantime, they might actually be able to beget an heir, he thought, trying to calm himself down, and then all their worries would resolve themselves.

He tried not to think about what would happen if a daughter was born to them, or if they did not beget a heir at all, if his grandfather began plotting again fearing that it would be Daemon and Rheanyra's children who would sit on the Iron Throne.

They had to agree.

He shuddered, turning away impatiently when he heard the door to his chamber open, wanting to ask the servant how much longer he had to wait but froze, spotting the silhouette of the woman who had driven him to such fury only the day before.

"− get out, woman −" He growled, grabbing the tunic lying on his bed, deciding that he would rather dress himself than let this woman touch him.

She was manipulating his wife's mind, perceiving her innocence, her desires, and trying to inspire her confidence, to approach her in a way that was indecent and unacceptable.

"You will betray her."

He felt his heart stop for a moment when he heard her words and he froze, swallowing hard. He looked at her over his shoulder with his eye wide open, feeling his nostrils quiver with each of his terrified breaths.

Her eyes, the colour of an intense, bright green, seemed to pierce him to the core, something in her gaze that made him both uncomfortable and embarrassed at the same time.

"You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most. You will break her. You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again. You will come back here to face your nephew and you will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your despair and longing. You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death."

Tears of horror, shame and disbelief gathered at the corners of his eyes as he saw her smile full of mockery and superiority, a shudder of disgust shook his body as she bowed before him and simply walked away, leaving him alone with her words ringing in his ears like a bell.

He felt that awful, overwhelming constriction in his stomach again, from which his head spun, barely managing to grab the bowl that lay on the table before his insides twisted in convulsions.

He vomited.

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Not Like I'm in Love with You

Summary: For the longest time, it was you and Maria. A package duo. A dynamic team. Agent Hill and Gaia. But you were always just friends, nothing more. Until a mission goes wrong forces Maria to admit her feelings for you.

Warnings: jealously, angst with a happy ending, surgery, medically induced coma, bomb, eco terrorist?, reader is enhanced, mention of drinking and sexual activity, love confession

Word Count: 5.2k

“My savior,” Natasha groaned as you handed the redhead a coffee and a breakfast sandwich. She moaned, taking a sip of the coffee. “I could marry you right now.” You shook her head at her antics and passed the rest of the goodies to the team. Clint had his feet on the table and head thrown back, and a pair of sunglasses covered his eyes. He grunted out a thanks when he set his order down. The rest of the team was in different states of hungover, barely muttering a greeting. You chuckled.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have gone out on a school night,” you teased, sitting down at your desk so you could eat your own. Clint groaned.

“You aren’t my mom,” You felt like it.

“Where’s the boss?” You questioned.

“Probably untangling herself from the blonde she went home with,” May mumbled, holding a cold towel to her forehead. Why did your stomach drop when she said that? The team had the right to party after a job well done. The case had a breakthrough, and they wanted to go out. Like always, you refused, you weren’t much of a drinker, and you didn’t trust yourself drunk with your abilities. You were an Eco-empathy, allowing you to connect deeply with the environment and sense, understand, and manipulate the natural world. SHIELD nicknamed you Gaia, and your fellow agents called you various Earth-related names. You and Maria were just friends, right? When Fury picked her as Deputy Director, she prompted you alongside her. You were her second in command; while she went out in the field, you stayed behind to run point. It was how you two operated a well-oiled machine. Co-workers. Best friends at most. Like you’ve been, right? Natasha raised an eyebrow at you.

The door opened, and Maria walked in. “Ah, she emerges from her walk of shame,” Natasha teased. Maria flipped her off and thanked you with a smile for her breakfast.

“Ain’t nothing shameful what I did last night,” Natasha cringed. Thankfully, Maria’s back was to you, so she missed the frown on your face. The redhead saw it. “Alright,” she said. “What’s the plan?”

*

“You missed a hell of a party,” Maria said as you handed your mock battle plan for the upcoming mission. It would go through her than Fury before it was green lite; the more eyes, the better when it came to people’s lives.

“All these years you’ve known me, you know clubs aren’t my scene,” you sat on the edge of her desk. There was a picture of you and her during your SHIELD graduation. “Besides, how long were you there until an innocent woman fell under your spell?” You teased, but it didn’t feel enjoyable in your mouth.

“She wasn’t so innocent when I had my way with her,” you faked a gag. It was typical behavior between you two to talk about the woman you brought home; more times than not, Maria had the stories. But why did you feel like you could throw up right now?

“I can tell by that hickey on your neck,” you pushed the bruise, and she squatted your hand away. She was your ride-or-die. So you weren’t jealous.

“What is your schedule like today?” You sighed, looking at your nails on your left hand.

“Leading a training with May, a meeting with Phil, and I think Clint wants to go over some new trick arrows,” you rattled off. It was a typical busy day for you. Maria nodded.

“Do you want to go get lunch? We could go to that Mexican place you like.” That sounded nice, and you liked the burritos and mock tails they had. You sighed.

“How about a ring check? Nat asked if I could get lunch with her today,” Maria liked to joke that you made her soft. She rarely held up the mask to hide her emotions around you. There was no need. Now you saw the mask slowly creep up to hide her true feelings.

“Yeah, of course, she forced a smile. “Now get out of here before I write you up,” she teased. Rolling your eyes, you jumped off her desk.

“See you later, Ria.”

“Stay safe out there, Willow.” You rolled your eyes at the nickname but her office to start your day.

*

“You love her,” Natasha said as you took a bite of your sandwich. You choked on it, and the Black Widow smirked at your misfortune. You rubbed your chest to help the food pass and took a sip of water.

“I have no idea what the hell you are talking about,” she took a fry from your plate and popped it in her mouth.

“Please, Cherry, you’ve been in love with Maria since I’ve known you, and according to Phil, it’s been since the academy,” you gasped.

“Why is this office gossip?” You asked.

��We have to talk about something,” she shrugged. SHIELD agents were moths to a flame when it came to gossip. “Don’t worry, we won’t discuss it with Maria.” That was not reassuring.

“Look, Maria and I are friends. We have been forever; the way I feel is black and white.” You were curious to know if Natasha believed you. Hell, you barely believed yourself. It wasn’t like you stayed up at night overthinking the possibility of you and Maria has a couple. Nah, that would be dumb.

“Are you sure?” Yeah, it was fine. It was cool. It wasn’t like every time she talked about having sex with some random hookup at a bar, it made your stomach burn with jealousy because you wanted her body all to yourself. You wanted her more than anyone else. It’s not like you were in love with her.

“Shit,” you mumbled, slumping back into her hair. Natasha smiled, sipping on her chocolate milkshake.

“Glad you admitted it,” you hadn’t admitted anything. What was she talking about? “So, are you going to tell her?”

“No!” You shrieked, and you drew the attention of the other patrons. You felt your body warm up due to the extra eyes. Natasha chuckled. “God, no. I can’t. It will ruin everything. Besides, I doubt she feels the same.”

“She does.” The Black Widow glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Shit, we have to get back.” It was supposed to be a quick lunch because Fury called for an emergency meeting. You nodded, throwing your half-eaten food in the bag to take with you. “You know,” Natasha held open the door for you as you walked onto the busy DC sidewalks. “You should tell her. You both could be happy.” She said it as if it was easy and not scary. It’s not like you were losing your mind thinking about her in your bed. It started slow, but like dominoes, you started free-falling with no control. You were doing a shit job at hiding it if your friends knew the truth. It’s not like you were in love with her.

*

“I’m going on this mission,” you said, a little surprised.

“Yes,” Fury said, his arms behind his back and one good eye trained on you. “Your skill set is what this mission needs. Is that a problem?”

“No sir,” you said without hesitation. You kept up to date on your physical and firearm certification, and you met with SHIELD’s psychologist. You were always mission-ready when the time called for it, but it never did. You glanced at Maria, who was oddly quiet. Her face was in a permanent frown. But you couldn’t worry about her now; you had a mission to lead.

*

Maria found you in the locker room, tackle suit around your waist, and you were holding your dad’s dog tags in your hand. It was your good luck charm. “Want me to put it on you?” She asked. You nodded, handing her the necklace. Carefully, she placed the chain around your neck and locked it. The cold metal caused goosebumps to cover your shin. “I don’t like you going on this mission without me.” She admitted and sat down next to you on the bench. You chuckled.

“You’ll be watching my back,” you looked over your shoulder. “No, you’ll know how I feel every time you run off into danger.” You tried to make light of the situation, but there was a frown on your face. “Here,” you removed the necklace and placed it around her.

“What are you doing?” She asked. “You never go anywhere without it.”

“I don’t need it,” you said. “I got you watching my back. That’s all the luck I need.” Maria was quiet. It was unsettling for her to be quiet. “Ria, we got this. I get this. I’ve learned from the best, so I’ll be the best.” She laughed, and you were glad you could pull a sound out of her.

“Just-”

“Clover,” May walked in and cut Maria off. “We are all set, just waiting for you.” You told me you’d be there in 5 and turned your attention back to Maria.

“Just stay safe out there, Willow.” You wondered what she was going to say if she wasn’t interrupted.

“I’ll see you later, Ria,” you smiled. “Promise.”

*

You learned to listen to your gut instinct. It was your most valued tool as an agent. Even when you ran point back at headquarters, you listened to it when your stomach tightened with anxiety as you sat in the wooded area that surrounded the factory. This factory was responsible for releasing toxins into the air. Usually, this type of case wouldn’t gather attention from SHIELD, but the damage they were doing to the environment was affecting the locals: memory loss, muscle spasms, and strange hallucinations. The problem was that it was impossible to locate the idiots responsible for the mess. You could feel the environment dying in this area. May place a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Are you okay? She asked. You nodded, unable to open your mouth. You let out a few shaky breaths, trying to loosen the anxiety knot in your stomach, and tapped on the com in your ear.

“How are we looking?” You asked.

“They are about to make the guard change,” hearing Maria’s voice helped calm you down. “Are you doing okay, Willow? Your heart monitor is spiking.” You rolled your eyes and bit back a huff of annoyance. It was Phil’s idea to add pulse and heart detectors into the suit.

“Yeah, they’ve caused a lot of damage to this area. It’s making me all jittery,” you admitted.

“We’ll stop them,” this time it was Natasha’s voice through the coms. The Black Widow was recovering from a shoulder injury that left her benched until it was healed. You lead the team with Clint, May, and a handful of qualified agents.

“Shift change is in 3,” you put on your gas mask. “2 and 1. Stay safe, agents.” That feeling remained in the pit of your stomach. Anxiety, dread. You needed to figure out why. You moved through the building with ease and worked towards the control room. It was your, May’s, and two other agents’ job to turn off the factory while Clint protected the outside in case the alarm was tripped.

“We made it to the control room,” May said.

“Perfect, insert the flash drive. It should take 5 minutes to shut down the factory and copy the information they have on it.” Maria explained. May pushed the rolling chair out of the way.

“Go stand guard,” you ordered the other two agents. They obeyed and went into the hallway. The mission was almost over, so why were you so anxious? When May inserted the flash drive, an alarm went off, and metal walls trapped May and you inside the room.

“Houston,” your friend said. “We have a problem.” The room began to shake as a trap door opened, and a bomb rose from the floor. The red numbers clicked down from 10 minutes.

“Houston,” you repeated, and you took off the gas mask. “We have a bigger problem.”

“Turn on your cameras,” you turned on your body camera and heard the sharp intake of Maria’s breath.

“Guys, we have multiple heat signatures heading towards the factory,” Phil said. You walked over to the bomb, staring at the mysterious liquid.

“Barton, pull back. Gather all agents to the secondary position,” you pulled your hand back, clutching your hand against your chest—a fertilizer bomb.

“Willow, what is it?” Maria asked. You glanced at May; you knew she saw the panic in your eyes.

“It’s a fertilizer bomb,” you admitted. “Big enough to take out the factory and the surrounding bomb.”

“Fucking hell,” you heard Natasha mumble.

“May-”

“Already on it,” she cut off Maria as she rapidly typed at the control panel, trying to disarm the bomb.

“All agents have made it to the secondary location. Just need you two.” Yeah, that was going to be a problem. The sound of your team frantically discussing how to disarm the bomb became white noise. You walked the room length, gliding your hand over the metal wall. To your surprise, you felt pieces of earth within the metal sheets. Of course! All you had to do was focus on the impurities within the metal. You let out a shaky breath and concentrated. The metal moved underneath your palm.

“I have an idea,” you said suddenly.

“Am I going to like this idea?” Maria questioned. Probably not. You took your normal stance, feet shoulder length apart and knees bent slightly. You put your hands together, and then your palms faced the metal walls. Slowly, you began miming as if trying to rip something apart. At first, nothing happened. Beads of sweat trickled down your neck. Finally, the metal started to crumble and pull apart. A small doorway appeared. You fell to one knee, chest heaving. May ran to your side.

“That was wild,” she said. “I don’t know you could do that.” You chuckled as she helped you to your feet.

“Neither did I.”

“Nice work. No, get out of there,” Maria said. You quickly turned off your body camera and your and May’s com.

“You’re staying, aren’t you?” She asked.

“I think I can contain the blast.”

“You think?” It wasn’t an exact science, and you weren’t sure if you were strong enough to contain it.

“Go,” you told her. You had to try. If not, so many people would die, including your team. Your friend hesitated but took off towards the exit. You faced the bomb and turned on your com again. There were four and a half minutes left.

“Why aren’t you leaving with May?” Maria questioned. You took a shaky breath and retook your stance. “Willow, it’s just me and you. What are you doing?”

“I gotta try, Ria,” your voice strained with exhaustion, arms shook at each metal wall you bent around the bomb. “If I don’t, hundreds if not thousands of people are gonna die.” You said. It was your responsibility to get your team home and protect the innocents in the area. Maria whispered your name. It was so rare that someone said your real name it took you by surprise. The bomb was fully wrapped in metal, but you were exhausted already. “You got my lucky charm, right?”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I got it.”

“Good, good,” you mumbled, digging your feet into the metal floor. “I’ll see you later, Ria. I promised, didn’t I?” There was so much more you wanted to say. A three-word sentence danced on your lips, but you held it back. It wasn’t fair to her to say it now. Each nerve in your body was vibrating. Every breath you took burned. You sent a silent prayer to your father as the explosion rocked your body. You held the metal to contain it. A scream left your lips as it became too much, and your world went black.

*

Maria knew she had this aura that surrounded her. An aura that screamed authority. It told newer agents not to fuck with her. She knew she was good at what she did and wanted everyone to know that. As she walked to the med bay with Natasha close by, she was murderous. Rationally, she knew it was no one’s fault. It was par for the course when it came to this line of work, but she needed someone to blame and push guilt onto someone. May was resting in a chair with an ice pack on her head. She looked up when she heard the approaching footsteps. “She’s still in surgery,” she mumbled, and Natasha sat beside her. “Doctors are worried about the amount of blood she lost and the toxins that entered her lungs.” A heat of anger washed over Maria, but she tried to push it down.

“May, go shower and eat,” Maria ordered. Her voice strained. She saw the protest form in the agent’s eyes. “That’s an order.” You risked your life to save her and the rest of your team. It would do no one good if May stopped taking care of herself. “That’s an order.” May sighed.

“Yes, Hill.” She stood up and left. Maria took a seat in her spot, elbows resting on her knees.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Natasha asked. Maria refused to look away from the wall she was staring at.

“I need her to be okay,” Maria admitted.

“Is this why you wrote her out of every mission?” The Black Widow questioned. Maria slowly leaned back and looked at the redhead. “Come on, Hill, it was obvious. With her on the field, missions would be over in half the time, but you didn’t want to risk her getting hurt.” Maria remained silent. “Now, why would you do that?” Her eyes locked onto Natasha’s green ones; there was no judgment like she had expected to see. “We do crazy things for the people we love.”

“I-” Maria let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know, Nat.” She whispered. “I just need her to be okay.”

“She will be,” the Black Widow smiled. “She’s strong.” Of course, Maria knew you were strong. She’s seen you at your lowest point when your father passed away, but you pulled yourself out of it. Your screams right before you collapsed were repeating inside her head. It was like a bad song stuck in there. The only thing that gave her hope was the steady beat of your heart monitors within your suit. You were alive, barely but alive.

“Deputy Director Hill,” her name said, but the approaching doctor caused her to stand up.

“How she is?” She asked.

“Stable,” the doctor said. “The next 24 hours are critical. I must admit she has a few guardian angels looking out for her. There was a major piece of metal in her stomach and left thigh. She also had small pieces in her arm. We think she hit her head due to a cut on the back of her head.”

“May said you were worried about her lungs,” Natasha said. The doctor nodded.

“She inhaled a great deal of the fertilizer before she was found, so we are worried about the lasting effects.” She explained.

“Can-can I see her?” Maria asked.

“Of course, we’ve placed her in a medically induced coma to allow her body to heal.” She faintly heard Natasha say she would inform Clint and the others of your condition. Maria wasn’t sure if the doctor was talking about your prognosis, but soon she was alone.

The only noise in the room was the steady sound of the machines connected to you. It seemed unreal that you were hurt. For the longest time, you seemed untouchable. Now, you were bedridden and too pale for Maria’s liking. She took your father’s dog tags off her neck and opened your hand to put the chain in it. “Lucky charm is back where it belongs.” She formed your hands into a tight fist and placed it on your heart. “Come back to me,” she whispered, kissing your forehead. “Please.”

*

There was a heaviness that surrounded you. It started at your chest and then moved to your limbs. The pressure was suffocating. Catastrophic. Slowly, you opened your eyes to the bright light of med bay. You felt metal in your hand and opened your palm to see the dog tags you gave Maria. “You’re awake,” you turned to see Natasha. A deck of cards in your hands and glanced down at your chest. You interrupted a game of war.

“Why are you using me as a table?” You deadpanned. Natasha shrugged.

“Had to kill time as we waited for your dumbass to wake up,” you rolled your eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a semi-truck,” you groaned and sat up slowly. The door opened to the bathroom, and Clint walked out.

“Shit,” you said. “You’re alive.” You scuffed, rubbing the bandages on your chest.

“I’m glad you had so much confidence in me, bird man,” Clint took a seat across from Natasha. “The team is okay, right? They all made it out.”

“Yeah, you saved their lives,” Natasha said. “Maria is pissed at you.” You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I’ll deal with her later.” You closed your eyes. Now that you were a little more awake, you could take a better inventory of your body. Every small breath you took caused your chest to burn; it felt like a fire was starting. You sighed, wincing slightly, and turned to look at Natasha. “How bad?” The Black Widow sighed.

“There is potential damage to your lungs due to the fertilizer, and you had a metal that they had to remove from your stomach and thigh.” Cool, you thought, real cool.

“Just think,” Clint started. “At least you are off breakfast duty for a while.” You laughed at his poor attempt to lighten the mood but hissed. “Shit, sorry. No laughing. Got it.” You waved him off that you were okay.

“I’ll go get the doctor. Don’t move.” Natasha said, standing up. You scuffed. Yeah, you would make a grand escape with a hole in your stomach.

“You had everyone worried,” Clint said once Natasha was gone. You remained quiet, lost in your thoughts. It wasn’t your intention to scare everyone. It was your job to protect your team and bring them home. So, you completed that part of the mission. It so happened you were hurt in the process.

It was night when you woke up again, and Maria was in Natasha’s seat. Her eyes were closed, but you knew she wasn’t asleep. Even in the dim light of the room, she looked exhausted. Bags were under her eyes, and her face looked pale. Natasha told you that you were in a medically induced coma for five days. Maria barely slept, had to be forced to eat, and left her office. “I know you aren’t asleep, Ria,” you whispered. Her eyes shot open. “You look like shit.”

“Says the girl with the hole in her stomach.” You smiled.

“They stitched it up all good. Besides, I had my lucky charm,” you picked up the dog tag around your neck. To your surprise, Maria took your hand in hers. Your body felt warm at the simple act. It wasn’t like you hadn’t held her hand before this moment felt more intimate. “Ria,” you whispered. “Are you okay?”

“I thought I lost you,” she admitted. “God, Willow, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Didn’t mean to,” you said. “I needed to save the team.” She shook her head.

“It was the right call to make, but,” Maria sighed, and you felt her take her hand away, but you held her tight, not wanting to let her go. “Just don’t do it again.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” you promised.

With the surgery and injuries, your movement was limited. The most straightforward actions were impossible for you to do without pain shooting through your chest. It was deemed you would move in with someone until you fully recovered. Natasha was the first to offer but was quickly overruled by Maria. So you moved in with the Deputy Director, and it was strange. You needed help washing your hair, changing, and undressing yourself. You couldn’t understand the look in Maria’s eyes for every action you required assistance with. It wasn’t the first time you shared a living space with Maria, but now you walked on eggshells around each other. A part of you wanted to go back before the mission before everything felt complicated between you and your best friend.

The physical limitations weren’t the worst part of your recovery. It was the mental scars. Nightmares plagued your mind almost every night of that mission. It would change constantly. Sometimes, your team would die, or you would fail to save Maria. It was exhausting, waking up in a pool of sweat, your heart racing, and your lungs unable to get air into them. You wanted all to stop.

*

Maria was sitting at her dining room table, a bottle of whiskey opened, and she needed to work on a few case files. Her mind was a million miles away and not on her duties as Deputy Director. It wasn’t entirely her fault; a lot had happened over the past two weeks. Her best friend was almost killed; Natasha forced her to admit she was in love with said best friend, and she had to watch you piece yourself back together. It was exhausting, but she knew you would do it for her. This was how it had always been. You and Maria. Agent Hill and Gaia. A package duo that never crossed the line as friends. So Maria filled the void that was missing with one-night stands and drunken sex that meant nothing to her. All she wanted, needed, and craved was you. She could not risk the friendship; it was the most important thing in her life.

Small whimpers from your room pulled her out of her thoughts. Standing quickly, she made her way to the guest room. She carefully opened the door. You lay on the bed, mumbling something Maria couldn’t quite understand. On socked feet, she walked over to the bed and sat at the foot. “No,” you mumbled. “Take me. Not her. Please.” Maria’s heart broke.

“Sweetheart,” Maria whispered. “Wake up. Come on.”

“Maria,” you mumbled, thrashing slightly. “Maria, please, I’m sorry.”

“It’s just a nightmare. Wake up. Wake up.” You woke with a start, chest heaving and eyes frantically looking around.

“Ria,” you forced out. There was a thin layer of sweat on your body.

“It’s okay—you’re safe. I’m safe. Breath,” she gently touched the back of your neck and brought your forehead against hers. Your eyes closed as you took a few deep breaths in and out. Finally, you pulled away, and Maria hated to admit she missed you being close. You slumped back on the bed, arm across your face.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked. She was curious to know if you heard her. With your other hand, you grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

“I’m scared,” you said. Your voice shook at every spoken word. “I feel broken and weak and-” You aggressively rubbed your eyes as tears filled them.

“You are not broken,” Maria said. “You are healing. In time, you will return to your old self that I-” Maria cut herself off. You removed your hand from your face and slowly sat up.

“You what?” You asked, crossed your legs, and tried to cover the grimace of pain that crossed your face, but you moved closer to her. “Come on, Ria, tell me,” she was looking at every decoration in the room so she wouldn’t have to look at you. Finally, you used your index finger to tilt her chin to look back at you. “Finish your sentence,” you wore a smile on your face. It was a smile that Maria learned to look for in a crowd, in a meeting, or on a video call while on a mission. Your smile filled her with a sense of peace. It warmed her body and made her feel at home.

“That I fell in love with,” Maria softly spoke as she finished her sentence. You made a surprise sound that originated in the back of your throat, but you recovered quickly.

“You love me, Maria Hill?” the agent huffed a laugh, shaking her head.

“Shut up,” she mumbled. “If you are going to make fun of me, get it over with.”

“I’d never make fun of you, not about this, at least.” You added with a smirk because you have made fun of her about other things. “Can I kiss you?” You asked, inching closer until Maria felt your breath mingling with hers.

“Please,” you connected your lips with hers. Maria hated how often she thought about this moment. She would go to her grave before admitting out loud how many times she had to bite her lip during sex to stop herself from moaning your name. Fair too soon for her liking, you pulled away and rested your head on her shoulder.

“Why have we waited so long to do that?” Maria chuckled. “Will you stay?”

“Always,” the open bottle of whiskey and mission reports could wait another day.

*

When you woke up the following day, you are disappointed to find an empty bed. Maria’s side was cold, but you heard a commotion in the kitchen. Carefully, you stood up. The mornings were always rough due to being in the same position for so long. You slowly made your way out of the room and into the kitchen. Maria was at the stove, her back to you, and you walked over to her. Your arms wrapped around her waist, and you buried her head in her shoulder. Her body tensed up but soon relaxed in your arms. “Morning,” you mumbled.

“Morning. Breakfast is almost done. Why don’t you go sit down?” You shook your head.

“Your arm,” you said, kissing the skin you could reach. You were happy with the goosebumps that formed on her skin. Her body shook with laughter.

“Go sit. I’ll get your medicine, too.” You pouted, walked over to the couch, and pulled a blanket over your lap. It wasn’t long before Maria joined on the sofa with two plates of food.

“I can help you know,” she said with a smile. She brought back two mugs of coffee and water with your medication. You kissed her cheek as your thanks and took the three white pills with water.

“I should probably say this,” you bite into the eggs. “I love you too,” she smirked.

“I would hope so, or this entire thing would be incredibly awkward,” she teased. You rolled your eyes and pumped your shoulder against hers.

“You are a dork,” you smiled.

“I’m your dork,” that was also true. Oh, how you liked that sound.

“Mine,” you mumbled, kissing her. “And I’m yours.”

[norman-fucking-reedus]

Daryl Dixon is a follower and he always has been (I’ll fucking die right ontop of this hill)

I think a lot about how he talks about how it used to just be him and Merle, how he always just went where his brother went

Obviously growing up he didn’t get the guidance and life lessons that he needed in order to be his own person detached from his brother, so it makes sense that he wouldn’t know what else to do besides look up to his older brother (who wasnt even a role model 90% of the time)

I know that Daryl is a quiet loner, but at the same time I don’t think he likes to be completely alone, and after Merle died there was definitely a void in Daryl’s heart that left him ultimately confused and lost. It was like everything he had ever known was just suddenly ripped straight out his hands.

Daryl is just a lost boy at heart, and all he really knows is how to follow authority. After Rick took it upon himself to step up as leader, Daryl saw and respected that, not ever trying to go against him or challenge him. He was always ready to work or do whatever task it was that he needed to do, and that’s definitely something Rick noticed

Rick plays a major, major part in the man that Daryl is to this day even though they didn’t like each other when they first met. I know that Rick knows better than anyone that Daryl really did care for Merle, which is why I think Rick knows how important it was for Daryl to hear that he considers him to like a brother, like his very own family.

[nanamis-bigtie]

nonsexual acts of intimacy ↬ reacting to the other one crying about something

❧ kusakabe atsuya x gn!reader | cw: pre-relationship, mutual pinning, story takes part in a bar setting but there's no mention of alcohol ❧

It's been more of instinct than a conscious decision, Kusakabe must admit as he's lingering behind the door, hand clenched on the handle. He sprinted to his feet right behind you and followed—but now, once he knows why you left the party so suddenly, his confidence popped like a balloon and faded.

Part of him is glad it's not sickness, part gnaws on his conscience and thrashes his mind from the inside. What is he doing here? He's never been good with crying people; he should turn back and call Nanami or Iori… Does he even have tissues on himself?

But the sight of your slumped back and curled shoulders, shaking in that characteristic rhythm of sobbing, clenches his heart with pain almost dragging a cry out of him too. It should be his chest you should hide your face in, not your hands, out there in the cold, leaning over the railing in front of a bar.

Maybe if he wasn't such a coward and finally pushed the matters further than courteous coffee and snack dates after work—

Kusakabe scratches the back of his head and gnaws on a profanity pressing to his tongue. If he did A, there needs to be B, or else he won't be able to call himself a man anymore.

"Okay there, Y/N?" He tries to sound casual, peeking through the open door, his coat thrown over his arm at ready. It's just a smoking break, not a rescue mission, and it doesn't matter that he quit smoking two years ago. 

You jolt in place, wipe your eyes with both hands at once, your lips trembling slightly as you try to pull a smile, "Yeah, all good. Just needed fresh air."

Horrible liars, both of you.

He leans over the railing, close to you but keeping the distance suit for a coworker. 

"You sure you don't need to call it a day?" Trying to push through awkward silence, he observes you with the very corner of his eye. Not obviously staring, just casually monitoring the situation, like a good colleague should, right? "I can call a taxi—"

"I'm okay." At least your voice doesn't tremble anymore. "It's been… A rough week. Just needed to cry some. Five more minutes and I'll be back." 

You don't have any coat on, Kusakabe realizes and almost slaps himself for not doing so sooner. He should have grabbed yours, not his, if he really wanted to be useful. What is he going to do now, stay there with you awkwardly and dressed or return to the warmth, leaving you alone midst cursed December?

Just a coworker wouldn't—

"Here." He wraps his coat around your shoulders, his heart fluttering when your gazes meet. For a mere few seconds, he can't feel the cold anymore and the noise of the bar behind your backs seems as sweet as a rippling stream.

"And you—" You accept the offering and clench your hands on its skirts. Even if he were about to freeze, he would have no heart to take it back from you, no matter what you say.

"I just need one thing." Praying his hands don't tremble as much as he thinks they do, Kusakabe reaches into one of the pockets, soon fishing a lollipop out of it. "Here, for you."

He taps your nose with it, a stupid, childish impulse—but for the first time tonight you smile for real, soon even laugh a little, "Thanks. Thanks a lot. For checking on me and…everything. Thanks, Atsuya."

A second earlier he thought the sound of your laughter was the prettiest sound he'd ever heard. Oh, how wrong he was.

Even your laughter couldn't compare to the way you say his name.

a/n: I'll die on the hill that Kusakabe's iconic lollipop is a remain of smoking addiction. big thank you to my server peeps for support with my first time at trying writing him & to @clumsyraccoon and @lemonszesty whose Kusakabe writing served as inspo to reach for his drabble out of order! EDIT: it's been brought to my attention that Kusakabe's antismoking lollipop is canon via databook. I'll leave the og note cause the coincidence is just funny lol

[john-get-the-salt]

No one (w/bejicot blackwood)

Imagine: After a chance meeting with a Blackwood, you realize the Riverlands may indeed have potential

Contains: Technically fancast but idc who they say this man below is, he's my beniji okay LOOK AT HIM. Reader is half Targaryen and badass cause i said so. Also a Dragon that i made up because thats the beauty of fanfic. Gender neutral terminology as much as possible

Warnings: none

(p.s. potential for part 2? Of reader and benji at dragon stone? lemme know?)

Bastard

Disgrace

Unworthy

All words you’d been hearing since the day you were born. A bastard child of the late King Viserys, you born from a hasty decision made while he was in the throws of grief after his wife-the queen-died. A mistake.

You never knew your biological mother, only knew the gifts she'd left you-her common colored eyes and a loyalty as fierce as a dragon. You also knew that she had died giving birth to you. It wasn’t uncommon for Targaryen woman to die giving birth, nevermind those of common blood. As your father told it she never stood a chance. But your father, for all intents and purposes, was a good man. Despite the disgrace others found you, he treated you like kin.

You were, after all, half of him.

With time you learned to ignore the judgments of strangers. Even though your white hair showed off your Targaryen blood, there were many who still challenged your lineage. But even the most vocal of your haters fell silent when you claimed a dragon in your 12th year.

Despite it all, your father loved you. And his first born was no different.

Rhaenyra adored you, her brave little sibling. She missed her mother, but found you healing a portion of her heart. She helped her father raise you, and as you bloomed into a young adult you two remained thick as thieves. She was relieved to have someone to help shoulder the burden when your father eventually passed. Evil had crept into the kingdom in the form of the Hightowers, and on more than one occasion they had tried to poison your mind against your sister and her birthright. But it was useless. Family and honor were more important than anything, and so you stood proudly by your sister-the rightful Queen.

This all, of course, led you to where you sat now.

You were on a tour orchestrated by the high counsel, rallying men for Rhaenyra and keeping morale high. Unease had grown in some of the outer lands, and word was spreading that some doubted the royals allegiance to the people. Your task, as the counsel worded it, was to meet with the people and show that the royal family did care for them, would stand with them and not behind them.

Though honestly right now, you didn’t want to stand anywhere near them.

“Ser Lorent, what are we at now?”

“That was the 21st.”

“Surely not!”

“Perhaps not…..I stopped counting after the 13th.”

You blew air from your lips, crossing your arms. The current stop was in the Riverlands. It was a beautiful part of the world with it's rolling hills and greenery. Not that you were enjoying it, trapped in a stifling hot court room listening to queries and declarations and questions. That in itself wasn’t the problem, you were always happy to speak with the people. The problem was the topics in question.

“Surely none of those 21 thought I would actually accept their hand? I’m here to discuss war, not marriage!”

“I can’t say for certain. Though the last few you turned down did seem a bit spooked.”

You humphed. “Good. Maybe it will scare off any others feeling brave. I’d sooner let Bryaxis eat me then become an obedient spouse for some fool to order around.”

“Easy,” Ser Lorent warned, acutely aware the two of you still had an audience.

“I need a break,” you announced, pushing yourself up from your chair. “I find myself quite parched and warm, might we take a break for me to collect myself before we continue?”

The lords hosting for the day nodded, dismissing their people from the courtroom for the afternoon.

You turned to your knight. “I’m going for a walk. I need some fresh air.”

“I must insister I accompany you.”

"I'll be fine, Ser."

"Have you got your sword?"

You patted your back where your trusty blade lay sheathed down your spine. "When do i not?"

The knight sighed. "I feel I'm going to regret this. Won’t you take your dragon?”

"You worry too much, and Bryaxis would bring the attention I'm looking to avoid. I'll be back in an hours time after I’ve had a break from this stifling place."

Before the man could change his mind you were slipping from the room and following a maids directions to the outside gardens.

The moment you were free of the stuffy stone building you took a deep breath of fresh air. While still hot outside, there was at least a slight breeze giving you relief. Hoping to avoid detection you pulled your hood up, then you were off. You strolled the lands belonging to the lords hosting, sprawling and filled with foliage and wildlife. You managed to avoid anyone else, getting the peace and quiet you so desperately craved. At least, until you hit the peak of a hill and then began descending it.

Up ahead, there was what you guessed to be a training area. Dummies made of various materials stood haphazardly propped up. You walked closer, curious. As you drew near you realized there was someone there. A young strapping man with dark hair was training with his sword. He stood amongst the dummies, weaving around while he struck them with his blade.

You watched him in awe for a few minutes. He sword struck with such force, yet his movements were smooth and fluid. He moved like it was second nature to have a blade in hand, like it was an extension of his arm. Considering how many great warriors you'd witness train, he was impressive.

The stranger paused for a moment to catch his breath, and that’s when he finally noticed his admirer. Realizing you'd been caught, you walked forward to the edge of the training yard.

"I hope I didn't startle you. I was just observing. You have a way with the blade, my lord."

The man's eyes had widened more and more the closer you got, and his cheeks flushed at the compliment.

"You flatter me. I was just training, fooling around. It's nothing-"

"Nonsense. I know good technique when I see it."

His face grew a cherry red, and a beat of silence hung between you two. You were moments away from excusing yourself and returning to the court and Ser Lorent when the man spoke again. He'd taken a beat to compose himself, and his complexion had returned to it's natural color.

"Forgive me. I don't believe we've ever had the pleasure of meeting. Are you new to the riverlands?"

You froze in place, eyes wide. The man before you had no idea who you were. You didn’t have the signature purple eyes, and your giveaway white hair was tucked back into your hood. The shock quickly weared off and the new realization left you pleased. This was a welcome change, one you would be taking advantage of. You finally blinked again, relaxing your stance.

“I’m no one. Just passing through when I was overcome with the need for fresh air and a walk. My apologies for interrupting, lord...?”

“No apology needed. And I am not a lord, that would be-"

You waved the formality away and his words died on his tongue. "All the lady and lord nonsense never made much sense to me. I much prefer names."

And so you two swapped introductions. Though you realized, just a beat after he gave you his, that your name would almost undoubtfully give you away. So you gave the name of one of your own ladies in waiting.

And this man, this handsome man, was Benjicot Blackwood.

"The Blackwoods are fierce fighters, or so I've heard. From the looks of you before I interrupted the rumors are true."

Benji blushed, though you could have sworn his chest puffed out a bit at the compliment. You struggled to hold in a laugh at the observation.

"We take our training very seriously."

"And you fight for the Blacks?" You asked carefully, keeping your face and tone neutral.

"Aye, for the true queen Rhaenyra. And proud of it."

A real smile blossomed on your face, and Benji relaxed his shoulders in relief.

"It pleases me to hear so."

Then it was your turn to blush as Benji shot you a stunning smile. Desperate to turn the subject, you asked something you'd been dying to know since you first laid eyes on him.

"Would you indulge me in sharing how you did that one move with your sword and the spin?"

"Pardon?"

"When you lifted your sword like this and then went-" you did a poor attempt to demonstrate the move.

"Ah, this?" Benji repeated it, so fast that all you could make out was him tossing his sword into the air and then spinning around fast enough to catch it again before it could fall.

Your face lit up. "Yes, that!"

"Sure-do you-are you familiar with swordsmanship?"

You tried to ignore how cute you found his stumbling and instead nodded. You reached over your shoulder and pulled out Night Cleaver. A gift from Daemon, it was one of your most prized possessions.

"My family and I train sometimes. I'm still learning, but I've never seen that move you did. Could you try to teach me?"

"Are you sure?"

You rasied an eyebrow and Benji rushed to continue, "I just mean-in your attire. Can you move around in it well enough? I dont want you to trip or strain yourself.”

“I’ve trained in almost every sort of clothing, including nothing. I’ll be alright.”

Benji gulped, trying to keep his brain from imagining you swinging a sword around naked.

“Are you alright?” You asked as the man had gone beet red again and was very obviously avoiding your eyes.

He nodded furiously and you couldn’t help but find him entirely adorable in that moment. “Sorry for an unwanted imagery that may have brought up. But I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t my intention.”

Benji’s flustered expression morphed into one of disbelief.

“You’re a little flirt, aren’t you?”

You merely smiled and batted your eyelashes.

He shook his head, though a smirk was growing on his face. Gods he was attractive.

“So, first you want to plant your feet like this…”

As the time passed after that you could barely feel it, fully absorbed in the man in front of you and what he was teaching. Hours could’ve flown by and you’d be none the wiser.

He was good, any form of shyness vanishing as he patiently and kindly taught you how to replicate his impressive move. In the meanwhile you two bantered, swapping bits of information about yourselves. You changed names when needed, but otherwise kept honest. The move was hard, and even with your above average skills you struggled.

"Here, may I?"

You nodded, and Benji took a few steps closer. The two of you had remained a few feet apart for the entirety of the interaction, until now. Now he was within breathing room as he rested one hand oh so carefully on your wrist and the other on the small of your back to turn you the right direction. He smelled of sweat and leather and faintly of rain soaked stone. You couldnt help but bask in it, as the everlasting time seemed to slow and you both met eyes and leaned in-

A roar bellowed through the skies, causing both of you to freeze and look up. Any panic you felt evaporated at the sight of familiar black wings soaring through the skies, and you smiled as Bryaxis sped up once he caught sight of you.

Meanwhile Benjicot had gone pale, and was internally panicking at the large creature careening towards you. He grabbed your waist and tucked you behind himself while he raised his sword. He wasn’t foolish enough to think he could take on a dragon, but he was crazy enough to try.

“Stay behind me!”

“Wait, Benji-“

You were interrupted by Bryaxis letting loose another roar, angry at the sight of someone he didn't recognize touching you. He grew closer, and as he gave his wings once final flap he was hitting the ground with a deafening boom. The moment he landed you broke out of Benji’s grasp.

“Wait!” He shouted, but you didn’t stop. You ran to your dragon, who was already opening his mouth and preparing to burn Benji alive.

“Bryaxis! Don’t!”

He halted, mouth still wide open and showing off his rows of razor sharp teeth.

By time you reached his side, your hood had fallen from your head.

“He’s a friend. No need to burn.”

Bryaxis gave a little whine through his nose but closes his mouth and laid his head down in front of you. You sighed in relief, and rested your hand on his snout.

“Good boy, Bry.”

He shut his eyes and purred at the attention. He was really a softie at heart

“What in the bloody hell?”

Bryaxis’ eyes snapped back open and narrowed at the man behind you that you’d nearly forgotten about.

“Easy boy,” you warned him, keeping a hand on his nose while you turned to meet Benji’s wide eyes.

“You….you’re a Targaryen.”

The wind picked up a bit, blowing your now revealed white hair around you.

“Yes. This is Bryaxis. And I’m-“

“The princess.”

Your face warmed. “I….apologize for not being totally honest, Benji.”

His eyes remained wide, unbelieving. Then he suddenly dropped to one knee, bowing deeply.

“My apologies Princess, I meant no ill with any of my comments I-“

“Benji,” you stepped away from your dragon to reach for him, pulling him back to his full height tall above you. “Stop that. I didn’t say anything because I enjoyed being known as commonfolk. I…didn’t want you to desire my company just because of my family, because of who I am. It felt nice that you seemed to like me for me. As ridiculous as that may sound.”

Far from your usual confident self, your voice swayed and hands trembled as you tried to express yourself properly. You were fearful that this thing between you was destroyed before it even had the chance to become something.

“Not ridiculous at all,” Benji said softly, hesitating for a moment before he brought his hands to your face. He moved slowly, giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. You let him hold your face so softly, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. His heart broke a bit at the thought that you had to lie just to be treated as a normal human being.

“I understand why you were cautious, that’s smart of you. I could have been a danger, I could have been a threat.”

“Well…you were quite threatening to those dummies.”

Benji laughed at that, loud and full and careless.

“If I promise to be honest from here on out….would you consider seeing me again before I take my leave from the Riverlands? After all, I still haven’t quite mastered the sword spin trick of yours.”

“Are you sure? To quote a fine lady….I’m no one.”

“That’s not true. You’re someone.”

Benji hummed, giving you a soft sort of smile as he studied your face before answering.

"Same time tomorrow? I’ll bring lunch.”

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

Request: oh em geez hill i love your work so freakin much! i was wondering if you could do a winchester bros x little sister reader fic where they go to fight a vamp nest (nothing big like 3-4 vamps) and they get separated and reader is like 1 on 1 with a vamp and its like a close call (whatever that means to you 99) but reader gets the upper hand and chops their head off and then the brothers find her and shes just kinda mute after that like she has trouble talking abt what happened to her? IDK IF THIS IS TOO DETAILED IM SORRYYY anyway, dont feel obligated to write! take care of your self! - alexA

A/N: um HI THANK YOU!??! That’s literally so sweet. Okay I love this request and the more details the better!! I started writing this and it took me to a totally different place I think? Ugh idk, but I hope you like it. If not just send in another request!

Pairings: Dean and Sam x Sister!Reader

You were hunting some vampires that were sucking people dry left and right. You all assumed there was no more than 5 of them wreaking absolute havoc on this random small town. The death toll was rapidly rising and they needed to be taken care of immediately. You cringed internally as you thought about how you had to take care of them. You hated killing vampires because something about, oh, I don’t know, chopping their heads off, absolutely mortified you. But they were monsters and it needed to be done.

You arrived to the abandoned barn where you all assumed they were hiding out.

“Stay behind us kid until we figure out how many were really up against.” Dean said handing you a machete.

“Okay,” you nodded.

Your brothers ran towards the barn and you trailed behind them. You got to the barn doors, watched as Dean counted down with his fingers before he busted the door open. As you ran in you saw three vamps and some people chained up. Perfect three on three, you thought, this should be easy. You immediately started fighting one of them while your brothers went to the others. You crashed through the old barn wall and tumbled outside. Your heart was pounding, but you knew you had one over on the guy so you weren’t sweating it. In the midst of your fight, you ended up getting about 50 yards away from the barn before slicing the vampires head off. You sat back, trying to catch your breath. There was something just so gruesome about chopping off their heads. They looked too much like people and it’s just never sat right with you. You let yourself mentally and physically recover for those five seconds before jumping back up to head to the barn. As soon as you stood up though it was like you got the wind knocked out of you. There was a sudden weight on top of you and realized it was another vampire. You panicked and reached for the machete as you were being held to the ground. When you tried to swing it in a last attempt to save yourself, the vampire grabbed it and pushed it towards your throat. You grabbed the machete on the sharp end with your other hand in order to prevent it from going against your throat. It was searing through your hand and you felt the blood start to drastically drip out of it. You felt a few drops hit your face as you pushed harder away from your throat. Your heart sunk and an intense feeling of doom came over you. This was it. You were going to die. You felt yourself growing weaker as you were losing too much blood. You were losing your fight on the machete and it started to touch down on the skin of your throat. You turned your head to the side trying to protect yourself, but it gently sliced your neck. In your final attempt for life, you shoved your knee into the vampire and caught him off guard. He released his grip on the machete for the slightest second, but it was all you needed to save yourself. He needed to readjust himself, but in that split second, you swung the machete in one swift motion, taking off his head. You fell back into the ground breathing heavily. Your pulse was rapid and you realized how clammy you were getting. You sat back up on your knees, held your hair back and started puking. You threw up until there was nothing left and you scooted as far away as you could from the scene that was in front of you.

——-

“Y/N/N,” Dean shouted.

You were in a complete daze, staring out blankly. They got closer to you after calling your name several times with no response. Sam noticed your blank stare and came into realization.

“She’s going into shock,” he stated rushing in front of Dean to get to you.

He squatted down in front of you and grabbed your hands but you sat staring blankly. That’s when he noticed all the blood over your hand and saw it completely sliced open.

“Shit, Dean grab a rag!” He said while holding your wrist out so Dean had a better angle at fixing you up. Dean rushed back over, wrapping your hand up while he watched your face for any sign of pain, but none ever showed. He put pressure on your hand to stop your bleeding.

“Sorry kid.” He grimaced expecting to hear you cry out, but still there was nothing. He squinted his eyes and looked at you with concern before turning to Sam.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey.” Sam gave your hand a little squeeze to get you responsive, but you continued to stare blankly ahead.

“Hey sweetheart, I need you to look at me,” he tried again.

“Okay, it’s okay, you’re in shock, it’s alright.” He said knowing it was actually really far from alright.

“You’re safe, you’re okay, alright? Do you hear me?” He asked, tapping your face and trying to reassure you.

“Alright kid, it’s okay, let’s get you snapped out of this, alright? I’m here.” He said calmly while Dean just stared at his siblings feeling completely helpless.

“I need you to tell me five things about your surroundings, alright? Can you do that for me?” He asked.

Still nothing.

“Okay that’s alright lets get your senses going, okay?” He said trying to walk her through what he was going to do. He reached down and squeezed your lower thigh a few times

“Alright, hey, that’s me, I’m squeezing your leg. Do you feel that?” He asked.

Still no answer.

He took his fingers and trickled them up and down your arms hoping it would do the trick to get you more aware of your surroundings.

“Okay hey, those are my fingers trickling up and down your arms, right?” He asked nodding his own head yes, internally begging you to snap out of it.

“Come on kid!” He practically begged starting to get worried that it was becoming much more serious. Dean looked worried seeing Sam panic. He was the much calmer one in these scenarios and always seemed to know what to do so seeing him panic, terrified him.

“Sam?” He called his name out weakly.

“Dean start pushing into her wound, it’ll hurt like a bitch, but we have to get her responsive.” He said to his brother.

Dean nodded and did what he was told while Sam grabbed your good hand.

“Alright, hey, now you’re going to feel the stuff around you, okay? Here.” He said and rubbed your hand into the grass.

“You feel that?” He asked. “That’s the grass.”

He brought your hand up to his face and rubbed it all over his stubby beard.

“That’s my beard, it’s pretty pokey right? You say that all the time that my beard is so stubby, right kid?” He said, trying to get your body to respond to your mind.

You suddenly felt everything at once and focused on Sam’s face that was right in front of you. You looked at him confused, “S’mmy?” You mumbled.

He sighed in relief before falling onto his knees and pulling you into his chest.

“You’re okay, you’re safe, it’s alright.” He whispered, mostly to himself. Your arm was awkwardly being pulled out and you felt sharp stinging pressure in your hand. You whimpered tried pulling away from whatever had its hold on it, but it was firm.

“Hey kiddo, it’s bad I’ve gotta keep pressure on it.” You heard Dean say.

You pulled away from Sam and looked at Dean. He shot you a sympathetic look, before you looked at your hand. It was covered in a rag that was soaked with blood. Everything just felt extremely foggy and you were confused, “what happened?” You asked, turning your head to take in your surroundings. As soon as you did, you felt pain shoot through your neck. You hissed in pain before reaching up to hold it. It was stinging and you felt the moistness of your blood. You looked at Dean with panic before crying out, “what happened!” You already knew what happened so you weren’t sure why you were even asking. You almost died and to keep the machete from chopping off your own head, it cut deep into your hand and grazed the side of your neck. You started trembling as you recalled the fear that pulsed through your body. This time Dean pulled you into him. He wrapped his arm around you while still keeping your other hand tight in his.

“You’re alright kid shhhh you’re safe.” He comforted you before motioning to Sam that they should get out of there.

“We’re gonna get you cleaned up just fine kiddo we’ll take care of you, you’re safe now.” He said, rubbing your back. You nodded into his chest.

“Alright let’s go.” He said and the three of you left the horrendous scene behind.

[rachetmath]

Jaune was working as usual until he heard his scroll. He looks to see Blake calling him. He answers.

Blake: Jaune we need to talk.

Jaune: *putting a baby to sleep while controlling kids* Blake I am a little busy at the moment.

Blake: Jaune we need to discuss why you quit your position.

Jaune: I don’t know maybe because I’m not needed and might as well use my time to get stronger and probably be more useful.

Yang: Jaune come on you were plenty useful in the nursing.

Jaune: Yang they have medical professionals. They were fine without me. Plus I go back there every morning. I never left. I even have them on my scroll. They call me too. So what’s the problem?

Robyn: Look we just need you to start pulling your weight and do your job.

Jaune: *triggered*

Kid #1: Ooo you messed up lady.

Jaune”s teacher 1: Honey you felt that, right?

Jaune’s teacher 2: Mm-hm someone about to get their ass beat. And my son is about to do it.

Jaune’s teacher 1: Honey we already got ten kids.

Jaune’s teacher 2: And I love them but their still children. They don’t know how bad adulthood is yet.

Jaune: Little bi- *remembers the children* You know what how about we have a meeting about this okay?

Robyn: Fine.

The next day everyone gathered around for the meeting with Jaune being in the room first. After everyone finished what they had to say, Jaune presented himself and replied.

Jaune: So, everyone good? Okay, I’ll make this quick. I have been doing my job better than almost all of you. Almost.

Qrow: Jaune what do you mean you have been messing up-

Jaune: I know the man who can change into a bird and is a legend yet still can’t watch over a maiden and his nieces for shit is talking to me.

Qrow: Now hold up son I’ll beat-

Jaune: Bro you are the reason Clover is dead. And the reason Tyrian escaped along with Robinhood over there.

Robyn: Hey.

Jaune: And speaking of you, Ms. Hill, how the hell was Penny defending your city better than you or any of your Happy Huntresses considering the amount of citizens who got hurt? 

May: Hey we had to evacuate our citizens cause your team deserted us. 

Jaune: Well sorry, it is not like one of my friends wasn’t kidnapped and was about to die at any given moment. 

Yang: You could have helped.

Jaune: Bitch you told me not to fight. Hell we almost got him back too. Oh. And we were planning to come back. However, we were captured because I was trying to warn someone of an upcoming attack. Which happened and yet some stubborn mother fuckers wouldn’t listen. Cause they were fixated on looking for Penny. 

Winter: Mm he did. But you

Jaune: Yeah-yeah I know, the Ironwood and Ruby bs. And speaking of that wouldn’t James have killed everyone anyway if we hadn’t stopped him?

Qrow: Not to mention Harriet almost dropped a whole bomb on Mantle to kill everyone.

Harriet: Okay rude.

Yang: Okay Jaune-

Jaune: Bitch don’t get me- don’t get me started on you. You have been getting your ass beat as of late. Like in Atlas and Mantle, I don't know how that’s possible, but me and my men, have been carrying you throughout the whole ordeal. All you have been doing was not knowing how to shut the hell up.  

Yang: um…

Jaune: Like you was talking about the Ace-ops and Winter following orders yet you were following Ozpin’s,Ruby’s, Ironwood's and better yet, you were following my orders. At least I was coming up with a plan. I was helping Ren. Being a leader. What were you doing other than Blake?

Blake: Alright Jaune, calm down, You have made your point.

Jaune: Oh no the fuck I haven't. Are you Ruby's sister?

Blake: No.

Jaune: Mm I wonder what drew me to that conclusion considering you have been acting like her sister more than a blond brawler over here? Both moms left her too, yet she looked for the one who never raised her.  

Yang: *tears dropping from her eyes*

Nora: Wow Jaune, that's cold.

Jaune: Nora. Ren. My supposedly two remaining teammates. 

Ren: Come on not again. Jaune, Ruby already told us everything. What can you possibly say that she hasn't told us yet?

Jaune: For someone who was on James's dick you never once tried to snitch on us. In fact you been kinda rude half the time.Then you decided to speak out against Harriet like you and Yang didn't argue before we got caught.

Ren: That was because she was insulting Pyrrha.

Jaune: Which I understand but I thought we were past that already.

Ren: Well I was the reason Winter agreed to your plan. And I was the reason we survived the whale to find Oscar.

Jaune: Emerald and Hazel saved Oscar before we had a chance. We basically went in there for nothing. And you almost started a fight with Harriet. 

Winter: Also I was a little hesitant but I agreed to the plan. Mainly more hostages. You wouldn’t be alive if I hadn’t jumped in.

Jaune: More importantly if I were to have thrown the relic into the mix, which had one question left by the way,  you're telling me Harriet wouldn't agree to let us go. Mainly because they were looking for Penny regardless.

Nora: Wow Jaune you would thrown Penny under the bus that easily?

Jaune: If it meant a negotiation with James, probably, yes. And Nora, weren't you unconscious throughout half that experience? 

Nora: I saved team RWBY.

Jaune: Who hasn't? Cause I recall, Qrow, Oobleck, Gylanda, us, CVFY, Ace-ops, James, and Ozpin. You ain’t special.

Oscar: Damn.

Jaune: Oscar you decided to meet James and try to talk. After he made us wanted criminals. What were you thinking?

Oscar: At least I tried to reassure him. 

Jaune: And you got shot. Mother fucker you were wasting time and our efforts. Next time no one might not be able to help you. And Ozpin? It took a whole pile of shit to happen for you to finally came out and help? 

Oscar(Ozpin): Mr. Arc it was not that bad.

Jaune: He got shot. Manhandled by a Grimm. And beat up by an old man. Come on.

Ozpin: … …

Jaune: Don’t get me started on how you fucked up years before.

Pietro: Jaune. You killed my-

Jaune: I killed Penny and saved Winter. Winter was Ironwood's second in command and was in charge of a whole army during a full-scale invasion. The fact Penny had Weiss, Ruby, Blake, Yang, and Nora to choose from proves she knew all of them weren't up to the task. Plus I was trying to help her but my options were limited. I did what I had to. I’m sorry.

Pietro: You could have-

Jaune: Healed her? I TRIED!!! However let's discuss how I have been carrying every damn body on my back. I had to help Ren multiple times when using his semblance. I had to heal Oscar. Heal Nora. Amplify Weiss and Penny when it came to her virus. Hell fourth wall breaking did anyone think for a second I amplified Ren ahead of time so he can mask those same thousands of people.

RWBY fan: …. ….

Jaune: All that while running, fighting and surviving while having barely enough sleep or energy. Hell, my aura kept breaking multiple times. I am surprised I haven't passed out yet.

Winter: Mm he made his point.

Weiss: Winter, why are you siding with him so quickly?

Winter: First off I am alive because of him. Second, Weiss, you lied to my face. Like I was open with you and you never once came to me with the truth. I'm your sister. You're lucky I was willing to side with you at all.

Jaune: Facts. And for someone who lived in Atlas, you barely did shit to save it. 

Weiss: I sent ships to help Mantle.

Winter: That's the thing though Mantle. You did nothing for Atlas at all. And how did you send those ships?

Weiss: Well it was mainly Whitley.

Winter: I rest my case.

Jaune: Also aren't you Ruby’s partner? Why are Oscar, Blake, and myself filling in those shoes more than you? 

Yang: Well in the Ever After you-

Jaune: I was trying to find a way home by learning the story. But as the saying goes, “Don’t trust everything you read.”  And sorry for protecting a civilization from killing itself even though that was the only thing keeping me sane.

Yang: *silent*  

Blake: They came back though.

Jaune: They don’t remember me or their past lives. They died and came back only to die again. Not to mention I had to leave my second and long-time companion and place her in the care of a rat. Not only that I had a whole map of the Ever After. I wasn't playing around. I was seriously trying to find a way home. Yet you called me crazy.

Blake: *silent* 

Jaune: Here is what I am saying, true enough I can't fight for anything but I at least help in areas none of you can seem to grasp. I have to sacrifice my mental and physical well-being to support ya’ll. I have been doing my job as a huntsman, teammate and a friend than almost any of you. 

Nora: But Jaune you’re our leader we need you.

Jaune: I recall the majority of times you two barely follow my orders. Ruby is your leader. I don’t recall having a team move with either of you. Not just that you have Oscar and Emerald so fuck both of you. 

Ren: Are we that bad of a team?

Jaune: Yeah, and what’s crazier is I have a family I haven’t seen in years yet I’m still prioritizing a city full of savages, and you all as my friends when I can just pull a Raven and leave you be.

Yang: DUDE!!

Jaune: I’m just saying I could leave and nothing would change. Now I’m leaving cause I got a job to do!*leave*

Qrow: Well damn.

Nora: I guess we all made mistakes.

Ren: Yes.

Weiss: I’m going to call Ruby and see if we can hang out.

Yang: Can we make that a double?

Oscar: Um Nora do you think-

Nora: Calm down Oscar. Jaune may be upset but he’ll be fine. He wouldn’t leave us like that.

A few weeks later.

Ruby: Hey everyone we’re back.

Team RWBY saw a crying Nora in Ren’s arms and defeated Qrow comforted by Oscar. Ruby looks to see a letter and picks it up. Ruby and her team read the letter. Afterward, Yang is shocked, and Weiss is sad as Blake comforts them. Ruby on the other hand steps out and then stares at the sky. A tear flows down her eye.

Ruby:  Well, at least you have the common decency to tell me what you’re up to. But still…*sigh* Hope you find what you're looking for my friend. And… … Please… come back safely.

Jaune was flying on a Nevermore along with Emerald who snuck aboard to his surprise. Jaune, though irritated, continued flying as she held onto him.

Emerald: I can’t believe you tamed a Nevermore. 

Jaune: Yeah-yeah anyways why did you follow me here?

Emerald: Hey someone has to watch your back.

Jaune: You are the last person I want to cover my back.

Emerald: Well don’t be rude. But also…

Jaune: What?

Emerald: Jaune… Salem is after you.

Jaune: Really? Why? I don’t recall being a silver-eyed warrior or Ozpin’s vessel. So why me? Also, how do you know?

Emerald: Mercury told me and even he doesn’t know. He just overheard Tyrian about you.

Jaune: I fought with him a week ago. (Should’ve killed him too.) Still doesn’t make sense though. Did he hear anything from Cinder?

Emerald: No. 

Jaune: Look I already left the kingdom. Cinder mainly wants Ruby dead. And Salem will be too preoccupied to do anything about me. We’re under clear.  

Somewhere in Vacuo, Tyrian and Mercury were speaking to Salem and Cinder through one of her sphere Grimm. Salem hears Jaune has left the kingdom of Vacuo and is enraged.

Salem: WHAT?!

Tyrian: I’m sorry mistress. Please calm down.

Salem: *breaths* Very well. Cinder will meet you both in Vacuo. Therefore we will split our efforts into two. You three along with our allies will search and kill the Summer Maiden along with team RWBY and their annoying friends. I will send a request to half of them to assist me in finding him. I may even need them.

Tyrian: Them ma’am?

Salem: Yes, them.

Tyrian: Very well my queen. We will not fail you.

Salem ends the call while Cinder stands before her with an angered look in her eye.

Salem: What is it, my dear?

Cinder: Why are you after Jaune?

Salem: Why do you ask?

Cinder Ma’am, I don’t mean to be rude but that boy isn’t worth our efforts at all.

Salem: Hm… really? So how come he’s alive?

Cinder: By sheer luck of course.

Salem: True. However, there is no doubt he has gotten in the way of our plans. Like with killing the Schnee girl. Or getting the winter maiden’s power. 

Cinder: *nervous* Those were my failures, ma’am.

Salem: Regardless I need him alive.

Cinder: But why though.

Salem: His semblance and aura. With his semblance along with Gillian's, I might be able to push our army further to evolution. But I need his power to do it. 

Cinder: Then allow me to-

Salem: *snaps* 

Cinder was shut off as she could feel pain from her Grimm arm. Salem turns around and looks to Cinder and say as she closes in on her.

Salem: I recall sending you to handle said children and what happened? Oh. You costed me knowledge. You lost the maiden powers to another huntress. Hazel and Emerald betrayed us. And worse of all you lost two useful people. 

Cinder: But I gave you creation. Surly that makes up- *feels greater pain*

Salem; Ever since you came back you have been getting cocky and more foolish by the day. Draining my resources. Right now, all I want from you to do is simply play nice and follow orders. Like a good little doll. 

Cinder was terrified as she stared at Salem’s as she leaned down to look closer at Cinder’s frightened gaze.

Salem: Understand this Cinder. I was the reason you managed to obtain and control that power you have in your possession. However, you so far have continued to prove how undeserving you are of said power and responsibility that comes with it. So let me break this down for you. If you so much as make a mistake, further disrupt my plans, or worse fail me…

Cinder: … …. 

Salem: I will take everything from you. Do you understand child?

Cinder: Yes m- *screams* Yes… my queen.

Salem: Good. Now leave. 

Cinder gets up and leaves for Vacuo. Salem on the other hand walks around her castle until she reaches her destination. There she opens a huge door. She walks through the door only to be greeted by multiple eyes.

Salem: Hello my children.

???: Greetings Mother.

Salem: Mother is sorry. I wish I didn’t have to send you to do this. But there is no one but you that I trust to do this task

???: Anything Mother.

Salem uses her Grimm to present an image of the target.

Salem: Find this boy. Do however you feel it takes to bring him back alive. 

???: May we have fun hunting him Mother.

Salem: *smile* Of course, my children. You may torture him and do as you see fit.

???: Yes mother. It shall be done.

Salem: Then go. 

[deansapplepie]

Till THE DEAD do us part | Chapter 3

A/N: This story will take place in all the seasons, but it’s not exactly a rewriting cause I’d have to re-watch everything to use the exactly lines of the characters, also I think it’s better if I tell a side story without changing the main facts of the story.

This story has a Female Reader, but I don’t describe her appearance, so anyone can identify with her.

Chapter 2 Chapter 4

Chapter 3: I’m sorry and Thank you

Summary: It’s time to bury their dead, take decisions and say goodbyes. The tension is thin in the camp and not everyone can control their emotions or how they deal with it. Hard decisions are made and a shot is take in hopes that everyone have a future. Y/N and Daryl have their first little fight in this one.

Warnings: swearing, death, violence, little angsty, fluffy, little mention of suicide that if you blink you’re gonna lose it, maybe some characters are ooc, idk 🤷🏼‍♀️

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Grimes!Reader (Rick’s sister)

Word count: 4,179

Extra notes: I proofread the text, but English is not my first language, so feel free to correct any mistakes, of course with love.

Everybody started to work early, cleaning, reorganizing and getting rid of all the bodies. You needed to burry Amy, but Andrea would not let no one take care of her. You could imagine the pain she was feeling because you felt that too when you lost Rick. Amy was so young, she was sweet and gentle, she didn’t deserve it. No one deserved it.

You tried helping with whatever you could, unfortunately you were not strong enough to help carrying the body of the dead. So you were trying to make sure everyone had water to drink or something to eat, even if it’s just a little.

You were at good distance with Carl and Lori, helping them to put things in order, when you saw Rick holding a gun on Daryl’s head. Fuck. You walked the faster you could and put yourself between them. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Y/N, get out of the way.” Rick said, seeing you were not going to leave he lowered his gun. “He was going to kill Jim.”

“He was bitten! He’s a danger to everyone!” Daryl argumented, you turned around and looked at him.

“Jim is our friend, one of us… we can’t just kill him. We take care of him, he’ll eventually die and… when the time comes we… we do it.” You said, a little unsure of your own words, but that was what was the human thing to do.

“Never thought you were this dumb.” He almost spitted the words at you.

‘And I never thought you were an asshole.’ That’s what you wanted to say, but you didn’t, you just rolled your eyes at him and left. Things were under control, no one pointing guns at each other, your mission was done. That was a stupid fight and a stupid insult, but you couldn’t ignore the sting you felt at those words.

It didn’t take long for Amy to turn and Andrea have to kill her, it was heartbreaking to watch. When everything was over you had tears in the corners of your eyes. Also, you heard Carol had to kill Ed, you didn’t watch it, but you knew what it meant. Even if he was a human being, he was a monster… and now Carol and Sophia were free.

After that you buried your dead, while the zombies had already been put in fire. You said your goodbyes to Amy and hoped she was happy wherever she was. Everybody were going back to camp descending the hill, you passed through Daryl and gave him a look, that you didn’t know if it was sad, angry or upset.

“Ya defend not killing the living, but if ya could, ya would kill me right now.” Ok, so your look was the second option, angry. You just continued walking and ignored him. “ ‘m sorry.”

“Oh, I bet you are.” Sarcasm covered your words. “Maybe I’m dumb, but not SO dumb”

“I didn’t mean it. I was just angry.” He said walking by your side. “I was wrong, can we be good again? I hate how ya’re looking at me.” And he did, he could get those eyes from everyone and not give a fuck about it, but for some reason, a reason that he didn’t know, or didn’t want to admit, he couldn’t get that look from you.

You stopped and turned to him, you saw worry in him and that was not usual of him, not about the little you knew about him.

“Don’t do it again. Don’t call me that thing. It sounds silly, but…” ‘it brings back bad memories’, you were going to say, but didn’t have the courage.

“I’m never calling you that again. ‘m gonna think about other insults next time.” He tried a joke, and you tried to remain serious, but he could see the corners of your mouth curving a little while you battled against the smile. You hated that people would make you angry, but as soon as they wanted forgiveness, you would laugh or smile, instead of giving them the cold shoulder like normal people would do. Some said you had a good heart, but sometimes you thought you were a fool.

“Ok, Dixon. We’re friends again.” You said offering him your hand. He looked at your hand and thought for a moment. “Come on, shake my hand to seal it. I don’t have the whole day, if you don’t take it right now I’m going to…”

And he took it. He took your right hand in his and you were not expecting to feel this way to a simple handshake. His grip was firm, but comfortable. His hand calloused and warm, engulfed your hand that was so little compared to his. You felt comfort, protection and another feeling that you couldn’t describe, but made you lose your words.

“Ya’re going to what?” He still had a hold in your hand, maybe because you were holding his back and thinking about never letting go of his.

“Don’t matter. It’s done. We sealed our friendship, so I don’t need to threaten you anymore.” Reluctantly you let go of each others hands and continued to descend the hill.

“Oh, was that a threat? You don’t look threatening to me.” He mocked you.

“You better keep your eyes open D.” You answered liking the way his initial felt on your tongue and how it was said so easily. “I may look harmless, but I can be dangerous too.”

“Of course, as dangerous as a Puppy”

“Remember that puppies can bite and scratch.” You said lightly elbowing him.

“My clothes magically appeared clean and folded in my tent. It was you, wasn’t it?” He knew it was you, he just needed a way to talk about it and thank you.

“It was the least I could do…”

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem D.”

Later that day, after a lot of discussion, was decided that everybody that want would go to CDC early in the morning. You were not sure if there would be anything there when you arrived, but you also knew you couldn’t just stay in the quarry forever, more walkers would come. You couldn’t risk losing more people. You slept in your tent with Luna to keep you company, at 3 in the morning you woke up and couldn’t sleep. You really tried, you were tired, but you were not able to sleep again. You turned around back and fort on your tent, until the sun started to rise.

So you changed your clothes, put everything you had on your bag and left the tent to start disassemble it. The thing was, you didn’t even know how to assemble it, Shane had done everything for you, so now you were having a hard time.

“Do ya wanna some help?” You heard Daryl’s voice by your side and you almost jumped out of your skin. “Sorry, didn’t wanna scare ya.”

“Please, I have no idea what I’m doing.” You confessed shamelessly. In fact he didn’t even waited for your answer to start helping you.

“I realized that from distance, anyone could see ya struggling from miles away.” He joked, but it was not completely a lie, your struggle was very clear.

“Well, Lucky me, you offered help.”

After everything was ready to go, you started to say goodbyes, Morales and his family decided not to follow with you. A stupid decision in your opinion, but there wasn’t anything you could do about.

“Y/N, Carol and Sophia are coming with us. Do you mind going with Shane?” Rick came to you right before living.

“Actually, I’m going with Daryl. I figured it’d be better for Carol and Sophia to go with you.” You answered taking both Rick and Daryl by surprise.

“Are ya?” Daryl didn’t have time to think before the words left his mouth, and then you gave him the look that told him to play along with you. “I offered ya early, but ya never gave me an answer. I thought ya weren’t going with me.”

“Of course I am! Daryl Dixon giving me a ride? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.” You grabbed your bag to put it in Daryl’s truck, Rick gave you a knowing look. He knew you were avoiding Shane, he just didn’t know why, but he knew you too well to not notice. Also, he saw how Daryl was surprised. “Luna, are you coming with us or do you prefer going with Carl?”

“Nah, she’s coming with us. My offer is only open if she comes with us.” Daryl stated, and you couldn’t resist but laugh.

As soon as you hit the road, Luna was all over the place. She wanted to go for the window and feel the air with her tongue out like any normal dog. She sat on your lap, forgetting she isn’t a lap dog, and you needed to hold her just in case, because she tried a few times going to Daryl’s side and you were not dying by a stupid car accident in the middle of the apocalypse.

“So…why didn’t ya want to go with Shane?” Daryl threw the question at you after Luna had calmed down.

“Cause Luna wanted to go with you.” You gave the excuse shamelessly. He snorted to your lame excuse.

“Bullshit! Spill the real reason, that’s the least I get for playing along with ya.” He took a small glance at you and returned his attention to the road.

“Okay… never took you for one that likes gossip but…” he gave you an annoyed look as if to say ‘just say it’. “I had a fight with him, when you guys went to Atlanta. In front of the whole camp actually.”

“The bruise, in his face, was that ya?” He asked, looking at you for a brief moment, and you nodded in response. “I knew it. Couldn’t be a walker, it looked like something ya would do.”

“How did it look like something I’d do?” Did he take you for the type to go punching people around? Maybe he thought you were kind of a badass? No, not possible.

“The bruise is just the height you’d be able to punch, no way you could hit him on the eye.” Well, none of the options you guessed, he just stated you were short, which you really kind of was. But you couldn’t let it pass like this and gave him a light punch on his arm. “Easy Puppy, I’d rather die fighting zombies than in a car.”

“You just called me short!” you stated as a justification of why you lightly punched his arm.

“And didn’t lied.” He smirked and then put his right hand on Luna’s head for a brief moment. “Why did ya punch him?”

“He lied. He told us Rick was dead.” You answered and Daryl said nothing, probably thinking about what you said. “I mean, any idiot can see if a person is breathing and if the heart is beating.”

“Well, it’s Shane. He’s a different kind of idiot.” What was he probably trying to say? “Maybe, he didn’t knew the difference at the time. I’m not trying to defend him, I don’t like him, you know.”

“I know… it’s just… I’m angry.” You said. Funny, because Daryl had told you the same thing to you, but of course your fight was very silly compared to the reasons behind your quarrel with Shane. “Do you think I should talk to him?”

“Is it going to make ya feel better? If yes, do it.” He didn’t even had to think to say that and he didn’t like Shane at all. That was one of those moments where you saw how good he was, and you wish people would see through his rough demeanor. “Take a picture, it lasts longer.” You didn’t realize you were staring at him for a long time.

“Sorry, I was thinking about what you said.” That was not a complete lie, but not even half of the truth. “But I don’t need a picture if I can look at you everyday.”

You wanted to talk more, but you were tired, your half slept night was charging it’s price. You didn’t know when you slept, but after 2 hours you woke up the car was slowing down until stopping. Luna was laying in your lap awkwardly, half her body was on the car seat and her head was on Daryl’s lap.

“Morning Sleepyhead!” Daryl took a small glance at you.

“Hey… sorry, I didn’t want to sleep, but I was tired.” You ran your hands on Luna’s back. “Why are we stopping?”

“Don’t know, guess it’s a problem with the RV.” He took Luna’s head from his lap and talked to her as to a child, you didn’t even paid attention to what he was saying you just thought that was adorable.

You broke the moment putting a harness on Luna, so you could leave the car. As soon as you left the car your eyes found Shane and you decided to take the opportunity to talk to him.

“D., can you look after Luna for a little while?” You asked him, giving your best puppy eyes, without even noticing.

“Alright Pup, go and do what you need to do.” He said grumply taking the harness. “Go, before I regret it”

“Okay, thanks.” You gave a little smile and left in Shane’s direction.

When Shane saw you walking in his direction, he thought there would come trouble, because any moment you two talked, you would fight. He regretted all the fights, but it was as if he couldn’t control himself, in this world… he couldn’t be soft, gentle or unprepared. He couldn’t also let anything bad happen to the one’s he cared, even if he had to make some sacrifices along the way, and that was what scared him the most. He felt like he was losing his humanity and he didn’t see any other option.

“Shane, can we talk?” You finally approached him, expectations very high and afraid of the outcome.

“I don’t want to fight Y/N…” well, you didn’t want this too, but it didn’t depend only on you.

“Me neither. I just wanna my nice big bro Shane back, you know…” You said, eyes on the mark you had left on his left cheek. “I’m sorry, for the punch.”

“I probably deserved, a cop that can’t tell the difference between the dead and the living…”

“You were probably nervous, I can only imagine the chaos the hospital was and… and you said they were shooting everyone in there, you were probably also afraid.” You said and took his hand in yours. “I’m sorry, I was angry and shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

“I’m sorry, I have been an asshole lately.” He admited.

“Lately?” You mocked him. “Let’s be good again, I don’t punch you anymore and you don’t piss me off. You know, just like you and Rick, I grew up and I don’t need you to protect me from everything. You should be the cool big bro that encourage me to do reckless things that Rick wouldn’t want me to do.”

“Just like… hanging out with Daryl Dixon?” He suggested and he knew he was entering a delicate topic because you already fought before about it.

“Yeah, he’s a good person and my friend. You should encourage me to make other friends, the world went to shit and the people is all we got.” You chewed the inside of your cheeks hoping you would not start fighting again.

“You know, I only act like this, because I don’t want you in the same situation you had with Paul.” He confessed, and in part it was true, you were never the same after Paul, after all the psychological abuse. It took months for you to go back to your normal self, and a german shepherd puppy to make you smile and live again. But on the other hand, it was also his prejudice against the Dixon Brothers.

“I already told you, it’s not like this.”

“I see the way you look at him. It’s the same way you used to look at Jack Jones.” He stated, and you remembered your first crush at school. You never had the courage to tell him what you felt.

“I surely don’t, I’m no teenager and… hey maybe I could have avoided all this situation with Paul if I had told Jack how I felt…” You tried to deny, but you knew that maybe he was right… maybe you had a crush on Daryl. “Just let me live, please Shane? If I die tomorrow, I want to know I lived to the fullest. I don’t expect to find love or anything in a world like this, but I want to be with people I enjoy being with and protect the people I love.”

“Don’t say no sense. You’re not going to die, I’m not letting you die.” He stated. “It’s ok, you can be friends or more than friends with whoever you want, but let me know if anyone hurt you…”

“Thank you Shane.” You hugged him tightly. “And please… let go of Lori, you’ll only hurt you and her. I say it, because we’re family and I love you.”

You left his embrace and you saw the hurt and sadness in his face, maybe a little anger too, but you hope he would not blame you for this and listen to your advice.

“Go to your boyfriend before he comes here and kill me.” Shane played after he saw the way Daryl was looking at the both of you.

“Shut up Shane!” You gave him a punch on his arm before you left.

“By the way, I’m proud of your punchs, you really learned how to beat someone properly.” He kind of yelled at you, and you just laughed. Well they really taught you how to beat someone and how to make it as painful as possible.

After that Shane left with T.Dog to try finding replacement parts for the RV. You go to Daryl and take Luna from him, you could not ask for him to do more than he already did. “Thank you.” You told him.

“ ‘s nothing. It’s always good to pass some time with Luna.” He replied taking a cigarette and lightening it. His curiosity taking the better of him. “Are ya feeling better?”

“Yes, I guess. Things went well. Thank you for the advice.”

Jim was getting worse over the time, you thought he would not make it to the CDC and in truth, you knew nobody survived from a bite, you never saw one single person survive it. Rick was new to all this shit, so he had hope, but you knew Jim would not make it and that nobody could in fact help him.

The RV was fixed, but now you got another problem, Jim was bad and he had decided to stay behind. Rick tried to convince him otherwise, but he had made his choice and you should all respect. It was sad leaving him behind, but you couldn’t stop any more time, you needed to keep going. You entered Daryl’s truck, a heavy silence following the both of you. He started the car, his forehead frowned and the eyes on the road. You could feel he regretted his actions towards Jim.

“You were not completely wrong.” You finally said taking him by surprise. “You just had the wrong approach.”

Silence. Not the comfortable one.

“The most compassionate thing to do in a world like this, would be to not let the people we like turn into one of those…”

“Why?” He asked, eyes on the road, not even giving a glance at you. Your were took by surprise and didn’t know what he meant. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because this whole situation made me think and… I know you have your own thoughts about it too. We can’t be so radical, but we should think about doing something to not let each other turn.” You wanted to look at him, you wanted to hold his hand, but you couldn’t, you knew you had crossed lines when you told him those things. You didn’t even know if he considered you a friend that could discuss this kind of things and tell when someone is wrong or right.

“Yeah, ya know a lot of shit.” The bitter comment left his mouth seconds after what you said.

“Daryl, if I ever get bit, I want you to end it for me.” You didn’t know what made you say it, but you just ignored his comment and threw this bomb on him. He almost hit the brakes the moment the words left your mouth.

“What the fuck?!” He cursed. “Don’t ask me something like that. Yar not getting bitten.”

“You don’t know.” Seeing Jim like this made you think. You didn’t want to die alone, you didn’t want to turn, you didn’t had the courage to do it yourself and you didn’t want Rick, Shane, Lori or ,in the worst scenario, Carl to do this. “Promise me”

“I ain’t promising you shit!” He didn’t understand why he got so angry at what you said and asked, it should be something normal to ask each other in a damn Zombie apocalypse. But the thought of you getting bitten… it bothered him in more ways that he could admit. “Stop talking no sense. We’re not losing anyone else to those fuckers.”

“I’m sorry.” Apologizing were becoming and habit that you didn’t want to keep, but how could you stop when you were afraid you hurt people.

“Ya don’t need to be.” He answered than he looked at you for some seconds before landing his eyes on the road again.

You decided against opening your mouth again, you pet Luna’s back and stared out of the window. When you were not looking Daryl stared at you for a little longer than what he should while driving. He over reacted, he knew it. He could not be good with his feelings and also short tempered, but he knew when he let it took the best of him. He had already lost Merle, he knew he was alive, but he was alone. Again. That wasn’t the first time Merle let him alone, and he didn’t know how it affected and made Daryl feel. In a world so big like this, maybe they’d never see each other again and he would never know. At the moment, you were the only friend he had. Could he call you a friend? And even though, there was other people that were polite to him, you were the only one that would talk more than 2 words to him. Not that he made a big effort to have a conversation to others, but you seemed to not care his short answers. The thought of you being bitten and he being left alone again, felt as if a giant rock was put on his chest. He didn’t like all this thoughts, but he couldn’t just stop them. His right hand went to Luna’s head that once again was on his lap, and he could not help but grow fond of the dog.

It was almost night when you arrived at the CDC. The place was a cemitery, there were bodies everywhere and some walkers too. You all got our of the cars and went to the entrance of CDC. All was closed, with heavy strong metal doors. You knocked, called, pleaded but there was no answer. Some started to not believe anymore on the possibility of the CDC having someone in there, but you couldn’t stop believing. You were already there, it was getting dark and it was not safe being outside. When you had lost hope, Rick saw the camera moving and you continued asking for help until the big metal door opened and you could see the big iluminated hall inside the building. You filled your lungs with hope and could breath relieved that you would have a place to stay.

Final Note: Thanks for everyone reading, liking, reblogging and commenting, it’s really good to receive your feedback.

Taglist: @sunnybunnyy2

[fourthwingfan]

Madness - Chapter 13

Hi, everybody. I hope you all had a pleasent Easter! Now, we continue our story. Threshing is just starting. It's a really short chapter, I'm sorry, guys. :( But I plan to post the next one on Saturday.

There is nothing quite as humbling, or as awe-inspiring, as witnessing Threshing…for those who live through it anyway.

—Colonel Kaori’s Field Guide to Dragonkind

October first is always Threshing.

Monday, Wednesday, or Sunday, it doesn’t matter where it falls on any given year. On the first of October, the first-year cadets of the Riders Quadrant enter the bowl-shaped forested valley to the southwest of the citadel and pray they come out alive.

I will not die today.

I didn’t bother eating this morning, and I pity Ethan, who’s currently heaving up the contents of his stomach against a tree to my right.

A sword is strapped to my back, the hilt jostling against my spine as I bounce, stretching my arms across my chest one at a time.

“Remember to listen here,” Professor Kaori says from in front of the 147 of us here, tapping his chest. “If a dragon has already selected you, they’ll be calling.” He thumps his chest again. “So pay attention to not just your surroundings but your feelings, and go with them.” He grimaces. “And if your feelings are telling you to go in the other direction…listen to that, too.”

“Which one are you going for?” Liam asks quietly.

“I don’t know.” I shake my head. At this point, Mira knew she wanted to seek out Teine.

“You memorized the cards, right?” He asks, lifting his brows. “So you know what’s out there?”

“Yes. I just don’t feel connected to any of them.” I shrug. “And what about you? Do you have this ‘feeling’?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” He says. “I thought I felt something.”

“Which one was it?” I smile at him. He totally deserves to be chosen.

“One of the reds.” He grins. “I felt strange when you dated with the greens.”

“Hey! It wasn’t a date. I really thought that I’m done for good.” I narrow my eyes at him.

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have called it a date. I don’t want to upset a certain wingleader.” He winks.

“Liam!” I hiss and elbow him in the ribs.

And he just laughs. God, he’s annoying. A little. But I like him.

We’ve only seen professors this morning, but I know the second- and third-year riders are scattered throughout this valley in order to observe.

„If you go in groups, you’re more likely to be incinerated than bonded,” Professor Kaori argues with someone near the center of the valley. “The scribes have run the statistics. You’re better off on your own.”

“And what if we aren’t chosen by dinner?” a man with a short beard to my left asks.

Looking past him, I catch Jack Barlowe running a finger across his neck at Violet. So original. Then Oren, Rio and Tynan flank his sides.

So much for squad loyalty. It’s everyone for themselves today.

I better watch them. They’re a nasty group.

“If you’re not chosen by nightfall, there’s a problem,” Professor Kaori responds, his thick mustache turned down at the ends. “You’ll be brought out by a professor or senior leadership, so don’t give up and think we’ve forgotten about you.” He checks his pocket watch. “Remember to spread out and use every foot of this valley to your advantage. It’s nine, which means they should be flying in any minute now. The only other words I have for you are ‘good luck.’” He nods, sweeping his gaze over the crowd of us with such intensity that I know he’ll be able to re-create this moment in a projection.

Then he leaves, marching up the hill to our right and disappearing into the trees.

My mind whirls. It’s time. I’ll either leave this forest as a rider…or likely never leave.

“Be careful.” Liam pulls me into a hug and he tightens his arms around me.

“You too.” I squeeze him back and am immediately swept into another pair of arms.

“Don’t die!” Ethan orders.

That’s our only goal as what’s left of our squad separates, each heading in our own direction like we’ve been flung apart by centrifugal motion, at the mercy of a spinning wheel.

***

Guessing by the position of the sun, it’s been at least a couple of hours since the dragons flew overhead, landing in the valley in a succession that sounded like thunder and making the earth shake.

I’ve come across two greens, a brown, four oranges, and—

My heart stumbles and my feet freeze to the forest floor as a red steps into my field of vision, its head just under the canopy of enormous trees.

This is not my dragon. I’m not sure how I know, but I do.

I hold my breath, trying not to make a sound as its head sweeps right, then left, and my gaze plummets to the ground as I bow my head.

For the last hour or so, I’ve seen dragons launch into the air with a cadet—now a rider—on their back, but I’ve also seen more than a couple of plumes of smoke, and I have no desire to be one of those.

The dragon huffs a breath, then continues along its path, its daggertail flicking upward and catching one of the lower-hanging branches. The limb falls to the ground with a monstrous crash, and only after the footsteps recede do I finally raise my head.

I’ve now come across every color of dragon, and none of them has spoken to me or given me the sense of connection we’re reportedly supposed to feel.

My stomach sinks. What if I’m one of the cadets who’s destined to never become a rider? One who’s thrown back time and again to restart first year until eventually something puts me on the death roll? Has this all been for nothing?

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be useless. I don’t want to be seperated from my friends.

I feel happy with them. For the first time in my life I feel important. And I don’t want to lose them. Liam. Violet. Ethan. Not even Xaden, despite our strange relationship.

The thought is too heavy to carry.

Maybe if I could just see the valley, then I’d get a feeling like Professor Kaori was talking about.

I spot the nearest climbable tree and get to work, scaling branch after branch. Pretty sure the higher branches aren’t going to support my weight, so I stop about three-quarters to the top and survey the immediate area.

There are a few greens in plain sight to my left, standing out against the fall foliage. Oddly enough, this is the one time of year when oranges, browns, and reds have the highest chance of blending in. I watch the trees for movement and spot a couple more directly south, but there’s no pull, no aching need to head in that direction, which probably means those aren’t mine, either.

Relief hits me embarrassingly hard when I count at least half a dozen first-years wandering aimlessly. I shouldn’t be so happy that they haven’t found their dragons, either, but at least I’m not the only one, which gives me hope.

There’s a clearing to the north, and my eyes narrow as a flash, like a mirror, catches the sun.

Or like a golden dragon.

Guess the little feathertail is still out here appeasing its curiosity.

There’s another movement. There’s a woman with wihitis hair. Violet.

Then I spot three man entering the clearing.

Shit. They must be Jack and his group.

I climb down and keep my footsteps silent and race across the forest floor as fast as I can.

I am thankful I grew up playing hide-and-seek with Violet in the woods. This is one area of expertise I can confidently claim.

The clearing is closer than I realized, so I kick up my speed, my gaze darting between the leaf-covered path I’ve chosen and where I think they are.

The meadow is big enough for ten dragons, ringed by several large trees, but the golden one stands alone in the center, in front of the dragon is Violet.

I was right. The group I saw was Jack’s. They surrounded Violet.

Four man against Violet, and a dragon. Probably a baby if based on it’s size.

I feel my anger rising. I will kill them.

I unsheathe my sword but before I can say anything or take a step, I hear a low threatening voice.

„I would strongly recommend you rethink your actions,” a voice—his voice—demands from across the field.

My scalp prickles as each of our heads swivel in his direction.

Xaden is leaning against the tree, his arms folded across his chest, and behind him, watching with narrowed golden eyes, her fangs exposed, is Sgaeyl, his terrifyingly beautiful navy-blue daggertail.

[mlmxreader]

My Best Ally | Aragorn x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ “You will never age for me, nor fade, nor die.”With Aragorn please ❞

: ̗̀➛ Aragorn has an alliance with the general of an army, although it isn't just politics

: ̗̀➛ blood, injury, war, violence

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

There was no surrender, and there was no way that withdrawal would work either; the flap of the coat of arms flew high above you, displaying a great red dragon with claws as big as mountains and teeth as harsh as sunlight. There was only one thing to do - drive them through the hills, and out of your lands.

Just as your ancestors had done for years, it was now down to you to follow in their footsteps; it was down to you to ensure that the white flag with a red cross never took over. You would die before seeing your countrymen perish to those dogs.

Drawing your sword, you turned to your men, and took a harsh breath.

"This is the killing field!" You bellowed. "This is where we show them no mercy! Ride with the wind!"

They cheered, although you clenched your jaw in a vain attempt to stop your heart from hammering in your chest; with an absent hand, you reached up and touched the small chunk of metal around your neck.

The small necklace that Aragorn had given you, inscribed with an old elven saying, was always around your neck when you went to battle.

The men fell into line in their respective battle positions; cavalry at the front, archers at the back. All wearing bright red armour made from dense dragon scales.

They were never fearful of what may come, knowing that if the battle was lost then those bearing the white and red flag would take over everything; they would flood villages and ban the language, outlaw and violently suppress the culture and traditions. They would not allow the land of the dragon to flourish and thrive.

Your men could not afford to be scared.

"Ride them down!" You called out, getting up on your horse with a huff. "Hunt them until the last man!"

It was true that your battle tactics were always less than merciful; you always left one man alive to go back and warn his countrymen, and he was always on the brink of death.

If he refused, his horse would be sent back, dragging his body as his shoulder blades were forcibly pushed up and out of his skin, and they would always find rats feasting inside his stomach.

You were very good at breaking the enemy's will.

You charged with the cavalry, herding the enemy lines into a small circle so that they were completely rounded up with no escape; you liked to watch them beg for their lives with fear in their eyes as they dropped to their knees.

As they surrendered, you gave the order, and they perished.

But while the rest of your men stood tall as they marched home, you did not; you gave word to your right-hand, telling him to look after the group, before heading towards the woods.

You left your horse at the edge, and felt relief wash over you the second you stepped onto the mossy ground.

"Aragorn!" You called as you wandered down to the little bridge, taking a seat and letting your legs dangle over the edge as you waited.

He was never very long, always running out of some of the bushes before smiling and letting out a quiet laugh. "You lived."

"As always," you nodded, waiting for him to sit down before you rested your head on his shoulder. "Good thing about dragonscale armour - you don't get killed."

Aragorn laughed softly, although his eyes soon caught the spatters on your armour. "Did you get hurt?"

"It isn't my blood," you whispered. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come to see you before-"

"It's alright," he murmured. "You seem tired."

"It seems the more they try to take our lands, the more tired I become," you started, "it's difficult, disgusting work... slaughtering them like cattle... but we are only trying to stop them from destroying our land."

"I know," Aragorn nodded slowly, letting his hand rest on your thigh as he cleared his throat. "One day, they will sings of you."

"I sure hope not," you laughed quietly. "I do not want to be remembered."

"You have no choice," he mused. "You will never age for me, nor fade, nor die. I will never let you be forgotten."

"Now you're just rubbing it in," you joked.

He gave your thigh a little shake as he hummed. "You know, the woods are whispering again."

"Really?" You asked. "What is it this time?"

"They say that there is a war coming," he explained, "and that your lands will have to unite with the rest of Men in order to save the world."

"I would do it on one condition," you admitted.

"Which is?"

"It would be under your banner," you told him plainly. "You have my alliance, Aragorn, just as you have my heart. If you want my men, you will have them - but only under your banner."

He nodded slowly. "I hope it does not come to it."

"As do I," you breathed out. "But you know as well as I do that the woods are not wrong. Can't you feel it? Something... brewing."

He nodded slowly, chewing at the inside of his lip. "I feel it. But where there is anxiety, there is hope."

You extended your hand to him. "If you shall ever need an ally, promise you will call upon me."

He held your hand tightly, kissing your knuckles. "Always. You are my ally in every way, General."

You nodded curtly, daring to smile at him. "And you are mine, Ranger."

He smiled back, licking his lips. "Shall we walk?"

Slowly, you stood up with him, and linked your arm with his. "I might be a little slow, today..."

"I'm aware," he whispered. "You are fresh from battle, I wouldn't expect differently."

"Thank you," you told him softly. "Really, Aragorn, thank you."

"Anything," Aragorn insisted. "Anything that I can do for you, I will, always. You are, after all, my best and favourite ally."

[nellycanwrite]

His Timeless Love

K’uk’ulkan x Reincarnator!Filipino!Reader

Summary: A God such as K'uk'ulkan has lived life by the hundreds, yet you wonder why he has not found his true love during his time of immortality. It might just shock you to believe that he had already loved you since the summer of 1592.

Or, in which K’uk’ulkan tells you the story of the four times he fell in love with you and the three times he saw you die.  

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Angst, mentions of violence, colonization, Namor absolutely loathing colonizers and their language, graphic depictions of the Philippine Revolution, possible historical inaccuracies, extreme Catholicism, the violence of the Spanish regime, body worship, oral (f receiving), penetration (p in v), deflowering, cockwarming, creampie

Word Count: 23.5K :))

Note: This work follows along the history of the Philippines and the influences of the colonizers throughout the years of subservience. I claim no historical accuracy to the plot but the timeline and the implications of each historical era was and is researched accordingly. As such, I am also of Filipino descent specifically from Bisaya, Ilonggo, and Ilokano backgrounds.

This work is a connecting piece to His Queen. Both can be read separately and in any order.

Capital City Talokan, 2025

"Why did you choose me as your queen? Did you not find anyone worthy of your love in your long decades of life?" You had asked him in your shared chambers one night, your fingers tracing the hills of his knuckles and peppering kisses to his exposed chest.

The feathered serpent god pulled you closer to him, your legs intertwining with the silken sheets, his hand painting murals upon your barren back.

"I will only love you and only you." He replied. He lingered a kiss to your hair and whispered sweet nothings in his mother tongue. You resisted the urge to swat his arm—like you always do as a sign of your playful affection; a Filipino thing, really—and brought his hand upon your cheek to tenderly kiss the palms decorated with callouses, a clear sign of his training. 

"You have avoided the question, my dear king."

"Does it matter?" 

"It matters to me," you heaved yourself up to your elbows and trapped your king within your arms; your noses barely touching, your bare chests grazing with every slow intake of breath, your hair falling like a curtain against the luminescent algae light. K'uk'ulkan stared up at you with nothing but pure adoration, yet you felt a deep sadness from within. 

You persisted, "you are hiding something from me."

As if the sea had sensed its rulers melancholy, it shifted and it hummed amongst the rocks of the royal chambers. It crashed into you like the waves of a full moon's midnight, pelting your eyes with the sting of tears. You know not of the reason for your own sadness, but you knew somewhere in your soul that it was connected to your husband's own sorrow.

He reaches up to caress your cheek, and like a subservient dog to its master, you lean in right away to the warmth of his loving hands. He traced your features, every curve, every freckle, every bump, and every line down to the very last detail. He was memorizing every inch of you. He was burning it to memory.

"It is not a tale that is to be taken lightly. It is a burden I alone must bear." 

You leaned down further until no space was left between your bodies. His breath hitched when you caressed his own cheeks, fingernails running through the planes of his chiseled face. He was a God in every way, and you worshiped every part of his divine countenance. 

"I am your wife. I am your queen. What you know, no matter how vicious of a tale, I must shoulder. It is also a burden I must bear with you."

"My queen—" you silenced him with your lips. He would have returned the gesture with fervor, but you pulled away just as quick.

"K'uk'ulkan, akong hinigugma, akoang hari," my love. My king. His body shook in response to your mother tongue. He wondered if it was your powers at play. He, the embodiment of the sea, so easily bent to the will of your prowess. It was hardly fair, he would muse. But he will do as his queen demands, "tell me. Tell me what plagues your heart."

He hesitated for a moment. Flashes of decades worth of memories invaded his sight. You sensed his plight—you always do—so you tore your eyes away from his own earthen gaze and rested your cheek against his chest where his heart thumped in speed. You tapped your fingers to the rhythm of his pulse, your breath matching his to give him a sense of comfort. That you were there to listen. 

And with a heavy sigh, he started;

"I've decided to make you queen the first time I saw you—during that fateful day you had fought off Spanish colonizers to reclaim your motherland."

"But I have not lived that long." The drumming of your fingers stopped. You felt his heart race faster. You did not look up, instead, you waited for him to continue. 

"Not the you of the present," he tangled his own hands to your hair, his fingers playing with the strands mindlessly. There was an edge to his voice now, but as soon as you found purchase to his free hand, he breathed in a centering inhale before he continued.

"...but the you of the past."

Mactan, Cebu, Philippines, 1592

Namor.

A name fit for a cursed man like him; coined from a language he found vile. Niño sin amor. A child without love. 

It was a few years since the passing of his mother, a few years of getting accustomed to the weight of the responsibilities as the ruler of Talokan. His heart was still tainted with the fresh vengeance of the colonizers that plagued the surface world that his mother so loved.

Yet he does not do anything for people with the same plight as he. He had to protect his people—his Talokan—even when it meant he would ignore the cries of help from the land-dwelling natives robbed of their ancestral lands. 

As revered as he is in the eyes of his people as king and as a god, he was still a man fresh from adolescence. He was still a young man full of rebellious curiosity.

He loves to practice his flight above the waters of the seas. He mimicked the swiftness of flying fish, maneuvered the skies as he had seen from the native birds of the unknown lands he passed by. He was in no means masterful with his winged ankles just yet, but he was agile enough to move across the oceans until he felt the cold Atlantic winds turn into the warm winds of the pacific. 

He always marveled at the new lands he happened to stumble upon—perhaps his mother’s love for the surface world had rubbed off on him in some way. He knew the sea was his home. Talokan was where his heart lay bare. 

But he cannot help but drink the sights of the orient south; pure white sand, lush forestry by the line that divided the beaches and the wildlife, birds of every color unknown to him chirping in greeting as he flew past the polka-dotted whale sharks just skimming through the water’s edge. 

The sea-life, as if sensing the presence of their sovereign ruler, acknowledged the winged serpent god when he dove down to admire the rainbowed corals of untouched treasures. There were creatures that were new to his eyes, unique to this area, Namor could only think, and were peculiar in nature. He did not dare disturb them and continued forth, now submerged in the warmth of tropical waters.

This new land was beautiful, Namor would not refute that fact. Although in his heart Talokan reigned supreme, the underwater civilization was still young—at least the same age as he is. They were still settling in down the depths and adjusting to the darkness of the deep.

 Someday, Namor thinks to himself while staring up to the sun just below the water’s edge, someday I will bring the sun to my people. 

He jolted in surprise when creatures that surrounded him suddenly dispersed at great speeds. His feathered ankles unfurled in alarm when the muffled boom of cannons reverberated from the ocean floor. Namor maneuvered his way through the dense coral just as a shower of debris and ammunition wrecked through the homes of the creatures he had just admired a few minutes prior. 

His heart cried out for the defenseless life that was caught in the crossfire, yet he resisted the urge to surface in whole—he cannot compromise himself without the company of his guards nor with the absence of his spear. His people still needed him.

So he took shelter behind the rocky shallows hidden by a cliff’s shadow and watched. 

Warriors clad in colorful striped garb emerged from the thickets carrying spears and precious swords adorned with crested jewels and metals. 

Despite the ruggedness of their appearance (although Namor suspects it was from the running they had to go through to escape their assailants otherwise no such noble tribe would look so tired and soiled), they carried themselves with the poise of native royalty; their necks and ears were covered in golden jewelry, the anklets upon their feet clinking with the same metal. Men, women, and those possessing the traits of both alike wielded a weapon worthy of a warrior that even the Talokanil will respect. 

These people streamed through the beach with expert ease, yet there were far too many wounded to traverse through the sand with the same swiftness as the others before them.

From the thickets came the spark of death, guns shattering the oriental hymns with powerful thrums of gunshots. Namor’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched in fury when he saw the same likeness of the conquistadors that plagued his own motherland like a disease, the men of the clergy following close behind with greased crosses and bellies bulging from the weight of their own gluttonous sin. 

They hid behind armed soldiers like the cowards that they are as they continued to assault the now cornered tribe. Their feet were against the raging currents of the rocky sea—lethal if they jumped in without guide nor repercussion. 

“Ríndanse,” surrender, one of the armor clad soldiers declared in the tongue so vile Namor had to control his seething rage, “o nos veremos obligasdos a disparar.” or else they will be forced to shoot, the Spanish man continued. 

Either these people learned not of the vile tongue of the invaders or their will as warriors were keeping their mouths shut, they did not respond.

Namor’s feathered ankles bristled with a deep hatred, and along with it the selfish desire to end the lives of blasphemous fiends. But before he could fly to their aid with no weapon nor army to his name, a member of the tribe yelled out with such ferocity that it startled the gunned men. A decorated spear flew across the beach and pierced through the heart of one of the friars at the backline. 

Chaos ensued afterwards, the tribe running for refuge in the forest they had long since protected upon the instruction of their general. There were casualties left at the beach—both tribesman and colonizer alike—until what was left standing was a warrior with a bloody spear and five men with empty guns and chipped swords.

That was the first time he had met you.

You were a spectacle. A sight to behold. He watched in awe as you twisted your spear with practiced ease with techniques that were unorthodox, yet there lie a hint of refined institutions from formal training. 

Namor could only assume that you were yelling obscenities to the colonizers in your mother tongue, a dirty kind of wretched curses falling from your lips. It was not something he would find common from the mouth of what seemed to be nobility—for your neck, ears, and feet held far more gold than those of your brothers and sisters, and the cloth from your striped garments were of brighter hues and were held with belts and fasteners of gold. 

The seams of your rattan woven cotton skirts shimmered under the setting sun from golden threads and silken hems, and he knew for sure that your clothes were fit for one of the higher crusts in your community.

One of the Spanish men had aimed for your neck, yet it only served to cut through the tinsel and jasmine wreath atop your head. The golden crown upon your forehead unraveled with your braids and fell at your feet in waves. It was tangled as it was heavy, yet you still moved as if no weight in the world could stop you. 

You were outnumbered yet they were unmatched, this much was true. But your gait was smaller than those from the farthest countries of the southwest and they towered over you like predators to meager prey. 

They had managed to give you cuts, bruises, and near fatal wounds, yet your stance never wavered, not even when you had struck three men down to their knees, their blood spilled on the fine white sand.

You were cornered, alone, and near death. But you never gave in.

“Mga yawa…! Dili gayud kami motugyan!” We will never give up, you bastards! Like a final wail to the gods of war, you swung your spear in blind rage. 

You expected to die by the blades of Spanish intruders, yet you found yourself in the mercy of a god.

He rose from the water like a raging tide. His dark eyes burning with a fury that you could not fathom a mere mortal could possess. He bore the strength of a hundred men and killed them with his bare hands. 

How foolish were you to have pointed your own spear at such a creature whose ears pointed to the heavens with his feet decorated with the feathers from the holy birds above? How would you dare question the majesty of his divine presence? You quivered and you shook, the wounds from your fight gushing with blood. 

“Who are you?” You asked in your mother tongue. He cocked his head to the side. “Have you come to kill me as they have killed my people?”

“I do not understand you,” The serpent god replied in kind, his arms raising to show no harm, “but I do not wish to kill you.”

You could not understand his tongue and neither did he understand yours. But you felt his neutrality. You lowered your spear until it touched the sand of the darkened beach, the only source of light coming from the full moon peeking from the low tides of the horizon. In that moment of surrender you found yourself falling forwards, your steps now failing you at the loss of a threat. 

 You felt your body being cradled by the arms of the winged god—how impertinent must you be to act so foolishly in his presence. 

 Through the haze of your thoughts you watched as he descended below the waves after he had left you in the comfort of the shade of a coconut tree. His back rippled with the water, the tides following his every whim. One last thought consumed you before you were drowned by the comfort of the sea’s lullabies and into the arms of dreamless slumber.

“Maklium sa Tubig…”

The God of the Sea.

Following the days of your healing, you sought out the beach of your ancestral lands to wait for the Maklium sa Tubig. You were not fit to lead the rebellion against the Spanish just yet, and the other tribes had created treaties to stop their momentary strifes to battle against the common enemy. You were not as needed as you are in the frontlines whilst you rested, but you knew it was a matter of time before you had to go.

Filthy colonizers, you thought in anger. They cut down ancestral trees and burned down villages in the name of their own god. They set up fortresses without regard for the spirits that dwell in the mounds of earth, sullied the waters of the divine with their disgusting wastes.

They cursed in a foul language while holding their symbols of prayer, and they kill the caretakers of your sacred lands in cold nonchalance. They were mere strangers to the home of your royal forefathers, but they act as if they own the lands that your people had cultivated. 

You needed to join the battle; lest the soil of your mother becomes more tainted with the blood of its children. 

You needed to see that man—your god—before you were to be whisked away in war against the men with monstrous weapons and diseases that wiped out your sister tribes.

“Please, I want to see you once more, Maklium sa Tubig.”

As if to answer your prayers, a figure came and rose from the depths of the sea, his winged feet aiding him to his ascent and towering over you as a god would to his children. The moon shone upon him with favor, coating his body with a glow of magnificence.

You bowed your head low and kowtowed before the god of the sea while ignoring the wounds from your fight. It has only been a few weeks since your battle, but that did not stop you from whispering your odes of worship in your mother tongue.

The squelch of wet sand startled you out of your prayers. You dare not look up at the god who has saved you from your doom. No words were uttered between you, but you felt a large hand resting itself on your wreathed head. 

“Raise your head.” He said in a language that you did not understand. As if rediscovering this plight, Namor pulled you up to your feet and stared down at you with those dark, calculating eyes. 

It held no such warmth for you—you do not think a creature as powerful as he would hold warmth to a mortal whose spear pointed at his neck after he had saved you—yet you felt safe in the presence of your savior. 

You tore your gaze away from your god and stepped back, your head hung low and your arms extended in a respectful offering. In your hands were the finest of golden jangle necklaces with intricate detail. It depicted the crops that lay in high noon, the mountains of your dearest homeland, the spears of your ancestral warriors, and the waves of the ocean that he, your god of the sea, ascended from. Beads of precious stones were in between the golden plates; the most expensive and the rarest that you could find.

“Ilahad ko kanimo mga bahandi, Maklium sa Tubig. Nagapasalamat ang imohang magtotoo sa imong pagluwas sa akong katawhan.”

I offer you riches, God of the Sea. This believer thanks you for saving their people, you had told him. 

Namor stared at your offering a while longer than he had expected. No surface dweller had ever given him something so ornate before. Yet as he watched the warrior who bested five men twice your size, bowing before him in obedience and utmost reverence, he could not help but accept the accessory from your hands. 

A shock passed the both of you as his fingers grazed your open palm, and before you could look up to say thank you once more to the god that had saved you, not even a trace of his footsteps on the wetted sand remained. 

On the nights that followed, what turned into a meeting of god and follower turned into that of a friend’s idle meet-ups. And from friends blossomed the springtime call of love that beckoned the young warriors into a dance of ardor. 

Every seven days, you meet once again and give each other jewels, pearls, and riches that no man could fathom to give. Yet these gifts turned into physical touch, and soon enough, a kiss was all you needed to satisfy each other’s needs.

He called himself K’uk’ulkan. Although he would have given you the name Namor for you to call him by, he did not want you to utter the loveless name given to him by the same colonizers who terrorized your ancestral lands.

You were hesitant to give your love to the Maklium sa Tubig. What mortal would dare step into the loving embrace of a being more divine than they? Yet he made sure to tell you, despite the language that seemed to create a line of misunderstanding between you, that he was no god; at least, not the god of your people. He made sure to be patient with you. 

You were like a shy hatchling who cowered at the mere sight of him whenever he emerged from the waters to visit you. But you eventually gave in to the feathered touches of his fingers, the tranquil affection he had showered with every lingering caress of your cheek, and soon enough, you had been caught in the spell that you could not free yourself from. 

And even if you did, you will not willingly submit to the freedom of knowing that you cannot be with your god. Your lover. You will willingly fall into the grasps of his ardent endearments even if it meant you were to fall for a divine being. 

With every touch, with every kiss, with every breath that you shared with the feathered serpent god, Namor, no, K'uk'ulkan, felt less and less like the cursed loveless child the fiendish colonizers had branded him to be. 

In your arms, he felt loved. Puno sa gugma, as you would have told him in your language. Full of love.

He never thought he would ever receive the love of another being, much less someone from the surface world. He bore nothing but hatred for them. 

But you, the warrior who loves their people as much as they love their land, a ruler whose clansmen followed your beck and call, a creature who dances amongst the winds of the high tide without the aid of drums nor stringed instruments out of pure adoration to nature's songs has claimed his heart, body and soul.

 You were his as he was yours.

 And the heart he had thought bore no love overflowed. It spilled like the roaring surge of the waterfalls of your tribal grounds. A sacred place of worship just behind the rocks of the curtains of clear water; to praise your body in its glorious state of highest exultation, to taste the holy nectar of your jeweled flower. 

A gift you had given to him, you had told the god, for the pleasures of the union of two souls was the greatest feeling of all. There he had reached the point of euphoric bliss. There he had reached the peak of the love that he had to give, engraved deeply into the deepest parts of your body and soul.

He was now a man blessed with love.

And now you lay in his arms, his lips worshiping every bit of skin he could land upon.

“I…not meet. With you,” you played with the golden bracelets you had given your lover one night, your speech stuttering in the language you know not the name of. You tried desperately to learn his tongue, and he had soaked up your own language with every fateful meeting as well. 

You buried your toes on the wet sand and leaned your head on his jeweled chest, his arms wrapping securely around you with your figure between his legs, “war coming. Cannot meet.”

K'uk'ulkan breathed in your scent—a mixture of hibiscus and jasmine that adorned the crown of your head as well as the faint whiffs of ripened mangoes and coconuts, something unique to you and only you—and buried his head on the dip of your shoulders. 

“Stay.” One word was all he needed to communicate what he wanted in his mother tongue. You understood immediately. Despite that, you shook your head.

“Cannot stay. My people need me…”

“In yakunaj,” my love, he whispered your name in a breathless whisper. He pressed his lips to your neck, the jade from his ears tickling your cheeks. 

Your golden dangles clinked with the melody of your homeland and with it intermingled the score of its rulers’ hymns, “stay with me. Come to my kingdom. I will make you my queen.”

“Intruders kill. Home needs to be free,” you turned your head to meet the eyes of your god, of your king, and spoke in broken phrases of his tongue, “cannot abandon them. We need to be free. Our mother cries, our land weeps. Tribe ready for war. I cannot go.”

“Then let me help you,” he raises your hand to his lips, your palms burning with a pleasant tingle of his mouth on your calluses. 

He then trails himself to the jade ring on your finger—a gift he had so graciously given you on your third moment of meeting—and lingers a kiss to it softly, "let me help you defeat your enemies. And after that, you will become my queen. Tugoti ako sa pagtabang kanimo sa pagsunog sa mga manunulong sa imong yuta."

Let me help you burn the intruders of your land.

It was unfair, you thought. How can he be so fluent with your language already? You could only make out broken phrases in his mother tongue, but he speaks your language as if it is his own. 

You pouted. 

That made your lover chuckle in amusement.

And so K'uk'ulkan, with the promise of aid to your people, brought forth a small group of his strongest warriors to the waters of the orient south. He himself was equipped with his own weapon decorated with jade, gold, and pearls from the gifts that you have offered him from your island.

He brandished it high and proud as he swam through the currents in time for his promised day of rendezvous; just seven days after you had met him last.

His people were initially against it. Providing aid to an unknown tribe of surface dwellers? It was hardly an option to be considered by the Talokanil. But as soon as he had explained your people's anguish, a suffering so similar to theirs that it brought forth tears to the eyes of the elderly who remembered the days they had to flee from their motherland, the young civilization (hardly even a nation) of the deep seas had given their blessings.

Seven days of preparation. Seven days of wait. Seven days is all he needed to come back to your arms and make you his queen. Their Chilam, the priest in charge of procuring remedies and healing salves, with the guidance and blessings of the Aj k’in, the head priest of their young nation of Talokan, had made him another tonic; a blue medicine to ensure that you would become his queen after the war. 

 Yet seven days proved far too late.

 He and his warriors arrived at dusk, the beach decorated with the most lavish of fauna. Torches burned with the carvings of the depictions of wheat and sea, the huts lavished with intricately woven rattan.

 A celebration, perhaps, that the lands were garnered as such. Yet there held no joy in the midst of the fire and of the warriors who lay lifeless on the ground, the sand drinking the blood spilled unto their grasps.

He could only describe it as a bloodbath. A one-sided battle that far outnumbered the rebellious efforts of your tribe. He and his people witnessed the Spanish conquistadors bare their guns at the children and the elderly, going as far as to drag the women by their woven hairs and into their boats that docked unceremoniously by the bay. 

K'uk'ulkan felt his people seethe. He could not blame them; it was as if they were replaying the scene their mothers and their fathers had witnessed when they themselves were driven away from their own homeland. 

K'uk'ulkan's blood boiled when he saw some of your sister tribes fighting alongside their own invaders. Instead of the noble swords and decorated spears in their hands, they held guns to shoot their own kin.

They had betrayed you.

K'uk'ulkan made sure to kill off the traitors that dared oppose your authority.

Yet he did not care for those who have died in war. His only purpose was you. 

And the you that he so loved, the warrior he promised the world of both sea and land, lay lifeless at the beach with a spear on your chest—the same weapon your people had meticulously created for their most noble of warriors—and proudly by the head of an altar was a man with the same clothes as you. Your kin, perhaps. But it did not matter. 

 Your own people had betrayed you for the intruders that poisoned your home.

 It was a haze, really. His own wrath had covered his vision in red. He remembered ordering his men to sink the ships that contained vile vermin whilst he flew at great speeds to kill every single man, woman, and colonizer that dared to cross his vision. It mattered not if they were foe or ally. 

His queen is dead.

You were so beautiful in his arms. Despite the blood that dripped down your wounds, despite the crimson droplets that splattered across your golden jewelry and your ceremonial clothes, you were still a spectacle in his eyes. 

Your beauty radiates with the fire that roared behind him, your voice echoing through his mind in the midst of dying gasps around you. The sea that sloshed beneath his hip had been dyed in an eerie scarlet, and by the time the tide had rescinded, your motherland fell into a grievous hush.

She did not sing the hymns of nature like it had done a thousand times before, yet she stays in silent mourning for her children's blood that spilled on her beaches.

He knew not of the mourning customs of your people, so he honored you in the ways of his.

K'uk'ulkan and his people placed you to rest at the edge of your ancestral lands by the soil that divided the forests and the sea, offered maize and jades to your mouth, and buried you deep into the heart of your motherland. The tonic he planned to give you was placed firmly on your hands. Maybe, in another world where you have lived through the hardships of war, would you have drunk its contents and become the queen of his growing nation. 

He did not cry, at least, not in front of his people. 

And it was that night when K'uk'ulkan realized that he could never be loved. That the curses of the colonizers rang true to his very being. 

 Niño sin amor.

 Under the witness of the full moon did he cry out in anguish, his wails drowned by the roaring sea. And that night he had reclaimed his second name once again. 

 Namor. A cursed child without love. 

Baclayon, Bohol, Philippines, 1758

 It had been years since the death of Namor’s supposed-queen. By that time he had realized that he was unlike the others in Talokan. He had outlived the people who had raised him, outlived the advisers that had shown him both the hand of mercy and the fist of iron to rule, and he outlived the warriors who had grown with him through the throes of their blooming nation.

He had outlived those who have witnessed the sins of the colonizers—he was the only testament to the will of Talokan’s forefathers.

He was no ordinary man, that much was true since the day he had first claimed his birthright. It didn't surprise him that he would live past the dates of a hundred.

By this time he had studied the minerals that were rich in their nation's floors. It held a power so strong that it could brighten the depths of the deep sea. With that knowledge he had begun to formulate the plans he held dear—to bring forth the sun to his people deprived of the land they had once roamed. 

It felt incredibly bare by his side once his subjects cheered for the underwater sun that he had successfully curated. His heart felt full with praises from his people, yet there lay a void that would never be filled; for he had given half of his soul to a land-dwelling warrior of the orient south. 

 There lay no queen to the empty throne by his side.

 The strings of what was left of his heart tugged at the direction of the Pacific isles, just like any other day of the years that had gone by. Yet this tug turned into that of a forceful pull. A yearning, perhaps, that dug deep into his very core that it became as painful as the decorated spears from the warriors of the deep sea. 

And so the feathered serpent god surfaced once more and flew across the seas until his skin felt the kiss of the tropical sun. 

He still remembered the life that greeted him a century ago. It was full of grandeur and treasures unknown, yet should be left untouched by the hands of the non-dwellers of the sea.

 What he saw was nothing like the memories of the past.

 Boats and armored ships docked the bays of what was once your home, the home of the sea-life turning as dull as the rusted anchors that replaced the dying anemone. There were a slew of people all ranging from the colors of their skin to the tongue that they speak. 

The sand was now replaced with stones and bricks and concrete, the trees turned to infrastructures for trade. There is a clear hierarchy amongst the surface dwellers—the supreme men of education from the colonizers that plagues your lands, the natives with the same likeness as you, the one that he so held dear, and pale skinned workers with narrow eyes that spoke a language he has not recognized.

Those of low birth (Namor had to clench his teeth at the mere implication of the noble tribes of your people to be of common backgrounds) were chained and whipped and scorned like they were the plagues to this land. The colonizers bore crosses of prayer, offered the Word of their doctrines as a show of mercy, yet they treated your people as if they were the scum and the friars the messiah. 

He had to resist the urge to fly into another fit of rage. He cannot compromise himself nor his people.

The pull from his heart led him away from the busy port town of merchants and slaves, around a few more islands into the motherland, and into a secluded beach with a grand manor by the plot of land further inland. The dusk provided a hush so similar to the one he had heard centuries ago—the lullabies of your motherland almost lulling Namor to sleep. Yet he persisted in his search, flying in closer to the manor with very spare lamps to its sides.

By now the sun had almost kissed the sea its goodbyes, and his eyes strained to see the faint silhouettes from the balcony of the hacienda.

In the years that he has lived without you by his side, his broken heart suddenly skipped with the feeling that he claimed to have lost in his century-long mourning. 

You were as beautiful as the day that he had lost you; the same sparkle of your unwavering gaze that held nothing but the wit of a datu, the sheen of your golden skin flickering with the lamp by your side, the stature of a figurehead that leads with fervor into battle. 

The same face, the same mannerisms, the same scrunch of your brow when you had to plunge into a circle of deep thought. It was you.

Yet you were not dressed as the warrior Namor had known you to be. You were dainty. Fragile. Instead of a rose with jagged thorns, you were a jasmine in the high afternoon. Defenseless. Smaller than the world. You bear not the golden jewels upon your skin, nor the scars nor ink of your ancestral heritage. 

You were a woman of class, of poise. A princess whose hands have not held the spears of rebellion nor the blood of the enemy. You wore a dress that was far too regal; you could not as much as run into the battles you had once waged for your land. 

Despite this, Namor knew. He knows in his heart—his very soul—that it was you. 

And how that excited him so. 

He was too far to hear the musings of your lips as another woman—this time with far less poise, drab clothes, narrow eyes that shifted down in respect, and the palest of pallor—approached you in high regard. She spoke to you as if you were her master, yet you replied with a kindness that made the sangley at ease in your presence.

You moved with the grace of nobility, shied away from the breeze of the sea with the same sway of the tropical trees, and you uplifted the sangley, one of low birth in comparison to your standing, like she was one of your own; without fault nor the judgment of race, without the grimace nor stare of a boorish colonizer.

A queen. That was what you are. A leader fit to rule by his side and claim the empty throne on his right hand.

He wanted to go and fly up the balconies of your manor, claim the lips that he had once lost in war, and bring you back to his home and let you reclaim the right that had been yours since the beginning of his reign as king. Yet he waited for the perfect time to face you. He watched your newfound life, marveled at the way you had changed so much yet so little at the same time. 

Namor seethed when he saw men of Spanish class strolling across the beach, their arrogance seeping out in waves that even the god could feel from his distance from the shores. They called out to you in the tongue that he had hated, presenting you with a rose from below, and the other men accompanied such gestures with songs of courting. 

He would have killed those men who dared lay their eyes upon his beloved, but you simply scoffed at them from the balcony. You unfurled your fan with a snap, diverted your eyes away from your suitors, and slowly fanned the silken abanico by your chest. 

You fiddled with the golden tassel that hung low from the native wood, your whole countenance uninterested with the advances of the noble insulares—Philippine born Spaniards. The sangley at your side giggled in amusement and the men down below had dejectedly left you to your own devices with their head hung low and their pride crushed.

Whatever you had done with your fan had left them heartbroken. Namor found joy at the fact that there did not exist another man who could ever claim your soul as he had done in the past.

As the days passed, Namor had viewed you from afar. He watched as you mingled with more noble ladies your age, sewn beautiful articles of cloth as a gift to your father—a governor general, he assumed—and lived the life of a princess. You were not the warrior he came to know you to be, but his love still overflowed with a new passion. You wore the same smile, bore the same laugh, and you still possess the same air of dignity that led the charge in pursuit of your beliefs. 

You had snapped your fan open and fanned yourself slowly to the countless other men who tried to court you from down your balcony; you must be the most precious flower in this land. And rightfully so. 

He wondered how a woman as strong as you would be sheltered as much as you are now. You had the makings of a leader, but the men of higher titles bore those roles despite being ill-fitted. 

One particularly peaceful dusk, as he watched you talk with the sangley, you had finally gone out from your manor to bask in the freshness of your motherland’s air. You glided down the beach while gripping the ends of the sheer fabric of your pañuelo, dragged the wide train of your elaborate saya, and relished the salty breeze that came from the sea. Your hair, which was always tied in a complicated updo, has now unraveled. 

You were so beautiful in Namor’s eyes, even this version of you that was decorated with the most intricate of fragile cloth and the innocence of a maiden of class.

Namor could not take this silent wonder to himself any longer. He needed to see you. He needed to touch you. He needed to hear you.

 He needed you.

 His heartbeat pounded against his pointed ears, his hands shaking from excitement, or was it fear? Fear that you might not remember him, fear that you will not come back as the queen that he had hoped you to be. 

Yet as he watched you close your eyes in peace, he purged the thought of such fear. You were still the woman that he loved. The person who owns half of his soul. He needed to feel your body in his arms again and shower you with the two hundred year long affection that overflowed in his chest.

And with a final beat to his feathered wings, he emerged from the water in front of you. Just like the first time you met on that fateful beach long ago. 

Your eyes were still closed, your breath still at peace. He drew in closer, and closer until she could smell the jasmine that decorated your hair. You were so near, just an arm’s length away. He raised his hand, ready to caress the supple of your cheek that he had so longed to hold since the first time he saw you by the bay—

Then you snapped your eyes open in horror and fell to the ground with a panicked shriek.

Fear. It was painted in your eyes. The same fear that washed over the eyes of his enemies when he pointed a spear to their neck to meet their untimely demise. The same fear he had instilled to the people who had wronged him and cursed him as a deadly foe.

The same fear he never wished to see in your own eyes—the eyes that once held so much love for him.

“In reina—” my queen, he started. But you still shook with great fear and apprehension. 

 “¡Demonio!” 

 Namor’s blood froze as you uttered the tongue that he loathed so much. It coursed through with a hot rage like an inferno, the shock of disbelief, and with it came the despair that he felt through his veins. The warrior who had fought for their motherland was tainted by the same people that had ravished your culture, tore down your ancestral homes, and assaulted your own people in the guise of religious crusade.

His heart lurched again, but this time it was from the pain. To see his beloved hold so much fear for him, for you to clutch the cross that adorned your neck in the prayer he found so vile that made him want to lash out in his own disgust. 

What words have you uttered to curse him whilst you praised your Christian god, what such contempt do you hold for him, he wondered, for you to ask the holy mother to cast him out like the demon of the depths of hell that he was supposed to be? 

The mouth you had used to praise him, the one you used to kiss him and call your god of the sea, now spoke nothing but the language of filthy invaders that he hated the most.

You had forgotten him. It hurt to accept the fact that all of the love that he had given you in the century that he had mourned had been forgotten and replaced with disgust of his being. Yet he did not blame you, he only blamed the enemies that have tainted your soul with dark hatred.

 “¡No eres bienvenido en esta tierra, demonio! ¡Te expulso en el nombre de mi dios!” You are not welcome in this land, demon! I cast you out in the name of my god! You declared.

You dared not ask for help, but instead you fought him off with that foul tongue. 

You were still a fighter despite being treated as royalty, and it hurts so much to know that he cannot praise your spirit when you were tainted by the influence of the vile conquistadors.

This was too much. Namor could only bear so much.

And before the guardia civil could even see a glimpse of him after they had heard the cries of their young mistress, he had fled into the sea and never returned.

That night, the ocean sang the songs of cruel anguish; for its king mourned the loss of his queen to the hands of colonizers once again.

A loveless child. That was what he was. The cursed man whose half his soul died along with his beloved.

Niño sin amor.

A year after he had fled from your sight, he came back to watch you again. Despite the pain, he had to see you one last time.

Yet he was met with a line of mourners holding a cross to their lips as they prayed their ninth day of rosary in front of a coffin by the sea.

He did not stay to find out whose wake it was, but by the sobbing form of the sangley that you always loved to dote, the ladies that you had shared a pleasant time with embroidered kerchiefs, and the weeping governor general by the head of the procession and the lead to the rosary,

Namor knew he will never see the smile of his beloved ever again. 

Manila, Philippines, Summer of 1896

There were rumors of an entity that gifted their favorite followers golds and jaden necklaces, pearls and diamond rings, riches that no indio could ever imagine getting their hands on in the presence of the guardia civil and the watchful eye of the Catholic church. 

There spared no mercy to the rightful owners of the land once owned by the slaves that toiled the lands by the whips of their Spanish masters; each morsel of coin and bread carefully rationed three days worth of portions for a week worth of labor. 

But the rumors of the generous being were drowned by the whispers of revolution, hushed meetings of a triage at the wee hours of the night, and there lay plans—real strategies, not the old tale of riches from a benevolent god of luxury—of the fight for the land that was stolen from them by the Spanish. 

“Hermanos, hermanas, batid kayo hinggil sa nabigong stratehiya ng mga illustrados na naghahangad ng kapayapaan sa pamamaraan ng publikasyon at pluma. La liga filipina ha demostrado ser inútil.” Brothers, sisters, I’m sure you are all aware of the failed peace strategies of the illustrados. La Liga Filipina has proven to be useless. 

You listened attentively whilst dressing the wounds of a young katipunero, the gashes that came from the swords of the guardia civil seeping blood into the fresh bandages. 

You frowned as the young man hissed, but he kept it in well to let your leading general continue with his speech. It was a formality at this point—to start the secret meetings at midnight with a speech after the revolutionaries separated from La Liga Filipina—it was to ensure the new members of the triage were made aware of their roles in the armed revolution. 

La Liga Filipina was not completely useless, you had thought to yourself helplessly. You wanted to end this war with peace. You wanted the written articles of the educated men of class to be heard through the high societies of the Spanish regime. All you wanted was freedom without the cost of bloodshed of your fellow men. 

You would have stayed with the league if it weren’t for your lack of education. As a daughter of a fisherman, you did not have the time nor the resources to attend the catholic schools that were built for your purpose. 

And even if you did learn how to properly articulate your revolutionary propaganda, you knew higher society would frown upon the texts that were written by mere women, much more when you were of a low birth.

The general of the revolutionary movement called out on you, his wife perking up at the mention of your name. You straightened up and patted the poor injured boy by your side. He was still a whimpering mess despite the amount of medicine and rolls of gauze you had used on his injured arm. 

“Po?” What? You asked whilst you wiped your hands clean of blood. Your general merely quirked a brow and cleared his throat. 

“Muntikan nang mahuli ang ating bise noong nakaraang hatinggabi,” Our vice president was almost caught last midnight, he told you in brief. You shot a glance to the woman by his side—his wife, the vice president of the Revolutionary’s Women’s Chapter—and frowned.

The guardia civil have proven to be drawing closer and closer to your base of operations, and if anyone would have discovered the plans of the custodian, it would be the end of the freemasonry, “nangangailangan kami ng pagtustos mula sa ating kapwa rebolusyonaryo sa pagtago ng ating mga armas.” We need the assistance of our sister revolutionaries with hiding our weapons, he continued. 

“Oye, ano ang kinalaman nito sa akin? Isa lang akong manggagamot sa himagsikan.” What does this have to do with me? I am merely a medic in the revolution.

“At isa ka ring babae,” and you are a woman, he told you pointedly. You shot him a look of disdain, his wife shooting him a similar squinted stare. All the other women in attendance at the secret meeting frowned and held their chins up higher, the others who were tending to their weapons pausing in their tasks. There were few women who would willingly join the revolution, but they did not fall short on their responsibilities. They could do their job equal to, even better than, a man. Noticing his mistake, the general cleared his throat and raised his hand in surrender to show no ill-will.

“Lo siento, binibini, mali ang aking pagkasabi,” I apologize, young lady. I phrased myself poorly, he pulled out a map from a hidden compartment from his desk and laid it out on the adjoined tables for everyone to see. 

He pointed to a spot near the ports of Manila, trailing his fingers across lands that did not bear any paths, and signaled his chin forward for you to see, “bilang isang babae, mas mababawasan ang paghihinala ng mga guardia sibil kapag sila’y nagsisiyasat ng iyong karwahe. Walang maghihinala na ang isang babae’y sumali sa mga rebolusyonaryo.” As a woman, The civil guards would not raise any suspicions whilst inspecting your carriage. They would hardly suspect a woman to be a member of the revolution.

“Ano ang nais mong gawin ko, heneral?” What do you wish me to do, general? 

He pursed his lips and gestured to the hidden doors of the basement where all the weapons lay hidden, “Isang kinsena. Kikilos ka sa loob ng isang kinsena upang ilipat ang ating mga armas. Inuutos din kitang magbigay ng tulong medikal sa ating kapwa katipunero sa baybaying dagat.” A fortnight. You must move out within a fortnight to relocate our weapons. I am instructing you to give medical aid to our fellow revolutionaries by the bay as well. 

You nodded at your new instructions, burning everything to memory as the general forged new plans to inconspicuously sneak you past the civil guards that manned and roamed the port bay. You were prepared for the responsibility that awaited you, but at the same time, there was a pull to your gut that something life-changing will happen during your journey. 

That feeling persisted until you sneaked past out of the backdoors of the meeting room and into your own quaint little home downtown.

 You chalked it up to nerves.

The plan was successful; the idea was to disguise yourself as a peninsulares’ fiancé and meet your lover at the bay (a plan carefully executed in cahoots with your fellow revolutionaries that were affiliated with the La Liga Filipina). 

No one will suspect a woman like yourself to carry guns and blades in the guise of gifts to your wealthy groom-to-be. And a little bit of a scene from your brothers of the revolution near the entrance of the port town, you passed by quickly from the inspection gates, bid the guards a blessed day, and made your way towards the hacienda that was lent to you by your wealthier brothers of the league. 

And by god was it beautiful.

It sat near the ports just a shy away from the main docking bays of trade. Yet it gave you a fair distance to be considered private that no man would dare see past the foliage of the trees that surrounded the courtyard facing the sea. You breathed in the scents of the ocean—a scent that you missed dearly—and helped your coachman (and fellow revolutionary) unload your ‘gifts’ for your ‘fiancé.’

After the luggage has been stored, and the weapons hidden under the floorboards and basements of your new casa, you take the time to stroll across the beaches of your new home. It was quiet, save for the port side bells that signaled the dusk from across the distant shores, and stood quietly by the edge of the water. 

You chose this time to relish the momentary peace that you were privileged enough to bask in. Your brothers and sisters were out to war, yet you remain here awaiting the orders of your general. You were an integral part of the revolution and you knew that very well. But you would rather ride into battle in armed cavalry against the colonizers that terrorized your people. 

By your side, you hear splashes of water and the quelch of wet sand. You snapped your eyes to the direction of the noise, your arms immediately grabbing the blade hidden under your saya on instinct. You were not afraid of any man nor friar who would prey on helpless women, yet you will not take any chances.

You blinked in confusion when you were met with nothing by the beach. Must it have been your imagination? Surely not—you were accustomed to the sound of silent footsteps when you had fought the battles of night, trained your ears to the slightest of shifts in preparation for a silent war. 

You must be out of practice after a fortnight of etiquette training for your new high-class persona. 

A glimmer caught your eye just buried beneath the wet sand. The waves unearthed a golden necklace of sorts with intricate designs depicting the sea. You blinked in confusion as you sheath your blade and picked up the jewelry in question. A jade fit snugly into the slot of the golden amulet, and there were small pearls lined with the golden threads. 

You have heard of rumors of a god that gave gold and jade riches to those that they had pleased. It was the legends passed by the tongue of your hometown in the south; when your ancestors worshiped the god of the sea and bore gifts in exchange. 

You wondered if this was mere coincidence—there was a possibility that such an accessory was dropped by one of the noble ships that carried riches and was swept by the tide and showed up at your feet.

Nevertheless, you used the cloth of your saya to wipe away the water and the sand from the beautiful piece, held it to the light to admire the masterful craftsmanship, and held it close to your heart. 

Somehow, despite your desire to send it to your family to provide monetary aid for your brothers and sisters, you wanted to keep it close to you and never let it go. 

And from just behind the rocks of the bay, it was enough for Namor to see you keep his gift with a smile; the smile he thought he would never see again. 

But you were right there. Right there. Fate had given him a chance to marvel at your magnificence once again. His heart fluttered with the desire to take you as his queen, and the love he thought that died a second time flourished and overflowed.

Only this time, he was going to admire you from afar. That much was enough for him. It was not your fault that the colonizers had influenced your people so much that you had casted him away more than a century ago. 

But he cannot bear his beloved utter the tongue of vile vermin. It was a reminder of his weakness; that he could not save you at your first cycle of life.

And so he watched you like he did in your second life, only this time he did not do anything to satiate the itch of his longing in fear of your rejection; 

 for the mighty god would lose his way if he were to lose the light that he held so dearly in the heart that cried out for your loving embrace.

You were sure you were going crazy. Believing myths and stories that were used to keep troublesome children in bed? Hardly a thing that you would even consider in your years of life.

Yet you had to wonder; what in the world have you done to appease the god of the sea to deliver so much wealth at your doorstep? It had been a month since your reinstatement to the port city. 

You worked as a spy of sorts, collecting whispers and hushed rumors of anything related to the revolution. The wind speaks of a rebellion just across the horizon. It was high time for war—your general had written to you in a passage of a poem about the red roses in the last drops of summer. A code, you gathered, of the real battle that is to begin in a month. 

You always worried what it meant for your people, and that worry would bloom into an unsettled anxiety. You always walked through the beaches for fresh air when you were deep in thought, and lo and behold, another gift would appear right at your feet, hidden by the wet sand of the sea. It has been a month of golds and jades and naturally intricate conch shells. 

It would have scared you to meddle with the affairs of such divine entities, but you found yourself comforted by whatever being or coincidence that would offer you such gifts.

The riches that were handed to you by a silver platter had been most helpful with the revolution. You had stocked the shelves high with medicine for war, bought books from the higher ends of the Spanish markets (even though it will take some time for you to decipher the written text with your lack of education), and supplied monetary aid to your general’s ranks to buy you more gunpowder for the oncoming war. 

You had also bought yourself crates upon crates of arms to be shipped off in the high time of trade; this will give your brethren of the rebellion more chances to fight for themselves. It will be needed the most, especially when the Spanish would outnumber you by a hundred thousand.

As you studied the new gift bestowed upon you—a sheer patterned cloth bundling a few golden coins—your heart swelled with an unknown warmth. The thoughts of war dissipated from your head, and what was left of the impending sorrow of the revolution was the love of fate that somehow swept itself on the tide of your beaches.

“Ano ba ang namalas ng iyong binditadong mga mata upang matamo ng isang Sugbuanong kagaya ko ang iyong pagunlak, Maklium sa Tubig?” What do your divine eyes see to have garnered such favor from a poor Cebuano such as I, God of the Sea?

 Everything, Namor replied to your question in his mind. He clutched the pouch of golds and jades to his heart as it yearned for your touch. Although he was still not accustomed to the new language that you had spoken, he still understood the implications of your question directed to him, even though you did not know your words were heard by the feathered serpent god. 

You did not even have to try to garner his favor. He will still love you all the same. He did not need divine judgment nor the aid of a heavenly council, he loved every single part of you just the same. He loved every single version of you; past, present, and future.

On the days that have passed you have gotten even busier. Reconnaissance, medical aid, even the task of a revolutionary herald had been passed on to you. You knocked on doors and brought news of war, spread rumors—both truth and hearsays—to confuse those who eavesdropped by the alleys.

No Spanish soldier would ever think a woman of all people would spread the mumbles of revolution. Yet here you were, hidden right under their noses as you had expanded the triage of the port bay. More and more young men and women joined the secret meetings every midnight, and there are more to come in the following weeks. 

This new responsibility weighed heavily on your shoulders. You were not the leader your general thought you would be, nor are you the dependable mother of revolution Ka Oriang had inspired you to be. 

You were just a woman of low birth whose voice was drowned by the men with pride and far more tactical brilliance than you. You were a medic, not a warrior. A woman who had no right to be at the head of the strategist table.

Namor watched from afar as you became the leader of such a great rebellion. It was an admirable feat, one that Namor would have done if it weren’t for his priorities to keep his people hidden. Yet he frowned at your desolate disposition from the rocks he had settled in. You were unsure. Scared. Fearful of the future of the duty you had taken initiative in. 

And just like any other day, when you lay on the sand just shy away from the water, he would send forth the sea to deliver his gifts. He would watch as you would pick it up from the sand and shine the last light of dusk towards the string of pearls and gold. 

You would smile ever so softly to yourself, the smile that had made his immortal heart lurch from his chest in great affection. How he longed to be the one to deliver his gifts to your own hands, kiss the lips that would praise his name, and caress the cheeks of your golden skin like it was the most precious treasure of all; one that his own riches paled in comparison to.

“Gracias, Maklium sa Tubig,” thank you, God of the Sea, you had addressed to the waters before you with a humorous chuckle. 

Namor’s heart shook once again, “tila’y nagsisimula na akong manilawa na ika’y isang totoong nilalang at hindi isang kathang-isip lamang.” I think I’m starting to believe that you are a real being and not just a figment of my imagination.

But I am real, Namor resisted the urge to fly out from his hiding and declare to the world his existence for you. He wasn’t a figment of your imagination. 

The love he bears for you is real and true. There lay no lie to his affections nor there lay no contempt. He wanted to tell you, make you believe that he was real, and that you meant so much to him in this timeline and the next. 

With a heavy heart and a soul who stretched out to the land in which you lay, he fingered the vial of the vibranium infused tonic and dove into the depths of the sea. 

Maybe someday he can give you the elixir that would give you life amongst his people, but for now, he had to lay his heart to rest from the pain that came from his yearning. 

He would never have expected what nightmare you had to face in his absence. 

You had called out to him, your God of the Sea, for the war you had thought you would have won was so close to its defeat. The Spanish had discovered you, uncovered your midnight gatherings, confiscated the arms that were left for the last day’s shipment. 

You were successful in delivering the weapons to another safehouse, closer to the base of the inner city. Yet you had foolishly bought too many with the riches that came from your newfound wealth from the benevolent god of your ancestors.

 No one would suspect a woman to be in the revolution. No woman was to fight in the place of a man. But you had garnered too much suspicion—a fake name of a noblewoman buying arms in the guise of hunting gear for their fiance—yet no woman would buy so much. No woman would buy arms that were made to shoot the lives of men, not pheasants nor game.

You called out to him during the night, when the Spanish had burned down your home with your procured medicines that were bought from the gifts of your god. You called out a name foreign to the friars present, and they had labeled you a woman of native witchcraft. 

They spat at you like you were a demon from the depths of hell, beat you with whips that were blessed with holy water. You did not give them the satisfaction of your cries, but you did receive more of their ire when you screamed out to your god of the sea in your mother tongue.

You called out to him on the dusk that had come, your arms and legs tied with your camisa stained with your own blood. It stung like the pinpricks of hot needles, and the holy water that was thrown at your back served to make it even more painful. 

You wondered if you were really a demon, as they had called you, when the blessed water burned your wounds. 

They had hauled more men down to the beach and let them kneel in front of the ocean; a witness to your inevitable death, perhaps, that they so shamelessly presented the sea with the blood of the natives of the land that they had stolen. You were glad that most of the younger men under your wing had escaped, and what was left of the battered revolutionaries were those who had fought gallantly at your side. 

You would assume that the message of your capture would have spread throughout the ranks, and you feared that the general would have to move the plans more quickly upon your discovery.

The guards tied blindfolds upon your eyes. The sea’s rage intensified in your ears, furious. You felt the wind pick up and the sound of multiple guns drawn a few meters behind you. You cursed yourself and this mess. You heard your brothers curse alongside you as well.

It was your fault, you had told yourself. Your fault that the rebellion had been discovered. Your fault that the war started when you were underprepared. Your fault that the general had to pay the price of your negligence. Your fault that the blood of your brothers would be shed in panic.

“¡Viva la revolucion!” Long live the revolution! You heard one of your brothers cry out. You held the urge to smile; for even in the face of the death penalty were they loyal to the cause. 

Bang! The sound of a rifle. The sound of a body that fell lifelessly to the ground.

And that was one brother down.

“¡Viva la revolucion!” The sound of guns being switched around, the metal of the trigger being drawn.

Bang!

“¡Viva la revolucion! Mabuhay Pilipinas! Kalayaan para sa bayan!” Long live the revolution! Long live the Philippines! Freedom for our nation!

Bang!

Prayers were chanted amongst the friars of the sinful church, their doctrines washed away with the tide that had now touched your knees. It stung your open wounds as you let out a hiss, but you bare mind to it. You felt more blessed water being thrown at your whipped back and the beads of the rosary wrapped firmly around your neck.

“¡Viva la revolucion!” You cried out, your throat raw from the intensity of your cries.

And mere seconds from your inevitable death, just as the final draw of guns could be heard from behind you and the collective click of the metal from the triggers, you prayed.

Prayed for the God of the Sea to come save you. 

Prayed for His salvation, for Him to deliver you to everlasting life as He had delivered your ancestors and gave them riches of gold and jade.

Prayed for the sea to curse the colonizers who had enslaved the people of your motherland.

And then your God of the Sea came. Your Maklium sa Tublig.

Namor had jumped in a blind rage, his cries for war now carrying all the hate of the world with a swing of his spear. He had just arrived to bear you new gifts, golden earrings that your past self had loved to wear, yet it lay forgotten in the sand as he tore down every single man who stood in attention to the suffering that they had caused. 

His blood boiled at the sight of your ruined dress, the stripes of punishment fresh on your back and marking the skin that he so loved so much. He had caught the glimpses of wicked perversion from the blasphemous men of faith, and as soon as he had slayed the enemies that dared point their arms at you, he turned to the Spanish friars with the coldness of a god that besmirched his enemy.

“¡¿Quién eres tú?!” Who are you, one of the three friars asked, his legs betraying him as he fell on the sand. The others followed suit, too weak in the presence of a being as divine as he.

 They shook at the sight of the ears that pointed to the heavens, cried out in shock at the feathered ankles that kept him afloat. He was a demon, they cried out in their tongue. But your digress. He was your savior; your god.

“My followers call me K’uk’ulkan,” he sneered at the tongue that had cursed him centuries ago, yet he continued to bear the weight of their vile language to deliver his message. His feathered ankles bristled as he hovered by your side; a clear indication of his protection. In the midst of his anger did he let his otherwise dutiful countenance slip from his control. 

He could not fathom the rage that he felt. He will make sure that every drop of blood that has dropped from your skin and has yet to be spilled will be paid a hundredfold.

Although you cannot see your god who had answered your prayers, you cried behind the cloth of your blindfold in reverence to his name. Namor pointed his spear at the trembling men, and with a loud voice he had proclaimed—

“...and your people, my enemies, call me Namor.”

The friars had held their crosses in their dying breaths, chanting the name of their Christian god in vain. They casted out the demon of the sea with their very being, yet their god had forsaken them for the sins that they have committed in the name of crusade.

There lay no mercy to the blasphemous fiends of the high courts of the church; for their names shall not be engraved in the book before the gates of their salvation.

And the you who had so diligently called out to your own god for mercy was granted deliverance against the trials that awaited you. The prize you had won for your faith was more than riches and gold. 

It was the love of your god—your God of the Sea.

Maklium sa Tubig. Your K’uk’ulkan.

“Stay awake for me, my love,” he spoke in your tongue with panicked breaths. 

You hissed and grunted at the stings from your whipped back, but you felt at peace when he cradled you in his arms. He tore your blindfold off of your eyes, and you nearly cried at the sight of him. He was beautiful. Divine. Worthy of such a title of god. “do not dare close your eyes in my presence.”

“You came.” You pathetically rasped. Your lips were dry and chapped. It was almost painful to move your mouth. 

“You called,” he carefully took your hand while being mindful of your wounds and kissed the calloused skin of your palms. 

You replied in kind, weakly brushing your shaking fingers over his pointed ears. You held no such disgust to his form; only wonder to his majesty.

He leaned into your touch like a man starved of affection, and you wondered how blessed you were to get such treatment from your god, “how dare I ever ignore your pleas when I have given half my heart and soul to you?”

“I am hardly worthy—” you coughed out from the dryness of your throat, the sudden action shooting more pain up your body. Namor held you closer to him gently. In the arms of your god, you felt free, “I c-cannot possibly be worth half your heart and soul.”

“But you are. You are worth more than any riches, more worth than the blessings of the sea could give,” he connected his forehead to yours and submitted into your presence. 

You were blinding, a sight for his immortal eyes, “you need to rest, my love. You are now safe.”

“It is too late for me.” You rasped. He shook his head in denial.

“You are not to die today. Your king forbids it.”

Your eyes fluttered shut despite the order of your god. You smiled in content at the feeling of the sea beneath your hips, the tide slowly bidding its final strokes of goodbye. 

Namor’s eyes widened and his heart lurched painfully from his chest. He needed to do something, anything!

Then he remembered the tonic that he had saved to make you a part of his people. Surely the tonic would help remedy your wounds in some way, he thought in clouded desperation. 

It had cured his ancestors from the diseases brought by the conquistadors, after all. He pulled out the tonic from the pouch of gold and jade he used to store his gifts for you, popped open the cork of the precious liquid, and directed the vial towards your lips.

His hands shook in great panic, the contents spilling from your mouth and down your chin, as if you were rejecting the life that he so desperately wanted you to consume. In his haste, he dropped the vial into the water. 

He was quick to save it, but half of its contents spilled and saltwater had mixed with the concoction. Yet he did not mind. Just a sip was enough. Anything to save you.

“Drink, I beg of you. Drink.”

Yet you held no response. 

And with a final desperate move to revive you, he put the vial to his own lips, gathered the medicine into his mouth, and kissed you. 

The kiss from a god is one that should be revered as the highest form of praise. Yet you could not think of anything but the surge of power that coursed through your body. 

It was as painful as it was comforting—it felt like your blood had flowed backwards, your lungs expanding and filling with water, yet there was a gentle wave that came with it, suspending you into a sensation of tranquility in the arms of the deep ocean.

You snapped your eyes wide open, your chest heaving with great gusto and inhaling as much of the air that sustained your lungs greedily. The sea, as if feeling the presence of its new ruler, shook and roared around you and your savior, ropes of seawater surrounding you in a show of your newfound authority. 

Namor gaped at the sight—it was a power as beautiful and as powerful as you. It was befitting your own character, for you are as gentle as the waves of the ocean yet as harsh and as tumultuous as the stormy seas. Your heart lay deeper into the depths of ardor and the care for your nation.

You have proven time and time again that you were fitting to be his queen.

The pain from your wounds have gone, yet you still feel a lingering numbness from the effects of the medicine. Your eyes shifted to meet the magnificent earthen oak of the eyes of your savior whose tears overflowed at the sight of your breaths of life.

You smiled albeit weakly and wiped the crystalline drops of his joys and sorrows with your trembling fingers.

“Why do you cry, Maklium sa Tubig?”

He did not speak nor did he dare attempt to. He released a humorless laugh, one of great relief, as he tried his best to hide his tears from your eyes. But you have seen all of him; the raw and pure version of him that you have come to love despite your lowly mortal self.

And then with a shaky whimper, he said,

“Call me by my real name. I implore you, my love, for I have waited centuries to hear my name on your lips once again.”

And with a tired smile you replied.

“As you wish, K’uk’ulkan.”

For the first time in centuries, K’uk’ulkan finally felt half of his heart and soul at peace. The queen he had failed to save is now alive in his arms, breathing and healing from their past wounds.

She was as beautiful as the stars that had guided him through the open seas, as graceful as the sway of the forest kelp in the deep ocean floor, and there lay no more danger in their midst—for she was safe in the arms of the god she had begged to come to their aid at their deathbed.

“What is in your mind, K’uk’ulkan?” You asked him ever so silently, your hands trailing across the planes of his face in such delicate strokes that it made his whole body jolt in great adoration. 

Three months ago you would have shrunk back and called yourself blasphemous; for there no existed such a mortal who would ever hold a god so comfortably. But now you surrendered to him so well and you have accepted his affections wholeheartedly. You were now free to roam your hands across the planes of his body and burn to memory his very existence.

“Nothing of importance,” he whispered gently, his breath fanning across the exposed skin of your neck.

You would have shied away if these were different circumstances; no woman should have a man even near their chambers when you only sported a sheer chemise and skirt. Yet you purged the thought in your mind. 

Your lover was of greater renown. He would do anything within his power to keep you close to him as much as possible, “your wounds have almost healed. It should be about time before you have to go back to the frontlines to fight.”

“I love my people and I love my nation. But I would like to cherish these moments with you, irog ko.” My beloved. Such a sweet endearment from the chimes of your mother tongue. 

You turned your body so you would face him, his eyes piercing through the morning sun. The rattan hut in which you’ve spent to hide from your foes was quaint, but it was close to the ocean and away from the nightmares of war. 

The people deemed you dead, you had gathered. But your general knew of your whereabouts from the letters that you had sent after the catastrophe by the port bay. You were to rest and provide aid as soon as you were ready, and with the help of newfound powers of controlling the sea and water, you were sure to bring your people to victory.

“Are you certain you do not wish for me to whisk you away?” He asked, his feathered legs tangling with yours under the light covers, “My kingdom waits for their queen to sit on the right hand of my throne.”

“I cannot go with you. Not yet, at least,” you breathed in his scent—the smell of the sun and the oceans—and rested your forehead on his bare chest, the jewels that adorned his neck now lay idly by your bedside, “my people still have to be free from the grasps of their oppressors. My brothers and sisters are bearing arms whilst I lay in comfort. I will join them as soon as I have healed. For my nation. Para sa inang-bayan.” For the motherland.

Namor sighs, but it wasn’t from disappointment. For months he has asked you to return home with him, to hide away into the depths of the ocean and make you the queen of his great nation. But he knew that as much as you would like to learn the ways of his people, you still had to save yours from their own downfall.

It was a feeling Namor understood quite well. If he were to find the kingdom of Talokan in the hands of the enemy, he would also fight until the bitter end. He possessed the spirit of the warrior, and you possess a similar spark to save your motherland.

“I understand,” he feathered kisses over the crown of your head and basked in your presence. You still smelled like the roses and jasmine that adorned your headdress in your first life, “you were just like this in the past. Always thinking of your people, always fighting to protect the ones you hold dear.”

 “How are you so sure that the me of the present is the me you have met in the past?”

 “Because, in yakunaj,” he trailed his hands down to your back, his hands painting murals of his endearment. There still lie the lines of the whipped scars from the Spanish friars a few months ago, but K’uk’ulkan finds them beautiful. 

A sign of your strength, “your soul resonates with mine. It is like a bond that can never be broken. I would pick your soul amongst a million that may ever hinder us, and the love I have for you is as timeless as the sand that settles down the depths of the sea. I will find you no matter what era; no matter what reality. I will still choose you.”

Overwhelmed with the ardent dedication your lover has presented you, you couldn’t help but lean forth to kiss him. He returned with such fervor that it elicited the sweet sounds of your excitement. K’uk’ulkan’s heart soared, and if it were possible, the love he had to give overflowed yet again in a larger tide than he had ever experienced before. 

He was careful when he lay your back on the rattan bed, the covers now pooling beneath you and creating a halo so divine that he would mistake you as the goddess and he the devotee. You wrapped your arms around his neck, drew in closer to his swollen lips, and shivered at his very touch.

 “I am ready, K’uk’ulkan.”

 He stopped ever so reluctantly, his breath hitching whilst the heat that came from his heart doubled and spread to the tips of his feathered ankles. Suddenly, you were far too tempting beneath his arms, so ready for him to take you. You were tantalizing. Absolutely exquisite. 

“Are you sure?” His hands ghosted the hems of your chemise as you shook under his concupiscent gaze, “are you not a woman of faith? To bed a man you have not wed is an act of sin in the eyes of your faith.”

“You are my faith. You are my god,” 

You had spoken in hasty breaths, your hands now snaking itself up to his hair and tugging at the roots. 

K’uk’ulkan released a shaky sigh, lowering himself to close the distance between you. 

He could feel the suppleness of your attentive chest beneath his own, and the control he had over himself started to slip at the desire that coated your eyes, 

“I care not for the faith that had cursed me in my times of desperation. You have saved me when I have called you, you have nursed me until I was well. You are my god of the sea, my K’uk’ulkan, and I will give you everything that I have to give in full faith, devotion, and love.”

He kissed you like never before, the walls that the both of you erected falling into pieces with every touch of skin. You created such beautiful music in his ears, begging him to take the precious gems of your prized possession, gasping at the sensations that only his mouth could dare place at every place that was otherwise covered by your clothes.

Yet he took his time with you; so soft and gentle, trailing his lips across the soft skin of your neck and the valley of your chest still covered in the sheer fabric of your laced chemise. He had undressed you just as quickly, and he wasted no time in bringing attention to your attentive buds. 

You squirmed and gasped and moaned at his ministrations—this wasn’t what you imagined it to be. This was not the tales of the housewives of their husbands’ acts for they merely claimed their bejeweled flowers as soon as they had started. K’uk’ulkan was gentler, much more tender in the way that he kissed every surface of your skin. 

This was far better than the countless tales you have heard of a woman’s loss of chastity. This was far better than anything you have imagined from a man.

He worshiped you like you were the deity of his faith, exalted in praise at every scar, every freckle, every imperfection that came with your physical self. 

 He had reached the point of no return; drunk in your presence and your mercy. 

Drunk in your sounds of ecstacy. He trailed lower and lower, his lips finally finding purchase at the mound of your untouched womanhood. Yet he did not stop there, no. There were far more places to explore. Much more parts of you to worship.

K’uk’ulkan raised your legs over his shoulders with expert ease. You yelped in surprise, but those quickly turned into embarrassed moans of your pleasure as he kissed your ankles and your feet, going higher and higher until he nipped at the insides of your thighs. 

You could not help but quiver at the man who towered over you, the one who asserted his control yet left room for such soft affections, as he finally pressed his nose to the throbbing core of your body.

“Beautiful,” he mumbled in his mother tongue, something you could not quite translate just yet, “you are so beautiful for me, my queen. So needy.”

“Please—” you begged him, the ache now painfully presenting itself to you in its desire. You bucked your hips impossibly higher, and you had to cover your mouth to muffle the moans you released when he collected the sweet nectar of your core, “please, my king. Do something, anything.”

“Anything for my queen.”

Your yells of bliss were muffled by your hands pressed so firmly at your lips that it became almost painful. 

He paused in his ministrations to remove yourself from your mouth, held your crossed wrists together above your head, and stared at you with a gentle command;

“Do not silence yourself whilst I pleasure you, my love. Let me hear you scream my name.”

And you did just that.

“K’uk’ulkan!”

And the little patience K’uk’ulkan had left snapped in half, and by the time the sun had risen to the highest point of mid-noon, you were left undone in more ways than one. He did not stop until you were far too gone to think of anything but his name. 

He did not waver as you quivered beneath him with your eyes rolled back in total ecstasy.

He lapped at your juices like a man drinking the last drops of life from the desert sand, his tongue doing wonders to leave you in a whimpering mess. 

You let your voice ring through as he continued to ravish the sweet nectar of your sin; you were embarrassingly drenched, yet he paid no mind. In fact, it seemed to excite him more than it should have.

“You taste so sweet, my love,” he dragged his tongue on your slit, finally finding purchase at the soft pearl of your clit. 

You mewled pathetically at his control as he swirled his tongue and nipped at the erected bud, “you like that, don’t you? So good and needy for my tongue.”

“Please, please, please!” You did not know what you were begging for, but you knew he was the only one who could possibly satiate the itch at your core.

As if noticing your lack of sense—too drunk with his tongue to even comprehend—he gave you a teasing smirk. “Please what, my sweet? Tell your god what you wish for.”

“There, there!” You bucked your hips closer to his lips, his teeth now grazing at your sensitive clit, “please, K’uk’ulkan. Please make me feel good. Please do your bidding on this shameless thing.”

“Then come for me.” More like a command than a suggestion, the knot that was building at your core burst into strings of white euphoria. You felt faint, as if you were suspended. But you were in a high that you cannot rid yourself of. 

You were addicted to this sensation; of his tongue lapping at the juices that flowed out of you like a tide, of his mouth firmly planted to give attention to your swollen bud, and the throbbing ache of your pussy as he sucked firmly at your slit.

It was all too much, but you cannot find it in yourself to stop.

“We’re not done yet, my love.” he pressed you back into the rattan, the hard surface cold against your bare back. He pressed unto you until you couldn’t breathe, and that just excited you so. 

You felt him feel you up, squeeze the flesh of your body until it was painted in his color, and marked your neck with indications of his passion. You were far too dizzy in his spell that you did not care about decency any longer. You just wanted him in you.

You felt the twitch of his clothed bulge poking through the folds of your drenched core. It proved to make you even more eager, but there was a twinge of fear that came with it. 

As if sensing your distress, K’uk’ulkan removed himself from you ever so slightly and wound his fingers around your jaw gently, his eyes now staring deep into your soul.

“Are you sure you are ready?” He asked you, his other hand already discarding the fabric of his emerald shorts. You nodded eagerly. There was no time to hesitate when he had made you feel so good with his touch.

“I trust you,” you laid yourself completely bare to him, your arms now stretched by the sides of your head and your neck in full display for his eyes to see. 

There won’t be a moment that the fear in you will subside—after all, this was your first time. But you trusted your god to never hurt you. He will eventually chase your fears away, “please be gentle with me, my love.”

With a clang of metal, his jeweled belt and the cloth of his shorts now lay discarded on the floor. You were now both bare to each other, and you had to marvel at the length and girth of your magnificent god in awe as he sat up and stroked himself to attention. 

His pre-cum was already leaking and ready to bed you right then and there. You squirmed again when he lined himself up to you, the tip of his cock now stroking your sensitive clit.

“Look at you, so ready for me,” he practically growled as he humped himself with your slick folds. You moaned and called his name in pleasure at the new sensation, “there will be no more second chances, my queen. Are you sure?”

“Yes—” you helplessly breathed out. You moved in the rhythm of his teasing, roaming your hands on the soft flesh of his pecs. 

You noted how he twitched and grunted in delight when your nails ran through his nipples, and you made sure to take note of it once you wanted to serve him more in the future, “please take me as you will, K’uk’ulkan. I am yours to do as you wish.”

And with one final confirmation, he slowly pushed into you. You thought you could take his sheer size, but you were proven wrong when you hissed at the stinging pain of your broken hymen. Noticing your discomfort, K’uk’ulkan kissed you with so much passion that you have momentarily forgotten the feeling, and his strong hands that intertwined with your own served to ground you and ease your worries. 

He was slow and patient, the both of you panting at your successful union. He was now fully inside you, your walls clenching around him as you adjusted to his size. 

He laid still on top of you, his thumb rubbing comforting circles around the back of your hand. 

He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, words of praise and affirmation of taking him in so well. A few tears started to prick the corners of your eyes, but he kissed it away with so much love that he could possibly give.

“Have I hurt you?” He asked in your mother tongue. Your breath hitched and your sigh quivered, but you managed to smile at him and shake your head. 

“You would never hurt me,” you squeezed his hand tighter in yours. You relished the feeling of his body on top of you, the sparks and the shivers as he twitched inside of you, and this momentous adoration that you felt in your heart and soul just for him. 

You feathered loving kisses on his collarbones, left trails of your color upon his golden skin, and left more of your lips on his fine jaw, “you can move now, my love. You will never hurt me, I promise you that.”

K’uk’ulkan started slowly, his hips barely moving in fear that he might hurt you. But the sting that came from your initial deflowering morphed into that of pleasure, and you started to move in hopes that your lover would get the message.

The feathered serpent god could barely hold it in together. He wanted nothing more than to fuck you senseless until you were too cock-drunk to even say anything but his name. 

He wanted to make love to you, but centuries of depriving himself of your touch proved to awaken the primal urge to just take you, ravish you, in the most sinful way possible.

You must have noticed his focus, so you asked with a stutter, “Are you alright, my king?”

“Yes,” he grunted out, your walls clenching around his cock making him crazy. You were still so tight despite the amount of slickness that you provided him, “I will be fine. You’re just so tight for me. You’re doing so well, in yakunaj. So, so well.”

He kept thrusting into you at a slow and steady pace. He was making love to you, savoring his time and making sure that you felt safe and comfortable in your first time.

But your arms eventually flew around his neck, your chest now touching his, and you clawed at his back to steady yourself with the most lecherous words that came from your lips.

And that was his last stroke of control.

He gradually increased the intensity of his thrusts, his hands now gripping your jaw in a vice as he pushed his tongue into your mouth in a heated kiss. 

You were in no means opposed to this, in fact, the knot that seemed to form on your core turned hotter and hotter with each passing second. He snaked his other hand to your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves until your moans and pathetic little whimpers were muffled by his tongue.

His pace turned more animalistic, the slap of skin now echoing through your quaint little hut, and your prayers for his mercy were drowned by your own impending ecstasy. You shook and shuddered beneath him, your arms fisting his hair for dear life, and your nails painted stripes of red on his bare back.

“K’uk’ulkan!” You yelled out into the heavens as you felt your orgasm creeping near. You repeated his name upon your lips like a mantra and it only served to make him hasten his pace. He could not control his lust any longer. 

He just wanted to mark what was his; to make sure that your pussy will only remember the shape of his cock, that no man would ever hold a candle to the intense pleasure that he would bring you.

“Who do you belong to?” He asked against your lips. You yelled out in reverence to his being knowing full well whose name was engraved on your mind, body, and soul—whose cock it was that was ingrained into your walls and memorizing each thrust of his generous splendor.

 “Yours, K’uk’ulkan! I’m yours! Do as you will with me, my king!”

 And with a final cry of praise to your god, you released the dam of heaven in blinding light sparks, the height of your orgasm making your vision go black and your body spasm with wonder.

Your lover followed close behind with a grunt of his own, and thick ropes of his seed now coated your walls in white.

The both of you laid still in each other’s presence, both panting and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He slowly turned both of you to your sides, his cock still firmly pressed inside you, and wiped your brow dry as you breathed out in stuttering breaths. There was nothing but peaceful lull in this tiny piece of paradise. 

You smiled at yourself as he wrapped his arms protectively around you, burying himself deeper into you while caressing the bare skin of your stomach, just a breadth away from your womb. In a moment of solace, you found yourself surrendering everything in your name to be with K’uk’ulkan.

He had satisfied you, took your flower as his own, and cherished it with such tenderness that left nothing but adoration at its wake. K’uk’ulkan had received your gift in kind, and as such, he had made sure to pay you back with all the riches and love he could give you in this waking world.

 “Mahal kita, sinta. Sa kasalukuyan man o sa walang hanggan.”

 He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, cradled your frame against his, and gave you sanctuary in his arms.

 I love you, my darling. May it be the present or through eternity.

 For his love was limitless as time itself; and you did not doubt your divine counterpart to betray his own vows of long-lasting devotion.

A month has passed since K’uk’ulkan had bedded you, four months of your supposed death, and there was but a day left until you return to the frontlines of war. 

Your lover stood beside you as you prepared for the trip; your load was light and scarce, just enough for you to get through the week of travel through horseback.

“Are you sure you are well on your own?” He asked in your tongue. He was already becoming proficient with your language from the countless days he has spent with you, but you had no such success in learning his tongue with such efficiency as he did, “your journey is long and hard. You might require aid.”

“You know as well as I do that you cannot survive the valleys and the mountains without any bodies of water,” you told him again.

 You cupped his cheek into your hands and pecked his lips, “and your people need you, K’uk’ulkan, just as much as my people need me. Our motherland cries for its lost children, the land weeps for its stolen riches.”

“But my love—” you silenced him with another kiss, your body drawing closer to his. He replied in kind, now leaning in to capture your tongue with his own. A thin string of spit connected the both of you as you parted for air, and you had to burn into your mind the beautiful gaze of his umber eyes before you had to pull away. 

“This is our battle. We fight for our motherland with our dying breaths. You understand that, don’t you?”

The implications of your question laid heavily on K’uk’ulkan’s shoulders. There was no guarantee that you would return in his arms again; just like the first time you had told him you would go to war in your first cycle of life, only to return back to a corpse of his beloved near the shores. He could not protect you as he had promised, and he was going to lose you all over again whilst you were far, far away.

“You are worried,” you stood in attention and leaned your forehead into his, your breaths intermingling as you tried to calm the ragged breaths of your lover, “tell me. Tell me what plagues your heart.”

“I am afraid…” he trailed off, his voice low and weak. 

He pulled you impossibly closer, his hands finding purchase on the small of your back. You cupped his cheeks in your hands and he leaned in submissively to your touch. 

“Do not be afraid, my king,” water from your sides trickled up like a stream, the ropes of liquid intertwining you both together. You did not care if your clothes become damp in the journey; this moment is all you cared about. 

The moment where you comforted your god of the sea, “you are always with me. You have gifted me powers unimaginable to aid my brothers and sisters of the rebellion. A piece of you will always be with me, may it be through the gold of the necklaces that you gave me or through the heart of the sea that flows through my veins.”

He relaxed in your touch, his breath now evening out with yours. You wanted to freeze this moment, to stay in this slice of heaven that you had crafted for yourself and your god of the sea. 

Yet revolution beckons you in its vicious arms, justice now weighing its scales in favor of your people. You wanted to stay in the embrace of your love, but you had to pull away in haste—for even a second more that you stay with K’uk’ulkan, your resolve will waver and dissipate altogether whilst you take his hand and ask for him to spirit you away. 

 “I cannot stay for too long.” 

 You mounted your chestnut mare in haste and pulled on her reins. K’uk’ulkan holds his hand out for you to take with a crestfallen defeat decorating the face that you had adored so much. You took his hands without hesitation and laced his fingers with yours.

“Reconsider this, my queen,” his voice was laced with worry, his hands slightly trembling underneath your own, “a kingdom awaits you at the bottom of the sea. You will be revered as one of our own. Someone as special as you need not to fight a war that would endanger you.”

“Before I am a part of your nation, I must fight for my own,” you told him steadily. 

You squeezed his hand and gave him a look of determination, “I will not die in the hands of my enemy. What am I if I will not raise my voice against the oppressors that behave like children at the head of my country? We are more than just slaves; we are the people. The nation itself. I will not allow myself to die before I see this land free.”

“But you will die by the hands of your allies, just like the you of the past,” he finally revealed.

 His feathered ankles lifted him up so he was at your level and you steadied the reins of your startled mare. He did not break eye contact nor did he release your hand from his hold.

“I wish not that you abandon the duties of your land, but beware of those of whom you trust. I cannot lose you again in the hands of those you thought were your brothers and sisters.”

You leaned in to capture his lips in another kiss, his worries dissipating in one simple act. You stared into his eyes as soon as you parted and the anxiousness he felt in the pits of his stomach transferred into your own.

“I will be careful, K’uk’ulkan. I promise you. I will return into your arms in one piece and finally rule your nation by your side.”

Somehow, this did not convince the feathered serpent god. There was a tug at his soul that was, oh, so familiar. Yet he let you go when he saw your conviction. 

How could he ever say no to those eyes that lit up with such fire? You had the makings of a ruler whose hand stayed true and steady. He simply cannot wait for you to come back and stay by his side for the rest of his days of immortality.

You gave him one final kiss, a shy smile of endearment, and clicked your tongue and kicked the stirrups of your mare to be on your way. You waved him goodbye from the shore, his feathered ankles suspending him higher and higher until he could not see you. 

Before you could reach underneath the thick foliage of the forests, you called out.

“Meet me back here in five months, my king! I will return with the news of our nation’s victory!”

 For the days that passed, he returned to his kingdom to prepare the arrival of their new queen. He kept it as discreet as possible, but the Talokanil were abuzz with rumors of their ruler’s new partner. 

His heart swelled when he told his confidants the tales of your bravery and of your wit, your beauty and your grace, anything that he could have ever foretell to his children on the magnificence of their future queen. 

And so five months have passed.

 The promised date was fast approaching, and K’uk’ulkan’s heart was beating out of his chest in anticipation. He watched as midnight turned into dawn, the dawn to noon, and finally, he waited by the shores near your rattan hut by the fall of dusk. He was now filled with worry. What if you couldn’t make it? What if you perished in war? What if—

 “K’uk’ulkan!” 

 His heart soared at the mere mention of his name. How could one's voice be so calming to his heart? 

His feet carried him afloat to the approaching horse that galloped to the direction of the beach. He could not fight the smile that appeared on his face as soon as he saw you. Although you sported more scars and possessed the eyes that have seen countless deaths, your love remained the same. It was still infinite, boundless in the midst of eternity. How he missed you in his arms. 

He called out your name in joy, you leaping into his arms despite the speed of your mare. He caught you just in time and swung you around the air with glee. You were far too happy to think of anything else but your love, and there you lay in his arms after five months of separation. 

"How I've missed you, my queen." He whispered into your ear. He led you to the rattan hut that he had meticulously prepared for your arrival, your feet now touching the sand as he descended from his flight. Your mare was already stationed near the grassier areas of your home while resting its legs from the week of non-ending travel.

"Oh how I've missed you too, my king." you cupped his cheek and leaned into a kiss, and he was more than happy to reciprocate the action. He still smelled like the sun and the ocean, his skin hot under your touch. 

He wore nothing less than a smile for your arrival and that alone had sent you in a euphoric bliss.

But K'uk'ulkan had to upturn his smile into a frown as soon as you looked down at your feet in grief, the momentary joy you had felt now overcome with overwhelming regret. 

"What is wrong, my love?" He asked as the sting if tears finally gathered in the corner of your eyes. He drew himself in closer to your trembling body and wrapped you in a secure embrace. 

You immediately melted into him, the warmth of his strong arms most comforting in the midst of your sorrows. 

"You were right," you hiccuped. You buried your face into the jewels of his collarbones and wept, "our own brothers have betrayed us. We freed our people, claimed our independence, yet they sent our own to slay us in Cavite. There were tensions in the rebellion before, but I didn't think—I never thought that they'd turn against us. My general helped me flee, but he and his brother were slain. I couldn't even save them with my powers—they had deprived me of any form of water to control."

K'uk'ulkan's blood boiled at the revelation. 

How could they defy his queen? How could they have turned their backs against her when she had given them their freedom? Have they not fought alongside each other like siblings? Have they not watched their own spill their blood in the name of freedom? How could they, he wondered, abandon such a talented leader and leave them executed when they had done nothing but care for the land that was yours and had reclaimed back?

"What is important is that you are safe," he began, his hands tangling with your matted hair. You must not have made any stops in your journey, scared and helpless you must have been to have your own betray you at the height of your independence,

 "you are back in my arms, safe and sound. That is all that matters."

"We cannot stay here for long, K'uk'ulkan," you told him, "I fear I might have been followed. I made sure to cover my tracks, but they outnumbered me ten to one."

"Then return home with me, my queen." He cupped your cheek into his palms and you surrendered yourself to the touch of his affections. 

"Then what of my country? Of my people?"

"Have you not delivered their independence? Have you not fought for their freedom? You are free now, yet they dare bear their teeth at the warriors who have fought for them. What then does that say about your people?" He leaned his forehead against yours and drew circles against your cheek. 

Your breath hitched at the new option presented to you—something you would not have considered in the past. But now, in the presence of a new enemy that was your own countrymen, you were given the choice to flee from your own death sentence and become the queen of a powerful nation beside the man you love.

But your motherland calls you, her land cries out in your possible absence.

"But I have only ever lived in my motherland my whole life. I cannot possibly part with it."

"You are not abandoning your homeland, I assure you that. Another home awaits you in the depths of the sea, my queen; where your citizens will not betray you, where they will serve you with dedication and remember the debts that they have owed. You need not to forget your practices and your culture. You can practice both in any land or water that your feet could lay upon; for you are now both a daughter of the Pacific islands and the ruler of the great nation of Talokan."

It was everything you could have ever imagined and more.

You nodded your head in eagerness to his proposition. His face lit up with great elation and joy. He spun you around with the help of his winged ankles and laughed at the greatest joy that could have ever felt in his life. He finally felt complete in your arms. 

 A queen. He was finally going to bring his people the queen that they deserve. 

 He kissed you mid-air, your own laughter silenced with the touch of lips upon your own. You felt the sparks of his unbridled happiness as he descended into the sand yet again, your lips never parting from each other until you were drunk with the taste of his lips on yours. 

"You are perfect, in yakunaj," he said in his tongue. This time around, you had understood him, "I finally have you. I can finally make you queen to my kingdom. There will be months long celebration on your arrival, and we shall feast at this new blessing. How wonderful of a gift this truly is!"

This celebration was short-lived, however, when a trigger was pulled from the foliage of the trees and cut through the air with a deafening bang.

 Time stilled for the both of you, but not in the way that it was magical as the hands that would grip your waists nor the way his lips would fit perfectly into yours. It was one of horror; of sudden doom.

And by that moment, when blood had dripped from the corners of your mouth in spurts and the wound had stained the fabric of your stomach, did time start winding again. 

K'uk'ulkan called out your name in vain, his arms catching you as you fell. The bullet was lodged firmly into your mid-back, you noted. Just a hair away from your spine. Blood had gushed in rapid succession whilst your god could only watch you fade from his arms.

"Stay awake, in yakunaj. Do not dare close your eyes!"

In the haze of it all did you feel K'uk'ulkan leave your side for a brief while, the wings from his ankles flapping in aggressive strokes. You heard the cries of sorrow, the yells of pain, the dying gasps of almost ten uniformed men at the point of a spear from the mighty serpent god. 

You would have called out to him at that moment, trying to appease the tears that were flowing from his eyes as he subdued his enemy—for they were merely your brothers who were led astray, and you cannot find it in your heart to resent them.

"My king…" you tried to call out, but your voice was weak. Yet you underestimated the attentiveness of your god when he landed by your side once again, his knees painfully dropping to the sands of the beach, and cradled you in his arms whilst your life slipped away from his fingers.

"No, no, no. Not again. Please, not again." He cried out desperately in his own tongue, panic and despair now clouding his otherwise clear judgment. 

He spoke nothing but mumbles of desperate begging; begging for you to stay. Begging for you to remain by his side. The tears from his eyes landed on your skin as he cradled you and rubbed his cheeks against yours. 

 But you knew it was inevitable. You knew it was your time.

"Mahal ko…" my love, you trailed off, your bloody hands reaching for his cheek. He had dropped the conch shell that he had used to call forth his subjects and hastily grabbed your wrist and buried his nose into your palm, not minding every bit of blood that smeared in his face.

"Save your strength. I have called for aid from Talokan. Do not dare close your eyes, my love."

You must have been out of your mind, and K'uk'ulkan must've thought so too, for your grunts of pain were replaced with that of reminiscent laughter. There was joy to beget in your final moments; the most pleasant memory to have ever graced your mind. 

"T-this was how we met, wasn't it? In my first and current life?" You stuttered. Your mouth was still upturned in a pleasant smile, "you came in to save me whilst I was injured, then—then you killed off those who hurt me."

"I told you to save your strength!" He cried out helplessly. You could only shake your head. 

"It is my time to go, K'uk'ulkan."

"Silence. I will not permit you to say such things."

"I wish to meet you again in my next life…"

"There will be no such thing! I did not meet you in this life and the life before this to lose you again!"

"You are wrong, my king," you inhaled a sharp breath as the stabbing pain at your backside turned numb. You knew it was about time before you passed, so you continued, "you met me in the lives before this and the life after to love me—the different versions of me—and love me again as soon as I pass. The time we have spent together has been nothing but special. Do not let my death hinder such joy from your memories."

"Do not say that. You are not going to die." he pleaded.

"If I were to return in your arms again…I promise to find you first. I promise to be the first one to lay my eyes on you and fall in love at first sight; for my soul knows the weight of your love for me. And I shall—I s-shall call you by your real name. The name your followers proclaim, for I will not dare utter the loveless name bestowed upon you by our enemies."

"I have told you to save your strength," he gripped your hand tighter, as if you were to fly away if he ever so lightened his hold on her physical body. You could feel him trembling in grief and rage. 

Oh, your poor love. 

You did not wish to hurt him so, "I do not wish to meet you in another life; I want you by my side now. I want you to become the mother of our children, the mother of our nation. I told you I did not meet you just for you to die in my arms over and over again!"

You smiled weakly, the final spark of love you would ever give to the man who had taken your soul by storm.

 You took this time to take in his presence, his face, his gorgeous eyes that seemed to speak so much wonders to you as he told you stories of the past; told you stories of his people, the future you would have built together, and the endless possibilities of your reign as his new queen.

 You prayed that your soul would remember him, to pull you into the direction of the man who loved you in your past lives when you would be reborn. 

"Hindi ko man hawak ang bukas, nais kong tanganan mo ang aking pangako na ilang ulit kong pipiliing mabuhay at pumanaw upang patunayan sa iyong mali ka. 

Hindi ako bumati sa simula upang sa huli ay magpaalam. 

Sa ating susunod na pagkikita, aking sinta." 

And with that final farewell, your body lay limp. The hand that caressed your god's cheek had finally fallen into the sand. K'uk'ulkan desperately chased your dying breaths, rocking you back and forth in hopes to wake you. 

I may not hold the future in my hands, but I wish you will remember this promise; that I will live and die again and again just to prove you wrong.

I have not greeted you at the beginning just so I could bid you goodbye.

Until we meet again, my beloved.

But it has proven to be futile—your motherland has claimed your life for itself like it had before in your past lives. Your blood colored the seafoam that fateful day.

Namor's heart and soul were torn in half once more; for he was reminded of the curse of his own name. 

Niño sin amor. A child without love.

Zama Tulum, Northern Yucatán Peninsula, 2024

It had been a century since then, perhaps longer. But Namor still remembers you. He always has. His people mourned for your loss, and the seas had gone quiet for at least a decade to honor the loss of its queen. Despite not meeting you, Namor’s people had felt the sorrows of the oceans and its king. They have lost the ruler that they have yet to meet, and their heart also cries out for their missing queen. 

He had waited patiently for you to arrive. You had promised him so; that you would be the one to find him in your fourth rebirth and say his name on your lips once again. That you would fall in love at first sight as soon as you see him for your soul would guide you to the arms of your god once again.

 And he waited. 

 He had waited for you even as the surface world grew in its technologies, waited for you even when the threats of a celestial god had emerged from the earth's core and turned to stone. He had waited for you in fervor, protected his people against the threats of his enemies, and shared stories of your wonders through the tales of the tongue and of the murals of his underwater chamber. 

He always left your throne pristine. You will be reborn to take the crown of your majesty and become the supreme leader of his nation as you should have been. It has always been your birthright. It has always been yours to begin with.

He created an alliance for you—the alliance of Wakanda and Talokan—so you would inherit the legacy of this new pact of civility. Despite his initial plans to thwart those who had opposed his kingdom, he decided in his best interest and yours that this will benefit the you of the future that will stay by his side. 

 Yes, everything he did was for you. It was for you to assume in your reign.

 He painted murals of your likeness in his study, ones that he had presented to Princess Shuri of Wakanda, and concentrated on the strokes of his brush to capture your brilliance. It was never enough, of course, since you were a masterpiece that could not be replicated by the hands of a five century year old painter. You were far too precious, far too complex, to even comprehend. 

 But he still tried in fear of forgetting the smile that adorned your lips. He wishes to immortalize it in the walls of his kingdom.

 “In ajawo,” my king, Namora emerged from the waters , the sway of his brush never ceasing in its meticulous strokes. Namora, one of the best warriors of his kingdom who loved to hear the stories of your past selves, continued with her words, “a surface dweller lurks at the entrance of the caves. Our warriors feel a strange power from them. How shall we proceed?”

“Strange?” Namor’s hands did not stop painting the depictions of waves that were obediently at your command, “strange how?”

“The sea favors them, my king. It guides them here.”

The hand that held the brush stopped. Namora cocked her head to the side as her king froze in place. It would look as if he were contemplating, but Namora could see the trouble that lingered from his stance.

“In ajawo?” She asked again. Namor turned to her after a few moments of reverie. 

“I will deal with them. Send the warriors to guard the entrance. Do not surface until I give the command.”

There was a moment of resistance from the decorated warrior, yet she did not question her king’s decision. She bowed her head in obedience and joined her hands to mimic that of a serpent’s mouth—a gesture of respect to K’uk’ulkan—and descended down the depths of the underwater cavern to convey the message to her ranks.

“Líik’ik Talokan.”

He removed the ceremonial garbs on his shoulders and hung it on his chair. He quickly took his spear, one adorned with the gold and pearls that your first self had given him, and submerged himself in the deep waters. He still feels the phantom sting from his fight with Princess Shuri on his winged ankles, but it was nothing a few more weeks of flight could heal naturally. 

The claw marks from the Black Panther have gone and healed with his people’s technology and he was grateful that your future self would not have to witness the scars of his near defeat. 

There was a little voice in his head that was praying for a miracle; that the stranger that the sea favors was the promised meeting that you had so foretold. 

He passed by his loyal warriors and regarded them with Talokan’s gesture of respect, his people replying in kind. Attuma and Namora, his strongest and most trusted combatants, were at the head of the company and regarded him as well with the highest respect. 

With a pleased nod, he passed through the underwater tunnels of the caverns and slowly ascended into the surface.

It was just like this when he had first met you in your past lives; the gentle coat of the corals of dusk, the gentle breeze of the ocean’s hymns, and the pleasant scent of the sea and land tickling his decorated nose oh so amiably. 

It was nothing compared to the Pacific islands five hundred years ago, but perhaps this was one of the fewer slices of paradise left in this otherwise tainted world.

He slowly rose from the waters, his spear held firmly at his side. His wings beat ever so silently whilst he stalked the upper waters of the cove, but he saw nothing as he approached land. Nature was abundant in this sacred place of Yucatán, but there was a lack of songs from the native birds and wildlife.

Something was there with him.

 He brought his spear to his side, cautious yet unafraid. Whoever dared enter the premises of his kingdom without his permission, may it be a child favored by the sea or the evil-doers of surface dwelling nations, will know his wrath.

“I know you are there,” he spoke in the tongue that most surface-dwellers would understand, “reveal yourself at once.”

Just behind the thick fauna, you steadied your breath and clenched your hands tightly around your dagger. You were sent here to investigate the odd readings from the ocean a few months ago by your organization; the source leading you here to the northern parts of Yucatán. You were sure you were breaking more than a dozen laws and treaties just by breathing in this sacred place, but you had to obey the orders of your higher ups.

You had been scouring for clues for the past few hours, diving into the clean waters and looking for any sort of clue to what you’re searching for. The sea was much calmer here, as if it greeted you like an old friend. And although you loved to swim freely through the oceans of your own homeland, the waters of this place enchanted you. 

As you were about to give up your search—sending the pointless recordings of your exploration to your organization—a voice had emerged from the coves behind you. You were met with a man with feathered ankles and ears that pointed to the sky, decorated with the treasures that the sea would give him in obedience. 

Your breath hitched, your heart lurched, and somehow, in the pits of your soul, you felt the weight of an unknown feeling pulling you towards this man. He was armed and had an air of regality, yet you did not care if you were to be stabbed by his spear in that instant. 

Or more clearly, you had a keen feeling he would do no such thing to hurt you.

He will not harm you, your soul whispered into your being. And your heart lurched again at the strange message.

His words rang clear through the coves, the baritone of his voice bouncing through the damp rocks and being carried into the wind at his command. You could not dare speak at such authority, but instead of being alarmed at the eyes that threatened to kill the likeness of a man in his territory, you found yourself dropping your dagger unto the grass with a faint thud.

 With such speed unmatched even with the fastest rockets, a spear had directed itself on your throat. You fell on your back in surprise, but this magnificent man did not yield. Instead, he pressed the tip of his spear even closer. It was enough to puncture a small wound that trickled a small dribble of blood across your neck.

And then you locked eyes for the first time.

At last.

Namor’s heart soared, his soul finally recognizing yours and turning whole again. 

The revelation of your sudden presence had hit him with finality that it was almost painful for his heart as the surge of emotion swept him up like a vicious tide. He gaped at your brilliance—just like the times he had before in the past—and found himself motionless at the mercy of your stare.

Seizing this opportunity while ignoring the painful lurches of your heart, you gathered what was left of your senses and flipped you both around. Namor was powerless beneath you as you straddled his waist, the beads of crimson now dripping down to his cheeks. 

You gestured for the water from the sea to come forth, and strings of water formed into sharpened spears right above his neck. He laid in awe at your prowess. 

He did not fear that you would kill him; your eyes lay neither malice nor intent to harm him in any way; his soul whispers to him as well.

“Who are you?” You asked him with gritted teeth, the beating of your heart almost deafening against your ears.

“Is it not a custom of your world to present your name before you ask others to give theirs?” He replied with a smirk. You felt heat from your neck go up your cheeks as you stuttered, the water spears under your control wavering ever so slightly.

“If you haven’t realized, I have the upper hand here,” you proved your point by drawing your weapons closer to his neck with a gentle flick of your wrist, “so talk. Who are you and why are you here?”

“I could ask you the same.” He mused. You found his nonchalance absolutely irking.

“Don’t play with me.”

“I should be the one to ask you those questions. Are you not the one who had trespassed this sacred place of worship?” 

That shut you up for good. You said nothing as your stance wavered ever so slightly. He was right—you trespassed into the ancestral home of a culture you did not know without permission, and that in itself was something to be ashamed of. His garb, his jewelry, and his accent were indications that he must be a native, but you still had to be cautious around him—especially when he is a peculiar man who could use his winged ankles to fly. 

“Why I am here is none of your concern.” You sensed no more hostility from this man, and he even bore an amused smirk at your thoughts. Your heart had told you to trust him so you slowly lowered your hands and dispersed the weapons from your control.

Maybe you were foolish to believe in your heart, but as soon as you had lost your grip, he flipped you again until you lay on the ground. There were no signs of danger, but the surprise you felt had elicited a sharp yelp from you. 

The man with the pointed ears chuckled in amusement, his hands caging you in as he spoke again.

“But it is a matter of my concern. You have stepped into my lands and scurried around in secret. But I will forgive this transgression. You interest me.”

“By what authority are you to tell me what to do?” Namor chuckled. You still had that spirit of a warrior that he adored so much. Only you could question his authority like this without fault nor opinion.

“I am the king of this land that you step on and the seas that go deep down below the unimaginable depths.”

He saw your breath hitch, your eyes widening a fraction in realization. The regality, the grace, the jewels, his power—everything were signs of his majesty at work. You would have been filled with fear when you realized you had raised weapons against the ruler of the land you had trespassed, but somehow you did not feel as such.

Caged in the arms of this man, this odd entity that had drawn blood from your skin and raised his spear to your neck, wrapped you in the feeling of safety; as if nothing in this world could ever touch you with malicious intent.

“What is your name?” You breathed it out without thinking.

Your eyes held the stare of majestic earthen oak in a spell of unknown sentiments. Your very soul tugged on the strings of your fate, drawing you into the allure of this stranger that held you hostage. But your soul convinced you that he was no stranger. You had known him in the past, somewhere in the crevices of your memory that was forgotten long, long ago.

“If you insist,” he smiles and draws in closer, the scent of the sun and the sea upon his barren skin. 

In any normal circumstances you would have kicked him off of you and battled him to the death to return home to your country, but you did no such thing. You wondered why it was so, but the only explanation you could conjure was the one that tugged painfully from your heart.

 “My people call me K’uk’ulkan, but my enemies call me Namor. You are free to choose which name you would prefer.”

 Namor waited in anticipation for your response, his heart and soul throbbing with a longing that has plagued him for a century. 

He wondered with a deep sadness if your response would be the same as the one in your second life; to thrash in his presence in fear and curse him out as the demon of the sea. Memories that opened wounds in his heart. 

Yet such aching fears were purged from his mind as you stared at him quizzically, as if the name that rang through the dusk was a name that you should have known from the start. 

A recognition, perhaps, that should have sparked the memory of your three lives.

“I am not your enemy,” you started, your voice held nothing but such tender welcome, “and somehow, I wish to be your friend.”

“Then say my name, I implore you, for the name you will choose will set your fate into stone.” 

You blinked at the hidden implications of his statement, but you chose to pay no mind.

“K’uk’ulkan.”

And for the first time since the end of your third life did his heart and soul thrive and overflow with all the love that he had to offer you in great reverence to your existence. 

K’uk’ulkan helped you up to your feet and held your hands gently, tracing the lines and calluses that adorned your palms in great happiness. 

You let him do as he bid in great confusion. Why were you so at ease in his presence? He, a mere stranger and possible threat, puts your mind in so much ease.

The questions that lingered in your mind had gone and replaced with the urge to know him better; to know his secrets, his interests, his dreams, the numerous things that would make him the man that he is today.

You reminded yourself that this was a king—that you should not even dare be in the same presence as he. But he looked at you with so much compassion, so much love. 

It was impossible to pull away from the gravity of his own magnificence. 

An unknown force had beckoned you to cup his cheek, swipe the tear that had unknowingly escaped his eye, and asked him his strife in your mother tongue.

“Why do you cry, K’uk’ulkan?”

K’uk’ulkan released a humorless laugh. It was filled with relief. With joy.

“It is nothing of importance.”

“You understand me?” You asked in surprise. He chuckled and leaned into your touch, his own mother tongue slipping from his lips and into your confused ears.

“I know more than just one, in yakunaj.”

“I don’t understand.” He removed himself from you and took his spear from the ground. You did not move to keep you guard; for his intentions did not read any malice. 

He offered his hand for you to take, his feathered feet now stepping back into the pool of water from behind him.

“It is nothing for you to worry about. Now come, were you not in search of something in the depths? I might have what you seek.”

You looked down on the contraptions from your pack, all ready to take samples and readings as instructed from your organization. 

But a little voice in your head said to leave it; to take the hand of this feathered man and swim with him into the depths of the ocean without regard to your mission. What you seek was not something ordered by your group. 

It was something much deeper, something that has been clawing at your soul beyond what you could have ever known.

And with a final decision, you stripped off every bit of equipment from your person and took the hand of the man you so oddly trusted with your whole life.

K’uk’ulkan could not possibly contain this joy. 

The promises of your third life came to fruition at last.

 His love could not be described by mere poets nor painted by the hand of any god. 

It was as endless as the waters of the deep sea and the stars that stretched across the night sky. 

Blessed is he to have received the shower of your trust and have gained the prize his soul had set to win from the centuries long of wait.

“Are you ready?” 

He gripped your hand tight, the heat from your skin burning him pleasantly like the fire from the sun.

Maybe you were right along. He did not meet you just so he could say goodbye. You have given him the love of three centuries and a century more. 

His grief could not possibly overshadow the exuberance of his never ending affection for you.

“Yes, K’uk’ulkan.”

He will love you for a millennium more and wait for you to be reborn; 

for his love was as timeless as the sands of the deep sea.

End notes:  I would like to thank my darling partner, the love of my life, for helping me edit this monster of a fic. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you sweetiee <33

Taglist: @rokuhoku​​ @l0ner-girl @zeeader​ @urielliii​​ @namorswifey @themology