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ahqkas · 5 months ago

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♯ WICKED GAME ; theodore nott

PAIRING! theodore nott x slytherin!reader

SYNOPSIS! the world was on fire and no one could save you but him (based off this req.!!)

WORD COUNT! 2k

WARNINGS! nothing really, fluff, reader has trouble controlling her anger, annoying griffindors + lmk !

NOTES! soft theo soft theo

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

THEODORE NOTT HAD ALWAYS ADMIRED YOUR FIERCE SPIRIT, THE WAY YOU STOOD UP FOR YOURSELF AND OTHERS. As a Slytherin, you had a reputation for your sharp mind and quick temper. Losing your temper was something that could be considered common in your case. The initial spark of your heated nature might be something small — a careless feather — but it came hurling at just the right (or wrong) moment.

As the spark caught, the heat rose. Your pulse quickened, a thrumming beat that matched the rising fury in your chest. Every muscle in your body tensed, coiled tight like a spring about to snap. Your hands clenched into fists, nails digging into your palms. Your breath came in shallow, rapid bursts, each one stoking the flames higher.

Your mind, normally a place of rational thought and control, became a battlefield. Rationality and restraint were shoved aside by a bunch of thoughts, each one more inflamed and irrational than the last. Words formed on your tongue, sharp and cutting, begging to be unleashed. The desire to lash out, to make the other person feel a fraction of what you're experiencing, was overwhelming.

And then, the dam broke. Anger spilled out in a flood, uncontainable and consuming. You shouted, your voice raised in a volume that surprised even you.

Most students knew better than to cross you, but occasionally, someone would test your limits. Today was one of those days.

The library was unusually crowded, with students cramming for their upcoming exams. The typically quiet environment was buzzing with hushed conversations and the rustling of pages. You and Theo had managed to secure a quiet corner, away from the main crowd of students who spent their free time with their noses buried in books, hoping to get some much-needed studying done.

You sat with Theo at a wooden table, the light from the nearby window casting a soft glow over your textbooks and notes. Trying to focus on an essay you were writing at the moment, you were barely containing your irritation at the persistent whispering of a group of Gryffindors nearby. They had been whispering and snickering for the past hour, their disruptive presence gnawing at your already frayed nerves. The Potions essay wouldn't write itself and you clearly couldn't pay all of your attention on it with the boys in the same place as you.

One of the Gryffindors, a tall boy with a mop of dirty hair, seemed to be the leader of his little group. He leaned closer to his friends, his voice carrying over despite his attempt to whisper. Someone had trouble learning in kindergarten. "Did you hear about the Slytherin who thought she was actually good at Potions? What a joke. And she proclaimed her supposed knowledge for the whole class to hear. It was embarrassing."

The grip you had on your quill tightened, and you felt the heat of anger rising to your cheeks. Theo, sitting beside you, noticed the change in your demeanor. He knew you well enough to recognize the warning signs: the slight narrowing of your eyes, the tension in your shoulders. It'd come to hell in any second.

"Stay calm," your boyfriend murmured next to you in a low tone, placing a gentle hand on your arm. But his words did little to soothe the simmering anger within you.

The Gryffindor continued with his snickering, his friends laughing at the cruel remarks he made. The final straw came when he leaned back and made a particularly rude comment about Slytherins in general, causing his friends to burst into louder laughter. They were practically asking for it.

You snapped.

Slamming your quill down, you stood up abruptly, the force of your movement knocking over your ink pot and spilling its contents on the table. Your essay was now soaked in a deep blue puddle. "That's enough!" you hissed, your voice echoing through the library. "Get out of here before I make you regret ever stepping foot in this place."

The Gryffindor turned to you with a death wish sparkling in his eyes, a mocking grin spreading across his face. "Oh, look, the Slytherin princess has something to say. What are you going to do about it?"

Before you could respond, Theo stood up and placed himself between you and the Gryffindors, his posture calm but his eyes cold. He placed a firm hand on your shoulder, grounding you as he leaned down to your level to whisper to you.

"Let's not make this worse," he said quietly, his eyes locked on yours. "They're not worth it."

You could see the concern in his eyes, the silent plea for you to stand down. It was a look that Theo had perfected over the years, a look that had saved you from countless confrontations.

"Listen to him, princess," the Gryffindor jeered, clearly enjoying the spectacle. "Maybe your boyfriend can teach you some manners."

The rage within you flared again, and you took a step forward, but Theo's grip tightened, holding you back. His voice was steady, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you.

"Walk away," Theo said, his tone firm. "This isn't the time or place."

The muscles in your jaw clenched tightly, a testament to the restraint you were barely managing to hold onto. Oh, those boys were making you so mad. Your fingers twitched, itching to release the pent-up energy that crackled just beneath the surface. Your heart pounded loudly in your chest, each beat echoing the unspoken rage coursing through your veins. It felt like a fire burning hot, threatening to consume you whole if you didn't find a way to let it out.

Theo's hand on your shoulder was a lifeline, his touch both calming and steadying. The warmth of his skin against yours contrasted sharply with the cold anger simmering inside you. His fingers, lightly but firmly gripped your shoulder. He was your anchor, the one thing that could pull you back from the void.

You inhaled deeply, the breath shaky and uneven. The sound of your own breathing was loud in your ears, a rhythmic reminder of the effort it took to calm yourself. You focused on the small details: the way the light filtered through the dusty windows, casting long shadows across the floor; the faint rustle of pages as a student turned a book somewhere in the back; the distant ticking of a clock, each second a tiny victory in your battle against the anger.

Theo's eyes never left yours, their pale blue depths filled with a mixture of worry and reassurance. He knew you better than anyone, knew the struggle you faced in moments like these. His silent plea, combined with his comforting presence, was a balm to your frayed nerves. He was your refuge, the one person who could understand and temper the fire within you.

Slowly, the heat began to fade. The tightness in your chest eased, and the tension in your muscles started to relax. The world around you began to come back into focus, the red haze lifting to reveal the familiar surroundings of the library. The anger, though not entirely gone, was now manageable, a controlled burn rather than a raging inferno.

Theo's gentle squeeze on your shoulder was the final push you needed. His touch, his presence, his unwavering support — they were enough to pull you back from the brink. With one last deep breath, you gave a curt nod, signaling your surrender to his plea. The fire within you had been quelled, at least for now, and you were ready to walk away.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the tempest within. The Gryffindor's smug face made it difficult, but Theo's presence gave you the strength to pull back.

"Fine," you muttered, your voice low and dangerous. "But this isn't over."

Theo guided you away from the scene, his arm around your shoulders as he led you toward the library exit. The cold stone walls and dim lighting provided a stark contrast to the heated atmosphere you had just left behind.

Just as you were about to leave, Madam Pince appeared, her sharp eyes blazing with anger. "Out! Both of you!" she snapped. "I will not have this kind of behavior in my library. Out, now!"

You opened your mouth to protest, but Theo gave you a gentle nudge, urging you to comply. With a sigh, you followed him out of the library, the door closing behind you with a resounding thud.

Once you were a safe distance away from the commotion, Theo stopped and turned to you, his expression softening into one of genuine concern. The corridor they had led you to was dimly lit, with the flickering torches casting warm, dancing shadows on the ancient stone walls. The distant murmur of the library faded, leaving only the quiet hum of the castle and the steady rhythm of your breaths.

Theo's eyes searched your face for any signs of lingering distress. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead, his touch tender and reassuring. The warmth of his hand lingered on your skin, a comforting contrast to the cool air of the castle.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft and soothing.

You took a deep breath, the remnants of anger and frustration slowly ebbing away with each exhale. The tightness in your chest began to loosen, replaced by a growing sense of calm. You looked up at Theo, your eyes meeting his, and saw the genuine worry etched in his features. It was a look that made your heart ache with gratitude and affection because despite his own problems, he only really cared about you. Nothing else mattered.

"I'm better now," you admitted, your voice a little shaky but honest. "Thanks to you."

Theo's lips curved into a gentle smile, his hand moving to rest on your chin to lift it up a bit. His touch was light, almost hesitant, as if he was afraid of overwhelming you. But it was exactly what you needed — a quiet, steady presence that grounded you, reminding you that you weren't alone.

"You don't have to thank me," he said softly. "I just want to make sure you're okay. That's all that matters to me."

The sincerity in his voice warmed you from the inside out, chasing away the last remnants of your earlier rage. You could feel the tension in your body melting away, replaced by a sense of safety and comfort. Theo had always had that effect on you, his calm and steady nature balancing your fiery temperament.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "You always know how to calm me down, even when I'm ready to explode."

Theo chuckled softly, the sound a soothing melody in the quiet corridor. "That's what boyfriends are for," he replied, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of humor and affection. "Besides, you've got a good heart. You just need someone to remind you of that when things get tough."

You felt a rush of warmth at his words, your heart swelling with gratitude and something deeper, something that made your chest ache in the best possible way. Theo had always seen the best in you, even when you struggled to see it yourself. His unwavering belief in you was a beacon, guiding you through the stormiest of tempers.

"You're too good to me," you murmured, leaning into his touch, drawing strength from his unwavering presence.

For a moment, you stood there in the dimly lit corridor, the world outside fading into insignificance. It was just you and Theo, wrapped in a bubble of quiet understanding and unspoken promises. His hand slipped from your chin to your back, pulling you into a gentle embrace. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, finding solace in its rhythmic assurance. His arms around you were a shield, protecting you from the world and from your own worst impulses.

As you stood there, wrapped in Theo's embrace, you realized just how lucky you were to have him in your life. He was your rock, your anchor, the one person who could calm the storm within you. And in that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you could face them as long as you had Theo by your side.

When the world burned, Theo was the only one who could save you. Strange what love will make people do.

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olderthannetfic · 8 months ago

Note

Getting this off my chest:

Back from a small fanfic hiatus, and I am absolutely flabbergasted by all of the fic authors now practically begging their readers to READ THE TAGS.

I’ve been seeing this warning written in summaries, in author’s notes, highlighted in all caps in the actual tags. I’ve read so many apologies written by authors in the comments in response to people chastising the author for writing what they wanted to write, for what they tagged correctly — for what essentially comes down to nothing more than having had other people actively ignore their tags or read despite them.

And there seems to be this bizarre, somehow largely accepted idea that it is the creators job and responsibility to beseech their readers to ‘use caution’ and to ‘stay safe’, to ‘be mindful of their health’…

I am beyond confused here.

Since when??? did exercising the most basic form of common sense and acknowledging one’s personal yeas and nays, likes and limitations, become some other random stranger’s burden rather than one’s own? And especially a random person who tagged their work correctly??? Does no one remember how to harness their own powers of discernment and self-regulation???

This little jaunt back onto ao3 has been unlike any that I’ve ever experienced before. What. Happened?????? Who is this new, apparently severely emotionally unstable and obstinately tags-reading resistant audience everyone has come to focus on?

It all feels so out of touch. The basic concept of ao3 is for the reader to seek out what they want, not what they don’t want. And to actually read. But there seems to have been an extremely strong shift away from reading. On ao3. A site built specifically for reading and writing. (And other fandom artistic pursuits, but not my focus, atm; though I’m sure whatever this is has crept steadily into all spaces there.)

Plummeting reading comprehension must be somewhat to blame; the popularity of fanfic amongst younger and wider audiences, as well. But… young people have always been there, as far as my own experiences go, and it was never like this. It’s as if too many readers don’t know how to make good or even practical decisions for themselves anymore, that they’ve lost the skill of choosing, and now believe that they must consume everything that passes before them; — that they have, for some reason, adopted the belief that any turmoil or dislike or discomfort felt within themselves is harm purposely being done to them by the author.

Idk. Idk, idk, idk. It’s just such a bummer to see how much nervousness and distress has entered the community. Authors notes and comments used to be hilarious fun, or a peek into someone else’s real-life world, used to be casual and full of personality, whereas nowadays, there seems to be an underlying hesitancy and distrust, a sort of growing divide between writers and readers, groups which, until recently, very much were not mutually exclusive.

Idiots have been around forever. The more you cater to them, the more entitled they get. It's best to shut that shit down fast and use no warnings that indicate a willingness to entertain stupid complaints.

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itsasilentreader · 30 days ago

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⋆. 𐙚 ˚ 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 — 𝐇𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧, 𝐇𝐚𝐧 𝐉𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Roommate!Hyunjin x fem!reader x Roommate!Jisung

𝙂𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: smut, tiniest bit of angst, a little bit of fluff

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 4.8K — 32 𝙢𝙞𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙

𝙏𝙒/𝘾𝙒: written in 3rd person pov, (brief mentions) of grief and death, alcohol consumption and allusion to substance abuse, threesome, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (be responsible guys!), pet names, a bit of a praise kink, creampie, swallowing lmk if I missed anything

𝘼/𝙉: Got this idea when I listened to things song the first few times. It took me a while to write it and it is still not edited or proof-read so please bear with me. English is not my first language!

⤷ 𝘏𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘑𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.

⋮ 𝗠𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Uh, she was always dealing with the devil

Grief can make life feel unbearable, especially after losing someone so dear to you.

She knew this. It was consuming her whole, leaving her with a pain she couldn’t seem to numb in her daily life. The loss brought a new sense of pain she didn’t know one could feel.

In her attempt to escape the harsh reality, she kept drinking and drinking. But now, even the alcohol’s buzz no longer numbed the pain; she had grown used to it. It only brought her more agony, yet that didn’t mean she’d stop trying to numb it.

She had once mentioned wanting to try something else—another method to get a temporary fix, just a brief moment of relief from the pain.

That’s why she was here tonight, with her friends, trying to dull the ache grief had left behind.

Shot after shot, Jisung and Hyunjin stayed by her side.

Already buzzed from pregaming at their shared apartment with their other friends, they couldn't stop thinking about what she had said before.

She was always into taking those chances, yeah

The apartment Y/N shared with Hyunjin and Jisung was, yet again, the designated pregame spot. She needed another night out to drown out the pain she felt, so she suggested getting together with their friends, drinking a lot of booze, and going out afterward.

As the hours went by, the alcohol ensured they were all tipsy and gave her a rush of confidence she wouldn’t have otherwise.

“I just need to get laid again,” she said, sipping her mixed drink. Catching the wide eyes of her roommates over the rim of her glass, she smirked. Her intention became more obvious to them as she continued.

“Y’know, I’ve always wanted to try a threesome. Have any of you tried it?” she asked the guys as innocently as possible, but her two roommates caught her underlying tone.

“I have! You guys gotta try it!” Changbin, already very intoxicated, yelled out.

The rest chimed in with, “No, you didn’t,” “What was it like?” and the most-asked question: Was it with two women or with a man and a woman?

Grinning at the commotion she stirred up, her eyes drifted back over to her two roommates. They were huddled together, having a hushed conversation.

Jisung glanced at her with an almost pathetic and desperate look in his eyes. Quickly averting his gaze back to Hyunjin, his mind started to wander because of her statement.

Maybe they should ditch the substances tonight and try a different form of relief. Maybe even two different forms?

It was no secret to her, or any of their friends, that her two roommates were attracted to her. They, however, were oblivious to her attraction towards them, but the rest of the group wasn’t.

“Maybe we should ask her tonight,” Hyunjin quietly said to the younger boy next to him.

Jisung pursed his lips and nodded. “Maybe.”

“I mean, she said she’d always wanted to try it,” Hyunjin proceeded.

“And we both want to try it. So maybe we should do it.” Jisung nodded again at his friend. Lust crept in and clouded his mind.

Man, he needs another drink.

“What are you boys talking about?” Your voice pulled both boys out of their hushed conversation as if they were getting caught doing something they shouldn’t.

“Uh–just uh, nothing special,” Jisung stammered out, mentally face-palming himself for his stupid cover-up.

Hyunjin gave him a pointed look and averted his eyes back to yours.

“Just sharing some thoughts,” he said as he gulped down his drink all at once. He set his glass on the table and wiped his mouth with his long fingers.

The gesture did not escape her, her eyes fixed on his fingers. Hyunjin observed her as her eyes glassed over, still fixated on his hands. He watched her as she took her lower lip into her mouth and softly bit down. The look spreading on her face could only be described as horny.

It made him smirk, and now it confirmed for him that tonight was the night he’d show her another way of pleasure with Jisung.

Then she fell in love with a pill that could take away all her pain, uh

Then she fell in love with a whole new drug that could fill her veins, and then

She kept chasing that high. The euphoric feeling blocked out all the pain she felt, pushing it further down the black box of grief and mourning. The box she didn’t want to open up and allow herself to feel with all the emotions at once.

She didn’t want to just feel, she just wanted to feel. Feel the ecstatic rush, the euphoric sensation, and just block out all her thoughts of the real world. She wants to be in this moment, in this delicious bubble of ecstasy, surrounded by her people.

Swaying her hips to the beat of the music, she let her hands roam her body. Featherlight touches as if teasing her skin, leaving a trail of hot, tingling sensation in its wake. She let her head hang back, closing her eyes while she felt the dopamine rush coming in.

Strobing lights flashed through the area, and she could only see flashes behind her closed eyelids. Lost in her pleasure out on the dance floor, two pairs of eyes followed her every move.

Their eyes glued to her body, viewing how her hands teased her soft tummy, fingers trailing up, up, up to her tits. Gentle fingers teased her mounds through her top, making the two pairs of eyes glaze over with lust and excitement.

As if their gazes burned holes in her tingling skin, she looked over at her admirers. A sly smile clear on her face as she continued to fondle her tits.

They all knew what would happen tonight, even though they hadn’t said it out loud yet. By the way they had shared lust-filled looks, they knew how the night would end.

Jisung downed his drink in one go, setting his glass back on the bar as he wiped his mouth. His eyes were still fixated on her sultry-moving body as his hand approached Hyunjin’s shoulder. He clasped his shoulder and nodded.

The older boy broke out in a sly grin as he looked over at her swaying hips and lust-filled eyes. Jisung walked over to her, her eyes lighting up as she saw him approach her.

Her hands pull him in as soon as he’s within arm's length of her, her body ignited by his touch alone.

His hands pulled her closer to his body, as he watched her with a smirk on his face. Then, she felt another pair of hands on her body from behind her.

She didn’t need to turn around to know whose hands were on her. Hyunjin’s scent infiltrated her senses.

“Let me show you another way of pleasure, please baby?” Jisung asked her gently, as he leaned closer to her and she felt his hot breath on her ear. “We can show you another way, angel.”

Hyunjin observed from behind her and pulled her body closer as she nodded at the younger boy. The music was so loud, but both boys could hear her sultry voice clear as day, “Show me.”

She's high (high)

She lives in the sky

Grinding her hips against Hyunjin’s groin, his hands travelled up her body. Roaming around, touching her skin so deliciously, it left a tingling sensation. Her head spinning, she let it fall back on his shoulders. Her neck is now exposed to the two boys wanting to dive in and satisfy her every need.

Jisung stood in front of her, his eyes glued to her exposed neck and how her top showed off her tits just right. Stepping forward, his hands went to her hips, grabbing them and guiding her movements on the older boy’s body. One hand grabbed Jisung’s shoulder, pulling him closer to her until her chest pressed up against his. Her other hand came up to Hyunjin’s hair, pulling at it out of pleasure.

Jisung’s gaze darkened, travelling from her face to her neck, and watched how Hyunjin slowly pressed his plump lips against the exposed skin. A gasp left her lips, as she felt delicious slow kisses on her neck. Her eyes locked with Jisung’s and her hand travelled from his shoulder to his neck, pulling him closer until their mouths ghosted over each other until he finally caved in first and pressed their lips together for a soaring, lustful kiss.

Hyunjin kept kissing her neck, pulling enticing sounds out of the girl in his arms. Now grinding his restrained cock against her ass to the rhythm of the music surrounding them. She let out another erotic gasp, allowing Jisung to slip his tongue into her mouth.

Wet, obscene sounds could be heard from the trio that stood in the dark corner of the club.

Pulling away from the eager pair, her sultry eyes took in the two breathtaking boys in front of her. Grabbing their hands, she pulled them towards her and made her way through the crowd.

She stopped in front of a door, kissing Hyunjin first before pulling her puffy lips away and pulling in Jisung. Ghosting her lips over his, a desperate whine left his mouth. Smirking slightly she pushed her lips on his.

Then she took them both by their hands again and pushed open the door. The dimly lit, small bathroom was empty. She turned around and motioned the boys to come in and close the door.

Jisung followed her first, Hyunjin trailing behind them and locking the door. Jisung’s lips were already back on hers, as he lifted her and sat her down on the bathroom sink.

Hyunjin quietly walked over to the pair, lost in each other. His eyes took in her body, how it reacted to Jisung’s touches and the sounds she made.

His heartbeat sped up as the arousal spread in his body, blood rushing to his cock.

His hands reached out to her as Jisung kissed his way down her body. Hyunjin touched the soft fabric of her top, and Jisung fumbled with her denim skirt. Slowly, Hyunjin pushed down the straps of her top, letting them fall off of her shoulders. Her hazy eyes met his, and a seductive smile formed on her lips.

Jisung tapped her ass to lift, and he slid her panties down her legs. His boba eyes roamed her body, drinking in every single detail as if she could slip through his fingers.

Both Hyunjin and Jisung felt as if she was their drug, addicted to her taste already, even though she only touched their lips. At this moment, staring at her as if she was the centre of their universe.

This is exactly how she wanted the two boys tonight. Willing to show her different ways of pleasure.

Tonight, she's satisfied (satisfied)

Rolling back her eyes

Spreading her legs as she was propped up on the bathroom sink, Jisung kneeled in front of her. The sight of her wet cunt bare in front of him made his mouth water. Then, he leaned forward and teased her with soft kisses on her inner thighs.

A loud whine came from above him, her desperate sounds begging him to do something — anything. He looked up at her through his thick lashes, the dim light of the small bathroom dancing hand in hand with lust in his boba eyes.

Still teasing her, he gave her a featherlight kiss on her aching heat. A soft but erotic gasp escaped her lips and the sound drove him insane. He dove right in and flattened his tongue against her wet cunt, pulling another obscene sound from her chest. Her hands flew to his hair to pull him even closer to her aching core, grinding onto his tongue.

Hyunjin grabbed her face into his hands, forcing her eyes to be on him as Jisung pleasured her with his mouth. His thumb glided over her lips, forcing them to open and wrap around it. Her half-lidded, lust-ridden eyes stared up at him while her tongue swirled around his thumb.

His cock was already painfully hard but the feeling of her wet mouth around his fingers made him lose his mind.

Her hands were tugging on Jisung’s hair, making him groan out in pleasure against her cunt. The vibrations of his groans added to the pleasure she already felt. She felt his fingers now prodding at her entrance, gathering the wetness of her arousal and his spit with his fingers. Teasingly, he slid between her folds, watching in awe at how her body was reacting to his touch.

Then, he slid one finger into her pussy, feeling her walls immediately clench around his finger. The stretch of his finger already felt amazing, she couldn’t wait until she would feel the stretch of his cock — and Hyunjin’s cock.

She felt Jisung slipping another finger into her pussy, fingering her open. Her eyes rolled back and she kept sucking on Hyunjin’s thumb. Seeing her experience pleasure by getting fingered and eaten out, Hyunjin couldn’t contain himself and his restrained cock any longer.

Pulling his thumb out of his mouth, he pulled her in for a hot, open-mouthed kiss and swallowed all her sweet sounds of ecstasy. “Please let me fill you up, pretty girl,” he moaned against her soft lips. She nodded frantically in response to Hyunjin’s question.

He made quick work of his pants and boxers, hurrying to push them down far enough so his cock sprang free. Her eyes were glued to his cock, a bead of precum leaking out of the tip. She immediately grabbed his cock in her hands. Pumping it a few times as Hyunjin connected their lips again in a passionate kiss.

Hyunjin moaned against her lips, her soft hands working on his shaft. Maybe it was because it had been a while for him or maybe it was because of the erotic scene playing out in front of him, but he felt like he could come any second by her touch.

Entranced Jisung watched her as he still lapped at her cunt, feeling his cock harden at the sight of her kissing Hyunjin and pumping his cock while she got eaten out. Curling his fingers in her pussy, he felt her walls clench down hard on his fingers. She pulled back her lips from Hyunjin’s, a trail of saliva following their lips, as she felt the knot in her stomach tighten more and more.

Hyunjin needed to slow down and calm his erratic heartbeat and his cock as he wasn’t done with the night yet. As she pulled away from his lips, he gently stopped her hands from stroking him, otherwise he would come already,

She let out a whine in protest but soon was already lost again in the arousal and pleasure she felt because of Jisung’s mouth and fingers.

Her moans echoing and bouncing off the walls of the small bathroom, she hung her head against the mirror behind her as she kept chasing the orgasm Jisung was about to pull from her with his fingers and his tongue.

“Gonna cum on my fingers angel?” Jisung teased her, his fingers still pumping in and out of her and curling just right at that spot.

She cried out at his words, biting her lower lips so hard she almost drew out blood.

“Yes, yes— right there Sungie”, her eyes rolled back and her mouth hung open as she felt the knot in her stomach tighten, ready to snap at any moment.

“Come around his fingers princess,” Hyunjin whispered in her ear seductively, as his hands came up to her neck. His large hand wrapped around her exposed throat, his hand tightening just enough to add to the pleasure she already felt.

Their names spilt out of her lips like a mantra, as her orgasm washed over her, eyes rolled back.

Her heavy breathing as she came down from her high was heard together with the wet sounds of Jisung still teasing her walls with his fingers and Hyunjin groaning at the sight of her.

His lips captured hers once more. Jisung gently pulled out his fingers, making her whimper against Hyunjin’s mouth.

Hyunjin pulled back, breathing heavily as he nudged Jisung to move. Jisung smirked and got up. While maintaining eye contact with her, he licked his fingers clean.

She moaned out at the sight of Jisung enjoying her taste on his lips and fingers.

Hyunjin stood between her legs, stroking his cock a few times before positioning himself in front of her wet cunt. Slick with her arousal and Jisung’s saliva, Hyunjin teased her aching hole with the tip of his cock.

Slightly rubbing up and down, her back walls clenched around nothing. “Please Hyune,” she moaned, begging him to do something.

Her hips shifted slightly as his hand came up to grab her waist. Holding his cock at the base he gently eased himself into her core.

Hyunjin closed his eyes and groaned out loud at the feeling of her walls wrapping around his dick. It felt so soft and warm, so heavenly. Her moans reached his ears and he opened his eyes to see her face contorted by a twinge of pain from the size of his dick.

Even though Jisung prepped her for Hyunjin and his cock, Hyunjin was still bigger than she was used to.

Halfway in, he pulled out gently before pushing in again. She felt him go a bit deeper and the twinge of pain turned slowly into pleasure. Bottoming out, his other hand came up to her neck and pulled her in for another kiss.

“Please– fuck, move,” she moaned out against his lips and he was happy to oblige. His hips snapped into her at a brutal pace, one hand holding her soft waist as the other held a firm grip on her neck.

This position allowed him to pull her back on his cock and watch as his cock disappeared into her tight hole.

He saw her fingers sneak their way down and she began rubbing tight circles on her clit.

“Are you gonna cum again princess? Come all over my cock?” Hyunjin’s voice was deep, and sultry and sent another wave of pleasure through her body.

His cock was hitting the right spots and she felt the tension in her core creep up again.

“Yes, yes, yes–”, she cried out in ecstasy, her head falling back against the mirror.

Hyunjin kept his brutal pace and snapped his hips against hers, hitting just the right spot. She moaned out his name over and over again as the pleasure kept building in her core.

Hyunjin leaned down, kissed her once more and took her lower lip between his. The slight pain of his teeth on her lip made her cry out in pleasure.

“Come for me baby,” Hyunjin gritted out against her lips, and she did.

Her orgasm hit her hard, seeing white spots in her vision as she closed her eyes tightly and let her head fall back. She kept rubbing furiously as she rode out her orgasm.

Her body almost went limp as Hyunjin kept fucking her through her orgasm.

“Good girl,” he kissed her once more. His pace slowed down to sharper thrusts.

Jisung had pulled his pants down and was stroking his cock at the sight of her getting fucked by Hyunjin. Her skirt and panties were discarded on the dirty bathroom floor, and her top was pulled down so her perfect tits were bare.

All the sweet sounds she made went straight to his cock.

He didn’t know he could be so aroused by seeing her come undone on another man’s cock.

Her head rolled to the side and her half-ridden, pleasure-filled eyes locked with Jisungs. Her free hand reached out to Jisung, “Please Sungie,” she motioned for him to come closer.

Hyunjin looked over at Jisung, but the younger one was focused on her body and how she responded to Hyunjin’s cock hitting all the right spots.

“You wanna get filled up by Jisung now, princess hm?” She nodded and bit her lip in response, but he wanted to hear her say it.

“Use your words, princess.” He gave another sharp thrust into her sensitive walls.

“Y-yes, please-” she whimpered out.

He gave her one last sharp thrust, before pulling out and leaving her aching for more.

He stepped aside so Jisung could take his place, while Hyunijn wrapped his own hands around his cock. Using her wetness as lube and jerked up and down as he watched her and Jisung.

Jisung pulled her in for a kiss, a bit softer than how Hyunjin pulled her in. Gliding his tongue over her bottom lip, she gasped as she felt him pick her up.

He set her down gently and spun her around. Bending her over the small bathroom sink, the action was rougher than how he picked her up. Her face was pressed against the fogged-up mirror.

Jisung spread her ass cheeks and dropped a glob of saliva from his lips, on top of her used hole. The slightest touch already had her whining and withering around. Her eyes closed and biting her lip.

Jisung guided his tip inside of her, the feeling of her walls engulfing him almost made him cum on the spot.

She was getting impatient and tried to back her hips back up onto his cock.

Jisung shook his head and tutted. “Angel, you have to be patient. Be a good girl.”

The pet name made her cry out, and Jisung slid his cock into her with one motion, bottoming out immediately.

While Hyunjin’s cock was longer, Jisung’s was thicker. Her pussy got fucked open by Hyunjin but she still felt a slight sting because of the girth of Jisung’s cock.

Grabbing her hips, he felt her pushing back onto his cock. He groaned out at the feeling of her fucking herself onto his cock.

His eyes look down at how his cock gets swallowed by her pussy. Her mouth hung open in ecstasy and she felt his hands trail up to her shoulder blades and her neck.

His hands tangled in her hair as he roughly pulled at it, lifting her face from the mirror. Hyunjin stepped closer, still stroking his cock as he wiped the mirror in front of her face.

“Look at yourself angel, look how pretty you look-” He murmured in her ear as he kissed her neck. “All fucked out,” Another heating kiss on her neck.

“Cumming so prettily for both of us, doesn’t she?” Hyunjin’s voice seductively asked them both, and Jisung groaned in response. “So pretty.”

Her eyes took in her reflection and she whimpered at the sight of her make-up smeared, mascara under her eyes and lipstick smudged. Her hair was sticking to her face.

Then her eyes flicked over to Hyunjin’s, locking their eyes as she felt Jisung pound into her aching but sensitive hole.

“H-harder – please Sung–”, she cried out as she dug her fingers into the sink to hold her steady.

More than happy to oblige her request, Jisung thrust harder into her wet core. He tugged at her hair again and kissed her shoulders. “Pussy feels s’good angel,” he whined, hot breath on her skin.

Hyunjin felt his orgasm creeping in but tried to hold it off until she came again for them. “Are you gonna cum again princess?” he asked her as she tried to hold herself up against the sink. Her legs wobbling as Jisung kept pounding into her.

She nodded and let her head fall against the mirror. Whining out, she felt another rush of arousal spread through her body. The feeling kept bubbling and Hyunjin’s words added to the pleasure she felt while Jisung kept fucking her.

“Shit– fuck, angel,” the words spilt from Jisung’s lips sending the bubbling feeling over the edge. She tried to hold herself up but the feeling of Jisung’s strokes and words was becoming too much.

“Oh my god-” Flushed and sweaty, she sobbed through the sensitive feeling of her walls clenching around Jisung’s cock.

“I’m gonna cum, where do you want me to cum?” Jisung grunted as he tried to keep his pace steady.

“Inside – please inside Sungie”, Jisung moaned loudly as he heard her words, his steady pace faltering. With a few more sloppy thrusts, Jisung came loudly, moaning her name as his cum painted her walls.

The warm, sticky feeling made her moan out in pleasure. Jisung let his head rest on her shoulders and placed a soft kiss there. “Thank you angel.”

Hyunjin couldn’t hold his orgasm at bay any longer, seeing Jisung’s cum dripping out of her pussy as he pulled out with a hiss.

She turned around and gave him one last kiss before pulling away and locking her eyes with Hyunjin.

“Now it’s your turn to cum baby,” her voice was sultry, eyes still full of desire and cum was dripping down her legs. But she still went down on her knees and took Hyunjin’s cock in her hands.

She moved her hand up and down slowly, seeing how Hyunjin watched her every move. She then took him in her mouth, her lips wrapping around the tip of his length.

A strangled sound left his lips as his hands tangled in her hair to guide her on his shaft. Her hot mouth sucking him in, hallowing her cheeks. Her hand stroked the rest of his length that didn’t fit in her mouth.

“Just like that princess,” his hips moved along with her movements, eyes locked on his.

“God, you’re gonna make me cum.” He bit his lower lip as she kept sucking him and taking him deeper into her mouth.

Breathing through her nose, she almost took all of him in. Hyunjin felt his abdomen tighten as he felt her gag slightly on his cock.

“Are you gonna take it all like a good girl princess?” he chased that feeling in his abdomen, travelling down to his cock.

One of her hands came up to cup his balls and palm them while she bobbed up and down his length, the other still stroked the rest she couldn’t fit. His hands were still in her hair, he pushed her head down a little harder, which made her moan around his cock.

The vibration of her moans sent Hyunjin over the edge and spurts of his hot cum painted her throat. And just like promised, she took it and swallowed all of it.

“Good fuckin’ girl, princess,” Hyunjin gasped out as she released his dick with a pop and smiled up to him. Showing her tongue, she swallowed every last drop he gave her.

Blissed out, silence fell over them as the bass of the club's loud music penetrated through the walls.

Hyunjin helped her up while Jisung picked up her clothes from the ground. Hyunjin turned on the faucet to wet a piece of toilet paper. With this, he helped her clean her sensitive core.

Jisung helped her put her denim skirt back on and put her top on right again.

She still felt like she was on a rosy cloud of dopamine. Her two roommates, both of whom she had wanted for a long time, finally showed her another way she could also get a rush of dopamine without turning to substances.

A dopey smile spread out on her face. Jisung caught her staring at how the two boys gave her some aftercare, even though they were still in the dirty, small bathroom of the club.

After he adjusted the straps of her top on her shoulders, he leaned in once more to give her a soft peck. “Thank you,” she murmured against his lips.

“Any time angel, just let me–us know.” Jisung smiled softly as she leaned back with still a blissed-out look on her face. Hyunjin took one of her hands in his and left soft kisses on the back of her hand.

Both boys were at either side of her, as she spoke up after a minute. “Wanna go home and go again?”

Hyunjin and Jisung looked at each other, words unspoken.

They would be happy to help her again and again get that temporary fix, a dopamine rush, pleasure.

Because she just went to heaven and back.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Ⓒ︎ 𝗶𝘁𝘀𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿. 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥. 𝗗𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵.

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letters-to-lgbt-kids · 9 months ago

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My dear lgbt+ kids,

If you consume a certain type of online content about friendship (often in the form of “10 signs of a fake friend” and similar), you may almost get to the conclusion that anyone who is not your best friend is your enemy - or at the very least, that any friend who doesn’t know *everything* about you is entirely worthless to your life and you would be better off cutting them out.

That’s a pretty radical view of human relationships, and it would ultimately cost you a lot of joyful social interactions if you strictly adhered to it.

Unless you barricade yourself in your room and never leave it (which would be pretty awful for your mental health), you will end up in situations where you have regular interactions with people who are not your best friend ever. The ability to be friendly to those people, to enjoy those connections, isn’t “fake” or “toxic”. It’s an important source of positive social interactions and a valuable tool to fight loneliness.

If you have a constant social circle, these may be the friends (or partners, family members etc) of your friends, those “I’m not directly friends with Rose but I’m friends with Lisa and Lisa is friends with Rose” situations. But even if you do not have a circle like that (because you don’t make friends easily, you have social anxiety etc.), there will most likely be some “casually friendly” people in your life, as these are often simply the people who happen to be at the same place at the same time as you: colleagues, classmates, neighbors, people at places you frequent (employees in stores, patients in group therapy etc.), or even just the guy who waits for the same bus as you do every Monday morning.

These people wouldn’t be the first one you’d call if you need help with a potentially life changing decision. They don’t know all your deepest secrets, fears and desires, they may not even be able to name your favorite color (or hey, maybe not even your name), and they certainly won’t be able to list all your identity labels, political beliefs, medical diagnoses, traumatic experiences and sexual fantasies - but they don’t need to.

It’s wonderful if you have a best friend (or another close relationship) who fulfills that role of being someone you’d trust blindly, someone who knows you inside and out. But not everyone you are friendly with needs to be that for you. There’s enough other roles. Acquaintances, work friends, casual friends, small-talk friends… those roles aren’t worthless. They won’t be the one you call at 3 am after a breakup, but they can inject a bit of joy in your everyday life. They can offer friendly interactions that come with no pressure to go beyond the surface (something that’s valuable in itself! It would be very exhausting if everyone already knew everything about you and every conversation had to be deep and philosophical).

Plus, only knowing each other in one context has its advantages: your best friend may not know anything about the printer issue in your office but your office friend sure does! And if you met someone in a crime novel forum and all you ever talk about is crime novels, is that really negative? Isn’t it beautiful to know someone who shares your passion for that genre and is always happy to talk about it?

Of course an office friend or a crime novel friend can also become a best friend over the years. There are plenty of people who meet in a specific context, bond in that context and gradually develop a relationship out of that context as well. But one-context friends still enrich your life.

Even if that context is purely “we say hi when we see each other at the bus stop”, it’s a positive social interaction - and those will bring color and joy into both of your lives.

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

#lgbt #lgbt+

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purinfelix · 5 months ago

Note

could you please write something where trent pining for his bestfriend for a long time before he finally confesses to her that he has feelings?? thank you! i love your writing sm <3

something stupid ₊˚⊹

pairing: Trent Alexander Arnold x reader summary: Trent’s never been the best at concealing his jealousy, especially not when it comes to you - even if the two of you are ‘just friends’ warnings: none w/c: 1k

a/n: had to combine these two because they gave me the best idea everrr ... anyways i missed writing for trent like i realised i don't acc write for him that much - soo pls send more trent reqss!! <33

♬ and then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like "I love you" ♬

Trent couldn’t decide what feeling was worse - the intense, almost burning jealousy ripping through him as he watched you from across the bar, or the even more intense guilt consuming him for even daring to feel that way. To feel such an all-consuming possessiveness over someone who wasn’t even his, and to be left with no option other than to loiter in the corner like some idiot, his grip on his drink growing tighter by the second.

You wouldn’t blame him, surely, you couldn’t. With the way you looked tonight, and the fact that you had personally invited him out with you - albeit with a couple mutual friends - but none of them mattered, at least not to him. It also didn’t help that you had spent the last couple of years, ever since meeting through a group project in some long-forgotten university class, dragging him through some sick cat-and-mouse game. Always toeing the line between being just close friends, or something vaguely more, and Trent hated himself for just going along with it, but he’d by lying if he said he didn’t enjoy how weak he was to your charms.

But as he watched you, his breath heavy and heart beating steadily, he couldn’t help but question whether you had meant to do any of it at all. He watched you throw your head back in laughter and hot jealousy pulsed through him once more, yearning for nothing more than to be the one making you laugh instead of whatever other guy you were lending your attention to. Still, you looked so happy, so at peace, he couldn’t help but curse himself for even considering the possibility that you were purposely making him pine after you. After all, it was his fault - he had still yet to muster up the courage to ask you out on a date, even after being stupidly enamoured with everything about you since the day he met you. It was probably more rational to consider that he had just misread most of your actions beyond the friendly gestures they were supposed to be.

Suddenly, his attention was turned to the steady arm of another one of your male friends snaking around your waist, which Trent had been dragging his gaze along excruciatingly slowly - but now his focus was turned to the fact that this asshole was pulling you closer to himself, and further away from Trent.

Fuck rationality.

The thud of his glass was definite, followed quickly by his heavy footsteps as Trent shoved past the small group you had amassed, not bothering to make his actions subtle. It was clear to everyone, including himself, that Trent was moving faster than his rational thoughts could form, but that didn’t seem to matter when his hand was already wrapped tightly around your wrist, dragging you in the direction of the bar’s exit. You protested, struggling against his grip, but all it took was one look from him as he turned back to you - equal parts pained and pleading - for you to go with him.

The biting cold of the late night hit you the minute you stepped out of the bar, causing you to stop straight in your tracks and huff with frustration.

“Trent, what the hell is going on with you?” your tone was demanding, not making any effort to conceal your annoyance with him.

“I wasn’t going to stand by and watch that filth lay his hands all over you,” he retorts, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was equally annoyed with you. But from the way he can’t stand still and his eyes are scanning the pavement, avoiding yours, you know there’s something else at play here.

“Bullshit.”

“Wh- I can’t do something nice for you?”

“Giving me a life, paying for dinner, those are nice things - not snatching me away when I was in the middle of a conversation? Why do you care if some guy touches me?”

“Why do I care?” he scoffs, almost as if he doesn’t believe you haven’t realised why yet, “Because I’m in love with you! You’ve invited my out tonight, and you seem to be having the time of your life, but when I saw you with that guy, him making you laugh, touching you, all I could think about was how much I wanted it to be me instead. How much I’ve always wanted it to be me.”

A silence falls over you two, and it’s only now that the weight of Trent’s actions have hit him, as well as the realisation that he can’t do anything to take back his words now, or stop whatever reaction you’re about to give him. He makes his regret obvious almost immediately, his flustered expression dropping as he looks down to the ground once more, unable to bring himself to look at you. His confession hangs in the air, having changed both everything and nothing at once.

You stood there, slack-jawed, mind racing yet absolutely speechless. You’d be lying if you hadn’t at least suspected Trent of having feelings for you, but you had brushed any inkling you had off as your own misinterpretation. Hearing him say it out loud was another thing entirely, and it was overwhelming your every sense, but in a good way.

The silence became too much to bear, and Trent figured he’d have to be the one to brave it, “Say something, please,” he mumbles, voice heavy, almost preparing himself for rejection.

“Trent…” you begin, stepping slightly closer and reaching out to take his hand in yours, “I’ve wanted it to be you too.”

At this, he looks up at you, eyes glistening. “Really?” the disbelief in his voice almost breaks your heart.

“Yeah,” you say, almost laughing at how ridiculous this is, “for a while, actually.”

“God, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that,” he lets out an almost comical sigh of relief, finally breaking into a smile, and you can’t help but do the same.

“Now, I’d like to get back to my drink, if you don’t mind,” you say, but he doesn’t let go of your hand.

“Why would I mind?” he laughs, and you could slap him right there and then, but you can only smile in faux-annoyance as the two of you walk back to the bar, hand-in-hand.

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold x you #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold fic #football fanfic #fanfic #football #liverpool fc #lfc #purinfelix #jet answers ✧#jet writes ★

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lopsidedgryffins · 1 month ago

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green’s inner conflict and how it is manifested through greenscreen: an analysis

TLDR at end!

disclaimer: this is probably really ooc, and is mostly speculation by a mediocre at best student of literature ++ i’ve never been good at lit, so this analysis is likely not gonna be great :/ feel free to criticise/comment on this analysis! i’m open to feedback if there’s any :)

SPOILERS FOR INFLUENCER ARC EPS 1 AND 2 AHEAD!

we first see greenscreen when the cg abandons an overdone/overedited video of theirs - he is quite literally borne of neglect, and is thus a symbol of green’s negligence towards his friends and the inner turmoil he faces in trying to cater to all his viewers.

why does greenscreen appear as, well, green? green is basically fighting with himself, a form of inner conflict manifested through the CG’s fight with what is essentially green’s neglect and negative emotions.

this is also super interesting because inner conflict is usually internal and invisible: that’s what most of it is about. however, alan and the team present it here through actual physical conflict, which parallels green’s fight with himself - to make the content that he and his friends want to make, or to cater to the viewers and leave his friends behind, becoming increasingly self-centred?

in the first fight with greenscreen, the CG beat him as a group, and green even takes a photo of them together post-fight to upload to instagram. this symbolises green’s (temporary) triumph over his neglect for others, still caring for his friends.

however, over time, green starts to drift from his friends. he distances himself from them, isolating himself in a minecraft room by himself to make videos, neglecting friendships, genuine feelings and enjoyment in preference for catering to his viewers and all their preferences, taking each piece of criticism too seriously. therefore, as green’s neglect toward his friendships with the CG continues and increases, greenscreen grows in power as the negativity and abandonment become worse.

before we continue with that though, let’s talk about the recycle bin!

the recycle bin is a recurring figure across AvA - being used in both AvA and AvM to get rid of applications. that’s what a recycle bin is at its core - a receptacle for waste, left to be neglected, never truly emptied. both greenscreen and the deleted videos of the CG are thrown into the recycle bin, where they perhaps fester into who-knows-what in ep 3. you know who else was also unceremoniously thrown into a recycle bin/deleted? victim! after he escaped from the animator’s neglect towards his feelings and sentience, victim is out to get his revenge. the recycle bin takes it’s inhabitants’ negativity (in greenscreen’s case, neglect), and turns it stronger upon their escape. green’s dunking of greenscreen into the recycle bin in ep 1 is symbolic of him ignoring his tendency to ignore and leave his friends behind in the pursuit of content creation. he does not actively work on stopping such behaviour, instead leaving it in a metaphorical (and literal) recycle bin, letting his habit of neglecting others in the chase for something he desires to grow.

my theory is that greenscreen may come back in the last episode of the influencer arc, beating green at first, symbolising green’s negligence towards his friends’ feelings consuming him in his pursuit of content creation, but this is overcome as he realises the situation he is in - where he finally beats greenscreen and with him, his internal conflict, not by throwing him into the recycle bin where the neglect will be left to fester, but by coming to terms with his plight, communicating with his friends and agreeing to create the content that they want to create, putting an end to the negligence and laying greenscreen to rest.

(as of writing this, green’s newest video (reacting to my friends having fun without me) shows the rest of the CG being thrown around? it looks like they’re fighting something/someone, which is very likely whatever spawned from the recycle bin - i’m guessing this is greenscreen.)

TLDR: greenscreen is a physical manifestation of green’s neglect towards his friends AND his internal conflict, who will return in ep3 of the influencer arc, but will ultimately be beaten by green which symbolises him stepping back from content creation.

thanks for reading till the end! really appreciate it if you read the whole thing - once again this is purely my own speculation, opinions and theory!

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lets-try-some-writing · 2 months ago

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Emergency Protocols: To Preserve A Legacy

Optimus Prime has fallen, and now everyone must deal with the after effects of his sudden and horrific death. Knockout, unlike the rest of the Decepticons, has taken grim inspiration from the loss.

Part 1 here.

(Warning for robogore)

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

“This is an order! Every mech will travel in a group until further notice!” Megatron’s order rang out on the bridge, earning frantic nods of understanding from every single Vehicon present. Starscream in particular seemed keen to obey an order for once and almost instantly grabbed a few Vehicons to stay by his side.

Knockout watched quietly, his optics never once leaving the screen above Megatron’s helm.

“I don’t care what you are doing or what your orders are. If I catch anyone alone, there will be consequences.” Megatron all but growled as he glared down at every one of his soldiers. Knockout’s optics cycled in quiet interest at the sight, but he refused to look away from the screen and the beginnings of grotesque suffering playing on it.

“The Autobots have begun to fall. We cannot risk such a fate ourselves.” The warlord’s words were frighteningly shaky as a video played on screen. It was a recording obviously taken by Soundwave, or perhaps Laserbeak. Whatever the case, it projected a scene of true horror.

Optimus Prime wailed in agony, his frame tearing itself apart as buds began to form all over him. One on each limb, and two great ones on his chassis and jetpack. He tore himself to pieces, ripping off armor and frantically screeching as his frame cannibilized itself to produce six new lives. That was a new record, at least in modern documentation. The largest recorded budding only produced five newbuilds. How very Optimus of him.

“Prime succumbed, and if a mech as mighty as him fell, any one of us is just as likely to suffer a similar end.” The recording zoomed in on Optimus’s expression of sheer agony as he tried to crawl on mutilated limbs. If things were different, Knockout might have gagged as he watched the Prime convulse, wheeze, and then fall still while whatever remained of him was consumed by his unwanted offspring.

As it was, Knockout found himself more intrigued than afraid, especially as the recording showed the six that came from the fallen Prime. Five of them were flight frames, an incredible oddity considering Optimus was, up until his reforging, a grounder. The sixth was the one that really caught his attention. The newbuild had Optimus’s structure, tapered waist, and overall build. But they had an interesting series of differences, a few of which felt vaguely familiar.

“Be wary! And never find yourselves alone! Until we can confirm that none of our number are liable to succumb to this brutality, this ship is on lockdown.” With a final wave of his servo, Megatron marched off, likely to hound Soundwave about something or other. The Vehicons filed off eventually, most huddled in groups of five or more to limit their fear. A few attempted to gather around Knockout, but he waved them off.

He didn’t want companionship. He had other plans.

Making his way back to the medical bay, Knockout quietly shut the door behind him and locked it. He settled at his console, tapping the device thoughtfully as he pulled up the recording of Optimus Prime’s final moments all over again. He really should have been disgusted or upset with what he was going to be seeing, but after so much loss, it was more interesting than anything else. Eventually, the Decepticons would have someone end up budding. After all, one budding meant that the situation was dire. Dire circumstances induced panic, and panic tended to make budding happen in other subjects even if their numbers were acceptable.

Stress was bound to get to them. After all, activation of the protocols needed for budding only required a deep sense of loneliness and isolation. If the crew felt that they were alone, those who were capable of budding were likely going to begin expiring one after another. The Vehicons would be fine, largely since they were the result of budding and cold forging. Empurata victims were incapable of budding since the entire section of their processor devoted to registering emotional distress was deactivated, so Shockwave would be fine. Beastformers tended to take longer to start budding, meaning that Arachnid would be alright on her own for a while. The same went for the Insecticons and the Predacons.

That left high command of both the Autobots and the Decepticons. Optimus had already keeled over, and considering how traumatic and sudden it was, Knockout didn’t doubt that someone else would follow after him. Probably Ratchet or the Prime’s unofficial ward.

One by one, the shock and horror would get to all of them, regardless of faction.

They were well and truly slagged. Sooner or later, all the big players in the war would combust into several smaller and inexperienced idiots who would, inevitably, end the war at some point. Be it through extinction or peace, it wasn’t really important. Knockout personally had no desire to live in a world or on a restored Cybertron with a bunch of framewalkers who looked far too similar to old friends and foes for his liking. It all seemed so pointless.

He was tired. That was the only way he had to describe the sheer apathy burning in his spark. Breakdown, his other half, was gone, taken by enemies who were now long dead and dispersed. There were no more victors to join, not when everyone would quickly be put on even ground once old grudges joined their holders in the grave. There was no point to all of it anymore. What did he have to gain from trudging ever onward? A restored homeworld? Sure, that might be nice for a grand total of five kliks, but it wouldn’t be the same without proper closure or Breakdown.

“If we’re all doomed anyway, we might as well make the most of it.” He grumbled, taking great care to not rub his face and ruin the polish, even though exhaustion weighed on him. They were all going down, so why not try and make it somewhat meaningful? Budding was a process that had not been properly studied since the Quintessons ruled. It either happened in private or it was so sudden that no real documentation could be made. Case point: Optimus’s spontaneous and gruesome death.

If he was going to die, he wanted to leave something behind and perhaps even secure his legacy with something important.

“Show me what you’ve got, sweet rims.” He pressed play on the video, leaning back in his chair as he sighed and observed Optimus’s final moments. He had to watch it three or four times before he became desensitized enough to actually start making note of things of interest, but he got there after a few sessions of wretching into his disposal unit.

Optimus’s early symptoms began with itching and, from the looks of it, twitchyness and emotional turmoil. That seemed about right overall. Then it seemed that as the budding began, tearing off armor was an instinctual response meant to allow the buds to grow without hindrance. The spine tearing out of the back appeared to just be a side effect of one of the buds developing in that location, as bones and other skeletal structures also tore free where buds developed on the Prime’s body.

The malformation didn’t appear to be a necessary part of the process, but one that Optimus unfortunately endured due to the sheer number of buds on him. The buds themselves sucked protomatter right out of their host by liquidizing the host’s internals. A lot was lost, as evidenced by Optimus quite literally being dismeboweled via his innards turning to goo and oozing out of him. Frankly, it seemed that the process was largely streamlined. Optimus was just an unfortunate victim of Primely fertility.

If he were back on Cybertron, he might have broken the record again by producing more due to his increased mass prior to their arrival on the mudball they currently called their battlefield.

“Noted. More buds equals more pain.” He tapped the console methodically, watching again and again as Optimus wailed and endured a fate far worse than most other forms of death. Knockout took notes meticulously, observing with silent interest as he watched the buds develop over and over again. The biggest of the lot caught his attention more than the others. That one was obviously a powerhouse in the making, having Optimus’s overall frame structure. But there was something about the new build—something unique.

Once he recorded everything he could from the video, Knockout turned to the database. His digits flew across the keys until he pulled up Optimus’s record. A few passwords later, and he was looking at sensitive data that was only tenuiously confirmed. The Prime’s history in the archives, embarrassing and noteworthy developmental milestones, but most importantly, his relationships.

Optimus only had one confirmed romantic partner. The depth of their relationship was not recorded, but there were enough indicators of a spark merge having been involved for Knockout to feel fairly confident calling them Conjunxes. With that in mind, he pulled up the video again on his second screen, zooming in on the largest of the newbuilds hovering around Optimus’s battered corpse.

He looked at Elita-One’s picture and then at the newbuild. The similarities were obvious. The frame shape, the kibble placement, even the newbuild’s optics. All of them were similar to Elita. Had the spark merged influenced the budding to produce a newbuild that possessed Optimus and Elita’s traits?

“A spark merge affecting a newbuild... it’s certainly not impossible.” He tapped the console with more frequency as he considered the possibilities. If all of high command was going to keel over, Knockout most likely included, why shouldn’t he research the process? Why shouldn’t he make the most of it? For Optimus and Elita to have produced a bud that carried both their traits after what might have only been a single spark merge...

He stood up sharply, his optics widened as he glanced over at the single piece of Breakdown’s armor he’d taken from the corpse as a keepsake. It sat innocently on his shelf, a reminder of the loss and now a symbol of possible hope.

“One merge. It only took them one merge.” He reached out to collect the piece of armor, a dark plan forming in the back of his processor. He didn’t necessarily want to die, but it was going to happen anyway. Sooner or later, he’d drop dead and spawn something that was but an echo of himself. Why not die on his own terms? He could study the process of budding and, if things worked out, preserve Breakdown’s legacy as well.

He’d keep his reputation as Cybertron’s finest medic through his research, and he’d be able to honor his fallen partner before joining him. It saved him from having to go on endlessly without the mech he loved most, and it meant that all his loose ends would be neatly tied up. He wouldn’t have to live in a world not his own with mecha mimicking the dead.

It would be painful, but he could limit that to a certain extent.

"Well, Breakdown, it seems I’ll be seeing you soon enough.” A grin wormed its way onto Knockout’s features as he laughed and carried the piece of plating over to his workbench. There was much to do, and considering the panic amongst the crew, very little time.

“Lord Megatron, I’ll be performing a little analysis on some sensitive material over the course of the next deca-cycle or so. Don’t worry if I’m unavailable; my research will prove quite useful, I’m certain.” He sent his message to Megatron with quiet glee as he settled at his workbench. He had preparations to see to and he couldn’t afford an interruption. Not now.

“All alone now. It’s just us, Breakie.” Tapping the piece of plating, Knockout laughed again before gathering his determination to drop the piece into a vat. He placed the vat into one of his extractors and stepped back, looking over himself and his medical bay. While CNA was being extracted from Breakdown’s plating, Knockout could begin his real work.

He spent a whole cycle thinking through Optimus’s fate and preparing for every eventuality. He methodically, albeit with much chagrin, removed his outer armor. He would rather not endure the pain of ripping it all off in a frenzied madness and so opted to skip that step altogether. Once that was all removed, he began preparing various painkillers of different doses. Too much at one time might have a negative effect on himself or his spawn, so a gentle ramping up of the solution would be necessary. The finished solutions were left near the medical berth, ready to be used.

For good measure, he adjusted the straps on the medical berth to activate the moment he laid down and to deactivate once his vitals dropped beyond a certain threshold. He couldn’t risk the buds, not when they were going to be so vital to his goals.

“As much as I pride myself on my finish, I do think you’ll forgive me this once for not sporting the red you adored so much.” Knockout found himself laughing more and more in the quiet of his medical bay by just the second cycle of work. He had gone to great pains to continually keep himself from heading out for any reason, and so far it seemed to be working. He could feel a faint tingle underneath his plating.

He wasn’t quite sure if it was nerves getting to him or not, but as he handled a full vial of Breakdown’s CNA, he reassured himself of his goal. He was going to do this and document the whole affair.

This was fine. He was going to be fine. He wanted this. He’d get to see Breakdown again.

Right?

“Breakdown, I hope you aren’t going to be too upset. I’m doing this for both of us.” He spoke into the open air, quietly and with more than a little hesitance. It took all of his mental fortitude to keep it together when Megatron called him.

“Knockout, what in the Unmaker’s name are you doing?” The warlord’s glyphs were harsh and layered with over a dozen vaguely fearful undertones. Knockout would have grinned, but he couldn’t blame Megatron for being afraid. Optimus was dead. The Prime of Cybertron was not only gone, but the first to have perished. In a way, Knockout envied him. To be the first meant Optimus didn’t have to watch everyone crumble around him.

“Lord Megatron, as I stated in my previous message, I am working on something of incredible importance. Don’t worry your pretty little helm about it. The experiment shall conclude in a few cycles, just as planned.” He kept up his usual attitude of cockiness as he stared at scans he’d taken of his frame. According to what his machinery was gathering, his frame was starting to swell in places, small pockets of protomatter less than an inch in side, all forming one by one all over him like organic skin pores.

It was rather disgusting to think about it in that light.

“Do you have assistants with you? I will not risk this vessel’s only medical expert offlining.” Knockout fought back a scoff as he held the vial of Breakdown’s extracted CNA. He fiddled with the container, smiling as he replied.

“Of course. I have my most trusted assistant right by my side.” Megatron made a noise of agreement before shutting down the comm link. Knockout leaned against his console, fondling the vial a while longer as he looked up at his scans.

Soon. Very soon.

The cycles wore on, and as they did, Knockout dutifully documented the changes. His need for fuel had drastically decreased, a sign of his frame preparing for something or other. Additionally, he was recharging more and more often and for longer periods of time. A certain level of lethargy hung in his limbs, making it difficult for him to continually make note of his circumstances and not leave his medical bay despite how much base instinct tried to get him to move and go toward where he knew there were others.

Megatron bothered him every now and then, but Knockout was quite skilled at keeping his tone even. The warlord suspected nothing, just like Knockout wanted. This was meant to be special—just him and Breakdown. He didn’t want his boss to come kicking the door down in an attempt to stop what had already begun and ruin the significance of it all.

“Till all are one... you know, Breakdown, I never really believed in that lovely quote from the Primacy. But I think it makes more sense now that we’re going to make something beautiful together.” He was tired, so very tired. But looking into the faint blue glow of the vial containing all that was left of his other half, Knockout found something akin to peace settling in his spark. His frame ached, but soon everything would be better.

“I miss when you held me in your arms and complimented my features. I don’t think I ever told you that the reason I kept up the red was because you liked it so much.” Leaning back in his chair, Knockout held the vial to his chassis, closing his optics in order to pretend that somehow, through some miracle, Breakdown was with him. He imagined firm servos on his shoulders, massaging tense cables and helping him unwind after a long cycle.

Fond memories supplied him with a cheerful laugh filled with nothing but adoration as he and Breakdown playfully bantered, exchanging gossip like there wouldn’t be consequences if they were caught distracted. He recalled all their frantic couplings, never daring to risk taking too long to be one in mind and spark for fear of punishment. He wished he’d taken more time back then. He wished he’d savored the protective warmth of his companion’s spark brushing up against his own in the most intimate of kisses.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them from taking you.” Coolant gathered in his optics as his frame began to heat up in response to his unsettling emotional state. He felt the drops roll down his cheeks, but he didn’t wipe them away. He merely held the chilled vial close, desperately longing for a spark signature that was long gone. It was clinical, so very clinical... and there was no warmth to be found.

“I’m sorry, I’m too weak to go on without you. I know… I know you’d want me to live life to the fullest in your absence, but I can’t.” His composure cracked as he looked up at the ceiling, trying not to gaze around his medical bay in the vain hope that his beloved might still be there, gathering supplies or sorting through datapads on his behalf.

He could hardly vent; it hurt so much.

“Not without you.” Primus was cruel to take a mech as good as Breakdown so soon.

The itching started around the fifth cycle of his isolation. It was faint at first, but then it grew more and more difficult to ignore. It felt like he was bloated, almost as if he had a series of microscopic tears in every single one of his fuel lines. He scratched without meaning to more often than not, and more than once he had to set his door to lock automatically to keep himself from running out.

Itching, itching, itching.

He wished Breakdown were there to caress his frame, chasing away the discomfort with loving touches and soothing words. For such a big mech, he was so very kind.

But Breakdown was gone. He’d been gone for months now. All Knockout had left was a vial of his CNA. His forever’s final gift and remnant.

By the sixth cycle, taking decent notes was all but impossible. He settled on setting up a camera just above the medical berth for when he inevitably met his end. He was fidgety, itching, and nervous in a way he’d never been before. Sometimes he found himself pacing, muttering nonsense that he only managed to stop through sheer force of will.

The itch never stopped.

Emotional codes became tangled and out of place. Priority calculations shifted and left him paranoid, leading Knockout to try and perform manual labor more than once before realizing he was out of his designated role. His protocols were blaring all the time, drowning out his vision with demands for him to find a group and to get to safety. He screamed at some point, clutching his helm and whimpering at how overwhelming it all was.

How had Prime dealt with it all before death all but snuck up on him?

On what he assumed was the seventh cycle, the itch turned to an infuriating burn. Clawing at his protoform and base armor wasn’t enough. It hurt, so much so that he could hardly see straight, much less make any logical decisions. All he had the strength to do was jab and IV with his painkillers into his arm and inject himself with Breakdown’s precious CNA before he collapsed onto his medical berth, the straps clamping down on his limbs.

The vial was discarded on the ground, empty, and used. Despite the fact that it no longer had anything of Breakdown left in it, Knockout wished he could hold it, if only to comfort himself as the pain increased.

Panic set in not long after the straps finished tightening. His venting hitched as the burn worsened. For a moment, he regretted every life decision he’d ever made, including his idiotic choice to go down in flames like he was taking one for the team. When had he ever been a team player? What the frag was wrong with him?

“Slag. This is going to hurt.” He winced, biting back a cry as he felt the first tears begin to form along his protoform. Optimus had skipped this part entirely, going straight for bone obliteration and internal shredding. Knockout almost wished he could do the same as cracks began running along his limbs, the angle of the medical berth letting him see how energon and protomatter started to swell in the wounds.

The painkillers were his salvation as he watched in grim fascination, observing as his very protoform bubbled as if an inflamed fuel line was growing and threatening to burst right beneath the surface layer of his very being. He bit his lower derma as his protoform continued to bulge, finally bursting in his legs and in his right arm. He didn’t dare cry out, instead forcefully silencing himself for as long as possible.

Screams would draw attention. Sound would ruin this precious moment between himself and what he was going to make. This was a family matter, his and Breakdown’s last gift to the world. It couldn’t be interrupted.

Cables burst, spurting energon that trickled down the medical berth and pooled on the ground beneath him. Wires and various connectivity tissues pulsed and all but slithered as the buds started to take shape. It hurt like slag, but it wasn’t as bad as it likely would have been without painkillers. The scene itself was still a work of horror, especially as the small mounds began to grow, their mass pushing aside everything else.

“Looks like at least one of these buds is going to turn out just like you, Breakdown! They’ve got your size already!” Knockout laughed, lost in medically induced mania as the bud on his left leg swelled and caused the entire limb to bloat. His pede shifted, deforming before snapping off entirely to allow the bud to consume the stump. Knockout did end up screaming as his bones snapped under the weight of the thing, every pain receptor in the limb activating in hot waves of agony.

The bone stuck out from his leg, jutting at an odd angle and glittering blue as if Primus himself had thrown some sort of polish on it. Knockout could see every single micro-connector within the broken skeletal structure, still pulsing with charge. The medic in him screamed, demanding he heal the wound. But he was well aware of his doom. The metal around his abdomen was already graying, a sign of severe energon loss.

There was no stopping it now.

The chorus of suffering was only added to as the two other buds performed similarly. The smaller one on his right leg bulged and crawled up his limb like mold, eating away at his plating with acidic effects that revealed delicate circitry that sizzled and popped as they were corroded. Knockout couldn’t have possibly predicted that outcome with how the bud on his left leg was acting. The one on his arm hurt the most, surprisingly. Knockout could hardly see through the coolant, causing his vision to become hazy, but he did note his digits doing the same thing that Optimus’s had before his death. They increased in size, the plating oozing with protomatter before cracking and all but exploding to make way for the bud.

The remnants of his digits were nothing more than thin skeletal bones connected only by tender ligaments, which had quickly begun to lose their strength.

He shrieked as the painkillers were overridden by the sheer amount of torment assaulting him. There was no comfort to be found as he started to flail, composure fleeing him as he cried out for anyone to help him. He was sure he screamed for Breakdown most, but at some point he must have cried for someone else as well, because he started to hear murmurs outside his medical bay. A Vehicon must have noted his wails.

“Breakdown-!” He sobbed against his restraints, hardly able to watch as more and more parts of his very frame tore themselves apart. The buds did not climb higher than their sectioned limbs, but they consumed, ripped, and tore. There was so much blue. So much blue...

Crack after crack, cry after cry. It blended into a meaningless babble.

At some point, the agony almost entirely ceased as weight dropped off Knockout like a heavy burden long forgotten. The straps holding him came undone, leaving him to lay there, bleeding out and struggling to keep his fans running. The relief he felt was palpable as he reveled in the lack of pain. Although the chill that crept into what remained of his frame did little to comfort him.

Once he’d cleared the coolant from his optics, he mustered the will to look toward the ground where the three buds floundered. The sticky mounds convulsed, thin stick-like limbs jutting out in almost spider-like fashion before more living metal could wreath the limb in musculature and mass. The things looked horrifying as faces tore themselves from the masses, gaping intakes and lightless optics appearing half melted before they convulsed a few more times and finally booted online.

Knockout’s venting slowed as energon loss began to set in. The painkillers were finally doing their slagging job, giving him a half-decent look at his spawn as they stood up one by one, looking over their frames with the innocence of the newly forged. The newbuilds were so very fascinating, so very... Breakdown, each in their own way.

“You are not supposed to be alive.” The biggest of the bunch, a heavy-set newbuild with a rounded helm structure and bright headlights already in formation, addressed Knockout quietly. There was no mockery, no insults, merely an observation. This was like him. Knockout could see it in the red optics that met his own. They were modeled just like Breakdown’s.

“Just had to make sure... that you lot carried Breakdown... in your CNA as well.” His voice came out as little more than a pitiful wheeze, but Knockout didn’t have the presence of mind of care as the other two stared at him. The smallest of the ground was also quite a bulky thing, another of Breakdown’s traits. They shone with gold optics, so reminiscent of his beloved.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, originator.” The smallest one looked him up and down, likely assessing the horror that was Knockout’s devastated frame. He managed a grim laugh at that, even as his senses started to dull.

“You look just like him.” Knockout coughed up energon, his spark flaring painfully in remembrance as the last of the newbuilds waved to him shyly. The newbuild was blue and orange, looking almost exactly like his other creator in all but accenting paint and digits. He had Knockout’s claws, a fact that brought him no small amount of pride.

“You’ve done well, originator. Return to your Conjunx. We will take over from here.” The biggest of the newbuilds touched Knockout’s helm, caressing his helm crest and audials in a fond manner. His venting hitched again, this time in loss as he looked over all three of his spawn.

Breakdown would have been thrilled to meet them.

“Your… designations?” His vision started to fail him as he stared at the three. They shared a look, and then all of them smiled.

“Flatline of Knockout and Breakdown.” The largest answered first, bringing more tears to Knockout’s optics as he heard both his and his beloved’s designation. They were both honored here.

“Quickmix.” The smallest replied curtly, but they were kind enough to touch Knockout’s shoulder in their form of a silent goodbye. They reminded Knockout of himself when he was young. At least this one would have siblings to help them along.

“Wildbreak... of Knockout and Breakdown.” The last of the bunch uttered their name quietly, but with a hint of awe. Knockout couldn’t help but smile as his vision failed him and the touches of his three creations lingered on his frame.

This... this had been worth it.

“We did it… Breakdown.” His voice was lost as his hearing started to putter out. The last thing he heard was his door crashing down and the booming voice of Megatron echoing in his medical bay.

“KNOCKOUT-!”

130 notes · View notes

ellieluvr420 · 8 months ago

Text

Eye for an Eye Pt.1

MASTERLIST (and information about Palestine) Please read!

SYNOPSIS: Your body yearned for the touch of your girlfriend, the warm embrace that calmed your mind but you couldn't give in, the anger you harboured for her at disappearing with her group for three months without any warning, explanation or even a mention of when she would be back stopped you in your tracks any time you got close to giving in. You loved Abby so much but looking at her made you sick, you couldn't push the feelings down no matter how much you craved for things to go back to what they once were. You hadn't planned this but the anguish in those green eyes mirrored yours and sucked you in before you could think twice about the repercussions of your actions. You made your bed when you made the deal with the auburn-haired stranger, eventually you'd have to lie in it.

Okay i know the vote isn’t over yet but there is a pretty overwhelming majority so here it is! i’m sorry if this is not what u wanted but i promise friends?never is gonna still be getting regular updates, that will be prioritised until it is complete i was just too excited to not put a little something out. love u all as always xxxxxxxx

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

In and out. In and out. Focus on your breathing, focus on it to quell the pit of rage burning deep inside you. That was all you had done for weeks and even at the resolution, when everything was as it should be, still the fire burned on. In and fucking out. Your breaths got deeper, shakier, more frequent again as the weight of her sleeping peacefully by your side consumed you, it had once consumed you with love and it still did, quietly in the background, but it was now overshadowed by the screaming torment of the rage you felt when you looked at her or even felt her presence. It had been like this ever since she got back. Weeks and weeks of refused touches, unanswered questions, shameful glances, you were stuck in this loop because she kept you in the dark. But humans adapt, better than most, so you adapted to the dark, learned to sneak around in it, hunt in it, live in it. You could never leave, neither could she, you were bound cosmically, and you cursed it every day. It was a paradox; how could you love someone so much you felt like your world would burn if they weren’t in it but hate them so much you never wanted to see them again? You couldn’t make sense of it, she’d come to understand your feelings but she was blissfully ignorant to how the swarm of indifference surged through your mind and clamped down on your heart.

You sighed and spared a glance at her sleeping form, the peaceful expression of her face only screaming at you to smother it with the pillow you had laid restlessly on. Weeks and weeks, every morning, you wake up, you stare at her sleeping face and you wish you could just make her sleep forever, it made you want to join her, to sleep and never wake. The anger had become so palpable you actually dreamed of killing her and then yourself just to break free from this never-ending cycle. You tip-toed around each other, you avoiding her like she was the plague because in your mind she was, and her treating you like an unexploded bomb that could go off at the slightest wrong movement. She knew it was her fault, she had made you this way but she had to believe you could both move past it without her shedding light on where she had disappeared off to those months ago. She knew what it would do to you both, leaving for three months without a word, just a quickly written note, no warning, no reassurance, just vanishing. She knew it was stupid to think she could come back without a word as to where she had went and everything would be the same but there was a tiny sliver of hope in her that it could happen. That hope was dashed away when a door was slammed in her face and not opened for her again for two weeks but when it did eventually open, that tiny sliver of hope came flooding back, a flame had ignited in her at the thought that everything would be okay but the flame was slowly dying the more weeks went by without a change in your demeanour. She could feel the hatred, the resentment, the hurt radiating off of you whenever you were near and there was nothing she could do to stop it anymore, you were stubborn, that she knew, but this, this was torture, karma getting its own back at her.

You couldn’t contain it anymore, the energy within you, staring at the wall and focusing on your breathing couldn’t help you now so you threw the covers off of you, rushing out of bed to storm out of the bedroom.

“Babe?” Her quiet, groggy voice sounded out from behind you and your body burned.

“What Abby?”

“Where are you going?”

“I dunno, be back soon.” You echoed the words in her letter and it stung, a physical pain ricocheting through her chest making it hard for her to breathe as she jumped out of bed to follow you.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” You paused and spun to face her, your dark circles were craters under your eyes, your face gaunt and paler than it typically was, your eyes completely vacant, devoid of any emotion.

“I mean I don’t know. Don’t try to find me.” She wasn’t sure if you were doing it on purpose but once again you echoed the contents of her letter as you yanked your boots from the ground, opening the door and slamming it behind you without even a glimpse over your shoulder at her defeated expression. She huffed and dragged her hands down her face as she reluctantly went back to her room, collapsing on the bed. It was times like these she was glad Isaac had moved her to a suite of her own, the thought of Manny witnessing this sending a shiver through her. She knew you could both get through this, she knew, so why was doubt invading her every cell?

You weren’t lying when you said you didn’t know where you were going, you couldn’t go back to your room, it only reminded you of the memories of those three months when she had disappeared and you had locked yourself away, refusing assignments, refusing most food, refusing contact with anyone that wasn’t her. It was too painful to be there, it made being in Abby’s room calming despite her looming presence but this morning it had overwhelmed you, so you kept walking and walking until you ended up at the mess hall. You didn’t remember taking the route there but you had and it was too late to turn back because eyes were on you, familiar eyes, beckoning you over to them.

“Hey stranger! Where you been hiding?” Manny, he had once been a positive presence in your life but he was the antithesis of that now, he had left with her, they had all left with her, leaving you here in the dark and they wanted to play nice now they’re back, you couldn’t. His smile juxtaposed your death glare as you scoffed and looked past him like he wasn’t even there. He could see the anguish in your face, evident in all your features that were nowhere near the radiance you typically emitted, he knew what had happened to you, who had happened to you, his part in it weighing on him heavily. You don’t acknowledge him, you walk straight past him like he’s a ghost, straight past him and all the others waiting expectantly for any sign of forgiveness, straight to the double doors at the other end of the hall, ramming through them like you’re made of steel. “Well fuck.” He mutters as they all watch you storm away out of their sight.

“Are you surprised?” Nora remarks.

“Well no but it’s been almost two months now. She hasn’t cracked one bit.” His eyes never leaving the doors you had exited through.

“She’s seeing Abby, has she said anything about how she’s been?” Mel chimed in with a concerned tone.

“Nada. Fucking nada. It’s radio silence from both of ‘em. I barely even see Abby unless we’re on assignments together because she’s always locked up in her room. I’m worried about ‘em both.” His voice was laced with sadness and there was a tense atmosphere clouding over them as there always was when what they had done was brought up, it was never directly spoken about, it felt like poison to speak it aloud but even a hint of it was enough to make them all shrink into themselves, becoming wrapped in their thoughts.

You trailed the halls of the stadium, circling round and round until your legs ached and your mouth was dry, you had seen people dotted here and there as you walked, smiling politely at any that you mistakenly made eye contact with. You walked past another faceless body as the deafening thoughts drummed around your mind. There was a muffled echo, distant but growing closer until you’re interrupted by a hand enclosing around your wrist, you knew who it belonged to without even having to look causing you to snatch your wrist free from their grasp as you jumped back with a scowl.

“What are you doing? I was worried.” You scoffed at her concerned expression as her eyebrows scrunched. You went to walk away but she was too quick, hands squeezing your hips and pushing you back against the wall you had jumped toward in a bid to escape her first grasp. “Stop fucking walking away from me. When is it gonna end?” You just stared back in disbelief, unmoving in her strong grip, her glassy eyes mocking you, she doesn’t care, her actions had been the opposite of someone who had cared.

“You’re so fucking full of it Abby. You’re worried? Bite me, you don’t worry about anyone other than you.” You spat at her, the shock of your words causing her to loosen her grip around you enough for you to break free and begin storming away from her again.

“I- I just wanna talk. Please.”

“You had your chance to talk. You had so many fucking chances and you wasted them so don’t give me that shit. You wanna feel better about what you did and my forgiveness is the only thing that will do that. Too fucking bad Abby.” You don’t slow as you grit over your shoulder to her but neither does she, following your every movement only a step behind.

“Well if you can’t forgive me why are you still with me? Why do you sleep at mine every night? Why do you still say you love me back when I tell you I love you? What’s the fucking point of it?” You freeze, a choked sob catching in your throat as you look up to the ceiling to beg the tears to just stay in your eyes.

“Because I do love you Abby.” You mutter barely loud enough for her to hear. “How don’t you understand that?” You sound broken, like a shell of yourself.

“Make me understand.” You scoff and chuckle dryly at her as you shake your head.

“I don’t owe you that.” You continue walking again but this time she doesn’t follow, stuck in her place.

“I have patrol! I won’t be back until later.” She calls out to you.

“Thanks for the heads up!” You call back sarcastically. “This time.” You mutter under your breath as you storm further and further from Abby.

You don’t know why you ended up back at Abby’s room, it was so stupid, you couldn’t stand seeing her but her room was the only place that felt safe, you stared at the key that she had once slammed down in front of you as you refused to acknowledge her pleads to just talk, the memory making your blood run cold. It was the first time you had even answered her repeated pounds against your door, two weeks after she had returned, though you opening the door made absolutely no difference because it was like she wasn’t there at all. You had unlatched the door, so it opened a sliver before immediately walking away from it leaving her to hesitantly follow you inside. She watched as you sunk down onto your bed, staring at the wall opposite instead of sparing a glance towards her as she stood over you. She had just stared down at you, pleading with you silently to just look at her but you never did. She slammed the spare key to her room down on your bedside table before sighing and leaving disappointed for what was only the first time to come over the next two weeks. It became a routine, she’d knock, you’d unlock the door and walk away, she’d come in to desperately get you to reason with her but when you showed no signs of a change in your demeanour, she’d give up and leave you alone, letting herself out shamefully. She was just too good at leaving you.

When you had turned up at her door, using the key she had given you, she was stunned, almost so stunned she didn’t see your tear-streaked cheeks and red, glassy eyes but she did notice, she noticed and a lump formed in her throat that she desperately tried to swallow down as she just watched you. Even in her own room you barely acknowledged her only choosing to mutter a small ‘can I stay here tonight?’, the second she vigorously nodded her head you drifted towards her bed, collapsing onto it and immediately burying your face into the pillow to muffle your sobs. She had rubbed your back but when she tried to cuddle into you and wrap you in her embrace you pushed her away hard enough that she didn’t try again. You had gone back to hers everyday since then and the routine hadn’t changed from that point on though you had grown from hurt and beaten down to hostile and the tense atmosphere was painfully tangible. It remained the same as you let yourself into her room, knowing she would eventually come back from patrol later that day and you’d have to face her once again

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Abby felt completely dejected, she was tired and her adrenaline that had powered her through today was fleeting, she was panicking about Owen after seeing Danny’s body and hearing what Nora had told her, everything was backwards and knowing you wouldn’t be there as a comfort to her only made her feel worse as she turned the key to unlock her room. She knew you were here but that made no difference these days, even when you were here you weren’t here and that broke her.

“Hey.” Her voice was meek and cracked as she looked at you, standing in front of her with the same vacant expression you had worn for months, she couldn’t hold it in anymore, the dam broke and hot, salty tears began flowing down her cheeks as her choked sobs filled the quiet of the room.

“What’s wrong?” You had moved closer, your eyebrows knitted together in concern as you spoke softly, juxtaposing your harsh tone she had gotten used to, it only made her cry more which drew you in closer until your hand was on her shoulder and squeezing. “Abby what happened?”

“I- nothing, nothing. We just got ambushed on patrol, I think I’m just tired I don’t know.” You nodded but you were looking at her like you were expecting her to continue, you were coaxing the words out of her and she had no control. “Owen shot Danny and now he’s missing and I just don’t know what to do. Nothing’s the same anymore.”

“No it isn’t.” Your voice wasn’t as soft as it had been, it wasn’t mean but it wasn’t soft, she warily peeked at your face and the sight of it hardened once again caused another choked sob to rack through her body. She stepped towards you and dropped down to her knees as she wrapped her large arms around your waist and squeezed as she pressed her cheek into your stomach.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have left the way I did and if I could take it back I would but I can’t keep doing this, I miss you and I miss us, I need you, everything’s different I need us to be the same. I’m sorry.” Your hand came to her hair, stroking gently.

“Tell me where you went.”

“I- I can’t.” She sobbed more as your hand snatched itself away from her hair before you reached behind you and desperately tried to unclasp her from your waist. “No please, please don’t go. Please I can’t do this without you.”

“I don’t fucking understand Abby, why won’t you just tell me?”

“You won’t be able to look at me the same.”

“I can’t look at you the same now so what difference does it make?” Her eyes meet yours as she looks up at you from her place on the floor and the sight of her lip wobbling as her cheeks were red and tear-streaked almost made your resolve waiver but you couldn’t. You wished you could forget but you couldn’t.

“Please.” She begged but it fell on deaf ears.

“Let me go Abby.” She blew out a breath as her eyes clamped shut and she swallowed a sob, her arms loosened around you letting you break free from her grasp to practically run to the front door and leave. She didn’t watch you go from her position on the floor, she just sat and collapsed into a fit of sobs as her door slammed signalling your departure. You couldn’t keep it together once you had walked out of her room, everything felt like it was coming crashing down as you paced the halls. It wasn’t enough to leave Abby’s room, you still felt suffocated, you needed to get out of the stadium. You headed straight for the secret hole in the fence that only you and Abby knew about to make your escape and the second you emerged into the drizzly outside of Seattle you could feel your lungs filling with air that you desperately needed. You considered going back in but when you turned back, your lungs felt like they were constricting again and you ran in the complete opposite direction until your legs were tired and your lungs burned. You didn’t have a gun, or a knife, you were completely defenceless so when you heard the shrill cries of infected, you immediately looked for an entrance into any one of the buildings that surrounded you.

You spotted a window open just one story up at an old theatre and you sprinted towards it and up the stairs of the fire escape to climb through. Once you were inside, you shut the window softly and began making your way through what you assumed was the backstage area of the theatre, the red, velvet curtains called you towards them and as you stepped through you gasped at the sight of an auburn-haired girl sleeping on one of the chairs. She looked a couple years younger than you, nineteen or twenty you assumed, and despite the sleep her face still looked screwed up and tense. You edged closer to her, careful not to make any noise and when you saw her gun on the seat next to her you grabbed it, pointing it at her while kicking at her shoe. She stirred slightly and then her eyes flashed open revealing bright green eyes staring back at you in disbelief.

“Don’t scream. Who are you?”

tags: @emiliabby @liasxeatt @kawaiibreadbouquet-blog @tphmnv

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revrover · 2 years ago

Text

The Stranger - Pt. 2

Part One: The Stranger

Part Three

Pairing: Namor x Reader

Word Count: 8k (lol whoops)

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Language, PLOT

Summary: Namor isn’t the only one who has been searching for his general. Thanks to you, Namora’s life was saved -- but when your connection to the two strangers brings you face to face with a hostile group of government agents, you find yourself in the crossfire of a much bigger conflict.

A/N: OMG first and foremost thank you for being here, thank your for coming back, and thank you for reading. This has taken me a bit longer to post because I’ve been pouring over it every day for a month, trying to get it just right. Comments, feedback and reblogs mean THE WORLD to me, so feel free to show some love and as always please be kind!

***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!

There is a growing unrest inside you.

Days have passed since your encounter with Namor after saving the life of his general, Namora. Two mysterious strangers who have left your mind reeling with questions, unrelenting and unquenchable as a flame that dares to spread like wildfire, consuming your thoughts entirely.

You repeatedly play the memory over in your head with no rational way to explain what you witnessed; her blue skin, his superhuman strength; the curious metal that outfitted both of their armor; how they disappeared into the vast open ocean.

"Something on your mind?" A fruit vendor asks, snapping you back to reality. You stand in the middle of the bustling village marketplace, doing your best to orient yourself quickly.

“Your head is — how you say…? — in the clouds, yes?” The vendor asks in her best English, smiling politely at you as she stands next to her cart, eager for you to buy something.

"Is it that obvious?" You joke with a tired laugh. "Two, please."

You scoop up a pair of fresh mangos and hand the woman some change from your pocket. She kindly accepts it with a nod of appreciation. Carefully sliding the fruit into your bag, you return a nod of your own.

You continue to walk through the market, the damp air carrying an aroma of local cuisine and sweat fills your lungs. Weaving your way in and out of aisles created by vendor carts, you feel a sense of calm as you watch the locals interacting with one another. There's beauty to be found in their sense of community.

Typically, you would gather your needed food and supplies and then be on your way back home, but today as your mind wanders, so do your feet.

Meandering down another aisle, your thoughts drift back to Namor, specifically the morning you found him on your front porch. You can practically feel the warmth of that sunrise as you imagine its light illuminating his dark eyes. You picture the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth when you asked him if he would come back, a moment you hold onto tightly. The memory gives you optimism that you will see him again someday and hopefully have the opportunity to ask him more questions.

Lost in thought, you hardly notice a small crate sticking out a few inches further than other accompanying carts in the aisle. Tripping your foot as you walk by, it nearly tumbles you to the ground. You manage to catch your balance and your breath before face-planting into the dirt. Immediately turning to apologize, you find an elderly man seated behind the crate, his back leaning against the wagon behind him and his eyes shut.

The man is slender and his head bald, save for a few wisps of hair above his ears. Most of his body is covered by a knitted green poncho, well-worn and fraying along the hem. To both your relief and surprise, he seems completely undisturbed by your clumsy collision with his crate of goods. Unsure if he’s even awake, you reach down to help reset any items on the crate you may have displaced.

Your jaw drops slightly as you see the contents on display. Spread out on a velvet brown tablecloth sits a small assortment of beautiful books, scrolls, and other documents. Admiring them, you reach out and push back one of the scrolls, revealing a gorgeous hand-sketched portrait of the island.

“Did you draw this?” You ask, impressed by the skill of it.

“Mmm,” He hums, shaking his head, "But I made very good trade with the man who did.”

You find his answer odd, though slightly amusing, considering he never opened his eyes to see which piece you were referring to. As you browse the rest of the items, a particular book stands out to you. It’s different from the rest of the collection — small and bound in leather, although the leather itself is worn and brittle-looking. You pick it up and inspect it closer. The binding is loose, the pages aged and tattered.

“Careful with that one. Very old.” The elderly man says, his eyes remaining shut. “Nearly 400 years. Got it in a trade with a visiting merchant from our southeastern sister islands."

How does he even do that? You wonder as you start delicately flipping through the pages of the book. You make it about midway through when you open to a particular page that makes you freeze, your heart nearly jumping out of your throat. Your eyes widen as you bring the page closer to your face.

It’s a crude drawing — basic, two-dimensional, and very old like the man said, but the likeness is undeniable. Depicted is the figure of a man. He dawns a grand snake-like headpiece and is grasping a spear. His body is adorned with jade and other metals. Sharp ears. Winged ankles.

"Excuse me!” you ask the elderly man with an exasperated breath, practically jumping over the crate as you lean forward and shout, “These!" You flip the book around to show him the open page, pointing excessively at the picture and the glyphs below it. "What do these say?!"

Your voice is eager and desperate, emotions you hardly try to hide.

The man's left eye slowly squints open.

“Only few are still legible.” He says, shrugging.

“Okay, yes, but the ones you can read, what do they say?!” You plead.

He sighs, opening his other eye and leaning forward slightly to get a better look. After a moment, he leans back against the wagon and closes his eyes again.

"King. Serpent. God. Monster."

You hang on to each word he tells you. Turning the book back around, you bring it back up to your face for another closer inspection.

"How much?" You ask, ready to make a deal.

The elderly man cracks one eye open to look at you for a moment as he considers his price, then wordlessly points to your arm with a feeble finger. You follow his gaze down to the small beaded bracelet around your wrist — the last reminder of your life before coming to the island. You hold your arm up to him, making sure you understand correctly. He nods politely, and without hesitation, you untie the bracelet and toss it to him.

"Nice doing business!" He says with a wide grin as he holds up the bracelet. You are already nose-deep in the book as you turn on your heels, quickening your pace as you head home where you can study more carefully.

Maneuvering your way out of the market to the outskirts of the village, you hardly need your eyes to guide your feet home. You take advantage of the remaining daylight to examine the pages as you walk, turning page after page and scanning for any information about Namor and his people. There’s little there, the book seeming to be a very old, mingled account of island history and lore. Seeing as you are not a historian and certainly not a linguist, it’s difficult to decipher. Still, you do your best to piece together what you can from the pictures.

King. Serpent. God. Monster.

The sky begins to dim. You can hear the faint roar of waves as you near the coastline. It’s too dark to see much detail on the pages now, so you carefully tuck the book into your bag as you step over the trunks of palm trees. The path beneath your feet gradually turns from brush to sand, and soon you find yourself walking along the familiar stretch of beach that leads you home. You stare out into the darkness, listening to the rhythmic pattern of ocean waves and breathing in the salty evening air. The moon hovers above the water, burning brightly as countless stars paint the sky behind it.

You continue walking in the darkness, but there’s an uneasiness building in your gut the further you go. You should be nearing home by now, but no lanterns have come into view. You always light lanterns before heading into town. They burn for hours in your absence so, by the time you return, you have light to guide you. All you see now are shadows and silhouettes that dance against the tree line, and every sound and indiscernible movement has you on edge.

It’s not until you are nearly a stone's throw away that the bungalow materializes in the night. Your stomach twists as the wind blows by you, rustling your hair and causing the snuffed-out lanterns hanging from your porch to creak as they swing back and forth. You hear shuffling, and small beams of light sporadically shine through the cracks of lumber that make up the walls of your home.

There is someone inside.

An alarm goes off in your head, screaming at you to get out. As quietly as possible, you begin backing away. Eyes fixed on the bungalow, you take one step back. Then another. Then another. Then — thud.

Your stomach flips and your throat tightens. While you pray you’ve miscalculated and miraculously made it to the tree line in three short steps instead of thirty, you feel the unmistakable presence of a body directly behind you.

“Going somewhere?” A deep voice growls menacingly. It belongs to a man, his tone gruff, although you can’t quite make out his accent. You do, however, feel the blood drain from your face as you slowly turn your head, finding what is quite possibly the largest human being you have ever seen. Dressed in black military-grade tactical gear and armed with enough ammo and firepower to take on a small army, you know there is no fucking way you are getting away from this guy.

The man grabs your arm and forcefully drags you toward the bungalow. Once up the stairs, he pushes you inside and releases his grasp. You rub your arm and look up to find another man standing in your kitchen, his back turned away from you as he stands hunched over your table. He’s dressed in similar tactical gear and has a walkie-talkie hooked to his belt. A lantern burns next to him as he seems to be pouring over some sort of map.

“Sir,” the man behind you bellows.

The man at the table straightens his posture and turns around to face you both. His hair is buzzed and his face is stubbly, with a thick prominent mustache that stretches across his upper lip. He seems a bit older, and by the ‘sir’ formality, you are fairly confident he is in charge.

“Ah, we were wondering when you would be back.” He says in a sly tone, his accent American.

“Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?” You respond in anger to the unwelcome visitor.

The man takes a sweeping look around the place, then his eyes come back to you.

“I think we can agree that “house” is a bit of a loose term.” He responds with sarcasm, a knowing look on his face. You continue to stare him down, unresponsive to his quip. The man loosens his shoulders and smiles at you. “Where are my manners? Agent Barrett.” He reaches his hand out, offering to shake yours.

You don’t move a muscle.

There is an awkward moment of silence, then Agent Barrett’s hand retreats. He turns, beginning to pace around your tiny kitchen. The room is in rougher shape than usual, clearly ransacked by whatever search was conducted before your arrival. The agent picks up a small roll of gauze from off the counter and holds it up.

“Tell me,” he says, inspecting the bandage material closely, “have you had any visitors recently?” His gaze quickly flicks over to you, an eyebrow raised.

Your pulse quickens as your blood turns to ice. Your mind immediately flashes to Namora floating wounded in the water; to Namor breaking down your door; to the two of them disappearing into the night. You put on your best poker face and shake your head.

“There’s no one around here for miles,” you explain, trying to be as convincing as possible. “You should try more inland towards the village. Most tourists, if any, stick closer to town or retreat to the far side of the island where—“

“Oh, she’s no tourist.” Agent Barrett chuckles, cutting you off. It feels insulting as if your suggestion were so preposterous it was borderline humorous.

She. He is looking for Namora.

Setting the gauze down next to the sink, Agent Barrett turns and walks over to you.

“You’re certain you haven’t seen anybody unusual around here in the past few days?”

He’s standing much closer now. Something about him makes your skin crawl. You eye the gun strapped to his hip and doubt it is for self-defense. Again, you shake your head.

Barrett sighs and gives you a disappointed smile.

“Okay.” He says softly while nodding his head. He backs away from you as the room lingers in silence. You allow yourself to take a breath, but the relief is short-lived. “Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”

On Barrett’s cue, the large man behind you grabs your shoulder and kicks the back of your legs, dropping you hard to your knees. With his free hand, he yanks the bag off your other shoulder and tosses it to another man who emerges from the doorway to your bedroom. He catches the bag and immediately starts rummaging through it.

“Hey—HEY!” You shout, “What the hell are you—“

“A woman!” Barrett yells. “Pale blue skin. Very skilled swimmer. Four days ago, she single-handedly took down three UN-sanctioned vessels in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic! Three! Now where I’m from,” he crouches down to your level, aggressively getting in your face as he drops his voice lower, “that’s what we call an act of terrorism.”

Adrenaline overtakes your body as you feel your heart beat so intensely it threatens to break right out of your chest. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Barrett’s henchman searches your bag. He pulls out the mangos and tosses them on the floor. Then, he grabs the old leather-bound book. Turning it over in his hand, he looks at it for a moment and tucks it into his belt.

“She was wounded,” Barrett continues, calling your attention back to him, “and our intelligence indicates she washed up somewhere along this shoreline. That's where her trail goes cold. And as you said, there's no one around here for miles. No one, except you."

His implication is obvious.

“This woman, where is she?” He makes a last-ditch effort to convey a friendly tone, but you can hear his patience dwindling. "And please don't make me ask again."

You stare at him coldly, lips sealed together. You’re not telling this man a damn thing.

"Mmmm," is all he grunts, his eyes dropping to the ground. He heaves a heavy sigh as he pushes against his knees to stand up. Once on his feet, Agent Barrett stares at you for another moment before nodding his head to the agent behind you. The next thing you know, you are suddenly being pulled up by your hair, the man’s grip tight against the back of your neck as he turns and pushes you out the door.

Your hands clamor to his as you struggle against him to relieve the painful tension pulling on your scalp, attempting to release his grip on you. But the man is too strong and drags you down the stairs of your porch with ease. You make it a few meters down the shore when he shoves you down to your knees. Your legs make divots in the sand as your hands catch the rest of your body’s momentum. Hunched over, your knees and palms sting from the sand's friction.

You immediately tense up as you feel a gun press against your head, the cool metal barrel hungry to fire. Hearing footsteps approaching behind, you quickly swallow your fear to maintain composure. Agent Barrett walks past, turning to position himself directly in front of you again — only this time, he doesn’t crouch down to your level.

“Look at me.” He demands as he towers over you. His body language makes it clear who is in control. In the only act of defiance you have left in your arsenal, you keep your gaze laser-focused on the water straight ahead of you, refusing to give in to his instruction. Growing impatient, Barrett roughly grabs your chin. He clasps it tightly as he yanks your jaw upward, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“You’re going to tell me about your friend, and you’re going to tell me where she is, right now," he growls.

You stare at him, disdain in your eyes. You momentarily scan your surroundings and count nearly twenty other men on the beach now. It’s enough to make your gaze and your heart sink straight to the ground.

Even if you wanted to tell him, you don't have the answers Barrett is looking for. His face hardens as your lack of cooperation and unwillingness to talk becomes clearer and clearer. Loosening his grip and dropping your chin, Agent Barrett looks at the agent next to you.

“Do it,” he orders, leaving you without another word as he walks back up the beach toward the bungalow.

The gun presses even harder against your temple and you hear the irrefutable sound of it being cocked as a bullet rolls into the chamber. Your heart is heavy as your eyes begin to well with tears. You stare out at the ocean, the night swallowing the horizon save it for the piercing glow of the moon that cuts its way through the sky down to Earth. It’s a better view than most get in their final moments, you suppose. For that, you consider yourself lucky.

Time seems suspended as you feel the ocean breeze blow past you, pouring over your skin and filling your lungs as you deeply inhale these final moments. You savor the way the salty air envelops you like the comforting embrace of an old friend. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try fighting back the tears. Despite your best efforts, one single drop escapes, racing down your cheek as you accept your fate.

Zzzzziiinnng!

Where you expect to hear the split-second ring of a gun firing before getting your brain blasted out the side of your skull, you instead hear a high-pitched whistling through the air and the unmistakable slice of a blade penetrating flesh. The weight of the gun barrel against your head slides limply away, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground next to you.

Your eyes shoot open. You turn to see your executioner now lying dead on his back with a spear pelted through his chest. Your eyes widen in fear, then settle on the spear itself. A spear you recognize — because it’s the same one that was held to your throat only a few days earlier.

Namor.

He's here. Desperately your eyes search the ocean line, scouring the darkness for him.

"We're under attack!" Someone yells frantically from behind you. It is one of Barrett’s men.

"Open Fire! Open fire!" Another one shouts.

You immediately abandon your search for Namor, hitting the deck and covering your head as dueling bullets and spears fly over you. Hearing anguished cries from both sides, you peek out from over your arm and watch in horror as an agent a few meters away looks down at their dart-ridden chest. They drop to their knees, then fall forward onto their face.

Your head whirls around at the sound of another spear making contact with a body and dropping it to the ground. This agent is about ten meters away from you, and while your first instinct is to get the hell out of there — run as far as you can as fast as you can — you notice your little leather-bound book tucked into the belt of the lifeless body.

You tell yourself to leave it. You plead with yourself to leave it.

“Damn it,” you mutter in frustration to yourself. You are getting that book.

Before you can give it another thought, you are already army-crawling through the sand. The sound of gunfire rings in your ears as more weapons return their fire. You scramble to the body, staying low to the ground on your chest and abdomen. Once there, you reach out and grab the book, wrangling it free from the deceased man's belt. You shove it into your waistband when something behind you explodes, causing you to duck your head and shield yourself with your arms.

The battle is deafening and disorienting. The mix of adrenaline and shock threatens to override your entire system as you try to maintain your focus.

Keep moving, you tell yourself.

You lift your head, ready to run, but your breath catches and you freeze. Mere inches from your face, you find yourself staring at someone’s feet and feel the presence of their body hovering over you. You brush the stinging sand out of your eyes, pleading in your mind that this is not the end. Not now. As your vision sharpens, you feel a surge of hope. There in front of you are two winged ankles.

Your eyes shoot up. Standing above you, illuminated by the light of the moon and the rapid sparks of machine guns firing, is Namor.

He looks down at you, his stare intense as his nostrils flare and his chest rises and falls with each breath. Gripping the hilt of the spear, he effortlessly removes it from the body next to you with one pull, his eyes never leaving yours. The ongoing battle on the beach doesn’t deter his attention from you in the slightest. From behind him, a handful of armed warriors with pale blue skin come storming out of the ocean.

“Namora!” He calls, and one warrior immediately splits off from the group. While the others continue to push the team of agents to the far side of the beach, the general comes to Namor’s side and your eyes widen as you take her in. Almost unrecognizable from when you first met her, Namora is a sight to behold. Instead of weak and wounded, she now stands strong and commanding, fully outfitted in her armor of woven jade and metal. Dazzling lionfish spines adorn her head and neck, and she wears the same mesh apparatus over her nose and mouth as before. You are astounded when you squint and barely see a seam remaining where you had stitched her up.

“K'uk'ulkan.” She answers, standing at attention.

Namor’s eyes are still fixed on you. He hands the retrieved spear to Namora and then nods in your direction.

You become nervous, suddenly uncertain if the pair of them have come to you as friend or foe, watching as Namora tightens her grip around the weapon.

“Go.” Namor urges, and a wave of relief washes over you. Friend.

“Where are my goddamn reinforcements?!!” You hear someone shout into a walkie-talkie. You recognize the voice as Agent Barrett's.

“Go NOW,” Namor commands, his eyes flicking up in Barrett’s direction. The expression on his face becomes menacing as he strides past you, his muscles rigid and his pace purposeful. He pulls his own spear out of the larger agent who nearly executed you as he walks past the body, arming himself.

Without hesitation, Namora strides forward and links her arm under your shoulder, pulling you up to your feet and yanking you quickly toward the trees. Before you can reach them, however, more men dressed in black combat gear come pouring out of the thick foliage, ready to attack.

Three surround you as the others rush to provide relief further down the beach. Instead of guns, these agents come armed with batons and other blunt weapons. Namora whips you back behind her, placing herself between you and the approaching enemy. She walks toward the agents, rotating her spear in her hand. You’re surprised by how relaxed her posture is as she waits for the men, each one at least twice her size, to make the first move.

The agent to her right makes the first advance, lunging forward at Namora. She meets him with speed and ferocity, quickly sidestepping him only to grab hold of his shoulders. She uses them as an anchor to whirl herself around him, gracefully landing and her feet and then lodging her spear into his back. The man cries out in pain, but Namora quickly delivers the final blow as she twists the spear in deeper and shoves it upward toward his lungs.

No sooner does his body hit the ground when the two other men charge at her. Like a beautifully choreographed dance, Namora drops to her knees, sliding across the sand between them to duck under their attacks. As she does so, she nimbly summersaults back onto her feet and turns one hundred and eighty degrees. Back on the attack, she runs hard at them. You watch as Namora delivers a combination of charged punches to one agent, then springs back to avoid the swing of the baton from the other. To counter the move, she kicks the man above the kneecap with so much power it sends his whole leg backward and brings him to his knees. She grabs the sides of his head with both of her hands, thrusting it down hard against her knee. You feel the grisly sound of blunt broken bone deep in your core as his skull makes contact.

As the man’s head reels backward, blood pouring from his face, Namora seamlessly transitions between her two opponents, avoiding another attack from the third agent she had previously deflected with punches. Her attention back on him, she trades blows as they fight in more hand-to-hand combat. Between kicks, punches, and counter-punches, Namora strategically inches herself backward until she’s practically standing on top of the first body she dropped. Baiting her current opponent forward, she taunts him with the tilt of her head, exaggerated by her headpiece. It works like a charm. He charges at her, and swooping under him, she wraps around his chest and pulls him over the top of her, flipping him onto his back. In one calculated motion, she pulls her spear from the body of the first agent which is now easily within reaching distance, and drives it into the second.

It all plays out in front of you so quickly when the third agent with the broken nose — well, broken face, really — groans as he gets himself up, ready to have another go at Namora. She engages, but as she moves towards him you see a fourth man emerge from the trees, raising a gun to shoot.

“LOOK OUT!” You yell to warn her, but pure instinct has your feet sprinting forward to stop him.

You don’t process any thought or consider any tactic, you just hurl yourself at him. The two of you collide, crashing to the ground with all the power and momentum you can muster. You scramble for his gun and manage to knock it away, but he barrels you over him and slams your back against the ground. The impact forces the air out of your lungs, temporarily paralyzing you as you struggle for breath. The agent straddles your body, putting more pressure on your chest as he pulls a knife from his hip. With all your strength, you fight to hold his arm back. He breaks through your grasp and takes a swipe at you, but reflexively you deflect it away with your hand. The knife slices open your palm and you cry out as you try to continue pushing his arms back.

When he raises his blade again, a blur of orange lionfish spines come streaking across as Namora flies over the back of the agent and yanks him off of you. They tumble across the sand, but she quickly gains the upper hand by entangling him in a headlock. Clutching your injured hand and still struggling for oxygen, you look on as she tightens her grip around the man’s neck and then abruptly cracks it to the side.

The sound makes you sick to your stomach, but you also feel a sense of relief. And gratitude. Your chest heaves as you finally start to catch your breath, your entire body buzzing. You turn to see the dead agents Namora has so quickly disposed of, their bodies dispersed across the sand. She unwraps herself from her most recent kill and makes her way to you with haste.

As she reaches you, you hear the chaos and fighting continue further down the beach. Then, the faint sound of a helicopter approaching. Barrett’s reinforcements.

“There are too many of them,” you say in distress as you witness more agents pour out onto the sand to fight Namor’s warriors. Even if each one had Namora’s four-to-one kill ratio, they are still outnumbered. As the chopper blades get louder, Namora looks at you intensely, reaching out her hand.

“Come,” she insists.

She’s gotten you this far. You grasp her hand without hesitation and she pulls you to your feet. You edge closer to the tree line where you hope safety and concealment await you, but as you reach the lush landscape something pricks your ears. It’s not gunfire. It’s not the chopper.

Namora tugs your arm as she tries to usher you into the trees, but your focus is elsewhere. A faint, melodic breeze moves past you like a ghost, causing your mind to become hazy. As the sound grows louder, an indescribable melody rings in your ears that is both euphoric and dreadful. You don’t even notice the tension of Namora’s grip on your hand increase as your feet redirect you toward the water, compelled by its call.

“No!” Namora yells at you as she yanks your arm. The force of it snaps your attention back for a moment, and you watch as the agents who line the beach suddenly cease fighting and instead walk undeterred paths straight into the water. Terror fills you as they wade further and further out, the water coming up to their knees, then their hips, then their chests, until they are completely submerged underneath.

You shoot a glance to Namora, petrified and confused. Whatever is happening, she seems unaffected. Your thoughts and vision begin to cloud again, and you feel like someone else is controlling your body as the ocean summons you along with the others. Every part of you feels entranced by the chorus of voices in the air as their notes overwhelm your senses and leave you disoriented. Namora grabs you, practically throwing you over her shoulder as she runs into the trees. You become hard to carry, so she pulls you both into the cove of a sheltered root system at the edge of the foliage. Huddling next to you, Namora tightly wraps her arms around your head to cover your ears with her hands.

Pupils dilated, you desperately try to hold onto any shred of active consciousness before giving in entirely to the song. Your mind becomes infiltrated by it and begins to process what you see in pieces; men in the water, drowning themselves; gunfire raining down from the night sky; Namor, spear in hand, leaping into the air, taking impossible strides toward a chopper; the chopper spinning out of control.

You feel the heat against your face as the chopper crashes to the ground, exploding on impact. The last thing you remember seeing is Namor in the distance, standing on the sand. Illuminated by the raging inferno that burns behind him from the destroyed chopper, he is fierce, incredible, and terrifying.

A god. A monster.

The haunting chorus melody continues to consume your mind. Even with Namora’s help, you feel your body shift as it involuntarily attempts to get up. Namora squeezes her palms over your ears with even more strength and restrains your movements.

"No." She whispers fiercely.

You squeeze your eyes shut, covering your hands over Namora's as tightly as possible. Blood pours from your hand down hers, trickling onto your shoulder. The noise is too much, and as you feel yourself begin to scream, everything goes black.

——

Your feet drag through the cool sand.

That’s the first thing you see when you finally become conscious again. Your head hangs low in front of you, pounding as it bobs up and down. It’s still dark out, but you find your home lit up by more lanterns as you approach the pathway to your porch.

You glance to your right and left, discovering you are being assisted by two people on either side of you — Namora on your right and a much taller blue-skinned man on your left. His shoulders are wide and his head is outfitted with an armored hammerhead skull. Arms slung around both of their necks, your body is in a state of pure exhaustion as they get you up the stairs to the door.

As you start to step with your own feet, they are alerted by your recovered consciousness. Quickly, the man unhooks your arm from around him, steadying you against Namora. He retreats as you find yourself gaining feeling back in your body. Namora patiently waits for you to get your bearings, and when you do she opens the front door for you, ushering you to go inside. You follow her instruction, and there waiting for you in the bungalow is Namor.

Namor stands against your kitchen counter, the same place you stood when he first came crashing into your home. His arms are folded across his broad chest. Although his head is down, his eyes are flicked upward toward you, watching your every move. The flame of a lantern on the table glints off his irises, illuminating the dark stare that hovers just below his furrowed brow.

“Please, sit.” He says with a stern voice, his open palm gesturing toward a chair at the table.

As you sit down, you hear the front door close behind you.

Silence.

"Those men," he finally says, pushing himself away from the counter as he stands up straighter, “they were seeking information?"

You only nod, afraid to say too much.

“It’s safe to speak here. I’ve made sure of it.” He promises, sensing your reluctance to engage in conversation.

“They wanted to know about Namora." You answer cautiously.

Namor's expression grows even more serious. He subtly shifts his weight from side to side before settling back into the center of his powerful stance.

"And even with your life on the line, you said nothing."

You are unsure if he is making a statement or a question.

"Why?" He asks through a clenched jaw.

"Why?" You repeat back to him, caught off guard by the question. "Does it matter why?"

"Yes,” Namor says directly, raising his eyebrows. “Because I need to know if I put my spear through the right person.”

The seriousness of his statement hits you like a brick. Your mind flashes back to the beach, you on your knees with a gun to your head as Namor’s spear plows its way through the man next to you. How easily, you wonder, could he have changed his aim by just a few degrees if you had decided to open your mouth and spill what little information you did know to those men?

As you think about it, you also begin to ask yourself why. Why did you keep your mouth shut? Why did you help Namor and his people?

You take a deep breath as you consider your reasons, then lift your gaze to him.

“You barged into my home, broke down my door, and threatened my life. But even then, the motives behind your actions were clear — the love and concern for your people. These men,” your eyes trail away as you feel a wave of anger build up inside, "these men were driven by self-interest and self-preservation. It wasn’t hard to choose a side.”

His face is stoic as he listens to your answer.

“Plus,” you add, “I promised you I wouldn’t say anything. Twice.”

Namor looks at you the same way he did the night you met him. The look that tells you he is debating whether or not you are telling the truth. You are a witness testifying on the stand, and Namor is your judge and jury.

“Well, that is twice now you have saved my people. Again you have my gratitude." He says with a sigh, his expression softening.

You give a small smile, but it disappears when an unrelenting ache pounds inside your head, pulling you out of the moment. You reach up to rub your temple and suddenly feel a surge of pain coming from your hand, instantly reminding you of the injury you sustained from your face off against one of the agents on the beach.

“Shit,” You exclaim, pulling your cut, bloodied palm away from your face and looking at it.

"Here," Namor says, grabbing the roll of gauze off your kitchen counter as he moves in your direction. Pulling up a chair, he sits down directly in front of you so your knees are practically touching. He gestures for your hand. “May I?"

You consider his offer as you stare at the thick veins protruding from his forearm, binding themselves to his defined muscles like vines around a tree. Eyes darting back up to his, you cautiously nod your head to accept his help while simultaneously extending your arm to him.

Namor takes your injured hand gently in his own, cradling it as if it could shatter into a million pieces. Amazed by how his hand dwarfs yours, you feel a surge of energy in your chest when his thumb begins to rub along your wrist. He takes the roll of gauze and begins carefully wrapping it around your palm.

Calmly maneuvering each layer of the bandage, Namor's brow furrows ever so slightly as he slips deeper into a state of concentration. His grasp is firm but gentle, rotating your hand in tandem with the bandage and you take comfort in his touch.

Studying his face, you admire each feature and detail closely. You see the traces of salt against the rich tones of his skin, and soon your willpower gives way to a desire slowly being coaxed inside you as you allow your eyes to trail from his face to his broad shoulders, down his muscular biceps, and finally to his strong hands as they work to take care of you.

Namor begins humming softly as he continues wrapping your hand. There's a warm timbre in his voice that resonates in your ears, drawing your gaze back up to his face.

"That song..." your voice trails off as you grow more entranced by it, unable to find the words to describe its intoxicating melody. But a surge of fear runs through you as you recall another tune, the one from the beach, its haunting cadence prickling the back of your mind.

"My people have many songs," Namor says in a tone equally rich to his humming, calming you instantly. "Each one with a meaning and purpose."

"What is the purpose of that one?" You ask quietly.

Namor’s hands stop as his eyes wander up to yours.

"It's a lullaby, meant to bring the soul peace." His eyes flutter back down as he resumes wrapping the bandage around your hand. "My mother would sing it to me when I was a child."

"It's beautiful." You say reverently.

A smile spreads across Namor's face, but there's a hint of sadness in it. He leans down to your hand and you can feel your heart beat faster as his mouth hovers mere inches above your skin. The warmth of his breath rushes against your wrist, sending shivers through you. With great care, he tears the gauze with his teeth before tucking the loose end into a fold of the bandage.

"It is," he agrees, staring down at your hand which he now holds carefully between his own. "Especially in a world where peace is scarcely found."

His voice is gentle, but there is a bitterness brewing beneath the statement.

"I have spent my life ensuring peace for my people. Protecting it. Preserving it."

Namor looks back up at you, letting go of your hand as he sits up straighter in his chair. The room is quiet as his words sink in and you drop your gaze to think. As you do so, your good free hand migrates to the leather book still tucked in your waistband, your fingers fiddling with the binding.

“What is it?” Namor asks, snapping your eyes back up to his. You swallow nervously, unsure if you should share what is on your mind. Then again, you may not get another opportunity.

Slowly, you pull the book out from against your side, opening it to its marked page before pushing it across the table to him.

“You say you’ve spent your entire life protecting your people.” You preface, hesitating a moment before asking your question. “Is that... you?"

Namor stares at the book in front of him, tracing the outline of his likeness delicately on the open page with his fingertips.

"A version of me." He answers.

"How...." you rub your temple as you do the unnecessary math in your head, already knowing the hundreds of years difference between the book and the man in front of you doesn't add up. "How is that even possible? That book is centuries old, I mean," you are at a loss trying to wrap your head around it all, coming up short with any logical explanation, “who are you?"

Namor looks up at you, then his gaze descends back onto the open book. He gives a sad smirk.

“You are one of very few to ever ask who I am instead of what I am." He strokes his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. "The answer to neither of which will be found in your book." He says, shutting it and sliding it back toward you. You reach for it, only he doesn’t take his hand off the leather cover right away.

"You must always be weary of your authors.” He warns. “The preservation of one's opinion over time does not make it fact, no matter how long ago it was written."

He relinquishes his hold, you finish sliding the book back to your side of the table. Namor searches your face as his eyebrows pull closer together, a rare look of vulnerability in his eyes.

"I wear the mantle of king and am the protector of my people.” He begins. “They are my responsibility by birthright, a charge I’ve dedicated my entire life to upholding.”

Namor proceeds to tell you the story of his people — how they were driven from their home by Spanish conquistadors, and how their gods provided a remedy for a foreign disease that led them to seek sanctuary in the ocean itself. He explains that his mother was among them, pregnant with Namor at the time, and how the remedy herb altered his very being in the womb. Mutant is the word he uses, the reason for his strength and abilities, as well as his slow aging. He then describes the horrors he had seen upon returning his mother’s body to the surface world after her death, and the vow he took to keep outsiders away from his people and his beloved city he calls Talokan.

"So you see," he says leaning forward as he places his forearms on his knees, his face even closer to yours now, "I am no god. Nor am I a man. What I am is a leader who loves his people. If that makes me a monster, so be it. I will see the world burn before I subject my people to its sins and savagery.”

It’s a lot to take in. You study Namor’s expression as his stare now lingers away from you, his mind somewhere in the past. You can’t even begin to comprehend all that he has seen or experienced, but you do feel a clearer understanding of why he is the way he is. Filled with compassion for him, you cautiously reach up and cradle his face with your non-bandaged hand.

"You're not a monster." You reassure him gently.

This brings Namor’s attention back to you immediately, his dark eyes searching your face earnestly as he takes a deep breath through his nose. The bristles of his scruff are rough against your palm, creating a warm friction when he leans into your touch. Namor closes his eyes and lets out a sigh so deep it's as if he's releasing a weight from his shoulders, one that he has been carrying for far too long. His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing it deeper against his cheek.

“K’uk’ulkan,” a voice calls from behind you. You drop your hand back down to your lap as Namor glances over your shoulder. The man with the metal hammerhead skull stands at attention in the front doorway, his body so large it consumes the space entirely. Namor nods at him, then looks back at you.

"It's time," he says, pushing himself up to his feet. “More men will be coming. Namora is outside — collect what you need quickly, she will take you to a safe place.”

The realization sets in, and your heart sinks. Your home is no longer safe and you can’t stay here.

Namor offers you his hand, helping you out of your chair and onto your feet. In doing so, he pulls you into him and tucks his hand delicately under your chin. He’s impossibly close as he tilts your face upward toward his own.

"I am sorry." He whispers, a soft and apologetic tone in his voice. He gives you a remorseful look, but all you can think about is how little space currently exists between his lips and yours. Namor’s gaze flutters down from your eyes to your mouth, but the moment is fleeting as he drops his hand from your chin and takes a step back.

“Go.” He says, encouraging you to get your things. It’s his last word before walking past you and exiting out the front door.

Left alone in the empty bungalow, you make your way over to your bag still on the floor from earlier that evening. You take it and march into your room, grabbing some clothes, your toothbrush, and other small essentials. You don't have much in terms of possessions in the first place, so it doesn’t take long for you to collect what you need.

As you exit your bedroom, you get ready to leave when you look over at the small book on your table. Namor insisted it held no answers for you, but you go to retrieve it anyway, stuffing it in your bag along with the rest of your belongings.

You take one last look around your home, once an unfamiliar broken place that over time became your haven and sanctuary. It breaks your heart to leave, but you know you must.

“Thank you,” you quietly whisper to the room, hoping in some way its energy or spirit or anything can hear you. You make your final exit, walking out to the front porch just as the dawn is starting to break over the horizon. Warm hues cast shadows of orange and red across the island, and you breathe in the early morning air. As you look out across the beach, you are surprised by what little evidence remains of the night’s events. No bodies. No fires. Just large divots in the sand and some smoke along the tree line from a few singed palms.

Namora is standing at the edge of the pathway leading to your porch, waiting for you. Descending the stairs, nerves prompt you to tighten your grip on the shoulder strap of your bag as you brace yourself for the unknown.

“I’m ready,” you say when you reach her.

Namora looks at you seriously, then nods her head. Reaching up to her face, she carefully removes the apparatus from over her nose and mouth. It is the first time you have seen her whole face, unobstructed by the peculiar covering. She’s just as striking without it, and you notice a beautiful jade ring pierced through her septum, echoing Namor’s. She turns the mask in her hand and guides it onto your face, sealing it against your skin.

“Come,” she tells you, turning toward the ocean.

You take one last look back at your home, then fall into stride behind Namora as the two of you walk into the water.

-- -- --

Tag List (I think this is how you do it? Sorry if not, still figuring this whole Tumblr-thing out): @looneylikesbooks @omgsuperstarg @chixkencxrry @vainillasmil157 @demoiseller @sodonuthideout @shoutaaizawas @stany0url0calwh0res111 @hjjks @duckwithsunglasses

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gatorbites-imagines · 11 months ago

Note

Some paz vizsla x sith male reader?

Paz Vizsla x Sith male reader

Headcanons

Because of my love for fanfic and the Kotor games, theres a lot of headcanosn in this. I will find a way to involve Revan when I can, so he’s also there, in the background. Theres also a single Revan x Canderous mention.

Theres so much about Kotor in this, it really took a life of its own, so I hope you enjoy.

I missed writing star wars so bad, can yall tell?

First of all, being Sith doesn’t immediately make you evil. It just means you follow a specific religious groups way of teaching and practice their rituals to some extent. This means you use the dark side, and have nothing against harming others to reach a goal.

You aren’t as power hungry as other sith in this time, and you aren’t under Palpatine’s thumb. Far from it actually. The dark side is to some extent fueled by your hate for the empire and anyone involved with it, as you were once a jedi youngling when the purging happened.

You were a padawan at the time, and your master had always been very interested in holocrons and the past. Their most prized possession was the holocron of Darth Revan, or one of his many holocrons that had been left all over the galaxy.

So, after you saw them gunned down by the clonetroopers you thought you could trust, you ran, taking an escape pod to get as far away as possible. It just turns out you had been carrying Revan’s holocron in your bag at the time, and after landing on a smaller less populated planet, you had hidden away in its vast cave system.

You feared going mad for a while, as you were just a padawan, one who had lost everything. You were almost consumed by this anger and rage, so uncontrollable as you cracked at the edges and fell.

Revan’s force presence must have felt this inside the holocron, as he appeared before you, and guided you through it, keeping you from completely shattering your mind and becoming a beast hellbent on revenge.

From then on, Revan became your new master, leading you around the galaxy to find his other holocrons and artifacts as he taught you everything he knew, and to the best of his ability.

He was kinder than any sith you had ever heard of or met, and he taught you a lot about the sith empire and how not all sith had been power hungry madmen, that before the rule of two, they had been more on the stable side, to a certain extent.

He never claimed they were good people, but you didn’t need that, you appreciated his honesty. Along these journeys, you even found holocrons of some of the other sith of his like, like Malak, who was Revans old friend.

Malak hadn’t been happy about you in the beginning, but he had ended up begrudgingly taking some kind of master role to you, almost like a standoffish uncle. But thanks to their training you are able to stay completely hidden from the empire, and live the life you want to live.

You go where the force leads you, which just so happens to be places that Revan and other great sith of made themselves at home in the past. You had almost started cheering and singing when you found what some would call the tomb of Darth Nihilus, much to your masters embarrassment, as Malak looked at Revan with a lifted brow.

Your interest in the past had been something you had picked up from your first master as a padawan, and it stayed. It was something Revan had to accept as his force ghost watched you fanboy over a mummified hand of Darth Sion, or leftover notes left over by Darth Malgus on saber forms.

Your greatest achievement was your helmet. Or rather, your master’s old helmet. Palpatine had pretty much ransacked the jedi temples after culling them all, stealing whatever he wanted, and the jedi had owned Revan’s helmet for many years, locked away far away from prying eyes.

With your master, and uncle-masters help, you were able to sneak in and steal it right back, taking it from right under Palpatine and Vader’s noses. The helmet barely looked like a helmet with how old and worn it was, but the power inside it made it clear. It was Revan’s helmet.

Revan had gifted it to you, almost beaming as you teared up at the trust he seemed to put in you. You were sith alright, and your emotions were what fueled you, and your love for your master and his love for you was the strongest there could be between family.

You were able to create a new helmet, using what was left of Revan’s and other materials, one of those materials being Beskar you stole from the empire. You even painted in similarly to Revan but added some of your own touches.

Little did you know, this helmet is what caught your future lovers attention first. Mandalorians love a strong partner, and those that follow the creed love some good armor, so Paz couldn’t keep his eyes off you when he saw you the first time.

You pretty much just bleed raw power into the air around you, letting it swirl around you like a second armor and letting everyone around know you were a possible threat if crossed. That was the kinda person that had Paz sweating and his blood pumping.

You would meet because you found yourself on the same planet as the covert hes with, hunting down something left by Canderous ordo, some piece of armor, like a pauldron he had left behind for Revan as some kind of marriage declaration.

Its after finding these pauldrons that you meet Paz, and some of the other older members of the covert. Apparently, words of a guy in scary black and red armor skulking around was enough to have them weary.

In the beginning they might think your Mandalorian, from the style of your armor and the new unpainted pauldrons you have added to your armor, making them hesitate, but that moment of hesitation if all you need to launch an attack.

You don’t kill any of them, wouldn’t want too, but by the force do you kick their ass, another thing that has Paz feeling hot under all that armor. He almost wants to drop to his knees to say the marriage vows right then and there when you fling him over your head using one hand, the other reflecting blaster bolts with little difficulty.

What can he say, mandalorians fall hard and they fall fast, blame it on living such dangerous and hard lives. So, when he sees you aren’t actually trying to kill them, Paz hopes there’s a chance you might stick around.

You end up getting away, ignoring the cackling of your master and the glowering of your uncle-master. The tables turn when Malak starts mentioning Ordo and the love declaration through the pauldrons, leaving your master quiet and mumbly as Malak smirks. They are definitely the reason you don’t fear the sith of old as much anymore.

Paz grieves a little as he doesn’t see you again for a while, even though he tries to keep an ear and eye out for you in your black and red armor and that flexibility that has him gripping the wall when he thinks about it too hard.

In the end its Ragnar, Paz’s son, that brings you before them again. He had ended up in some trouble, and the force had almost screamed for you to help him. Listening to the force was what you did, so you helped the helmet wearing kid out.

Ragnar was smart, and had heard his dads dreamy mumblings and the other mandalorians teasing, so he could immediately tell who you were. One way or another, and though it’s extremely against the rules, he gets you to where the covert is hiding.

Paz shows up and starts worrying about Ragnar, cuz he loves his son and doesn’t wanna see him hurt, and when he hears its you who saved him, he starts feeling hot under the armor again.

On the insistence of the force, you stick around the covert. Paz takes the time to go about romancing like mandalorians do, by peacocking and challenging you to spars. He never wins, not even the ones where you don’t use the force.

Its humorous to see that large hulking back being wrestled to the ground by you, or thrown around like he weighs nothing. You can tell how he feels about you, but you fear acting on it, even though Revan keeps bugging you to do so, much to Malaks annoyance.

In the end you two end up getting together like how many mandalorians do or did. During a fight. Things were getting tough, and a couple of your allies had gotten hurt, even Paz was down for the count.

You needed him up and at em though, so you had reached down and pulled him into a keldabe kiss, pressing your helmeted foreheads together and told him if he got out of this alive, you’d let him take you on a date.

That immediately had him standing, even though his leg wanted to buckle from a stab wound. The enemy were taken out in record time.

Your first date goes a little awkwardly, as neither of you actually have any experience dating. You spending all your life as a jedi and then sith, and Paz being part of a pretty hard covert. But you two work it out, and it ends with you sparring and scuffling in the sand, which maybe lead to something more. The helmets stay on the entire time.

No one is surprised when you two start dating, or when you start becoming a permanent fixture in the covert. Sure, they’re weary in the beginning because you are an outsider and because you are sith, but they come to appreciate you.

They really start welcoming you when you can use your dark presence in the force to hide them away from anyone searching for them, or to take out possible threats. You even start teaching some of the force sensitive members. You don’t force them to use the dark side, but you do end up teaching them about the balance between both.

When Din shows up again, he doesn’t fully know what to do with the information that Paz went and got himself hitched, and to a sith of all things, but he sees you well you fit into It all and their creed, and who is he to judge.

You get on well with Ragnar, as he was pretty much the one to bring you to his dad, and the kid grows attached to you. Who else but him can brag about his powerful dark sider warrior dad? That gets him some brownie points from the other foundlings.

When you and Paz marry there is no big ceremony, its just a vow spoken between you and that’s it. You always find yourself cackling at the memory of how jittery he had been to see your face for the first time, now that you were married.

During all this time you hadn’t been against taking your helmet off, but you just hadn’t had a reason too.

Paz spends a lot of time just holding your face in his hands and taking you in, with you doing the same to him. Expect many kisses from then on, every time you are alone. He is really bad at kissing in the beginning, since he has zero experience, but he makes up for it with his enthusiasm and willingness to learn.

Paz is still stoic around others and is a big presence, taking care of the dirty work and keeping people safe. But with you he gets to be soft, he gets to be weaker for once, which only fuels his feelings for you.

He never makes you feel like a monster for using the dark side, and he had marveled and just stared at your glowing yellow eyes for a long time the first time he had seem them, barely believing it was possible for them to look like that, just because of the force.

You are still a sith after all of this, and you still leave now and then to hunt down artificacts and other types of knowledge left by the sith of old, but you don’t feel as much urgency as in the past.

You even bring Paz and Ragnar along for the less dangerous ones, as a family trip. You can’t bring them along for most artifacts though, since you don’t wanna lose them to ancient sith traps or mind tricks.

It’s the stability you’ve needed for many years, and though you are still fueled by passion and emotions, it isn’t the same anger that you had harbored all these years. It was more the love you had for your husband and your son, and the fact that you would tear apart the galaxy for them if they asked.

The feelings are returned from Paz of course, and Ragnar too, as you guys’ care about each other deeply, as any family should. They do get a bit freaked out, even years later, when you tell them about force ghosts and how Revan is always present. Sometimes you say it just to see them subtly looking around, it’s hilarious.

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djarindroid · 10 months ago

Text

Safety

Pairing: Rick Grimes x Reader

Summary: You spend most of your time trying to figure out your confusing feelings for Rick, could a simple run for supplies unravel your emotions? (Set during the prison era)

Warnings: Brief description of violence (walker attack).

Word Count: 3,633

Comments: This is the first time I've written for Rick, I loved doing it so will probably write some more in the future

As you sat atop the watchtower, looking out over the surrounding woods your mind drifted back to before you arrived here, before he saved you. You’d been so alone, constantly hungry and never knowing where you would be staying next.

You took a deep breath of the crisp morning air and thought about how lucky you had been for him to have found you out there. He plucked you out of your desperate life and invited you to join his group. Providing you with everything your soul needed, security, companionship and a stable place to lay your head every night.

The sound of a metal door closing jolted you out of your thoughts, glancing down to see the very man you had just been thinking about walking outside. You watched as he strided down to the farm that had been built, admiring the way his rolled up sleeves hugged his biceps.

The view completely consumed your attention, watching him get to work, you were filled with feelings of gratitude, admiration and… something more. Over your few months here you couldn’t help but feel drawn to Rick, though you couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

Were you just feeling this way because he’d saved you, or was it in the way he helped and looked out for everyone here, or maybe it was more personal. In the way he listened to what you had to say, the way he made sure you always got something to eat, or maybe it was none of that at all and just that you had been alone for so long.

You’d debated talking to him about it on many occasions, but you never ended up saying anything. Your confusion was nothing compared to the other problems people had. So you were content to just keep whatever it was you were feeling hidden.

You couldn’t stop your face from heating up as you watched him begin to pump water, his muscular arms flexing with each movement. Even from where you were perched, you could see the sheen of sweat that formed on his skin, shining in the early morning sunlight. It was such a simple task but the sight stirred an unexpected warmth within you.

The familiar sound of someone climbing up the metal ladder of the watchtower drew you away from your thoughts. Maggie had come to take over the watch and allow you to get some much needed rest.

‘Ya don’t need to act like ya weren’t just staring at him,’ Maggie joked as she reached the top.

You kept your face away from her to hide the small smile that formed. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ you half joked back.

She laughed as she approached. ‘Keep pretending then, but I see the way ya look, there’s something there,’ she nudged you with her elbow as she finished talking.

You glanced at her, seeing the knowing smile etched on her face. She looked as if she knew your own feelings better than you did. With a small sigh and a slight shake of your head you opted to not respond, instead simply thanking her before descending the ladder. Little did you know that a certain pair of eyes were now watching your movements.

Rick couldn’t help the way his eyes glanced over your body as you climbed down from the tower. The rising sun casting a golden glow over you. He’d felt like he’d barely taken his eyes off of you since the moment he’d found you. Rick felt as though you were a breath of fresh air to him in this otherwise cruel world. He hadn’t so much as looked at another person since Lori passed and then along you came.

As you reached solid ground again, you chanced taking one final look over to the farm. There your eyes met with Rick’s, who was already looking over to you with a soft gaze. A brief shared moment unfolded, where neither of you made any move to look away, temporarily making you forget about the hell surrounding your safe haven.

The noise of Carl calling for his dads help quickly shattered the moment, drawing Rick’s attention away from you. A slight pang of disappointment rolled through you but you dismissed it and headed inside to grab some food.

Back up in the tower Maggie had watched your little stare off, mumbling ‘idiots,’ under her breath as she reached for her binoculars.

Later that same day, once you’d showered and changed into a different outfit you decided to wander over to the makeshift library, wanting a book to fill your time.

You found the room to be empty when you arrived, deciding to make the most of it you took your time perusing the shelves. Some books were in better condition than others that had been found on runs, but the room still managed to fill you with nostalgia. You found a selection you hadn’t looked at yet and sank to your knees as you began to look through the bottom shelf.

As you reached for a book, a shadow suddenly grew over you, blocking out most of the light. Raising your eyes you found Rick casually leaning against the edge of the bookshelf. You knew you probably shouldn’t but you took your time letting your eyes take in his body, sweat and dirt clung to him from a day of working outside.

The air seemed to thicken as your eyes finally met his. Rick’s gaze was intense and he held yours as if coaxing you into revealing your confusing feelings towards him.

‘Going on a run tomorrow,’ if he’d felt the same tension you did, he didn’t show it. ‘Thought you might want to join?’ he added.

‘You want me to come on a run with you?’ You asked, you hadn’t left the prison since he’d first brought you here. Not that anyone was keeping you here, you had just craved the safety the thick walls provided after being exposed for so long.

‘I’ve seen the way you can handle a gun,’ he said with a slight smirk, thinking back to when you’d first met. ‘It’s just a quick run to a pharmacy Glenn found. Figured you might wanna come, enjoy the ride.’ He stayed leaning against the shelf, awaiting your answer.

Unable to form words due to your mind flooding with questions, you replied with a smile and nod of your head.

Rick returned your smile as he stood at full height, before turning he said ‘6am, we’ll take the truck,’ and with that he walked away. You stayed, almost frozen, in the same spot with your smile lingering.

Yes, you were going to be briefly leaving the safety you had found here to go back out into the vicious, unpredictable world. But the idea of a drive sounded nice and the one on one time with Rick could help you figure out exactly what your feelings were.

As the rest of the day unfolded, the anticipation of the early morning run settled into your thoughts. Your evening passed by as usual, finishing with you in your bunk reading. Though the book you’d chosen was doing little to calm the restlessness that overtook your mind, willing you to think about unspoken questions.

Why had Rick asked you out of everyone here? Why hadn’t he asked Daryl or Glenn? What if something bad happened? What if you messed up?

With the weight of the questions bearing down on you, you eventually fell into a fitful sleep. As your eyelids fluttered closed images of the outside world manifested before you, vague images of what was to come. Images of horror slowly changed to thoughts of the man you’d be going with, calming your mind. You’d be safe with Rick, you knew you would be.

6am came around with a light fog rolling across the grounds. You found yourself staring through the prison gates waiting for Rick. You could hear the moans of a few surrounding walkers.

The moans were interrupted by the sound of an engine starting. You turned to find Rick a few feet away sat in the truck. You approached and quickly climbed into the passenger seat.

‘Ready to go?’ He asked as he shifted into drive, looking over to you. Your mind grew foggy as you took in the site of Rick. You guessed he’d had a shower before coming to meet you, his curls were slightly damp and you desperately wanted to run your fingers through them.

Shaking the thoughts from your head you replied, ‘ready as I’ll ever be,’ and you buckled your seat belt.

He nodded, and with that he started to drive. As the truck rumbled out of the safety of the prison, you raised your hand to Maggie and Glenn, who opened the gates for your departure. The sound of the gates closing echoed through the quiet morning as your vehicle ventured further away from the compound.

Gazing out of the window, you watched as the rows of trees rolled by, the leaves above filtered the sunlight creating patterns on the ground. It was peaceful, and the quietness that filled the car was far from uncomfortable. You could almost convince yourself it was a normal day, just the two of you going out for a drive on a quiet morning.

You were brought back to reality once the trees cleared and you were surrounded by vast fields, where you could spot the occasional Walker roaming aimlessly. Yet that didn’t even lower your mood, you felt content sat there with Rick, the hum of the engine serving as your backdrop.

You looked over to the man driving, his strong hands gripping the wheel making the veins on his forearms slightly more prominent. You subtly ran your eyes up his arms, where you briefly lingered on his broad shoulders, and then finally settling on his face. Taking the time to admire the salt and pepper stubble framing his jawline.

Rick could feel your eyes on him, no matter how much you tried to hide it. He fought to keep a smirk from appearing, and let himself enjoy being able to hold your attention without having to do anything. He was happy he’d finally found an excuse to spend some time with just you, sharing a seemingly ordinary drive.

The sight of buildings arrived far too soon for your liking, wishing this bubble that had enveloped the two of you on this journey could last longer. Rick pulled up to the pharmacy, the windows and door were still intact which served as a good sign that it hadn’t already been completely looted.

Without a word the two of you exited the truck. You were on high alert as you made your way around to the Rick, checking around you for any signs of walkers or people. Though the small town seemed empty, the months you had spent alone had taught you not to let your guard down so easily.

Rick silently motioned for you to follow him as he approached the door, knocking on it in order to find out if any walkers lurked inside. After a minute of nothing Rick pushed the door open, the creaking sound echoing around the small store. You couldn’t help but notice the way he deliberately stepped in front of you, you flushed slightly at the protectiveness of the move.

Once he deemed it safe you saw his shoulders relax slightly. The shelves weren’t completely barren so you stepped around him and began filling your bag with anything that seemed like it would be of use. You quickly got into a rhythm of checking the items and shoving them in your bag.

Clearly deciding there was no immediate threat Rick split off to the other side of the store and began searching there. You sighed as you reached the end of your shelves, you’d packed a lot but you were sure there was more to find. Leaving your bag on the counter you walked around to the back, searching the shelves that should have only been available to employees. Apparently whoever had passed through before had cleared most of these out.

As you ventured further back you found a door with a ‘Staff Only’ sign on it. Driven by the hope of more supplies you opened the door without thinking. Everything happened so fast, the door had been shut for a good reason. In an instant it swung open to reveal two walkers that had been waiting, as if anticipating an unsuspecting victim to stumble upon them.

With their vacant eyes fixed determinedly on you they lunged forward. They fell over each other as they desperately reached for you. You fumbled for your gun as you backed up on unsteady legs, as you unclipped it from your belt you tripped on a fallen shelf, managing to drop your gun as you fell to the floor. A yelp escaped your lips as one of the walkers toppled on top of you, its gnashing teeth getting dangerously close as you struggled to keep it off of you.

Without hesitation Rick sprinted across the store, his urgency evident as he pulled out his knife. He slid across the counter and swiftly took down the standing walker. Wasting no time he grabbed the walker that was pinning you down and hurled it away from you. His blade sliced through the air once more, finishing it off.

You couldn’t move, remaining on the floor staring at the ceiling as Rick checked through the staff room for any others that may be lurking. You’d had close calls before but this was just careless. Your heart pounded in your chest as the gravity of what just happened surrounded you. You didn’t realise your ears were ringing until Rick reappeared in your vision, his mouth was moving but you couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Rick extended his steady hand to you, instinctually you reached for him and as his warm grip enveloped yours the ringing faded away. His touch grounded you in a way you hadn’t expected. With an effortless strength he helped you to your feet. Once you had steadied yourself, Rick's hands held onto your shoulders, ‘are you okay?’ he asked, a tenderness in his voice you hadn’t heard before.

You nodded slowly ‘it didn’t bite me,’ you managed to get out.

‘I know, but are you okay?’ he said more firmly, his eyes scanned over your face trying to read how you were feeling.

You nodded again, though you averted your eyes away from him. Suddenly feeling embarrassed by what you had done. Rick had trusted you to come out here with him and you couldn’t help but feel that you’d messed up.

He gently placed his hand on your lower back and guided you out of the store, grabbing your bags as he went. Once you were out in the sunlight he turned you and took a moment to scan your body for any wounds. You still avoided looking at him, not wanting to see the disappointment in his eyes.

If only you did look up, you’d see nothing but care etched on his face. He led you to the truck and opened the door for you to climb in, his eyes not leaving you once no matter how much you avoided looking in his direction.

The ride back was filled with a thick tension. You could feel Rick glancing over to you throughout the journey but you kept your eyes set firmly staring out of the passenger window. Any hope you had of today being the day you finally spoke to Rick to work out your feelings was completely gone. You’d settled with the fact you would now be avoiding him, nothing but embarrassment flowed through you as you thought about what had happened.

Rationally you knew you shouldn’t have felt embarrassed, if anything you should feel relief that everything unfolded as it did. You should be happy that you were still here, still sat in this truck, headed back to the safety of the prison.

Luckily for you the journey went by without a hitch and before long the prison gates had come back into view. Once the truck was safely parked inside you didn’t waste any time jumping out and rushing inside. You ignored Rick calling your name, needing to put as much distance between yourself and him.

Rick stood beside the truck and watched you disappear inside. He sighed, wishing he knew what words to say to you. The weight of what had happened and whatever was going on between the two of you surrounded him as he thought about the best way to approach you.

You’d somehow managed to avoid talking to anyone for the remainder of the day. You’d made your way out to one of the unused watchtowers, thinking everything over as the sun began to slowly disappear over the treeline. The memory of the walker falling on top of you played over and over in your mind, you’d never come so close to being bitten before.

You sighed, how had you become so careless? Allowing yourself to put your guards down. Your mind, once again, changed to Rick. The man that had been consuming your every thought, distracting you without even trying.

You replayed the moment he came to your aid. You were still battling with your embarrassment but gratitude had mingled into your emotions as well. If anything you were now more embarrassed by your actions following the incident, you hadn’t even thanked Rick for saving your life.

Rick’s protectiveness had struck a chord within you, deep down you knew he wouldn’t be upset with you over what had happened. You knew you should seek him out and apologise for your behaviour. He didn’t deserve to be dismissed the way you had. You decided you’d approach him in the morning, feeling that would be your best chance to get him alone.

Although you wouldn’t have to wait that long, the sound of someone ascending the steps of the watchtower echoed around you. You didn’t move, remaining seated looking out at the horizon. You knew who it was going to be before they even made it to the top, and mentally prepared yourself for the conversation to come.

Rick approached you quietly, taking a seat next to you without saying a word. You were pleased the tension from the truck ride had disappeared. The two of you sat in silence, and you appreciated that Rick wasn’t putting any pressure on you to talk. The evening breeze carried a chill, but the warmth coming from the man beside you wrapped around you. The changing colours of the sky created a peaceful backdrop to your quiet moment.

You chanced looking over to him and found him to already be looking over to you. The fading light cast a subtle glow on his face. His gaze was soft and filled you with comfort.

‘Rick I’m sorr-‘ you began, but he cut you off before you could finish.

‘That next word had better not be an apology.’ He said firmly, causing you to snap your mouth shut.

‘I should be the one apologising, I should’ve been more careful. We should’ve stayed together and I left you alone, that’s not something I can brush off. It’s on me that things got dicey in there.’ He sighed as his eyes filled with regret before continuing, ‘if you’d of gotten hurt I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.’

How could he be blaming himself for this? Had he been feeling the same as you since that moment?

‘Rick it wasn’t your fault, you don’t have to blame yourself for my mistake,’ you tried to tell him but he was already shaking his head.

Rick’s eyes bored into yours, showing a vulnerability you’d never seen before. He uttered your name and continued ‘you don’t understand, I was selfish. I just wanted… I wanted to spend time with you. You were out there because of me.’ His words hung in the air, and your mind raced trying to process the weight of what he was saying. Before you could even think of a response he carried on. ‘Earlier when I thought I could lose you... I-I saw you being taken from me and I knew I’d do anything to make sure that didn’t happen.’

The air around you seemed to grow thicker at Rick’s admission. The realisation that he thought he could have lost you cleared any lingering confusion. Everything became clear to you as neither one of you broke eye contact. Any words you’d prepared to say left you in that moment.

Neither of you could look away even if you wanted to. Slowly he leant forward, and as months of uncertainty faded your lips pressed together. Warmth instantly blossomed in your chest at the feeling of his soft lips. His scent wrapped around you as his stubble tickled your face. You relished in it all, hoping to stay in this moment forever.

You hadn’t even noticed his hands gently holding your face until he pulled back ever so slightly. Not far enough that your lips weren’t touching, just enough to murmur ‘I swear I’ll keep you safe, no matter what. Always.’

‘I am safe Rick,’ you kissed him again before adding ‘with you.’ You brought your hands up to wrap around his neck as you kissed him again, pouring all your unsaid words into it, needing him to understand.

It could have been hours you stayed up there kissing, lost in each other's embrace. Time completely faded away as you kissed under the moonlight sky. The world may have fallen to utter chaos, but at least you’d found everything you could ever want in Rick Grimes.

#Rick Grimes #Rick Grimes x Reader #Rick Grimes x You #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes one shot #TWD #The Walking Dead

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