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forever--darling · 2 years

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one of us | neteyam x avatar!reader

summary: when a person's life hangs in the balance, sometimes there is only one thing to do, one thing to ask of the great mother. a consciousness transfer, but the question remains: are you strong enough to pass through the eye of eywa? lots of feelings emerge as the only option left becomes the sole possibility

pairings: neteyam x avatar!reader

word count: 11.8k

warnings/notes: finally, swearing, major angst, mention of sky people, mention of death, mention of an afterlife, lots of feelings (all mostly sad), crying, more heartbreak, with sad fluff, we're so close to the end (2/3)

series masterlist | one of us: part seven | requests are currently open for now

All energy is only borrowed, never permanent, and one day you have to give it back.

It hadn’t taken long for Neytiri and Jake to make it to the camp, the pathway completely imprinted in his memory. He couldn’t talk the whole ride as the only thought that seemed to reach his mind was a suffocating amount of guilt. The same guilt that once had rotted away in his stomach years ago when he was still a dream walker, when the sky people had long since invaded Pandora, and when he was still working under Quaritch’s terms.

That guilt almost killed him when he gained the trust of the Omatikaya people. When Home Tree was destroyed, Grace was killed, and the great war brought many warriors home to their Great Mother. Not many were sparred and those that had looked to him for the answers, the mighty Toruk Makto. It wasn’t easy and often it took guidance from many to get him to where he was today but now here he was in that forest, that same perilous feeling overtaking his senses.

He had known you were sick, not the full extent of it or how long it had been going on but he knew. Which meant as an adult, who had been watching over you, he was partly responsible. Responsible for the outcome of your life, the effect it had on his children, on his son, on his wife, on the people. He had let other commitments cloud his mind; the sky people, the new technology they were bringing back to the planet, and how they were getting closer to the village every day. He decided to focus on those things rather than checking in on you. Whatever happened he was partly responsible. As they stopped near the lab, the grey confines of it taunting him, he also knew where he was responsible, Max and Norm were too — if not more.

Jake slid off of the direhorse, Neytiri behind him as he approached the large steel door coated in scratches and dents — it somehow stood in this environment and within these elements. Neytiri stiffened at the sight of it, every part of her screaming to rush back into the forest away from the very place she deemed as evil and foreign. She had no motivation to step foot into the metal box but the thought of you, the real you left her heart clenching in her chest.

Worry was the sole reason why she followed her husband, clinging to his back. It was that along with the fact that Jake would need someone to keep him grounded. As he stared at it, the cage it had become, he felt all of his frustration come to the surface as the terrified thought crossed his mind that you were dead. Raising his clenched fist to the door, he knocked, the loud sound echoing across the trees.

The first compacted door opened and they moved inside. Neytiri felt her anxieties heighten as they stepped fully into a small compressing box. Jake stared forward through the glass of the second door, gaze locked on a human man standing in a white lab coat near the keypad for the door. He was so small, so weak, so angering. As the air decompressed in the box, the scientist clicked the keypad and the second door slid open.

Jake didn’t waste a moment. He stalked in there as if he owned the place. It felt so strange under his large blue feet after having once rolled across these tiled floors. The sight of the lab brought so many memories back to him; the link pods, the screens — so many memories, most of which he didn’t find comforting.

Max appeared on the other side of the room in his own lab coat, a worried kink in his brow. At the sight of him, Jake snarled not afraid to use his intimidating statue as he walked across the room, “Where is she?”

The demand was sharp, cold, and uncommon to be directed at Max, as he was one of Jake’s closest confidants for almost twenty years. Max blinked in surprise up at the Olo’eyktan, and at the sight of Jake in this space, he got his own flashbacks of the first day. The first day, all those years ago that Jake got his avatar. Oh, how things had changed since then.

“Where is she?” he asked again, tone just as cold as it was before.

“She’s in the back room, but—”

The two Na’vi’s pushed by Max, bending down as they moved through the doorway into a smaller more compact hallway. Max hurried after them in a state of panic as Jake refused to shut his mouth, all of his fears taking flight in ugly ways.

“What, you think I wouldn’t have realized what was going on? In case you have forgotten this isn’t my first rodeo. I used to do this and an avatar doesn’t just collapse like that unless a link process is interrupted or something is fucking wrong. So, tell me what the fuck happened!”

The room opened up in front of them with a single curtain pulled over the area to provide more privacy. Jake could see the outline of Norm’s body behind the curtain bent down and saying something. Max unable to fully find the words to calm Jake down or provide an explanation other than the truth, plucked the blue curtain into his grasp and pulled it aside.

Norm’s head snapped up in their direction, his eyes widening slightly at the site of the two tall Na’vi within the lab. He was wrapping a blanket around your exhausted frame and as the couple’s eyes fell down to the wrangled weak body, both of their shoulders dropped in devastation. The harsh furrow in Jake’s brow fell away and he found himself gripping onto the doorway to stay upright. The sight of you brought an image of Grace in her final hours to the forefront of his mind and it was difficult to swallow.

You sat, your body stuck to the mattress, slumped down as if you couldn’t even sit up. Two or three blankets were pulled up to your chest where wires stuck out connecting to monitors nearby. Jake's ears flickered at the sound of their beeping and found that the numbers of your heart rate and blood pressure should have been stronger.

IVS were hanging up beside you, the large needle lined into your arm. Your skin was ashen, sunken in, all color completely drained with large purple circles pressed along the skin below your eyes. They were barely open and he wouldn’t have believed you were actually alive if it wasn’t for the twitch in your bony finger and the steady beeping of the monitor beside you.

“She had a seizure while in the link pod. We were able to get them to stop but she is very weak,” Norm answered and stepped back from your crumbled form. One that felt less like you every day.

“Oh, Great Mother,” Neytiri found herself crying as she moved forward and fell to her knees at the side of the bed.

She wished to be anywhere but there, but the sight of you had masked all of the discomfort and the rage that was interlaced deep within her bones. Instead, all she could feel was the ache in her chest from the broken looks of her children at your avatar form that had been completely motionless in her son’s arms. She felt herself aching for the soul that was slipping through the fingers of Pandora. Her eyes took in the unfamiliar but familiar face and cried, tears welling up in her widened eyes. She found herself scanning your nose, your closed eyes, the high lift of your cheeks, and the shape of your jaw. It was you, without a doubt.

Jake was able to find his voice again, this time with a newly added edge to it, “Why was she in the link pod in the first place?”

“What?” Norm’s eyes narrowed in confusion, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why was she in there?” Jake was becoming hostile at that point. “If you knew she was sick, if you knew it was this bad, how could you let her keep doing this? Especially with the strain that it already was putting on her weak body.”

“Ma’Jake, please,” Neytiri asked, her voice gently sweeping through the tension of the room, gaining the attention of his rigid eyes. She tilted her head towards you, and they all watched as your head lulled from side to side at the many voices that filled the room. Your breaths were shallow, taking up too much energy that you couldn’t even open your eyes.

Jake lowered his voice slightly but the edge remained as he glanced back and forth from Norm to Max, “You should have stopped her.”

“You don’t think we tried? You don’t think we didn’t say something to her every day, warning her of the risks, demanding her to stop?” Max became defensive then as he stepped closer to the towering figure of one of his closest friends. His eyes narrowed, the same worry that filled Jake’s, reflected in his own. “She is not a child anymore.”

“You mean she’s not your child,” the Olo’eyktan corrected and just like that, all previous feelings were ripped from the room, leaving it in painful silence.

Both Max and Norm’s heads dropped for a moment as a thought crossed their mind — maybe they hadn’t tried hard enough. Maybe they should have powered down the system even if you ended up hating them. Maybe they should have done more to protect you even when you were never their child, their full responsibility to bear. Maybe just maybe even though you grew up before their eyes into a grown woman, they should have taken into account that it didn’t mean to cut you loose from support and guardianship altogether.

Max shook his head, almost as if he was going to regret what he was about to say, “No, she’s not.”

“She may not be yours or technically a kid anymore but when she is living under your roof, you need to have some responsibility. When she is living under your roof, she is still a child,” Jake sighed, feeling the anger start to dissipate as he sent another glance at you, at your human body. At the very body, he hadn’t seen in almost two years, not like this, not this small, this different. You had grown and would be nineteen in the next year and it showed — you had become an adult under everyone's noses. If only you had the ability and the time to make it. “How much time does she have?”

“We can’t know for sure but based on her state and how weak she is… Weeks? A month or two maybe?” Norm admitted, the state of how he found you in the link pod still pressed firmly into the front of his mind. Your faraway gaze, rigid body, and trembling lips. Your lips shook as if you were asking for time to kiss you and grant you treatment. You were barely there and laying in that damn bed, you were barely there.

“She doesn’t have a few months, not with the sky people invading. We could have serious trouble on our hands in two months. The sky people are coming, they are getting closer every day and I need a plan. A plan to protect my family, my people, and my land. I need a plan and I am not going to put a sick young woman in the line of fire. I won’t.”

Jake shook his head and stepped further into the room, looking around at the medical supplies and the neutral-colored walls. The sterile smell filled his nose. It all reminded him of the V.A. hospital when there was a big hole blown through the middle of his life. That’s what the lab reminded him of and it sent a shiver down his spine. You couldn't stay there, not like this. He wouldn’t allow it because whatever the fuck they were doing wasn’t doing shit. Even with medicine and science on their side, it had done nothing. He wasn’t about to lose another person because of his actions — he wouldn’t.

“She can’t stay here,” he suddenly said, eyes set on his wife, “We can’t leave her here. I won’t.”

Max stepped forward trying to get closer to you but Neytiri stood blocking him, “Jake, you can’t just—”

“You’ve done enough.”

The two scientists’ mouths dropped, and both of their glares widened at the tall Olo’eyktan — a man who day one had never thrown caution to the wind in his life but since becoming a leader had taken on a new role to be deliberate in his actions, think accordingly, and communicate in a way to not piss other people off. It was like that persona was gone from that room for a moment and instead it was an overprotective parent who thought they had all the answers. He was bossy, haywire, and everything that resembled a father.

Somehow his cold tone and his rapid decision weren’t justifiable enough for Max. He had seen the impossible, and as a scientist, he had detested and forced himself to not believe it. Max had seen the impossible in Jake, in the consciousness transfer, in the balance of the world that had managed to change one man's life. He had seen the impossible with the Omatikaya people but at that moment with your life hanging in that very balance, he could only look to science, in the concreteness that was medicine.

“Jake, listen to me, she is sick. This isn’t just another dress-up game where she is going to run off into the forest to become something else. She won’t survive this.”

“Are you fucking serious?” he snapped, eyes narrowing even further until they resembled golden crescents like the morning sun that crept through their tent every morning, “This has never been a game and you know that. To me, it wasn't and it sure as hell isn't to her. If you saw her out there, the way she is when she is in that body, you would know that. Except that I think a part of you already does, knows how much she wants it, and that scares the hell out of you. Especially since there is nothing else you can do for her, and it sucks. It really does... but do you hear me when I say we can do something? The people can save her.”

“What like you saved Grace,” Max shot back, the words cruel and unnecessary and he watched as Jake’s face went slack. For a moment the short scientist reveled in the image, “I know it has happened, the unexplainable. Because what you witnessed... what happened to you was the unexplainable, but Jake that's what? A one in a million. You're the exception, we all know that, but she's not you. I don't like the odds, not when I have seen it. Her virus, her illness, and I am deciding to combat it with medicine. I am choosing science’s side.”

Neytiri felt her teeth bare, sink into her lower lip, fangs glimmering from the white lights of the room. As a growl left her throat, she stepped forward protectively towards her mate, “And your medicine has done nothing. It’s done nothing!”

At that point with two pointed gazes locked down on him, Max couldn’t help but glance your way knowing that every word they spoke was true. Any worse, you could be slipping away, out of their fingers, by the end of the week. If you hadn’t been getting better with the months of treatment they had been doing, the antibiotic and the fluids, what else could they do to help you? There wasn’t another option, and he knew right then science or not this was your last chance.

Norm looked from you to Jake and within that mutual stare, they shared an understanding, a silent understanding. Stepping forward, his palm fell to Max’s shoulder, “This is her only chance."

"Norm—"

"She’s not going to get better because she hasn't yet and you know that. This is her last chance. And yes, god forbid, Eywa forbid that it doesn’t work, that we somehow lose her... at least it will be on her own terms and in a place, she’d want to spend her last moments.”

The words everyone had been avoiding were out in the air and it struck a chord, one that left them all in silence and complete denial. Only, because no one expected this. When you had been given your avatar six months prior, no one thought to think this is where you would end up, chained to a bed with the only thing to save you being that body. No one thought either that you would have fallen in love with the forest, the people, and the eldest son of the Olo'eyktan either, but you did. It happened. It all had happened and now it was beginning to unravel in front of them and suddenly they were being faced with a choice.

You were dying and the sky people were coming. Another war was soon to take place and Jake and Neytiri were making plans for the future Olo'eyktan. Neteyam would be Olo'eyktan one day whether you would be there to see it or not. It all was happening and none of them would have thought that when it was, you would be in the middle of a whispered conversation with the Mother herself.

Max wiped his eyes from behind his glasses and sent one last longing look to you. You once had been the little girl who'd sit on his lap for hours staring at a digital image of an avatar's brain with complete awe. Now there you lay, all grown up and possibly about to get the life you had always wanted. Your choice had been made up about the life you wanted as soon as you had entered that avatar body. And your choice would be his choice.

“Just, if you’re going to do it… The consciousness transfer, do it sooner rather than later. If you want her to survive it, you will do it as soon as you can. She's already lost a lot of energy.”

It was the last thing anyone said and as Jake nodded to Max, reassuringly, his tough-guy act dropped immediately. Almost like they had come to a mutual understanding: one father to another.

From that moment on, there was a continuous movement of people in and out of the room. All bustling as they worked to disconnect your monitors, pull out the IVS, wrap your body up in blankets to keep you warm against the cold air, and secure a mask tightly over your face. Then just like that, you were ready and leaving as if it was always how it was destined to be. You, leaving. Norm and Max each took you in for one last time as Jake and Neytiri exited the lab, both hoping they would never have to be there again.

Jake couldn’t help but stare down at you, so small in his arms, so unlike the warrior he had gotten the privilege to watch the last six months. You had transformed just as he once had, gaining the wings like an Ikran, and you would fly away, not daring to look back. Evident in the lingering glances you sent his son and how you absorbed every part of the forest, you would give anything to be transferred into your other body. Then more so as with each night you spent in the forest, in your avatar body, the longer you would stay awake. Like you were hoping to forever prolong the linking process to that one still moment in time. Now, after all this time, you could have it.

As Jake climbed on his direhorse, he heard the shift in your breath along with seeing the small tremble in your body — the first sign of movement he had seen at all. Glancing down at you again, he found your eyes softly staring up at him, through heavy lids. He glanced at Neytiri then back down at you, taking your tiny cold hand in his own. He stared at his five fingers and compared them to yours as your soft voice filled his ears.

“Don’t let Neteyam see me like this.”

“She’s very weak,” Mo’at expressed, honestly as her fingers danced across your closed eyes.

From the moment you were brought back to the village, in your human form, it was like you were finally awake. Finally, seeing the world as more than a recurrent fever dream. It was a world you had only ever witnessed through another pair of eyes and someone else's skin. Somehow the forest had become so much more than a training ground to you over that time. However, you realized then, that no matter how many times you had seen it before, it would never top being able to see it with your own eyes. The ones you had been born with.

It was a dream that had been painted on your soul from the moment you had come onto this planet and as you stared up at the luminescent green foliage while you rode on the back of the direhorse, you felt as if your life was complete. Like Eywa was watching over you, reaching out her arms and promising you that whatever happened you would be okay.

Staring up past the trees to the black-coated sky littered with stars and planets, you felt a new kind of peace wash over you. Your breath had evened out and you blinked slowly, entirely entranced by the skyline scattered with constellations. The constellations that resembled the ivory spots speckled across his nose and his body. That's all you could think about — the ivory-speckled sky and how it reminded you of the glow that would overtake him at night.

Please, Great Mother, protect Neteyam and his ivory-scattered face.

As soon as you got back, Neytiri distracted the kids, allowing Jake to get you to Mo’at without anyone seeing. Partly to prevent panic from appearing in the village, but mostly to stick to your one and only request. Don’t let Neteyam see me like this. Those six words served as a confirmation to Jake. A confirmation that once again only served the greater suspicion that there was more going on under the surface. Deeper feelings were involved here whether the two of you had admitted it, and Jake wasn't sure how he hadn't seen it before. But maybe he had.

The lingering gazes. The light touches. Neteyam sneaking out of the tent at night, for months. His attitude suddenly improving. He was always cautious around you when Jake was close by as if he was afraid of the Olo'eyktan connecting the dots from the softness he displayed to you or the look in his eyes, which was less than innocent. It all had been there but for months, Jake Sully had been turning a blind eye to it all. Despite his duty as Olo'eyktan to accept the arranged marriage that would be pushed onto his son along with all the other responsibilities, he let the interactions and the feelings play out in plain sight.

Now, he was going to willingly do what any Olo'eyktan would and protect the last wishes of a member of his clan. He was making a split decision based on the six words he never thought you would have openly admitted. That it was and always had been Neteyam for you. How it was the one son of his that had been promised a throne and a chosen future mate, the one son you couldn't have willingly. Somehow it filled him with a sense of deja vu, as if when he saw you he was looking at a mere reflection of the person he used to be. Alongside that, a repeated history. The outsider and the chief's chosen child. Somehow under all of his turning a blind eye, you and Neteyam had not only become Jake and Neytiri but were being torn apart for it.

For a while, Jake stood in the corner of the room, Neytiri appearing after a while closing off the tent from any onlookers. The majority who would have been her own children. She stood next to Jake, her hand comfortingly finding a place on his shoulder.

They had watched as Mo'at closed her eyes and let the feelings of Eywa guide her. She took in many deep breaths as mumbled words escaped her mouth in the form of tongues. Then just as quickly as it had begun, her eyes were reopening, leaving her meeting with Eywa as Jake liked to call it. She glanced at the couple before her and spouted what he could only hear as bullshit. She’s very weak.

“Well help her goddamn it!”

“Jake!” Neytiri hissed as the tone of his voice emitted not only a glare on her face but a chip in her tone.

From outside the tent, four dark statues lingered in the dark, near the side of the healing tent. Light poured out of the bottom bathing Kiri and Lo’ak’s faces in slivers of warm light. They lay on their fronts, chins leaning along their hands as they held their breaths, desperate to unravel what they were looking at. They could only see the outline of their grandmother, the Tsahik’s side from the confined view they had. With Spider and Tuk sitting on the other side of Lo'ak, the eight-year-old hugged her knees to her chest in a state of confusion. When her parents left, she had spent the whole time berating her older siblings with questions about you — were you okay? What had exactly happened? Were you coming back?

All questions with answers none of the older siblings had.

Neteyam crouched on the other side of Kiri, leaning his ear close to the side of the tent, trying to understand the mumblings from inside. His heart had shattered and he felt as if he had been cut open, exposing everything he was feeling to the gaping air. It made his stomach twist at the thought and he was starting to feel sick.

The sight of your avatar collapsing in his arms was still very present in his mind — as well as how his father had avoided him the second he returned forbidding anyone from seeing you, the other you. Your human body and the current body that held everything that made you, you. It was hard to imagine you any other way. For six straight months, he was memorizing every detail of your blue features just in case his golden irises would be deracinated from his face. Now all he could think about was what you really looked like, what you were born to look like.

Lo’ak leaned closer to his sister, voice breaking and coming out in low mumbles, “What did she say?”

“Shh,” she hushed back, bumping her brother in the side, harsher than she intended too.

“She’s weak, that’s what Mo’at is saying,” Neteyam spoke up softly, the words acting as needles as they ripped holes into his skin, “She doesn’t know if they can save her.”

Kiri glanced up at Neteyam and felt her shoulders drop disappointedly as his expression came to light for her. How pain-stricken he was and how utterly shattered his voice sounded as it echoed in her ears. She felt Eywa there at that moment, filling her entire body, as she witnessed firsthand how strongly her brother felt for you. It had blinded him out of nowhere and a pit formed in his stomach at how sudden it all was. Over time, that dread and that fear had drifted off into the wind as if they had rolled off his back while flying through the sky.

Then there was you. How you had become a slight wreck over your feelings for the future Olo'eyktan. She could still feel your own confession lingering in the back of her mind. How shy you had gotten, how ashamed you had been when she had found out you liked Neteyam, possibly loved him.

Somehow under all of the excruciating lectures, stubborn-filled disputes, and contemptuous glares, two souls had found one another, deep within the forest under the phosphorescent green of the trees.

She blinked and looked away, letting the prospect of the two of you fade away, leaving nothing but an imprint of dust in its wake. They all instead directed their attention back to the tent, ears twitching in unison and tails swishing anxiously as their father’s voice filled the air.

“She’s dying, don’t you see that? One of our own is dying,” Jake pleaded then, his anger melted away like icicles in the warm temperature and all that was left was a puddle of desperation and fear. “So, please help her. Do the consciousness transfer. Do it, if it means the possibility of saving her life."

As Mo’at glanced down from your shivering human form to the empty blue vessel beside you, she knew what he was asking of her. He was right and it would have to be in Eywa’s hands now. The very hands you had tried to get yourself in weeks ago when you appeared in the doorway of her tent pleading and begging for her to consider. To think about your request, ask Eywa to guide you and herself to an answer. Tsahik, without much consideration or even listening to Eywa's plan or will, denied your request. Even when Jake Sully, Toruk Makto, had once come to her with the same request, and even when she saw so much of him in you, including a strong heart, she denied the request.

When Mo’at looked at you, she saw a young woman. A young woman with all the reasons and desires in the world to ask for this request and to ask for the opportunity to change her life. Your soul's existence depended on the opportunity to live life fully as a Na’vi, and That’s why Tsahik couldn’t accept it. Your whole life.

A young and prestigious life she didn’t want to be cut short not when there was still so much time. She feared that Eywa’s will wouldn’t be what was hoped by the rest of the clan, her family, so she denied you. For fear of taking the light out of your eyes as well as the light out of her grandchildren.

“She’s weak so we must do it tonight. The more strength she has the better,” she finally spoke looking from Jake to her dutiful daughter, “Alert the village. We need everyone, do you understand? We need all the support we can for this. An hour and then we go.”

The couple, the clan's leaders, the two everyone looked to in a crisis felt the weight on their shoulders deepen. Anxiety formed, pushing down on their tracheas as it all began to feel too real too fast. But panic couldn't happen. Freaking out couldn't happen. There wasn't enough time for it and there sure as hell wasn't room for it.

Jake took Neytiri’s hand in his and walked towards the entrance of the tent, all strength, and will of his own feelings lost. As they stepped out, the tent's flap falling shut behind them, a rush of air fell from his mouth. Neytiri, able to feel his energy deep within her bones, wrapped her arms around his broad torso. Her chin found a place against his shoulder and they stared forward at the rest of the village, the forest, their home, and everything in between. They listened to one another’s hearts and stood there for a brief moment, letting their breaths linger into one before Neytiri unwrapped herself around him.

As she did, they both were startled by the sound of rustling as well as a soft groan of a very familiar prominent voice. They shared a look with one another, communicating the same conclusion as they stepped around the tent to where the sound had come from. It wasn't a surprise to find their four children squatted and laying around in the dirt, ears pressed close to the tent. Suddenly all their movements stopped as they felt the shadows looming over them, blocking the moonlight and concealing them in darkness.

All four heads then tilted cautiously and were met by the scariness of their mother, who stood with a hip popped out and arms crossed over her chest. Her stare only hardened further when she found her youngest, no more than eight years old, sitting there, a pained expression on the child's face. Neytiri looked over her shoulder at Jake but he merely shrugged as if he wasn't surprised at all by the sight in front of him. He held his arms to her; a silent signal that he was leaving the situation for her to handle.

Inhaling, her lips parted, ready to scold them not only for eavesdropping on a conversation not meant for their ears but for letting Tuk hear every word, something she could barely process at her age. Before Neytiri could get a word out, she found her youngest staring up at her, large eyes widened with fear and sadness, bottom lip quivering.

Tuk’s eyes filled with tears and slowly began to fall, drenching her innocent face, “Is Y/N going to be okay? What happened to her?”

The other three older siblings’ bodies stiffened unwillingly, ears dropping back while their own theories and assumptions were formed. But even with their thoughts and concerns, they all found themselves peering up to their mother, who seemed to be all-knowing and often had the right thing to say in moments like this. It was a mother's intuition and they all stared at her, asking for an answer that was far better than any of their own. They all held their breath as they watched the glare melt away completely from her face while she opened her arms welcomingly for her youngest child.

“Oh, my prrnen (baby),” Neytiri cooed as Tuk reached up to be pulled up into her mother's arms. As her small innocent face met her mother's neck, her tear bubbles collapsed, letting her salty tears fall freely upon Neytiri's skin. “Know this, that whatever happens, Y/N will be okay. She will be at peace one way or another. I don't know what's going to happen, but that is not something for us to worry about right now. Our Great Mother has a plan and whatever comes of it, everything will be okay. Do you understand me, maite (my daughter)?”

Hands rubbing softly at Tuk’s back, her gaze fell to the rest of her children and their anxious eyes. They looked to her as if a mother could solve the world’s most significant problems and she wished at that moment she could. She wished she could take all of your pain, all of your sickness, all of the limitations your body held away. She wanted more than anything with her children’s eyes boring up at her that she could promise you life to prevent their suffering.

“The ritual is in an hour,” Jake said then, gaining the three older children’s attention as he tried to wrap his head around how he wanted to handle this situation. He couldn’t bear the idea of them being at the consciousness transfer and watching with the possibility that it wouldn't work. He couldn’t watch every hope and every fiber of light in their bodies fade away at the sight of what could be a final send-off. “Whatever you need to do, I suggest you do it now because there is a chance you won't be able to later.”

“Can we see her?” Kiri asked then, sitting up to hug her knees to her chest, voice pleading, “Please? Can we just sit with her and talk to her. Dad, I can’t go the ritual without having said—”

“Fine,” he interrupted her, his heart constricting with grief at the sound of his daughter’s broken voice, “Fine, yes, you can see her. But none of you will be at the ritual. Do you read me? I don’t want you attending the transfer.”

In perfect sync all of their eyes widened in shock, ears pulling back in dejection as their father's command fell straight into their laps. Lo’ak sat up quickly, in complete disbelief, “But—”

“No, but anything. I don’t want any of you there, do you understand?”

That edge had returned in his voice and Jake took two seconds each to drill his gaze into his children, trying to make it stick within their minds, so that no matter how many times the thought appeared to go against his words, the remembrance of his stone cold glare would stop them. He couldn't be sure that it would work, especially as he caught the look on Lo'ak's face. It was the same look he gave whenever he was given orders or asked to do something against his own troublesome consciousness. It was passive, him nodding his head as if he was listening though he never took anything serious his father said. It was the same exact look Jake was getting then.

“Do — you — understand?”

He spoke slower and finally got the response he wanted. All three of his older children nodded their heads while Lo’ak verbally respond with, “Yes, sir.”

Neteyam could only stare up past Jake, huffing quietly. It was loud enough to catch his father’s attention anyway. Jake narrowed his gaze down at his oldest but the young warrior wouldn't falter. Instead, Neteyam matched him with the same expression.

No gunmetal would warp at that moment as Neteyam felt every inch of anger and frustration ball together. The order for them to stay away during the ceremony left him astonished and pissed off. His father still saw them as children and felt like he had this responsibility to protect them. But other than Tuk, none of them needed his protection. They had grown up and that was something he obviously couldn't accept.

Somehow it only filled Neteyam with more spite because there was nothing left that needed to be protected. Every innocence had been stolen and he couldn’t remember the last time he had been treated like a child, free of any responsibilities. For years he had been viewed and trained like a serviceman, kept on a shelf until he was needed. His whole life he had been ordered around; Go pick up an extra couple of hours of training. Watch over your brother. Learn how to use a gun. Take on extra challenges with other warriors. Heck, marry and mate with a woman of our choosing.

They had every part of him. They had taken every piece of him and he had willingly let them. For years he had been ordered around as if he was incapable of thinking for himself. In reality, they couldn't afford him to think and make decisions for themselves because it would go against what was best for the clan.

Some things never changed though. He stood just outside the healing tent, where the Tsahik was trying to save the only woman he has ever had feelings for, and he was expected to follow commands again. He was supposed to let them put him back on the shelf and wait for further instructions. Your life was hanging in the balance and they were asking him to be absent from the ritual that would decide what would happen. He couldn’t do that.

His hard-set gaze met Jake’s, refusing to back down. He watched then as the Toruk Makto dismissed him and instead sent one more look to each of his children. He nodded in the direction of the healing tent, “Go on.”

One by one, they all stood silently and began to approach the tent, with dread being the only thing evidently strewn across their faces. Neytiri slowly set Tuk down, wiping what was left of her tears, that motherly smile occupying her face as she watched the rest of her children approach the tent. As Neteyam stepped by them though, the thought of you the only thing guiding him forward, Jake’s eyes found Neytiri’s. She hadn’t seemed to understand what he was trying to say, but she turned to give him her full attention anyway at the obnoxious way he cleared his throat.

Her ears flickered curiously then as his stare frantically began to flicker back and from their oldest son to her. Lo’ak and Spider had stepped into the tent with Tuk waiting by the doorway, clearly contemplating if she wanted to go inside herself. Neytiri then found herself looking at Neteyam who was getting close to the entrance. She felt the thought kick in at what Jake was referring to or rather what you had asked of him. Him was the key term, but Neytiri felt her brows draw forward on her forehead in exasperation at his clear hesitation. The Toruk Makto had no problem lecturing his sons until their ears bled but being able to break the worst news and offer comfort to them might as well have been foreign, especially in their older years. He was terrified of it and Neytiri found it utterly ridiculous.

As Jake didn’t show any signs of calling out to Neteyam, she huffed out and shook her head at her husband, narrowing her gaze at him. The words very bad were communicated vexingly through her eye contact. She sighed then as she called out to Neteyam, “Maitan (my son)!”

Neteyam’s ears perked up at the sound of his mother’s voice and just as his hand grasped around the tent flap, so close to where you were, he pulled back to face her. She waved him over, and with frustration and confusion, he stepped away from the tent. Kiri, who was just about to enter, noticed the interaction of their mother pulling him aside and decided to wait, in favor of watching the conversation play out instead.

“What?” Neteyam questioned, the sharpness of his tongue not unnoticed.

Neytiri’s initial reaction was to smack him upside the head for it, but she held back knowing the sharpness was nothing but a reflection of how he was feeling. He wasn’t trying to be difficult or disrespectful. He just didn't have the energy or the care anymore to be any other way.

Neytir's gaze softened, the same one she had spared moments ago as she clutched her youngest in her arms. Neteyam noticed it right away, the look she was giving him. He would never admit it, but he knew his mother better than the rest of his siblings, and at the sight of her eyebrows drawing together softly, he felt his stomach drop. The lines between them displayed feelings of stress and disappointment. She wore it across her face — how badly she wished to offer him the moon and the stars.

As her hand reached for his shoulder, that’s when he figured it out for sure. Why she had stopped him from entering, her shared looks with Jake, the way she was trying to steer him from the tent. It all made sense and a low growl took everyone by surprise as he peered over his shoulder at Kiri and the opening of the tent.

When he looked back at his mother, he felt his fists clench at his sides, “She doesn't want to see me. That's what you are going to tell me, aren't you? You pulled me aside because she told you she doesn't want to see me. ”

“Yes,” Neytiri admitted slowly.

A pin dropped and within a beat of time, as if only a second had passed, Neteyam resurfaced but angrier and more annoyed than before. He stepped back out of her grasp, and her hand was left dangling in the air as his tail whipped back and forth aggressively.

“No. Fuck that!"

“Neteyam!” she hissed, taking a hold of his arm and yanking him back despite his best efforts to escape her. He didn’t dare overpower his mother though or do anything that would disrespect her. Instead, he let her hold his arm too tightly, while her glare drilled holes into the side of his head.

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish more than anything that it didn’t, but who would we be if we denied her wishes.”

Her wishes.

She spoke as if you were already dead and he felt himself tense under her words, his entire body becoming rigid. He closed his eyes for a moment as if trying to breathe through the pang in his chest. To calm himself down, he held his breath deep within his lungs for almost a minute before he released it. When he did, he felt the heartbreak creep up within his body until it was past his throat and on the tip of his tongue. Then he broke right in front of her.

“Her wishes? Do you even hear yourself right now, sa’nok (mother)? You're acting as if she has already died and is with Eywa. How can you just... No, damn her wishes because if there is a chance that I could lose her I am not going to stand out here and let her... I can’t just stand here and let her go into that ritual without telling her how I feel.”

“It was not my choice, ma‘eveng (my child),” she whispered cooly, as Neteyam was starting to appear frantic.

The choice isn’t mine to bear.

He clenched his eyes shut again, suddenly stained with the memory of you standing within the mauve tendrils, beautiful face barring every raw emotion of your soul to him. Tears suspended in your eyes for a second as he felt every possible pain rip open in his chest, a pain so horrible it let his flaws and deceptions take over. He had hurt you right back and he knew just as everyone once would that he was no warrior. No perfect son. No perfect soldier. No man worth bearing the sins of the world. Your words crept back into his mind.

Then I will bear it.

Neteyam, the way I feel about you is consuming.

“This is fucking bullshit!”

Just as Neytiri was going to comfort her son, try and offer any encouraging words she could, she felt his arm be pulled from her grasp. He was stepping away from her and her motherly gaze that was slowly suffocating him. He stared hard at his father as he passed him, sarcastically thanking him for all of his help in this whole thing, before stalking away in the opposite direction of the healing tent, his family, and you.

They all watched him go and Kiri found herself stepping away from the tent in favor of going after her older brother. She nodded at her parents reassuringly, “I got it.”

She took off in his direction, picking up her pace to catch up with him. As Jake and Neytiri watched them go, she huffed over at Jake, crossing her arms over her chest intently. That worried line in between her brows had formed again as her mind began to ramble with questions if what she was doing for her children and her people were right. Neteyam was the one she thought about long and hard, wondering if what they were doing was right. She felt like she had failed him or rather they all had failed him. As no one had ever made it easy on him from the moment he was born. There was not one sole point in time where they considered things from his point of view, his life, his future, or how once he had been full of childhood dreams. Instead, they just deemed them as improbable outcomes.

It was as if Jake could read her mind, all starting from that stressful line on her forehead between her brows. “He can’t be there. He will never forgive himself if he watches her….”

“And he’ll never forgive us if she somehow dies and we never let him say goodbye.”

Kiri chased after her brother, letting her parents' voices fade behind her. Her eyes narrowed at him as he walked in front of her or rather stomped in front of her. His braids swung from side to side, his back muscles tense and rigid. She could see every twitch of annoyance and frustration in his form, displayed on his back like any true man would — never demonstrating it out loud or through words but rather through body language.

Picking up her steps, she called out to him but he ignored her as he made it through the village. He was making a move for the forest, but Kiri knew that if he did disappear into the lush greenery, who knew when he would be back. There wasn't time for it.

“Neteyam, stop!” she finally yelled, firmly grabbing onto his elbow and yanking him back.

He hissed at the way her nails dug into the skin of his forearm and let his feet come to a stop. Staring forward at the forest, his means of escape, a loud sigh fell from his lips. Unable to push the pain off his face, he refused to look at her, and instead tilted his head to the side, his broken gaze falling to the ground.

“What? What do you want?”

“You can’t just storm off like this,” Kiri admitted, slightly out of breath from chasing after him, “Not right now and not like this. We need to stick together when something like this happens, so you can't just leave. Because believe it or not, everyone looks to you as much as they look to Dad during a crisis. Your presence is important, now more than ever. That, and I don't think you should be alone.”

Scoffing he shook his head, denying her admission. More so, he wouldn’t stand there and let her give him that same pitying stare his mother couldn’t wipe from her face. “The fact that you would use my future title against me right now, are you serious? Tell, me Kiri other than that the people need me why I should stay. Y/N doesn’t want to see me, so what’s the point?”

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Kiri’s hand fell from around him, suddenly feeling angered by his words and his tone as if he was brushing you off like it was the only thing he could do when around other people, “I mean what the hell is wrong with you? You can’t even admit that you have feelings for her, can you? Seriously? Nothing, at all? Neteyam, she could die, she could not survive this transfer and you still can’t fucking say it out loud.”

His shoulders dropped, her voice cutting through him like a knife cuts through flesh, with resistance but then giving away. The more things she said, the easier it was to get through to him past the bullshit and the fear. Exhaling, he finally turned around to face her, his little sister, and felt his words get caught at the sight of how sad she appeared. Her eyes displayed every form of grief and anger, and it was all pointed straight at him.

“I can't,” he responded, his confession wearing her tight expression away, “If I say it, it will become real. Everything these past six months will be right there in front of me. Every night spent together, every argument about her training, every reaction, and feeling she brought out of me. Except if I admit my feelings for her, it would also mean that I have to admit that I am losing her. I will be admitting that she is sick and dying, and I can’t accept that Kiri. I can’t..”

Kiri stared up at her brother, eyes wide and wallowing in unshed tears as every friction and pause in his voice spoke to everything he was saying. He was barring a part of himself to her at that moment which he had never done before. He was looking past the perfection that was expected of him and let his insecurities ring out in the air and while it was killing him to his very core, a part of him felt relief.

“Kiri, she’s not mine. She never was and I didn't have the thought to even ask. We could never be together so why even say anything to her, but I guess now, it doesn't even fucking matter, does it? All that duty and expectations bullshit means nothing because she is slipping away right in front of us. And now that I realize that, she doesn't even want to fucking see me."

She sighed, one that was brought out from deep within, as she took a hold of his arm again. This time gently almost like if she pressed any harder, he would break. Or he would get scared, sink back into his shell, and close himself off from the rest of the world.

“Neteyam—”

“What is that?” he shouted, pupils dilated and crazed as his eyes became drenched in tears, he wished would never fall.

“Neteyam, please,” Kiri cried then, gripping his arm harder to get his gold eyes to lock with hers, to get him to calm down as his breathing was erratic pulling and prodding at his chest as if he were trying to self-destruct right before her eyes. “You need to try and understand what she is asking of you.”

“I won't do this. I have to see her.”

She shushed him then, his cries falling silent upon his tongue, “Brother, you have never seen her like this, do you understand that? For six months, you have only seen Y/N in her avatar body and as one of us. You have never seen her in this true form, in her human body.”

“I don’t care about that, Kiri, you know that,” he replied, brows drawing down on his face as he tucked his bottom lip in between his front teeth.

“Okay, but she’s also sick, very sick, and I can’t imagine that the last time she'd want you to see her would be like this. Not as this weak, shell of a person she doesn’t even recognize as herself anymore,” Kiri explained carefully, her tears starting to fall without her even realizing as she gripped harder onto Neteyam, “It sounds like she knows what could happen, what’s at risk here. It’s not that she doesn’t want to see you. It’s that, she would rather have the last time you saw her be from earlier. She’d be okay with the fact it was in the forest, in your arms, and in her avatar body because it would mean you would remember her that way, at that moment.”

Her words had struck him in the chest harder than any blow he had ever gotten in his entire life. It was worse than when he had collided with one of the floating mountains on his first Ikran ride, or the time when he had gotten the shit beat out of him early on his training days. It was even worse than when Lo’ak had beat the shit out of him hours ago. In fact, it felt as if it was worse than all of those things combined.

She’d be okay with the fact that it was in the forest, in your arms, and in her avatar body.

Neteyam bit down on his lower lip, reopening the wound that Lo’ak had put there earlier as every single word of that one sentence made him recoil. If the last time he saw you, talked to you, was in front of that tree screaming at you as you finally told him how you felt. The way I feel about you is consuming. No, it couldn't be. That would be complete and utter bullshit. He sure as hell wouldn’t stand by and let the last time you saw him be there, under that tree not only rejecting your heart but his own feelings.

Neteyam had been selfless his whole life until it had come to you and he wasn’t about to return to the person he was before you, refusing to listen to his own feelings and what he wanted. At that moment he was choosing to be selfish, to choose himself and to choose you over some last dying wish. He knew it was wrong, so wrong, but it didn’t stop him from stalking the healing tent for the next half hour, watching as each person came and went. His bottom lip at that point was rebleeding and torn to shreds but he needed something, some sort of distraction from the fears that were starting to take over his body.

There were fifteen minutes until you were going to be transported to the site and another fifteen before the ritual would start. Neteyam watched from afar he as Mo’at walked out of the tent, her hands full and her gaze seemingly distracted. She disappeared far into the village and Neteyam snuck out from around the side of the tent he had been standing for nearly a half hour. Having the darkness to disappear into, he slipped into the tent unnoticed. With no one following him, he close the front lapels of the tent and turned slowly on his heels.

He felt his entire body freeze, hands clenching at his sides while his breathing suddenly sped up. Dim lanterns encased the room, emitting a soft glow and he felt all sanity escape him at the sight of the avatar body that had been in his grasp only two hours before. The only you he had ever known. It looked so cold without your animated expressions, that familiar pinched line in between your eyebrows, or the tiny divots of your dimples that appeared when you smiled. It was you and had been the you he had given himself to completely but at that moment it wasn’t you at all. Its eyes were closed and already having been prepared for the ritual, the body was wrapped up in blankets to be transferred.

His eyes then took in the much smaller form laid a few feet away from it, all bundled up, chest rising and falling with each deep breath that was inhaled. He cautiously walked forward and as the soft glow brushed along his face, he felt as if his body was at a standstill, all air pulled from his lungs.

Completely unmoving, he finally saw you for the first time — the real you and his entire world was shifted on its axis. You were all soft lashes, smooth skin, and glistening full lips. With your eyes fluttered shut, he wondered what color your they were, the opening of your soul. He wanted you to open them. He wanted to see if they matched the ones he had been staring into for six months. Other than that, the slope of your nose was smaller and your eyebrows were different, more prominent, and the markings on your skin were completely dissimilar to the ivory specks he was so used to admiring.

Somehow though, even with an entirely different person in front of him, you were entirely familiar — all of his favorite parts of you were the same, and just as you had looked earlier that night underneath the mauve tree, there in that tent and in that body, you were ethereal. And you were his even not officially, you were. Ma’ Y/N.

Tears once again resurfaced after the countless times he had reeled them back in that day. Slowly, he sunk down onto his knees beside you and listened to the way you breathed, trying to memorize the sound of it for as long as he could. Glancing down to your side, he found his eyes flickering with interest at the sight of your hand, limp across the blanket. Five fingers, smaller than his own, just as your other always had been. Staring down at it, he couldn’t help himself and before he realized it, he was reaching for it. Engulfing your smaller one in his, he watched as it slipped into his with ease as if it was meant to be there. He felt a type of warmth fill his chest then as your hand twitched in his.

Tilting his head, he looked back up to your face and found himself taken aback at the sight of two small doe-eyes peering up at him. They were so elegant and nothing like he had expected but somehow he would commit them to his memory then and there. They scanned over his face like it was the first time you’d ever seen him and he felt his heart rate speed up when they had narrowed slightly. Your brows knitted together to bring back that pinched look he had just been reminiscing about seconds before.

The sight of you staring at him felt almost scrutinizing and based on that furrow in your brow and the slight frown that occupied your glistening and completely temptatious lips, this was without a doubt you. He knew then that it didn’t matter which body you were in, which form whether human or avatar, it would always feel like this. With you, he would always feel this.

“Hm, so this is you. Well it's nice to finally meet you, Y/N Y/L/N, all of you," he said suddenly, voice low and so soft it comforted you in more ways than one.

A few moments ago when you had felt a sudden pressure on your hand and the warmth of calloused skin, you couldn’t help but stir from the sleep that had suddenly overtaken you. You didn’t know who to expect when you opened your eyes, but it definitely wasn’t Neteyam. You never thought it could be but as you looked up and adjusted to the light, sure enough, it was.

He was there, staring down at you just as clearly as he had been in the forest among the mauve tendrils of the Tree of Souls. At first, you couldn’t deny how the feeling of his hand wrapped around yours resembled a hug and all the consolation in the world you needed. However, despite the affectionate look about him you couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing there. How he could have been there when you deliberately had said he wasn't allowed to be. You didn’t want him to see you like this and definitely didn't ask for him to come and see all your insecurities looming over you just before the consciousness transfer.

That was when the annoyance set in, evidently by the furrowing together of your eyebrows and the downward curve of your lips. You stared up at him, not knowing if you even had it in you to speak to him. He chuckled out, hand squeezing yours, feeling as if you had captivated him completely at that moment.

“Look, I can tell by the way you're staring at me right now, that you're angry I'm here."

Your lips parted as if you were going to reply, and you watched as Neteyam leaned closer as if he needed to hear your voice. The reassurance that it was still you in front of him, the same person. But as you inhaled, he could feel the way you were struggling to even do that, breath.

"Nete— "

His hand squeezed yours again, reassuringly, his unshed tears were so clear to you then, like uncut glass in the soft lighting from the lanterns. “No, don't. Don't say anything. You have already said everything you needed to. You had your chance, now it's my turn. It’s my turn to talk.”

With his eyes earnestly staring down into yours, you exhaled the breath you were holding and let your chest relax, parted lips closing with ease. You nodded then, letting the pinched look leave your face as if you were alleviating his anxiety with it. It was his turn then to breathe, his words jumbled across his tongue, adding weight to his mouth as he couldn’t dare look away from you. Finally, as you offered him an encouraging smile, he felt all of that weight be lifted off.

“Look, I know you didn’t want me here not like this and especially not now, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t leave things the way they were. I wouldn’t do that to us, Y/N, because you deserve more than that,” he said, stumbling slightly while completely worried that everything was coming out wrong. But based on how it felt so right in his chest and the tears gathering in your eyes, he knew it was more than enough. "I don't know what's going to happen but I do know that you deserve more finality than that because you're everything. How you make me feel is everything and I just needed you to know that.”

His eyes were soft, looking at you as if it really were true, that you were everything. That you were the entire world, his entire world. Fully in that tiny spindle of time, it was like he was finally unveiling his entire self to you — every piece, sliver, and makeup of who he was was reflected in his eyes. No more walls, no more guarding or holding it all inside. There at that moment, it was the real Neteyam Te Suli Tsyeyk’itan staring back at you.

Curling your lips into a small smile, not enough to show your teeth, you could taste the tears that were slipping down from the inner corners of your eyes, finding a place within your smile line. With batted breath, you watched his eyes trace them to only find yours again. Relief filled him at that moment at the sight of them streaming down your face because they weren’t a sign of heartache, grief, or mortification of the situation. Most importantly they weren’t a reflection of fear or doubt about what was to come — it was as if you were completely content in your point in life right there with his hand wrapped around yours. No, what was inevitably laced within those pretty tears of yours was a complete abundance of love.

Neteyam felt as if that look had reached past his chest, taken the pieces of his heart graciously and purposefully, took them, and then, with the warmest touch, put them back together again. It was like Eywa’s plan for him wasn’t to become his father’s soldier or to save the Omatikaya from the invading enemies. His will, his purpose was to be here with you, like this.

Leaning forward, you felt his palm connect with the side of your face, cupping your cheek like he had wanted to do so many times before. His thumb brushed along the glass of the oxygen mask and you couldn’t help but close your eyes and release more tears. Reaching up, your small hand circled around his wrist and held it there, able to feel his pulse under your fingertips. His eyes flickered to the touch before they found yours again and he suddenly couldn’t help himself any longer, not when he was finally able to see everything so clearly.

He cleared his throat, voice overcome by emotions as a single tear of his own slipped from the corner of his eye and down into his upper lip. It was the first tear he can even remember touching his cheek in years — a tear that had and always been promised for you.

“I see you.”

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise while the breath you had taken in felt like it had gotten lodged in your throat. More tears escaped from yours but your smile didn’t falter, not for one second, and you knew if that was the last thing you ever heard, you’d be happy. If it happened right there in his arms you could be okay with that because his words had somehow sanctified your soul. Sounding different, sounding so much more than when he had said it earlier that morning willed every bad thing away. In fact, it was everything, he was everything.

You squeezed his wrist in your hand as you stared up at him, eyes gleaming like it was the first and last time they ever would, “I see you.”

It was iridescent, the only way to utterly describe the sight. Mauve tendrils of neon light bathing skin in light as the forest's phosphorescent green pulsed beneath the people's bodies and feet. Pulsing to the heartbeat of their Great Mother. Pulsing in sync with their swaying bodies and stifled groans. It all reached deeply within their bones; her and her power. They cried to her, prayers and pleas kissing their tongues as the bioluminescence of the ground was prominent where their queues were connected.

Before Mo’at within the tendrils and the night sky, the atokirina was coated in white and floated in the air above in swarms. Thereupon the pulsing ground of the tree with bulging roots, two bodies lay wrapped within the confines of Eywa. The neon green phosphorescence rectifying as the Mother accepted the two bodies on her beloved soil. Evidently how the small fingerlike tresses of the ground lifted and wrapped around each body, grounding them completely. The same tresses that connected each person there to the entity of Eywa.

“The Great Mother may choose to save all that she is in this body,” Mo’at spoke, watching the tresses grow across the avatar’s body eventually pulling the queue further into the ground creating a direct neural link to the back of your human neck.

Eyes fluttered to a close, and you were finally relaxed, instead listening to the sound of your slowing heart. Norm stood in his avatar form near your human body with Neytiri as Jake sat on the other side next to the form they all hoped you would wake up in. His fingers brushed the strays hair out of its face and glanced over at your human body, taking note of the gentle rise and fall of your chest. He shared a look with Neytiri, a shared look of worry as both of Mo’at’s earlier words hung in their heads. She is very weak. It only brought flashbacks of Grace and filled him with the worst dread. That feeling was only exemplified when the ritual began.

Everyone bathed in the green light, connected arms, all being interlinked as one with Eywa were able to feel her as well as each other. They slowly listened to Mo’at’s words chanting out in the air and repeated them in synchronism back at her, eyes closed focusing on the feeling channeling within one another.

“Ting mikyun ayoheru rutxe, ma Nawma Sa’nok (Hear us please, Great Mother).”

Mo’at raised her arms high into the air, “Srung si poeru, ma Ewya (Eywa, help her).”

“Pori tireati, munge mì nga (Take this spirit into you),” the crowd chanted back rolling their necks and their shoulders as one back and forth.

No matter how many times Norm and Jake had witnessed the ritual, it still left them too stunned to speak; the overwhelming sensation of the voices in unison, the connection of the neurons through the ground, and the overriding presence of Eywa. It all was so much to process even more so while trying to pray to Eywa herself. To ask for forgiveness, for mercy, for her to return you even when you were weak and sick. Ask and beg that she give this one thing to all of those that loved you.

The phosphorescent green reflected back in his eyes as he glanced down from you to your human body now completely covered by tresses leaving barely any sliver of real skin showing. Mystified he watched as the atokirinas floated down from the sky and with the lightest touch surrounded your avatar body — the purest souls watching over you and serving as a positive sign of what he wished to believe.

Finally after what felt like hours of chanting and praying, and looking into the sky for Eywa, Jake felt his attention shoot up to Mo’at. He watched as she spun in circles, arms flailing in the air, eyes rolled to the back of her head, repeating the Great Mother’s name in constant tongues. She could feel her and she could hear her. He was focused then as Mo’at’s voice grew silent out of nowhere like a switch had been flipped. Her eyes returned to normal, her arms dropped to her sides, and her voice fell quiet.

Glancing down at the two bodies before her, she raised her hand to the rest of the people, her voice loud and commanding, “Lu hasey! (It is finished).”

The crowd became silent and all as one found themselves holding their breaths as Mo’at bent down examining your human body closely, her hands raised over your face. Jake held his too as Neytiri stepped forward, hands dropping to the mask around your face. With the uttermost delicacy, she reached forward and pulled it up and off, the sound from releasing the compaction was a gust of air. She laid it down on the ground next to your body as her eyes swept across your beautiful young face, relaxed, gone of any pain.

Her large hand cupped your face; like a mother, she leaned down and connected her soft lips to your forehead, right above your eyebrow. A maternal comfort you had never known or experienced, something Jake had mentioned often to her over the last half year. She let her lips linger a little longer, channeling all of her affection and devotion for you, offering it to Eywa.

Leaning back her eyes opened again and her hand left your face with one final touch. She looked up to meet her husband's eyes and Jake felt the anxiety worsen in his stomach as she offered him an ensuring nod. He took a deep breath and looked down at the young avatar before him. He leaned over it, tracing every point of its face with his eyes, her ivory-kissed skin, and long eyelashes.

It was the same face of the young woman Jake had had the pleasure of knowing over the last six months. It was the young woman, he felt had become a part of his family. The face of the woman who had captured the attention of his children and left them astounded after seven years of knowing you. He looked down and saw the face of the woman who had managed to get his eldest son to fall in love. It was the face of you, the young girl who had been entirely and always enraptured by this planet and this world — a woman who was always meant to become a part of the Na’vi.

His fingertips ghosted over your cheeks, the lightest of touches as the atokirinas could be seen all around you. Waiting and waiting, he felt his breath and hope leave him all at once as seconds passed and then a minute. He felt the time frame leaving, falling to a close, and his heart sunk into his stomach. Glancing up at Mo’at expectantly, disappointed, she urged him back down to you with a simple nod, asking him to wait a second longer.

Live or die?

One of us? Or one of them?

Letting his head tilt back down to you, Jake held his breath, his pointer finger brushing against the skin right below your eyebrow, delicately. His gaze zoned in on yours so seriously, he felt his throat well up waiting, begging Eywa. Just as his pinky pressed along your skin, the pair of eyes popped open, coating his sight in yellow and gold, flickered with specks of the lightest green he had ever seen.

one of us taglist is not working the best right now and I have over the limit of people asking to be tagged (it says it's fifty) so, for now, I am just not going to have a taglist because I can't tag everyone and it's taking a lot of work to figure out.

#avatar #avatarimagine #avatar way of water #neteyam x reader #writing #fanfiction #neteyam imagine #avatar imagine #avatar fanfiction #lo'ak imagine #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak fanfiction #neteyam fanfiction

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violettwrites · 22 days

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Since youre taking requests, well uh, hi! Can i ask for Rick G x Sassy!Reader (who loves to dress to impress and isn��t suited for the apocalypse at all lol) and reader keeps calling Rick ‘fav dilf’ or smth like that? If you dont wanna write it, feel free to ignore this tho! Tysm, take care💗

you can be the boss 🗡️ rick grimes

author’s note: hi nonnie !! thank you so much for your support 🫶🏻 i’m sorry if this wasn’t what you had in mind, but i tried my best ! i also based this in alexandria (pre-saviour) bcos idk it’s one of my fave eras. i’m truly sorry it’s short, but i do hope you enjoy x

summary: reader loves to prance around in the cutest little outfits (especially in front of daddy grimes), despite it being the middle of the apocalypse.

warnings: age gap, suggestive comments, reader is 20+

word count: 658

ever since the apocalypse had started, you had been safely situated behind alexandria’s walls. having been close family friends with deanne and her family, she had offered you refuge when you needed it. and you happily obliged. you had watched people come and go, yet alexandria always seemed to stay the same. so when a new group had come along, you were intrigued. and of course, that’s when you had laid your eyes on one of the hottest ‘dilfs’ you had ever seen.

rick grimes seemed to occupy your thoughts from there on out. he had been wary of you at first, but slowly started to warm up to you, finding your clueless, yet sassy attitude quite adorable. you were always quick to compliment him, or noticing if he had shaved that day. and when he had been given the title of constable, and you caught him in that outfit? boy, you were smitten.

you were currently relaxing on the porch of your house, a book in hand as you enjoyed the sunshine hitting your skin. you were in a pair of blue denim shorts ( that seemed to leave little to the imagination ) and a little white tank top. you enjoyed spending time outside; people watching was definitely a favourite past time of yours. especially when one of the newer members of the community would walk his route past your house.

laying your book flat on your stomach as you noticed rick making his way up your street, you watched as he waved at you, a smile on his lips as he headed towards you.

“mornin,” he nodded at you, leaning against one of the beams, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes trailed over your skin. he had noticed how you always seemed to have more skin showing than anyone else. it wasn’t very practical for the apocalypse to have shorts so short and a tank top like you did, but then again, he had never seen you leave the walls of the community, so he understood a little.

“ah, my favourite dilf!” you chirped back at him, sitting up a little straighter in your chair with a smirk on your lips. ever since you had met him, you had always come up with silly little nicknames for him. dilf, daddy grimes, officer hottie— whatever seemed to come to your mind whenever you saw him. “shouldn’t you be out stopping crime?” you questioned, tilting your head to the side a little.

rick had taken a liking to you, which surprised him more than it surprised yourself. he was always weary with new people, but there was something about you that just made his head spin. he tried to ignore his thoughts though, because you were much younger than him, and he didn’t want to be labelled as a creep.

he chuckled at your words, shaking his head. “not much crime around here to stop.” he chuckled, reaching up to rub his hand over his, now short, beard. “unless we’re talkin’ about those shorts. should be a crime to wear somethin’ so tiny.” he motioned to your legs, raising an eyebrow.

you scoffed, shaking your head as you looked him up and down. “it should be a crime for you to look so good in that uniform,” you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest as you looked up at him. “as for my shorts— there is nothing wrong with them.”

“you’re gonna get your leg bitten off by a walker.”

“yeah, yeah. whatever you say, fashion police.” you rolled your eyes at him, waving him off. “i’d have to leave the gates to get my leg bitten off by a walker.”

god, you were so oblivious to the outside world.

he shook his head with a smile on his lips, turning to make his way back down the steps, heading towards the sidewalk.

you called out to him before he could walk off, standing up and moving towards the railing of your porch as you leaned against it. rick turned towards you, hands on his hips as he looked up at you curiously.

“don’t forget to save those handcuffs for later, sir.” you teased, a smirk on your lips as you watched his cheeks go red before he shook his head, walking away with a smile on his lips.

god, you’d be the death of him.

#🦇 — anon #🦇 — requests #🦇 — vi writes #rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes imagine #rick grimes headcanon #rick grimes drabble #rick grimes imagines #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead #the walking dead drabble #the walking dead oneshot #rick grimes oneshot #the walking dead imagine

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theemporium · 1 year

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Oh my god Maxie and trouble!!??!!!!! Literally my favs… no thoughts just domestic max and trouble trying to sleep but she just won’t stop talking and max just kisses her to shut her up and finally get some beauty sleep 😭😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏‼️‼️‼️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

this was so cute and so self-projecting kqedjewfkqd thank you for requesting! and sorry not sorry to the team jeremiah girls!!🫶🏽

If there was one mistake Max made when it came to your relationship, it was agreeing to binge tv shows with you.

And yet, he fell for the trap every single time.

Personally, Max was never one to get overly invested in tv shows or movies. He would enjoy them, there were a few he wouldn’t mind rewatching on the odd rainy day. But he never got attached, whether it be to the show or the plot or the characters.

Not in the way you did.

He had to admit that he did find it adoring just how invested you got. If you liked the show, you were all in. You had your favourite characters and your comfort episodes. For the short time you watched the show until you finished, it was a hefty topic in most of your conversations. You got angry and sad and upset and excited over these shows. Max had never really experienced anything like it.

And usually—usually—he genuinely did find it adorable.

But sometimes there were moments like this one where he majorly regretted watching the show with you.

“I just don’t get how everybody can’t see the clear endgame!”

“Mhm.”

“Like, from music and cinematography and—”

“Mhm.”

“She has to end up with Conrad! She has to! I mean,” you paused for a moment as you let out a scoff. “Who would choose Jeremiah? He just lurks in the background with his creepy blue eyes and weird stare!”

“Mhm,” Max hummed like he had been doing for the last fifteen minutes before he paused. He frowned, opening his eyes to look over at you. “Wait, you don’t think my blue eyes are creepy, right?”

“Of course not, baby,” you murmured with a soft smile. “You have pretty ocean eyes. Jeremiah Fisher has the eyes of a white walker.”

Max snorted.

“I’m serious, Max. They stare into your soul.”

“I think you forget that I watched the show with you, Trouble,” he murmured as his eyes fell shut again, taking in a deep breath as he desperately tried to fall asleep like his body was begging him to do so.

But you had just finished the last episode of season two, you were riled up, and now instead of going to bed and cuddling with him like he wanted, you were sat criss-crossed on the bed as you rambled away about a show Max stopped thinking about the second the tv turned off.

“He is just the clear second option when Conrad is there, all dreamy and perfect and still in love with her and—”

You never got a chance to finish your sentence before Max had sat up, his fingers tangled in your hair as he kissed you mid-sentence. You felt breathless and flushed, and it didn’t take long for you to sink into his embrace as he pulled you back down onto the bed until you were lying on top of him.

“I know you’re angry but you need sleep,” he murmured against your lips as he settled his arms around your middle. “We both do.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, still a little dazed from the kiss.

“And I would prefer to have my girlfriend in my arms rather than talking about some other man being dreamy or whatever you said,” Max added.

You laughed lightly as you nuzzled yourself further into his embrace. “You are Team Conrad though, right?”

“Of course, Trouble,” he murmured and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “Now for the love of god, please fucking go to sleep.”

#max verstappen #formula one #f1 #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen fic #max verstappen one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Text

Crimson Fangs Sing Me Lullabies

PAIRING: David 'Hesh' Walker x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Ten years is a long time to be alone.

WORD COUNT: 18.7k

WARNINGS: Angst, gore, canon typical violence, stitches & needles, death, fluff, puppy love type stuff, mutual pining, Hesh being adorable, Ghosts timeline

A/N: Back to my roots with 30+ page works.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

He vividly remembered the moment Riley had alerted him on that rainy Tuesday afternoon. It was when the sky was pelting against his soaked beanie and the abandoned houses of South California were utterly silent—as still as the heart in his breast. The ground under his feet was soft, grass giving way to slopping mud that caked up to his ankles in thick mounds of flooded earth.

Hesh had only been out for a swift survey of the area, taking Riley for backup as Logan stayed at camp to pack and hide any trace of two individuals from inside Fort Santa Monica snooping around. Seeing as Federation Soldiers frequented the area, any piece of them that was left in No Man’s Land was subject to identification. Nothing from a broken branch or a boot track could be out of order; certainly not when the two brothers were here to scout possible weak points in enemy territory. Try and find ways to slip in a fire team—give ‘em all a good scare and wipe another point off the map.

But Riley was along because not only was he Hesh’s responsibility, but the German Shepherd’s instincts were far superior than a soldier’s ever could be. For only 14 months, the dog was making quite the name for himself around the Fort.

A chilled wind whips down the street, the overgrown road filled with rusting cars and trash which flutters in retaliation of being disturbed all across the asphalt. Rain comes down sideways in great roars. Whatever the dog had honed in on, it was loud enough to be heard over the noise of nature.

“Riley,” Hesh calls, calm and collected, to the animal that was intently staring at a large home; hackles tense and tail pointed high. Blue was the color, hiding peeling white trim behind suffocating ivy. A large portion of the left side was ripped away to show its insides like a dead deer would, which had most likely happened when the earthquakes had been rampant during the first few years after ODIN was fired. Tectonic plates shifting and the like. Green eyes narrow. “Go on boy, search.”

If there were Federation Soldiers this close to camp then it needed to be taken care of—quickly and quietly. No time to get Logan.

Sharp ears perk and the lithe dog shifts its haunches, raised neck fur accented by a low growl. Paws pad over the ground and twin footfalls follow swiftly after, the body of a Honey Badger Assault Rifle pointed down but ready to aim at a moment's notice.

But nothing could have prepared Hesh for what he found that day.

—

You press to the oozing wound with a futile hope that it would stop gushing, breathing so loud it can be heard over the deluge outside this shitty excuse of a shelter. Your arm was splattering blood all over the damaged hardwood of the first house you could stumble into, feet flinching back until your spine hits a dresser in the upstairs bedroom.

Dust lives on every surface; flies through the air as you string curses under your breath with stuttering sobs. You’d hoped that there was a medical kit stashed away here somewhere—something to scavenge that could fix the knife slice that was making you dizzy.

T…there was just too much blood.

But after the loud slamming of cupboards and the destruction of more than a few rusty door hinges, it hit you like a bullet to the chest as your clothes stuck to you like a second skin. Everything had been picked over.

No medicine in the bathrooms, no rags in the kitchen, and no hope of bottled water to clean the wound out. Nothing.

“No, no, no.” You force the black dots away from your eyes, vision blurry with tears as you press harder to the gash. It squelches and more scarlet hits the floor. “It can’t end like this. Not like this.”

All that you had were the clothes on your back and the sparse materials in your backpack that amounted to an empty water skin, a blanket, and the pages of an old book.

Blood pooled on the ground, and you realized far later that the only reason you had heard the noise downstairs was because of the steadying way you had bitten your lip; a sob cut short. Your body stilled like you were caught in a bear trap.

It had been a soft whistle, barely heard over the sheets of rain hitting the broken roof. Water lightly taps your head in an uneven pattern as it leaks through the frame like an ant tunnel. Blinking as a few more tears are forced down your cheeks, you slowly turn to the door that hangs off one hinge.

Small brown eyes are already locked onto you.

Its pupils are so tiny you wondered if the German Shepherd was half snake—they seemed almost slitted as you gaped at its presence. The army green vest that was wrapped around its frame only served to make you more afraid.

Dogs were not your friends. Not in this day and age. Certainly not the ones that belonged to the soldiers that had cut your arm open not an hour earlier in the woods. That’s what they did, then? They sicked a dog on you?

You swallow down a gulp and stand paralyzed as the beast’s lips curled back; its tail puffing up and wagging with aggression. Your breast filled with the constant drumming of a panicking heart.

“G—” voice small, weak, you try to appease the thing with a forced smile as your brows bunch in. This demon doesn’t even blink. “Good doggy.”

You stumble backward only a single shaky step, and then it lunges.

The dog runs at you with a gnashing of teeth and a shredding snarl on its lapping tongue. Sharp barks meet your ear-piercing scream as they echo off the termite-eaten walls. Rushing back, you feel saliva splatter against your face; a sharp snapping flash just inches from your nose. Your back slams into the far wall with a resounding crash.

“Riley!” A masculine voice yells out, followed by feet rushing up the creaking stairs, but you don’t even hear it before fuzzy neck fur is gripped in your hands. Paws dig into your stomach. Worse, fangs graze your neck as ears stay stapled to an angular head; bobbing back and forth with intent to rip your flesh out.

You could smell its damn breath.

Straining, every bit of adrenaline-laced strength builds as a split-second to act takes form. You plant your shaking legs and shove with your shoulders—racing away before the loud thump of the Shepherd’s form hitting the floor is registered. Its vibrating growl of hatred echoes off your brain along with its skidding claws. You stagger quickly into the bathroom and slam the thin wood with a loud yell of fear, finding the rusted lock before flicking it with a floundering grip.

The barrier shakes not a second later with the force of a vehicle as you balk back from it with a horrible fear in your breast.

What would it feel like to be mauled to death? You swallow through a closed throat, seeing the door almost cave with the force behind thrown at it; eyes wide and snapping to the tiny box you’d caged yourself into. Oh, fuck me.

“Riley!” Again that voice, closer. There’s a pause in the attack, but the deep barking continues. Eyes flinching, you shake wildly and notice the under-sink cupboard not a moment later with a prey-like haze over your thoughts. “Easy, boy, easy!”

Stumbling, you whip open the small enclosed area and do what you can to shove yourself into it—legs pressed tight to your chest and grunts falling from your lips as you try and maneuver past pipes. Your arm feels like there are a million knives stabbing one after the other, but you don’t for one second dare to stop what you’re doing. Letting the tiny door shut with a bounce of wood, you get totally swallowed by darkness.

You realize quickly that the barking has entirely stopped.

“Shit,” hand going to capture your mouth, your fingers press tightly to hide even the sounds of your ragged breathing, dealing with both the hunched-over nature of your spine and the knowledge of someone outside the door.

Someone who was probably going to kill you.

Silence lingers, but before long there’s a commotion of a hand that begins to jimmy the door knob. Your ears twitch, blood draining little by little from your head.

Don’t open the door. Please, don’t open the door.

The door is shoved open with a shoulder, a brief grunt echoing off the air as the thing slams to the wall. Soon after, the clatter tells you that it falls off of its rusty hinges along with the muffled curse of annoyance.

Measured footsteps make you stare, wide-eyed, at the tiny crack in the side of the wood ahead of you, light from outside dim but enough for you to notice shadows as they slink past. A sigh.

“Clear.” Weight shifts, and you hear a defining click of a safety. You press on your mouth harder. “What was all the ruckus about, boy? Another raccoon give you the slip?”

Claws pad over broken tile and you hear a nose twitching as distinctly as you can hear your own pulse in your ears. This man that was talking….he didn’t sound like the normal soldiers you’d encountered. There wasn’t an accent to his American English, in fact, he sounded native to the region. Deep of voice and lax in phonics.

But you had more pressing matters than a man’s speech pattern. A bark rips through the bathroom, and you hear a soft chuckle as your body spasms.

“It’s not going to be in the cupboard. C’mon, Bud, we need to get back to Logan. Time’s ticking.” More snarling barks, getting higher in octave. The door rattles as you choke back screams as dog feet scratch with aggression, making the barrier bounce with every punch. “Hey, Riley! Enough!”

A bulky shadow snatches a limb out, grabbing the handle on the back of the dog’s vest, but it’s a bit too late for that. White fangs capture the jutting edge of the frame and rip it off its holding with a raging of metal and splintered wood. You yell between your fingers and try to force yourself away—to try and disappear into a shattered bit of drywall that groaned as you put weight on it.

Feet kicking out, the dripping wound on your arm makes you wrench the other hand to grip at it, a vain attempt to protect your weak area at the moment. It burns like you’ve just flayed the skin from your bone, peeling the flesh like a person would do to a raw steak.

And then the dog is reeled back with a sharp yell, “Riley, stand down!”

At once all barking and drool-dripping snarls come to a halt. Panting, you look out to the half-body of the man and into the dead eyes of Riley—a beast that glares at you despite not being able to as his front legs are held off the ground by his vest similar to a kangaroo. It is like staring into the color of dead earth and waiting for it to swallow you whole.

You wonder if you can die with a still pounding pulse, or if your soul can dip into the very confines of your intestines until you bleed it out. With black dots at the sides of your vision, as Riley is lowered to the ground and left to stand still, you decide that, yes, that could very well happen.

There’s a large exhalation of air from the top, not-visible, image of the man and although you don’t want to look away from the small-eyed dog, eyes drift slowly to stare.

Large toned thighs covered in green and brown camo tucked into muddy boots; straps and holsters that drip water with the subtle shifting of hips. Yet it’s almost immediately that those legs bend as a broad chest comes into view followed by a pale, square face.

You blink quickly, dispelling tears from your lashes mixing with rainwater as it flows down from your forehead when green eyes meet yours—wide and strangely…curious? Brunette hair is trapped by a beanie, and the beginning of stubble spread out down his cheeks, jaw, and chin. Gray sweatshirt, combat vest, patches…your eyes struggle to take it all in but ultimately the large rifle sitting against his chest paints a clear enough picture, even if this man was completely different from the other soldiers you’d encountered out here.

Shaking, you curl in tighter and hunch your shoulders, hiding away your arm.

Hesh doesn’t know what to think.

He looks you over with a blatant expression of shock, Riley still on high alert beside him as one of his knees connects with the cracked floor. Lips slightly parting, the man’s head slightly pulls back, trying to understand what the hell he’s looking at.

A… civilian? This far out in No Man’s Land? How was that even possible—Federation control was practically assured in this area and they shot on sight. Clearing his throat, Hesh sees your water-wet body jerk back, impulsive fear stuck over your head. He quickly raises his hands, dropping his rifle to let it hang from its strap with a clenching jaw as Riley huffs.

“It’s alright, Ma’am.” He coughs awkwardly, watching you incredibly closely. Still not sure how to handle this. “Erm…” A glance is sent to the far wall, “My name is Lieutenant David Walker with the United States Special Forces, you’re going to have to tell me what you’re doing out here. It’s not safe.”

Firm, yet you notice the words are also subdued as the tension in the air somewhat lessons—like a mother scolding a child that she doesn’t want to start bawling. Your eyes waft away from him back to Riley, though the knowledge that the man was in the Special Forces was startling. You had thought everyone else was dead, most of all the remnants of the military.

When did this happen?

Riley still stands as still as anything, watching with his lips curling every so often. Hesh notices your terrified gaze and commands the dog with an easy comment, “Hey, Riley, away Bud.”

The beast pads off with one last long stare, back into the bedroom where you hear the thud of a fuzzy backside hitting the floor and a canid grunt. Immediately a great sigh exits your mouth, crumpled lungs wheezing. The man’s Adam’s Apple bobs as he lowers his arms, lips peeling into a languid frown when his head tilts.

“Sorry about him,” Hesh says, and your shy gaze stops on his neck. Green eyes narrow on you. “Riley’s trained to flush out Feds—not that good at rolling out the welcome committee. ‘Specially out here. He means well.”

Your lips stay shut, shifting the bloody mess of your arm closer to you. If he was going to kill you, you think, he would have done it already.

This Lieutenant David Walker wasn’t wearing the dark coloring of the other soldiers in the forest or the towns—wasn’t wearing the patch of twelve yellow stars set into the black void of a rhombus outlined with red.

He wasn’t part of the group hunting you down.

Hesh sighs deeply, sparing more glances around the broken-down house and the beautiful woman hiding away in the bathroom cabinet. Even with all of his burning questions, it wasn’t safe to be here. Logan was expecting him back.

Itching at the back of his neck, the large man mutters, “Well, I guess you’re just going to have to come with us then.” Hesh wasn’t about to leave you here alone.

Civilians were meant to be behind the Wall, and however you managed to end up outside, he needed to get you back not only for his own consciousness but because you looked like you needed a good meal and a warm bed.

How long has this girl been out here? He asks himself internally.

A gloved hand slowly extends out to you and you level on it with a stiff twitch of your feet, eyes glinting.

“Got yourself pretty much folded in half in there, Ma’am.” Hesh chuckles, trying to put you at ease as you just watch like a deer in headlights. “Can’t be too comfortable, huh? How about I bring you back to camp and I can sift ‘round in my packs—see if I can’t find something for you to eat, yeah?”

It was like coaxing a wild animal from a cage. A chained fox ready to bite its own leg off for the simple release of freedom that it would bring soon after. Hesh couldn’t blame you, Riley usually had that effect on people.

The dog wasn’t trained to be a pet, after all.

At the prospect of food, your ears perked. If this person had food, they had to have bandages as well—medical supplies. You glance quickly down at your arm, seeing how the blood had drenched your abdomen from where it flooded out into the lines of textile and thin your lips. It didn’t look good; if it was left untreated…

Green eyes flutter to stare at where you had briefly peeked at.

“Shit,” Hesh starts, sucking down a breath. His fingers curl from where they still wait for your hand in his. Looking at you as your heart skips a beat from the concerned comment and the unwavering way he stares. “Riley didn’t get you, did he? Let me take a look.”

David moves closer, head partially going under the counter to carefully touch you on the shoulder, shifting your arm from the top. If it was a simpler time, you would have laughed at the sight of such a built and tall man trying to stick his upper half into such a confined place.

His fingers dig into your flesh and with a hesitant line on your forehead, you slightly present your cut as he sends you a tiny smile in reassurance.

He…doesn’t look malicious. Maybe I can…

You blink away black dots and shiver as fingers close around your wrist. Holding back a gasp, Hesh’s eyes widened at the gushing slice; immediately clocking it as a wound from a large and serrated knife.

Federation? Many of the others from the recon units come back with similar wounds courtesy of the certain blades that the Feds used.

Digits go to dig around in his medical pouch as your eyes flutter, seeing the heavy frown on David’s face and the lines on his forehead. Ears twitching at the sound of shifting paws, your body quivers. Green quickly glances up as your hand clenches; making more blood fall out to the wood.

“He won’t do anything,” Hesh assures you, “not without my order. You just need to focus on me, alright? I’m going to wrap this up to help stop the bleeding.” A roll of bandages escapes his pack, and he gets to work tying off a tourniquet above your elbow. “Can you tell me your name, Doll?”

Your nerves are alight from the rough scape of his gloves along your skin, but you whisper out your title with a stuttering voice. More hushed than a breeze on a humid summer’s day. Speaking after all that screaming hurt your vocal cords. It confuses you that you aren't more afraid of this man—the hard yet sparking eyes.

Hesh sends a quick glance and smiles.

“Well, we’ll have you all fixed up soon. Promise.” He decided fairly promptly that it would be counter-intuitive to ask you so many questions in No Man’s Land; he’d wait for all of them to be back in the Fort and his father’s opinion.

Elias Walker was sure to be intrigued by this.

Flinching when David carefully pours water on the wound to clean it out, more wrappings come after to press the torn edges of the injury close together, white rapidly becoming red. But the bleeding would stop soon, as the tight bite of the tourniquet cuts off the flow and leaves your arm completely numb.

Hesh licks his lips and releases your hand, moving back to rest on the ends of his feet to let his limbs hang off his knees. Looking you over one last time, the man wonders if you were a scavenger. A drifter, maybe? There was a score around the Wall, but they all got caught eventually.

But none of them were this far out, this afraid.

“C’mon,” David stands, one hand resting atop the counter and the other still extended into the cabinet for you. “We need to get going so we can make it back before dark. Or until the storm gets worse. I’d hate to catch a cold.”

You stare and push down your fear, injured hand held to you as the other slowly drifts forward. Hesitating over his expectant palm you bite your lip before letting his grip encompass yours. Firmly, fingers tighten over your skin and you shiver at the prospect of touch.

As gently as he’s able, Hesh helps you out from your hidey-hole, stabilizing you with a hand to the small of your back as you pop to full height.

“Easy,” he murmurs, watching you stumble as he holds tight. The dog stands from the bedroom, ears erect, but the Lieutenant doesn’t even look. “Riley, stay.”

Your eyes purposefully never stray to the canine.

The grip over yours squeezes before it’s gone, and a part of you blinks at the sudden sweep of coldness that returns to you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, sliding your vision to the still form at your side as the house creaks and groans; rain followed by a deep rumble of far-off thunder. Hesh’s lips pull up, huffing out a single, dismissive, chuckle yet his heart jumps with pride.

“Don’t worry about it.” The man’s limbs rest on his weapon, loose. “Least I could do for lettin’ Riley scare you like that.” A beanie tilts as his rugged head nods to the doorway. “Follow me, Ma’am.”

You stare at the back of his head as he slips past you, walking past the broken door. Blinking after, you stuff your hands into your pockets and quickly catch up with a few strides; feeling light-headed from the leaving adrenaline in your blood. Not fully convinced you trusted him, David had the one beneficial factor of being in the American military that made you go along.

Why would someone impersonate them? It didn’t make sense, and thus, he had to be telling the truth.

But you really didn’t like being near Riley.

Tail still stiff, the dog stays on David’s right while you keep to the left, if not slightly behind. Brown eyes glare and rage, and you hunch your shoulders in mute retaliation, fixing the position of your backpack after it was smashed between the wall and your body.

“So,” Hesh tries to break the tension, carefully going back down the stairs and looking back. You perk. “How long have you been out here, if you don’t mind me asking? Don’t get many civvies in No Man’s Land.”

His boots thump while your shoes lightly press, descending back to flat ground.

“I…” You lick your lips, “I don’t know.” Brows peeling back, Riley exits the house first, Hesh pausing for a millisecond before humming leisurely and going after—not without a narrowed look of confusion directed at you first.

“Alright.” He coincides. Maybe you were just in shock. “No worries.”

No Man’s Land? Silently, you dig into the back of David’s head when he leaves the shelter of the house, getting soaked by rain as nitrogen fills your nostrils. What’s that?

Feet traveling out through rubble, you side-step wood and drywall, breathing in the outside air as you soon feel the water wet down your head and clothes once more, shivering at the constant slap to your scalp and cheeks.

Shuffling after David, you see him call above the storm with one hand to his chest, speaking into a radio.

“Logan, I’m coming to you! I’ve got an injured Civvy with me—knife wound. It’ll need stitches.” There’s a murmur from the other end, but you hear none of it above the rain; Riley peels out ahead, taking point with a constant pattern that leaves the dog coming back after a moment or two into a heel position. “Affirm. Hold down the camp until I get back. We’ll need to move ASAP.”

Digging into the collar of your shirt, you stay in Hesh’s footprints, shoes getting even more mud-cased all along the old material as you all turn into the treeline, forsaking the dead neighborhood to go back to its rotting.

You only send one glance behind before it’s swallowed by bushes and downed logs.

The cover of the branches offers some reprieve from the downpour, but only to a point where you still were left floundering over the rugged terrain while David walked it like a pro.

Hesh was constantly looking over his shoulder at you—slowing his pace when you got too far behind him and Riley. At your almost frigid shivers, his lungs built in a low sigh.

“Here,” he says, firmly, and plucks the beanie off his head to wring it out. Water pools to the soggy ground as your legs slow, constantly blinking eyes looking up from the rocks you were currently intent on not tripping over. “Sorry, it’s not much. Logan’s got a spare blanket he can lend you later.”

Pausing, your fingers inside of your pockets twitch at the outstretched article, lashes fluttering as a raindrop bounces off your nose. Cleaning your throat when Hesh prompts you with a small, “Go on,” and a motion of his hand, you take the offering slowly.

Slipping it on, you pull the thing far over your ears, hating how your hair feels under it but not willing to take it off once the pounding on your skull ceases.

“Better?” David asks, tilting his head as his short brunette locks get weighed down to his forehead.

You nod wordlessly, attempting a small flinching smile in gratitude. Hesh delays his turning feet for a moment, seeing that with a barely-there flush to his pale cheeks. Clearing his throat once more, the Lieutenant clicks his tongue for Riley to continue, and offers you a hand over the rocks.

Up and over, he helps you all along the way, suddenly not caring about how long it might take to get back to camp.

Walking beside you, you take glances at David, wondering aloud, “Who’s Logan?”

He smiles, green roving over the terrain and now on even higher alert now that there’s someone else with him for the trip back. Riley sniffs along the badly flattened trail, though still takes time to stare back at you with distrust.

“My brother,” Hesh pushes his hair back, expelling water like a rag, “Riley and I went out to scout territory while he stayed behind. Erm,” the brunette chuckles and another wave of thunder rolls overhead. “Don’t think too much about it if he’s a bit quiet when you meet. Logan doesn’t talk much.”

“I won’t mind,” you also chuckle, though yours is more forced; subdued. It was easy to speak to Hesh, even if your arm was pulsing and your heart was rampaging.

The Lieutenant sends you an appreciative side-eye, smiling slightly, “Good. I’d hate for you to think he was being—”

Riley halts with a huff.

Attention shaping forward, David steps in front of you with a quick foot, and your frozen view of the western cluster of trees is blocked by a broad back.

“Riley’s got something.” He speaks low, deathly serious. “Keep behind me.”

You suck down stiff oxygen, body weary as you peek over to stare at the dog and his vest as it shifts when he moves. The large white lettering of ‘Beware of Dog’ on the side catches your optics like a knife in the dark.

Hesh takes slow steps ahead, knowing you’re behind him by the way your breath stutters and brushes the back of his neck. His vision bores into the treeline, peeling back bark like the books of a page, his heart a steady bump in his chest.

Riley continues to alert, paws shimmying and fur caked in mud as his tail begins to go wild.

David levels his rifle to the shadows dancing, clicking off the safety with a thumb before his cheek finds the stock, staring through the scope with deep-set brows. The man waits for the beast to engage first.

With the minutes ticking and the rain drowning everyone, you find every swaying branch and twitching leaf to be as anxiety-inducing as a typhoon; still, Hesh stays unperturbed in front of you. About to open your mouth and utter a confused plea to keep going, Riley suddenly rushes.

Pushing headlong into the treeline growls akin to a demon echoing off the atoms of the air when the puffy tail disappears. There’s a moment of strained silence right after where your legs are itching for you to run, but David stays and so that means you will too. He’s really your only chance for survival at this point.

“C’mon boy,” the brunette mutters, hips shifting weight.

It’s only when pained screams enter the air that the two of you really tense up, a loud, panicked thing that bounces off your eardrums over and over again. You gasp and take a step back, and that’s when two black-armored individuals burst from the bushes, yelling behind them and pivoting to try and shoot an enraged Riley with blood dripping from his maw.

Hesh dispatches them with only four bullets—two for each as their exposed necks explode into crimson. Snapping your gaze away you swallow tersely, blinking as if to dispel the image from your mind. You had seen people die before, in painful and gruesome ways, but that didn’t mean you had ever gotten used to it. Lowering his gun, Hesh tilts his head at the two Federation soldiers, the third taken out by Riley before he drove the others to him.

“Good, boy!” David praises, oblivious to your plight, and the dog trots over with a lolling tongue, eyes bright. His gloved hand pats Riley’s side a few times, ruffling the fur atop his head as paws tippy-tap before shifting to look back at you. He double-takes, gaze widening with a frozen smile.

Green blinks at your nervous expression and your body that had backed up a good five feet with your hands stuffed into your pockets. His petting hand pauses and Riley barks. Hesh watches you flinch at the sound and tenses.

Awkwardly standing up to his full height, his fingers itch at his stubble.

“I…” David pauses, not sure what to say to you. Shaking his head, the man grunts out, “Camp’s this way, Ma’am.” A finger points down the trail and you nod quickly, still not looking anywhere near the bodies or Riley. Or him, for that matter.

“Okay.” Sharing a look with the dog at his side, he thinks his lips and pauses before he takes off down the grass, concern and apprehension stuck in his veins. Not knowing why, he begins to feel a bit strained.

You stay well behind him all the way back to Logan, thinking and worrying.

I don’t know this man, you tell yourself, arms wrapped around your middle and beanie heavy atop your scalp. Even if he’s nice—even if he says he’s in the military, I don’t know what he could do. I have to remember that.

And that damn dog.

You can’t get its eyes off of you—constantly watching and tense as if you’d bolt and he would get the chance to pounce on you. It didn’t trust you and that sentiment was entirely mutual. Pulling your injured arm closer, the image of flashing fangs is playing in your mind as you and David get closer to a dense cropping of stones and deep foliage; now it was worse. Now Riley had congealed blood dripping off his chin, all fur up to his eyes deep red and stained. Rabid looking.

He was one minute away from ripping my throat out back in that house.

You shiver, but not from the cold. If not for the kind way Hesh had wrapped your arm and the promise of further help and food, you’re not entirely sure you wouldn’t try to bolt.

People haven’t exactly been kind to you out here—not for many years.

Your eyes whip away from Riley and stay on David’s boots until the man pushes through one last bush, holding it back for you as you shuffle past with a silent nod of appreciation. The presence of another man immediately makes itself known when you stare into the remnants of a campsite.

Grass trampled to form a semi-circle, a stuffed backpack rests against a large boulder and, in the middle of the area, sits a small pit for a fire. The dig-out ground is now flooded over by the rain, creating a concoction of mud and brown water. A large overhang stemming from two gigantic rocks gives a small reprieve, though there’s little room for more than two people, and if the rain slants the other way it would end up being completely useless.

But the figure standing under it is taking what little cover it offers. Shifting with a similar outfit to David and blinking at you with brown eyes. Quickly, he lowers his gun when Hesh calls out, “Woah, Logan—it’s me!”

Blonde hair lays flat over the brother’s head, and you instantly see the resemblance between the two in the same shape of their jaws; the angle of their twin noses. But Logan did seem to be the younger of the two, though not by more than one or two years.

David saunters forward, hips swaying, and pats you lightly on the shoulder before looking back to send you a soft smile of reassurance. Water flows off his chin.

“Now, let's get that arm looked at.” He walks under the overhang and bumps forearms with Logan, who continues to watch you carefully. Riley trots up and the blonde rubs his head when David bends down to grab his backpack.

You awkwardly shuffle, still out in the rain with a cautious feeling in the back of your chest. If you could peel back your skin, you would see an amalgamation of alarm bells strung up by cords of hesitance. Who was to say these men were any different than the black-clothed ones? Could you know their character based on a simple tourniquet and a soggy beanie?

Brows tight, your shifting feet slosh through a puddle. Did you have a choice?

Hesh calls over the rain, peeling out a large medical bag from his pack—the white cross capturing your vision. “C’mere! We need to get that stitched up.”

Sighing deeply, you walk until the rock stops the sky’s tears, fingers twitching in your pockets and feeling quite tired.

“Logan,” the Lieutenant orders and the blonde takes his eyes from you slowly, his stubbled skin sporting a scar up the right side of his jaw. Riley looks up at him when the pets stop. “Give her your spare blanket, would you?” Green flickers to your arm before they go to your face. “Feelin’ alright about needles, Ma’am? It won’t feel that great, but I promise I know how to stitch a straight line.”

You watch Logan jumble through his own belongings, shivering and hearing the snap of latex gloves from David’s side. They both worked like a well-oiled machine, with gears and pins moving in stupendous arks of shared understanding. If you were being honest, it almost overwhelmed you when a heavy fabric was dropped over your shoulders.

Fingers go to keep the blanket over your form as a small protein bar was held loosely in your face from Logan’s hands. Brown eyes blink when you carefully take the item, whispering out a small, “Thank you, Logan.”

The silent man studies your expression before he nods firmly, backing up and taking Riley with him out into the rain with a whistle to allow you more room. You respond to Hesh as he waves you over with a hand.

“I don’t mind needles,” you admit and David listens, patting the rock beside him on the ground for you to sit on. Doing that, you unwrap your bar and hunch deeper into the blanket. “It’s the blood that bothers me.”

You get a silent side-eye and a gentle hum in understanding.

“I’ll be done before you know it,” Hesh offers a twitch of his lips, going to lightly twist your arm so that the stained bandage can be unwrapped and laid to the side. “Then when you’re back in the Fort I can get you home to your family. I’m sure someone’s pretty worried about you right now, huh?”

Your face scrunches, confusion taking hold as you’re just about to bring the protein bar to your lips. Fort? Family? What was this guy talking about?

Not noticing your look, Hesh, sets off to work, one thumb caressing your numb forearm as he sews your flesh back together. At some point, you turn away, content to bite your lip at the pain and glare into the stone beside you rather than see the crimson slosh down your arm. David wipes at it every so often, seeing the curved needle slowly bring the ragged ends of skin to a neat line.

He does his best to move as fast as he’s able, careful not to dig too deep and cause you more stress.

You eat your bar with a ravaging hunger, done with it almost immediately and licking the remnants off of your fingers. Hesh chuckles deeply, but a part of him is concerned at the sight.

You had said you didn’t know how long you’d been out here—how were you getting food? The wildlife? You didn’t seem the type to go hunting; didn’t even carry a gun unless it was in your backpack. David doubted that, though.

“Hell, the only person I’ve seen devour those things like that is Logan.” He comments, cutting off the last suture with the small scissors from the pack. You turn to watch his face, seeing the concentrated lines above his eyebrows and the way his tongue lightly pushes out of the side of his mouth until he licks his lips. “Don’t know how he does it—they’re more bland than his cooking.”

You huff slightly at that, embarrassment heating your cheeks as the needle stops its up-and-down motion. Hesh finishes up with one last look over, tilting his head to the side.

“You seem pretty close,” whispering, you glance at the figure in the rain, the yellow ball being tossed absentmindedly to Riley before it’s dropped at Logan’s feet as he walks the perimeter.

Hesh smiles, “Definitely. Couldn’t imagine my life without him.” Fresh gauze is spread and taped down, new bandages unfurled. “Feeling alright? You’re doing great.”

Your eyes blink at him, slipping over his handsome features and the way his hand holds you so softly even if he is quite large. The cold didn’t seem to bother him at all. You clear your throat and nod shakily.

“Isn’t the first time I’ve been stitched up.” Muttering out your confession your fingers twitch as David tightly wraps your wound up, securing the end and unwrapping the tourniquet at your elbow when he’s done.

“Really?” The brunette frowns. “Sorry, that must have been tough.”

You flex your hand, closing and opening your grip as his own travels to the marks the ruthless tourniquet had made on your skin. Freezing your eyes lay stuck to his fingers as the tips of them brush the indents, imaginary pricks under the skin forming as blood begins to flow properly again.

Hesh doesn’t know what overcame him to do so, slowly pressing into the flesh with a low grunt stuck in his throat. Maybe it was some ill-placed concern for you—some guilt left over for how Riley had treated you before he had shown up. The fear in your eyes when he had killed those Feds.

But you…he wanted to help you.

Unexplainable actions make your heart thump, blood rushing to your head as your limb shakes at the contact.

Quickly, green orbs pull far open, realization dawning. Clearing his throat, David swiftly moves his hand back to his knee, not meeting your eyes as a red flush makes everything from his nose to his ears pink. Your lips part at the sight in shock, jaw loosening.

“Well,” he says loudly, moving back to stand and taking off the latex, “that’s that. You’re all set to go.”

Without meaning to, a small giggle escapes your mouth as you rest your opposite hand on your arm. If anything that makes Hesh all the more flustered, quickly picking up all of his supplies and zipping up the medical kit with a racing pulse.

Running a hard hand over the back of his neck, you see David call Riley and Logan back as his cheeks go back to their normal color. Your vision narrows on him, trying to understand this individual like how you could understand the thunder that rips the sky or the blanket over your shoulders. You swipe at the last dredges of rainwater on your nose, seeing the two brothers converse in hushed voices. Riley continues to watch you, shaking off inside the overhang and huffing.

It was quite obvious the dog held a grudge for you shoving him to the ground. Warming glee leaving you, you frown at the canine and shift your eyes to the outside world; the downpour is softer on your eyes than feral brown.

You only turn back when your name is brought up.

Hesh stares at you, serious, as Logan goes to swing his pack over his shoulder. “We need to start moving soon. It’s bad enough to be in No Man’s Land but to be this deep in Federation territory is worse. Do you have enough energy to keep going?”

“I…” your lips stutter, taken aback, “Yeah, I should be alright.” If the terrain was anything like it was getting out of that town, I’m not going to make it a mile. Pulling the blanket tighter to you, you ask, “How far away are we?”

Wherever they were going, it sounded like a good idea to tag along as long as they were allowing it.

Hesh shares a stiff glance with Logan.

“Full day of hard hiking, give or take. Terrain’s changed so much it’s a gamble every time.” Your face blanks, throat closing.

“Okay, sure.” You don’t know when you had come to care whether these men left you behind or not, but Hesh’s caring attitude had struck something in your chest like a drum.

Now that you had someone to talk to out here, someone to caress your wounds, it felt vile to stake out on your own again. Running from soldiers with yellow stars and black rhombus patches outlined in red. This pair wasn’t so bad, at least from what you knew as of now.

David’s lips tighten, eyes sliding half-closed to narrow on you. Green meets brown, seemingly telepathically communicating in that way only siblings can.

Hesh nods his head, slapping Logan on the shoulder firmly as he calls Riley to a heel position.

“C’mere, boy, we’re leaving.” The dog lopes over as the brunette stops in front of you with a smirk. A silent Logan huffs a chuckle from his position, shaking his head to himself. You look up in confusion, a slow death seeping into you as a teasing expression makes Hesh’s face shift. His arms cross over his chest.

“How do you feel about piggyback rides, Sweetheart?”

—

You yelp, gripping tighter around David’s neck as the ground nearly gives way, his handle on your hips increasing. His mouth releases a grunt though he quickly rights himself so he doesn’t send the both of you careening over the edge of this rocky hill.

“Easy,” he huffs, looking behind at you as the slowing rain falls on everyone. A brow raises, puffs of breath escaping Hesh’s mouth as he begins to continue on. “Or you’ll choke me out before we make it back.”

You cringe and loosen your hold, muttering, “Sorry, David.”

“Hesh’ is fine,” he laughs, turning back, “Only person that calls me David is my old man. And don’t worry about it.” Eyes twinkle. “There are worse ways to die than being choked by a pretty girl.”

You heat, sputtering for a minute as the joke registers; glaring at his head below your chin.

“Well then, I guess you wouldn’t mind if I just yanked you off this cliff? Pretty girl and all.”

The deal had been you would keep up with Logan and Hesh as long as you could, from then on the Lieutenant would so graciously allow himself to be the pack mule while Logan and Riley protected the both of you. In all fairness you had done better than expected—David had called you stubborn and practically forced you onto his back when you started dry-heaving on the side of the trail.

Over the walk, you had gotten into a habit of softly arguing with the man, Logan sending back amused glances every once and a while. It felt good to speak to people again.

“Hm,” Hesh huffs through his nose, sidestepping a boulder and carefully finding footholds in the ascending ground. Riley barks from the top of the hill as if telling him to hurry up. “Y’know I don’t have an answer for that right now. Would you be throttling me on the way down or no?”

“Depends,” you deadpan, not looking at the edge that the man walks confidently, shivering but still keeping Logan’s blanket over your shoulders.

Hesh blinks water from his eyes, glancing over his shoulder. “On what?”

“On if I can get to you before Riley chomps my hands off.” A loud bark of laughter springs from his chest, unexpected but pure. It echoes off the cliffs and the trees, and you have to laugh slightly with him. You feel his hold squeeze your thighs, hiking you a bit farther up as he makes it to the top, Logan looks at him with a slightly parted mouth before his gaze slides to you.

You swore there was a spark of thankfulness in his expression, but he’s turning and whistling for Riley a second later.

“Shit, that’s a fair point.” Hesh chuckles, and you notice his shiver when the cold wind whips past.

Cheeks burning, you move your hands making the man under you make a noise of confusion. Ignoring it, you peel at the blanket around you and place it above the both of your heads, blocking out the water even if the fabric was already soaking. You rest your elbows on his shoulders and sigh, looking at your bandaged arm for any blood.

Dark, yes, but all the red fluid was dried. It was seemingly all good.

Hesh feels his lips pull in a heart-felt smile, stubbled cheeks gaining a sheen as you hide his head from the rain. He didn’t need you to, of course, but the action came from a place of genuine care. It felt…nice.

“That’s kind of you, Ma’am. Thanks.” Green peaks slightly up, and you turn away so you don’t meet his eye, cheeks burning.

“Least I could do.” Your mouth mutters. “Thanks for not letting Riley eat me alive…and the stitches.”

Hesh grunts softly, still smiling.

“Well, I’m not one to let my dog rip apart civilians. Least of all ones that need help.” He keeps a close gaze on Logan and the canine, watching the treeline and the rustling bushes from the blanket edge. “It’s a good thing I found you when I did—wound like that’s a nasty thing to treat half passed out.” He dares to push, “How’d you get it if you don’t mind tellin’ me?”

You noticed how he would try to ask unassuming questions in hopes you would be able to explain yourself but in reality, you were just as confused. The military was still functioning? You had no idea, stuck in the same areas for…a long, long, time.

It made you afraid. How…how many years had passed from when the sky had erupted with fire, beams of pure light slamming into the earth. You try not to dwell on it.

Holding the blanket edge tighter, you wiggle your chilly nose to push back sniffles and explain to the best of your ability. Hesh had called those men Federation Soldiers, and you had heard of that title before the world had fallen apart like a toy castle under the fist of a child.

Federation…You speak slowly, thoughtful of your words.

“I was running,” David slows a bit, putting distance between the others as he watches Riley sniff an old rusted bucket stuck in the middle of a Black Sage bush. His lips thinned, and a tense feeling in his gut was forming. “I don’t know for how long or where I was going, but I knew that if I didn’t run, I would die.” Your arm was throbbing, but you only look at it and continue. “I bumped right into one of those men when I was trying to see through the rain.”

Voice dipping slightly, you hold back a squeak of surprise when David’s thumbs start moving back and forth slowly over your thigh. Blinking down at the top of his head, you pause and speak through a hitch of breath—the man mistaking it for upset and feeling his eyes crease.

“...He swiped at me with a knife and I raised my hand up to block it. I,” you stare over at Riley as he runs next to Logan, that brown and black coat soaking wet. “I thought they had sent a dog after me when I saw yours in the house.”

Hesh tilts his chin to the ground, lungs breathing down a sigh through his nose. Walking around the form of an abandoned and rotting side table, the Lieutenant tries not to imagine how scared you must have been in that instant.

He moves his head and you look into the expression of a soldier who takes his job very seriously. At the intensity that lives behind his eyes—at close range—you see flecks of bark and mossy dirt; a delicate and almost pretty curve of lashes. You’re entranced by a rugged beauty as you sigh.

“That’s never going to happen again.” Skin heating, you see his gaze search your face, hold firm. “I said I would get you home,” he declares, letting a small smirk peel his lips. “And I’m not one to go back on my word, you hear?”

Your chest tightens. You don’t have the heart to tell him whatever place he’s bringing you isn’t your home, but you feel light at the statement anyways. The insinuation was enough.

“Okay,” you mutter, and you both stare a moment longer.

Nodding subtly, David studies the dirt and grime on your cheeks, the weather on the epidermis in what could have been sun exposure or simple blemishes. Your expression turns shy at the blatant staring, and you move your head back just as Hesh chuckles deeply, blood pumping. Walking faster, the Lieutenant rejoins the other two with an alert eye and a soft smile as a thankful feeling grows for the blanket over his head and the woman holding away the downpour.

He decided then and there that nothing bad would ever happen to you as long as he was around.

It’s an incredibly long walk, but when you see the Wall for the first time, you nearly fall right off of Hesh’s back. The rain had stopped by now, though the air was still moist and the sun low—giving the world a shivering temperature.

But the Wall.

Hesh had called it Liberty Wall in a passing comment as he had let you slide from his hold, your feet stumbling not from fatigue but from sheer amazement. It was…gigantic. Falling to pieces, sure, but nonetheless a great achievement.

“There she is,” David sighed, stretching out his arms and groaning as Logan radios in from where you all stand along the ridge. Riley lies panting at Hesh’s feet. “Good to see ‘er again, huh? Been outside for too long, I’m about ready to eat a whole plate from the mess hall—and that’s really saying something.”

About to chuckle to himself, eyes narrow in confusion at the realization of your blank expression behind him, frozen body with wide-open lids and parted mouth. Hesh’s brows crease.

“Hey...you alright?” Clearing your throat, you notice the twin brown and green gazes on you with a quick swivel of your head.

The brothers share a look.

“Mhm,” you bite your lip, hands descending into your pockets as you shuffle, shoulders rolling under the straps of your backpack.

Hesh crosses his arms as the radio on Logan’s chest statics with a garbled voice, “Affirmative. You’re all clear to proceed, Sergeant. Good to have you both of you boys back so soon—Riley too.”

It was becoming even more clear that you needed to be brought to Fort Santa Monica and to their father. You had met Federation soldiers, were in No Man’s Land for who knows how long, and acted as if you’d never seen possibly the most recognizable landmark that had been made during the last ten years since ODIN.

“Logan,” Hesh turns to his brother but keeps his eyes on you, “radio into dad, yeah? Tell him we’re back and going to be showing up at HQ. Ask for an empty room.”

You stare along the barrier, mind running back to all the events that had happened since the moment the world had changed, wondering. Thinking.

If this had been here the whole time… Faces flash over the back of your eyes like a layered movie before you push them back. The trail that Hesh and Logan had taken to get here was probably only known to the likes of them—no one else, or you would have traveled it ages ago. The dark-clad soldiers were so numerous that you’d never even thought to take the main road up North, nor the woods. They were everywhere all the time.

A hand grips your upper arm and you flinch, focusing back as Hesh’s strong jaw comes into view. He flattens his lips in a still-line smile of comfort.

“Let’s get you inside, Ma’am.” His hand carefully presses down farther on his hat atop your head, pulling it over your ears once more. “Find you some less soggy clothes.”

“What about you?” You ask without really knowing what you mean, finding some strange sense of comfort when David was near to you.

The man chuckles, heart jumping, beginning to guide you down the slope and watching you closely in case you trip. Riley keeps on his right, neck hair still bristled whenever he looks your way.

“What about me?” He asks, cheekily.

“You just carried me more than halfway here,” you shiver and dig deeper into Logan’s blanket, “and you’re just as soaked—I don’t want you to get a cold because of me, Hesh.”

The sentiment was true. David was feeling worn out, and some of the liquid dripping down his face was undoubtedly sweat, but seeing that adorably concerned expression was almost enough to make him forget the aches in his shoulders and thighs. He blushes and turns his gaze ahead, clearing his throat.

“Ah,” the man shakes his head, “don’t worry about that. Could’ve been worse.” He smirks, “could have had to carry Logan.”

You laugh quietly at him as everyone makes their way down into a large, underbridge, area made of concrete; heading quickly to a checkpoint in front of a large pair of black-steel doors built into the Wall.

“I don’t think it would be that bad. Funny to watch, at least.” Staring at the back of the younger brother, Riley suddenly comes up from behind you, seemingly intent on getting there first. His ear brushes your swaying hand and the next thing you know, Hesh is shoving you to his opposite side as savage barks make you yelp.

“Woah, Riley!” David hollers and your heart jerks to a ravaging pace, air trapped in your throat as you’re kept close to a strong chest by an arm around your shoulder. “Holy Hell, stand down!”

Logan by now had turned and was jogging over, grabbing the dog by the vest and peeling him back across the concrete. Panting, you watch with shaking limbs and look down at your fingers.

Nothing more than a large scratch across the top of your left hand, but it was irritated. You sink deeper into Hesh’s side and cover it against your chest. Green eyes jump back and forth from you to the raging canine, Logan’s grim-set face glaring down at the furry beast, putting Riley into a sit with a gloved hand to his behind. David smushes you closer and after a minute of more barking, the dog falls silent, though still glares at you violently.

You struggle to take down air, face scrunched like crumpled paper. This dog…

Hesh glares and clenches his jaw at Riley, for the first time in his life entirely frustrated with the animal.

Guiding you forward quickly, the brunette doesn’t move his grip, scowling over his shoulder before bee-lining to the entrance. He speaks in clipped sentences to the guards who all know him and his brother well.

“Take us to HQ.” You’re ushered into the back of an armored truck, Hesh taking your right side and telling Logan to stay with Riley in the next vehicle of the convoy.

Blinking quickly, you swallow down saliva and hold your hand tighter, shivering and staring at the floor.

“Let me see,” muttering, Hesh reaches out. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault…Christ, I swear he��s never like this.”

You shakily put your hand in his, the large mark aggressive looking but barely bleeding. But you remember the pressure of Riley’s fangs vividly as they slid past your flesh like soap.

“Ah, shit,” the man huffs, “I’m sorry, Sweetheart.” His thumb runs over the mark lightly, gritting his teeth and sending you a stiff glance. Your vision tilts as you look away, but the slide of his hold was addictive; the small twitches of his fingers and the warmth they bring.

“Y’know,” you attempt a small, wobbly, chuff, “he looks a lot cuddlier than he is.”

Still tense and feeling guilty, Hesh pushes forward a dull twitch of his lips; blaming himself. Maybe the dog needed more socialization if this was how he was going to act around injured civilians when they barely brush against him.

“Yeah, I suppose.” Still holding your hand, he squeezes before stuttering nerves release you—hesitation to let you go bunching his knuckles for a second more. He liked the feeling of you in his hold, liked how your tension slowly leaked away when his attention was on you. “Doesn’t hurt, does it?”

You feel the slight pulse in your hand, sighing before shaking your head.

“No, not really.”

“‘Not really’ isn’t givin’ me the reassurance I’m lookin’ for, Ma’am.” Shuffling out of the blanket, you place the water-heavy fabric in the seat beside you as the car flies over the ground, speeding you into safety.

“I think it would be worse if I lied.” Itching at his chin, Hesh huffs and nods, his large body so close to yours that his shoulder bumped yours with every movement of the vehicle.

Your heart is steadily calming, and you rub at your face. The feeling wasn’t bad, and you almost find yourself leaning into him and putting your head in the slot of his neck.

Stop that.

“Guess so, but it would make me feel less like an ass.” Smiling, you raise a brow and view the way his chest beats quickly through his clothes, bouncing his vest up and down with adrenaline. Green narrows at you and your face heats. “But, no, honesty would probably be best, Sweetheart. I’d hate for you to be hurting and not tell me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you smirk, swiping fatigue from your eyes as you yawn. “You’re very nice, Hesh—your brother too. Not what I would expect.”

Wide lids side-eye you, lips parted. There’s a second of still silence as you slouch back against the seat, placing your stitched arm over your abdomen and pulling Hesh’s hat farther down your head; even if it was wet, it had gained a semblance of a precious gift. Like a present on a holiday, one you shake because you’re so excited to open it you have to stimulate your mind with its hidden contents.

David blinks quickly, looking away to stare out the window and see the dark sky outside and the shadows it leaves as the twenty-minute drive to Fort Santa Monica truly begins. He lets you rest your eyes, but the comment has genuinely struck him.

Nice was not on the list of what most people called him. Stubborn—a natural-born leader, ruthless, and prey driven. But…nice. He clears his throat quietly and watches the raindrops sneak down the glass.

“You’re not too bad yourself, Ma’am.”

—

You’re sitting in a large room filled with screens playing black and white video footage, pulling at the collar of a two-size-to-big sweatshirt and shifting in large camo pants. They had taken your backpack. In front of you, the face of an older man was simply watching you as you looked around with fatigued wonder. Desks with stacks of papers; large computer data storage boxes, the entire works. One of the upsides to this, you blinked at a water dispenser and realized, was that the lights were dim in here and you were finally somewhere that had AC.

Inside your head, you were at a standstill. Part of you thought this was a dream, was this really all here the entire time, and you and the others just—

“I think we can start with names.” Your eyes whip forward, finding Elias Walker’s cold brown stare and graying hair as he stands across from the table you’re sitting at; your feet shuffle under the wood.

Hesh and Logan are by the door, the younger leaning on the wall petting Riley and the older keeping his arms crossed and fingers loose on the collar of his vest. Green softens when you look over slightly, a comforting smile finding your vision. He nods.

No need to be worried, he seems to say, I’m right here with you.

Over your head, the damp beanie was still there, now only slightly water-logged. You pull it down over your ears with a slow grip and listen.

“You can call me Elias, and those are my boys you met,” a pale hand is moved in explanation. He grunts, “I’d imagine you’re all acquainted well enough.”

You nod giving your name and mutter, “Nice to meet you.”

Elias crosses his arms over his chest—it’s not hard to see how all of these men are related, though Hesh is more of a carbon copy of the father. The older man has a calm but stern look on his face as he frowns.

“And what was it that drove a civilian down into Federation-occupied land? Past the Wall?” You fiddle with your fingers in your lap, licking your lips. Elias wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “Better yet, how exactly did you make it outside—only way out is through the checkpoint.” Brown darkens, “else there’s a breach I don’t know about.”

You struggle to answer, not sure if you know how to formulate a sentence that would make any sense. But this was starting to make you nervous. The unyielding intensity, Riley glaring at you, your blatant tiredness. Shock was settling but you didn’t know how to explain.

“How…” speech falters, and Hesh watches closely, frowning but knowing that you had to show them how you had gotten beyond the barrier. It was a massive security breach—it was a miracle you were even alive, really. “How long has it been since that wall was built?”

Elias stills. By the entrance, Hesh’s expression freezes. It’s as if the very air flips at the bare insinuation you offer forward.

Shifting his hips, the older man’s muscles tense, as if he’s thinking over something very important. “Ten years since ODIN struck. Work on the Wall started right after.” A silent pause. Expectant. You feel your face drain of blood; a blank horror.

Ten…ten years? It was silly, but your mind quickly went to your age—adding the numbers together and the time you missed. Ten years of hiding; of watching rare acquaintances die, scavenging for supplies. Ten years and this entire time you would have been able to live normally had the Federation camps moved just a tiny bit Eastward to open a path for you.

“I…” You clear your throat, forcing out a blatantly fake laugh through a whimper, “Wow. That’s something, huh?”

“You mean to tell me you’ve never left No Man’s Land?” Elias leans forward, placing his hands on the table and closing in. He doesn’t look angry, but his tone is disbelieving. Accusing. “That’s impossible.”

“Dad,” Hesh steps forward, holding out a hand in front of him and glancing at your numb face—the sway of oblivion.

“Ten years,” you whisper, staring off into Elias’s tense neck. “But she died just a week ago. All this time we could have…” David turns his head to you sharply.

It’s like time stands still in that room—a void completely separate from all else besides a brewing acceptance. No one knows who you’re talking about, but the context is little needed for the way you spoke. Obviously, you had lost someone terribly important to you and Hesh understood that the reason you had probably made it so far was because of whoever they had been. You weren’t exactly the perfect image of a natural survivalist—not helpless, no, just not like the Lieutenant of Sergeant. Certainly not like their father.

“Shit,” a hand is lightly placed over your mouth, stomach bunching in your abdomen.

“Let’s do this another time,” David interferes, and his father throws him a sharp glance. “It’s late, Dad. Everyone needs some rest; we can pick it back up in the morning—first light.” His mouth quirks in a stiff smile, and Logan backs him up silently.

Elias stands back up to his full height, crossing his arms loosely, and you’re stuck in the well that makes up your consciousness, descending bucket being fruitlessly dragged back up by a rusty handle only to fail halfway in the air as the rope bunches. The father sighs deeply and shakes his head, giving in to his son after a clench of his jaw. But it was obvious you posed no great threat.

“Alright.” Hesh nods and walks over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder as you look up at him slowly. He plasters a small smile on his face. It looked incredibly kind—the strong set of his eyebrows now soft.

“Why don’t you come with me?” Fingers squeeze into your flesh. “There’s a pretty good barracks building a five-minute walk from here—doesn’t smell like the others and you’ll get a room all to yourself.” Elias watches, face losing a part of that tense edge. He shares a glance with Logan and turns to resume his work. “That sound good? I swear I won’t put you up in building three.” You stare and he acts like he’s sharing some big secret as he lets you stand up. “Ant problem.”

You spare a tiny, broken, chuff of a laugh and his face brightens. A small win.

“You coming, Logan?” The Lieutenant asks, but the blonde is already shaking his head ‘no,’ pointing to the back exit to the shooting ranges. He was a night owl, through and through, and hasn’t changed a bit since they were kids. “Sounds good. I’ll take Riley.”

“You boys take it easy,” Elias says over his shoulder, and you stay at Hesh’s side as he leads you out of the room, whistling for the dog to come to a heel which the canine does with a lolling tongue and sharp ears.

“You too, old man. Don’t worry about us.”

“I always do.” The door closes and once again you three are walking together—Hesh more present with using his own body as a barrier between your form and Riley with his right hand near the dog’s vest handle.

“I think my dad came off a little heavy, sorry about that.” David’s voice brings you back, pulling that bucket a little farther up from the pit below. “It’s just…”

The sentence falls.

You bite your lip and say, “It’s just his job. Even when I think about it,” the man still hasn’t released your shoulder, but instead moves his hand to the span of your shoulder blades. You try not to shiver and fail when he listens as if you’re the most viable source of news ever created. “It does sound a little...insane.” For lack of a better word.

David chuffs, tilting his head and scrunching one eye. “Maybe just a little.”

The man feels you shaking and he doesn’t think you notice. Eyes wide and fingers twitching from where you keep them. The noise probably doesn’t help.

Buzzing lights and conversations only a door away as the two walk down the hallway and make it to the stairs to lead down to the main floor. From there the sounds were more barking dogs, vehicles, and gunfire from the training grounds.

This was a military base, after all, and it never really went to sleep. It must be grating to hear after the utter silence of No Man’s Land.

“...But you wouldn’t be the first, believe it or not.” David tries to keep your mind off it, keep your attention on him…but he was curious; desperately so. Yet still, he didn’t want to rush you. You looked so overwhelmed it made his chest squeeze. “Heard a few reports from Dallas before it fell—a family that had lived in a man-made bunker and were found by patrols five years in when they were out scavenging.”

“Really?” Your lashes caress your cheeks, and a small smile comes to you. You wonder how this man can make you feel so comforted; at ease despite the dog at his side and the various intimidating-looking gear strapped to him. Hesh was good-natured, it almost seemed impossible to imagine him a hardened soldier like you knew he really was. Kind, if not a bit mischievous and blunt. “That sounds more interesting than what I lived like.”

“Well, I doubt that.” Lips perk in a smirk. “Anyone with brains knows that time spent outside the Wall is always interesting.”

“We just moved around a lot,” you admit, “those soldiers were always changing camps so we never stayed long anywhere.”

“Hm,” Hesh makes a sound in the back of his throat, nodding. “Could’ve guessed that. Bastards jump around like cockroaches—can never get a good hit on ‘em.” He doesn’t press.

“Really?” You feel more present now, itching at your cheek before looking at Riley as he lopes along and watches the roads from where you walk on the sidewalk. “What about the pattern?”

David blinks his green eyes at you, face creasing.

“Pattern?”

“Yeah, they shift in a hexagon pattern every month. I had a map with it marked so I knew where to set camp.” Breath stills and Hesh stares at you, shocked, but his tone changes to a serious rush. He turns you slightly towards him with two hands on your arms.

“Would…you be able to mark those points again? If you had another map.” You lick your lips, cheeks going hot as you stutter, and feel his hands press into you. His chest was incredibly close to you, body heat leaking into your bones. Riley glares.

“Y-yeah, I think so.” David studies your face, searching for any hesitance. He pauses, green glimmering. There’s a moment when you notice the fast blinking on his face, the slight flush to his stubbled jaw as he clenches it, and are reminded of the caressing thumb that had dug into your inner elbow.

Delicate stitches.

The world blurs like a reflection in unknown water. Ripples that distort the streetlights into the shadows on his face and create soft waves of old scars and pale flesh in their warm illumination. Hesh’s breath hitches.

“G-good.” And he’s releasing you quickly as you wonder if being found by him was truly the best thing that could have happened. You spare a glance at Riley with racing blood, trying to stop the smile that insists to form for no reason. The dog cocks its head. “We’ll…get on that tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Whispers dance on airwaves as David keeps his eyes forward. Clearing his throat as you clock that tick and pull his beanie off. You bump your elbow to his side and he snaps his neck back over like a line with a hook. “You should have this back.”

You both walk slowly, side by side down a back street, and spare each other quick glances with flaming faces.

“No, that’s alright,” Hesh utters, rubbing at his neck and avoiding looking at you head-on. Your fingers brush the fabric and your expression softens. “I have a whole bunch in my room, don’t worry about it. I’d…” he chuckles to dispel the strange tension in his shoulders. “I want you to have it. Don’t want you cold.”

Your eyes crinkle, and the man swallows.

“So you think that your hat will help with that?” Teasing, you take it back anyways and situate it back on your head, shyly putting your hands into your pockets. “What? Is it special?”

“Woah,” Hesh, smirks with a raise of a hand, pointing lightly at you. “Hey now, Sweetheart, don’t disrespect my beanies like that—they’ll save your life.”

Laughs bounce off the street.

“I guess I’ll have to keep a close eye on it then,” Riley huffs and Hesh pats his neck firmly, giving him attention. “For my safety.”

“Damn right.” Your heart hurts from how fast it’s beating, that great muscle like a large drum that echoes in your ears. Skin tingles with an undeniable tension in the air.

The barracks building comes into view.

It’s nothing extravagant, but the thought of a soft bed and a pillow not filled with mold was addicting. Your eyes blink along the structure as Hesh leads you in, keeping the door open for you as he tells Riley to sit at the entrance. The dog does so, though obviously with disapproval—grunting in that lupine way as the barrier separates him and his handler.

“He really does not like me,” you mutter out, raising a brow and catching back up to David who waits a few more feet into the building.

The brunette sighs.

“He does tend to hold grudges. Once he wouldn’t play fetch with Logan for two days because he forgot to give him his dinner.”

“Hell,” your brows raise up, “my odds are in the ground.”

“Probably, Ma’am.” You elbow his side again and he chuckles, bumping his shoulder into you as his hands sway at his sides. “Ah, don’t hold it too close, Riley’s just a special case. My father trained him so he’s all business.” A smirk, “Nothing like me.”

You stop as Hesh does—in front of a nice-looking wooden door.

“Here.” He points to the handle and you grasp it, twisting and pushing past.

You enter a tiny but clean room smelling like linen and golden light. Delicately, as if the world would break apart if you touched anything you stare at the lamp on the nightstand, the curtain over the window; the…comfort. The sight of an extra blanket on the end of the bed almost made you cry.

“Now,” Hesh slides past you as your lip quivers, wide eyes looking around. “No one else can access these barracks without an ID, so there’s nothing that should go…wrong…”

He trails off when he sees your face.

“Hey,” David takes a step forward. “What’s wrong?” His eyes slip around, looking for what might have upset you as he comes back to you.

“Nothing,” fingers lightly rest on your collarbone as you shake your head; vision going blurry at the man’s worried face. “Nothing’s wrong, Hesh, I promise. Just…” you laugh wetly, and a tear drops down your chin. “I forgot what it was like to have an extra blanket.”

It was more than that, but the statement was all you could describe right now without making a complete fool of yourself. David’s breath stills, hand stuck an inch from your arm.

He watches the tears fall from you and, without thinking, he reaches up the back of his pointer finger and brushes it along the flesh; creating a line of fire up until he completely swipes it away. After a second of quivering silence, the air flimsy as your lungs jump, he finds no fear or discomfort in your expression and does this again—wiping away any trace of past hurts.

Blinking, you tilt your head forward and bump it into his chest. Startled slightly, Hesh grunts, but his hand finds the back of your head above his beanie and cups it, staring down at you with hot cheeks and a thick throat.

“I…” he begins but can’t find the words. You made him want to skin his hands of calluses so that the roughness of his touch was foreign to you.

You only deserved warm flesh and extra blankets. As much food as you could eat—soft mattresses and even softer clothes. So short of a time he had known you, but not a second more did he want you to suffer.

Ten years. He can’t even imagine it, and yet here you are in his arms. Kind. Unbroken.

Hesh’s head stutters, hesitating, before his neck bends and he presses his face into the top of your head, closing his sad eyes and running his other hand up and down your back.

Sniffling, you melt even more into him.

“She died a week before you found me—my friend. She was with me since the beginning.” The hitched voice that comes out of you is so quiet that the brunette has to strain his ears to listen but listen to you he does. Silent as a bug and tightening his hold so you hear his strong heartbeat rampaging in his chest.

Logan and him did this a lot when their mother died. Just hugged and held each other as if their lives depended on it. He doesn't know why, but he knows it has to be the same for you as well.

“Infection. She fell,” your voice cuts out, “fell on a rusty nail. She’s the only reason I made it this far.”

“Where were you?” Hesh asks, lungs aching for you. “When ODIN struck—in town?”

You return to that time, hand sliding up to wrap around his waist to ground yourself. David lets you, increasing the pressure of his gentle hand on your spine. “Hiking. It…it was a family vacation.”

His jaw clenched tight. A swelling hatred strangles his neck, a feeling that makes his eyes slip back open—forests burning in his iris’ in great waves of an inferno. He had never wanted to charge out into San Diego more than at this very moment.

A family vacation had turned into a decade of surviving. Hesh didn’t have the heart to ask about where your family was now. He already knew the answer.

“Everything just…fell apart.” Your ribs hide your fast-paced lungs, your sniffling nose stuck deep into fabric.

“I know,” the man grunts, “I know it did, I’m sorry.” It’s all he can say. He knows. David pulls you back by the shoulders after a moment and slightly moves his head down to look at you head-on. “But you’re here now, okay? Behind the Wall. You made it. And I’m gonna make sure that you’re never alone like that again.” He attempts a smile as you see his concerned expression, shining with sincerity and honor. “I’d stake Riley on it.”

The wet giggle that exits you is automatic, and Hesh chuckles right back; put at ease and ears bouncing with that sound that he commits instantaneously to memory.

“That’s counterintuitive, Hesh. I don’t want your dog.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing I never break my word, huh?” Perhaps why he was so good at this, comforting people, was because of Logan. Only two years apart, but he’d taken the big brother role easily—loved it, in fact. It made him feel good to see people smile.

But it made him feel on the moon when it was you.

You watch his green eyes slip over your face, thumb going to wipe away the last drops on your under eye as a deep heat starts smoking inside of you. David speaks lowly, compassion so visible you find you want to gaze upon his face for hours; mapping lines and piecing together what made this man…him.

“Feeling better?” Smiling softly, you find yourself leaning into his hands on your face. The brunette smiles back and chuckles. It wouldn’t be so bad, you decide, to stick by his side—even if Riley was less than approving.

“Feeling better.”

You sleep that night with an extra blanket wrapped around your body and a dark beanie on your head; taking in the scent from the fibers of thistle and dog hair. You’d never smelt something more comforting.

—

A week passes with a flurry of activity. You find out that Los Angeles is still habitable—in fact, there’s a stable economy in the city and people are thriving. Fort Santa Monica is home to not only a handful of civilians from before the war but also an incredibly large amount of military personnel all under Elias Walker's command.

Hesh had taken you out on the third day for a ‘tour’ as he called it, but it was also due to the fact that you’d been too afraid to leave your room when not called upon. There were so many…noises…again. People laughing, happy conversations, and greetings thrown your way.

“Word got out about the girl that lived in No Man’s Land,” David had teased as you awkwardly waved at a woman in fatigues that had slapped your shoulder and invited you out for drinks with her friends. You had politely declined. “Everyone’s eager, seems.”

“I think I forgot how to properly speak to people,” you had sent a frown and a huff his way, keeping close to him as he led you on with a wave of his hand and a deep chuckle.

But in all this time you had earned yourself a big reputation for being the woman who handed over intel that others had only just begun to unravel. Federation base locations. Patterns on movement—irreplaceable data.

Which was why you’d been asked, rather told, by Hesh that you’d be going to the bar with him and Logan for drinks. On the house.

You’d quickly found it to be a strange affair.

“Not feelin’ up to it, Sweetheart?” your eyes lift from where you’d been swirling your still-full glass of amber liquid. “I know it can be a little loud—I’m sorry. Merrick’s a giggly drunk.”

Green eyes stare at you with pity, throat bobbing as a beer bottle sits on Hesh’s lips; the last dregs going down before he wipes his mouth with his sleeve.

“If you wanna leave I’ll walk you back, okay?”

“No,” you wave a hand, touched but hesitant, “that’s alright. I’m fine, really.”

The lieutenant smirks and tilts his head—raising a dark brow in disbelief. The two of you had gotten close over the days; he had told you early on that you were easy to read for him.

“Don’t make that face at me, David.” You glare, pointing from your seat at the bar top. Hesh rolls his eyes and shakes his head as if disappointed.

“Whoa, first name—that’s illegal.”

Your lips pull up in a sharp smile, leaning over the table as the music from the building plays in your ears; warm light on your cheeks and nose. “David, David, David!”

“Hey! Quit it!” You’d grown fond of him in a way you can’t describe. So short of time and yet you both still get giddy when you see one another—hearts hammering. Even now as the laughter spills from both of your lips and people in the bar spare knowing glances, you don’t address it.

“But really,” Hesh levels and you watch him spread his hands in surrender, beer bottle still shimmering in one hand, “whenever you want to go, just ask.”

“Hesh!” A call bounces from the far corner and you both look over, startled, to Ajax at the pool table. “Get over here so I can wipe the floor with you!”

There’s a bout of laughter from the other bar patrons, bets being placed loudly.

“Hey, it won’t be that easy—you’re on!” Hesh is off with a rush, patting your shoulder as he passes. You watch after with a wide smile and a raised brow, muttering to yourself.

“He’s unbelievable.” You can’t deny the loftiness that you feel when he looks happy like that. Really happy. It’s nearly a curse to try and think about what he would have become if the Federation hadn’t fired ODIN. He would have been in the military still, no doubt, but not quite the same.

Hell, what would you have been like, even?

A shadow slips into the chair next to yours, and you look over, content. “Hey, Logan.”

The younger brother nods to you, sipping from his glass of water, a greeting smile on his square jaw. True to the brunette’s word, he was very quiet, but you didn’t find it in a disrespectful way. Logan carried himself with a subdued power, and the dichotomy between Hesh and him was laughable when you really thought about it; polar opposites.

You didn’t mind in the slightest.

Holding an easy conversation with nods or tiny comments back, you spoke with him for about twenty minutes while Hesh and Ajax called each other names and threw baseless threats through smirking lips like toddlers. At one point a very drunk Petty Officer Second Class, Thomas A. Merrick, had to drag a laughing Ajax off the pool table while you and Logan watched with exasperated glances.

But the air was easy and the drink was flowing—soldiers from all over the Fort were here tonight. For you, though most just came for a good sip of alcohol and you didn’t blame them. You just did what was right, nothing more.

“I think I’m gonna head out,” you tap a fist to Logan’s shoulder and he looks at you, sparing a quick glance at Hesh. You smile. “Nah, I think he’s going to be at it for a while. I’ll just walk back by myself—I’ve got my keycard, so I’m all good.”

A yell of victory rings from the corner before a loud exclamation of, “Rematch, right now! Your foot hit one of the balls to the left when you were climbing it!”

“It did not!” Logan stares blankly behind you and you laugh, slipping past.

“Tell Hesh I said to have a good night!” You call over your shoulder, catching adoring brown eyes following you out and a mock salute from his water glass.

Riley sits outside, resting his eyes, but when the door closes behind you the canine springs to his feet. The week hadn’t soured your relationship, but it definitely didn’t make it better either. Frowning, you pause in the night and look at the empty food dish and the filled water cup set out by Hesh for him.

“Tough luck, bud?” A muzzle lightly curls, but at least he wasn’t barking at you. Ears stand alert and ready. “Look,” you level, pulling Hesh’s beanie farther down your head as those beady eyes glare. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, okay? It’s not like I want you to hate me—I was protecting myself. You,” your finger points, and a lupine huff warns you, “came at me.” You point to your chest. “Remember?”

It was comedic the way Riley yawned harshly at that moment, and you scoff.

“Who am I kidding, you’re hopeless just like your handler. I shouldn’t even be doing this,” reaching into your jacket pocket, you produce a small, soggy, napkin. Bending down, Riley growls low in his gut, but you ignore him. Not to say that the sound didn’t make your lips thin, though.

Unraveling the knot you’d tied in the bar, you look down at tiny cubes of medium-rare steak and sigh. “Look if this doesn’t work, I’ll give up.”

Flattening out the napkin, you pick up a piece and turn your vision upwards to an intently watching dog. At the sight of the food in between your thumb and first finger, the dog’s mouth gradually opens, tongue beginning to lull. A black nose twitches quickly.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you grumble, “Hesh said you were a food fiend.”

Tossing one of the pieces on the ground, you let him sniff it before his teeth flash and he grabs it quickly, tossing it up and munching on it. When Riley’s done he looks back at you expectantly, shoulders less wound up but still uneasy.

“Well,” you push the rest forward before standing, “go on then. Don’t let me stop you.”

Shaking your head to yourself, you leave him behind and set off down the street, mumbling, “You can’t say I never did anything for you…”

You hear the sniffing before the clammer of biting teeth, happy pants, and tapping feet. Huffing, you can’t deny the slight jump that affects your heart. You’d have to tell Hesh about the progress tomorrow.

Your cheeks heat, smiling to yourself as you think about the brunette. His hands always seemed to be on you one way or another and during the last two days he’d been holding onto you for longer; firm touches that he had to blink himself back to the present to take away. The actions made your skin tingle and more than once you’d caught your gaze lingering on his visage—his body. As if trying to will him back to you when he had to leave.

But the staring was mutual. You had sworn at one point you had seen him more intent to fuzzily look at your moving lips than to focus on what you were explaining. Fingers absentmindedly tapping on a desk and humming at every word from you. The look had been…your body shivers warmly in remembrance, staring giddily at your shoes.

You continue down the street, circles of light from the lamps hitting you one by one as you glide under them like a moth. Humming a light tune, you take the route that Hesh had brought you down the first time, imagining his hands on you and his lips on yours.

When you giggle silently and chastise yourself for thinking like that, you hear the last whispers of a distant conversation that lead you to pause.

Your face freezes, smile stuck as your legs stall. It was Spanish wafting over the air, hushed and harsh. That wouldn’t be alarming, many people here spoke the language fluently as it was the native one of the entirety of the Federation—it was needed for intelligence gathering, or at least that was what Hesh had explained. No use going into No Man’s Land if you can’t understand the driving force occupying it.

But this was hushed arguing, not some common conversation. It didn’t sound normal and the scuffling feet over the concrete gave you pause. The night suddenly became very cold. Backing up a step as you stare in the general direction of the increasing footfalls, the sudden sight of three heavily armed men as they round a corner with strong eyes.

Your vision finds them immediately—and they do the same for you. It was instinctual, then, when your suddenly fevered face snapped to their patches.

Gold stars and a black rhombus. Red outlined. Your expression utterly drops.

There’s a single instance where no one moves, neither you nor those three Federation soldiers that now stare right back with an equal amount of shock.

“Eh,” you make a sound in the confines of your throat and all hell breaks loose.

Jolting away, shouts ring out as hands snatch at your limbs, and you can’t even begin to think about how these people got into the Wall undetected.

Everyone’s at the fucking bar!

Yelling loudly, you dash to the side, a quick swipe going above your head as the beanie is wrenched off of you instead of your hair. Not bothering to fight for it, though a large part of you wanted to, your feet take you anywhere but here.

Roaring in anger, the soldiers pursued with rampaging boots and vitriolic order. Why they don’t shoot you is a wonder. Maybe it was because they wanted to try and salvage what they’d already lost.

The screams escape you as you dash backward, retracing your steps but it isn’t going to be long before they catch you—true to that idea, just as the words exit your mouth, a harsh hand captures the back of your neck.

“David!” The other winds around your mouth, muffled screams stuck behind gloves. Legs and arms striking out, your body is dragged into a back alley; the others all join to force you to submission.

Your boot connects with someone’s kneecap, and a hoarse yell echoes as you rage with a frenzied pulse. Wide eyes look this way and that, sweat forming on your brow as a punch finds your gut and a resounding insult flies to your ears.

Going slack for a moment, the violent white that bursts behind your vision leaves your straining muscles useless and you try to breathe behind the unrelenting hand over your mouth and nose. Like a shot deer, your dragging legs give out; coughing and gasping for air.

Pain shoots down your chest with ruthless efficiency.

You suppose in that moment of ringing ears, that it was chance that you heard the dull shunk of a knife being taken from a sheath. It wasn’t chance, though, when your desperate teeth snapped into the heavy hand, ignoring pain and the tears smeared over your face.

With a sharp cry, the hand loosens enough for you to get the last word, a brief moment of clear realization, “Riley,” you scream with little breath but sufficient volume, “Come!”

The knife descended on you, but you jerked your shoulder to the side, head ripped back to bare your neck to the silent moonlight as the hand recovered your face. Black dots swirl, shadows lingering like phantoms in the recesses of your mind and spilling demons from your eyes. Hatred flares in you, but not as much as fear does. That silver blade connects with the meat of your neck and shoulder junction, tearing past muscle and tissue to rent a large slash open to the air.

Your legs kick before arms wrap around them—more quickly called orders and insults directed at the one who had missed your neck peeling back the drums inside of your ear. Thick, hot, blood stains your clothes; the copper scent gets stuck in your nose as you gag and try to force your lungs to function with nothing to suck down. Darkness seeps deeper, and the knife is brought up once more, the tip digging into your cheek with a firm bite when you try to flinch away.

That’s when a guttural and vociferous yowl exudes from the chest of a rampaging canine as it bursts from around the corner of the alley, white teeth glinting and eyes red.

Riley has the man with the knife by the neck in two seconds flat, reaming him back and clinging to his spine with only his fangs on his nape. Multiple wet crunches echo for but a moment, a small sliver in time, but then the loud pained bellows that follow after drown out all else. Like a bomb had been dropped, the man Riley keeps ripping apart falls sideways, hands reaching behind his head to try and pry the dog off. In a fit of fear and stupefaction at the turn of events the remaining men release you, tossing your body to the side and into the adjacent wall in panic.

Hands reach for guns but it’s already too late. Riley has ripped the entire back of the man’s head off in a flurry of fur and jerking maw—flesh peeling back in long strings into a waiting mouth as the screams continue. Now, though, they come from only the remaining soldiers as you watch with mute horror; gripping your leaking cut and vision fuzzy from the blow that your head had taken from slamming into the wall. Lack of oxygen.

With all the ruckus, it was only customary that the streets were soon awake with confusion and rising tension. You swore you heard your name being called streets over, hurried yelling as the lights flicker on from the building across the road.

But Riley. Christ, Riley.

The second man’s pistol was stopped from rising any farther as fast fangs found a wrist, the shot bouncing off the ground as you balked back against the wall and cried out. Across the Fort, the yelling starts up. Louder now. That remaining soldier unaffected thus far by the feral rage is snapping into a ready stance—shaking as the barrel is leveled with the dog’s skull as sharp points go for the kill once again.

“Riley!” You snag out a leg and rip it back, curling your foot around his ankle. Black clothes hit the ground hard, as the man inside went with them.

It carried on just the same.

Panting you stare into the blood-dripping muzzle that now turns your way, three opened necks pooling to the ground and twitching. Gargling gasps dribble like glasswork exploding in kilns; such a vulgar, primal, sound. But you only stare at the beady brown eyes as they seem to bite you as well. Framed with crimson, whiskers droopy as droplets hit your knee and rancid breath slides over your stalled face.

“Please…” you mutter, bruised head turning to the side, eyes clenched shut. Licking lips resonate and you clench your hands as you finally hear the frantic calling of your name coming down the road. Fast-moving shadows.

Hesh.

Riley breathes on you, but before your swallowing throat can call out the brunette in fear of what the dog will do, a wet tongue licks a long stripe over your cheek. Eyes bugging, you snap your head back up, jaw slackened and brain struggling to calm down.

The dog watches with a slow tilt of his head, tail lowly swishing.

“What the fuck,” gasping wetly, the hand on your wound lessens, hot fluid gushing between fingers.

Riley huffs, feet shifting.

Laughing slightly in anxious confusion, your free hand lightly raises. Soft fur conforms to you, letting your digits weave through the locks. Riley licks his lips once more and sits on his fluffy behind, ears sharply up and twitching.

Hesh nearly runs past the sight, heart too fast for his chest and teeth clenched tight together. His mind was as sober as it could be—a deep sense of unease clawing in his gut.

He’s heard the screaming; the gunshot. When he’d run out of the bar after doing a quick headcount for you and being unable to place your form, Riley had already been gone. A trail of dust and a floating napkin were the only indicators. But the fear was worse than that.

Where had you gone? Were you in danger? No thought was behind his sprinting, just a flushed face and a deep need to keep you safe. He’d promised you.

No one had been able to stop his senseless searching as he took off at a racer’s pace, looking down alleyways and carrying the pistol in his right grip until his knuckles had gone white and see-through. Like a loyal hound, Hesh was intent to find you. Even if it turned out to be nothing.

And then the real screams started, and so he screamed too—your name.

But now he slams a hand into the concrete wall and reels himself back, a hunched shadow stiff in the side of his green vision before he can fully pass the alleyway entrance.

“Holy…” Hesh trails harshly, gaze going wide.

You were there surrounded by three Federation soldier’s bodies and while that was alarming, there was only so much you could do when you were a corpse. Riley held in your arms was something that Hesh couldn’t begin to explain.

But the shock was short-lived.

“Sweetheart!” He called, boots propelling him forward as he slid to one knee in front of you, hands pushing past fur and muscle to bring yours forward by your shoulders. A handgun is placed into the back of his belt. “Woah, woah, hey. Tell me what happened. Where does it hurt?”

Staring into your eyes you immediately relax at the presence of the man, his large body seeming to shield you away while sending glances around the area; not liking the thought of more attackers.

“Hesh,” you breathe, massive weight coming off of you even as you bite your lip in a pained whimper.

“I’m here. I’m right here.” Hands travel over your body, gliding over bumps and bruises quickly and efficiently. “What the fuck…” he growls deeply. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

A swift glance is sent to the canine who watches blankly.

“Good job, boy.” You stare blurrily into Hesh’s neck as he carefully peels back your hand, face scrunching and body pulling together as sparks of agony alight as the gaping cut meets the breeze.

“I,” stuttering, you ignore his harsh inhale, the ripping of his shirt as he presses the tattered cloth to your neck. You shiver. “I lost your beanie.”

Fearful green eyes lock on your as the calls from the rest of the soldiers from the bar finally make an appearance. How fast had Hesh been running to find you?

“Hey, don’t even worry about it,” his palm encapsulates your cheek like a prized family heirloom, keeping your face pointed toward him as you shiver. The soft scraping of his hard calluses itches your flesh. A strained smile graces his lips, “I’ll give you another one.” He looks the rest of you over and grits his teeth.

He doesn’t care about the dead soldiers—the possibility of a breach. Suddenly, all of his priorities had shifted in the short span of a week, horrible loyalty rearing its head.

“I need you to stand up for me, Sweetheart, okay? I’ll be right here, I just need you on your feet. I know you can do it.” You nod shakily, pulling strength from his resolve as his arm pulls you to his chest like it had when you’d first hugged; using his muscles to drag you up a second after checking to see if you weren’t in too much pain.

Standing now, his grip stays around you, propping you up into the crook of his arm and increasingly looking more and more worried.

When you flinch and whine, he looks about ready to burn down cities to bring you comfort.

“Riley, come on!” Hesh calls, then softer, “I know it hurts, but you’re doing great. Keep at it just a little longer.”

He moves you quickly, and the pounding in the back of your head threatens to drown out everything—your neck and ribs barely made a dent like that did. A pan being hit with a spoon. Nails on a chalkboard.

“Logan!” David yells, and he feels incredibly warm. Riley brushes your staggering legs, keeping close and looking up at you. Leaning in more heavily, you gaze up into Hesh’s frowning face, his continued glances, and the furrow in his brow.

You wonder how you’d never noticed how truly handsome he was before. Hesh had a strong face—good bones and a soft nature to his skin besides the stubble. And his eyes. Oh, his eyes. You blink up at him and he spares a stiff smile, mostly dragging you down the alley.

Other feet pound the ground near the entrance.

“What’s that look for? Huh? Makin’ me nervous over here.” His fingers squeeze your shoulder. “Got something on my face?”

“You’re kind, Hesh.” You whisper, blinking and stumbling before he grunts, twisting his grip to bring you up into a bridle hold. “Far kinder than you should be.”

His heart breaks.

Clenching your teeth, you bury your head into his neck before the brunette starts to run again. He pounds past Logan and a group of armed soldiers, who slide to a quick stop. Hesh only spares his wide-eyed brother a single, horror-stricken, look on the way through. Riley follows.

“Just keep talking.” He pleads, your dead weight in his grip worse than anything he’d ever experienced. “Y’know, you keep ending up in my arms.” He rounds corners, heading to the MTF with a bursting pulse. Hesh keeps looking down at you, pressing your head closer with a hand as if he could bleed himself to give you strength. “I think I should get my own plaque—Pack Mule. What do you think?”

Laugh, please, laugh. Please, I need to hear it.

You laugh slightly, ear ringing to his blood flow. You want to melt into him, let him keep holding you like this and keeping you to him like a stuffed animal. His breath on your cheek, his glassy eyes and bitten lips.

You’d known he was good from the moment you had seen him standing and gaping at your form in that bathroom cabinet, willing to treat your wound without even knowing if you were armed.

He’s good.

Hesh sprints past an entrance, shoulder slamming into a glass door as it’s thrown to the side.

“Nurse!”

You don’t know why, but hearing his voice crack like that made you want to sob.

—

The soft antibacterial whip made you glower and flinch back, frowning straight into Hesh’s serious face.

“If you clean it anymore my skin will fall off.” You shoo his hand away from your shoulder, pulling the hospital gown back up in the process.

“Just making sure it’s healing,” he looks up at you from his chair as you sit on the end of the bed. “Can’t be too careful.”

“Says the man who’s been here every day and leaves Riley to watch the door when he has to go to the bathroom.”

“Hey,” Hesh blushes, pulling back to slouch and crossing his arms. “It’s called being cautious. We still don’t know where the breach is.”

You stare with a soft smile, exasperation in your eyes.

“David,” he raises a brow at the title, “I’m okay.”

Moving your hand from your lap, you absentmindedly pet the dog that sleeps on the hospital bed, itching behind Riley’s ears. Hesh watches, moments passing as the small tension seeps out little by little. He glances at the outline of stitches that he has to place bandages on soon but quickly looks away, frowning to himself.

You sigh, shaking your head.

“When I heard your voice from the alleyway entrance, I knew I would be just fine.” Green slowly slides back, gaze softening considerably as he watches your expression. A low grunt is forced out, a rubbing of a hand on his neck. “You promised, didn’t you?” Your head tilts. “You haven’t broken it.”

“No, I haven’t,” Hesh breathes, standing, “and I don’t intend to.”

You smile, face hot as his vision blinks to the upturn of your lips. “Hey,” Riley stirs next to you, “at least I know I won him over.” Your hand pats the dog’s head.

The brunette stares and a moment passes before he whispers, “knew you would.”

Blinking, you turn to find the most delicate expression on David's face and your breath hitches in your chest. He swallows but doesn’t hesitate. The words had been eating at him for a while, and as he was never one to shy away from speaking his mind, it was like torture to keep this from you. But now…now events have forced him into the spotlight. He can’t forgo this anymore, he can’t lie and say he hadn’t been sneaking glances or daydreaming about you. Your smile, your voice—even the way you walked or how your eyes lit up when you were passionate about something.

It was just right, and seeing you like this now only strengthened that. Hesh had felt fear like he had when he was carrying you a total of a mere handful in his entire life.

He mutters, “I knew from the second I found you out in No Man’s Land that you were special.”

Not believing your ears, you stop your petting. Wide eyes like dinner plates and a half-parted mouth.

Was he…?

“I knew when you made me laugh when I was carrying you through the hills,” Hesh takes a step closer and grabs you lightly by the chin, tilting it up with a finger. His face was adorably burning, but you short-circuit at the words that continue to flow with candor. Your heart skips beats and with a clammy hand, you reach up to brush his wrist. Shivering, confidence builds. “I knew when I hugged you the first night you were here and,” he looked down, “I…I knew you were special when I felt my heart bursting out of my chest when I found you in that alley.”

“Hesh,” you whisper, and you realize you close the two of you had become, breath mixing like a cocktail of glorious infection and stolen words.

“If I hadn’t gotten there on time…”

“Hesh.”

“...Even if I’ve only known you for a short while, Sweetheart, I can’t stop thinking the same thing every time I see you.” You stare, eyes wet, and suddenly no longer aware of where your head is anymore.

His lips brush yours, but all you care about are those green eyes; digging, drilling past membranes and thoughts more effectively than any blade. You’re entranced, wholeheartedly frozen just for him—just as he is for you.

It’s nothing but a whisper now. You feel the words more than hear them. His thumb tightens on your chin, and you don’t pull back as you steal his warmth. His kindness.

His loyalty.

“...that even if I hadn’t entered that house on that rainy Tuesday,” he shutters, “I’d still be looking for you everywhere I went.”

When his lips meet yours, you capture his soul, dragging him down into the depths of your lungs and breathing hope back into him. You smile through it, bandaged and stitched but happier than you’d been in a long time.

Pulling back from a soft and delicate meeting of flesh, both faces are heated, burning under the pigments. There’s a moment of sanctity—holy silence one would find in a church during high mass—as you stare at one another. Hesh’s fingers run small movements on your skin. You beam and he says in a whisper, “Hey…I guess that means I did something right.”

“You’re lucky you’re perfect, David.”

“I could say the same about you, Sweetheart.” You giggle and drag him back in as Riley snoozes on, legs kicking in a silent dream.

When the nurses come to check on you in four hours, they’ll find the bed occupied by three forms.

A soldier, a patient, and a dog. All curled up in a pile of multiple blankets and hard pillows—arms wrapped around one another with the man pressing the woman’s face deep into his chest; even breaths of a soft sleep that sing like rare lullabies. All, in their own way, seem to have heavy smiles stuck into the lines of their faces.

They leave them be.

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thephoenixandthecrocodile · 18 days

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Things I love about Season 2 of Rings of Power So Far – in no particular order

1. The entire beginning of episode 1

a. Love Sauron in his fair form off his game and a little shaken

b. Love Adar growing increasingly fed up with Sauron’s bullshit

c. Love the Ides of March moment

d. Love goo Sauron – love his little sigh. That’s me every morning when I wake up

2. Love that Sauron was always a shit and stole the badge instead of saving that guy

3. Love the Elrond-Galadriel brother-sister dynamic and poor Gil-galad caught in the middle

4. Love the Ahhh! Gil-Galad lets out when hearing that Sauron is back

5. Love Elrond jumping off the cliff. Worked for Mom (kinda) should work for me

6. I really want whatever the hell Cirdan is on

a. Also Ben Daniels is AMAZING!

7. Love that Gil-Galad gets to shine more as the grumpy, sassy, weary elf-king this season. Also love that no one is letting Galadriel get away with her bullshit from last season (and I loved Galadriel last season). Actions has consequences, even for elves.

8. YOU HAD ONE JOB, CIRDAN!

9. Why does no one ever listen to Elrond?

10. Sam Hazeldine is doing an amazing job with a tough job. I will always love Joseph Mawle’s take on Adar and he’ll always be MY Adar, but Sam is going an amazing job taking all the groundwork laid by Mawle and then adding his own spin

11. I know the internet is losing its mind over Orc families, but I LOVE the complication these writers are adding to the Orc lore (as well as Sauron’s arc). Even in Return of the King, the Orcs were shown to have their own personalities and weren’t exactly excited about attacking Gondor again. Even in Two Towers, we see the different personalities of Uruk-hai and the Morder Orcs, so it only makes sense to flesh that out further. It adds such an amazing dimension to Adar’s character and the Orcs he cares for and makes us realize that nothing in Tolkien’s world is black and white.

a. Also, also, I love that these writers embrace the fact that Elves are not impartial and they’re hypocritical bastards haha. Of course, they say dwarves and men are covetous and can’t be trusted. Of course, Orcs are irredeemable. To suggest otherwise would jeopardize their own world view. And the Elves have never been covetous or committed genocide for stupid gems. Nope, not ever.

b. Also, also, also love the idea that the Orcs are doomed because they’re convinced Eru will never forgive them, even if they were to ask for it. Such an interesting dilemma to add to the lore. I mean even Sauron considered asking for forgiveness but didn’t because of his pride. If the Valar forgave Morgoth once, and potentially considered pardoning Sauron, who says they wouldn’t forgive the creatures he and Morgoth twisted/corrupted/made?

12. Love Sauron “befriending” the warg. See even the Dark Lord likes dog.

13. Goodbye Waldreg, no one will miss you.

14. Who knew Benjamin Walker had such a nice voice?

15. I’m so surprised Elrond didn’t just completely lose it and go all rabid animal when Cirdan brought back the rings.

16. It’s so funny that this version of Galadriel gets a ring of power. Out of all the Elves to get one, she’s on the bottom of my list. At least make sure she’s Sauron free first.

17. DISA YOU ARE MY QUEEN AND GODDESS!!!

18. LOVE the dwarves.

19. “You don’t have to make this harder than it already is” YES I DO BITCH BECAUSE YOU’RE BEING A STUBBORN GOAT

20. Love that Disa can call out both her father-in-liaw (and king) and her husband for being jackasses

21. Also Durin III stop being a jackass and go apologize to your son, right now

22. Resonating is still so fucking awesome

23. Love the agricultural in Khazad dum

24. I know I was the odd man out because I didn’t mind the Harfoots last season, but I really adore the Stranger’s relationship with Nori.

25. I REALLY hope the Stranger is a blue wizard, but either way I love how Daniel Weyman plays a wizard. And it’s nice he can talk this season and we get a sense of his humor and sass.

26. “Further, Nori” *sigh of exasperation*

27. I have no idea who the hell this evil wizard is nor who the hell his moth minions are, but I love them. They’re so weird.

28. This guy better NOT be Saruman. -_-

29. Poppy! My lesbian Harfoots are reunited!

30. Celebrimbor *sigh* oh, Celebrimbor

31. Elrond “sand the anger away, Sand the anger away.”

32. LOVE the look Galadriel gives Elrond when he calls her out about NOT being manipulated. “He gave you everything you wanted”. True, but also damn, haha.

33. Seriously, I NEED whatever drug Cirdan is smoking.

34. Also love how in this show “yeah, let’s give the rings a try. What’s the worst that can happen” and in LOTR it’s “NO! DO NOT TRUTST THE RING! DESTROY IT ASAP”

35. I can’t believe Halbrand made it rain just so he can look more like a pathetic cat

36. Ok, that umbrella is ridiculous and super impractical.

37. Celebrimbor, honey, the whole “I won’t stay where I’m not wanted” is the oldest trick in the manipulator’s handbook.

38. I love the rollercoaster Celebrimbor goes on as Halbrand “confesses” that he’s not really a man. The utter confusion but also concern, like “my god is this man having a mental breakdown in my forge? And right when I was about to open a bottle of first age wine. Where’s Galadriel when I need her? She should be taking care of her pet human, not me.”

39. NOT THE FIRST AGE WINE!!!

40. I LOVE the reveal of Annatar. It was so over the time and beautiful and so religious. No notes. Absolutely perfect.

41. I was never on team silvergifting, but this show has converted me.

42. Also Charlie Vickers and Charles Edwards are giving their ALL in these scenes

43. Love that Celebrimbor is like “ew, no, we can’t give men rings” but when Annatar tells him that Gil-Galad “doesn’t trust the dwarves” Celebrimbor takes it so personally. Like I think it’s because he’s annoyed with Gil-Galad and he wants to control his own forge, but it also sounds like he’s offended that Gil-Galad would insult his new dwarf buddies (who helped him build the new forge to begin with).

44. Durin proving himself the wisest of all peoples (not just dwarves) when he calls Annatar out on his bullshit

45. “Elrond would never say such nice things about me.”

46. Also love all the clever insults and phrases the dwarves have.

47. I’m still very angry with Durin III but I felt that line, “Miner’s punches hurt” “Just wait until your children grow up.”

48. ALSO, Durin III you bastard, your son tells you he DOESN’T trust the rings and you decide, “yeah, let me try out these rings” -_-

a. Also, yes, Celebrimbor and Annatar fucked before, during, and after making the dwarven rings.

49. Oh, Isildur, you disaster child.

a. Again, I might be in the minority here, but I LOVE what they’re doing with Isildur’s character – the perpetual screw-up, the one who tries so hard but can’t do anything right, the character who’s constantly trying to prove himself in a family that is already overly impressive. Makes his final fate just that more tragic.

50. Spider babies. Spider babies. Spider babies.

a. Reminded me of the facehugger birthing scenes from the Aliens franchise for some reason.

51. Super Berek! Here to save the day

52. So, I guess all the men in Aragorn’s bloodline were saved by their horses at least once. Good to know.

53. LOVE the entire ridiculous exchange between Isildur and Estrid.

54. God damn it, Isildur, don’t go to the funeral, save Berek!

55. ☹ Poor Arondir. RIP Bronwyn.

56. Fucking Theo

57. God damn it Arondir, maybe look around next time before telling one kid his family will be reunited in front of the one kid who’s lost his entire family XD

58. “Men can’t build things like that” ☹

59. So, Theo is going to be Isildur’s right hand man and/or will be a ringwraith, right?

60. Operation rescue Berek!

61. Ents? Are those Ents?

62. MIRIEL MY OTHER GODDESS AND QUEEN!!!

63. My brother and I when that woman slapped Miriel: “OFF TO JAIL WITH YOU!”

64. Fucking Earien. Kemen is soooo not worth it

65. Fucking Pharazon.

a. ALSO, love how the writers captured men’s creepy behavior around women in power, especially if they’re “not perfect”. Like when Miriel’s father was alive Pharazon was somewhat respectful around her, but my god that scene in her bedroom? So disgusting and creepy. AND fucking Kemen, “she was blinded while fighting Orcs and surviving a massive eruption. She can’t be queen now” Bitch you couldn’t even sabotage a handful of boats by yourself.

66. Also, also, I know everyone loves Haladriel, but can we talk about the other idiotic couple pining over each other: Elendil and Miriel? Love their dynamic sooooo much.

67. Ok Miriel’s coronation dress is GORGEOUS!

68. That poor eagle was so fucking confused. Like I came here for Miriel, not sure what you all are doing. Ok, this is awkward, I’m flying away now.

#trop spoilers #rop spoilers #rop #rings of power #trop season 2

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gffa · 6 months

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Sometimes I get defensive about those house decor posts I see going around where people say that the neutral colors/black & white sleek look is "soulless" and they want to bite, kill, rend, and destroy for getting rid of the color in their homes. Setting aside that people should be allowed to do whatever they want in their own homes, let me tell you what "color" means to me: Everything in my life was a different color. Every room had every color crammed into it. Which sounds like, oh, that must have been a pretty rainbow effect! It wasn't, none of these colors were meant to go together, it's a hot pink plastic shoebox set on top of a dark brown folding table holding three wildly different shades of brown hand towels, some cornflower blue notebooks, and orange pens. It's burnt orange shag carpeting in the living room and hallway, with slate blue chairs, and a white tv tray loaded up with bright yellow pill and cornflower blue bottles and pale wood bookshelf next to dark brown folding table next to pine-colored dresser next to medium dark wood nightstand, all of those that fake material with the sticker made to look like wood, not actual wood. It's lime green countertops and dark beige flooring with one faded yellow wall, one off-white wall, and one faded mint green wall. It's a pine wood mimicking kitchen table with gold trim that's a sticker not actual wood, combined with one black rolling chair, one maroon and oak chair (not actual wood), and one gray upholstered chair. It's a robin's egg blue frayed blanket tossed over the red-and-black walker in the corner, which is also loaded up with the dark green and dark blue exercise bands. It's white and beige pieces of paper plopped everywhere. And all of these colors are faded so they're not really even pretty on their own, it's just a mishmash everywhere. All of this together in one house and that's just a fraction of it, it's a constant clashing of colors and, if there was a foot of space against the wall available, it had another dresser, nightstand, or bookshelf shoved into it. I look at some of these colorful homes that people love and I think they're beautiful and I get so much joy out of people in their homes loving their surroundings! But I will never be able to live in that kind of color for myself again without being heartsore about it. I've gone for a neutral palette now that I'm making the design decisions, I'm choosing white walls (admittedly with a little bit of a blue undertone that you only notice when it's picking up other things' colors), black trim, and gray/white/black/brown reclaimed wood flooring. I picked out a gray/white/black comforter to throw over the bed with a black headboard and black + gray pillows. I'm getting some subtle green accents to put in the room, the guest room has been going with a pale yellow theme (to accent the black/white/gray/grown colors), I'm not eschewing color all together, but those bright, overwhelming colors are not what makes my soul sing. Neutral colors are not a soulless choice on my part, it's the first time in my life that I feel like it's finally clean, that I can breathe properly. You could scrub down a room with seafoam and forest green colors and have it so clean you could lick the walls and I would still have to go outside and take a moment to gather myself together if I had to live in it, because for me "color" means messy and I've had an entire lifetime of mess. I love when people put bright orange or bright green on their walls, that rocks and I will come over and genuinely tell you how beautiful it is, because I understand that it makes your soul sing. But understand that, in turn, having sleek, subtle colors makes my soul sing in a way that's just as genuine.

#lumi.txt #hoarding

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bloodyquillink-blog · 10 months

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hi i’m not sure if your taking requests, but if you are can you do a logan walker x reader where the reader and logan were engaged before logan got taken by rorke, and when he gets saved he’s a completely different person and is closed off and even more quiet, but when one of rorkes members send a message to the ghosts team saying they want to take the reader now aswell, logan gets super protective and opens up to her about eveything that happened? if not totally ok!! thank you so much!!

A/N: I am and thank you for being my first tumblr request! I hope I’ve done you justice with this.

Warnings: Big angst, hurt/comfort, descriptions of injuries and torture methods (if I missed anything please let me know)

Word Count: 4.4K

To Be Changed, Logan Walker x Reader

Your marriage was so happy and perfect, even though the world wasn’t. Despite the fear of your whole wedding being destroyed before you and Logan even put on the rings and said your vows, that didn’t stop either of you. If you were going to die, you might as well die tied to one another, surrounded by the people you treasure most. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case. The wedding went without a hitch, ignoring the occasional pitches of anxiety that bubbled in everyone's stomachs. There was a beautiful mountain that overlooked a nearby beach, it felt like the clouds parted just for you two that day. The sun shone down on the white you and Logan wore. The red rose in his breast pocket, the artificial one you gave him when you went on your first date, was accentuated by the surrounding colors of blue water and green grass.

Logan was usually fairly quiet, but that day when he said his vows, he spoke more than you did. He managed to avoid stuttering, though you could feel his hands shaking. You were so proud of him and each word from his lips warmed your heart. That alone let you know that this was the right decision, the only one.

Before you cut the cake, he whispered to you, “I can’t find the words to describe how much stronger you make me feel.” You looked at him, confused and curious, before he continued. “I barely speak to my own family and brothers, maybe because I don’t need to… but you changed that. Now, I’m just droning on and on about whatever’s happening at the moment. Because of you. Hell, my mom barely heard me talk this much.” He wrapped his arms around you, cupping your hands that held the knife for the cake. “I bet she’s watching us now. She’d love you so much.” And with that, you both cut the first slice.

A quote floated through your mind, “To be loved is to be changed.” and by God, did you change Logan.

That’s what made today so painful.

That’s why you sat on the floor in front of the front door to you and Logan’s home. That’s why David held you, holding the back of your head so you didn’t see him silently crying while you sobbed. You held Logan’s mask and dogtags close to your heart. Eventually, Keegan and Merrick had come out of the car they drove here. Keegan knelt down to rub your back, attempting to comfort you as best as he could. Merrick told you more than he, as a Captain, should tell any civilian. He’d made an exception for you. Seeing as he had a job to protect his best friend's children in the most dangerous job they could all have now, you joked that Logan and David were his adopted kids.

He never denied it. Because of that, you might as well have been his adopted kid, now in-law too. And as that in-law, it was his job to tell you that Logan was, for better or worse, not dead. You looked up at him with tears still falling. He explained what happened from the beginning. A man, a horrible man, named Rorke who was a former Ghost that the Federation destroyed and turned into something repulsive. David added that it was Rorke who had dragged Logan away on that beach. That fucking beach. He explained how it was his own fault for not doing more, for not saving him despite his injuries that, even now, two weeks after, he was still healing from.

You almost slapped him. You wanted to slap Merrick too. You were heartbroken and afraid and every negative emotion you could possibly feel nearly boiled over. You sat on the couch, the men around you as they tried to help you breathe. When you calmed down enough to speak coherently, you asked a simple question:

“Will we ever see him again? Alive?”

Merrick answered, as hopeful as he could be.

“We’ll do everything we can to make sure we will.”

That’s all you could really ask for. David moved and carefully dug into his front pocket before he pulled out his hand and offered something small and shiny. It was Logan’s ring. Both of your rings were made of titanium for its durability, Logan was worried about scratching or otherwise damaging it, so he chose titanium. Strong and durable. You had told him it reminded you of his personality, how he just kept going under all circumstances. You would’ve started crying again if this alone hadn’t already exhausted you. As much as you wanted to hold all of Logan’s things to try to feel like he was with you, you handed his mask and dog tags to Hesh. You knew where the mask came from. Who originally wore it.

“I think they’d want you to hold these.” you said, quiet as ever. David knew you weren’t just talking about Logan, but their father, Elias the “Scarecrow”, as well. He grabbed the mask and tags, putting the tags on and clutching the mask like a lifeline. As everyone stood up and walked to the door, you hugged David and whispered to him, your voice still shaking.

“It’s not your fault. I know he doesn’t blame you. I don’t either.”

“Thank you,” He paused, “I’ll do everything in my power to bring him back to you.”

You hugged Merrick and Keegan before they walked back to the car.

“Be safe!” You called out. A useless but well-intentioned farewell to the soldiers. They waved back before pulling out of the driveway, leaving you alone.

That night, you took Logan’s ring and put the chain of your favorite necklace, one he had given you before your marriage, through the ring and laid it around your neck. You cried, holding his cold pillow and wearing an old hoodie you’d stolen from his closet while he was gone. Your body ached with every sob.

Three months later, you began cleaning the house before the depression that kept you in your room most of the time got too bad. It helped a little, going through every nook and cranny. You even went into the attic. Any time either of you traversed into the usually dark storage, it would end with you holding the giant vacuum, claiming you saw a spider the size of your head while Logan chuckled. After a bit, he’d go up with a flashlight only to find some critter that got stuck up there because of a hole. Once he’d patched up the hole and cleaned out as much as he could, it all felt more comfortable.

As you looked through old boxes, you found pictures. The oldest going back to when you both first met. It was a charity for veterans in your old town where Logan, David and Elias were stationed. There were games you and your friends played, competing. At one point, Elias jokingly joined in which pulled David and, naturally, Logan. As the night went on, you and Logan got closer. He barely spoke but his chuckles at your comments were enough for you.

“I was so close to winning! You gotta give me credit for that!” You argued, cheeks hurting from smiling so much. You turned to see Logan looking at you, his brow raised and smirking.

“How? You’re 25 points behind me.” He remarked.

“I would’ve won if… if I had been playing with someone other than you!”

“Like who?”

“One of my friends, probably Ash!”

“You have 10 points.” Each time the tiny basketballs went in the hoop, it was 5 points.

“Yes and I would be 10 points ahead of them which means I would win!” He practically wheezed at that as you giggled. You looked over to see David and Elias staring at the both of you, wide smiles plastered on their faces.

You kept looking through the box. Finding photos from the day you met Keegan and Merrick, then the day you visited Mrs. Walker’s grave for the first time. You stared at that picture of Logan and David sitting together in front of the stone. It was so peaceful.

You held the photo to your chest and thought of Logan. You whispered to yourself, “Please, please protect him. Keep all of them safe. I just want them to be happy… Elias and Diane, please watch over all of them.”.

Another three months later, you hadn’t heard from David, Keegan, Merrick or any other military personnel. It had been a total of eleven months since you last saw your husband. You were Logan’s emergency contact and many people aside from the Ghosts knew you, so if something happened then someone would contact you. This should be comforting. No one calling you means no one’s dead, right? Nothing bad. So why were you so anxious? You couldn’t reach anyone so maybe something did happen and-

Your phone rang. It was David. You answered immediately.

“David? What happened? Where have you been?”

“Come outside, I have to show you something.”

It’d been a long time since you ran that fast. David sat in his truck, as you ran over to the passenger side, he leaned to open the door from his seat. As soon as your door closed and you buckled in, he began driving.

“David, what’s going on?”

He inhaled through his nose, you noticed how hard he was gripping the wheel and that he was going a bit fast. He was a careful driver normally. If he was amongst civilians, he was calm and never dared going above the speed limit in case there was a child or a dog or pedestrian walking when and where they shouldn’t be. This drive, however, was different. Something happened.

“We got him.” He looked at you, your eyes wide as they slowly filled with tears. “He’s back.”

“W-when did he get back?” You stuttered.

“Almost two weeks ago-” You opened your mouth to speak but David put his hand up. You waited. “Knowing Rorke and his history, we kept Logan on base to heal some and do some mental evaluations.”

“David…”

“I need to warn you right now, he’s not gonna be the same man you knew before all this shit happened. He’s gonna have a lot of recovering to do.”

David went on to explain Rorke and what the Federation did to him. You were quiet.

“Did he do all of that to Logan?”

“We aren’t sure. We just know that whatever it was wasn’t good. He’s clear to come home today if both of you are ready, but I just needed to tell you.” Good thing the house was clean.

“Thank you, David. I know this has probably been harder on you than anyone.” David tried to laugh.

“I mean it’s my job-” You put your hand on his shoulder.

“You know what I mean. Thank you. Seriously.” He exhaled slowly, he seemed to relax a little.

“You’re welcome.”

“You can come by whenever you like if Logan comes back. Maybe just give me a warning, ok?”

“I will. I promise.”

David parked the truck after you checked in at the front gate. Your heart beat rapidly despite the slow walk through the base. You recognized some of the men and gave a half-hearted wave when they greeted you. You could already tell. They knew why you were here.

You walked into the base hospital. David took you down numerous hallways you knew there was a chance you’d see one day but never expected, never wanted to walk down. But this was for Logan. David opened the door to the room you stood in front of.

You couldn’t tell if your heart was breaking or if you were having a heart attack or what…

There he was, sitting against the bed he must’ve been in since returning, looking at you.

Logan was in a hospital gown, his arms and legs below the knee exposed. The skin was covered in jagged scars and stitches that were still such a dark and aggressive red. Along with that were numerous bruises, a painful variety of purples, yellows, and green in some spots. His right arm in a cast and sling. On his other hand, his ring and finger are wrapped, probably broken or dislocated. You notice how his left shoulder and upper arm seem to be wrapped with gauze. You don’t want to imagine what injuries he must have that you can’t see.

His face. His handsome face. He looks so tired. Logan turned towards you and tried to limp over, using the bed for stability. You rushed forward instinctually. Once he was close enough, he slowly wrapped his unbroken arm around your back. You looked at him. He had dark circles under his eyes, faded bruising on his left cheekbone, two intersected scars ran across his face. One started between his eyebrows to his cheek. The second from the middle of his chin, across his lips until it passed the other scar on that same cheek. His skin was cool and pale, unlike the warm complexion he had prior to the kidnapping.

You ended up staying for about two hours before you got a list of medications from doctors, some extra gauze wraps and a pamphlet detailing how to handle a deep second degree burn at home. That was why his shoulder and arm were wrapped. You said goodbye to David, Keegan and Merrick soon after.

The first few weeks, Logan mostly stayed in bed. Every day you checked his injuries, the stitches and the burn, to make sure there was no infection and they were healing properly. By the fourth week or so, the burn had healed, leaving behind a large patch of discolored skin. At nearly the sixth week, his cast was removed. His arm and fingers had healed well and correctly. David had told you that when Logan was taken, his arm was broken. When he was found, his arm had healed incorrectly as a result of improper care, assuming any care was given, so the doctors had to re-break it before putting it in the cast.

After the seventh week, Logan was able to walk around without limping. However, he mostly just stayed in your room. Sometimes, you’d spend the day in the living room in hopes it would coax him out. It didn’t work. You cooked his favorite meals but he would usually bring the food back to the room. When it was time for bed, you essentially snuck around the room to avoid scaring him in case he was sleeping. You were pretty sure he wasn’t sleeping, at least not as much as he should’ve been. It remained this way for a few more weeks.

A month and a half into Logan being back home and he’d uttered a scarce amount of words. “Okay”, “alright”, “yes”, “no” and whatever else kept his sentences short. He barely talked to you anymore. Of course, you kept David updated as often as possible. You felt like he just wasn’t there. Now, he was more of a ghost than ever.

Two months in and he started going to the base again. For what? You don’t know. You had asked where he was going, dressed in his “soldier getup” as you called it.

“I’m going to work. Can’t be late. I’ll be back later.” He’d stated hastily before heading out. This continued on for another two weeks until you decided to talk to him before he left.

“Logan, honey, can we talk?”

“Um… sure, but I have to leave before 9.” He was trying to rush again.

“I wanted to ask about that actually…” He looked at you, mostly expressionless. “You were just gone for almost, what, six months? Why are they having you back at work when you might as well have just finished actually healing?”

“I… There’s still work to be done.” he stuttered. You cocked your head. You turned to him from your position on the couch.

“What work?” you asked slowly and quietly. You knew he wasn’t lying. You didn’t want him to think you thought he was lying. You wanted to keep the conversation calm so he wasn’t overwhelmed.

“It’s a lot. I don’t think- right now isn’t the right time.” he began to turn.

“We can talk later if that’s better, but I just want to know. I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t need to worry, I just need to do some things.” His voice carried no emotion. He was almost at the door when you stood suddenly.

“Logan, I just want to understand!” Logan stopped in his tracks. You stared at his back. “I want to just talk, please… I know your job is important and I don’t want to get in the way with complaining…” Your voice cracked. You wrapped your arms around yourself. Logan was here, in the same house as you. You stared at him but you felt lonelier than ever. “You’re so far away, Logan… and… and I know there was so much that happened and we didn’t know if we’d ever see each other again, but we’re together now!” You walked closer to him. He heard your steps but he stayed still. “We don’t have to act like nothing happened. We couldn’t if we wanted to, I know that… but please talk to me again. I married you because I love you. I married you and everything that came with you. I said those vows and ‘in sickness and in health’ because even when you’re hurting, I’ll be there. I’m here right now! But I need you to let me be there. I need you to stop hiding yourself away from me. I want to know you again, Logan.” Your breathing had picked up as tears welled up in your eyes.

Time just stopped. You turned and sat back on the couch facing away from him. You quietly wept into your hands as everything just seemed to spill over. You had reached your boiling point. You didn’t hear the footsteps coming to you until you opened your eyes and noticed the giant boots that faced your much smaller feet. A large pair of hands slowly removed your hands from your face, one tilted your head up.

You saw Logan’s beautiful eyes, a sort of hazel that seemed gold in the light. He slowly knelt down in front of you and hugged you. Not like the barely there hug he mustered at the hospital when he couldn’t even walk on his own. He pulled you tight against him and you immediately curled around him as you sobbed. He let you. Logan pulled back after a moment and held your face. He wiped your tears with his thumbs.

“I love you too… more than anything.” He stared into your reddening, tear-filled eyes for a moment before sighing as he sat next to you. You held his hand, his thumb stroked your knuckles as he thought about his next words. “A couple days ago,” he started, “something happened. I can’t tell you what yet but it was cause for concern. Especially with Ghost team.” He paused and looked at you, directly into you. “I want to tell you everything, but it’s going to be a lot to process and it’ll probably be scary. I don’t want you to deal with this, with all the problems coming to us because of Rorke but you’re right to want to know what’s happening and you deserve to know.” You looked at the time, 8:55 A.M. You stood, Logan followed, still holding your hand. He pressed your hand against his chest and over his heart.

“I love you.” You whispered.

“I love you too. I’ll talk to Merrick today and I’ll try to get home as early as I can. We can talk about everything while we make dinner.”

“Together?”

“Together. I’ll call you if anything comes up and if you need me to, I can get groceries, ok?” You nodded. This is all you asked for. You hugged Logan tightly as he wrapped himself around you. You walked him to the door where he kissed you goodbye, on the lips. It felt like it had been forever since you’d done that. You stopped him before he moved. He almost retorted when you pulled off the necklace you still had on. He stared at the ring hanging from it. You took the ring off and put it back on his hand. He stared at it for a moment and smiled. A tired little smile that took so much weight off of you. Logan grabbed the necklace and took the time to put it back around your neck before he kissed you again.

“Thank you.” He whispered, still smiling. You smiled back as he walked to the car, waving when he began to drive. It had only been 10 minutes at most but those 10 minutes were so freeing. The rest of the morning you spent outside, reading and occasionally texting your friends when they checked in. The sun warmed your skin and the air was so fresh. You went back inside around 3 P.M when Logan called you:

Logan: “I can come back home around 6 tonight.”

You: “Sounds good, any ideas for dinner?”

Logan: “I could really go for lasagna.”

You: “Can you stop at the store on your way back? I have a list!”

Logan: “Yeah, just send it to me.”

With that, you texted everything you needed before moving to clean up the kitchen and free up space.

Later that night, Logan returned with everything you asked for plus a tub of ice cream. Your favorite flavor. You got to cooking, boiling the sheets and preparing the sauce while the oven preheated. You cooked together, like old times. It had been so long. Music quietly played as you both took turns tasting everything. A little extra salt and paprika here, with some pepper too. You laid down the floppy lasagna sheets while Logan poured the sauce over top then you both spread your favorite cheeses before adding more sheets and so on. While the lasagna was in the oven, you sat on the couch together. Logan held you in his arms as you stroked the hair on the back of his neck. After savoring the peace of the moment, Logan started talking.

When he was kidnapped, Rorke had put him through the same trials he himself had experienced. Being force fed poisoned food was the start until Rorke seemed to grow bored and eventually forced him to eat the plants the poison had been extracted from. Logan told you everything. All the grim details. At some points, you actually felt nauseous just hearing the horrors. When he was almost done talking about what he was forced to endure, you just held him and continued to encourage him to talk. He held you tight as he explained. The beatings he was put through. The way his arm healed wrong and he could hardly use it without feeling pain.

Then he looked at you. You felt so fragile with the way he looked at you with his tired eyes. He spoke again.

“Rorke knows about you.”

You never met this man in your life, never saw pictures. But he was like a boogeyman. He could appear from under your bed at any moment.

“His soldiers… left us a message… Threatening to take me again. They said this time they’d take you too.”

That’s why he was going back to base. To work with his brother and everyone to make sure nothing happened. You didn’t live far from the base but they were thinking about bringing you on post to be cautious. That’s why Logan went back to work so soon. To protect you. That’s why he was telling you all of this now, to further protect you.

You were scared. Hearing about something like this happening was one thing, but knowing the man who stole your husband and almost broke him from the inside out was completely different. Especially when you knew that he wanted you too. Oh god. Logan held you and told you that the two of you could always move on base where you’d be protected and closer to him. You’d be amongst him and the other soldiers and Riley, Hesh’s dog. They wouldn’t let anything happen. And so you agreed. That night you just focused on being together, holding one another and eating your delicious lasagna as you reminisced together.

Over the course of the next week, you brought as many of your necessities over to base where you and Logan continued living together. You met some friends of his and their partners, gaining your own group of friends not long after moving. Some had even assisted in bringing more of your things over when Logan had to work.

Later down the line, the Ghost team flew out. You weren’t told anything about what the mission entailed, but when Logan came to you, mask on, and put his ring in your hand before kissing you goodbye, you had an idea.

“I will make sure no one, not a single person touches you. Not a single damn person. I will keep it that way. I promise.” He whispered, voice more stern than ever.

Your friends on base were all a wonderful support system during the next week they were gone for. You weren’t able to reach out again but you believed in them. You took care of Riley, who’d grown to love you.

When the week was done, they came back and Logan had made a beeline for you. You were reading, his ring back on your necklace when the door opened and your husband walked in, covered in dirt and other unidentifiable muck and alive. You rushed to jump into his arms and kiss him, ignoring the weird taste of said dirt in your mouth. You gave his ring back, ignoring the dirt that was on his hands too. While you held him, he whispered in your ear, “It’s all over now. We can go home.”.

So you did. David, Keegan and Merrick were kind enough to assist with moving your things back over and checking your house for anything that wasn’t meant to be there, anything that indicated a break in. Shit, they’d even checked the vents too. When that was all done, you made lasagna for them and spent the evening laughing together and savoring the peace that had finally come over the world again. Later, you and Logan laid in bed together, happy as ever and whispered sweet words to each other. Both of you could finally get some rest.

The end, thank you for reading! I will also post this on my ao3 @ RiversSong82

#cod ghosts #cod ghosts fanfiction #cod fanfiction #cod fanfic #logan walker #cod logan walker #logan walker x reader #logan walker x m!reader #logan walker x f!reader #logan walker x gn!reader #quill writes

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h0tb0x1nnac0ff1n · 14 days

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Daryl Dixon X Fem! Reader (Negan’s Daughter)

Warnings: Slight Stockholm Syndrome, near death, hypothermia, scattered memory, reader being desperate, slight angst mostly fluff

Era: No specific place, kinda my own little world. After Negan in a cold area (it’s snowing)

A/N: I had decided to try a different view point this time to make it more ♡ethereal♡ so no use in y/n, in a 3rd person pov

Please Save Me Mister…

She wondered the woods like a lost puppy, she had lost everything. Her father is now disappeared, her home was destroyed, everyone she ever known is now killed, disappeared, or gone. The attack happened suddenly in the morning, she had hardly any time to prepare, so she was forced to leave wearing nothing but her white strapped dress, which she wore to bed, her underwear, and a brown leather jacket, she had not enough time to put her shoes on. Her only weapon for protection is her pocket knife.

It had been about 3 weeks since her home, her ‘sanctuary’ had collapsed. It’s was unfortunate that they had struck in winter, she had survived by huddling herself up in abandoned clothing stores, she’s had no food for several days, maybe six days? Maybe 4, she can’t remember, the days had blended together after a bit. Unfortunately, in the entire clothing store, not a single hair of shoes large enough or small enough for her feet. Not even half sizes to hers. Having no other way of finding shoes she had made her own, cutting up souls of the shoes and tying them to her feet to make temporary shoes. However, with the snow being as deep as it is, the white cold powder engulfs her leg up to her knees. So they hadn’t lasted long.

Many days had passed, melting snow for water, eating whatever fruits she could find off bushes. She was sitting under a tree, her feet buried in the snow now, she had not felt the cold anymore. Her skin grew pale and blue, her nail’s skin had became a shade of icy purple. Having not enough energy to even care, she lay her head on the trunk of the tree. Suddenly she heard the sound of snow crunching behind her, they were rhythmic so not a walker. It sounded like boots, crunching into the soft powdered snow. Too tired to even move, she knew this person whom was walking in her direction was a human, meaning she hadn’t anything to worry about when it came to being eaten alive. As the sound got louder and louder, she became nervous, this person was now only a few feet away from her when suddenly it went quiet. She decided to peak around the corner of the tree to see who or what it was. Inching closer to the edge, trying her hardest to not make a noise she sees the man she had been listening to. He was well built, wearing a poncho, jean pants, and a pair of work boots. His hair was medium length and brown. He held a crossbow in his hands. He was rather handsome, especially his arms, they look to be sculpted right out of a Greek sculpture. Though, he was handsome she had a terrible feeling that he was no good, that he was a dangerous man. She decided to stand up slowly, keeping both of her hands onto the tree that separated the two of them, she felt her feet had gone completely numb, she ignored the feeling and began to run the other direction away from this man, the snow was loud beneath her feet, it would be sure to attract anything in her area. Running as fast as she could, she heard the man running behind her. The cold air hitting her lungs, her going days without eating, not drinking proper water. She felt her knees start to give. She ran for as long as she could. Until she had tripped and hit her head over a tree root that was sticking from the ground, laying there on her back looking into the sky, the man had caught up to her, looking down to her. He looked her up and down, observing and questioning how the hell she had even survived as long as she did, or how long she had been out here.

Her eyes felt heavy, the tiredness had taken over her body completely now, as her eyes began to close the man spoke to her. “I’ll take ya home.” She had smiled at his warm comforting words, then she replied, softly, almost inaudible “Please save me mister.” Then her eyes shut, before she passed out she felt large warm hands pick her up bridal style, falling asleep, she lay her head on his shoulder.

She awoke in a dark brick cell with a large fuzzy blanket wrapped around her. She lay on a hard uncomfortable mattress, feeling the cold touch of the breeze touch her skin from over her she saw a small window where light shun through it. However the window was too high up for her to see through. She saw a shadow walk across the window, then she heard the sound of keys jingling and the sound of a lock unlocking. Spooking her, she sat back down on her bed and huddled herself into the corner. The man as before walked into the room with another man and a woman. Immediately she recognized the man as Rick Grimes. The man responsible for everything that had happened to her. The woman was also familiar, she wore a winter coat along with dark blue jeans, she had a samurai sword on her back. The man with the crossbow whispered something to Rick and he walked up to the girl. “My name is Rick Grimes, this is Michone and Daryl, my partner here told me he found you lying in the snow. You were stone cold, we’re very surprised you didn’t get any frost bite.” He spoke, “I know what kind of man you are Rick” she said, looking straight at him. Rick had a puzzling expression “You killed everyone, do what you want with me but my father was Negan, you took away EVERYTHING from me. YOU are the reason I almost died!” She said raising her voice, jumping out of the bed and grabbing the bars of the cell. Anger and resentment in her tone, if looks could kill… “I know you are Negan’s daughter, and I understand your anger, that’s why you’re here in this cell. Your father is alive, he’s in a different cell apart from here. You may not go see him until we can trust you. Until then, Daryl here will take duty in watching you most of the time.” He gestured to the man she had met before. She was staring at Rick, never taking her eyes off him. Staring at him like how a lion stairs down a gazelle. Rick started backing away from the lady in the cell, “she’s all yours now.” Then Rick handed Daryl the keys, then Rick and Michone walked out of the room.

Many days had passed, being interrogated, having two bathroom breaks a day, eating nothing but soup and bread. Which, she was thankful for. Though this was the enemy, she is rather grateful for their hospitality. Especially grateful for the man Daryl, who is the reason why she isn’t dead right now. The reason why her belly is full of warm food and has a bed and a blanket to sleep on. She felt so much gratitude, she even looks forward to seeing him, especially since he was really the only person she ever saw. Daryl watched her during the day until she fell asleep when somebody else would take Daryl’s shift. Most of the time it was Michone or Rosita. However, today was different. The snow began to melt, the food proportions became larger, and they began to give her more water. Daryl looked outside through the window of another cell, deciding it was time for something. “Would you like a tour? Officially meet everyone?”

With that she was walking down the sidewalk, seeing the weather was still rather chilly, Daryl had brought her some sweatpants, new underwear, a T-shirt, and a bra he was able to get for her as a donation from a mother woman. Daryl had also brought her some socks, and a pair of shoes that fit her just right. However she was still tied up with Rick’s handcuffs. Still, she felt rather thankful for everything Alexandria has done for her, seeing that actually her father may have been wrong about these people. Getting to a park, there were three other people who were watching her with guns, making sure she can’t run away. “If I let ya loose and let ya stretch your legs ya won’t run?” “Of course I won’t Daryl.” She said in an innocent tone. Unlocking her cuffs she raised her arms in the air and stretched real big. Walking down to the pond they had, she sat down next to it, looking at her reflection. She hadn’t seen what she looked like in weeks. She remembered that now she can actually feel her face and her toes for once, a smile spread on her face. She felt free, she could feel the healing scabs on her knees, the cold hair filling her lungs. The air smelled clean, and refreshing. Shutting her eyes, she lay down on the grass to feel the suns warmth on her skin. “What’er ya doin?’” Daryl asks her “I’m just relaxing, that’s all.” Daryl nodded in response. “I see you like the pond.” She opened her eyes to see the man Rick grimes standing above her. So she sat up to face him. “We never officially met, so may I ask you to walk with me?” She nodded and walked with Rick around the neighborhood. She introduced herself and shared information about the sanctuary and her father’s old plan. She shared about her mother, Lucille. How her father went mad after her death, who her father was before everything had happened. After hours of talking and getting to know each other, she was back in her cell with non other than Daryl taking watch over her.

She felt bold, an idea had creeped into her mind. She felt grateful for Daryl. She knew he was the reason she is alive right now. He was the one who made sure she was safe, he fed her, he gave her clothing, water, blankets, and a person to talk to. “You know Mr. Dixon, I don’t know how you’re still single. You’re a kind man who works very hard, and I’m going to be honest you’re physically very attractive. Well not just physically I mean, emotionally and your personality is also attractive too.” She said blushing, she had never really confessed to someone in such way. She really only confessed to people through text or having a friend do it before everything went to shit. “Ya don’ know shit bout’ me to say somethin’ like tha. Ya don’ know me as much as ya think ya do.” Daryl said looking down to his knife. “I don’t need to know a lot to know when someone is a good man. I know you’re a good man Daryl, people trust you a whole lot, Rick trusts you, Michone trusts you, Gabriel, Tara, Rosita. Everyone trusts you Daryl, why can’t you let me trust you?””Cuz’ ya different, ya not jus’ some girl locked in this cell woman, ya the daughter of the worst’ man my whole group has ever seen. The man who killed probably over a hundred people. Of course we ain’t gonna trust ya.” “But I’m nothing like my father. You can believe me.” Daryl looked at her with sorrow “Ain’t my call to make.” Daryl then looked back down to his knife in his lap.

many weeks had passed since she lived in the cell. Eventually people started to trust her, and now she lives in an actual house with Daryl. After she had confessed to him, Daryl took a very long time to actually accept that someone had shown an interest in him, that someone actually felt for him romantically. Even after he accepted it he had to understand that he felt the same way, Daryl had never really felt anything romantic, just lust. Many times before the outbreak Daryl would higher a hooker or go to clubs but he never felt anything for those women. He never really knew what being in love was, he had to have someone show him what it was.

Daryl went up the stairs of the house to see what his girl was doing, as he opened the door slowly he saw her relaxed body lying under the silky sheets of their bed. Daryl took off his shoes and crawled into the sheets, hugging his girl firmly, but not roughly, he didn’t want to wake her up. However he failed to do so, and she opened her eyes to see Daryl holding her from behind. She drowsily smiled and positioned herself to face him, pecking her lips onto his, and he decided to kiss her back. She wraps her arms around Daryl’s waist and snuggles her face into his chest. They both close their eyes and fall back asleep.

Even though she is now trusted by the community, she has never gone back to see her father. Mainly because she is disgusted with how much he had lied to her. She had begun to help around the community mostly by gardening. She actually began to feel like she was at home, the place her heart had always been searching for and she had finally found it. She is loved, trusted, and respected by everybody. Forever loved, and forever at peace with herself, she dreams of her life just the way it is. She dreams of kissing Daryl, and him holding her in his arms, him allowing her to brush and braid his hair whenever she gets bored, cooking him dinner and him eating every bite and always going back for seconds. His little compliments that he gives her, may seem stupid to others but are as powerful as a love poem to her ears. To her, he is a living breathing poem. And to Daryl, she is a living fairytale, a beautiful girl. Ethereal and goddess like. A powerful woman you would read about. Forever in the same story together, written and designed for eternal love.

@mosstheshoeshoethemoss @shade4479 @lostgirl677 @sph347800000 @crusadecherryblossom @dixon-wings @blackrippedskinnybeans @jinxghoul @floptwd @stinkygirl009

If you responded to my blog asking to be tagged and I did not tag you there was a problem and I could not find your blog.

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fever-project · 7 months

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LU AU | Power Shift

A strange dungeon challenge forces The Chain’s items/powers to swap with each other! Oh my! Aka an idea I had that started with me thinking about what would happen if Warriors drew the 4Sword after reading “My Heart’s Forsaken Me”, which then spiraled into this, somehow. Speaking of Wars, let’s start with him:

Warriors - Four - The 4Sword has spilt him up and he can’t convince his other selves to rejoin. His different colors represents different parts of a Five/Four man band, instead of just different emotions.

Green - The closest to the original and The Leader. Very embarrassed by his other selves. He wears the regular Hero’s Clothes, a green tunic with a blue scarf. The rest of the color’s clothes are based on other Hero’s Clothes outfits in the HW game.

Red - The mischievous one who’s always butting heads with the others, he’s The Lancer. He loves to use all of Four’s items, and if the dungeon didn’t ban him from using other people’s weapons, he would steal borrow all the items he wants. He wears the red(since there’s two of them)Wind Walker version of the Hero’s Clothes, a red tunic with a teal scarf.

Blue - The one who would be the sweet one if not for getting constantly frustrated by the other colors. He’s very friendly to Time and Wind, but mostly Wind. He looks kinda sad around Time, and is generally very expressive. He’s insistent on helping anybody he can, he’s The Heart. He wears the Grand Travels version of the Hero’s Clothes, a blue tunic with a red scarf and yellow pants.

Whitney - Similar to Vio, this guy has more of a normal person name, a combination of White and Pinkie, the first two nicknames that were suggested to him. Like Vio, he was also named by Red. He wears the Koholint version of the Hero’s Clothes, which is almost fully white, with the scarf being a light pink and some pink accents on his tunic. He’s the silent tactician of the group, he’s The Brains.

Four - Sky - He is not at all used to carrying around the Master Sword, it being practically the length of his entire body. Once he can successfully swing it, he is able to do a Skyward Strike, but it’s a bit of a challenge. Quite a few of Sky’s items are similar to some of his own, so he mostly knows what he’s doing. He loves the Beetle, he uses it all the time and tries to figure out what he can do to upgrade it. So far, he hasn’t figured anything out yet. But unfortunately, he now he has to deal with Sky’s limited sprinting stamina, sadly not being able to use his Pegasus Boots.

Sky - Legend - Now Sky’s the one who can run to his heart’s content. He has face planted into many walls however. He also has many magical items that he has no idea how to use. It’s a little overwhelming to say the least. Why does Legend have so many rings? At least the Tempered Sword is cool.

Legend - Wind - He can use all of Wind’s items perfectly well, but whatever amount of paranoia he had has now gone through the roof. His items, his precious items that could easily kill Sky if he’s not careful with them, his precious items that could get lost, his precious items that he can’t use-needless to say that he’s not having a good time right now. But he’s holding on, just sticking close to Sky’s side to make sure everything’s okay. And also to laugh at him when he keeps face planting into a wall.

Wind - Twilight - Wind is having the time of his life right now. All of Twilight’s items are so fun to use, he loves the cute little Bomblings and uses the Spinner a lot with Red!Wars. The most exciting thing is that he can turn into a wolf-a sea wolf/coastal wolf specially-with the Shadow Crystal. It’s not too different than experience than using a Hyoi Pear on a seagull, in his opinion anyway. He is very wrong. He also now has Twilight’s marking on his face, and he thinks he looks cool.

Twilight - Time - The markings on his face have been replaced with the ones Time have. He is…kinda confused on what they mean and Time isn’t really giving him any straight answers about it, but the masks are very cool and fun to use. But the strange feeling he constantly has, the strange, almost whispers that he can barely hear, he knows something is wrong. The spirits of Termina are awake, trying to get him to fight literally everything. The Lens of Truth is pretty useful, and magic is cool.

Time - Wild - This wouldn’t be the worst set of items for Time to have, if not for the fact that he also got Wild’s curse of everything just crumbling in his hands all the time. It sucks and he is not at all used to it. Everyone’s a bit more sympathetic towards Wild now. Time’s also a whole lot better with a bow now. He wasn’t bad with them before, but now time seems to slow down when he jumping down from a platform, bow drawn, raining down arrows on the enemies. But now he can’t even tread water without wanting to collapse into himself like a pile of goo. Damn you stamina.

Wild - Hyrule - He was excited about the unlimited* arrows at first, but unfortunately, he was struck with the tiny wallets that can only hold up to 999 rupees. The magic and the rest of the items are amazing though, even though he keeps burning through his magic meter since he keeps thinking it’ll refill on its own. It does not.

Hyrule - Warriors - Since in HW you use items from different games, Hyrule can just use whoever’s items he wants. Basically ignoring some of the limits set by the dungeon. He didn’t understand the combos, weak point smashes, focus spirit, all of that stuff until Wars tells him about it. He still doesn’t really get it but he tries.

I don’t really have a story for this, just spun a wheel and thought this would be a fun idea. Anyone can take any part of this concept and run with it, please @ me so I can see. I also think the name Whitney is inherently funny.

#linked universe #linked universe au #lu au #lu warriors #lu four #lu sky #lu legend #lu wind #lu twilight #lu time #lu wild #lu hyrule #might draw some of this later? whitney my beloved #hope I didn’t get anything wrong. I definitely missed a bunch of things but that’s mostly cause I wanted this to be brief #fever rambles #power shift au

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finn-m-corvex · 5 months

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Lightning in a Cubicle Pt. 4

And here it is! At long last! The fourth part of Lightning in a Cubicle! We have finally crossed the halfway marker and are on our way to the finale, which is looking like two more parts away (5 and 6) and that'll be a relief for me, honestly. I know this is quite late, but I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

Words: 3.4k

Slight TWs for very very very small wanting to rot in hell instead of the Administration! Taglist @rainofthetwilight @lightning-chicken @i-love-jay-walker and @sir-robyn! Enjoy! Remember if you want to be on future taglists, please tell me explicitly!

Sora was seriously growing on Jay, and it was a problem.

A couple of weeks had passed since the girl first became his intern, and she was probably the best thing that he could’ve ever asked for. She was efficient, on time, productive, and always managed to make him laugh on a day day. Plus, she was always on his side whenever Shitty Sharon decided to try and start shit, as her name implied. Overall, the past two weeks were probably the best that Jay ever experienced while working with the Administration, and he couldn’t think of anything else that would make it even better.

Well, there was one thing, but he already knew that there was no way he was ever getting those memories back.

“...so I told the guy to shove off if he didn’t want pictures of his ass hanging around the office,” Sora said between bites of food that the two picked up from the cafeteria, “because you know that I would’ve put his ass on the copier.”

“Oh, I know,” Jay said, looking at the girl fondly as she stuck her feet up on his desk. He couldn’t find it in himself to be angry about it, especially when his cubicle was as tiny as it was. “Then what happened?”

She continued to regale him with tales of her adventures in the mailroom three floors down, and Jay did his best to listen, but he was distracted.

Every night since Sora had shown up he would have dreams. Weird dreams of things that he couldn’t place, people that he couldn’t remember, and in the morning he would do his best to sketch whatever remnants he could pick out from the haze of his mind. The pictures were hanging up all around his apartment with push pins and thumbtacks, and Jay hoped that his inspection would be delayed. Otherwise he might get sent off to the psychiatric ward, and fined for all of the new drywall that would have to be installed.

Did the Administration even have a psychiatric ward? With how often upper management drives the lower classes crazy, they better have one. And it better not be coming out of Jay’s paycheck.

“Hey,” Sora said, snapping her fingers in front of his face, “are you even listening? Geez, don’t tell me we’ve gotta get you hearing aids now.”

“I’m listening,” Jay protested, “just thinking at the same time. You were saying something about one of the guys sticking his hand up the pneumatic tube?”

Jay’s brain kept working while Sora talked. All of his searches for someone named Lloyd turned up with nothing, unless he was somehow dreaming about the legendary Green Ninja, but there was no way that someone as ordinary as him would have any association with a ninja. Jay didn’t even know that Ninjago had ninja! Which you would think would be something that he would remember considering he was from Ninjago!

And yet, faint memories tugged at the farthest corners of his mind, there but just barely out of his reach. Most of them were of Cole in his black gi, great green scar on his forehead and eyes of charcoal brown, but there were some of a younger man in green next to a taller man in red, a harsh scar over the latter’s eye and irises a molten brown. One in white, with shiny metallic skin that gleamed in the sunlight and eyes glowing icy blue, but the one that twisted the knife is his gut the most was the one woman in his memories. She had beauty greater than the depths of the sea, with eyes that floated between blues and greens that he had only seen in pictures of ocean waves.

They were the Ninja.

He found things about all five of the Ninja: green, red, black, white, and gray or cyan since the articles couldn’t decide what color she officially was. She was the most gorgeous woman that Jay ever laid eyes on, and he knew that he would be thrilled if she ever became his manager—

“Jay!”

“What?” he said, annoyed.

The girl sighed. “Alright, now I know you’re not listening. What’s got you so distracted? I know you don’t like working overtime, but I thought the pay was good enough to help you at least pretend to be doing something.”

Usually it was, but even that sweet overtime couldn’t push his thoughts out of his head. “You said you lived in the Crossroads for a while, right? Did you learn anything about the Ninja?”

Sora looked surprised, and Jay knew how much of a risk this was. “I may have heard some things, why?”

“I-I was looking at some stuff about them to try and learn what they were like,” Jay said, but he decided to backtrack. “You know what? It’s nothing. We should probably just be heading home.”

“Wait,” Sora said, springing up after him as he stood and started grabbing up his things, “you can talk to me, Jay. What’s wrong?”

And he wanted to so badly; Jay trusted her more than he trusted anyone else in this place. Their trip to the aquarium had only strengthened their bond into something that Jay never knew he would have. Before she came into his life he probably would’ve said that he trusted Luke the most, but ever since he first met Sora he started acting more and more cagey whenever the two would walk by. He would only talk in short sentences to her, sometimes not at all, and it rubbed Jay the wrong way. “It’s nothing, really. Do you need me to walk you home?”

“Uh,” Sora paused, “I don’t think so. I should be okay.”

The two of them started walking out of the office, Jay bidding goodbye to the rest of his exhausted coworkers as they went. Luke was nowhere to be found, and the man standing there in the security uniform instead of Luke instantly brought a smile to Jay’s face. The shaggy hair was achingly familiar, and the man looked up to see who was exiting. A smile split Jay’s face in response to the man’s, and for some reason it just felt right to drop his briefcase and sprint to the man.

“Cole!” Jay exclaimed, jumping into the bigger man’s arms and hugging him tight. Cole laughed, reciprocating, and a rush of familiarity made him light-headed even though Jay only met this guy once before. Jay stayed there for a minute or two before realizing how weird it probably was to be hugging your security guard, and pulled back after a minute; Cole’s grip made it a little difficult, almost as if the ravenette didn’t want to let Jay go.

His head started throbbing, trying to conjure up all of the fragments that he could remember about Cole, but the only things that came to his mind were the drawings hanging up on his walls. They couldn’t be everything that Jay had from Cole, not when his arms made him feel safer than the Administration security forces ever did.

Smile still on his face, Cole put his hands on his hips. “Guess who got the job?”

“You did?” Jay guessed, and Cole flexed his large muscles as confirmation. Someone coughed from behind them and Jay belatedly realized that Sora was still standing there, looking very confused. Her eyes were wide as they looked at Cole, and Cole’s eyes widened in response.

“Oh! Sora, this is Cole. Cole, this is my intern Sora. She’s great,” Jay babbled, not noticing the tension starting to leak into the air. Instead, all he could focus on was that now he had his two favorite people in the entirety of the Administration in the same hallway. You would be surprised at how hard that was to accomplish in a building with over 300 floors.

“Yeah, we’ve met before,” Sora said stiffly, and Jay caught a brief glimpse of Cole making a shushing motion before he turned to look at his intern.

“Oh shit, really?”

“I saw her in the elevator the other day,” Cole said quickly, and Sora’s face scrunched in confusion before clearing. “We had a good talk about, uh, the printers and everything! Right Sora?”

“Printers?” Jay asked.

“Right! Printers!” Sora said, picking up Jay’s briefcase and handing it to him. “Pesky little things, right? C’mon, we should get going. We still have to get to your apartment.”

Jay sighed, patting Cole’s arm as he faced the now fixed elevator. “She’s right. Sorry man, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow—”

“I can walk with you,” Cole blurted, and Jay paused.

“Don’t you have to stay here and keep watch?”

“With all due respect, Jay, I don’t think anyone’s going to be breaking into the accounting department after 8 P.M. I can walk you to your house and come back. I’ll even walk Sora to wherever she needs to be so you don’t have to worry about it.”

Well, what did he have to lose? His job? Maybe that would be a free excuse to finally get out of this damn place.

“If you’re sure,” Jay said, walking to the elevator. He tried to hide the pep in his step, shoving his lightning down as far as it would go. There had already been way too many close calls with Sora, he couldn’t slip up now. “I’m on floor 275, so it might take a couple minutes.”

“Totally fine,” Cole assured, watching as Jay drew out his keycard and swiped it. The elevator dinged not even a minute later, and the three of them stepped inside as the doors closed behind them with their signature soft woosh. Cole was standing abnormally close to Jay, something that the man would’ve normally minded if it was anyone but Cole. Somehow it just felt right when it was Cole.

Some strange feeling of dread started to creep over him, but he knew it wasn’t from Cole and Sora. Memories tugged at his senses, and his sight started to blur with colors that Jay wasn’t familiar with as sounds pinged off of the elevator walls. What was happening?

Jay started babbling about random nonsense to pass the time, a nervous habit of his, but neither Cole nor Sora tried to stop him. If anything, Cole looked like he was hanging on every one of Jay’s words, and it was a nice change from the constant ignoring or fake interest from Jay’s coworkers. Now that Jay was looking at Cole properly, trying to focus on something he could see and process, he did kinda look like the black ninja from the pictures. His hair was a bit longer, and his face was a bit more weathered, but there was definitely a resemblance.

“Say, Cole,” Jay started, cutting his rant about the horrors of cardstock paper short, “would you happen to know anything about a group called the Ninja?”

Cole choked on air. Sora looked slightly alarmed and quickly whacked him on the back, Cole finally catching his breath and looking at Jay with wide eyes. “What?”

“If you’re from Ninjago, then you should know who the Ninja are, right?” Jay continued. His mouth felt weird from saying the word.

“O-Oh yeah,” Cole scratched the back of his head, “I guess you could say that. I, uh, actually knew them before the Merge happened?”

“What was the girl like?” Jay asked, fiddling with his sleeves. He couldn’t shake the feeling of deja vu, even though he knew for a fact that he had never been in this kind of situation before. “She’s really pretty, you know.”

The elevator whirred as it went up, and Jay noticed that Cole didn’t seem to be feeling any of the normal motion sickness effects. Maybe he was already accustomed to it. “I know,” Cole said, “I think you and her would’ve gotten along really well, Jay.”

“Seriously?” Jay’s face brightened, and Sora made a fake gagging sound in the background. “Shut it, Sora. What did she like? What did she eat? Is she still here? Is she nice?”

He grabbed the front of Cole’s shirt, reeling with sensory input from the memories, preparing himself to ask the most important question of all. “Is her favorite color blue?!”

The security guard looked a little startled at how close Jay had gotten in the past minute, but then he relaxed, chuckling. “Yeah, buddy, her favorite color is blue.”

Buddy. The word awakened something in Jay, and suddenly he was clutching onto Cole for a reason other than to be dramatic.

Lightning flashed in his head, blisteringly hot and turning his vision white as he gripped onto Cole’s shirt. Cole was saying his name but Jay couldn’t speak, his tongue feeling like a wad of cotton in his mouth as he was gasping for air. The elevator kept going up and up and up, but all Jay felt was falling down-

Crashing onto his knees, Jay kept heaving, feeling Sora’s hand on his back and Cole’s on his chest as his vision blurred with tears. Finally, the elevator came to a stop, and Jay couldn’t help the relief that came over him when he realized that he was finally going to be able to go home. But no matter how much he tried his knees wouldn’t move, and more tears came to his eyes when he realized that the others were going to have to help him get home. They were going to see what was in the apartment.

They were going to abandon him. Who wants to be friends with someone who was losing his fucking mind?

“Get him up,” Cole ordered, and Sora came up on Jay’s other side. She draped his arm across her shoulders and lifted, and the two of them dragged him out of the elevator and down the hallway. Jay was still getting his bearings back, head spinning out of control as the carpeted floor suddenly looked very inviting yet again. Anything was better than having to face them after something like this.

Sora scanned the hallway, looking at each of the numbered plates. “I don’t know which one is his!”

“64,” Jay croaked, and Cole found it almost immediately. The poor office worker tried to give the security guard his keycard, and Cole refused it at first, instead taking up a stance that indicated that he was going to kick Jay’s door down. Jay did not feel like explaining that to the house inspection team on top of everything else. “You break my door down and I’ll break your spine.”

“You could definitely try,” Cole grunted, but he heeded Jay’s warning, instead taking the keycard and swiping it.

A soft click, and the larger man pushed the door open. Sora brought Jay in and set him down on his ratty old couch, the man sinking into the cushions and slamming his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to look around his apartment. Sora rubbed his shoulder, asking if he was okay, and then she noticed the drawings.

“Jay, what the hell is all of this?” she said, reaching out and touching one of the many pieces of paper. It was the first one he did back in his office, before he ever met her, of the Black Ninja in all of his glory and bearing a striking resemblance to the new security guard. Cole was also examining them, biting his lip as his fingers brushed across the one with the Black Ninja falling into the dark cloud. Jay never did manage to find any information on something like that happening in Ninjago. “Are-are you going crazy?”

“I…” Jay paused, “I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

Because he didn’t. He really, really didn’t.

And that scared him.

Looking away from the drawing, he watched as Cole’s hands tightened into fists, his face contorting into something that Jay didn’t recognize. Resignation? “There’s something that I should probably tell you,” Cole said softly, turning to look Jay in the eyes. “You’re not supposed to be here, Jay. You never were.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Jay said bitterly, blunt with hurt. “You think that I don’t know that I wasn’t meant to be here?”

“How much do you remember?”

Jay’s shoulders hitched. “Nothing. I don’t remember anything before this stupid place. All of these, all of them, they’re from my dreams. I don’t know what they’re trying to tell me, and I-I don’t even know if they mean anything.”

There was a box of tissues placed down next to him, and Jay glanced up to see Sora giving him a soft smile. “Here, these might help. Just take a few minutes, we’re not going anywhere.”

Grabbing up one of the tissues, Jay began to try and clean himself up a little, but he felt just as shattered and broken as he did on the first day he woke up. He had woken up in a bed, the same bed in his apartment, with only a note on the nightstand about how he had been in a coma from a workplace accident and that he was expected to be in his office at the normal time.

He didn’t know where his office was. He didn’t know the normal time. All he knew was that nothing, nothing felt right when he woke up and it hadn’t gotten better in three years of working in the Administration. There was always some small voice inside of him, whispering that he was destined for something greater than fixing copy machines, but-but..

Jay was trapped. He didn’t even know what he could say to get him out of that place.

But..but maybe they could help him get out.

Sora picked something up out of the box with his gi, left open on his messy desk, and Jay’s heart sank when he saw the light gleaming off of it. It was something that he only had second-hand knowledge about from his parents, and even that was fuzzy, but it was the only explanation he had to go off of because the Administration did not consider information about Ninjago traditions very important.

His Ying-Yang medallion.

Cole sucked in a breath when he saw it, eyes watering. “You still have that?”

��You know what it is?” Jay asked, standing up and instantly having to sit back down from the dizziness. He motioned for Sora to come closer, and took the medallion when she offered it. “Please, Cole, you have to tell me everything you know about this.”

Please. Please. They—they had to know something he didn’t, something to get him out and to see her—

Silence.

Sora wouldn’t meet Jay’s eyes, but he wasn’t giving her much of his attention; most of his attention was on the security guard, whose eyes softened, and Jay was startled to see tears forming at the corners. Cole quickly wiped them away with his jacket sleeve, grunting, before looking back up at Jay. Earthen brown on electric blue. Jay had the sinking feeling that this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

Maybe it had something to do with the drawing of the two figures trapped deep in an arena pit, staring each other down from atop a pillar. It was dark, and there was a green blade gleaming in the corner of his vision when he was fighting for his spot on the pillar, but he could still hear the sounds of screaming applause echoing in his ears. Jay knew now who was the one in the black suit, but..he never managed to dream up who the second person could’ve possibly been. Whose eyes he was looking through.

“Her-her name is Nya,” Cole started, his hands clenched into fists. “She’s the Elemental Master of Water, and my-my sister. You’re my brother.”

“My parents didn’t have another kid,” Jay said. Something wasn’t right. “They were too old. Is your name even Cole? Or was that a lie too?” The idea of Cole lying to him about this was nauseating, and Jay wished that he was still sitting down in the elevator, hitting the bottom floor and wishing that the cable would’ve snapped so he would be plummeting straight down to hell. Maybe he was already there.

“I’m not Ed and Edna’s kid, and I wasn’t lying about my name. I’m not lying to you,” breathing out of his nose, Cole met Jay’s eyes, hardening with a resolve that sent tingles up Jay’s spine. “Jay, I need you to listen very carefully to what I’m about to tell you, okay? You cannot freak out on me.”

Jay nodded, struggling to swallow past the lump of anxiety and fear in his throat. What-what was he?

Cole sighed. “You’re a Ninja, Jay.”

Yeah, he was in hell. Maybe he would’ve preferred the high water.

#ninjago #ninjago jay #finn's writing #ninjago dragons rising #ninjago cole #ninjago sora #lightning in a cubicle #ninjago dragons rising spoilers #finn's ninjago aus

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domiforpresident · 1 year

Text

Kiss me in the Rain ☂

Paring: ShuriUndaku x fem!blackreader

Summary: your girlfriend Shuri takes you out at night for your birthday, to your two favorite places in the world. The date is going wonderful till it starts Raining.

Warnings: none just a lot of fluff

Divider creds: @firefly-graphics

Word count: 1.5k

Cpr was the song I had on repeat while making this so I decided to add it on here

A/N: i was gonna scrap this but I needed something to post while I'm writing this Shuriri fic 🚶🏽‍♀️

It was 8 pm, you were asleep in bed. It was your birthday. You hadn't heard from your lover shuri all day. You thought she forgot about you until your phone dinged. You rolled over to see what it was. To your pleasant surprise It was a text from Shuri that read

"Come open the door baby"

You jumped up and put your slippers on, practically running to your apartment door to greet your beloved. When you opened it you saw Shuri she was dressed in a white tee with a small gold chain on, black straight leg jeans, and the dark blue converse you bought for her and you so y'all could match. She had your favorite flowers in hand as well. Your heart melted at the sight. You came down from your high once you remembered she hadn't reached out to you all day. You were more than happy to see Shuri but you wouldn't let her off the hook that easily.

"So your phone don't work shuri??" You asked her in an irritated tone.

"It does Sithandwa sam." Shuri stated as she walked through the door. "I've been planning tonight all day and I didn't have time to reach out to you." Shuri explained.

"What do you mean you've been planning tonight?? Are we going somewhere?" You asked intrigued as you followed shuri to your bedroom.

"We are baby, I'm taking you out tonight for your birthday, so go do whatever you have to do now." Shuri said as she smiled at you.

"Aww my loveee" You walked up to her and wrapped your arms around her neck then gave her a kiss.

"Go get ready beautiful and don't take too long. I want to be able to take you everywhere I planned to." Shuri said as she pulled away from the kiss you and her just shared.

Her eyes trailed down your body as you walked away to your bathroom to get in the shower. As she did that You came up with the idea to punish Shuri for not talking to you all day.

"I don't want you to see what I put on till I'm ready Shuri, so go sit in the living room." You grinned as you lightly pushed Shuri out of your room.

"Baby you act like I haven't seen-"

"Go shuri I'm not playin" You Slightly raised your voice as you pushed her completely out of your room.

"Ok I'll go love" shuri playfully gripped at her shirt as if your words shot through her chest.

Her dramatics were cute but you wouldn't let them change your mind.

"I'll see you in a minute beloved" You giggled as you closed the door.

You already had in mind what you were going to wear, a black long sleeve body con dress with a black jean jacket, and your dark blue converse to match shuri of course.

You were now out of the shower. You styled your braids in a half you half down hairstyle, and left two twist out in the front. You put on the scent that shuri loved on you. You walked out of your room ready to greet shuri once more. You noticed while you were getting ready shuri put the flowers that she got you in a vase on your kitchen counter. As you walked in the room Shuris eyes traveled to every part of your body just taking in your beauty. She admired Each curve of yours that was hugged in all the right places by your dress. You were the most breathtaking person in the world to Shuri.

"Are you ready to go, my love" she said as she came up to you and kissed your neck, not wanting to smudge your makeup. She couldn't help but to touch you in some type of way.

"Yeah I am, come on bae" you said as you grabbed Shuris hand and locked it into yours.

You and Shuri walked out your apartment door and headed to her car. She opened the door for you like She always did, you didn’t think that was fair though so you always opened hers for her as well. She was your pretty princess too.

You and shuri got in, she turned on hold on by the internet which was one of her favorite songs. You had a feeling where shuri was taking you but you still nagged at her to tell you.

"Sooo…my love where we goin??" You questioned as you called shuri her favorite pet name hoping to get the information you wanted out of her.

"You'll see when you get there y/n" Shuri said a bit sternly. she didn't use your government often unless she was being serious.

You slumped down in your seat a little showing your defeat. Now knowing that Shuri wasn't going to budge.

When you got there it was one of the places you had guessed. The art museum. It's not the ideal destination for a date, but you loved the art museum so much, you could stare at all the beautiful paintings and sculptures all day if you were allowed to. After a few visits the art museum became one of your sanctuaries of peace. So you start to get teary eyed once you realize where you are. It showed that Shuri listened to the little things you told her.

"Nkosazana don't cry, you'll mess up your makeup." Shuri said while attempting to wipe your tears.

"I'm ok shuri, I just love you so much" you told her as you squeezed her hand gently.

"I love you so much more, Entle." Shuri said sincerely. "Now let's hurry up before this museum closes" Shuri chuckled trying to make you laugh a little.

All you could do was smile at her, how did you get so lucky. She was so perfect, and all while having a nation to run she always put more than enough time aside to come and visit you in America.

You and Shuri walked into the museum still holding hands. Y'all went to every part of it you could before it closed.

"Ouuu shuri baby look at this painting, I've never seen it before it’s gotta be new." You eyed the painting up and down looking at the beautiful abstract color scheme.

Shuri admired you from afar, in her opinion you looked the most beautiful when you were fixated on something. She came up behind you and hugged you from the back. You knew it was her because the smell of lavender and vanilla hit your nose, her signature scent. You and her started to sway back and forth a little just soaking up every second of the Moment.

you and shuri were walking out the museum that was now closed. To you it smelt like it was going to rain.

"Did you bring an umbrella baby, I think it's bout to rain" You asked shuri.

"No but I can almost guarantee it's not going to Rain Sithandwa sam" shuri tried to reassure you.

"Ok ima trust you for now shuri" you said hesitantly. You still couldn't shake the feeling that it was going to Rain.

Nonetheless you and shuri got back in her car headed to your second and final destination.

You genuinely had no idea where Shuri could take you that would top the art museum. That is until you pulled up to the park you and her first met at. Shuri was in America for business purposes and she crossed paths with the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. You. Now here you guys are today going on 1 year strong. Shuri was a sucker for sentimental gifts. Things that money couldn't buy, that's why she decided to take you where she first laid eyes on you.

"Shuri you keep on ima cry all over again" you laughed.

"Come on my love let's go walk in the park" shuri motioned you to come with her as she smiled at you.

You and Shuri walked around the park for a good 10 minutes, just laughing and reminiscing about the first day you met. Abruptly you started to feel Rain drops on your head.

"Shuri I told you it was gonna rain" You said as you rolled your eyes.

"That's not important right now, Nkosazana" Shuri said as she pulled you in by your waist."I love you so much more than you could ever understand y/n, you are truly my one and only. Shuri said as she slowly closed the little bit of distance that's between you two.

"I love you more than anything shur-"

Before you could finish your sentence shuri had put her lips on yours, she kissed you as if you were the only person in the world. Just as you two were kissing it started to Rain a little harder.

"Shuri, it's probably about to start pouring rain" You giggled.

"I really don't care y/n" she bit her lip a little as she cupped your chin and started to kiss you again.

#shuri x black!reader #shuri x y/n #shuri x you #shuri udaku #black sapphic #lgbtq #lesbian #mcu shuri #black panter wakanda forever #mcu fanfiction #my baby #Shuri is my cutie patootie fr #shes so cute

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itskenickie · 3 months

Text

Gendrya Masterlist

The list is from newest to oldest.

When I'm With You

“Got room for one more?” The sudden and unexpected voice made Arya to sharply turn around. Her eyes widened at the figure standing before her with a cocky smirk, “Gendry? What are you doing here?”

can you feel the things I feel right now with you

“You’ll be sorry!” Gendry wasn’t afraid of Daenerys and her empty threat. She is powerless without her dragons and he doubts that Jon and his sisters would allow for his execution solely for rejecting the title of a lord.

The Bull and The Wolf

It was Tryion, who was hidden behind a large chair in front of the fire, still drunk out of his mind from the feast earlier, who spoke up, “I do believe the hound meant that mating season had come early for the wolf and the bull.”

I Think Your Love Would Be Too Much

It had been too long. Too long from being away from Arya. He missed her so much.

M'lady

When Arya Stark walked out of the forge after showing Gendry her wish, she felt like she could breathe again. Like a weight was lifted off of her shoulders. She was expecting many things once she returned to Winterfell; reuniting with her siblings, avenging her deceased family and protecting her land. But she never thought that she would reunite with Gendry.

Pen Pal

Arya signs up for a pen pal because Mademoiselle Margaery says so.

Pink

The love of his life is his best friend’s sister. She was the tiny girl with a lot of spunk who played football and the guitar. She also loved getting down and dirty while fixing up cars. And, Gendry is going to be cringy for a bit, she was the emo princess of his dreams.

Him

The sound of Valyrian steel swords crunching through the bones of White Walkers was all that Gendry could hear for they were louder than the cries of the dying men.

Scar Tissue

His hold around her tighten and right when he noticed she was about to doze off, he kissed her head gently and closed his own eyes. Thoughts of Winterfell and Arya on his mind.

3 times arya stark wasn't scared and the one time she was

Lommy, Hot-Pie and Podrick try to scare Arya.

Clueless

Arya met the strangest men while visiting her brother Jon up North.

A-Z

A list from A to Z on why Arya Stark loved Gendry Waters and vice versa.

Instagram Thirst

Just then, Arya’s phone beeped. Indicating that she had a new notification on her phone. She fished out the silver device from her phone and swiped on the notification which took her to Instagram and showed her a post from one of the accounts she followed who posted a new work out video. She smiled to herself, or she thought, while double tapping the screen and a big red heart appeared before her.

A Lady and A Smith

“You know, you’re just like your mother.” Gendry chuckled while twirling Lyanna. “How? I thought Ned looked like mommy and I looked like you?” Her eyebrows scrunched up in confusion.

Prince Gendry

Gendry Baratheon. A man who is dubbed as the handsomest in all of the seven kingdoms. Rumor has it that when he was born, the first children had gifted him with eyes that were forged from a gemstone that was known as Blue Apatite.

Shy Encounters

The sunlight shining through the train's window illuminated her skin, making her glow, as if her skin were made of tiny diamonds.

The Titanic

The ship stood tall and grand at the harbor unlike anything Gendry has ever seen. The orange and black funnel of the ship almost covering the bright sun. A rare sunny day that bestows Winterfell. Basically, the Titanic AU that no body asked for in which Arya is Jack and Gendry is Rose.

Heaven

Sometime around the afternoon, Gendry was sitting on the white love couch with Arya’s head on his lap, his tanned fingers were running through her brown locks. Lips turning upwards at whatever it was on T.V that was making Arya laugh loudly. Those same tanned fingers then began tracing the thin arms when Arya quieted down from laughing. This is Gendry’s favorite way to spend his free time, watching his lover being happy. Laughing and smiling without worrying about the smallest of things. It made Gendry feel lightheaded from the amount of adoration he felt when watching his lover. Gendry heaved a pleased sigh as Arya laughed again.

#gendrya masterlist #gendrya #arya x gendry #got fic #got masterlist

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liz-allyn · 2 years

Text

sugar and vice, pt. 13 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: Peter teaches Honey a lesson.

words: 9.5 k

chapter warning: smutty dubcon spicyness (masturb*tion), references to drug use, manipulation, more john walker, graphic but brief reference to animal cruelty

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whump. hurt/comfort. sexual situations. spousal abuse. family trauma. drug use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss. Please. For real.

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but butterfly hair clips and stretchy plastic chokers are not a new trend and if you did not know that, this isn't the right time for you.

Back to Part 12.

Part 13

A vibration stirred Honey awake. She had been sitting on the floor of her room, back against the bed, and must have fallen asleep. Still wearing the bathrobe from the night before, she rubbed the drool from her mouth, only feeling slightly better than the first time she’d woken up that morning.

Slowly, more pieces of the previous night were clearing up. She couldn’t remember the details or the context of what was said, but what she could remember terrified her. And that’s before she saw Peter shooting up in his office like a heroin addict. The sight deeply frightened her. Considering she was trapped in the penthouse with no one else, she did the only thing she could think of.

Hide.

Another vibration jolted her into action. The sound itself made her panic, as she thought she had silenced any possible notifications coming into her contraband phone. She didn’t get texts often. Most of the conversations were one-way, her divulging sensitive information so that John could steadily build a case against Peter. Or maybe even get him killed.

It made her sick to think about.

Even worse, if John was texting her, that only meant one thing. He was angry.

She dug her fingers beneath the mattress, in the gap inside the box spring. Once she pulled the device out, she glanced down at the screen. Her eyes were alert, blinking through the blurriness.

> u up?

She scoffed. “Gross.”

Before she could toss the phone, another message popped up on screen.

> someone had a wild night last night.

A chill shot down her spine. Instantly, her list of fears was renumbered, threats reprioritized in the correct order. John Walker was always at the top.

> of course i know. don’t be so surprised, peach. I know everything

> you looked like you were having a good time.

She swallowed back shards of glass as she gazed down at the taunting blue and white screen.

> don’t forget. you have a job to do.

Her eyes burned. Tears built up behind her eyelids. ‘A good time,’ he called it. It was an amazing experience, unlike any she’d ever had. She couldn’t remember a time she had ever felt so carefree. She recalled the blissfully warm memory as an overwhelming sense of peace. A feeling of euphoria. Of power, even.

What a joke. She had no power. Never did.

> where was eddie brock last night?

A knock at her door almost threw her into cardiac arrest. “Honey?”

She dropped the phone immediately, the device clamored to the hardwood floor. She shot up, coming to a hurried stand, as the doorknob twisted.

The door opened. Peter was in the gap, having changed clothes into a different suit.

He looked better than he did earlier when she spied on him in his office. ‘Better’ meant he didn’t look demonic. The whites of his eyes were visible again. The ‘tattoos,’ or whatever they were, had vanished. However, he didn’t look healthy; his skin was dull, an unusual milkiness to it, save for the dark shadows that carved out his eyes. His cheeks were sunken in, like he’d hadn’t eaten in days. The once-amber hue of his irises was faded, charred into blackened ash.

The sight of him pulled a slight gasp from her lips. She could’ve played it off as simply being startled. Truthfully, she was horrified; the mad fluttering of her heart gave her away. Not just at his presence, but at the phone hidden behind the bed, resting on the hardwood at her feet.

She clenched her fists as her sides. He eyed her with confusion. “What’re you doin’ on the floor?” he asked.

Rigidly, she dared not blink or avert her eyes. “Um... I... I don’t feel good.” That much was obvious, based on her appearance. Red-eyed, dehydrated, skin clammy. She fretted at her nose, finally breaking her unblinking stare. “Sorry, I... I’m still, um, I’m a little hungover. From last night. I think.”

When she looked back at him, a deep crease formed between his brows. He looked away, chewing his lower lip between his teeth. Nodded silently. “You need anything?” he asked, still not really making eye contact.

“Um... no,” she said, shoulders relaxing a bit. “I’ll be fine. I think I’ll just—”

“Need you downstairs,” he replied with a flat tone. It was like all of the affection she felt budding between them had disappeared. Sprouts frozen and stagnated by a cold snap overnight.

“Oh.” Her stomach felt like it was made of rocks.

His eyes were fixed on the doorknob, ever once reaching hers. “Get dressed. We have to talk.” Without waiting for a reply, he disappeared from the doorway, the door vibrating as it slammed closed again.

It felt like she was 12 years old, being told that if she couldn’t keep up with her chores she didn’t get to eat with the rest of the family. Or to eat at all.

Physically, the reaction was identical. She bit down to keep her lower lip from wobbling, dread twisting her insides. A loud rattle at her feet spooked her. It was louder than a cymbal crash in her anxious state.

She dropped to the floor again to silence her phone, getting a look at the two new messages waiting for her.

> stop me if you’ve heard this one before...

> what sound does a bitch make in the microwave?

Heart thudding steadily, she gazed at the phone with confusion. “What?” she whispered, beneath her breath. Brows furrowed. Is this a joke? What kind of weird joke—?

> give up?

She had no time to reply. But that was the point he was trying to make.

> poor old mrs. nimitz could tell you.

It took less than two seconds for her to derive his cruel meaning, and her stomach lurched at the implication. She slapped her hand over her mouth, feeling bile crawling up. A shiver racked her whole body, budding tears spilling down her cheeks.

Peace. What a joke.

Walking through the penthouse was eerie. All of the motorized blackout shades outside of her room had been drawn shut, turning the day into night. The entire space was cast into a dark shadow with only dim lamp lights to guide the path. She had the urge to tiptoe, like she was sneaking around a funeral home.

As she approached the doorway to Peter’s office, her stomach began to clench with trepidation. She could hear two voices.

“You keep forgetting,” she heard a deep voice that was not Peter’s say, “the Rand name still holds weight. Now you’ve got the Meachums coming after you. They already had the club shut down, got the alcohol license revoked in record time—”

“I don’t care about that,” Peter’s voice responded, heavy with guilt. “I care about what happens to Miguel and Jessica. I didn’t know there was a gun.”

Creeping closer to the door, she spotted two figures in the lounge area of the dark office.

Peter stood with head lowered and arms crossed, eyes downcast. Across from him, seated on a nailhead leather sofa, was a suited, brown-haired man wearing rounded sunglasses. The sunglasses were an odd choice to her, considering the room was so dark. As soon as she spotted the white cane in his left hand, it made sense.

Honey didn’t recognize the man, but Peter looked comfortable in front of him. The man wore a wine-colored, slim-fit tailored suit (Ralph Lauren, Purple Label, probably—she was getting better at this) with a black skinny tie, and a champagne silk pocket square.

“We can argue it was self-defense,” the blind stranger replied.

“It was self-defense,” Peter answered firmly. “Miguel’s not a killer. Not like—” He swallowed hard, dropping the sentence. “They wouldn’t have fired unless they were firing back.”

“Doesn’t matter, Pete,” he answered. “There was a shooting inside of a nightclub packed with people, the sound of which triggered a crowd rush. People got hurt. One of Rand’s bodyguards was murdered. DA’s not gonna see it any different. He’ll try to come down hard on this. Not to mention, you have a friend at the police station with a personal vendetta—”

Peter spun on his heel, simmering with rage. “If he wants it, he can come and take it!” he boomed like a crack of thunder. His voice echoed in the large office, and she gasped beneath her breath. The blind man stayed quiet despite the outburst.

Cooling his temper, Peter paced anxiously in front of the man. “Alright, what’s the hold up on the bail situa—”

The man on the couch gently lifted his free hand, bringing up his outstretched palm. Peter observed the gesture as ‘stop’, and he ceased his conversation. And then both men could hear it.

Her heartbeat raced just outside the door. “S’alright,” Peter announced, his back to the doorway. “Come in, Honey.” Her limbs locked up immediately, unsure how he could even see her. Regardless, her feet were already carrying her forward through the threshold, as if a whistle had been blown.

She might as well have a collar around her neck, she thought. She crept in, tail between her legs, her eyes flicking anxiously between her master and the stranger.

Peter looked up at her for the first time, and she had to fight to keep herself from shaking. “This is Mr. Murdock. He’s a good friend of mine.”

A pleasant smile had replaced the stranger’s grim expression as he came to a quick stand. “Call me Matt, please,” he declared, dripping with suaveness. He gracefully extended his open hand in her direction. She stared at it blankly before quickly moving across the room to return the gesture.

“Um, hi...” There was a squeakiness to her own voice that she loathed.

Matt nodded warmly, taking her hand and giving her a firm handshake. “Very nice to meet you, Miss.... uh...?”

“—Honey,” she answered, muscles rigid.

Peter’s head tilted in her direction, and she briefly caught a glance of his eyes before he turned away. She clarified, feigning confidence, “‘Honey’ is fine.”

Matt raised his brows with surprise. “Honey,” he repeated, considering the response with curiosity. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Matt’s a lawyer,” Peter muttered, pocketing his hands, as he faced his body toward the window shades. “Best in town.”

Matt blushed at the praise. “Please. We at Nelson, Murdock & Page have been fortunate, that’s all.”

Nelson, Murdock & Page. She recognized the name from the billboards. Subway ads. TV commercials. And the 52-story building on 8th Avenue, overlooking Hell’s Kitchen, where the names of the partners were lit up by 25-foot letters. The name was synonymous with success, she had once overheard someone say so while working at the coffee shop.

If Peter was a friend, all the law firm’s success came with a cost. Matt Murdock looked like he could afford to cover the bill and then some.

“What happened to Miguel?” Honey questioned warily. “Is he okay?”

Matt pursed his lips.

Peter answered her, “He’s fine. He and another friend of ours... just had a little misunderstanding with the cops.”

Honey spotted the way Matt shifted at the response.

“But we’re on it,” Peter added. “Nothin’ to worry about. He’s safe.”

Matt twitched again, gripping the head of his cane firmly. Honey didn’t need to see this action to know it was a lie.

She glanced between the two men, unsatisfied. “What’s going on?” she asked nervously. “Is this about last night? About... that guy?”

Tight-lipped, Peter looked away, pacing towards the window. Honey dug her thumbnail into her palm, wringing her hands anxiously. “If-If he wants me to apologize or something, I can—”

It was like he was shocked with a cattle prod. Peter snapped his head in her direction, eyes stern.

“I-I mean, if he’s pressing charges or something,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to-to make a fuss.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” He spat out each of his words like rotten fruit, glowering at her.

The irate tone of his voice was familiar, but not from him. She wanted to swallow her tongue, staring back at him with wide eyes. “I... I don't want anyone to get in trouble—”

Brows pinched together, he stared incredulously at her for what felt like forever, jaw clenched tight. Subtly, she began to squirm under his hardened glare. “Matt,” Peter said softly, “could you excuse us?”

“Of course,” he said without hesitation, buttoning up his maroon suit jacket. He turned to Peter, “I have a car waiting for us outside. I’ll be ready when you are.” With a friendly bow of his head towards Honey’s direction, he took the cane and strode out of the room.

Peter was dead silent until long after he disappeared from view. Moments before, he couldn’t (or wouldn't) look at her. Now, he roasted her with his gaze.

“Um,” Honey cleared her throat when the tension was too much. “Look, I-I want to say—”

“What do you remember about last night?” The question was thrown at her like she was in an interrogation.

There were flashes of memories, some vivid, others blurry. Most of the words were cloudy. But the emotions were there, and they terrified her.

She gulped. Took a few shallow breaths. “I-I… I remember having a few drinks. And… and then I made Eddie give me something to-to take the edge off because there were so many people... and-and too many sounds, and I just don’t—I mean, I’m not making excuses. That’s—It’s my fault. Eddie didn’t want to, and I made him—”

“I’m not talkin’ about the drugs,” Peter snipped her sentence short, an edge of agitation returning. “I don’t care about the fact that you got high. I don’t care about any of that.” He fixed her with an intense gaze. “What do you remember about what happened next?”

She blinked, her heart beating hard enough to feel in her throat.

What happened next?

A hurricane of blurry images, punctuated by heartwrenching emotion. Like the fading outline of a nightmare.

Which nightmare did he want to hear about first?

Was it her overwhelming guilt from spying on Peter? Was it the terror, like she was walking a tightrope across the Grand Canyon, every time her phone buzzed? Or the urge to run to the nearest church and pray away whatever evil possessed him when he stuck that needle in his arm?

Was it confusion about what her heart wanted, one hand reaching out for him while the other sought to stab him in the back? Half wanted to dunk him in holy water, the other half of her wanted to reach out and touch—

A gasp caught in her throat. Another distinct memory came to light.

Lust. Heated, unapologetic debauchery. It left a filthy sensation, a film congealing on her surface, like she’d spent a week locked in a room watching nothing but porn. Sin oozed from her brain, spinning her dizzy, bending her over, and presenting her cunt in the air to be fucked hard by any willing passerby.

She had wanted it to be Peter.

Her face felt like it was on fire. He must have noticed because he broke his gaze, eyes suddenly downcast. A tidal wave of shame crushed her.

“Do you remember,” he asked, more gently, “when you were assaulted?” She blinked, observing the concern in his gaze when he looked back at her. “When Rand put his hands on you?”

She blinked a few more times. Yes, she remembered that. Clear as day. She remembered the sudden urge to scream, cry and vomit all at once. She remembered Peter punching Danny and how scared and disgustingly satisfied it made her feel. She remembered Peter ordering his crew to protect her like she was Helen of Troy—not a slutty, mob mistress fucked-up on a little THC.

Her lower lip began to quiver. “I… I shouldn’t have been in there. I-I was out of my mind, and if I hadn’t—”

“Don’t,” his voice cracked like thunder. He sucked in a breath to silence himself, face contorting into a grimace. “Don’t finish that sentence. I swear to god, if you tell me that nothing woulda happened to you if you hadn’t been in there—”

“I’m sorry!”

“What are you sorry for?!”

His voice echoed, crackling with ire. She flinched at the noise, tears welling up in her eyes. He fumed, and as if he spit acid in her face, he sealed his mouth with his palms. Spun on his heel and paced madly. The wolf was back, hackles up, canines dripping with aggression.

Her heart thrummed in her throat, her eyes like saucers. When he looked back at her, his face was twisted sourly. Exhausted. Heartbroken. He dragged his fingers through the scruff of his beard, and stepped towards her.

“Why don’t you get it, huh?” he said, quiet and grim. Eyes desperate. “Why can’t you see it?”

As he leaned into her, she instinctively leaned back. Tears budded at the corners of her eyes. “I don’t—I don’t know what—”

He held up both hands, silencing her. She hiccuped in distress. “Honey,” he said, calmly attempting to bite back his frustration, “when are you gonna learn that you’re worth fighting for?”

Her breath hitched. His dark gaze was fixed on her.

“Why can’t you understand that there’s nothing on this Earth that I care more about? That I would do anything to protect?”

She stared up at him, wordlessly. He inched closer until she was within arm’s length.

“I’ll fight for you. I’ll protect you. But Honey…” he sighed heavily, “I can’t save you from yourself.” Pity marked his features, eyes glistening. “I can’t fight the bad guys and the voice in your head. The one that tells you it’s okay for some prick to grab you and get away with it. For some asshole boss, your crazy mother, or anyone else to talk down to you. To make you feel unworthy of common fucking decency.”

Despite the affection of his words, all she could focus on was the way he hissed at the end of the statement.

Her eyes fell to the floor in shame. Hot tears pooled behind her lids. “Did Miguel shoot someone?” she murmured mournfully.

He nodded. “Yes.”

Wiping a tear from her cheek as it fell, she sniffed back her anguish, voice lined with disdain. “Because of me? Because I freaked out?” She sounded so small. Powerless. She hated the sound. “I don’t even remember what happened. Maybe nothing happened at all, maybe he didn’t even touch me—”

Like a thunderbolt, Peter slammed his fist on the edge of the couch. She let out a squeak as the pine frame cracked beneath his hand. She jolted upright and then ducked her head immediately. He fumed silently. Glared down at the floor. Nostrils flaring. Rooted in place for ages.

The sound of his heavy exhale compelled her to peek up at him beneath her lashes. He lifted his chin, eyes cast downwards, and tensely declared, “You can lie to yourself all you want. But I told you. Don’t ever lie to me.”

She hugged herself tightly, restraining a tremble. Mouth agape. Tongue twisted uselessly. He didn’t wait long for a response.

“I-I gotta go,” he said. Peter rubbed the back of his hand across his chapped lips. He looked disoriented, overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. He tugged on the edges of his slate-gray sportcoat, eyes focused on everything but her. “Won’t be back for a while. M’goin’ to the precinct.”

She tensed, eyes wide. “You’re going to the cops?”

Still, he kept his eyes down. She wasn’t sure whether it was defensiveness or disgust that prevented him from looking at her.

“Don’t wait up for me.”

Without any room for discussion, he marched out of the room. Stopping for nothing. Leaving her alone.

Stupefied, she stood in his office feeling like the ground was trembling beneath her feet, and she’d be sucked into a sinkhole at any moment.

Despite this, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

They were supposed to have a date.

Peter felt like he was sweating all over. Never mind the fact that it was a bitterly cold day. He shuffled from the elevator towards a blacked-out SUV idling in the underground garage. Every step was shaky, like he was balancing upright on a plank in the middle of the Atlantic. An ache radiated from his organs. Could’ve been starvation or salmonella. Never in his life had he ever been so ravenous and so wrecked by nausea.

One of his guards was already at the back passenger door, opening it for him as he approached. With little more than a tense nod, he crawled into the backseat where Matt was waiting.

“You feelin’ okay?” Matt asked. His tone was light amidst the heavy circumstances. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you smell like a gym locker room.”

“M’fine.” The car lurched forward. Bile scaled up his tongue. Peter crouched in on himself, eyes fixed on the window.

“Yeah,” Matt scoffed. “Sure.”

He murmured coldly, “You let me worry about me.”

“Hey, you called me,” Matt frowned teasingly, tossing his hands gently in surrender. “And for the record, I advised you not to go through with this.”

“Not gonna leave them to rot—”

“I’m saying we need to be strategic, is all. Chances are, we can get Jessica released today. Miguel is another story.”

Peter acknowledged that Matt was very good at his job. He could smell guilt. He could hear the pulse pattern of a lie. There was no hiding anything from the man, and it created a completely transparent relationship that Peter clung to. It was rare.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them as Peter contemplated his reflection in the glass.

The lawyer spoke after a few moments, clearing his throat. “So. That’s her, I assume?”

There was an ominous inflection in his voice. The idea of Matt’s attention being called to the woman in his penthouse made his skin prickle. Felt clammy. He squirmed in his seat, rolling his neck and shoulders.

“Yeah.”

A pause. “She seems sweet.”

“She is.”

“That’s good. Great.”

Another stretch of silence followed with Matt holding his tongue between his teeth. They both could sense each other’s distress, in the air and in their ears. Peter debated further attempts to conceal his fluctuating heartbeat. He needed to save up his energy.

It was hopeless cause anyway. Matt saw everything.

The lawyer let out a heavy exhale, weighed by grim reality. “You know she’s hiding something from you, right?”

Peter didn’t react. Brows furrowed, he simply stared into space.

Matt was very good at his job.

“Yeah. I know.”

Honey was making lists again. Montgomery. Juneau. Phoenix. Little Rock.

State capitals. Alphabetical by state. Sacramento. Denver. Hartford. Dover.

Fifty cities for fifty states. She counted to fifty and repeated the action, over and over, until she could sing them to a tune she composed.

It didn’t do anything to ease the dread in her belly.

The rest of the afternoon since Peter left her alone went by agonizingly slow. She purposely avoided her bedroom, where her phone was well hidden. She avoided the bed she shared with Peter. Avoiding any intimate space whatsoever.

The standard crew contracted to clean and maintain the condo came and left, as they did three times a week. Though she tried, the language barrier made having a conversation with anyone impossible.

The more she thought about it, she wondered if the staff was capable of conversation all along, but they’d been instructed not to talk to her. The guards certainly didn’t, even as they lurked in the hallways like ghosts.

The best conversationalist in the entire house was Rex.

She spent a good deal of time cleaning and rearranging the bearded dragon’s terrarium, despite the task having already been completed by a housekeeper.

Honey felt like she’d seen him grow a few inches since she arrived. Peter explained that it was unlikely, he probably reached full size years ago, but she felt strongly about it. The reptile’s length spanned her entire forearm, from tip to elbow, and she was certain that it was an improvement.

She needed to believe that something had been made better by her prescence.

Rex was having an emotional time as well. He had always been on the large size for his species, but he had put on a few grams in the last few weeks, no doubt caused by the stress in their household.

Honey wasn’t there to judge. She helped him get some exercise outside of the tank, letting him explore her arms and lap. His scaly embrace brought tears to her eyes. Rex was the only one she could actually care for. The only thing she had the power to protect. Perhaps the only unconditional love she’d ever experienced.

Maybe the only love she deserved.

On a lighter note, Rex was a real riot once you got to know him.

That evening, Honey and Rex were enjoying a late night snack in the kitchen when she heard a crashing sound echoing from another part of the condo. She paused for a moment, trying to determine the source of the noise, curiosity stirring her chest.

Putting Rex safely back in his terrarium, she padded up the staircase towards the source of the noise. Just as she was ascending the stairs, one of the faceless guards rushed past her without a glance. Another one followed soon after, and she got the feeling that they were running from something. Like how rats scurry away before a train passes by. Or right before an earthquake.

Another sound—this one was just as sharp, but different. More animalistic. A roar. She tensed mid-step, jaw clenched tight, as she realized where the noises were coming from.

Peter’s office.

Her instincts told her to run and hide, and incomprehensively, to go forward. Whatever it was, it was in pain. Or it was causing pain. Was Peter in pain?

Bracing herself, she crept to the solid oak door and gently pushed it open.

Like much of the penthouse, Peter’s office had floor-to-ceiling views of Lower Manhattan’s breathtaking skyline. Typically. On this night, the only thing outside the window was a terrace, which stretched around the condo, and a solid wall of fog at its border. Beyond the rain-streaked glass, it was nearly impossible to see through the black cloud. The haze made her feel trapped, suffocated. Blindfolded when an atomic monster could be lurking just outside of the windows.

The probability of a monster outside was steadily increasing. Despite the sounds she’d heard, concerningly, the inside of Peter’s office was empty.

Swallowing hard, she wandered inside with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She approached the center with bated breath, eyes darting towards each corner.

She jumped at the sound of a clamour coming from the terrace. Searching from edge to edge, she couldn’t see the source, but didn’t need to wait for it. She glanced around the office, narrowing in on Peter’s desk. She darted behind the asymmetrical, functional piece of art, searching frantically for something that could be used as a weapon.

Her fingers roved around the furniture, pulling open hidden drawers and extending pieces in search of something sturdier than a Bic pen. As she slid her fingertips beneath the table surface to search for a handle of some kind, she brushed over a latch.

A pressurized spring popped open to reveal a sliding compartment. Hidden. Secret.

She stilled, mind struggling to comprehend what she was looking at.

She obviously recognized that it was a handgun. A pistol built of black soulless metal. It looked fully assembled, as far as she knew. Another thing that holds bullets—a magazine?— was nestled tightly next to it.

Her fingers twitched, curled into balls. Her cells urged her to reach out and touch. With arms firmly at her sides, she gazed down at the weapon. Swallowed hard.

This was a tool. A gift, perhaps. A new puzzle piece. Biting her lip, she debated how to use it, and if she even could, and fuck I don’t know how to hold a gun much less shoot somebody, and are you ready for that? Would you actually shoot someone?

As quickly as she could, she slapped the hidden compartment closed, obstructing the weapon from her view.

“Somethin’ I can help you find, kitten?”

She snapped her head around to see Peter standing near the windows, concealed in shadow. Her breath caught in her throat, and while her mind was spinning because where did he come from how did he get in here how did he get up here how long as he been there—

—and what the fuck did he just call me?

When Peter stepped out of the shadows, he looked like a different person. He was wearing the same face, even the same clothes (although they were drenched and clung to his skin as if he’d just come in from the rain). He looked alien to her, a skinwalker. Like his body had been stolen by an otherworldly entity that puppeted his movements as he prowled towards her.

Instinctively, she took a step backwards. He crept like the drizzle outside—languid, chilly and deceptive of the violence capable within.

Honey opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come out.

“I asked you a question, sweetheart.” The lilt in his voice made her shiver. Peaceful rage. Gentle malace. It was like an unharmonius song to her ears, full of opposites and contradictions.

She had no idea when her lips started moving. “I... I... was...um... I-I heard...”

“Why is it every time I come home I catch you creepin’ around in here?” he replied, like words whispered between lovers. He loomed closer. “Curious little kitten, aren’t you?”

Cold sweat beaded at her brow. Her voice was thin. “I-I... don’t like that.”

“Don’t like what?”

“I don’t like you calling me that.”

“What would you like me to call you then, huh?” He sauntered nearer, a few strides away from her rigid stance. “You were never clear on that.”

She stood helplessly, frozen in the lights of his gaze, as he stalked towards her. She tensed her muscles, bracing for impact, expecting to be splattered across the floor. In a split second, she lunged forward.

Throwing her arms around his shoulders, she pulled him into a tight embrace. Heart thrumming loudly, she held him close to her body. The wet clothes soaked through her sweater. His fluttering heart tapped against her cheek.

Holding him was exhilarating and terrifying and terrible all at once. He went rigid underneath her touch, and she couldn’t see whether it was from rage or shock. She pressed her cheek firmly into his chest, stifling tears.

“I’m worried about you,” she whispered. His body was tense and his skin cold, corpse-like. “’M’afraid, Peter. Afraid something bad is gonna happen.”

It was like embracing a statue. She couldn’t even feel him breathe.

“What happened to you?” she trembled with despair, her lip quivering. Despite the overwhelming confusion in her heart, her concern was genuine. She was afraid for him. She knew that. It just wasn’t the only thing she was afraid of.

After several more moments of silence, she finally felt him soften. Her shoulders slumped, feeling the slightest relief at the gradual rise and fall of his chest. With his next breath, his muscles loosened a bit more. Soon, he felt human again.

His Adam’s apple bobbed against the top of her head. “Y’know I’ll protect you, right?” he said. The sentence was feather-soft. And just as hollow. “From anything.” He didn’t embrace her in return.

Her eyes burned and glistened. “I know.”

She pushed away from his chest, staring up at his face. The action forced him to meet her eyes. The color was missing from his irises, giving them an inky black appearance. But other than that, there was a glimmer of the man she knew looking back at her.

“I... I want to protect you too,” she said, biting her lip. Clenching her jaw tight, she let her hands travel up the wet fabric of his shirt. She ran her fingers gently over the expanse of his chest, gulping at the feeling of marble beneath.

When she met his eyes again, torment was etched onto his face. He was in pain, and he’d let her see it. That glimmer of vulnerability opened a gateway to the shy boy beneath her fingers. The charming young prince who stumbled over his words, and whose bright smile magnetically yanked her feet out from under her.

While she gazed up at him and felt his defenses slip away, a voice in the back of her mind drew crosshairs in her eyes. She looked at him like peering down the scope of a rifle. The devil on her shoulder urging her to go in for the kill.

Her whisper was breathless. Soft, like a butterfly teasing a flower. “Tell me what I can do... to help you feel better.” The lilt in her voice carried a suggestiveness that she watched spread like an ink stain through his mind.

He stared down at her intently, turning her inside out, pulling her apart in his gaze. His scrutiny unnerved her, but she forced her body to remain calm. To charm. She ran her fingers across the scruff of his beard, bringing her hand gently up to rest at his cheek. Felt the cords in his neck tighten as he resisted the urge to nuzzle her palm. She gazed up into the darkness of his eyes, heart aching, and vowing devotion.

His expression was hard to read, even for her. Regardless, she felt the air around her get inexplicably colder.

“Yeah?” he breathed, his eyes glazing over. His mind was drifting somewhere else, listening to more voices than just hers. Unsettlingly, he stared down at her, inches from her face, and yet she got the feeling that he was simultanously looking at her from an outside window. “You wanna make me feel good?”

The sound of him shifted. The sinfully-deep timbre of his voice sent heat rushing to her core. Ebony eyes half-lidded, swirling with lust, he trapped her in his gaze. Pinning her with just a look. She steeled herself timidly, restraining a tremor. Tension stretched her belly, as she pinched her lip and nodded.

“Say it.”

The heat of his breath, combined with his scorching eyes that explored hers and suggested wicked thoughts, made her dizzy. Body and voice both firm against her.

“Say you wanna make me feel good.”

Her mouth felt dry. She gulped. “I... I wanna make you feel good.”

As he peered down lechorously at her lips, she kept herself from buckling beneath his gaze. He was panting, lips slightly parted, projecting lewd images of that mouth into her brain.

His lips curved into a slight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Go put on that pretty dress I got ya.”

He said it suggestively, although it was far from a suggestion. Her heart began to beat faster. “Um... which—”

“You know exactly which one.”

It was a declaration. A challenge. A warning. She swallowed dryly at the intensity of his stare.

“Go on.”

Her instincts screamed at her again. Begging her to turn around and run. Instead, she stepped away slowly. Her retreat was tense, controlled and calculated, like walking on a tight rope. She willed her muscles to move, forcing herself to turn her back to him.

“Good girl.”

She stopped. Trembled in the heat of his stare. Then, she complied.

When she returned to his office, she was wearing the lavender babydoll set, with the matching lace bikini-cut panties beneath. The open fireplace had been lit, casting him in a flickering, orange glow. When he glanced up from his desk, the look he gave her stripped her naked.

Her body shook. Biting her lip, she felt heat pooling between her thighs.

Despite how much she disliked his new nickname, she regrettably saw how it fit her in this circumstance. Tight-lipped, she tiptoed through the threshold like a frightened cat. His gaze hunted her figure as much as it admired her, studying her every move.

On his part, he looked just as sinful. His slate-gray, houndstooth-plaid patterned blazer had been discarded somewhere, leaving only the wrinkled, damp, white dress shirt behind. He’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbow, collar loose with the top buttons undone. His hair was still damp around the edges, wildly sticking out in a rogue style.

It wasn’t just sinful. He was the Devil incarnate, hiding behind an angelic face and doe eyes.

He lounged back in his chair, knees shoulder width apart, glass of bourbon in hand. His posture spawned just as many lewd thoughts in her mind. He peered at her sideways, his eyes roving unabashedly over her body. It was almost too much when she connected with his eyes, her face heating with embarrassment. He shamelessly smirked, as if boldly daring her to object to his ogling. Challenging her to deny him access to whatever he wanted.

“There she is.” He sounded gentle. Sing-song.

She stopped several paces away from the desk, but it was all posturing.

There was no amount of distance she could put between them that he wouldn’t cross. No obstacle. No line. No mercy.

She gulped anxiously. “Wha-what... What did you, um... need help with?”

He watched her silently. Intensely. “You said that we were interested in the same hobby,” he said with a dry tone. “Figured I’d get back into it.” Setting the glass down on the table, he came to a stand. He sauntered around the desk towards her, a hidden object in his grip.

His old film camera.

Her stomach dropped out at the sight. Images of the ethereal blonde woman in Peter’s photos, strewn out salaciously in pornographic poses, flooded her mind. She knew nothing about Gwen. Except that she is the woman of Peter’s dreams, and Peter didn’t want to lose her, and now he keeps her hidden in a box.

At least they had that in common.

“No better way to learn about photography than to experience what it’s like to be on both sides of the lens.” She wrapped her arms tightly around herself as he stalked towards her, his gaze crawling across her small form. “Want you to be a model for me.”

The blood drained from her face, weighed down by dread. It must have been recognizable, because after a moment, Peter’s voice softened. “It’s okay to be shy,” he said placatingly. She peered up at him from beneath her lashes. “But you don’t have to be. Just me here. Nobody else.” His eyes lingered as they brushed up her thighs, dragged across the curve of her breasts, and caught her mousy gaze. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

The kindness in his voice would’ve been soothing in any other circumstance. In this scenario, she felt like she was basking in the warm glow of an angler fish hunting prey.

“I... I don’t know, Peter, I can’t— I’m-I’m not a model.”

“Nonsense.”

“I’m... I’m nervous,” she explained with a pleading voice. “I don’t even know what to do—”

“You do exactly what I say,” he answered, matter-of-fact. The words were soft but made the imprint of a demand. “We had a deal. Won’t even touch you. Not unless you want me to.”

She blinked several times, shrinking at his dominance. A warm smile stretched his lips.

“Just relax,” he cooed, a hot knife slicing through butter. “Now come on. You wanna help me relax, don’cha? Be a good girl. Stand over by the desk.”

Her muscles felt stiff. Like a rusted axel on a locomotive lurching forward, she forced her legs to move. Slowly, she padded towards the front of the desk. He glided away from her, backing into the shadows.

“Put your back against the edge.”

Hesitantly, she did.

“Palms flat.”

She pursed her lips. Wiggled into position. Awkwardly. Slightly leaning her weight back on her palms, so her chest protruded outwards.

“Look at me.” As if there was a choice.

Click.

His gaze was ravenous. “That's it...”

Click. Click. Click.

“Perfect—”

Her mouth felt cotton dry as she glanced idly at the doorway.

Click. Click. Click—

The rattle of the shutter ceased, and her eyes darted back to him. He stared at her through slitted lids. Suspicious, but pointedly unconcerned. He paused the photo session and drifted to the doorway. She looked on apprehensively as he reached for the door, closed it, and locked it tight.

The sound made her stomach clench. “There.” He looked back at her, self-satisfied. “No more distractions.” Her breaths came out short, teetering on panic, as he loomed closer with the camera raised. “Now—”

She sucked in her lower lip. “Peter, just wait, I can’t—”

Click. Click.

“Do that again. That thing with your lip.”

Click. Click. Click.

She swallowed hard. Whimpered. “Peter, please stop. Please, I—I’m scared.”

Either the phrasing or the vulnerability in her voice nudged him out of his trance. He glanced up at her outside of the viewfinder, observing her state. Her shoulders were straight, back like an iron rod, with white-knuckled fingers that clawed the wood veneer.

“What’s the matter?”

She sniffed, trying to steady her voice. “I-I’m afraid.”

He tilted his head curiously. “Why are you afraid?” He spoke delicately, like chanting a nursery rhyme. “You think something bad is gonna happen to you? I told you. I’ll never let that happen. You believe me, right?”

“It’s not that—”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“Please—”

“Please, what?” His sentence was punctuated with force, the last of his patience worn thin.

She gazed at him, wide-eyed and flustered, babbling like she spoke a different language. His expression urged her to just speak, to tell him what she wanted.

All she wanted was to tell him the truth. She wanted to take a knife to the suffocating balloon of lies that bubbled up in her lung, letting it all spill free. But she didn’t speak. Couldn’t. She held her breath. Held his gaze. Hung her mouth open uselessly.

He pursed his lips, letting out a frustrated huff. “Just say what you’re gonna—”

“I’m afraid of you, Peter!”

He leaned back at the small outburst, a crease forming between his eyes. She fought to steady her breathing and control her volume.

It was the truth, and the truth should feel good. But all she felt was trepidation.

“I’m-’m afraid of what you’re capable of. Afraid... I’m afraid that you’ll hurt me. Just like—”

She bit her tongue to stop it from moving. Terror sealed off her throat.

Peter gazed at her expectantly, brows pinched.

She drew her lips into a hard line, jaw locked tightly in place. “Just like everyone else.”

He studied her closely and silently, until his shoulders slumped. When he broke the silence, his tone was firm. “I’m a lot of things. I’ll admit that.” He fixed his contemplative gaze on her. “But I promise. I’m nothing like everyone else.” She swallowed, gulping at the implication. “Trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Heart thrumming, she eyed him back. Never before had the words ‘trust me’ been so ambiguous. The two sides of him were in clear view. Two lives. Two halves. Two wolves staring right back at her.

One of them was desperate for her affection. Had an evolutionary imperative that drove him to win her over, to court her, to provide for and to protect her. To make her want to be his for life.

The other looked like he wanted to eat her.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispered, in a tone low enough to slide beneath her skin. It was soft, secretive. The way he crawled into bed with her at night. “Don’t be ashamed. Don’t be scared.”

He said that, but the sound of his voice had the opposite effect. His words chilled her, she felt her stomach tumble with trepidation. Simultaneously, the heat of his voice roasted her alive. She must have been melting from the inside out. Dripping into a puddle. That could be the only logical explanation for the sensation between her thighs.

He leaned into her, and his proximity alone could be felt. Gooseflesh broke out across her body. As if his presence could touch her without lifting a finger, with eyes that probed her flesh, breath that licked over her curves. Desire that radiated from him and forced its way through her supple lips.

“Relax,” he said. “Just let me take control of your body.”

She went light-headed. Fell down a rabbit hole and was now hypnotized. Under his spell. Her breath caught in her throat, and her stomach fluttered as if she were freefalling through the atmosphere.

She saw him step away from her. Physically, he put distance between them, she was sure of it. But being locked in his gaze felt like being restrained in his grip. Pinned in place. He licked his lips, and his hands brought the camera back up back up to his face, finger on the shutter-release, and fuck how would those fingers feel wrapped around her throat—

“Just like that,” she heard him murmur darkly, voice heavy with desire. “God, you look so pretty like that—”

Click. Click. Click.

The shuffling of the shutter faded into a rhythm. A hypnotic drum beat matched only by the fluttering pace of her heart. Entranced, she set her fear aside, just as he’d wanted. The soft crooning of his admiration, gentle gasps between giant gulps, drifted into her ears like a sacred chant. She was enchanted, swaying to his song. Enraptured, guided by his words alone.

Lift your chin... lean back, all the way... show me your throat... that’s it... good, bend your elbow... sit up on the desk...turn your hips the other way... bring up your knee... put your hand right there....

She was a puppet. Maybe she had always been. He pulled her with soft demands and invisible strings, making her dance for him. But unlike a marionette, she didn’t feel hollow. She felt whole.

It felt good. Maybe it was a residual high from the drug taken the night before. Maybe she was cured. Maybe she was broken.

She was a rose blossoming beneath his lens. Bathing in his praise.

Fuck, that’s perfect... so good... such a good girl... lie on your stomach right there, bring your arms up... yeah, just like that... fuck that’s it... gorgeous... look at me... yes... arms above your head... so good for me... so good at this... lie on your back now, bring up your knee, spread them apart just a little bit... hmm, you look so precious... your body was made for this...

Time passed. She had no idea how much. Could’ve been a few minutes, or a few hours. Under his lens, she felt microscopic and rare. A new species waiting to be discovered. A strange fruit waiting to be tasted.

Slow it down, leave your fingers soft... good, good girl... yeah, just a gentle touch... curl your fingers... feel that?... so perfect...

He drew in air steadily, slightly increasing, and soon they were both breathing in short, soft gasps.

Eyes on me... That’s it, that’s good... that’s—

They both froze, but his gaze was fixed on her shoulder. She followed his line of sight until she saw that the right strap of the lingerie had fallen loosely across her upper arm. Her hand darted towards it, compelled with a modest urge to fix the strap.

“Leave it,” he said with a throaty whisper and ragged breath. She stilled, a startled fawn. Slowly, he shifted his position to a different angle, this time entranced on a view of her chest. The lace brushed across her cleavage innocently. He licked his lips at the sight. “Look at me.”

She did, and oh—

He could not look at her that way.

He wasn’t going to eat her. He was going to devour her.

She wouldn’t be mated. She would be bred.

Her flesh was burning hot. Scorched. Melting beneath that look.

And in the back of her mind, over his soft demands, his gentle orders—arch your back... so beautiful... spread your thighs, wider... that’s it... god, so sexy, so perfect—she was also aware of the sound of her own breathless gasps and sharp, rapturous exhales.

She felt the tickle of delicate fabric sliding back up her legs the more she angled her body. The French Chantilly lace of the skirt—treacherous snake—teased a view of the tops of her thighs. She felt her bare legs prickle in the cold air, despite the sweat beading on the nape of her neck. The hem of the dress drifted backwards into her lap, and his artful eye roved across her body, admiring the masterpiece of her form.

And when she heard his breath hitch, she knew exactly where his gaze had landed.

The paper-thin, lavender lace covering her core was now darkened a deep plum color. The delicate fabric was slick with her arousal, clinging to her flesh. She was dripping wet, moreso than she’d been in years. She didn’t need to look down to see what he was seeing. She knew. She could feel it. Smell it. Taste her tangy sweetness on her own tongue.

The way his ravaged-red lips parted as his eyes darkened, she knew he was thinking the same thing.

She gasped, tension building, “Peter...”

He looked down at her, eyes dazed as he braced himself on the edge of the desk. Possessed. A man driven mad by hunger. A rabid wolf, muscles tense, mouth watering at her scent.

No one had ever looked at her the way he looked at her. Like he was prepared to worship her and defile her in the same night, every night, for the rest of eternity.

His gaze was intoxicating, his wrecked appearance was exhilarating. She was drunk off of it. High off of it. Basking in it, with caution thrown to the wind.

Unbidden, her left hand sailed across the sea of fabric, smoothing over the lace, until it reached the hem of her panties. He watched her, eyes blown out with lust. Her hand drifted down past her waist. Fueled by an electric arousal and drugged with desire, her fingertips dipped beneath the waistband of her panties, slipping through her wet folds.

He clenched his teeth, swallowing hard, eyes fixated on her hand as set a pace with her fingers. He snapped his eyes shut for a moment, as if processing what he was seeing. Or debating what to do about it.

She watched his face intently, eagerly waiting for his eyes to open back up. She wanted to see the look in his eye as she came undone.

Every time the pads of her fingertips brushed over her clit, sliding shamefully through her slick, her chest fluttered in short gasps. The melody of her gentle whimpering was too much to handle, and he ripped his eyelids back open to look. The lewd sight matched with wet sounds twisted his insides into a thin wire. His dick jolted at the debauchery.

“Perfect,” he breathed, ravenously addicted.

Licking his lips, his eyes found hers. The heat of his gaze was relentless.

“Y’like that?” he whispered with a ragged, open-mouthed pant. He was quiet, like a secret. One meant for the two of them. “You like playin’ with yourself?” She stifled back a moan, biting her lip to seal them shut. “Betchu do. Like playin’ with me, too, yeah? Playin’ filthy little games...”

She heard the clink of metal. The sound of his belt unbuckling. Her mouth fell open in scandalized shock while her neck and chest flustered with heat. Momentarily, she was stricken with fear that he would facefuck her right there on the table, thrusting his cock through her lips with abandon. At the same time, the crude thought made her quiver with excitement, and she bit down into a desperate mewl.

He locked his eyes on her. She heard the rustling of fabric, but the sight was dreadfully obscured by her position on the desk. He poured his gaze over her, coating her completely. Everything from the hypnotic flick of her wrist to her twitching thighs.

He ground his teeth. “You think I can’t hear you through the walls?”

She gasped, her hand going still. Her chest heaved from the growing pressure in her body, thrust into vertigo from her humiliation and sinful hunger.

“Naughty girl. You think I can’t hear you when you touch yourself? But I can.”

Her cunt fluttered at his words as her fingers reached to soothe the ache. She clenched her jaw, dragging in each breath like crawling across a coral reef.

He grinned lecherously, a challenge buried in his eyes. “I hear it. Every time.”

His shoulder jerked as his arm jolted into a steady pace. He winced painfully, grunting into each thrust. The sight of him pleasuring himself could’ve been her undoing. Like being struck by lightning, her wrist sprang to life, rubbing tiny circles across her clit.

A guttural groan rose out of his chest, darkened stare darting between her glistening hand and her dizzied, shimmering eyes.

“Drives me crazy, y’know,” he hissed as his jaw fell open. “Like p-pheromones... Like-like you're taunting me...”

Tight lipped, he moaned beneath his words. She mewled at the sound. He clenched his jaw, picking up the pace. His hips jerked of their own accord, beginning to drive each thrust into his palm.

“Like you’re daring me... to come in and take what’s mine.” His breaths were ragged and dry, dragging behind the pace of his hips.

Her jaw fell open at the sight, the coil in her belly twisting up. She was close.

“I can’t help it,” he groaned, jaw tight. “I touch myself every time I hear you.”

His words ravaged her womb further, pulling her strings tight. She cried out at the ache. A hundred pornographic and sacrilegious pictures flooded her mind, corrupting her thoughts. Peter was tied to every one of them.

“S’that it, huh, baby? You want me to fuck you like an animal?”

Her blood raced towards her core as she edged over the peak of the rollercoaster, dangerously near the drop. It’s like he knew exactly where she was, and with one raspy whisper, he pushed her over the edge.

“That’s it, baby. Come for Daddy.”

The cable snapped as she hurtled over the peak, plummeting through the air at breakneck speed. She cried out, back arching, tears budding in the corners of her eyes. Her climax shattered her. Wrung her body out as euphoria gushed from her center. She writhed desperately, a slave to the newfound pleasure spilling through her folds.

Needing it. Willing to work for it. To sell her soul for it.

Over the disembodied sounds of her orgasm, she could hear him breaking down inches away from her.

“fuckfuckfuck that’s it, that’s it—”

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

The door rattled. Everything came to a grinding halt at the sound of a heavy-handed fist pounding on the door. “Sir! Are you in there?”

Brakes squealing, sparks flying, everything stopped. Peter jerked at the sound of the guard’s voice, like a dog whiplashed at the end of a leash. Honey gasped in horror, face filled with humiliation. He bit back an agonized cry, his finish ripped away from him by harsh reality.

“Sir, we have an urgent situation that needs your immediate attention.”

Peter squeezed his eyes closed, as the words collided with him like a bucket of ice water. Chest heaving, he heard Honey scramble to sit up, while he remained doubled over with a painfully hard erection.

“Sir!”

“Yes!” he snapped, his voice taut with anger. He stepped away, pulling together his pants, stomping towards the door. Concealing himself and obstructing any view into the room, he tore the door open, nearly ripping it from the hinges.

His face was flushed with rage. “Swear to god—”

“It’s O’Hara, sir.”

Peter went still, brows pinched together.

“He got ambushed in lockup. He’s in an ambulance as we speak.”

At once, his body went numb. Flesh made stone. Limbs into rigid, frozen steel.

Peter said something wordless to the guard, and closed the door. As soon as it snapped into place, his head fell forward against the grain. Weariness and exhaustion overtook him. His legs felt like rubber, threatening to buckle beneath him. Limbs shaking.

When he turned back towards his office, he was shaken by the sight. It was Honey, but now his vision was sharp. Cleared of the fog of lust. The thrill of limitless power.

The young woman he kidnapped trembled up on his desk, legs pressed tightly together, her dress askew. She folded her arms around herself, shame filling her eyes, sweat cooling her skin. Her thighs caked with her cum. Next to her, a roll of film in Peter’s camera was filled with images of her that he forced her to take, leading up to, and including her finger-fucking herself in front of him while he crudely jerked himself off.

He sealed his eyes closed, feeling his stomach turn inside out beneath his ribs. The back of his eyes burned, pain contorting his face.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice nearly breaking beneath the weight. He swallowed hard, feeling more dead than alive. Empty. Soulless. Hopeless.

Mournfully, he locked glistening eyes with her for as long as it was possible. “I need you to go back to your room.”

Continue to Part 14

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A/N I hope you enjoyed this chapter! And if not, CALM YOUR TITS they FUcK WheN I SAY THeY'RE READy 2 FUCK OK???? leave me a note, comment, or anonymous ask! I can't tell you how incredibly grateful I am for everyone's support, not just of this fic, but of me as a person, and I thank you wholeheartedly.

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blueberrypancakesworld · 1 year

Text

In love with you

sub!Charlie Walker x dom/Ghostface!fem reader

warning : smut, p in v , chocking, kissing, knife play, blood play, mommy kink, a very very whiny messy Charlie, both are mentally not really sane, riding, tw : death, blood, use of Y/n, hope it's not too much out of character, minors don't interact

masterlist

Info : Glad to be back, glad to have my smut back and very glad that you all want some Charlie juice ;) It was really fun to write even if it was a little difficult because I had multiple ideas (eventho the more whinyer the better) I hope you all like it

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She loves to hold the knife in her hand. Feeling the heavy cold metal when you stabbed. The warm blood and the screams were beautiful. Just being able to do whatever she wanted and see how others reacted. To watch and let the police grope in the dark. Loved putting on the mask and the dark robe.

Loved coming up with the plan with Jill. How they had meticulously planned everything together. Every death, every trap, every phone call and every stab to the last of their victims.

The sacrifices that would make Jill famous, give her the spotlight she wanted. Finally giving her friend the love she wanted. Charlie Walker, her friend and classmate at film club.

The sweet shy nerd with the fluffy brown wavy hair, the infinitely beautiful blue eyes and just cute. Jill wanted the limelight but Y/n just wanted her Charlie. Her sweet little Charlie. She, Jill, Kirby and just about everyone knew Charlie had a thing for her.

Knew that the brown haired one was always looking after her, complimenting her, helping her and almost following her around like a dog.

But when it came to the first step she had already made more than a hundred times, he retreated in panic. A thing that was cute for her but also frustrating, which is why she teamed up with Jill. Because the deal was simple not only did they both want to get rid of some people.

The desire to finally get what they wanted was all the more tempting. ,,You get Charlie and I'll get my fans" she remembered Jill's words when the brown-haired girl met her. One of many meetings in different places where they talked for hours.

But even if the legendary Sideny and Gales had come along, the Stabathon was inevitable. Just a phase of the plan she thought as she looked around the barn. Spotted her course mates, a few of her friends and saw Charlie standing next to Robby watching them film the baton.

They were each having a drink like everyone else in the red plastic cups. The white shirt suited him, highlighting his dark hair and blue eyes. She saw him smirk slightly and let his gaze wander until he caught sight of her. She swayed towards him and smiled even wider, seeing him sway back slightly and his cheeks turn pink.

He smoothed down his shirt as he saw her coming towards him. "Awkward and cute" she thought as she arrived in front of him and saw Robby give them both a little space. ,,Good evening Charlie" she said playfully polite and sipped her drink. He almost flinched as his eyes looked up from her body to her eyes.

He seemed to know she saw everything and yet he didn't hide it. At least he didn't try. ,,Evening Y/n you look good I mean you always do" he quickly corrected himself and ran a hand through his hair.

She thought his cheeks were getting even redder. Damn cute. ,,Thanks Charlie, you too," she replied before walking past him and letting her hand wander up his arm.

He heard him hold his breath, his eyes moving back and forth between the floor and her. He didn't know what to do and seemed too overwhelmed. ,,I'll see you later," she murmured and gave him a knowing wink before leaving him alone. The evening was going to be wonderful.

After Jill had shown up as Ghostface and panicked. Had everyone terrified and Y/n had just played the terrified panic like everyone else. Keeping the smile on her lips from showing, she soon reached Charlie in the chaos.

The brown-haired man was both excited, scared and worried. ,,Are you all right? Did something happen to you? Are you hurt?" was the first thing he asked when he saw her leaning against one of the hay bales outside. What wouldn't you do for love? she thought and leaned further. Running in high heels was no fun but she would do anything for Charlie.

She shook her head, feigning insecurity and fear as she breathlessly said, ,,No, I'm fine, I'm scared". She saw his look of sympathy, his blue eyes flitting over her, looking to see if she was injured. ,,The main thing is that you are alright, the police are here now" he replied and she saw him, unsure of what to do, seemingly put his hand on hers.

She saw his fingers shaking from the adrenaline and devotion. ,,Thank you Charlie," she said hastily and reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly and giving him a grateful look. She saw how he seemed to forget everything and gave a stammering ,,Gladly - always for you" as he helped her down to the car park.

The car park was just a somewhat flat area with all the cars. Arriving at his car, she leaned against it slightly and watched as he looked for his mobile phone. ,,Wait a minute," he murmured and gave her a smile before he called Robby and she knew exactly what it was about.

She knew exactly what he was asking, what was going to happen. He had fallen into the trap. ,,Hey, Robbie, me and Jill and Kirby are going to watch the Stabathon...do you want to come?" he asked, gesturing from his phone to his car. Too easy, she thought, remembering how safe the plan she and Jill had come up with was. It really was too easy.

Pretending to think for a moment and look at her phone she finally said, ,,Sure I mean it's safe...especially with you". Seeing how it made him proud that she trusted him so much, that she needed him, that he was needed. Before they both got into his car and drove away from the barn. For Charlie there was only his y/n and for her there was only Charlie. The evening would be perfect.

The drive only took ten minutes, but it was ten minutes of being together in a small space. ,,So it's a private Stabathon, do you think there's enough room?" she asked, looking up at him, watching as he let his gaze slide to her for a moment before focusing on the road again.

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel and he concentrated on driving. ,,I mean I don't mind but what if I have to sit on your lap when the couch is too full?" she asked innocently, looking out the smaller window of the passenger seat.

Saw in the reflection of the window how he sought her gaze, how he wanted to see what she meant. Sweetheart wants my attention, he wants to be good for me, it went through her head and she bit her lip for a moment. But her plans and actions would have to wait - it would be all the nicer.

He cleared his throat and stammered something she only half understood. While she smiled softly, she put a hand on his thigh. ,,Let's hope there are enough seats or not," she let the sentence sit in silence, watching him nod apathetically before the last few minutes were driven.

So they arrived at Jill's house and went in together but the party seemed to be halfway through. Robby was already very drunk and Jill was chatting happily with the blonde Kirby. ,,Y/n! You're here too!" her friend Kirby called out and wrapped her in a hug. Feeling the joy and carelessness, she saw the short nod of Jill who also smiled and embraced her.

Everything was perfectly prepared. Sitting down with the other girls, however, she almost saw Charlie. If only Kirby wasn't she thought and her gaze went to the blonde. She liked Kirby, she was nice, friendly and strong.

She might have stayed alive if she hadn't been so unkind to Charlie. The brown-haired man had a crush on the blonde. Even though Y/n was only an observer at the time, it was clear to everyone that Kirby was only playing with him.

Making him hopeful only to let him fall again. Poor Charlie kept jumping at it only to be disappointed. She even thought she saw tears in his eyes once. No one will ever hurt you again it went threw her head and took a sip of her beer.

She continued to watch the group and glanced at Jill from time to time. It was time to start. Not only was it a great advantage that Robby stumbled outside to continue his livestream, but Jill's disappearance left Charlie, Kirby and her alone.

Initially, it was just smaltalk and a little staff watching for the first few moments, but it shouldn't last much longer. Making an uncomfortable noise, she ran her hand over her stomach. Leaning forward slightly, she muttered, ,,I think the alcohol was too much," before standing up and walking to the stairs.

She saw the worried looks on Charlie's and Kirby's faces, both of them worried. One more than the other. ,,Kirby I need you" she mumbled and held a hand over her mouth before hurrying upstairs.

Walking into the large bathroom and letting her acting run wild, she heard Kirby call out, ,,I've got a pill!" moments later and come up to her. Giving her best performance, she started screaming, using the blood from her previous victims and scattering it all over the bathroom. ,,Kir-Kiryb help!" she screamed, knocking things over in the bathroom and screaming even louder.

Before she collapsed with a final scream in a pool of blood on the floor. It was only seconds later that the blonde came rushing in. ,,Y/n oh no what happened?" she asked worriedly her voice strained as she knelt down to her.

She felt her trembling fingers run over her body and tried to bring her into an upright position. But everything was just right. ,,Your playing with Charlie," Y/n murmured and slipped away from Kirby's grasp, who stood there in disbelief. ,,What?" she muttered just before the knife went into her neck.

It came too quickly for the blonde to react. ,,Hypocrite, using him like that! Making fun of him!" she hissed and tore the knife from her neck only to plunge it into her stomach.

Heard the blonde's choking gasp as she somehow tried to stop the wound. But it was no use, only after a few more cuts and stabs, Kirby lay on the floor. Now it was a real pool of blood. She continued to stab the already dead woman and took out all her rage on her.

She scolded her, reproached her for her opinion and felt the adrenaline and this unbelievably good feeling go through her body. Breathing lightly and rising from the dead but still warm body, she brushed the blood from her face. She looked at the small cupboard where Jill had hidden one of the costumes.

She listened, but Charlie seemed either to be hiding or oblivious. Too absorbed in the staff she thought and pulled the robe and mask over herself before gripping the knife tighter. But she didn't look at Kirby again before she turned off the light and pulled the door shut. In the hallway she heard the television on downstairs and even thought she heard Charlie muttering.

He hadn't noticed anything. Turning off the voice changer, she called out, still feeling ill, ,,Cha-Charlie can you help me please!" before disappearing into the darkness of the bedroom, knowing he would come. To her.

She heard his clearing of the throat, his short murmur before he came up the stairs. ,,Y/n? Is everything all right?" he asked and was about to go into the bathroom when she made a deliberate squeak with the door in the bedroom. Hiding in the darkness of the room, she heard him say her name again and go into the room. The light came on and he stepped into the room.

Time to get her thing of the plan. With a jerk she pushed the door shut and stood in front of it. She saw and heard the scream of Charlie who backed away but didn't quite seem to believe what had happened.

But he reacted differently than she had thought, completely differently. ,,Okay Robbie, what is it? Is this some kind of plan with Y/n?" he asked and crossed his arms. He seemed rather annoyed that he had been tricked and frightened.

But she just tilted her head slightly and took a step towards him. ,,Guess again," Ghostface said in his unmistakable voice and Charlie began to play along. He ran his fingers through his hair, unaware of the danger.

He considered playfully and took a step back. ,,Mhhh we are all here. ,,If you're not Robbie and Y/n aren't you Kirby?" he asked, but Ghostface just shook his head before the knife flashed in the light.

The dark blood still clung to the blade. ,,Fake blood is a classic but no if you're not and neither is Robby," he continued to think and leaned against the wall of the room. Ghostface came up to him she looked behind the mask for a sign that he knew.

He thinks I'm innocent ran through her mind and a touched smile came to her lips. She tried something else, hoping for a reaction. His very special reaction. She held the knife out to him and the tip of the blade went to his face.

He realised the blade was real, but he didn't seem entirely convinced. ,,Try it," Ghostface said, and let the silver, blood-soaked blade hover in front of his mouth. ,,Okay?" came the questioning voice and she thought she could almost hear his thoughts. What the hell am I doing here? they seemed to say, but he did it anyway. She watched spellbound at how intimate the whole thing actually was. When his cheeks turned a little pink as he ran his tongue over the blade.

But then it dawned on him. His blue eyes first showed confusion, then disbelief as he looked along the costume. Before he stammered out a ,,No, you-ghostface" and tried to back away. But he didn't get far, he just pressed himself further against the wall.

He was trapped and had built his own trap. She heard his breathing quicken and he seemed to be thinking feverishly about how to get out of the situation. ,,Oh, Charlie, don't," the consumed voice said suddenly as the knife landed in the wall beside his head.

A strangled whimper came from him and he closed his eyes for a moment. Afraid of becoming the next victim. She took off her gloves and her costume before removing her mask. ,,Don't be alarmed, it's only me," she said softly and stepped closer to him. She carefully put a hand on his cheek and lightly ran her thumb up and down his cheek.

She didn't want to frighten him any more. ,,The scare is over, you know?" she asked and reached for his with her other hand. He had clenched his fist and was trembling slightly, yet he was so beautiful. ,,You see, she won't be able to hurt you any more," she continued and took his hand up to hers.

Gave it soft kisses, kissed every knuckle of his fingers, trying to make him understand that she only wanted to save him, wanted to help. ,,What?" he asked but his gaze went to the floor which was only brought back up by her hand on his cheek. He didn't have to hide, he didn't have to pretend like Kirby, he had to show pride.

She felt his fist loosen slightly but still not open. He was still stiff and didn't know what to do. ,,Kirby, I'm talking about that ungrateful, selfish bitch! She took advantage of you and played with you" she said, but even though her words were vulgar, her voice was still soft. ,,You didn't deserve that," she added and saw his gaze go to her, searching for confirmation.

His fist opened and he carefully intertwined his fingers with hers. Lifting his hand again she kissed his hand again wanting to show him how much he meant to her. ,,All this for you, just you," she murmured and her fingers brushed against his cheek, over his lips. She wiped a little bit of the blood from his lips.

Saw him watching her fingers before she licked them lightly. ,,Sweet," she murmured, watching him draw in a shaky breath and his cheeks darken even more. ,,Really?" he said suddenly, seeming to be in a mix of disbelief and bewilderment.

Before she overcame the last movements between them and kissed him. She could feel him whimpering and taste his fear and yet devotion. Saw him close his eyes and she smiled slightly. ,,So good Charlie, all for you," she mumbled to him as she leaned in to his ear.

He slowly relaxed and seemed to realise that she would do anything for him. ,,For me" he mumbled and she thought she could see a short smile on his lips. ,,Yes, just for you," she replied when he finally seemed to understand. He laughed and saw his blue eyes show joy. The two of them had been lost in the madness.

They had found each other in the chaos. ,,You're not going to kill me?" came more like a question from his lips, which had a slight red tinge. Looking at the knife on the wall and then back at him, she shook her head apathetically. ,,Oh no no no" she said and ran her hand through his brown hair.

She felt the softness and his sigh as he seemed relieved. ,,So much for me," he murmured, seeming unable to believe it. She nodded, acknowledging his statement, and watched as he seemed to decide something for himself. They both seemed to intensify in their view and in the madness.

She felt his hands go to her waist before he engaged her in another kiss. How he held on to her almost desperately, not wanting her to leave him. ,,I-I thought you were like them...just playing" she heard him say and heard how brittle and desperate he sounded.

Saw tears creep into his eyes and he sniffled. ,,No, Charlie, no," she said and took his hand before pulling him onto the bed and sitting them both down on it.

He seemed to consider and then gave her a grateful look. ,,So pretty" she spoke her thoughts and saw how it touched him. He loved and enjoyed the praise. ,,So incredibly pretty," she continued and pulled him into another kiss, feeling him cling to the bedspread. A sigh came over his lips and she let her hand wander over his body.

She felt his warmth, his fast heartbeat and his excitement. But that turned into arousal when she looked down at his lap. ,,Oh, Charlie," she playfully taddled and stroked a strand of hair behind his ear.

She saw him looking down at his shot, both embarrassed and taken with it, and only nodded subtly. ,,Tanned by a murderess," she told him the obvious and glanced at the knife.

The blood on the blade he had not taken off was still on it. Just as she rose from the bed he said hastily, ,,Don't go, not you-you're not a murderer to me," he said as if afraid she would leave him because he wasn't good enough.

She smiled slightly with each word from his lips, her devotion to him growing more and more. ,,What am I then?" she asked and took the knife from the wall and slowly came towards him. She saw him swallow and crawl slowly backwards onto the knife. But his gaze did not lose hers.

He was curious to see what she would do next. She came to him on the bed and saw him gasp as she held the knife out to him. ,,Do you want to hold it?" she asked, a glint of madness in her eyes. He looked at her in amazement and she suddenly held the tip of the knife to his neck as she sat on his hips.

A mix of a moan and a swallowed ,,Don't" left his lips as he swallowed. His hands not knowing whether to push her away or pull her closer. ,,Or do you want to feel it? You're getting good, aren't you? For me...for Mommy?" she asked with a small smile as her lips left soft kisses on his face. Seeing him almost whimper at the nickname alone sent a wave of excitement through his body.

She took his brief nod, which caused her to press the knife slightly harder against his neck. ,,Yes-yes mommy" he said hastily and got an appreciative nod as she moved slightly on his hip which made him sit up. He, however, did not dare to move.

She let the tip of the knife pass over his neck for a moment and felt him swallow. The gasp as she began to leave the red stripes.

Before she grabbed his shirt and was about to rip it off when she rose from him and said, ,,Take it off". Embarrassed and slightly awkward, he began to unbutton his shirt while she began to take off her own clothes. Only a few moments later they were both naked. Exposed as they would never be with each other, at least not for real.

But there were many dreams. She saw his upper body, even if it wasn't riddled with muscles like the athletes on the football team, she found it even more beautiful. Charlie's cheeks became even redder as he was exposed to her gaze and murmured only a ,,please" as he lay back on the bed.

Coming to his plea, she sat back on him and felt his already aroused cock before she grasped the knife again. The blade flashed in the light again and Charlie's fingers played with the bedspread. Placing the blade against his torso, she first began to spread soft kisses over the pale skin.

Every time her lips touched his warm skin he seemed to wake up. Mumbling how good she was, how he didn't deserve her, he thanked her. ,,So good for me" she murmured, looking to him to see him seeking her gaze only to engage him in another kiss.

Heard his moan as her free hand went down to his cock and stroked it teasingly. ,,Please...Mommy...more" he mumbled and moved his hips slightly to get more contact. But at the same moment she had left the first red streaks on his torso which made him cry and beg even more. ,,You can be so good" she reminded him and wiped away a tear with her hand to praise him.

She knew about his condition, but she also knew he would be able to endure it. He would do anything for her. Saw his nod before she continued to run the knife over his body and he pulled himself together not to plead.

He tried to muffle the sounds echoing in the room with the back of his hand. Which was pointless, of course, but he tried. He tried hard to show her that he could do it.

Didn't want to disappoint her. He cried out when she broke his skin with the knife. It was only a small trickle of blood that flowed down his torso. But for her it was everything.

Quickly licking the blood with her tongue, apologetically but greedily, she sighed excitedly. ,,Such a good boy," she praised and felt his hands on her hips as he carefully ran over her skin. ,,Ah-nu-mhhh-just for you," he murmured and threw his head into the pillow as she continued to make his skin break open.

With her tongue and fingers she caught the blood and licked it off, her own arousal increasing. ,,Here," she said in a voice filled with lust as she held out her fingers, still a little stained with his blood.

Without a murmur he opened his mouth and began to suck on her fingers, licking them clean of the blood of his own. ,,Can't get enough of me, can you?" she asked the obvious question and heard the muffled moan diminished by her fingers.

How well-behaved and obedient he was to her. ,,Such a good boy must be rewarded," she told him her thoughts and took her fingers out of his mouth, which he acknowledged with a whimper. Instead, her free hand slid down to his cock again. Giving it a few strokes, she felt the precum already spilling from the tip.

He desperately tried not to move his hips as she continued to praise him. ,,I know it's going to get better, sweetie," she said and gave him a reassuring kiss before repositioning herself and settling on his cock moments later. Both parties moaned and her fingers scratched over his torso.

Sinter left more strimming and Charlie's hands held tight to her hips. ,,Ah-so,so good" she said and began to move at a pace that was comfortable for her. Charlie had to wait. While she found her tempo, she tightened her grip on the knife. Drawing it across his torso again before using her other hand to run it through his hair.

Making him hold still and moan pathetically as she pulled on it. ,,Mommy! More-ah...please-please" he said tearfully and she pulled harder on his hair to expose his neck. Not to be dissuaded by her pace, which was too slow for him, she began to suck on his aorta.

She felt the rapid heartbeat under her lips, the whimpering, sobbing and moaning. ,,All yours" she heard him say, a sentence his lust-ridden brain could just about manage.

As she finished macking him and stroked her thumb over the work before her hand wrapped around his neck. ,,I got you baby" she purred and moaned as she increased the pace as requested.

Her noises mingled with his and she squeezed harder. Hearing his stifled moans, the tears running from his blue eyes through the pain and lust.

As she continued to stroke his body with the knife. ,,So ah-mhh-so good" he gasped even though she hardly understood, they were both too caught up in the lust. She saw him blush slightly from the oxygen deprivation.

Before she released him after a few seconds only to kiss him greedily again. Taking his moans with her as she bit his lip and tasted his blood. Her insides tightened around his cock and it twitched in response.

They both wanted to climax and finally let go. ,,Are you-fuck gonna be good?" she asked, resting her hands on his torso again, steadying herself to keep the pace. Keeping the movement just right. He nodded hastily before crying, ,,Yes, I'll be good-ah real good," and taking his hands away from him.

Not touching her and letting her do it. But first it was her turn, it only took a few more movements and another look from the tearful, pretty darling brought her to her climax. Moaning his name and clawing at him, she came down slowly from her high a few moments later. Breathing heavily, she put aside the knife she still had in her hand.

Before she turned her gaze to Charlie, who couldn't have looked more handsome and equally in love. ,,Please-I-I please...let me come," he begged, tears continuing to flow down his warm cheeks and she felt his patheticness arouse her. Putting her hand on his cheek and stroking him she praised him and said, ,,A good boy can come in Mommy". Before he released himself inside her only seconds later and he clung to her.

A slight tremor went over his body and he gave himself to her. ,,You were so good for me" she praised and stayed on him for a moment. Let him come down from his climax before she broke away from him, much to his chagrin.

He whimpered at the loss of her warmth before he snuggled against her. ,,You were better to me," he murmured and she pulled him even closer.

Stroked his brown hair and heard his exhausted sigh. ,,I'll always be best to you...I love you Charlie" she replied and gave him a kiss on the top of his head before he murmured ,,I love you too" and closed his eyes. Glancing at the still closed door, she snuggled up to him as well. She knew that all she had to do now was fall asleep.

Because if the police came then they were what they were. They were the horny couple who had not heard about all the murders. They were just the couple and no Ghostface.

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

@ria-coolgirl , @icarus-star , @shady-the-simp , @spookyorchid , @paranormalfool , @thatsthewrongwallcraig , @roryculkinsgf , @roryculkingsbf , @angelsanarchy , @milaeth , @707otto

#charlie walker scream #charlie walker x reader #charlie walker #reader is female #afab character #use of y/n #smut #mommy kink #blood play #knife play #scream 4 #scream movie #ghostface #kissing #blood

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