Hiiiii, I had an idea for a SOA fic or just head cannons, but I'm kinda shitty writer. So here's the idea, do what you want with it and tag me if you do something with it. Thank you !
A reader (I have fem in mind, but can work with what you want) who dress kinda like a y2k pink baddie. Like low-waisted jeans with bedazzled top, butterfly claw clip and glossy lips and all, who drives a vintage car (like Red Chevy Impala or some') and she drives to the clubhouse for a reason (check-up, tires, job interview maybe ?). And like, the boys are like "WTF ? Who's this pin-up ?" the girl knows she's pretty. She's confident. Sweet but spicy underneath and allllllll. Anyway, what would be the reaction of our fav boys ? (My fav is Tig. I like 'em crazy hehe).
Anyway. Please someone write something about this idea ? Or just comment what fic works with that ?
Thanks thanks thanks 🤞🏻❤️❤️
(by the way, sorry for my English. I'm French. Bisous !)
another series master list..... yes, i should be finishing the ones i've started... but here we are.
i have developed an unhealthy addiction to single mom reader fics (im not even a mom, i have no interest in being a mom !! but they go so fucking hard???) i did my BEST to be unspecific but i may have mentioned blush a few times throughout idk.
Jax's adopted sister by circumstance. I don’t make the rules, but I do write them. Your dating life sucks so your daughter picks a father for herself. I'll be listing the TW part by part this time bc it'll vary per section.
Part 1 - juice
Part 2 - coffee
Part 3 - happy
Part 4 - camera
Part 5 - fever
Part 6 - sunshine (mdni)
Part 7 - fast
Part 8 - surprise
Part 9 - daddy
Part 10 - mommy
Part 11 - jealous
Part 12 - girl
general taglist: @vaugarkel @coffeedreaminanreadin
if you want to be added just lmk
Summary: You are an omega who has been sold by King Ælla to a wealthy Alpha in Mercia, but before you can be handed over to your new master, another infamous Alpha named Ivar the Boneless has decided to take you for himself.
Pairing: Alpha!Ivar x Omega!Reader (Flora)
Warnings: a/b/o aspects, violence, blood, sexual content in future chapters.
[If you would like to be tagged in future chapters or in other works of mine, please let me know]
Chapters: 2. 3
ONE: C A P T U R E D
The shackles around your wrists were too tight, the rough metal edges grazing your skin with each slight movement, causing the flesh to blister and bleed. Wincing at the pain that began to throb through your palms and down into your fingertips, you sucked in a sharp breath and knocked your head back against the wooden frame. This was hell, and you knew it wouldn’t get any easier from here on out now that you had been sold. For three months the slavers in Northumbria had kept you imprisoned, kidnapping you from your bed in the dead of night and stealing you away from your home and family. You learned later on that it had been planned out for weeks before a handful of soldiers sprang into action like rabid dogs, taking turns to hurt you in the cruellest ways possible before handing you over to King Ælla who had orchestrated the entire event.
‘I know what you are’ Ælla had growled at you knowingly, sneering at you from the other side of the cage he had kept you in for the time you spent in his Kingdom. He poked and prodded you with a hot fire iron, enjoying the cries of pain that it elicited from you. ‘Filthy little omega whore. If there wasn’t gold to be made from selling you, I’d have your throat cut and your body thrown into the river with the rest of the scum!’
Summary: A late night check in on your new neighbor who answers the door half naked, looking like a Greek god, turns into a night of heat and passion. You spend the night mapping every scar on Ben’s body, entirely unaware that the man pinning you to the sheets is a legendary living weapon. The sunlight of the next morning reveals that your new neighbor is actually the world's most dangerous supe.
Rating: 18+
Word Count: 4119
Warnings: Smut, Marking, Angst, Homelander, Soldier Boy and you being an asshole, Language, Violence
A/N: Please let me know what you think.
Part 11
TGN Masterlist
Ben threw on a hat, sunglasses and a jacket before coming to find you in the dining room staring at the map, eyes distant.
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple. “I’m going on a supply run. We need food and some other basic stuff to last at least a couple weeks. And I’ll get some pain medication for you.”
You turned and looked up at him, “The whole country knows what you look like. Only the ones that watch the news know what I look like. Maybe I should go. I could cover my hair and–”
“No,” Ben said, cutting you off with a tone that left no room for argument. “That’s not happening. But I want to show you how to use this before I go.” He was holding a silver handgun.
He quickly showed you how to load it, check the chamber, cock it and where the safety was. Then he handed it to you and made you show him that you could do all of it yourself. Once he was satisfied you set it on the table and turned to him.
“Don’t open the door for anyone or go outside,” he instructed. You nodded. “I’ll be back in an hour or two. When I get back, we train.” Ben pressed a firm kiss to your lips and walked out the front door.
You locked the heavy wooden door behind him and started to clean up the dusty cabin a bit. You were sore but cleaning helped take your mind off the pain a little. After the kitchen and living room were clean you collapsed onto the leather sofa, aching and tired. You drifted off.
You awoke about twenty minutes later to the sound of an SUV’s tires on the dirt road out front. Pulling yourself up off the couch, you peeked out the window and watched Ben climb out of the driver’s side and let out a relieved sigh. You walked over and opened the door for him.
He carried in more bags than you expected, grumbling the whole time about how he wasn’t built for shopping. He had gone to a superstore and not only brought back food and toiletries but also some clothes for both of you and some sneakers for you. You were grateful as you looked down at your bare feet just now realizing that you didn’t have any shoes with you at all.
“We should be good for a little while now,” he muttered as he dropped the last of the bags on the dining table. You raised up on your tip toes and gave him a quick kiss before you started to unload everything.
Fifteen minutes later, Ben was in front of you and he was all business. He turned you toward the kitchen table, but he didn't point at the map this time. He pointed toward a heavy, olive duffel bag sitting by the back door.
"I'm not going to be able to be by your side every second," he said, his expression deadly serious. "If Homelander or his lapdogs find a way in here while I'm out scouting or setting traps, I need to know you won't just be a victim on a news cast."
He walked to the bag and pulled out a heavy, matte-black handgun. He checked the magazine with a sharp, metallic clack and held it out to you, grip-first.
"This is a 1911. It's old, it's heavy, and it kicks like a mule," Ben said. "But it'll put a hole in anything short of a Supe, and even they don't like getting hit with it. You're going to learn how to strip it, clean it, and most importantly, how to put lead exactly where you want it."
You looked at the cold steel of the weapon, then back at Ben. The bruises on your neck still throbbed, a physical reminder of the “god” who thought he owned you.
"No more running," you whispered, taking the weight of the gun into your hands.
Ben’s eyes flashed with that emerald fire. "No more running," he agreed. "Today, we start making sure that the next time someone tries to put their hands on you, they don't get them back."
The air behind the cabin was biting, the mountain mist clinging to the pine needles and dampening the sound of the world. Ben had set up a row of rusted coffee cans on a fallen log about fifteen yards out. He stood behind you, his presence like a wall of radiant heat against your back, shielding you from the afternoon chill.
"Feet shoulder-width apart," Ben commanded, his voice back in soldier mode—crisp, authoritative, and devoid of any softness. "Don't lock your knees. You lock 'em, the recoil goes straight into your spine. Keep 'em loose."
You raised the .45. It felt like a lead weight in your hands, the cold steel ominous against your palms. As you tried to sight the cans, your arms trembled. The physical exhaustion and the lingering ache in your ribs made the heavy barrel dip.
Ben stepped in closer, his chest pressing against your shoulder blades. He reached around, his large, calloused hands covering yours on the grip. His skin was scorching, but his touch was steady as a rock.
"Breathe," he muttered near your ear, his beard brushing your temple. "You’re fighting the gun. Don't fight it. It’s an extension of your arm. Squeeze the trigger—don't jerk it. If you jerk it, you miss, and in a real fight, a miss is a death sentence."
He guided your hands, aligning the sights. "Now, listen to me. If it’s a human coming at you, you aim for center mass. But if it’s a Supe? You don’t play fair. You’re not a powerhouse, sweetheart, so you have to be a surgeon."
He let go of your hands but stayed inches away, watching your form like a hawk.
"They think they’re invincible," Ben muttered, a dark edge to his tone. "But they have the same soft spots as anyone else. Eyes. Ears. The throat. If a Supe gets close enough to touch you, you don't pull back. You jab your thumbs into their sockets. You bite. You go for the junk. You make it so painful and so disgusting that they lose their focus for one second. That second is all you need to put a round in the one place they aren't armored."
You took a breath, smelling the cedar on his skin and the sharp scent of gun oil. You focused on the center can. You stopped thinking about the news, the $50 million reward, and the bruises on your neck. You just thought about the target.
CRACK.
The recoil was a violent jolt that snapped your wrists back, the roar of the shot echoing off the mountainside. The coffee can didn't move. You’d pulled the shot wide to the left.
"Again," Ben said instantly. No pity. No good try. "Adjust your grip. Lean into it. You’re mad, right? Put that rage into it."
You reset, your jaw tight. You thought about Homelander standing at that podium, smiling while he called you a victim. You thought about the way he’d looked at you like you were a toy.
CRACK.
The middle can flew off the log, spinning into the brush with a satisfying metallic ping.
Ben let out a short, sharp grunt of approval. It was better than a parade. He stepped up beside you, taking the gun to check the hammer. "Good. You’ve got the instinct. Now, we do it until you can hit that can while you're running. We do it until you can do it in your sleep."
He looked at you then, the drill sergeant fading just enough for a flicker of that fierce, possessive pride to show through. "Because the next time a Supe tries to put a hand on you, I want you to take their hand off," he said in a low, dangerous tone.
After an hour of repetitive drills, the adrenaline that had fueled you began to die, replaced by the cold, heavy reality of your physical limits.
Every time the gun fired, the shockwave traveled through your wrists, up your arms, and settled right into your battered ribs. Your breath was coming in shallow, ragged hitches, and your vision was starting to swim. The gun, which had felt empowering minutes ago, now felt like a thousand-pound anchor.
You raised the weapon for the fiftieth time, but your arms gave a treacherous shake. The barrel dipped, and a sharp, stabbing pain flared in your side—the kind of pain that made the world go white for a second.
"Again," Ben’s voice came, hard and uncompromising. "Don't let the muzzle—"
You didn't fire. You couldn't. Your knees buckled slightly, and you had to lower the gun, leaning over with your free hand pressed hard against your ribs. A small, involuntary groan escaped your lips.
The drill sergeant vanished instantly.
"Hey," Ben rasped, his boots crunching quickly over the damp earth. He was at your side in two strides, his large hands hovering near your shoulders, hesitant to touch you in case he caused more pain. "Sweetheart, look at me."
You looked up, your face pale and beaded with a cold sweat that clashed with the lingering heat radiating from him. "I... I can do it," you whispered, trying to lift the gun again. "I just… need a second."
"The hell you do," Ben muttered, his voice dropping the command and turning into a low, worried growl. He gently but firmly took the handgun from your shaking fingers and tucked it into the back of his waistband. "I pushed you too hard. Fuck."
He didn't wait for an argument. He scooped you up, one arm behind your back and the other under your knees, carrying you toward the porch. You were too exhausted to protest, your head falling naturally against his shoulder.
"I have to be ready, Ben," you murmured into his skin. "You said..."
"I said I'd teach you, not break you," he said, stepping into the warmth of the cabin and kicking the door shut behind him. He laid you down on the sofa, but he didn't pull away. He sat on the edge of the cushions, his jaw set in a hard line of self-reproach.
“Shit.” Ben dragged his hand down his face. He reached out, his hand trembling just a fraction as he brushed a damp lock of hair away from your forehead. "I forgot," he whispered, his green eyes dark with a sudden, raw vulnerability. "I forget that you aren't made of iron and spite like I am. You're... you're human." He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy.
"You did good today, sweetheart" he said, and for the first time, it wasn't a soldier's appraisal. It was a man's pride. "You hit the mark. But we're done for today. You need to rest, or you're going to be no good to me or yourself when the time comes."
He stayed there, his nose brushing yours, the scent of gunpowder and cedar enveloping you both. In the quiet of the remote cabin, the media circus felt like a bad dream, but the weight of his hand on your hip was the only thing that felt real.
"Ben?" you whispered.
"Yeah?"
"Don't stop teaching me. Just... maybe tomorrow?"
A ghost of a smile touched his lips—the first real one you'd seen since the gala. "Tomorrow. I promise. Now, shut up and rest. I’ll heat us something up for dinner."
After dinner you were both laying on the sofa. Ben was shirtless and your back was pressed to his chest, with his heavy arm around you but he was careful on where it laid so as not to hurt your bruised body. You were asleep but Ben just stared straight ahead into the fire crackling softly in the fireplace. His mind was restless with memories of the last two days and calculating how the next few might go. After a few hours he too joined you reluctantly in sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Three days passed in a blur of woodsmoke, gun oil, and the slow, steady hum of Ben’s presence.
The cabin, once a relic of a forgotten era, had transformed. Ben had spent the majority of the daylight hours reinforcing the perimeter with the meticulous paranoia of a man who had spent forty years in a Russian hole. He didn't just set traps; he created what he called “kill zones" using old hunting equipment and tripwires scavenged from the garage. He still set aside a couple hours each day to train you.
Inside, the atmosphere had shifted from frantic survival to a quiet, domestic rhythm. Your bruises had faded from a violent purple to a dull, sickly yellow, and your ribs only screamed when you took a particularly deep breath.
The training hadn't stopped, but Ben had tempered his edge. He’d spent time sitting behind you on the porch, his large hands guiding yours as you practiced dry firing the gun to save ammunition. He taught you how to move silently over floorboards that groaned, how to watch the tree line for the unnatural glint of a lens, and how to sharpen a blade until it could shave the hair off your arm.
But it was the evenings that felt the most surreal.
The small black-and-white TV remained off. Ben refused to watch the news anymore, claiming the lies made his chest feel like it was going to detonate. Instead, you’d sit by the fire, the only light in the room.
On the third night, Ben was sitting on the floor, leaning against the sofa where you were tucked under a blanket. He was nursing a glass of cheap whisky he’d found in the cellar, his eyes fixed on the embers.
"You're getting better," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. "Your grip is steady. You don't hesitate when you pull the slide anymore."
"I have a good teacher," you replied, reaching out to let your fingers brush against his shoulder. The skin was hot, as always, but he didn't pull away. You let them wander up and into his hair at the nape of his neck. You couldn’t see it but he closed his eyes while you continued to stroke your fingers through his hair in a soothing rhythm.
"I'm a shitty teacher," Ben countered with a soft huff. "I'm just a man who knows too much about how things break. You... you're something else." He opened his eyes and turned his head, looking up at you in the firelight. The green in his eyes was deep and shadowed. "You're the only thing in this whole goddamn century that makes sense to me."
He reached up, taking your hand in his and rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. His hands were rough, but his touch was reverent. He pressed his lips to the back of your hand in a soft kiss that made your heart flutter. Ben heard it and smiled ever so slightly; you didn’t catch it.
"When this is over," he began, his voice dropping to a whisper, "when I've put that kid in the ground and Vought is nothing but a memory... I want to take you somewhere where the sun actually shines. Somewhere where nobody knows my name and nobody's looking for a victim."
It was the first time he’d talked about a future. Not a mission, not a fight—a life.
The moment was shattered by a sound.
It wasn't a loud noise. It was a faint, high-pitched whirring—the sound of a bee, but metallic. Ben was on his feet before you could even blink, the bourbon glass hitting the rug without a sound. He crossed the room in a blur, reaching for the heavy blackout curtains.
"Ben?" your heart jumped into your throat.
He didn't answer. He peered through a tiny slit in the fabric, his body going perfectly still. The golden heat in his chest didn't flare; it went cold, a sign of intense, focused aggression.
"Is it him?" you whispered, reaching for the 1911 on the coffee table.
"No," Ben rasped, his eyes narrowing as he watched the sky. "It’s a drone. A high-altitude Vought scout. They didn't find us by accident."
He turned to you, and the Ben you had spent the last three days with was gone. Soldier Boy was back, his face a mask of lethal intent.
"Get your boots on, sweetheart. The circus found us."
Ben didn't panic. Panic was for the people on the other end of his shield.
"Basement. Now," he commanded, his voice a low, vibrating snap. He grabbed his suit and began pulling it on with practiced, frantic efficiency.
"Ben, I can help," you said, your fingers white-knuckled around the grip of the 1911.
He paused, halfway into his chest piece, and looked at you. For a second, the hard mask slipped, and you saw the raw terror he had for your safety. "I know you can. That's why I need you in the root cellar. There’s a tunnel that leads out to the ravine. If this place goes up, you run and you don't look back until you hit the treeline."
"I'm not leaving you," you snapped back, your own fire flaring with a vengeance.
Ben let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh, even as the first dull thud of a tear-gas canister hitting the porch echoed through the cabin. "God, you're fucking stubborn. Fine. You stay low. You don't fire unless they breach the door, and you don't move from behind that stone hearth. You hear me?"
"Got it."
The windows shattered simultaneously.
It wasn't Homelander. Not yet. It was Vought’s Black Ops—the vultures Ben had warned you about. Four shadows in high-tech tactical gear swung through the windows on zip-lines, their suppressed submachine guns spitting lead into the room.
Ben didn't wait for them to land. He stepped into the center of the room, the golden heat in his chest erupting into a blinding, incandescent glare. He brought the shield up, catching a burst of firepower that would have shredded a normal man. The bullets ricocheted off the metal with a series of high-pitched dings, sparks illuminating the darkened room.
"My house," Ben roared, his voice shaking the floorboards. "My rules!"
He lunged. He didn't use a gun; he used himself. He caught the first guard mid-air, slamming the edge of the shield into the man's chest with enough force to collapse the tactical vest and the ribcage beneath it. The guard was launched backward, through the wall and out onto the porch.
You stayed low behind the heavy stone of the fireplace, your heart hammering against your ribs. The room was filling with smoke and the smell was overwhelming. You saw a red laser dot dance across the rug, moving toward Ben’s back.
"Ben! Left!" you screamed.
A second guard was leveling a high-caliber rifle from the kitchen doorway. Ben started to turn, but he was pinned down by two others.
You didn't think. You didn't hesitate. You leaned out from behind the stone, braced your wrists just like Ben taught you, and sighted the red glow of the guard's night-vision goggles.
CRACK.
The 1911 kicked, the recoil jarring your shoulder, but you held steady. The guard’s head snapped back as the round found its mark. He slumped against the doorframe, his rifle clattering to the floor.
Ben glanced back, his emerald eyes wide with a split-second of shock before they hardened into pure, murderous pride. "That's my girl!"
He grabbed the nearest guard by the throat, the golden heat behind his ribs pulsing in a rapid, lethal rhythm. The air in the cabin was reaching a fever pitch, the wood of the walls beginning to char from the sheer radiation Ben was putting off.
"Get down!" Ben yelled, his voice a warning.
He didn't detonate—not fully—but he released a localized shockwave of pure kinetic energy. The windows that hadn't already broken exploded outward, and the remaining two guards were thrown against the walls like ragdolls.
But as the smoke began to clear, a new sound filled the air. A heavy, rhythmic thrumming.
Not a drone. A transport helicopter. And through the hole in the wall, you could see a streak of red and blue light descending from the clouds like a falling star.
Homelander wasn't waiting for the recovery team anymore. He was here to finish the lie he and Vought had carefully crafted.
The air in the cabin had become a thick mix of dust, smoke, and the heavy scent of Ben’s rising radiation. Outside, the roar of the helicopter blades whipped the trees into a frenzy, but it was the silent, hovering shadow at the edge of the porch that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.
Homelander landed softly, his boots clicking on the charred wood. He didn't look like the "hero" from the news. His eyes were glowing a steady, hellish red, and his expression was one of pure loathing. He looked at the dead guard you’d shot, then shifted his gaze to you behind the hearth.
"You," Homelander hissed, his voice trembling with the insult of it all. "You actually picked the artifact. You’d rather hide in a shack with a fossil than be the Queen of the world."
Ben stepped in front of you, his shield raised, his body a literal wall of heat. "She’s not hiding, kid. She’s choosing. And she didn't choose the guy who hides behind a PR team."
"I'm going to burn this whole mountain to ash," Homelander promised, his glowing eyes brightening.
Ben didn't charge this time. He looked over his shoulder at you, a silent command in his eyes. Now.
You knew the plan. Ben had told you: If he’s fully focused on me, he’s arrogant. He won't think you’re a threat until it’s too late.
As Homelander unleashed a twin beam of crimson heat-vision, Ben braced his shield, the metal screaming under the pressure as he was pushed back inches at a time. The room was blindingly bright, the wood of the fireplace beginning to crack from the heat.
Homelander was laughing—a high, maniacal sound. He was winning. He was proving he was the upgrade.
He didn't notice you slip out from behind the stone, staying low to the ground. He didn't notice you grabbing the heavy, glass bottle of high-proof whisky Ben had left on the floor. And he certainly didn't notice the road flare you plucked from just under the couch where Ben had stashed one of many around the house.
You didn't aim for his chest. You aimed for the one thing Ben said was a Supe's weakness: Focus.
You smashed the bottle against the wall right next to Homelander’s head. The alcohol sprayed across his face and his pristine cape. In the same motion, you struck the flare.
"Hey! Asshole!" you screamed.
Homelander’s head snapped toward you, his heat-vision flickering and going out for a fraction of a second in sheer shock that you were attacking him. That was the second you needed. You tossed the flare.
The alcohol-soaked cape ignited instantly.
Homelander shrieked—not from pain, as the fire couldn't truly burn his skin—but from the absolute horror of being on fire, of his perfect image being blackened and ruined. He stumbled back, swatting at the flames, his focus broken.
"Now, Ben!"
Ben didn't miss his shot. With the heat-vision gone, he lunged forward, rotating his entire body into a shield-strike that caught Homelander right in his already injured shoulder.
There was a sickening pop. Homelander was launched backward, through the porch railing and into the mud of the driveway.
Ben didn't stop. He turned to you, his face lit by the golden pulse in his chest. "Get to the SUV! Now!"
"What about you?"
"I'm going to give him something else to worry about," Ben rasped, a feral grin splitting his beard. He grabbed a heavy crate of old grenades he’d pulled from the basement earlier. "Go! I’ll be right behind you!"
You sprinted for the black SUV parked under the trees, the sounds of a literal warzone exploding behind you. The adrenaline was dulling but not completely covering the pain your body was feeling from the jarring movements. You didn't care and you didn’t look back until you reached the driver’s side, fumbling for the keys Ben had given you.
Behind you, the cabin—the place where you’d spent the last few days learning to be a survivor—erupted in a blinding, golden-white dome of light as Ben finally let go.
Summary: Homelander has been looking forward to coming home to you at the end of another fake birthday extravaganza, but it turns out you're not waiting where he expected you to be.
Content: Homelander x fem!Reader | established relationship | pre-show | breast milk | treasure hunt
Word count: 3k
Author's note: I had the idea for this waaaaay too late, but it's been so long since I last posted a fic that I wanted to try to bash something out for the special day. Ultimately, this means there's gonna have to be more parts at some point because the idea just got too big for me to write quickly enough. But hey, Homelander's real birthday is sometime in spring, so it's all good! Today is also the one year anniversary of me setting up this blog after lurking in the shadows for a while, which is a nice time marker for me. Happy fake birthday to the awful fake blond man we're all so normal about. 💕
One | ao3
~Chapter One: New York~
Where the fuck are you?
Homelander isn’t panicking – he’s not become so reliant on your presence that he can’t handle coming back to an empty penthouse – but this is wrong. The air is too still, the open plan space too dark and cavernous in the evening gloom without you. He’s checked and your things are here: your clothes, possessions, the lingering whisper of your scent he’s grown to hold so dear. But you’ve just… left.
He’s been hovering by the window for the past quarter of an hour, one hand on his hip while the other holds his phone to his ear, mouth a thin line. He must look like some pathetic wife of old waiting for her husband to return from a war that had probably already killed him.
Why aren’t you picking up?
It’s his birthday– His official birthday– The only goddamn birthday he has, and you’re supposed to be here for it. Who else is going to welcome him home with open arms and understanding sentiments about the fucking media circus he’s had to endure, just so Vought can decide he’s earnt the right to have the same thing happen all over again in a year’s time? Who else is going to say it and mean it when they tell him he deserves to be celebrated?
Maybe you’ve never meant it.
Homelander’s left cheek twitches when your phone goes to voicemail for the twelfth time in as many minutes. He scoffs. The sound slices the silence of the penthouse while his eyes dart restlessly over the twinkling expanse of urban life below. It seems to echo in all the space you’re no longer occupying. He’s already sent you several increasingly agitated texts, each one ignored.
You really have left him.
Stuffing his phone away, he retreats from the glare of the world to advance into the kitchen, his cape swooshing behind him and boots squeaking against the polished floor. A pointlessly polished floor, it occurs to him bitterly. Polished for who to see, now that he’s alone? For once, he resents the suit for making him look proud when he feels so wretched underneath it. He resents being compressed into this human-like form period, and all the stupid distractions that come with it.
Happy fucking birthday to him.
None of this makes sense. It’s just gone eight-thirty in the evening, and Homelander hasn’t seen you since seven o’clock this morning. You interrupted his shower deliberately just to wish him a happy birthday. You were happy, doting. The softness of your arms slinking around his middle, the press of your bodies together under the warm spray from the showerhead – these things have been helping him get through the tedious chunk of the day without you. Suddenly the kisses you scattered across his bare skin feel more like scornful brands than gentle affection.
He’s let you see him again, and again, and again. Why have you run away? Why now?
“Oof. Ouch, buddy.” The familiar voice beckons, as ever, from the mirror in the bedroom. Homelander pauses by the kitchen island. The other has never entirely trusted you. “Hey, it’s alright. Better to learn the truth today than–”
“Shut up,” Homelander hisses, screwing his eyes shut. He expects he’ll pay for this later, but the other falls silent at his request.
After all, everyone’s got to do what the birthday boy wants on his birthday, right? Everyone except you, apparently.
He could tear New York apart looking for you. How far could you have gotten? He sighs, gripping the kitchen island with a little too much force. The granite creaks uncertainly between his gloved fingers. Why are you doing this to him? What do you think he’s done wrong? He doesn’t deserve this.
He needs a drink.
Homelander opens his eyes again and turns towards the refrigerator. All the lights in the penthouse are off – this was one of the first signs that something was wrong, right after the lack of your heartbeat coming into focus as he ascended in the elevator – but the darkness doesn’t matter. His eyes are sharper than any bird of prey’s, which is why he’s slightly disgruntled to realise there’s a note taped to the refrigerator door that he missed on his first sweep through the penthouse. Certainly, it’s innocuous enough, but it’s still out of place here. He can’t think how he didn’t spot it.
Because he wasn’t panicking. He wasn’t.
Really, he supposes the kitchen isn’t exactly an over-used area of the penthouse. That’ll be why. He tears the paper off the door, leaving a corner of it stuck beneath the tape.
OPEN ME
Homelander knows that’s your handwriting. You’ve even drawn a smiley face after the words, and it’s the suggested innocence of a doodle like that that confuses him the most. Something in his stomach flips violently, an abundance of contradictory explanations for your cheekiness when you’ve left him on his birthday presenting themselves to his mind, and he feels himself frowning against his will.
You’re not a sadistic person, and it would be unwise of you to torment him after pulling the wool over his eyes. He will find you eventually. Why antagonise him further? Perhaps you do have an explanation for leaving that isn’t some irrational, newfound hatred of him. Perhaps you’ve made and left him dinner tonight to apologise for your absence – a lousy apology, sure, especially considering the lack of any other explanation, but maybe there will be other things you’ll do to make it up to him once you’re back.
Maybe this is actually… normal.
Homelander hates the hopeful feeling that starts clawing its way through his chest the longer he considers that this is, in fact, the answer. You haven’t run out on him; something’s just come up. Something more important than him, on his birthday. Something oh so important, you can’t even check your phone. Great. That’s fine. He wishes it didn’t sting.
Still distrustful, he channels his x-ray vision to peek through the refrigerator door. Within, he finds the sparse collection of expected food items have been shunted to either side, leaving a pointed space on the middle row where an drink in a tall glass sits, waiting. Beside it is another note, this one larger and folded in half.
Not dinner then.
Heartrate well and truly increasing now, Homelander yanks open the door to grab the second note. The blast of light from the refrigerator bulb reveals the tall glass contains an off-white, creamy liquid. Its sweetness hits the back of his nose almost instantly, causing his mouth to salivate unwillingly: a milkshake.
“What in the…” His voice trails off as his eyes scan the note.
Hello handsome. Sorry if I’ve upset you this evening. I know you’re going to try and ring me before you find this and when I don’t answer I figure you’ll want something to drink. Was I right? Please be assured I’ve felt very VERY guilty each time I saw your name and didn’t pick up.
Your tone is reassuring, at least, though Homelander isn’t sure whether to be flattered or unnerved at your level of insight into his behaviours.
I’m sure you’re tired after your busy day. I will have watched as much of it as I could, although I’ve been busy too – as you’ll soon find out. I hope I’ve not totally misjudged all of this. You’re a very hard man to buy for, you know. I may have actually gone completely over the top. But you deserve that. You’re always doing the same for me.
It’s now that Homelander remembers, as if you’ve somehow pre-programmed them to emit a fresh wave of perfume in time with his reading, the red roses he bought you as part of your Valentine’s gift last week. They’re still sat slowly wilting in a vase on the coffee table. His mouth almost twitches into a smile.
I know it’ll be getting late by the time you see this, but if you check your calendar for tomorrow I think you’ll find it suspiciously empty as of 8pm this evening (dating Homelander gives a woman some influence, who knew?) so you really have no excuse not to try and find me tonight. I’ve left some clues for you and we both know you’re a smartass. I’m waiting for you.
Enjoy your milkshake first! There’s a piece of myself in there to tide you over until you find me. Happy birthday, my love.
Well, well, well.
For a moment, Homelander doesn’t react. This is not how he saw the night of his birthday going, not in any number of scenarios. You’ve surprised him; that’s for sure.
And you haven’t left him.
Instead, this is you plan? You want him to hunt you down? A smirk unfurls across Homelander’s lips as he finally reaches for the milkshake, turning over your note to find a final sentence written on the back:
NYC isn’t quite as cozy as the woods, is it?
Before he can properly take the meaning of that in, the scent and taste of the drink hit his system in tandem: a subtle vanilla, plain enough not to assault his senses, and refreshingly cool as all good dairy products should be. But beneath that – laced through it, impregnated into the flavour seeping into his tastebuds, soothing his oesophagus and short-circuiting his brain as it becomes one with him – is you. He’s sure of it.
You…
Homelander holds the milkshake up to examine it intently, as though this piece of yourself will do something to confirm he isn’t imagining its existence if he stares hard enough. He licks his lips. He’s still sure of it.
This is your milk you’ve gifted him.
“Fuck.”
Homelander’s voice comes out choked. How did you do this? How did you know?
He stumbles back from the refrigerator, only vaguely aware of the shapes of his surroundings, most of them a benign blur. The milkshake appears to be his one point of clarity, so he closes his damp eyes to take another sip.
His moans pierce the silence of the penthouse now. You fucking tease. Even the act of using your milk as an ingredient rather than giving him the product raw seems designed to egg him on to hurry after you. You can bet your ass he’s going to find you tonight, and fast.
He whispers your name into the glass like you might somehow be listening.
Once the hallowed drink is gone – much too quickly – Homelander wipes his eyes and fishes his phone from his pocket. With a soft smile, he fires off another text to you:
Found your note, missy
He watches, features sharpening with glee as the banner under the previously ignored messages changes to ‘read’ and a heart emoji appears alongside his most recent one. You’ve been waiting for him to figure this out. You’ve only run away so he can chase.
With a chuckle, Homelander trails a finger idly over the lit screen, sending just one more message before he’ll set out on his last-minute scheduled birthday hunt:
I’m coming for you
~*~
The journey from Vought Tower to his cabin in Rochester doesn’t take Homelander long by flight. The rural hideaway he first shared with you to celebrate one of your birthdays is obviously the place your note was hinting at him to go, and it makes sense as a first stop. He guesses, based on your reference to clues plural, he won’t find you waiting there.
But what will he find in your place? That’s the intriguing part. How exactly have you set all of this up?
The barren winter earth shudders beneath his boots when he lands by the cabin, claiming his surroundings with a purposeful thud. A few listless, dead leaves circle away from him in a flurry of brown movement, but all else is still. There aren’t many creatures around at this time of year: the trees and nearby clearing are quieter than they are during the warmer months, but it’s a more welcome quiet than back at the penthouse.
Just because he can, Homelander takes a deep, wholly unnecessary, breath of the cleaner air and feels the last of his earlier tension trickling out of his body. Of course you’d never really run away from him. What kind of lover would choose someone’s birthday, fake or otherwise, to leave them?
He approaches the cabin door, curiosity mounting by the second. What kind of game is this hunt really? What did you mean by admitting you might have gone over the top?
The answers to those questions come when the door opens and a waft of something fresh, almost lemony, greets his nose. Roses – but not red ones like he bought you. These smell like white ones, and plenty of them, he assumes, until he flicks on the low lights and discovers the sizable display resting at the centrepiece of the dining table are blue.
First a milkshake laced with your breast milk and now blue roses.
Homelander squints for a moment, tilting his head as he shuts the door and pads over. The rest of the cabin looks the same as usual: cozy, intimate, more like glamping with all the latest tech installed for his convenience than salt of the earth realism, but why shouldn’t he have the best of both worlds? The bouquet on the table is huge, spilling artfully out from the centre to cover the whole lacquered surface with flowers and handfuls of loose petals. Homelander slides his right glove off to rub one of the closest ones between his thumb and forefinger.
It’s a shame, an unwanted thought perks up, that this is probably the most use the table has ever gotten. There was a reason he requested one with so much room when he was kitting this place out.
He slips the petal beneath the flap on his chest for safe keeping with your note from the refrigerator. You bought him roses. He isn’t entirely sure what to make of that, so instead he just continues to stare, arms folding behind his back in that manner he knows is habitual.
The roses are blue-blue. Not as dark as his suit’s colouring, but far a richer hue than the sky usually manages. It’s striking, actually, how vivid they are; there’s something about them he can’t quite put his finger on…
They’re also freshly cut, which means you must’ve snuck off here earlier today to lay them out – he inhales deeply to check and, yes, there you are again, lurking underneath the citrus. He wonders if blue roses are meant to tell him something he’s not getting because he’s not a woman, when his eyes catch on a smaller flower you’ve tried to cover with two more attention-seeking ones.
He plucks it out to examine. This rose isn’t as vivid as the rest. Its petals are tipped in blue, the effect like ink spilt on paper, while their remainder are a cream shade.
He was right. These are white roses. Now he’s even more puzzled by your gesture.
His eyes snag a second time on the space between the larger flowers, where another folded note is just about visible, more white amidst the blue. Oh. He feels a smile blooming on his lips. You meant for him to notice that flower. Confident of you to assume – albeit correctly – that he wouldn’t scan right through them all on walking in. He lifts out the new note.
See? Told you you’re a smartass, the first line reads, and Homelander chuckles despite himself.
I hope you like the roses. You should get flowers too, you know. We are still in the month of lovers. You might be questioning why on earth I’ve had a load of white roses dyed blue. Welllllll I suppose I was thinking about those lovely eyes of yours. I’m probably thinking about them right now, wherever I am. Did you know some cultures believe the owner of a blue rose will have all their wishes granted? And you’ve got 100. Better get wishing.
Seriously though, blue roses don’t occur in nature. Their colour is added synthetically, and this makes them special. They’re supposed to symbolise uniqueness, so tell me who ELSE am I meant to associate them with? Remind me to pester you about going up to the cabin more regularly when you find me.
Where oh where could I be? It’s a good thing a man as unique as you can fly…
As with the first note, your next clue appears to be on the back:
I know you like history, so don’t you think you ought to pay a visit to the empire that fell so ours could rise? You’d be surprised what the tea addicts are still clinging on to that museum of theirs.
Sending him to the cabin really was only a warm-up. It’s nine-thirty now, and you want him to fly across the Atlantic for a museum stop? It’s the middle of the night in Europe.
Wait. This means you’re waiting for him on another continent? Homelander nearly laughs out loud. You weren’t kidding when you said you’d gone over the top! He’ll have to go and get you then. There’s no two ways about it.
On impulse, he bends over to take another deep huff of the roses – his roses – before straightening up and eyeing the skyline. When he’s travelling alone, Homelander can easily fly at speeds that would tear the meat from any other supe’s bones in seconds, let alone a mere human’s. He likes that you seem to have factored this into your plans for the evening. He likes that there isn’t a single other being on the planet who could pursue you the way he can.
He tucks your second note in beside the first and the blue petal and exits the cabin with determination on his mind. He considers texting you again, telling you how insane you are for this, and all the things he’s going to do to you when he finds you, but he’d rather just cut the distance now.
So, apparently, he’s headed to London. What the fuck is his life?
October September is here! And I’m joining Kinktober this year!! Here’s the calendar of the one-shots I’ll be posting throughout October.
Everyone who’s already on a character’s tag list will still be tagged as usual. If you’d like to be tagged for a specific day or for a character that doesn’t currently have a tag list, or if you wanna be only specifically tagged in a fic but not join my tag list, let me know.
October 1: Cream pie / pet play / sweat – Bane
October 3: Nipple play / mutual masturbation / slut shaming – Reggie Kray
October 5: Hands / clothed sex / cold – Joel Miller
October 7: Temperature play / sex toys / punishments – Harry Da Souza
October 9: Leather / secret identity / orgasm control – Alfie Solomons
October 11: Ass play / suit / cum play – Johnny Davis
October 13: Locker room / shower sex / hate sex – Joel Miller
October 15: Massage / thigh riding / biting – Bane
October 18 : Porn / thigh fucking / spit – Eddie Brock
October 20: Rimming / dacryphilia / strip dance – Johnny Davis
October 22: Fisting / flexible / sexual fantasy – Joel Miller
In the magnificent ballroom of a majestic Tudor manor, a spellbinding scene unfolds. Bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, a mysterious woman glided across the polished floor, her movements as graceful as a swan. The haunting melody that filled the air seemed to possess her, guiding her every step between each guest. In the depths of the shadows, a figure stood, his presence both alluring and enigmatic. His face remained concealed, adding an air of intrigue to his already captivating aura. Their eyes locked, two souls drawn together by an invisible force, and the world around them faded into insignificance.
As the music swelled, reaching its crescendo, the stranger took a bold step forward. His voice, filled with a whisper of longing, broke the silence, confessing a love that seems to transcend time itself. “you have no idea how much I love you, Miss Stoker.” The woman's heart raced, her breath catching in her throat, as she was swept away by the intensity of his words.
In the moment frozen in time, their lips finally met in a passionate kiss. It was a collision of desire and longing, a union of souls that defied explanation. But as their embrace deepened, a peculiar taste lingered on the woman's tongue, a metallic tang that sent a shiver down her spine. Suddenly, a surge of curiosity mixed with a hint of fear flooded her heart. The taste of blood upon his lips was unmistakable, a jarring contrast to the tender moment they shared. Questions swirled in her mind, like whispers in the wind. Who was this faceless man? “(Y/N)?” he whispered. “(Y/N)?”
With a sudden jolt, the woman catapulted out of her seat, causing Evie to quickly reach for her pills. "We've landed," Evie whispered, handing her boss a pill with a sympathetic smile. "Don't worry about it," she added, noticing the beads of sweat on her forehead. "Oliver's waiting for us, let's go!" with a nod of her head (Y/N) slowly stood from her seat.
“So, who lives here again?” Evie asked as (Y/N) sat in the car, cruising along the secluded roads on the outskirts of Whitby, she couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia. The ever-changing weather, a characteristic she had missed dearly, played its whimsical game once again. One moment, the sky was a brilliant canvas of blue, devoid of any clouds, and the next, it transformed into a murky grey, with gusts of wind that seemed to dance through the air. “The De Ville family.” As they continued their journey, (Y/N)'s gaze was drawn to the enchanting woodland that enveloped their family estate. It was as if nature had painted a masterpiece, with emerald green shades blending seamlessly into fern green's vibrant hues. The lushness of the trees and foliage created a mesmerizing tapestry, inviting her to explore its hidden secrets. “But our family will be staying the weekend for the festivities.”
“Holy shit. are they royalty or something?” as the manor came into view (Y/N) felt a sense of familiarity. Nestled amidst a sprawling landscape, stood an opulent white brick mansion exuding an aura of wealth and influence. Its majesty matched only by the pristine gardens that surrounded it, meticulously manicured to perfection. Every corner of the magnificent abode reflected the abundance of riches it houses, while the walls remained untouched by even the tiniest speck of dirt. “No, it's just old money. England's full of it.” the artist knew something felt strange about the manor. It felt like home to her, and she couldn’t tell if she liked it or not.
“Welcome to New Carfax Abbey. Let me find our host.” As Oliver wandered off to find the owner (Y/N) also started to wander around the outside of the beautiful building. As she approached the entrance, the pillar carvings beckoned to her with an irresistible allure. Intricate and mesmerizing, they depicted a whimsical dance of enchanting forest creatures, each one brought to life in the bleached stone. These were no ordinary animals; they were the very same majestic beings she had encountered in her adventures. The sight filled her with an overwhelming sense of wonder and curiosity, igniting a fire within her. She yearned for the owner's permission to document every intricate detail, to capture the essence of this extraordinary building. Her excitement surged through her veins, as her mind raced with a flood of ideas, eager to be transformed into words on paper.
“I hope you don’t mind I brought a friend with me, Lord Deville,” Evie spoke pointing towards (Y/N) as she traced the pillar with her manicured nails. “(Y/N).” She called out but the girl seemed to ignore her. evie and the lord watched her closely, the rich gentleman listened to her breathing slow down as if slipping into a trance. “(Y/N)!” Evie called once again but still no reply. As the man gracefully approached the mesmerized woman, his presence seemed to cast a spell of intrigue. With a gentle touch, his large hand found its place on her shoulder, as if to guide her deeper into the enchanting world of his home. And there she stood, lost in a trance, her gaze fixated on the captivating artwork that adorned the brick. “miss are you alright.” His voice as smooth as milk snapped her from her brain her twinkling eyes locking with his stormy ones. The two matched their gaze smiling lightly at the sense of familiarity of each other.
“I'm sorry were you both calling me?” she stuttered looking towards Evie was an embarrassed look. “don’t worry (Y/N) your probably jet lagged.” She laughed picking up the poor girl's bag from the ground. “Walter, this is (Y/N). the artist I was telling you about.” The man now known as Walter stared back at (Y/N) his storm eyes now swapped with a flash of light of excitement. “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stoker. I am a very big fan of your work. obviously.” The sun-kissed hue of his skin suddenly blushed with a fiery red, as if caught off guard by his own rambling. It was almost endearing to witness him in such a vulnerable state as if his emotions were laid bare for all to see. But there was no denying the transformative power of the new face that had entered his life, for it had swiftly altered his entire demeanour. “I'm glad you enjoyed them Mr Deville and thank you for the generous donation to the gallery I can assure you there are big plans for it.” his smile couldn’t get any bigger, but it did. The sound of her voice lulled his heart into a stuttering beat as if it had been out of service for many moons.
“come let me show you around the manor. I hope you like how I've displayed your art.” His cotton-covered arm poked out to her as an invitation to his home. She slowly slipped her arm into his feeling a familiar spark ignite in their touch. His smell was so calming and alluring sending her into a high, her doing the same to him. Walter held her small hand in a comfortable tightness not wanting her to slip from him again.
Summarize : Clover is a misfit woman in her early/mid twenties, thriving in the Muir woods in a post-apocalyptic world along side her companion ‘Woofer’ -a large brown wolf she rescued as a pup from an old hunting snare- survive day to day in her shelter deep in the woods, building the life she always dreamt of for herself. However, the Muir woods don’t belong entirely to Clover, and these neighbours can’t avoid each other forever.
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(A visual for Woofers size, leaning more towards 3.3FT height and 7FT length. Clover is 5”8)
Chapter 2 : Word of mouth.
2 years have passed since I decided to renovate the shelter I came across at the end of my long journey on the road.
Woofer is still with me. In fact, he’s grown quite a lot actually. I honestly don’t think wolves typically grow this big, he kind of reminds me of Dire wolves, although they’re long extinct, Woofers just supersized I guess, I remember reading a book as a kid that talked about supersized animals. He could honestly carry me if it really came down to it.
Over the past 2 years, I mostly spent the entire time renovating the shelter and also travelling to the closest abandoned city and back often, looking for supplies that I could use in my shelter and to help repair it.
I’ve also been figuring out and familiarizing myself with the layout and land around my shelter, such as seeing what type of foods I can forage, the best areas to catch fish, if there are any game around that Woofer can hunt, etc.
I still have yet to travel more than a day up into the mountains from where I live now, I wanted to finish my shelter before I decide to explore the entire Muir woods.
I’ve been in my part of the woods for 2 years now, and I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in here.
Obviously there are other animals besides Woofer and I but what I mean is, someone else definitely lives somewhere in these woods.
I can usually see the faint glow of fire up in the mountains at night, and I can sometimes hear screaming or screeching- which scares the hell out of me.
Now that I’m practically finished with renovations for my shelter, at least the stuff that needed to get done immediately like fixing the roof and making the interiors livable, I can start to enjoy living here.
(The shelter so far, has 3 layers)
(Little river in front of the shelter)
(Kitchen area where she stores food, bottom floor in shelter)
(Main living space, middle floor in shelter, bed area is top floor in shelter. Scribbled-out area is the bookshelf in next pic)
(Where she keeps her books, she collects them on runs)
(Outside of her shelter where she cooks food)
After spending the morning reading an old book on the couch, I close it and place it back on the shelf.
“If I had known that the world was ending, I would’ve brought better books.”
I pack a bag with enough food and equipment to last me a couple of days and sling a bag of arrows over my shoulder and pick up my bow as I head out of my shelter and into the Muir woods.
Woofer still hasn’t come back from hunting. He’s sometimes gone for a day or two, to say I’m worried is a serious understatement.
He could hold his own against a bear if he came across one, and if he ran into some people out hunting for food he would scare the holy hell out of them.
But we haven’t come across any other people since before arriving to the Muir woods.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’m not lonely, living this way, because I’ve given up expecting that loneliness can be blotted out by anyone else. My loneliness is my own cherished possession and probably my only one.
As I make my way deeper into the woods and up the mountains, I relish in the quietness around me.
“It is so quiet out here, it is the quietest place in the world.” I say, continuing on.
A few hours pass as I walk into the uncharted parts Muir woods, I keep in mind that I have neighbours somewhere in here that I know nothing about.
I decide to stop on a large rock and eat some dried fish and drink water.
While eating I notice my boots, they’re pretty old. I’ve had them for a handful of years now and as one could tell by now, I walk around a LOT.
They’re basically at the ends of their life, if I push just enough with my toes on my right shoe, they lift the shoe up off the soul and you can see my sock.
These won’t do in the coming winter, but luckily by my calculations, it’s about early to mid summer, I have some time to head into the abandoned city and look for something.
As I chew on my fish jerky, I hear a loud..roar? I’m not sure what else to call it. It wasn’t like a bear or mountain lion, and definitely not Woofer. It was like, a man, but also not. God, I hope not.
Whatever it was, it got me upright on my feet, grabbing my shit and hauling ass out of there.
I’m confident as hell when it comes to protecting myself. I’ve just about mastered taekwondo and Krav Maga, although I learned these back from before and have been practicing since then. I’ve also mastered long range weapons like the bow n arrow, slingshot, and guns, but I haven’t used a gun of any sort since the beginning of the end of the world.
I’ve mastered the bō staff too. I came across one during my journeys on the road. However, for the first year or so that I had it, I used it mostly as a walking stick and as a means to help me cross/get over things, before I found a book that explained the art of the bō staff.
But seriously, what the hell was that?
Before I could move very far from the rock I sat on, I heard the unmistakable sounds of a heard of deer or something running somewhere to the left of me, a decent distance away, luckily for me.
They didn’t sound like they were getting any closer to me, thank god, but once I thought I had calmed down some, in the distance I swear I could make out dark figures jumping through the trees.
“I don’t know what the hell is going on in the most wonderful way” I half-heartedly laugh out.
Rubbing the space between my eyes, my curiosity got the better of me and I found myself pulling an arrow out from behind my back and readying it on my bow as I started to make my way towards wherever the figures in the trees were heading, ensuring that I stayed well behind them.
After trailing behind them for a while, I saw a a figure walking on the ground, and after getting a more clear look, I realized that this was a chimpanzee.
“No way..” I mutter to myself, making sure not to be heard.
All along this where the apes went? I guess it makes sense, it’s not very far from the Golden Gate Bridge.
I tighten my grip on my bow as I stay put watching the ape, when another one comes into view.
This one was bigger and looked older than the one I originally saw alone. Something about this bigger chimpanzee was.. alluring? Like, something deeper, something more to them than meets the eye.
The older ape touches a tree with mark on it. Hold on those marks-
Before I could fully process even gawking at the apes in front of me, a grizzly bear lunges out of hiding and attacks the smaller ape, leaving some nasty scratches along its chest and face.
The older ape jumps in front of the younger ape, holding its chest up and letting out a roar of sorts to intimidate the bear, but the bear roars back twice as loud.
To be honest, I thought about helping the apes, but against a grizzly bear? I only have my bow on me, and I don’t even know these apes, for all I know they could see me as just as much of a threat as the bear.
I get pulled out of my thoughts when the older ape lets out a loud call, to me it seemed like they were trying to get help, this made me feel rather guilty.
Not even a moment later, another chimpanzee jumps into view, spear in hand, and plunges it deep into the bears back.
After a moment of silence and anticipation, the new ape climbs on top of the bear to ensure it was dead, and checks on its companions.
They all seemed alright, other than the scratches the younger ape received, but they weren’t life threatening from what I could tell.
What happened next absolutely blew me out of the water and I almost gave my location away. The alluring one signed the words ‘thank you.’ To the new ape that just saved their lives.
“Sign language??” I mutter a little louder than I meant to.
There’s just no way, how could they communicate in a way like that?
But to my horror, I was heard.
The 3 chimps faced my direction. I didn’t dare move, hoping I could still get out of this, they partially heard me but they haven’t seen me yet.
From what I remember hearing on the news, these apes mostly escaped from testing labs, which means that there’s a high probability that in this situation, they would kill a human on sight.
I could try explaining that I’ve always been against animal testing, but that would probably fall on deaf ears.
After what felt like hours, the trees above the 3 apes fills with even more apes.
They start to hoot and sign to the apes below, from what I could make out, they were asking what happened and if they’re alright.
I understand sign language from before, one of the only friends I had in school was mostly deaf and I learned a lot of sign for them.
The alluring one signs to them, reassuring them, then faces back in my general direction. I’m not off the hook yet it seems.
The chimp that took out the grizzly hoots rather aggressively and picks their spear back up and throws it in my direction.
“Idiot!” I thought, they’re apes, they could probably smell a human from a mile away, of course they know I’m here!
The spear misses me by a couple of feet, I stumble back out of the bushes, landing on my bottom.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
I stand and take off in the other direction through the trees.
There’s just no way I’ll outrun so many apes. But I have to try.
The screeching and hooting of the apes behind me is deafening.
While running, my shoulder slams hard into the trunk of a tree, not enough to dislocate luckily. I continue to run.
I realize while running that I can’t lead them back to my shelter, even if it’s hours away from where I am right now, so I change my direction slightly, enough where I’m no longer going the right way to my shelter.
But of course, just like anyone who is running for their life in a situation like mine, my foot got caught in the looped root of a tree, sending me tumbling harshly to the ground.
I tumble for a moment and my back slams into the trunk of a large tree, knocking the wind out of me.
Vision blurry and gasping for air, I begin attempting to collect myself, preparing for the apes to get to me.
Not long after my fall, the apes begging to surround me.
In one liquid motion, I pull an arrow from my back and flip over off my stomach, pressing my back against the tree trunk and pulling the arrow back with my bow, breathing heavily.
The apes above continue hooting, but I’m not even trying to pay attention to what they could be signing.
An ape begins to approach me, walking on 2 legs. It’s the alluring one.
They stand on a tree stump maybe 15-20 feet from me, taking note of my readied bow and arrow.
The ape frowns at me, locks eyes with me and holds up their hand. The apes in the trees above us become silent.
“Lower.. the weapon.”
The ape in front of me says in a deep voice that I could feel rumble through my chest.
My eyes widen and my breath gets caught in my throat.
Did he just.. fucking talk??
After a minute of gaping at him like a fish out of water, I compose myself once again.
“You… you attacked me first.” I say finally, the words not feeling like my own.
The ape just continues to stare me, narrowing his eyes more if that was even possible.
“Lower.. the.. weapon.” He repeats himself, this time slightly louder.
I press my lips into a straight line, debating on what I should do next.
I sigh quietly, and begin lowering my bow, releasing my grip on the arrow and letting it fall softly between my feet.
The apes expression softens by a fraction of a fraction, to the point where I could honestly be making it up in hopes that he’ll just let me go.
He looks as if he’s about to say something again, but the older ape from before comes to his side and begins signing to him. Getting a better look at him up close, he looks like he’s been through the wringer one or twice.
While he signs frantically, I can make out “get rid of her” and “others” and “nothing but trouble!”
He signs again and my veins turn to ice.
“We must kill her!”
My grip on my bow handle tightens but I don’t point it up just yet, I don’t want to risk starting something.
The ape that spoke to me frowns at the older ape and huffs.
“No.” Was all he said and waves the older ape off.
The older ape looks pretty pissed and turns to look at me, baring his fangs and turns to leave.
My grip on my bow handle loosens slightly. I look back at the talking ape. He meets my eyes once again and seems to notice the fear in my eyes which had mostly left before the older ape came up to him.
‘You understand?’ He signed to me.
I nod, not taking my eyes off of his.
I thought about asking how the hell they are able to speak, let alone sign, but decided against it. Today is already just about as weird as I can handle. I am not asking any more questions.
As if he could hear my inner dialogue, he starts to speak once more, but is cut off when the sound of a large animal moving at a fast pace grows closer to us.
The apes start to hoot and chatter, signing about there being another bear. The ape in front of me stands taller and looks around.
Through the trees, a giant dark mass runs closer until it jumps into view, standing in front of me, growling aggressively and baring its fangs at the apes.
Feeling like 5 pounds was lifted off my face, I exhale with an anxious smile.
“Woofer!”
•
•
•
Chapter 2 of Us and them, done! I hope you’re all enjoying the series so far as much as I am, I’d love to hear anyone’s feedback or thoughts/hopes for this series!
Summary: You are a passionate Marine Biologist who has lived in the Yucatan Peninsula for some time now. After an encountered with a fabled god more information is learned about your past. The discoveries you make continue to unravel the world around you. This is only the beginning.
[Word count: 4,937]
☀
For the past couple of nights you were having the same recurring dream.
Jumbled fragmented memories tried their best to depict a clear enough picture that you could make sense of. All you could remember from your dreams was that you were awakened by the sound of a haunting song that put you in a trance; the melody led you to the beach where the villagers stood like statues, unaffected by the song, watching as you walked into the sea covered in heads peeking out of the water. They covered the entire bay. There seemed to be more eyes watching you from the water than there were people in Mérida.
You tried and tried but you could not remember what happened before it led you to such a scene or what happened after you walked into the ocean and the water rose over your head leading you into the darkness.
You did remember, however, that before the waves took a hold of you completely you looked up to see the mighty shadow of the king that flew imposingly overhead. His features were covered in darkness but he was outlined by the moon. In his hand was his spear, glistening with power. Though you could not see his expression you could read his satisfaction as the waves claimed you as their own.
Correction, as he claimed you for himself.
K'uk'ulkan.
It was no surprise to see him in your dreams. He had easily conquered your thoughts even during the day.
There were those that claimed dreams held meanings. You were never one to buy into it too much given that most of your dreams normally didn’t make any sense and it was logical that someone like him spent so much time in your thoughts that he could pop up in a dream or two. But you were not one to have the same dream over and over. Especially not the same exact dream, while only being able to remember the same exact things despite the fact your gut feeling told you there was a lot happening before and after the scene you could remember.
☀
“¿Crees que los sueños tienen significado?”
(Do you believe dreams have meaning?)
You had been invited by a friend you had made in the village, Clara and her husband Jorge, to a fishing trip. It felt so nice to leave the bay and enjoy the open ocean while someone else was manning the boat. Together, you and Clara worked on preparing the nets you would be fishing with. They had been one of the first to approach you when you had arrived at the village and though you felt familiar to their culture thanks to your mentor sharing it with you they were the two you learned from the most.
The Maya had never disappeared despite what the history books liked to say. Their descendants were still living in their ancestral lands proudly keeping their traditions alive among the strong colonial and Spanish influence left behind. You had seen this long before you met the god their pyramid was dedicated to and you felt unbelievably fortunate to learn directly from them.
“Claro que si. Todos los sueños tienen significado, incluso los que crees que no. Mi gente cree firmemente en el hecho que los sueños son algo que tu alma puede ver venir.” She said kindly, moving from working on the net to preparing the bait that would be used. “Has tenido algo en mente por días, me di cuenta. De niños, los mayores siempre nos animaban a hablar de nuestros sueños. Nos ayudaron a interpretarlos.”
(I sure do. All dreams have meaning, even the ones you think don't. My people strongly believe in the fact that dreams are something that your soul can see coming. You've had something on your mind for days, I could tell. As kids we are always encouraged by the elders to talk about our dreams. They helped us interpret them.)
You took a look at Jorge before turning to her, putting your net down and leaning your elbows on your knees. “¿Puedes ayudarme a interpretar el mío?”
(Could you help me interpret mine?)
You felt nervous talking about it.
You knew she could tell.
Growing up without anyone meant not trusting those around you with anything you considered personal. You had never had a sibling to talk about your dreams and aspirations to. You didn’t have a mother or a father to go to for comfort after a nightmare. It had taken you decades to find a friend you could fully trust and she was gone. You kept your personal life a secret from everyone, even the friends you were with now did not know much about who you truly were. You talked to everyone in the village; they knew you were a hard worker, they knew you loved the ocean, they knew you to be a respectful yet stubborn individual, they knew you to be closed off.
Yet they still welcomed you like Altagracia had.
Perhaps they all shared that gift of being able to look further beyond what they simply saw in front of them.
It wasn’t only talking about yourself that made you nervous, it was also the subject. You had given him your word that you would not reveal his existence to anyone. Ever. He had been generous, trusting you enough to take your word as truth and allowed you once again to step into his oceans. And now you were going to speak about him in his waters. You feared betraying him especially when it wasn’t your intention. Some secrets that were better off staying as secrets. You knew this.
But you were having trouble processing all of this alone.
“Agradezco su confianza en mí. Si me lo permite, sería un honor escucharlo.”
(I appreciate your trust in me. If you would allow me, I would be honored to listen.)
You trusted your instincts. Clara had never once given you a reason to doubt her.
Framing it as a dream and only a dream, you began to explain what you could remember.
Her hands moved purposefully as she separated the bait and prepared the hooks, eyes meeting yours to confirm that she was listening as she worked yet keeping them away to help calm your nervousness. It was not the first time that outsiders were enchanted by the ocean. The gods of her people were present, they had always been, and those who sought after them with hate in their hearts were struck down by their fury. You had not appeared to have come to their village with any of those intentions. You had come here to heal even if you had not known it at the time.
But it seemed that there was more at work here than healing.
You felt better after you were done though your hands gripped onto the net tightly. The ocean did not change around you. The sun continued to shine brightly, the ocean continued to be fairly calm and docile, the wind had not gotten any stronger in anger. You had described the king as a serpent rather than a man; detailing the colorful feathers of his headpiece to be the feathers covering the body of the winding beast that slithered through the air as if it were creating the ocean breeze itself.
Clara placed the last of the hooks in their bin and took a moment to think before facing you. There was a change in her kind eyes; the softness was still there but there was also apprehension. The serpent god was many things; a bringer of peace and founder of Chichen Itza, the one who was there at the beginning of time and put forth order when helping create all things, the one who fiercely protected those who inhabited the lands and dwelled in the depths of the ocean. His powers over creation also allowed him to destroy anything he pleased as there was nothing in the world that wouldn’t submit to his might.
“Es recurrente.” You spoke to fill the silence more than anything, her dark eyes pierced your own and it pushed you to speak without meaning to. “Cada noche…nada cambia. ¿Deberia estar preocupada?”
(It's recurring. Every night nothing about it…changes. Should I be worried?)
She took your hand in hers. “Tu alma siempre ha pertenecido al océano. No debes temerlo en sueños o incluso ahora. El dios que estás viendo es poderoso. Creo que este sueño es una representación de ti alcanzando un nuevo capítulo en tu vida. El agua es el elemento del cambio y K'uk'ulkan representa tu vida llevándote al océano para ser renovada. Le k'áak'náabo' a k'aaba'.”
(Your soul has always belonged to the ocean. You shouldn't fear it in dreams or even now. The god you are seeing is powerful. I believe this dream is a representation of you reaching a new chapter in your life. Water is the element of change and K'uk'ulkan represents your life leading you to the ocean to be made new. The sea calls to you.)
The moment she was done speaking, after speaking in her native tongue, the boat jumped, hitting a rather rough wave causing everything to be thrown around. You quickly moved to grab the hooks to distract yourself from how fast your heart was beating. You heard Clara ask her husband what had happened and he quickly replied that it was nothing but a wave and that he could see the other boats lowering their anchors. You thanked her quickly and nodded when she smiled and moved to help her husband but you could not forget the cloud of darkness over her eyes when you mentioned seeing the serpent god.
You trusted Clara but now you weren’t sure if her thoughts on your dream were true or if she had spun it into a positive tale for your sake.
Your soul belonged to the ocean and your life was changing. That had been her interpretation. In your dream, you had felt his satisfaction in him luring you into the water. What did it mean? Why did you feel it in your bones that this was more important than just any dream?
“¿Lista para pescar?” Jorge grinned as he clapped his hands moving to help you arrange the nets. He was the most energetic man you had ever met, always smiling and joking, radiating pure eagerness no matter what he was doing. “Es diferente a lo que estás acostumbrada. ¿Estás segura de que estás lista?”
(Ready to fish? It’s different from what you’re used to. Are you sure you’re ready?)
“¿Lista? Estuve lista toda la mañana!” You grinned, focusing on the task at hand and leaving your dream omens for another time.
(Ready? I’ve been ready all morning!)
“¡Entonces vamos! ¡Tu primera lección de pesca como lo hace mi gente!”
(Then let’s go! Your first lesson on fishing, how my people do it!)
☀
You couldn’t sleep.
Despite the long day out at sea fishing among the villagers, suffering the glare of the sun and feeling the exhaustion after a long day of work, the comfort of your bed offered no help to silence your thoughts.
The bottom of your dress brushed atop the sand as you wandered forward. You had been walking for quite some time. It didn’t worry you that it was after midnight and that you were walking along a new path away from the bay because above the treetops proudly stood a pyramid that would always serve as a beacon home.
Home.
You still weren’t used to that word. You don’t think you’ve said it out loud in a really long time despite feeling it in your heart. It just never felt right. When would it feel right? When you followed your dream and followed an unknown and powerful god into the water? That would never happen. You would never really have a home and that was okay. Not everyone needed one. Nomads existed in every culture, across all of time, as proof that not everyone felt the same desire to lay down their roots and stay in one place forever.
Because that was your desire, right? You didn’t want to stay. Or did you?
The frustration inside of you came from never allowing yourself to stay in one place for too long and now that you have you began to doubt everything. That much you knew. But then there was the unknown element of the absolutely alluring and dangerous man you had met that asked the same questions that made you run your entire life.
Answers to those questions only ever led to paths filled with pain.
That’s why you had to run.
That’s why you were taught to run.
Heading out from between the trees, you walked towards a new section of the beach you haven't been to before. This one was rocky. There were multiple different rock formations alongside the water and it created perfect pools for little creatures to live in. You immediately headed over to see if you could find a hermit crab or a starfish. You loved those little guys.
“I really should’ve brought a flashlight,” You muttered as you looked around the ponds, lifting your dress so it wouldn’t get too wet. “I gotta come back in the daytime and take some notes.”
A noise from behind you caught your attention.
Your eyes narrowed as you turned around and scanned the area. It was a bird. It had to be a bird. But after midnight? That wasn’t common. Yet there was no denying what you were hearing, the consistently singular note chirping of a bird that you could not see. Stepping down from an elevated rock pool, you turned a bit towards the moonlight and that’s when you saw it.
A Resplendent Quetzal.
A smile formed on your lips as you watched the brightly colored bird fly overhead, circling you as it called out into the night, filling the silence and joining the sounds of the waves. It was beautiful! They were known for their stunning green, red, and blue feathers that looked iridescent in the light.
The resplendent quetzal was sacred to the Maya.
Venerated as the god of the air, symbol of goodness and light, it was their feathers and colors that were attributed to…
K'uk'ulkan.
Green, red, and blue feathers adorned the body of the great serpent as it glided through the air; a god of the wind, sharing its glory and beauty just as this bird was doing with you. Another one of his symbols appeared before you. Was this a message? No way was it a coincidence.
You moved closer to the beach keeping your eyes focused on the bird until something else caught your eye.
Being pushed into the sand by the waves was your mask.
Your diving mask.
The one you had lost when he left you inside the pyramid. It was as if the ocean was presenting it to you. Immediately, you looked towards the ocean. There was nothing out of place in the dark water but you did not let that fool you. You continued to look out as you moved to grab the mask from the sand. A part of you was beyond delighted to have it back! Diving had not been the same without it and you had not enjoyed having to go back to using oxygen tanks that limited your time in the water. Another part of you was apprehensive, not worried per say, just wondering why you kept being the target of the feathered serpent’s generosity.
The mask had been modified.
The edges were lined with a green stone (or was it a gem?). Jade, maybe? Jade held a huge significance in Mayan culture, it was more important than gold; often being associated with water, the stone symbolized life and death. You remember Altagracia once explaining this to you on a trip in China, as the stone held a great importance in their culture too. There were pearls scattered along it as well, different sizes and shapes. The inside remained the same, mostly, aside from it now having a mouth piece that was meant to cover the area from your nose to your chin. You had no idea what it was made of or what it was meant to do but the shock had not worn off yet.
You had your mask back.
He’d given it back to you.
“A satal. Ba'ale' le k'áak'náabo' a k'aaba'.”
(You are lost. But the sea calls to you.)
His appearance did not surprise you. All of the elements leading to him making his presence known were there. Your eyes stayed attached to your mask, running your fingers along the new designs as he landed on the soft sand in front of you. When your eyes did look up you took the opportunity to really see the being before you.
He was beautiful.
The water that ran down his neck and shoulders enhanced the rich color of his skin. He was in his element; iridescent as the feathers of the quetzal, sacred. There was not a man more confident than the king before you who’s dark eyes held yours with a yearning to discover the secrets in you. His neck was adorned with gold and pearls and there was what seemed to be armor on his arms and legs made of the same things. He was enchanting as a siren. It didn’t need to be said and according to your subconscious that had created your dreams, you had associated him with one.
“Tech le k'áak'náabo'.” You replied quickly after he raised a brow at your staring, which didn’t do much to save you from embarrassment but you could see that your response surprised him.
(You are the sea.)
He had not been expecting you to answer him back in his language much less understand what he was saying but you were a quick study. Not only that those had been the exact same words Clara had told you about your dreams. Had he heard that conversation?
“Tene' tuukulo'oba' le k'áak'náabo' bey iik', ba'ale' ma' ya'ab ba'ax a u taasik waye'.”
(I am both the sea and the air but I am not what has brought you here.)
“That’s when you lost me. I’m not fluent in your language. Nowhere near it, actually.”
“I am surprised you know what little you do.”
“I tend to learn quickly, given if the subject interests me.” You don’t know why you said it like that and to save yourself from any further embarrassment, you kept talking. “I didn’t expect to see this again. The mask. I thought I had dropped it last time we met, well, not last time exactly. The time before that. After the cave. Oh! The turtle is doing really well, by the way. There’s a small facility in Izamal and they’ve been doing a great job. They don’t have many animals currently so she’s been the star of the show.”
He extended out his hand and instinctively you placed whatever you had in your hands into his. He examined your mask for a moment before removing the mouth piece that had been attached by his people and held it up for you.
“Should the hard surface ever be compromised, this will allow you to breathe underneath the water until you are able to reach the surface.” He explained before he placed it back inside and it seemed to readily attach itself. “I am glad to hear that the creature is recovering.”
“I was wondering what that was for. Thank you.”
“The markings around it will give you safe passage should you be at depths where my people may see you.”
“That is very generous. Truly. Dios bo’otik.”
(Thank you)
You had nothing to give and even if you did you doubt that there was anything you could find that would please a man like him. He had given away too much information about his kingdom, aside from that fact that it did exist and it was as vast as the oceans, but just by how he looks you knew that there was little he could want.
The oceans had always held riches and they were all his.
Perhaps that is why you gestured to the place beside you on the beach where you sat. You did not have riches or great knowledge to share but you could guess that a man who took care of an entire empire rarely got a moment of peace. You had the sense that you were right when he wordlessly took his place next to you.
He glanced at the oceans sparkling in delight at having his attention while you looked around for a moment, noticing the silence signaling the bird’s departure. For a moment you did consider if you had even truly seen it. He made no mention of it.
“There are not many that inhabit this area. The closest village still sits a good distance away from the pyramid’s beaches.” He observed.
“My, um, mentor had a research cabin built not far from the bay. That’s where I spend my time. The locals are cautious enough to build away. I’m sure it would make storm season just that more difficult to deal with if they were this close to the water.”
They were cautious but not only because of the storms. There were many stories that this beach held. Stories written by the Spanish of a demon that came from the water and cursed the land as hellfire rained down and destroyed what they had built. Stories from the villagers of an angry god that protected the area, that flew above the waters and feared nothing.
“Do you not fear the storms?”
“There are other things to worry about.” You surprised yourself with your honestly and made a point to evade his gaze when he turned to look at you.
“What do you fear?”
You kept your expression neutral, a mask you wore that was well practiced. It concealed your thoughts well enough. You were sure that he was not one of them; he clearly wasn’t from your world but there was nothing guaranteeing that it was safe to speak to him. You didn’t know him well enough. You didn’t know him at all.
He read you easily.
“My people were from these lands. They also did not fear the storms. They worshiped the god of the rain knowing that prosperity and new life would come after each strike of the clouds that would produce the rain and the thunder.”
“They were brave.”
“To put your trust in something unknown to you is a symbol of bravery.” His eyes met yours this time and though his tone was purely conversational, the meaning did not go over your head. “This world has forced many to hide who they are. It has taken their identities from them, made them ashamed of who they are. My people were freed of that fate. We were given something much greater this land.”
“I can only imagine what it looks like.” Your smile was soft but full of wonder. “I used to dream of finding Atlantis as a kid. In one of the homes I was in I found a map of the world in the basement. I spent so many days that summer reading all I could about it at the library and then running home and circling where I thought it was. A world away from this one? What I wouldn’t have given to just…disappear.”
“My city is called Talokan.”
“Talokan.” You carefully copied his pronunciation and felt proud when he nodded, pleased. “Do you spend a lot of time up here? For someone who lives at the bottom of the ocean you seem to have a pretty good understanding of what happens on the land.”
“It would be unwise of me not to know the ways your world changes. Many things tend to stay the same from my experience. It is key to notice what developments there are.” He continued. “I am from the sea as I am from here. My mother was from the surface world. These lands were hers. The god of rain had spoken to our shaman and through his blessing we were able to discover a way to live within the water. I was the first child born to my people. I am a mutant.”
Your reaction had given him just what he wanted.
It was a confirmation of what he had theorized from the moment he began to understand your connection to his world.
“Don’t say that!” Your words were harsh and your eyes were wide, standing to look around you as if you had forgotten it was the middle of the night and no one but the god shared the beach with you.
Everything told you to run.
You had not said, thought, or even acknowledged the existence of that word in years when you thought you had finally gotten away from it. You had outrun it. You had traveled the world, hopping from place to place, leaving few tracks and enjoying the safety of the oceans for years.
So many years.
Anger and fear had kept you alive for a long time.
You were not going to consider how your actions were disrespectful. It didn’t matter. He had been kind only to take advantage of your curiosity. You could handle the questioning, you could handle the looks of suspicion, all of that you could remain neutral to but that word, that damned word, would always find you.
He stood and watched as you walked closer to the water and threw the mask into the waves. He could see how angry you were at your own reaction, at the fact you left your emotions slip. You were choosing to stand your ground and defend your reaction. He could see that when you turned to him, eyes raging, dress caught in the breeze, moonlight forming a halo around you; you were a sight to behold.
“You can take your mask and stay the hell away from me.” Your eyes were watering and that only added to your fury.
“They have made you run for so long.”
He took a step closer to you.
He was being cautious not because he feared he would be harmed but because there was something growing inside of him from the first time he met you. He couldn’t explain what it was. It went beyond you being a mutant. That wasn’t important. He wanted you to understand that you did not have to live in that fear that others forced you to feel because you were different.
Something deep within him was answering to the pull that brought him to you.
You held a hand in front of you. “Stay away from me!”
The king stood still as the once gentle waves rushed forward. It wasn’t an attack and he would not label it as one but the water had moved forward aggressively only to pool at his feet before sinking into the sand and retreating. You seemed shocked by this too; quickly lowering your hand and turning to look at the pools you had been exploring that were now filled to the brim with water.
A little crab had been displaced from his pool by the wave and was making his way back.
He did not move as you quickly made your way back to the tree line and disappeared. Your expression had gone from anger, to shock, to fear at the mention of a single word. There was no more proof needed. It had not been a coincidence that night and it had not been your instincts either. The water did not only call to you but it answered your own call for protection, even if it was just a gentle push back; it had answered your call against him.
Your mask lay at his feet. Once again brought back to the shore.
He took it in his hands and admired the craftsmanship of his people. He knew you had liked it too, he had seen you admiring it. The inscription on the side held a message. He doubted you understood it. Perhaps one day he would tell you or your curiosity would lead you to the answer.
☀
The beach was soon left empty.
It’s two inhabitants returning to their homes each with a chest filled with swirling emotions.
The god bowed his head in greeting to his people as he walked into his hut and laid the siibil (gift) he had made for you on the table that sat in the middle of the room. He had enjoyed the moment of peace at your side. But there was no time to focus on what was but rather on what will be. Tomorrow’s sun will rise and there is no guarantee you would be seen again. But there was a change in the wind and something told him, deep down, that you would be in Zama for many more sunrises.
He took the shell that had his paints and turned to the wall behind him.
This was only the beginning.
☀
(Author's Note: I did take inspiration from the movie and I've been doing quite a bit of research to try and be as respectful as possible! I had the reader wandering to water as Queen Ramonda expressed that's how she found peace (I thought it would be interesting to have the reader find the opposite of peace doing the same thing), Zama is where the pyramid is located (which is modern day Tulum outside of the MCU), and the Maya did use nets to fish and you could see the Talokanil using nets a lot in that glorious scene where Shuri got a tour in the movie. Next Chapter should be up in a week! Thank you for all your support and for reading!)
(A/N: Also, someone had asked me why I use the sun as my little dividers! The Maya saw the sun as a symbol of a new age; K'uk'ulkan brought the sun to his people, signaling that new age! Thought it would be nice to include it in!)
Warnings: Language, Violence, Depictions of drowning, Fluff
Summary: Delivered to safety following the battle on the beach, you are left reeling as you grapple with nightmares and questions about an uncertain future. But as you come to know more about the Talokanil people and grow closer to their king, Namor is faced with a question of his own – what does he do with this stranger from the surface?
A/N: It’s heeeeeere!! As always, thank you so much for your patience, for being here, and for reading! And a BIG thank you just for taking the time to engage with and be a part of this story. You all have been so encouraging to me as new writer, and I love being able to create something around characters that so many hold so dear. Comments and reblogs make my heart happy, so please show some love, share the joy, and be kind!
***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!
You bolt upright in bed, but immediately regret it when your entire skull starts pounding. Cradling your head in your hands, you take deep breaths until it passes. With a sigh of relief, you glance around your room, struggling to remember the previous night.
Brief flashes of Jerry’s hands on your hips bring a blush to your cheeks, and more pain. Taking a few more deep breaths seems to relieve it, bringing more flashes of Jerry’s lips on your neck, but then it all goes blank.
Feeling a dull throb through your entire body, you throw off your covers and get up to move toward the bathroom. As soon as you flip the light switch, you catch your reflection in the mirror; you’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday, with the exception of your jacket.
“What the hell?” Leaning forward over the sink and notice your eyes looking darker than usual. Turning slightly side to side, you also notice a light bruise forming on your neck.
With a sigh, you turn on the shower, cranking the heat way up before stepping in.
The hot water relaxes your tense muscles, and the steam seems to ease your headache. However, you still can’t remember much of last night, especially not how you got back to your room.
With shaky hands and her leg bouncing up and down nervously, Tessa sat between the three women in the Sons clubhouse, her gaze filled with uncertainty as she glanced at each of them, desperately trying to read their respective faces after she told them in detail why the attack on Tara had occurred.
"Wow, and I thought I had my fair share of exes who were crazy. But if this was a competition to see who had the worst ex, you won." Lyla was the first to speak up and immediately reached for Tessa's hand, surprising the young woman somewhat with the gesture.
"Well, I'm not proud of it", Tessa huffed, running her free hand through her straight hair. "On the other hand, I wouldn't have Sawyer without himᅳ but that's the only good thing that came out of this relationship."
"Yeah, I guess you could say that", Gemma huffed, rising from her chair to pace around next to the table, her hands on her hips. "We have to do something about this guy. He means danger and trouble, we don't need that right now. And no one treats us with such disrespect. Attacking the President's Old Lady?", the older woman asked with a snort, shaking her head at the stupidity of this guy. "Does he have a death wish?"
The dark-haired girl swallowed quietly, grateful for Lyla's support, whose hand squeezed hers gently, an understanding look in her blue eyes.
Tessa took a deep breath, searching for the right words. "It was just a warning, a message to prove to me that he has no problem hurting people I care about."
"How did he even find you?!" Gemma hissed. Not because she was angry, but because she was worried. "Tara could be dead, Tessa! This happens if you start working for the porn industry. You get famous and people start recognizing you. I bet he found you on a website, which means you literally lured him to us."
Tessa's gaze dropped, from the corner of her eye she glanced at Tara, who hasn't said anything on the subject yet. Didn't that say enough? Tara was probably thinking about the best words she could spit at her to show her that she didn't want anything to do with her anymore. The thing was that Tessa could even understand if Tara was angry and wanted distance.
"Gemma, stop it. She's been through enough, don't you think?" Tara warned gently, catching a confused yet grateful look from Tessa. With a small smile, Tara looked at her friend and reached for her free hand. "I know what you're going through, I also had an ex who used my friends to keep me smallᅳ and it was horrible, scary time in my life. I hope Happy knows about this Cal?"
"Yes, yes of course, I told him about it yesterday", Tessa assured the doctor, a wave of immense relief washing over her as Tara's warm gaze continued to rest on her and a satisfied hum vibrated through the brunette's throat. "So..does that mean you're not mad at me because you were attacked because of me?"
"Jesus, no, why should I, Tessa?" Tara quickly shook her head, almost hurt that Tessa thought of her that way. "Any person with common sense knows that you are just as much the victim. It's not your fault", putting emphasis on her last few words, Tara gave the matriarch an intense look. "It's not her fault her ex is in Charming now and stabbing her friends, Gem."
"I agree with Tara. Tessa did nothing wrong and most definitely she didn't lure him to us", Lyla chimed in, her shoulders straightened as she prepared to defend her friend. "The only person we should blame here is her psycho ex, because of whom she constantly has to live in fear."
"Then she should've put an end to it sooner", Gemma declared with a huff, stopping in her tracks before letting out a sigh. "He could hurt the kids, hurt the clubᅳ then what?"
Tessa's gaze wandered back and forth between her friends, speechless. It was hard to put into words how grateful she was for the support of both of them. "Thanks guys, you have no idea how much your support means to me."
Thanks to her friends, her self-esteem had regained some strength, and she looked at Gemma. "As they say, it's not my fuckin' fault, Gemma. Trust me, I feel horrible enough that he's here because of me now, but there's nothing I could've done about it", the young woman paused to take a deep breath before she continued, her brown eyes filled with determination. "And if you have a problem with me because of that now, I can't change it. But it was never my intention to put any of you in danger."
A grin formed on Gemma's lips as a proud look crossed her face as Tessa gave her a little lecture. There weren't many women willing to tell her, SAMCRO'S queen, what they thoughtᅳ apparently Tessa had balls and that showed strength, which Gemma admired.
"I don't have a problem with you, sweetie", Gemma winked before sitting back down, leaning back with her arms crossed. "But I have a problem with my family getting attacked and threatened."
"And that's okay, you have every right to be angry, but so am I", Tessa replied simply as she rubbed the tip of her nose. "But, and I say this with complete respect for you, don't be a bitch to me just because I have a history with the guy."
Tara and Lyla exchanged a look, the hint of a proud smile on their lips. To earn Gemma's respect, you simply had to prove to Gemma that you had as much willpower and fire inside you as the Queen herself. That was the way into Gemma's heartᅳ which Tara and Lyla also had to prove.
What can you say, it wasn't easy to prove yourself against Gemma. But if it happened, you gained Gemma's full respect.
"You know, baby." With her voice lowered, Gemma leaned over the table, grinning at Tessa. "I don't like people who tell me what I can do and what not, but I see myself in youᅳ I like that. We have a lot in common, that's good."
Not quite sure if this was actually such a good thing without meaning it to be offensive in any way, Tessa slowly raised the corner of her mouth. "Get used to it, because I'm not someone you can push aroundᅳ not anymore."
"And that's good", Gemma hummed as she placed her hands on top of Tessa's, patting them. "You have my full support when it comes to your ex, sweetheart, and I mean it. We women should stick together."
"Finally something meaningful coming out of your mouth", Tara teased her mother-in-law, her lips curled into a smile as Gemma just snorted but then immediately let out a laugh. "But I agree; we women have to stick together. That Cal guy", the name fell from Tara's tongue like poison. "He will regret that he ever stepped a foot inside Charming."
"Damn girl, you're turning me on", Lyla, fully impressed, looked at the doctor. Thanks to Tessa, Lyla and Tara also spent more time together. "I like you more and more."
With a smirk, Gemma rested her arm on the top rail of the chair. "Right? Our professional doctor is slowly becoming a real badass."
"Who says I can't be both?" Tara asked challengingly, a playful twinkle in her eyes.
"Exactly", Tessa shrugged with a grin. "I think she embodies both really well. A professional doctor in the hospital and a strong-willed mother and wife at home."
Tara threw her hands in the air, chuckling as a blush spread across her cheeks from all the compliments. "Okay, that's enough, you're making me blush."
It was moments like these, surrounded by her friends, that Tessa had never had before. Even during a troubling situation, while her ex was trying to hurt her newfound family and friends, there were brief moments when she was just being happy.
One more reason to banish Cal from her life.
ᚔ
Tara walked up to Jax as he was dismounting his bike, flashing her a wink with his infamous Teller grin. Her lips curled into a smile as she wrapped her arms around his neck after giving Chibs, who had come back with Jax, a quick hug.
"Hey babe." Jax' arm snaked around Tara's waist, pulling her close to him as he glanced around and waved at his son and Sawyer, whom he spotted by the swing set Tara had come from just a moment ago. "Are you watching them alone?"
"Yeah, Gemma had to get some things", Tara explained with a nod, removing one arm from his neck, adjusting the collar of his kutte. "And Happy picked Tessa up earlier, said he wanted to show her somethingᅳ then I offered that Sawyer could stay here."
"Okay", Jax said, nodding. A year ago, everything would never have worked out so harmoniously; Tara's dislike for his lifestyle, his club and the other women here had been too great. "So everything is going well between you and Tessa?"
"Yes, yes it does", Tara replied relatively quickly, smiling. "She's a few years younger than me, but somehow we just fit together. And Abel and Sawyer are already inseparable."
With a chuckle, the blonde could only agree. "Yeah, they are. Abel would love to play with him twenty four seven."
"He's already asked if Sawyer and him can have a sleepover", Tara told her husband, shaking her head in amusement. "I told them that Sawyer can spend the weekend at our place if it's okay for Tessa and you too."
"Sure, why not." As he pulled Tara into his side and walked towards the small office as Chibs and Juice joined the kids, his expression became a little more serious. "Chibs and I were with Hap earlier, he said he needed to talk to us."
Tara's head shot up. "So you already know about Tessa's ex?"
"I do." The topic leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, Jax let out a snort as he gently pushed his wife through the narrow door and pulled up his mother's chair, sitting down. "Sit down, babe."
With a deep sigh, Tara sank down onto the well-used couch behind her, her clasped hands tucked between her legs. She could feel Jax' intense gaze on her while he was just trying to figure out how she was doing.
"Jax, you can't be mad at her", Tara pleaded, yet her voice was firm and demanding as she reached for her husband's hand. "Remember Josh? The Fed killed you? He was..he was also using my friend's for his sick games, trying to suppress me."
"Hey", with a slight tilt to the side of his head, Jax closed his hands around Tara's. "Who says I'm mad at her, Tara? Neither Chibs nor I blame Tessa for what happened to youᅳ that's on that sick bastard."
Tara let out a relieved breath that she had held back. With a nod of her head, she shot Jax a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Jax. Tessa feels shitty enough already. Gemma didn't really react supportive at first."
"Great." Sighing, Jax rubbed a hand over his face, smoothing out his beard. "What did my mom do this time?"
"Nothing too bad", Tara assured with a shrug. "But you know Gemma, of course she tried to find someone to blameᅳ you know how she is when it comes to her family, she's.."
"..she's going crazy", Jax finished the sentence for his wife with a sigh. Sometimes he could just shake his head when it came to his mother. "I hope she apologized."
The brunette made a quick gesture with her hand. "Well, sort of, in her own way. But apparently Tessa really left an impression on your momᅳ that's good."
"Has she?" The blonde raised an amused brow as he took both of his wife's hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over the back of her hands. "I think it's good that you've finally found a friend here, I mean it, babe. And I think Tessa needed that, too."
A frown crossed Tara's face as she thought about Jax' words, actually letting them sink in. "To be honest, that's exactly what I needed. A friend, a real one. Someone I can talk to who isn't like Gemmaᅳ no offense. And I found a friend in Tessa; and even in Lyla."
"No, I understand it." Jax tucked a strand of Tara's hair behind her ear, admiring her beauty. "I love you, you know that?"
"I love you too, Jax", the brunette whispered sincerely, her heart beating hard in her chest. That, moments like that, was what Tara had longed for when she came back to Charming four years ago. She just had to first realize that she couldn't change Jaxᅳ something she no longer wanted to do. "So, does that mean we're helping Tessa?"
"Of course we're going to help her", Jax spoke with determination. "Happy's coming over later so we can all sit down and discuss what happens next. So far only Chibs and I knowᅳ but until we figure something out, we'll all keep our eyes open. And hey", Jax took Tara's chin between his index finger and thumb. "No trips around town alone, okay? Even if you girls are together, you take Rat or a patched member with you, understand?"
"Good, she finally deserves some peaceᅳ the guy can't come near Sawyer, he seems unpredictable. He has to disappear, Jax, just like Josh back then", Tara literally pleaded. In her eyes, people like Cal who would even go as far and hurt children, were the real scum.
Her tense features softened, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "We're not stupid, Jax. Neither Tessa nor I nor Lyla want to risk anything. And we'll be extra careful when we have the kids with us."
"He will, babe, Happy will make sure of that. But we have to be smart", Jax explained to his wife, looking at her proudly as she didn't even argue with him but saw the danger herself. "Good. How are you? You got another appointment at St. Thomas about your wound?"
"I'm usually the last person to be a fan of violence, butᅳ" Tara took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling before looking back into Jax' blue eyes. "But hurry up, find a way before something worse happens", she told the blonde, her voice filled with gentleness as she answered his next question. "I'm okay, the painkillers are doing what they're supposed to do. And no, not today, but tomorrow morning. Do you want to come with me?"
"Babe, listen to me", grabbing her hands again, Jax' gaze was full of seriousness. "Nothing will happen. All the Old Ladies and kids are always under observation by one of usᅳ you don't have to worry. And of course I wanna come with you."
"If you say so", Tara sighed softly, still feeling uneasy.
"Come here." After Jax got up, he offered her his hand when he realized that his wife was still skeptical, and helped her to her feet, carefully because of her wound. Then he loosely placed his arms around her shoulders to pull her in a comforting hug. "You, Abel and Thomas are safe. Tessa and Sawyer are also safe with Happy. Everything will be okay, Tara."
"I know. It's just..scary", the brunette murmured, her eyes closed as her forehead rested against Jax', rubbing their noses together.
ᚔ
Happy and Tessa exchanged a look, a smile on the latter's lips while Happy's face still looked stoic as always. But at the latest when Sawyer came running towards both of them and wrapped his short arms around one of Happy's and one of Tessa's legs, Happy also allowed his lips to curl into a smile.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you", the four-year-old exclaimed, his greenish eyes shining with joy. "You are the best!"
The little pit bull, the reason for Sawyer's joy, ran after the boy, wagging his tail as he circled around Sawyer's legs, waiting for someone to play with him.
"You gotta thank your mom, buddy", Happy croaked, ruffling the boy's hair. "She let me get you a dog."
"Well, you already had the dog and didn't really give me much of a choice", Tessa corrected with an amused chuckle, not the least bit annoyed by Happy's action. She fell in love with the new family member the moment Happy had shown her the pit bull. "But hey, buddy, that's Happy's dog too, not just yours, okay?"
"That's okay, we can share", the four-year-old explained with an eager nod, giving them the widest smile. Satisfied, Sawyer plopped down on the floor, a moment later his giggles filled the living room, a sound that lit up the entire room as the still small pit bull jumped onto his lap and licked his cheek. "That tickles!"
Tessa clicked her tongue, just enjoying the moment as she watched how happy her son was. When Happy's arm unexpectedly slipped around her waist, a smile crept onto her dark lips. With a comfortable sigh she leaned into his side.
"Thanks for that, Happy, for making him happy", she murmured, turning her head so that she could look up at him, noticing how relaxed he suddenly seemed. "You okay?"
His eyes met hers as he gave her a smile. "Yeah. The dog will keep you extra safe", he rasped, his features becoming harder again, more serious. "I want you to stay here, with me. The CPS Lady can't tell you where you have to live as long as Sawyer is safe and loved."
Surprised by the sudden offer, which Tessa secretly thought was pretty sweet and made her heart beat twice as fast, she now fully turned in his arms, his arm now encircling her entire waist.
"Are you serious?", she asked, still a little baffled, as if she was hallucinating.
"Yeah." Happy pushed her black hair back, revealing more of her pretty face, a warmth filling his chest as he looked into her brown eyes. "You're safer here."
"Is that the only reason?", she wanted to know, her voice barely a whisper.
The muscles in Happy's jaw twitched as he tried to force himself to tell her the real reason. Not that the reason he gave her was an excuse. Tessa and Sawyer were safer here with him, that was a fact. But that wasn't the only reason either.
"No", he said, shaking his head as he cupped Tessa's face in his hands, almost tentatively. "I want you around, you and Sawyer."
Tessa smiled, letting the tip of her nose ghost over his chin before lifting her chin slightly as Happy's hand slipped to the back of her neck, their lips just a few millimeters apart.
"I want that too", she whispered with the tiniest of smiles.
Just as she wanted to wrap her arm around his neck, wanting nothing more than to finally feel Happy's lips, Sawyer walked up and jumped up and down, full of excitement.
"Does he have a name yet?", he asked, giving the two of them his sweetest look. "Because I have a name for him!"
Happy just grumbled something incomprehensible under his breath as he once again didn't get the chance to finally kiss the woman who had been haunting his dreams for weeks. But instead of reacting annoyed, he placed a kiss on Tessa's forehead, pulled away from her and crouched down to scratch their dog behind his ear.
"No, he doesn't have a name yet", Happy assured the boy, smiling. "So about time he got one. What's your suggestion, buddy?"
"Baxter", Sawyer announced, chewing on his lip as he waited for an answer. "I like the name, do you?"
"Baxter", Happy repeated, studying the pit bull with the grey fur for a while before looking back at Sawyer. "That's a good name for him. You picked out the perfect name, buddy."
"I agree!" Sawyer beamed as Happy raised his hand to give him a high five. Super happy and proud of himself, Sawyer sat on his knees to be a little taller and gave Happy a high five.
"Is mom okay with that too?" With the slightest smirk, Happy looked up at the woman, who was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and taking in the scene with a smile. And she, just standing there and doing nothing, looked, as always, fuckin' pretty.
"Yeah, I like it, really", she replied, smiling contentedly. "Baxter it is."
If it were like this every day, the world would be perfect and a much better place. That was all Tessa wantedᅳ her son to be happy, someone who cared about both of them and not just her, and a stable environment.
Summary: When the creature you fear so much manages to escape containment, will he show you any mercy or take you without any regret?
Author's note: I intend to make this story with just two chapters. This is the first, the second will soon be available. Hope you like it!
English is not my first language.
'ALERT: Specimen 375-6 is out of containment.
It's not training. All search and capture units were activated.
ALERT: Specimen 375-6 out of containment.'
You swallow hard as you read the warning message on your phone, the words falling over your body like a truck of bricks.
He had escaped.
The creature you knew and didn't know.
It was yet another top-secret government item, another non-human biological material captured and kept for research.
He stands out from the others, of course.
With his height, intimidating physique, and obvious intelligence, but you never actually approached his cell, only catching brief glimpses from afar as you did your job collecting and saving data from the scientists' research in the system.
But you always felt something strange in the rare moments you needed to approach the cell block he was in.
He kept to the back, using the shadows to stay hidden. And yet there was one thing that caught your attention, regardless of how dark the place was.
His eyes.
Two orange spheres, standing out like beacons in the night.
He remained basically the same every time you entered that part of the building. Sitting on the floor with his legs half bent and his wrists firmly restrained by chains resting on his knees, you couldn't make out the color of his scaly skin or his features in general, but the color of those eyes shone like neon lights in the darkness of the cell.
He looked at you, every time.
It was disturbingly intense. There were no blinking eyelids or shifting gazes, he stared at you with unwavering focus from the moment you entered the lab until the moment you left. His eyes…they shone with intelligence and superiority. Like he's just there because he wants to be there, not because he was captured. He owned everything he laid eyes on. The rational part of your brain screamed, 'Look away! Run away!' but those eyes seemed to want to capture your soul with each encounter.
All your co-workers had noticed the strange fixation that the creature seemed to have on you, but you always denied it, diverting the subject while saying it was just their imagination.
Deep down you knew it wasn't.
You saw the way his unsettling gaze settled on your form, felt the shiver run down your spine at his gaze and yet - even now, you could still feel that warm buzz inside at the memory of his burning gaze locked on you.
You could admit that it wasn't healthy to feel any level of curiosity towards a murderous monster who was obsessed with you. It was scary.
Your only consolation was that he was tightly contained with the best technologies the government could dispose of.
But he always seemed very calm to you, as if he were above all that. In a confident and almost arrogant way, in the way that only people who have a coldly calculated plan are.
Now he was free.
And you had a horrible feeling that you knew exactly who he was going after.
You quickly walk down the street towards your house. Your heart beats fast, the gentle breeze brushes your warm skin and your loose hair. The canopy of trees above and the few lights along the main path cast their shadow in the opposite direction as you walk faster and faster.
At the end of the street, your eyes notice movement, something large and slow, moving behind a row of parked cars. It's not completely unusual for pedestrians to be out so late - after all, you're here, right? - but your stomach drops a little, very consciously. Something instinctive warning you that it is smart to be afraid.
By the time your trajectory takes you past the line of dark vehicles, the street is once again empty and you allow the hairs on the back of your neck to rise with relief. It was probably just some insomniac suburbanite, taking out the trash or smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk.
Rows of closed windows stare at you blankly as you pass by, colonial houses with sagging porches and overgrown backyards, the residents of the peaceful neighborhood sleeping soundly within the comfort of their homes.
A noise breaks the silence: a loud, prolonged rumble, followed by an inhuman whine, an undeniably animal sound.
There's a single lamp behind you that puts an enormous silhouette into sharp relief, but you can still easily see his solid, dangerous structure.
Your knees threaten to give way, your throat burns as you try to take a deep breath, fear leaves you numb and clumsy in exactly the least desired way at the moment. You don't think, not really, you just act. Getting to the house across the street is like running a marathon, and raising your fists to knock on the door, swing the doorknob, requires a huge effort against the adrenaline that makes your hands shake uncontrollably. "Please help me!", your voice is hoarse, your throat is tight, it's not loud enough, no matter how much you want to scream - it's like you're trapped in a nightmare where no one can hear your screams for help. "Let me in, please, I-"
The door swings open under the weight of your fists, and you almost fall to your knees at the abrupt movement. You don't have time to think, to weigh whether this would be the smartest choice compared to the others, you don't know if he's clinging to your back or if there's still a safe distance between the two of you -
You just enter.
---
The realization of the terrible mistake you made dawns on you in the space of a few minutes of panting breaths.
The living room is empty, strangely enough, not that you really have time to think about it. A staircase appears in your field of vision, and your panicked animal brain sends you toward it, taking two steps at a time, crossing a long landing and climbing to a second floor, holding on to the railing like a wooden board salvation. "Someone please!" You manage to scream, "Please, someone! I'm being followed, call the police!"
The police couldn't help you, and if you were thinking clearly you would know that. No one, not even the army, could help you against this thing.
Yet there is no voice responding, no shuffling human movement, no clicking light. And then you see the paint cans, the tarp, the door off its hinges and against the opposite wall.
This house is under construction.
Nobody. No lights. Without help.
Spinning on your heel, you stagger back toward the stairs. But there is no more time. The door you left ajar in your moment of despair lets in a pale beam of moonlight through the unfinished wooden floor of the foyer, and you watch in mute horror as a shape fills it - huge, so tall that he has to lower his head past the doorframe, a brick wall of an alien assassin wearing a metallic mask. The soulless black holes of the visor, poor excuses for eyes, stare back at you.
Alone, in an empty and unfamiliar house. Your heart pounds in your chest, bile rising in your throat - you're trapped.
You know it. And he knows it too.
The creature walks with slow and determined steps towards the end of the stairs. You briefly, wildly consider waiting until he reaches the landing and then throwing yourself off the balcony. You can survive.
The thought makes you feel like a panicked rat, chewing on its own leg to get out of the trap.
Of course there's also the possibility that you'll break every bone in your body and die from sheer stupidity - which may be preferable to death by those sharp claws on his massive hands, but at least the latter you'll be able to escape. If you can keep your wits and your legs under you, you might be able to outwit the Predator. Evade the trap.
You almost want to laugh at your own delusions of salvation.
Your unsteady feet drag back without your eyes leaving him, but with every slow step you take back he takes one towards the stairs. The silver rays of the moon bathing his reptilian-looking skin, highlighting his entire body dyed in a singular tone of obsidian, with some lighter variations on the abdomen and in some internal points. Thick, long tendrils of 'hair' flow around the mask and over his broad shoulders, adorned with gold and silver metal beads. One of his hands - oh, huge and with long, sharp black claws - seems to want to reach out towards you, but the creature holds back for some reason, preferring to continue with the strange war of glances.
It seems that in his escape from the laboratory he recovered some of his things: in addition to the mask, he wore the wrist gauntlets, the net that covered his body, the strange piece of cloth wrapped around his hips decorated with bones and skulls, and the metallic protectors on the shins. The metallic chestplate and combi-stick weren't visible, you can't tell if he managed to recover it or not.
Regardless, he was infinitely more frightening now that you can see him outside of containment; big and broad, a solid wall of defined muscles. But it was his posture that unnerved you. The roll of his shoulders, the tension in his arms. The almost imperceptible flex of his calf muscles, as if he was preparing to jump - just waiting for a movement from you to attack.
He reaches out, this time to his own face, grabbing the metal there. Air pressure is released when the metal mask is removed.
You hold your breath.
His face was lighter than the rest of his body, a slightly grayish tone with some black streaks mixing with the dreadlock-like hair on his head, a few black barbs framing the sides of his face and along his elongated forehead. There were, of course, those flaming eyes you already knew. Instead of lips, he had four folded jaws with long teeth at the tip of each of them. Inside those jaws, you could see more of his teeth, smaller but more numerous and frighteningly sharp.
He moved his jaws as he climbed the stairs with purposeful slowness, his massive size making the stairs creak, strange clicks and rumbles emerging from his mouth.
You gasped in response to his face, shaky and scared, your backward steps continuing until your back hit the wall.
End of the line.
If you ran you would have to turn your back on him, and you couldn't do that. Never turn your back on a predator, everyone knew this rule.
It was as if you were in a horror movie or a nightmare, where you could only watch without any reaction as the monster approached. The predatory way he approached awakened the primitive instinct to flee, but your legs were shaking too much for that.
You pushed yourself further against the wall, even though there was no longer any space. It looked like he wouldn't stop walking, that he would simply knock you into the wall, but at the last second he pinned you against him and ice-cold wood at your back.
The air was knocked from you, hands flat against his chest instinctively as a way to get some distance. Even under the net, his skin was clearly much warmer and firmer than your own, smooth in some places and textured in others, the latter matching the gray patterns that spread across his extremities. He smelled mostly of moss and damp, like a forest after rain. But there was also a muffled current of pheromones, a slightly peppery scent that hit you like a tsunami.
In fact now that you felt it, it felt heavier and heavier by the second, as if he was exhaling on purpose. With each inhale, that smell seemed to make you a little more relaxed, a little more dizzy.
It took a few seconds for you to realize that he was even closer, hovering above you, his breath hot and wet, stirring your strands of hair. A gasp left your throat as his sharp jaws dove down, digging his nose or whatever it was into your hair to press into your neck - though you didn't know if that sound had been out of terror or something else. All you knew was that when he backed away, another low, animalistic growl resonated from deep in his chest, long and continuous and it took you a few awkward seconds to realize he was...purring? Purring like a cat? It was bizarre, but your own body began to uncoil, as if some force tied behind you sternum had pulled your back with him.
Your breathing is now labored for what seems like an entirely different reason. You can increasingly smell that intoxicating scent in the air and that, plus the mesmerizing purr, is making your eyes roll back slightly, a blurry haze taking over your thoughts. You can feel his sharp claws as they dig into your shirt and you, in turn, can't control the shudder in your body in response.
His scent is doing something to you, something that definitely shouldn't be happening. There's an overwhelming pressure blooming in your core, the beginnings of a dull ache that makes you clench your thighs to ease the tension. The saliva in your mouth comes down with difficulty as you swallow and lick your lips, stretching your neck to look into his eyes - god, you could barely reach the line below his chest with your head. What's happening with you? He is not human, he is not human. This is wrong.
"..." His jaws click and move, strange sounds fill the room with deep growls and hisses; he was talking, but you couldn't understand him. His eyes roam your face as he speaks his strange language, and his thumb gently wipes away a tear you hadn't even noticed falling from your eye.
You open your mouth to question, to scream for help, to beg for mercy, for anything...but nothing comes out.
His breath is hot as he bends his body until he's almost face to face with you, all predatory expression and clicking jaws, almost drooling on your skin. And then, as he forcing the words out of his depths, he says, “Mate.” He declares to you, slowly and gravely in a way that no human sound could ever be, but a little more understandable now.
You look at him in shock, not expecting a deep, English word to come out of his alien mouth. His inhuman eyes are bright enough that you clearly see the orange flames in the dim light of the night, slashed down the center with black, almost feline pupils that threaten to drag you inside.
Mate.
What the hell?
You blink slowly, the low rumble persisting as he purrs under your attention and you can tell he's trying very hard to appear less threatening to you. You bite your lip against a hysterical and completely untimely laugh that wants to escape, the tension of fear finally channeling into something different (something manic and traumatized) when he presses his broad forehead to yours in a frighteningly intimate gesture, tilting his head even further to rub your cheeks with those sharp jaws, snorting into your hair and sniffing at your neck.
The drag of the deadly fangs against your skin is exhilarating, in the worst way and you fear what is to come, a very animal and very instinctive part rooted in the most unconscious corner of your being, knows exactly what this creature is wanting from you. And the worst part, the most disturbing and embarrassing part of this realization, is that you don't know if you want to resist. Not with the way his scent and purrs are making your legs shaky and your mind fuzzy.
You're shaking, but it's not just from fear and perhaps the creature knows this, because he pulls back a little until he looks into your eyes - something very carnal and very primal vibrating almost visibly beneath that reptilian skin.
He slowly looks away from yours to fiddle with something on his wrist, and you feel like you can breathe once again without the oppressive weight of the orange orbs on you. He clicks the object on his arm for a few moments and then pulls a small metal disk out of it. It's no bigger than a small cell phone chip, and he balanced it on his fingertips.
Curious, you lean in a little. You just want to take a look at what he's doing; but before you even know what's happening, the giant puts his hand around your throat and pulls you towards him. You scream at the hostile action and try to fight him, but of course it's no use. With his strong hand, he can easily subdue you and move your head to the side, pressing the metal thing against the skin just behind your ear in a quick, burning blow.
You don't have time to react, much less to understand how he did that at that speed.
You just feel the effect.
It burns, like you're being branded, and you scream. Your whole head hurts, and for a second you wonder if he hit you against the wall in the process. It's a wrong and distorted feeling, like someone is tuning a radio inside your head, you hear screams and white noise echoing inside; so loud that you have to cover your ears with your hands, but that does little to decrease to the cacophony inside your mind.
When the alien releases you, you kneel on the ground, still writhing in discomfort and pain from the chaos in your head – and then, suddenly, everything stops. You're panting, your fingers covering your ears and your head between your knees, but when the noise quiets, you slowly look up. And although you are dizzy and a little disoriented, the presence of the creature hovering ominously above you is clear.
“W-what was that?” you mumble between quick breaths. "What the hell did you do to me!?"
The alien blinks slowly and tilts his head, jaws clicking before he responds. "Now we can talk."
Your eyes widen at the strange sound (but fluid and articulate, very different from just a few minutes ago), your stomach tightens and you pull your knees closer to your chest. “W-what?”
“It’s a translator,” he says. His voice is still very dark and booming, but his growls and clicks have somehow turned into words you can understand. “This allows your little ooman brain to understand my language.”
You swallow hard and feel the blood drain from your body. He was scary when you couldn't understand him, but he was even scarier when he could talk.
“Get up, little ooman,” he murmurs. “We should get to my ship. I don’t want to spend any more time on this miserable planet.”
You can't believe what you're hearing, everything is happening so fast. With shaky legs, you gape at him. “I…I don’t understand.”
The moment is interrupted by something when the alien turns his head towards the window of the house, the various dreads tubes rattling with the movement and his jaws opening in a low trill while a long, forked tongue at the tip comes out of his deadly-looking mouth. You gasp at the sight, but he doesn't look at you, using his own body in front of yours, as if he was instinctively hiding and protecting you from something you cannot see, feel or hear. The burgundy appendage is long and glistens with the moisture of his alien saliva, along its length there are some quivers and small barbs. He slowly waves the thing in the air, almost as if he's proving something. And then you understand.
He's smelling it.
Maybe he's even more snake-like than you thought, after all, catching scent particles in the air with his tongue.
The air is positively thick with eager anticipation, he's alert and ready and you feel it.
You don't have time to think about it too much, though. Because soon he is looking at you again, although there is no longer any sign of malice and hunger in his posture now. The way he lifts his colossal body until he's completely erect, swelling the already prominent muscles to appear more menacing, only speaks of a creature with a purpose.
"Oomans here. They must have some kind of tracker." He growls once more and clicks that gauntlet again, making you jerk back with a new wave of fear.
"Y-yes, all the containment units are after you now. It's only a matter of time before they find you and try to arrest you again. Y-you should go." You respond quietly and slowly, trying to make him understand every word.
"My ship is nearby." He grumbles sullenly. You try to control the wave of curiosity that the word 'ship' evokes in you. Seriously, how many humans have had the opportunity to see one up close? But of course you don't say anything, if you got out of this situation with your life it would be good enough. You would forget about this bizarre encounter and go on with your peaceful and boring life as if you had received the greatest gift of all.
But then he continues.
“You…” He covers your body with his once again, cornering you against the wall. Your eyes widen as he wraps a thick arm around your waist, pulling you into him. "You belong to me now, ooman. You'll come along."
You feel like you didn't get it right. “T-to space?”
He doesn't seem to want to entertain this conversation anymore and just grunts again.
It's like all the red flags go up in your mind at once.
"N-no! No, I can't, that's...I can't!"
But he doesn't listen to you, and you can't predict the sharp sting on your neck. It doesn't hurt like it used to, but he cradles your head with huge fingers almost tenderly as a sickening sensation wracks your body and makes you stagger. You feel weak, your body giving out as you babble out things that even you don't understand. Everything is getting dark and your little fingers are scratching his arms looking for support, your breathing is coming with difficulty and your eyes are unfocused.
"It's okay, mate, just give in...I'll take care of you..." He purrs, but you can barely hear him, your senses are fuzzy and lethargic and you know you're going to pass out.
The last thing you see before the darkness swallows you and the unknown can wrap its tentacles around you, are orange flames above you. Hot, consuming and scary.
