#tiny army men

[abc-felixx]

My sister’s house is but one big iSpy book

[kettle-bird]

Not Coming to a Newstand Near You

(I know I've made that joke before let me have this)

[dumpygrimbos]

People in case you didn't know, despite the grim darkness and moral depravity of the setting, this is what Warhammer fans are like.

This is perhaps my new favorite video

[consultingskeletondetective]

Colonel's Girl

You’re the young army nurse on base and König decides to keep a protective eye on you. You don’t mind at all, the Colonel is sweet and safe - until he isn’t.

masterlist 🩷 ao3

tags: military inaccuracies, blood and injury, angst, smut, oral sex, vaginal sex

This was your first time on a real military base. You’d done field medic training of course, but this was the first time in your career as an army nurse that you’d been shipped out to base, far from home, calling a tiny bunk room your own in a building full of rowdy young recruits. 

Their daily training brought them to you constantly with scrapes and bruises and concussions. They were feisty, adrenaline-fuelled young men, and you were one of the few women on base. The catcalling and the leering didn’t surprise you, even if it was unwelcome. 

“What time do you get off, darlin’?” Private Turner drawled in a cockney accent as you applied butterfly stitches to a bleeding split across his eyebrow. “Maybe I can come to your room and we can keep each other company-”

“Turner!” It was barked, a stern command from an accented voice. The private paled as Colonel König stomped into your clinic, and you blushed. König was a very imposing man. He was at least 6”9 by your reckoning, and just as broad, in his late 30s or early 40s with a thick Austrian accent. His years of military training had given him a thick, muscular frame, with his broad thighs barely contained in cargo trousers and steel-capped boots on his feet, a black tee stretched over his chest and biceps the size of your torso. You knew what he looked like under that hood, square jawed and piercing blue eyes, but today he’d kept it on, his eyes framed and dark. It was no surprise you blushed whenever you saw him.

“Colonel?” He stood and turned. His voice held none of its previous bravado. Next to König, he looked like a mere boy.

“Two weeks of toilet cleaning duty.” König said gruffly, “and if I catch you using that kind of language again, it will be a month. Understood?”

Turner slumped. “Yes, sir.”

“Get out of my sight.”

Turner, chastised, scampered out of your clinic without looking at you.

König turned his hulking form towards you and actually had to look down to greet you. 

“Pardon, ma’am. He won’t step out of line again.”

Ma’am . Your blush deepened. You gave him a small, nervous smile. 

“Thank you, Colonel, that’s very kind of you.”

“These boys don’t know yet how to respect a lady, but they will.”

“Once you’re done with them?” You smiled playfully.

“If I have done my job correctly.” He said kindly, before turning on his heel and leaving swiftly. You giggled. 

You didn’t see much of König at the start of training, his rank and his experience meant that he didn’t end up in your clinic as much as his recruits did, but when you did pass each other in the hall or by exchanging paperwork, he was nothing less than a courteous and charming gentleman. It seemed bizarre, considering you’d heard tell that he was a brawling killing machine out on the field, but he could switch from barking stiff orders to giving you a gentle smile that made you blush in the blink of an eye. You had to routinely remind yourself that this didn’t make you special, he was just being respectful, and you weren’t used to that. It didn’t matter that he was a soldier, or nearly twice your age, it didn’t take you long to develop a crush on the handsome and mysterious Austrian. 

A few days later and you were stood in line to the mess hall. It was breakfast, and you’d seen the black pudding in the warming trays as soon as you’d stepped in. You were practically salivating as you waited, it wasn’t often you got a creature comfort like this - something that reminded you of home - on base.

“Not often we get this kind of luxury, eh, miss?” You recognised the coarse accent before you turned. Lieutenant Riley had joined you in the line, a balaclava covering his face. You knew him a little, the infamous Ghost. You’d crossed paths with the 141 on occasion, and you knew Riley, sometimes even Captain Price, dropped into the base to provide training or engage your services. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to make polite conversation with you. In fact, it seemed the norm here. The high rankers felt a bit sorry for you, while the recruits made you feel like a piece of meat or an object of ridicule. 

You didn’t mind much, you were here to do a job, and you kept to yourself mostly anyway, but the offer of friendship was much appreciated. 

You smiled a little shyly in return. “I know, right? I hope the black pudding doesn’t go too quickly. I’ve been thinking about it all morning.”

“A girl after my own heart.” The lieutenant chuckled. In front of you, two privates who had been turning around to eavesdrop on the conversation - more to get a look at Ghost, than you, you understood - burst into laughing at your admission. Your ears turned red and you wished you’d never opened your mouth.

Riley didn’t seem to notice, he was holding his gloved hand out to König, who had somehow appeared next to him in the line since you’d looked away. You actually had to do a double take. For a near seven foot slab of muscle, he was stealthy when he wanted to be. 

The two of them talked among themselves in low voices and you left them to it, knowing you didn’t particularly want to hear the contents of whatever they needed to discuss.

You reached the front of the line and the private in front of you - the one who had laughed - piled his tray high with black pudding until the warming tray was empty. He turned and smirked mockingly at you.

“You can have my sausage, darlin’, if you ask nicely.” At least three recruits laughed. You wanted to shrink down so small you stopped existing altogether.

König’s brick hand clamped around the private’s tray and wrenched it easily from his grip.

“Sir-my breakfast…”

“Get out of the line, or I will feed you my fist.” König didn’t even raise his voice, the cold delivery had the private skulking off empty handed. König placed the tray back onto the counter and then he turned to you. 

“Help yourself, ma’am.” 

“Oh.” Your cheeks were crimson. He cocked his head, his eyes, the only part of his face visible through his black hood, looked amused. It wasn’t unkind. “T-thank you.” 

König tipped his hood towards you before turning his attention back to Riley, and the pair of them moved off to a separate table. You sat by yourself, chewing your black pudding, and smiling like an idiot. 

You glanced over to König a few times more than you would like to admit. He put you at ease, that’s what it came down to, it gave you a confidence you didn’t usually have around military men. 

It was that very ease that left you wholly unprepared for the following week.

It was ballistics training out on the grounds, and you caught wind of an accident halfway through your sandwich.

“Come quick!’ An officer skidded into your office, “there’s been an accident - potential fatality.”

You cursed, and gathered your supplies, before following him out of your clinic and out onto the training ground. Recruits stood nervously holding rifles, their half-shot targets abandoned. A young recruit was wailing on the ground, another kneeling beside him and pressing against his belly with a jacket, there was blood on the sand. 

König was towering over a young private - the same young man who had laughed at you in the mess hall, you briefly noted - and barking bloody murder in his terrified face. It took you more than a moment to realise that König wasn’t actually speaking German, you could just barely make a word out in his fury. 

It was easy to tune out, you’d been out in the field before, and turn your attention to your patient. You knelt beside the terrified looking private stemming the bleeding, and carefully lifted his jacket to look at his wound while the young man screamed.

“You’re going to be okay.” You said confidently, calmly. “It’s nothing we can’t stitch up. Private, keep putting pressure on the wound, just like this, you’re doing a good job.” Just this once, you were obeyed without question. 

“I will have you court-martialed, dummkopf, you could have killed him. You come onto my base, you do not listen to a word I say, and now you attack my men? You sorry piece of -”

“König,” you cut through the accented remonstration, pulling bandages from your bag, “I need your men to carry him to my clinic immediately, then you have to-”

König turned swiftly to you, those bright blue eyes visibly narrowed in the slits of his hood. “Do not fucking give me orders, nurse.” He seethed, voice ice cold with rage, fists clenched and towering over you. “You address me as Colonel, you little girl.” The white hot fury in his eyes matched the venom in his voice. You baulked, in fear, in surprise, horrified to realise tears were gathering in your eyes. You looked back down on the man in your arms and forced yourself to regain your composure.

“I need to get him to my clinic, I can’t lift him myself.” Your voice was steady, if muted, throwing your gaze over your shoulder at König and the recruits staring at you. “Please, colonel .”

König turned from you and began barking your orders at his men and within moments, your patient was being carried between three recruits back to your clinic. You turned and rushed after them. You extracted the bullet from his ribs and sewed up the damage as numbly as you treated any one of your patients. You left your makeshift surgery room with bloody hands and sweat on your forehead, surprised to find König leaning against the wall in your waiting room. He’d stripped out of his uniform to a simple pair of combat trousers and a black shirt that looked like it was losing a fight with his bicep muscles. His hood was held lax in his hand, giving you a rare glimpse at his face. It was no surprise to you that he looked exhausted. He pushed himself from the wall when you entered. Like a gentleman , you thought bitterly.

“Will he live?” He asked you, his voice soft. It was just like every other interaction you’d had on base. 

“It was a flesh wound. He’ll be fine, Colonel.” Your words were stiff, and you walked straight past him without even a glance, feeling like a complete idiot that you’d ever thought he might treat you with the slightest bit of respect. You were angry until the adrenaline wore off, then you cried in your bed.

The recruit, Jenkins, pulled through the night, and the next day he was airlifted to the nearest hospital. The accidental shooter was gone, and you didn’t care to ask what had happened. Training was halted for a few days as a result and you had a quiet week, but you weren’t complaining, as you now had a mountainous amount of paperwork to complete. You were grateful when you were able to file the heft of paper into your pigeon hole to be sent off, and rewarded yourself with a sit down in the breakroom to the main office.

You looked up on instinct more than anything when the door opened. König walked in, in combat boots and a military vest, his hood over his eyes and helmet strapped to his head, like he’d just come straight from deployment. He glanced at you with tired blue eyes, but all you could see was the fury in them when he’d scared you the week before. You felt stupid for thinking someone like König would ever be nice to you. You were just the idiot girl on base.

“Morning, ma’am.” He said pleasantly when he saw you, slipping one hand into his trouser pocket as he poured himself coffee from the pot on the table.

“Hey.” You replied, voice flat, suddenly finding your nails remarkably interesting.

“Is everything okay?”

“Fine.” Another one word answer. You still weren’t looking at him. 

König shifted uneasily. The atmosphere in the room changed. Of course it did, he was used to you being a blushy, smiling, pathetic mess for him. 

Concerned, König crossed the small space to you. He didn’t sit. From what you could see from your lowered head, his hand was no longer in his pocket.

“If this is about what happened…you did well, Jenkins will recover.”

“I know I did fine.” You genuinely didn’t mean to snap. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

The conversation went dead, the atmosphere was palpable. You didn’t know whether it was his culture, or his military status, but König went right to the point.

“Have I offended you?”

Was he being willfully obstinate? You felt your humiliated aggravation grow. Well, you were in it now.

“Just leave me alone.”

There was a pause. And then another. Neither of you moved.

“As you wish.”

He left swiftly after that, and you finally looked up at the empty room. You felt relieved, but also hollow. It was almost like you’d done something wrong. But you hadn’t, had you? König’s coffee was abandoned on the table.

König left you alone, and that pissed you off even more. He walked past you in the mess hall, he didn’t glance down to smile at you anymore, he didn’t come into the clinic, even though you secretly hoped he would. Your self-esteem was pretty much on the floor after that, and the base got just that little bit lonelier.

Two recruits barrelled into your office a few days later, one had a busted lip and they both had black eyes. They'd clearly been in a fight, but whether that was with each other, or someone else, you didn’t care to ask. You stayed quiet as you applied butterfly stitches to their cuts, and they were happy enough to complain between themselves.

“You’re a dickhead, Williams, the Colonel’s gonna fucking kill us.” 

“Relax, he’s not going to know.”

“He’s been such a dick lately. He put Taylor on shit detail for a fortnight for having his shoelace untied.”

“Probably because he has to look at your fucking ugly mug every day.”

“You’re done.” You cut across. “You can go.”

They thanked you and left, and you were grateful to get the foul mouthed privates out of your office. 

It was getting dark outside and you were tired. You left your clinic and crossed the training ground to the mess hall. There were still soldiers out here, practising hand to hand combat under the floodlights. You gave them a wide berth.  

You didn’t see the abandoned dummy grenade wedged in the sand until your foot hooked around it and you vaulted over with an unladylike grunt. 

A large hand curled around your wrist and stilled you before you ate dirt. You cursed under your breath and turned inward. König was towering above you, your wrist positively dwarfed by his gloved hand. His hood obscured his face, shrouding him in the darkness behind him, all except those bright eyes looking down on you.

“You should be more careful.” He grunted, releasing your wrist.

Your eyes hit the ground and you mumbled a hasty ‘sorry’ before you scampered away to the mess hall. König watched your retreating back as you left.

The next few days passed uneventfully. You worked, you ate, you slept, you called home. The clinic was surprisingly empty. You wondered if the recruits were finally becoming competent enough that they didn’t need you every five seconds. You signed off your discharge sheets for the day and headed to the main office to dump them in the output box. You were surprised to find König in there, sans hood, rifling through a box of papers on the desk. He glanced up when he saw you and his expression wilted. He looked back into the box. 

“I’ll be out of your hair in a second.” He said. “I just need to find the instruction manual for the - s cheiße .” The papers in his hand fluttered to the ground. He bent down to retrieve them and winced, arm circling his broad torso. 

You frowned and took a step closer to him.

“What’s wrong?” You asked. 

“Nothing.” He replied instantly as he straightened. His movements were slower than usual. 

“It doesn’t look like nothing, König, it looks like cracked ribs.”

“It’s fine, really.”

You put your discharge forms on the desk and walked up to him. “Lift your shirt.”

König sighed but complied after a moment. He lifted his dark tee to his pectorals. His deep abdominal muscles rose and fell under his breathing and you found your cheeks reddening under the sight. A makeshift bandage was wrapped around his torso, and you reached out and lifted it. His skin was like lava against your fingers. He didn’t say a word as you lifted the bandage but he may have winced when your eyes widened. The right hand side of his ribcage was purple with deep bruising and lacerated with deep and shallow cuts alike, some were healing, and some were leaving blood stains on the inside of the bandage. 

“Oh my god, what happened?”

“Nothing.” König grunted. “Machine gun training. One of the recruits lost control of the barrel and clocked me in the ribs. It is just a scratch.”

“This cut needs stitches.” You said automatically, tracing the underside of the welt with your fingertip. König jolted and you took your hand away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

“You didn’t.” He replied.

“I have cream that’ll reduce this bruising too-” König huffed and you looked up at him. You couldn’t quite decipher the expression on his face. He might as well have been wearing his hood.

“It is fine.” He said. “The bruising has disappeared a lot in the last few days…”

“ Days ?” You blinked. “Days, König? You can’t have been walking around like this for days. Why didn’t you come to me?”

There was a pause. He was trying to avoid your gaze.

“You told me to leave you alone.”

“König,” it was reprimanding, reproachful, your eyes slackened. “You always need to come to me when you’re hurt, even when I’m mad. I’m sorry.”

König’s eyes snapping to you made you regret the words as soon as they were out of your mouth. Your gaze dropped to the grazes on his ribs but your cheeks were already on fire. 

“Are you ever going to tell me why you are mad at me?”

You didn’t meet his gaze. It seemed pathetic now. “You yelled at me.”

König didn’t respond straight away. When he did - “I yelled at you?”

You fought off the sudden urge to say sorry.

“When Jenkins was shot.” You explained. “I’m not one of your soldiers. I don’t like being screamed at, especially when I’m doing my job.” Your voice dropped a little. “And I’m not a little girl, I’m a nurse. You should respect that, just like the way you tell your troops to.”

You glanced up at König, he looked crestfallen. “I…” He frowned a little, as if giving up on any explanation he planned to give. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You shook your head, embarrassed, and lowered his shirt.

“It’s not important now-”

“It is important. I don’t think you are a little girl. Sometimes in battle, things like this become heated. I do not even remember saying this to you, but I am sorry. I do not think that, I truly do not, I was…one of my men was dying, I was not myself. Please forgive me.”

Your eyes met. It felt like the first time you’d looked at each other in a long time. König’s blue eyes were soft and sad.

“Um, come to the clinic, this afternoon,” you rose, flustered, “I, uh, that cut needs looking at.”

You turned swiftly and left but not before you heard König utter a single ‘yes ma’am’ before you did. 

You thought about what he said as you sterilised your clinic for his arrival. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment, but you managed to keep your cool? Why didn’t he? Because he’s a soldier, you reminded yourself. He kills easily and without thought, he’s not the sweet gentleman you want him to be. You shook your head to yourself, that wasn’t the issue and you knew it. You didn’t care that he was a killer, or that sometimes he scared you. You knew what his easy dismissal of you meant - and it hurt.

König reported promptly to your clinic at 1pm that afternoon. He stripped out of his shirt and sat patiently down on the end of your bed and you had to pretend like having a 7ft goliath of a man stripped down in front of you wasn’t making your heart race. He truly was extraordinary. 

You stitched the large cut on his ribs that was worrying you the most and he didn’t make a sound. it didn’t much surprise you, you assumed he was accustomed to pain. It made your stomach flutter with something . 

He was even more impressive undressed, his body heavy with swollen, toned muscle, faded scars criss-crossing over his flesh. You had to remind yourself that you were a trained nurse just to stop yourself from drooling. 

König watched you work rather intently. “You have very small hands.” He remarked suddenly. You didn’t respond, unsure if it was a compliment or not. You both lapsed into silence for another long while. It was like a form of torture. You’d never been more embarrassed in your life. You felt like a foolish little girl, trying to play with a grizzly bear. It must have shown on your face. 

You didn’t expect König to talk again. He must have thought that you were insane - pathetic, at the very least. 

“May I ask you a question?”

Oh. “Of course.”

“Why did you join the military if you hate being yelled at?”

You sighed and finished off your final stitch. “You don’t have to mock me, you know, I already got the message.”

“I am not mocking you. I’m curious.”

Forthright . You forgot.

You took a moment to respond, busying yourself with packing away your equipment. “I didn’t join as a recruit, I joined as a nurse.” You didn’t tell him the real reason, that it was because it was him.

“Right.” 

“It’s not your problem.” 

König stood, and pulled his shirt back on. “It won't happen again.” He said. “You have my word.” 

Your gaze flicked to his handsome face involuntarily. “Um, here’s the cream. Make sure to apply it twice a day, and try to take it easy for a few days.”

König grunted, a ghost of a smile on his face. You could tell he hadn’t taken it easy a day in his life. 

“What message?” König asked suddenly. 

“Sorry?” You froze, trying to backtrack to that particular exchange.

“You said you ‘got the message’.” He repeated. “What message?”

Oh. 

“Um, did I say that?” Your voice was uncharacteristically high. König tilted his head.

“Schatz, my English isn’t that bad. We both heard what you said.”

You blushed and your head dipped. You didn’t know much German, but you knew what ‘schatz’ meant. 

“Well, you know-” fuck, shit, fuck . “P-put in your place by the guy you have a crush on. I get it. I got it. I won’t go there again.”

“Crush?” König responded like a lightning strike, before he fell silent. His brain was calculating, before his expression turned to…well, there was no other way to put it, absolutely fucking floored. “You like me?”

Oh, this was very fucking bad.

“Well…yeah? I thought it was obvious-”

“Obvious? Schatz, I thought you hated me.”

You blinked. 

“Wha- why would you think that?”

“You told me to leave you alone.”

“You called me a little girl! In front of everyone.”

When exactly had you both gotten so close to each other? It was close enough that König could look down on you, and your heart was skipping a beat.

“You can’t like me.” He said quietly.

You frowned. “Why not? Have you looked at yourself? Plus you’re…you know, nice, and the only person in this dump that doesn’t leer at me or treat me like a stupid little girl. When people aren’t dying, I mean.”

“I…” Was König hesitating? The man who had nothing to fear?

“It’s okay,” you murmured, embarrassed. “Like I said, I get the message. Why would you want a pathetic sap like me who can’t even hear a raised voice without crying?”

“Do not say that.” König looked uncertain, his eyebrows knitting together. “You are like a...a flower. Not meant for men like me.”

“A…” Your brain couldn’t quite compute what you’d just heard. “Men like you? What does that even mean?”

“You need someone younger, for a start.” He sighed. “Someone who has seen less death, verdammt, someone who has caused less death.”

“Men like your idiot recruits, then?”

König didn’t respond. 

“I have to go.” He said instead. “Thank you for the…cream.”

“Anytime, Colonel.” It was softly spoken, you watched him freeze, then you watched him go. You smuggled a bottle of wine back to your room and drank until you fell asleep. This really was a new low.

…

The days passed slowly and without incident. On the face of it, there was no difference in you, except for a notably lacklustre delivery of your care. 

You were making notes at your desk when Private Jackson and his buddy, Williams, appeared at your desk, complaining of a groin injury. 

You rolled your eyes and returned to your paperwork. “I’m sure it’ll feel better tomorrow, private.”

“I’m sure it’ll feel better right now if you kiss it-”

“Shut up,” Williams chuckled, shoving him, “you wanna get a disciplinary? You know she’s the colonel’s girl.”

Your gaze snapped up. “What did you just say?”

Neither of them answered you, they just sniggered and slunk off. You watched the empty doorway with wide eyes. You tried not to ponder on it. You pondered on it for the rest of the day.

…

You signed the bottom of Williams’ sick leave and ticked off the various appropriate boxes, flipping the page and hoping that was all that was required until you froze. It needed the signature of the patient's C.O. König. Shit. 

You hadn’t even seen König since he’d rejected you and every time you thought about that particular exchange, your ears went hot and you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

You were too much of a pussy to talk to him, so instead you went to his office when you knew he was scheduled to be out at training, and scribbled ‘ sign me please :) ’ on a post it note, stuck it on the front page and left the form on his desk. 

You turned for the door with a relieved sigh and accidently walked into König’s solid chest. He was standing in the open doorway, he was the size of the open doorway, wearing his combat gear although he was unarmed, his hood draped covering his face, even so, you could see he was looking down on you. It wasn’t until you glanced up that you realised he was ducking to fit in the doorway. That sent heat right to your cunt.

“Oh, hello.” You said stupidly, eyes hitting the carpeted floor.

“Hello.” He greeted you, accent gentle. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, right, I’m in your office.” You stumbled over your words. “Um, W-Williams needs sick leave approved, he needs gallbladder surgery off base, I need you to sign the form. I - I left it on your desk.”

König walked past you, he smelt of sweat and sand and some sort of hastily applied deodorant. He seemed unfazed that you were in his office, he certainly didn’t seem to be trying to avoid you as ardently as you were avoiding him. You cursed yourself for being so childish.

He removed his hood and draped it over the back of his chair as he picked up the form. His eyes were darkened with war paint, fresh stubble on his jaw. 

“A smiling face.” He remarked as he read your post it note, voice muted. “The way yours used to be.”

You blinked. “Is that meant to be some kind of joke?” You asked hotly.

“Not at all.” He replied, not looking up from the form. “It used to brighten my days.” He signed the form and held it out to you before you could really process what he’d said. “Let us hope Williams makes a swift recovery, he is one of my best.”

You tentatively took the form, mind drawn back to the last encounter you’d had with the young private. 

“He called me…” You bit back your sentence before you had a chance to finish it. But the damage was done.

König’s back straightened, his fists clenched. “Something inappropriate?”

“No.” Your shoulders hunched. Why did you even bring it up? “He said I was…they’re calling me…you know…the colonel’s girl.”

You glanced up at König shyly, to see if there was any truth in it. His back had relaxed, but his stance was still guarded. 

“What?” You asked.

“I told the recruits to leave you alone.” He admitted. “Or there would be consequences.” 

“Oh.” You blushed. “But, that’s not a bad thing, is it?”

“No, it’s not…some of the men have interpreted the order to mean I am keeping you for myself.”

You took a bold step forward.

“And are you?”

König looked at the floor. You sighed and turned for the door.

König’s large hand curled around the front of your throat before you could turn and drew you back, right to his mouth. You whimpered into the kiss. You were forced onto your tiptoes to meet him, feeling his fingers against your oesophagus with every exhale. His lips eased wetly and insistently against yours until you were dizzy, gripping his arms and pressing yourself closer. 

As soon as it started, it was over. König released your throat and took a step back. You had to blink a few times to regain just a few of your senses. You were still on your tiptoes, and you could still taste him on your mouth. Gunpower, and mint.

“I’m sorry.” He said. “I shouldn’t have done that.” His voice was ragged, his accent even thicker than usual. Fuck, it was hot.

He turned and left before you could even articulate a response, but you were sure you saw his back muscles twitching as he went.

…

The deployment for the first active mission came about quicker than anyone had been expecting. It was practically a dummy mission, you’d been told, leading a team of recruits on a sweep near cartel lands for stray activity or potential landmines. Still, the atmosphere was palpable in the base, the recruits were scared, you could tell.

You watched from the doorway of your clinic as the men stood by the jeeps, ready to roll out. Riley had returned, and he stood next to König as the latter zipped up his kevlar and clipped on his helmet over his hood. You wanted to wish him luck, even though you knew everything was going to be fine. It was a routine sweep, and he was König, he wasn’t in any danger. Still, your stomach pulled. Fate was cruel. What if this was the last time you ever saw him?

You scrunched your eyes shut, called yourself an idiot, and jogged across the sand of the training field.

Riley saw you first, he knocked König on the chest to alert him - you tried not to read into that - König turned, face obscured, body heavy with kevlar and weaponry. He had to lower his head to look at you.

“Schatz?” 

Your insides ached at the familiar term of endearment that you didn’t deserve. Your mouth was as dry as the sand you were stood on, and you suddenly didn’t know what to say. Don’t go? Come back? How could you say any of those things to the man who didn’t want you.

König solved your problem for you. His fingers closed around your tricep, and his thumb stroked just once.

“Look after yourself.” You said quietly.

He nodded before he dropped your arm. Then you watched as they got into the jeeps and drove away.

…

The recruits were returned to you on a daily basis. Apparently, the drop point of the sweep was particularly hot for cartel soldiers, ready and willing to engage in battle. The wounds you were treating now were not the cuts and scrapes of training, it was cracked skulls and broken bones and lacerated flesh. And the men, Turner, Williams, Jackson, they weren’t the scrappy, joking lads they’d once been, they were crying and they were scared. 

You slept when you could but you were always exhausted. You were waiting for the first time one of them died on you. 

You were awoken that night by a loud, insistent banging on your door. You jumped out of bed and tied your robe around yourself, already gathering your hair up to tie it back.

“What’s happened?” You called, opening the door, “who is it…oh.”

It took a moment for you to realise that you weren’t staring at the pitch black of night, but rather directly at König’s chest. He stood in a dark shirt, helmet removed, hood covering his face, head disappearing behind your doorway, but his blue eyes were bright and wild and looking down at you.

“König! You scared me half to death. Get in here.”

You stood aside and König ducked his head and walked, actually stomped, his way into your room. You prayed you didn’t have any stray underwear on the floor. His shirt sleeves were short and you could actually see his arm muscles thrumming. 

“What’s happened?” You frowned. “What’s wrong, König? Talk to me, please.”

“There was an I.E.D.” He replied, accent thick. You couldn’t imagine what his expression looked like. “Ghost saw it before I did. He pulled me out of the pathway. The fucking thing exploded five feet in front of my face. I could have died. I am a fucking idiot.”

“Oh, König, you…you didn’t die, and you’re not an idiot, okay? Every soldier misses…”

“No, schatz.” He walked forward, backing you against the wall. You swallowed when his large hand came up, pressing your collarbone back against the wall. “I’m a fucking idiot because I could have died without doing this.”

One hand curled around your hip and lifted you effortlessly, and you gasped as you had no choice but to wrap your legs around his waist - it was a stretch, he was so broad. König wasted no time slamming you into the wall next to your bed with enough force to rattle your bones. You squeaked, but that was all you managed to do. He pushed his hood up to his nose and captured your lips with his.

Your eyes crossed and closed as you groaned, wrapping your arms around his neck as your lips slid against his. This was nothing like the first kiss - that was chaste, hurried, this was luxurious, long, wet and slow, the whole world went quiet as König pressed his tongue between your lips and lapped at yours with sure strokes that had you whimpering. Your fingers tangled in his hood as he kissed you like that, and you forgot everything else. 

He hitched your legs around his waist and you whined, muffled, as you felt a solid lump pressing up against your clothed crotch. You didn’t care – you ground down on him as you met his tongue with yours. He growled into your mouth and it reverberated through you, before he was pulling back, kissing along your jaw and grinding his cock against your heat harder than before. 

Then his eyes were on you, piercing and bright through the dark hood, the fabric sat askew on his top lip, his lips pink and swollen with your spit.

“I want you, schatz.” He said bluntly. 

“I - I want you, too.”

Your consent was all he needed. Suddenly you were airborne again, and you clung onto him as he lowered you onto the belt and knelt between your legs. The bed actually dipped under his weight and you blushed.

“K-König,” you murmured quietly.

“No,” it was short, and stiff, as he yanked your night shirt down by your collar hard enough to rip. You yelped as the sound of fabric tearing filled the room and suddenly your tits were exposed. You whimpered in embarrassment but he’d already grabbed them in his rough, gloved hands, squeezing and rubbing, flicking and pinching your nipples between his fingers.

“Hhhh, fuck.” You blushed, biting your lip as your underwear moistened at the rough treatment.

“Fuck, do not tell me they are sensitive.” König’s voice sounded wrecked.

“Please,” it was a whisper, “please be gentle.”

“Wanted to get my hands on you for too long.” Was all his reply was as he squeezed your breast again and leant down, using his hand to guide your nipple into his exposed mouth. He sucked so hard that you thought he was trying to drink your soul out from you. Your head fell back and you gasped, grinding your wet, needy cunt as best you could on the side of his thigh. König took pity on you, lapping at your nipples until they were shining nubs screaming in oversensitivity, while his brick hand - when had he taken his glove off? - cupped your pussy through your underwear. His thumb was jammed right up against your clit. You didn’t know if he’d meant to do that, or if it was coincidental, but either way you ground up onto the solid digit until your eyes were unfocused.

“So wet for me, liebling,” he murmured breathlessly, between your nipples, “you are fucking soaked for me.” He stroked you with his thumb once and your eyes slackened and you came with a shudder, stiffening beneath him as stars danced above your head.

He let your nipple slide wetly from his mouth and suddenly those bright eyes were on you.

“Did you just have an orgasm?”

“Mmm.” You buried your head into his neck shyly, thighs shuddering as the waves of pleasure rolled through you. Your clit twitched against his hand. 

“Oh, sweet liebling.” He murmured, rubbing wet circles over the sodden fabric of your underwear. You shuddered as your thighs tried to close away from the intense pleasure, until one strong hand was on your thigh and pushing it wide.

“König!” You gasped. He was watching you intently as he pushed your underwear to the side with his fingers and pressed the thick digits through your sopping folds. 

“Such a pretty little cunt.” He murmured, stroking his fingertips over your slit. It opened with every heavy breath you took, dribbles of desire wetting his fingers.

“König, please,” you whined, “need you in me. Please -”

“Oh yes? Is that so?” The side of his mouth twitched up, then his finger was sinking inside you.

“Shit, fuck! K-König, you’re so big…” You felt your cunt stretching around his finger, clenching involuntarily down around it as your thighs tried to close but couldn’t, pinned open by his solid hand.

“I know, schatz.” He replied calmly. “You can take it.” He slid a second finger in without warning and grunted at how tight and wet you were, just imagining how your cunt would feel around his cock. You whined and threw your head back, the stretch aching after months of nothing, thighs shaking. You were so fucking wet that his fingers practically glided in, his knuckles against your soft pink entrance. “I want you to come for me, to loosen you up for my cock.”

“König, fuck, I…” Your cheeks were rosy. “My god, please...please move, I need-”

“Shhh, little one, I know.” He wasted no time shoving his fingers deeper in your aching cunt, and you yelped and lifted off of the bed entirely. König growled in disapproval and used the hand on your thigh to pin you down to the bed, keeping you still as he ploughed his fingers in and out of you. You moaned deliriously at the sudden intense, rough pressure to your sweet spot, watching the way König’s large hand was like a blur between your legs.

“I’m-” You couldn’t even say it before you were coming with a wet moan, your release splashing against his wrist and dripping all over the bed.

“Scheiße, liebling, making such a mess for me.” His fingers were still hard and circling your engorged sweet spot. Your body seized in panic as you gripped his wrist with all your might to try and still him. All you achieved was watching your own arms shake as he fingered you mercilessly. The noise was obscene, soaking wet come and slick filthy between your legs and soaking his hand as you squirted again, streaming down his arm with a mix of clear and white desire. You moaned and gasped and sobbed, the pleasure intense and spiralling, your pussy already felt worn out from the rough treatment.

“König, please,” you begged, “it’s too much-”

“Again.” He commanded, hand leaving your thigh and curling around your throat. “Want all of that squirt out of you.” he pinned you to the bed by your neck, using the change in position to drive his fingers roughly home deep in your aching, spent cunt. He didn’t stop when you came, and he didn’t stop when you came again - your eyes in the back of your head, body on fire with ceaseless pleasure, the bed beneath you soaked with your own humiliation. All you could do was take it, and shudder violently. 

Finally, König pulled his fingers from your gaping hole and slapped your cheek lightly, it was a wet noise and you blinked.

“Come on, little girl, do not give up on me.”

“König,” you slurred, heaving. “I…fuck, so good, never…I can’t…”

“Oh sweet one,” he cooed, crowding between your legs, pulling your thighs over his hips. “Fucked you stupid and I haven’t even put my cock in you yet.”

You managed a tired smile as you traced your fingers down the front of his stab vest. You watched him drag the zip of his trousers down, rubbing just the once over the lump there before dipping in and pulling his cock free. It took him three tries - to extract the full, erect length of himself from the tight compression of his protective cup, before he was letting it hang heavy between his legs. 

“Fuck, König- you’re so big.”

“I know, baby,” he stroked the length of his long, engorged cock from length to tip and your eyes widened, cunt throbbing between your legs in your desperation to feel it deep in you. 

“König, please,” you begged, digging your heels into the small of his back, your wet cunt pressed up against his balls, inviting, begging him in, “my pussy - please -”

He chuckled before pressing the head of his foreboding cock against your clit and you trembled and cursed. He lent over you, hand squeezing your breast, the ends of his dark hood tickling your neck as you felt the hot, solid crown of his cock pressing against your entrance. Your eyes were wide, nervous, feeling the pressure, the give, then the hot length sliding home inside of you.

You gasped and arched, clenching around him and his biceps shook where he held you.

“Fuck, schatz, fuck, not so hard, you will make me come.”

“C-can’t help it.” It was a whine, rolling your hips and digging your heels in harder, trying to pull him deeper. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” He panted, regaining some of his composure and locking his hand around your neck once more. His hips began to piston and you weren’t prepared for it, the shift of his massive cock in your tight walls making you moan and clench and writhe. Your cunt was obscenely wet, and every noise was a squelch that made you blush, until he was pounding into your sweet spot and you forgot everything.

“Fuck, König, fuck-” it was breathless, eyelids fluttering as you clenched and groaned and sprayed his cock, his balls, with your release. “I can’t - can’t stop, fuck,”

“Guh, fuck.” He grunted, lips ghosting over yours. His cock not slowing, pounding you like he was trying to nail the mattress beneath you. “So tight, liebling, your pussy is drawing me in. I’ve waited so long for this.”

You couldn’t ask him to explain, you were too busy coming, your world zeroed down to the tip of König’s dick abusing your swollen sweet spot. He curled his fingers under your knee and held your thigh up by your collarbone, exposing more of your vulnerable cunt to him as he thrust hard into your aching walls. 

Your moans were broken and never ending, blushing and squirming in delirious agony as you gushed and creamed on his cock, feeling your hot release on the backs of your thighs.

“Look at you,” König didn’t even have the decency to sound exerted as he took you apart. “You can’t stop coming, can you, schatz?”

“No.” There were tears in your eyes, your fingernails digging into his arms, holding on for dear life. “You need, please -” Your mouth fell open as you came again, the splash of your squirt explosive and filthy, “you need to come, please, I can’t, can’t come again, please, König, please.”

König framed your jaw with his hand, stroking along the bone as he slammed his hips into yours, forcing more of your come straight from you with a grunt.

“Nearly there, schatz.” He said into your mouth. “Just a little bit longer.”

“Fuck, please,” your walls clenched and contracted again, vaulted over the edge and nearly losing consciousness, clenching your fucked out cunt tight if only to help him get there. “Please, come, come in me, fuck.”

“Scheiße,” he groaned, cock jamming in your tight cunt as you came so hard you nearly pushed him out. He shoved his way back in and you wailed. “You want me to come inside? I’m not wearing…”

“König, please,” it was pathetic, and he couldn’t deny you, watching your sobbing eyes with his piercing blues as he slammed into your weeping cunt for a few more torturous minutes, then his forehead was pressed to yours and he groaned as he spilled inside you. He was so deep you couldn’t feel it, but you could feel his cock twitching, and you could feel yourself clenching and coming so hard you forced dribbles of his white come straight back out of your slit and dribbling down between your cheeks. 

König was breathing heavily against you as he held himself, forehead against yours, body framing yours, and you watched him as you shuddered and tried in vain to relax. He was…there were no words for it.

You let your hands trail down his clothed back, feeling the solid and bunching muscles there, feeling his cock heavy in your squirting pussy and wondering how the hell this had happened.

“König,” you had a warm, dizzying smile on your face. “You came back.”

He nodded mutedly, face partially obscured by his hood, as he stroked along your jaw, then your lips, and let his hulking body fall and rest beside yours. “Thought you might not want me.”

You shook your head, curling into his chest the best you could. He was still inside you.

“Want you, always. Don’t-'' He'd already curled his bear arms around you, drawing you into his warm chest and cutting you off. You were suddenly so overhot you couldn’t remember what you were going to say.

“I’m sorry I upset you, liebling,” he stroked along your back, his blue eyes slack. “I have always wanted you to be mine. From the moment I saw you.”

This felt like a fever dream. It couldn’t possibly be real. You couldn’t possibly be this happy.

“I’ve always been yours, König, I still am. If you still want me.”

He tilted his head as he watched you, lips pulling up, and you blushed.

“What?” You asked.

“You,” he said simply, voice warm like honey, “are smiling again.”

[bunny-jpeg]

better than home (kidnapper!simon) - you had seen enough horror movies to know that being kidnapped meant being on the news, being butchered, and being a cold case. but simon wasn't like that. except for the bruises he left when he took you, his touch had gentle. kind in a way that someone would brush their cat.

you flinched under his touch, but he just simply shushed you. "not gonna break a thing on ya, angel." that was his name for you. angel. he said that it was like you were given to him fro heaven, "if i do, i give ya the right to put a knife between my ribs."

it was unnerving to say the least. in the tiny home you both shared, locks on the windows, you had never seen a front door that needed a key to unlock from the outside. you tried getting out, but simon was simply so much bigger and stronger, that he didn't need to hurt you herd you back into a safer place.

"don't need to think about much anymore. safer here." he said in his gruff voice. you didn't know what kind of life this man had lived, but with the hunting knife on the coffee table, the well-used rifle over the fireplace and the old army formals in his closet. you knew that there was a story.

it didn't sink in till the first week, but you didn't have to worry about anything. you moved through the house on your own, when you scurried into rooms simon sometimes didn't follow. it was like he was bird-watching. keeping a close eye and admiring you. except you weren't exactly a free bird, rather a delicate beauty in a shiny cage.

you were surprised that simon had your favourite snacks in the pantry, even the same brand of plant-based milk you enjoyed. it was like he knew everything about you, and yet he was a total mystery.

"scary world out there." simon said, kept his distance from you in the recliner while you were curled up in the couch. you had taken a liking to a black and white checkered flannel blanket. it reminded you of the one back home, that you wondered if he just broke in a took it. he eyed you, which made it hard to read one of your many books, "pretty things like you need to be protected... bad men out there." as if this massive mountain of a man wasn't one of those so-called bad men.

you were in no place to argue. you still felt like you were in a spring locked trap and one wrong move would have it clamped down on you. that this was just some sick game before simon buried your body in the field behind the house.

"when can i go home?" you asked, finding your voice.

"this is better than home."

"are you going to kill me?" you asked before you swallowed the lump in your throat.

he shook his head, "no, ma'am. never." sounded like wedding vows rather than an answer. your curiosity only grew with each day. when you finished the books he brought you, he simply put them back in a bag and returned them from where they came from and came back with new ones.

"saw them on the shelf at the library, thought a woman like you would like them." he gave a curt nod as he dropped the canvas bag by your little nest of blankets on the floor by the television. you hadn't been able to watch television yet. primarily busied with sleeping, books, puzzles and notebooks where you had been writing.

and while it started a journal in the event the police found you. it had become more about fictional stories. for your personal pleasure. you thought about being a writer as a child, but the grind of corporate work in your adulthood seemed to dash that dream.

"next time." you said, feeling a little bold, "can you get some science fiction books too...." it felt uneasy to make any demands. he was your captor.

"well then, angel. be good for me then." he said, smiled under that mask. you looked over and made a face at him. you scampered off back into your nest of books and puzzles. maybe he was right, this was better than home. <3

a/n: this is unwell, i hope you enjoyed it. thank you!!

[iceunhie]

— out of this world (and into another) : genshin impact

premise: you could've sworn the transmigration curse didn't have an effect on you... so what exactly are you doing here?! (alternatively, you tumble straight into your favorite video game; and you're kinda fucked)

...or, a genshin manhwa otome game inspired au.

act i: scaramouche, alhaitham, wriothesley.

↳ act ii: lyney, neuvilette, kazuha, kaeya. (next)

warnings. fem!reader but can be imagined as genderless if u'd like hehe, a shit ton of manhwa tropes in one, this is a hot mess aka not proofread all that much, half clunky half decent writing

a/n: as promised via the poll heh,, while i do plan to make this an actual au, im not that sure ^^; just the tip of the iceberg here tho!!

MAIN MASTERLIST | AU MASTERLIST (coming soon)

YOU — unsuspecting civilian turnt transmigrator

you've always been too attached to fictional characters for your own good.

yes, even the ones that are remarkably irredeemable (the power of a backstory is very formidable) and complex (complexity is a virtue!)

villains have always been destined to die, be cursed, or destined to curse others. it was heartbreaking, really. you've wished for a chance to rewrite their fates for them to find even a sliver of happiness, even when the fate of their plot says otherwise.

which is why when you find yourself awake into the game of your dreams, “Teyvat's Seven Stars”, like any lover of cliche novel and manhwa tropes, this is the time you think that maybe life wasn't so shitty on you.

....there's only one tiny, teensy, itty bitty problem here, actually.

you're not the protagonist. you're not even one of the protagonist's faithful friends and underlings that light protagonist's road to conquering the world and its men (and as of the 4.0 update, it's women); no, you're none of those.

you're a no name extra, and not to mention, a character involved with the game's main villain characters who are coincidentally the love interests of the game's black route!

[ unlock transmigration package: ultimate transmigrator's route ( ????? MODE ) ]

[ no ] [ yes ]

( 国崩 ) SCARAMOUCHE — the tyrant

“as of today, you will be engaged to crown prince kunikuzushi, who is her grace the shogun's rightful heir to the throne.”

when given approval to stare at your so-called soon to be husband, you expect the worst, mostly. the multitudes of character dialogue you've played through detailing his rather discourteous personality (which basically meant he was a huge asshole) don't exactly paint a pretty picture.

however...

who was this tender hearted looking scaramouche that ‘obliterated armies in the blink of an eye?’ the t in tyrant stands for tyrannical, not timid!

eyes like lighting framed by the longest eyelashes you've ever seen and an unfairly pretty face, comparable to a fair lotus. after fawning over his otherworldly countenance, a sinking realization of dread pools in your stomach.

oh, you are so screwed.

essentially tied to the indigo-haired ticking time bomb of a future tyrant due to the strong standing of your family for a period of until the main story starts, you're destined to never get crown prince scaramouche's affection, being his fiancée who scaramouche is arranged to for political means only.

not to mention, you're in an even more deadly position; of all the characters you switched souls with, it's the one that essentially dies by their own fiancé's hand because they were horrible to him! what atrocious luck!

frantic, you wrack up about three ways to survive.

plan a) win over the shogun's favor by being an appropriate partner unlike the original flavor of this body, who resorted to bullying the innocent prince and unknowingly digging their own grave or b) be a guiding friend to scaramouche as he learns the ways of the world and c) make sure you don't end up giving the protagonist a bad ending via his twisted personality.

weighing all these options, you decide to do all three in hopes to cement a life instead of a deathflag. prevention is better than the cure (aka: the protagonist) after all!

(you may also just want to spend time with your favorite character. having a time limit and a sign that says ‘i'll die in the future!’ should at least warrant you extra time to show some affection to scaramouche, at least.)

so, you do what anyone in your position would do: give affection! lots of it.

admittedly, it wasn't all flowers and rainbows. scaramouche—ahem, kunikuzushi—was very shy and reserved indeed, with his mother ei even worse off! (besides, who trains and studies all day and has to stop crying every time they were injured?! that was just too much!)

it was rather hard at first, the frigid atmosphere of the usually silent Tenshukaku Palace almost impossible to permeate. but with your amazing charm (read: deathflag radar) and social skills, you manage to let the members of the Royal family open up to you.

speaking words of praise in ei's cooking (a very difficult feat to accomplish), spending afternoons with your fiancé and teaching him ‘how to be a shoujo worthy male lead, name-version’ (very confusing to explain), and the cherry on top, driving away that vile teacher of his—the Doctor—once word got out that he'd been taking advantage of scaramouche as a political puppet king in the future. trauma enabler destroyed! look at your immeasurable powers!

(“you're not a failure.” clasping kunikuzushi's hands in yours as he reels back from you. damn that doctor.

his tears shot a wave of heartache through you. you can't bear to see your favorite in such suffering. “whatever happens in the future, i won't abandon you.

no matter what, i'll always be on your side, okay?”

kunikuzushi looks at you with something in his eyes—something like adoration. “do you promise that?”

“yeah.” you say without hesitation, the glow of the sunlight hitting your face so dazzlingly that kunikuzushi's eyes widen that his mouth hangs agape in awe. “i promise, kuni.”)

to your greatest delight, your efforts worked in your favor.

ei now spends time with her son, and though it's almost always just a tad bit awkward, you and the guuji yae miko get the two to strike up conversation, and overtime, kunikuzushi becomes more open to you.

(“[name], what kind of man is your type?”

“huh? well...” you think for a while. this was a great opportunity to say it, right? that life changing protagonist quote!

“to me, the only person i'll ever like the most is you, kunikuzushi.”

“do you really, really mean that?” and oh, he looks so cute—flustered and red from your words. worth it.

“yup! now, i made some shimi chazuke, try some—”)

(admittedly, lots of favoritism is involved.)

—and while you reap the fruits of your hard work, you spend warm, sunlit afternoons with ei at tea, even learning about other nations from scaramouche's aunt nahida and even befriended a few of his future affiliates—childe (though for some reason, kunikuzushi always pulls you away from him whenever he spots the two of you together), signora (she tolerates you, you think) and etcetera.

(“then, if i do well, can you kiss me on the cheek, [name]?”

you agree, much to his delight. scaramouche avoids the gaze of a certain pink haired fox eyeing him questionably. unbeknownst to you, he glares at the woman's scrutiny.)

unprecedented things unrelated to the plot happen too; like how your family, which basically only saw you as a political bargaining chip and an unwanted child they could get rid of easily—no longer sent you any demeaning letters demanding money once scaramouche found out....

(“they've been leeching off of you for how long?” so scary... is this was kunikuzushi is like when he's worried?)

(“...kunikuzushi, how long will you keep up that weak-hearted facade of yours? if they find out how.... dishonest you are....”

“i don't need the reminders of a foxy old hag that doesn't know her place. this is fine as it is.”)

(you don't need to know.)

but, you're nothing compared to the inevitable flow of the plot. inazuma is wracked with war, and it just so happened that you'd been unceremoniously kidnapped by a certain resistance leader's trusted general, used as a hostage bargain for approximately the majority of your life. in the worst moments in your dreary cell, there's only one thought in your mind.

....kunikuzushi's face, devastated when he tries to reach for you, before slipping away from him like sand— face morphing into an unbridled state of rage that's too natural, too familiar. when did he learn to make a face like that?

(they say the kingdom was wracked with thunderstorms all night that day.)

afterwards, fate doesn't make it kind for you.

years go by in the blink of an eye, with your capture fervently forgotten in the midst of the growing animosity of the two conflicting forces.

although you did hear that yae sent out a search party for you while at the resistance's base, the shogun's forces never reached you.

eventually, you got released secretly by sympathy of kokomi, the leader of the resistance, who felt pity for you getting caught in the crossfire. letting you go under the condition that you'd likely never meet any of the precious characters you've gotten to know and change was a heavy price to pay, but you didn't have any choice.

indeed, no matter how much you tried to divert the plot, your duty as an extra has ended, and you were even lucky to even be alive. you could only hope that your fiancé—ex-fiancé—took note of your lessons well, bidding farewell to inazuma as you hop on the boat to mondsdat.

by now, you at least hoped that scaramouche and the protagonist met, his true chance at happiness starting now that you were basically dead.

(even if your heart felt like breaking into a million pieces.)

....is what you thought would happen, but why is it that after three years from your supposed capture, inazuma was still at war?

“that crazy prince... he's still working to find his former fiancée... and he's razing almost every village apart looking for them!”

“—didn't the shogunate say that whoever finds her would receive almost 3 million mora?”

“the entire lot of them are lunatics, i tell you. all because of a missing person, too!”

what's more, why was it still going because of you?!

( 艾尔海森 ) AL-HAITHAM: the information guild master

to be fair, normal people don't really run into one of their favorite characters often after transmigrating.

but to be fair, again, you certainly didn't think you'd actually be in your favorite video game franchise caged in bed with essentially one of its main love interests.

eyes wide and unceremoniously looking—definitely not ogling— at the toned body that's currently enveloping you in its arms, the soft tuft of ashy gray hair caressing the crook of your neck, murmuring incoherent mumbles of—is that another language?

???????

you blink, looking down at the bare body currently embracing you. oh. oh.

you're an extra.

you're just an extra, but why are you in bed, currently being served breakfast by the most gorgeous man you've ever laid your eyes on, with a pretty view of the rainforests' canopy?

“you should lie down. if i recall, sufficient sleep is required in order for the human body to perform its basic bodily functions. although our partnership is temporary, to let you fall to harm is a situation i'd like to avoid as much as possible.”

“....what?”

“...?”

the guild master, al-haitham, is a character in Teyvat's Seven Stars that is heavily debated on whether he's technically a villain or not. in the game, he's the right hand of sumeru's leader, nahida, working as the overseer of the AKASHA, a guild that gathers information to the nation's leader. he's a pretty shady character—always working behind the scenes and very unfalteringly blunt—and a ‘villain’ for crown prince scaramouche's route, helping the protagonist escape his clutches.

he's often the subject of comedic ire, his banters with a certain broke architect always the highlight of any bonafide al-haitham fan.

“we're expected to work together by lord kusanali's decree in the duration of investigating the hivemind project the lord suspects the baron siraj is partaking in.”

right, that one scene in the game where al-haitham needed to go undercover to infiltrate a coup de etat staged by one of the factions against nahida... right... what.

you were that extra! the one that fell in love with him and pined for his affection!

(“well, i get that part, but does sleeping together really have to play a part in this...?”

al-haitham gives you a mere quirk of the lip, tilting his head. “we do have to play the part of a married couple in dire straights, do we not? this cover is more efficient.

...besides, i don't have anything to complain about. you're certainly better company than kaveh.” )

in truth, al-haitham wasn't bad company. far from it. aside from the internal giggling and fangirling (you) and the incredible stack of books (alhaitham) that you have to see more than the grey haired man on a daily basis, the two of you work out a rapport that stems from memories of the body you transmigrated in.

he's nice to be around, surprisingly considerate when he wants to be—he tells you about the books he always reads....

(who even reads ‘20 Tongues Language Memorization Guidebook: A Basic Overview of Vocabulary and Terms’ for enjoyment?

the content makes your head run in circles because of how complicated it is; but who wouldn't like to listen to an extremely attractive man overexplain to you with a calm and pretty voice?)

...is generous enough to provide meals and cook dinners that have you crying tears of gratitude because you know how awful yours compares (it was either too bland or too seasoned; al-haitham is surprisingly picky when he wants to be)

(you assigned al-haitham the title of “absolute s-tier husband material”— his capabilities are out of this world!)

by chance, you once gave al-haitham a little tidbit of information that proved to be valuable later in the investigation—courtesy of your avid game knowledge—when you two had been lost to the psychological illusion magic cast by siraj when you two finally broke in his estate.

(“whatever happens, if siraj messes with your mind, just make sure to think of me instead of anything else.” al-haitham lets his hand find yours.

“you once asked me if i trusted you, [name].”

“....” you're treated to one of al-haitham's rare smiles, one that warms you up from within. “i do. so don't let yourself get hurt.”)

however, your temporary partner had faltered for once, flinching when siraj took the form of his old grandmother who'd passed to exploit al-haitham's mind, hesitating and frozen in place while siraj inched ever closer to finding out his weakness.

and you couldn't stand it, the character you cared for—the al-haitham that always had a plan, always knew how to stay calm, had looked so unsure and hopeless.

(“wake up, al-haitham!”

with you cradling his face, al-haitham stares back at the only constant in the memories of his grief, eyes meeting yours. “you don't have to do it all alone. i'm right here, aren't i? believe in me.”)

your (fake) husband snaps back to reality, finally allowing enough time to apprehend siraj and put a stop to his malicious project.

(“thank you.” al-haitham tells you solemnly. it hits you that this may be the last time you may ever see him. “i'm grateful that you brought me back to y— to my senses.”

there's a sincerity in your voice that rings from your heart. “anytime, al-haitham.”)

you thought that was the end of it.

defeating siraj meant you two no longer had to associate with each other, but somehow, to your great surprise, al-haitham doesn't stick to the plot at all. you were sure you didn't interfere with the game, though?

for some reason, al-haitham doesn't erase himself from your life, unlike the original route's flow.

in fact, he's become... easy to run into, a constant in your otherwise mundane life. he takes you out to lambad's tavern for an occasional drink, says he's lending you his headphones when you find yourself overwhelmed by the city (you were never good with noises) and even helps you out as you vent your problems to him.

(the day after, said problem conveniently disappears. how strange....)

and most of all, allowing you to enter his personal space... leaving kaveh's jaw dropping when he accuses al-haitham of having a lover.

“you're always going who knows where with them! what else is there to figure out?”

“...we are merely friends.”

“a friend that you let into your personal library? do they know that you still keep the ‘fake’ ring in a box inside the closet?” kaveh laughs. “nice try, al-haitham.”

(after all, kaveh could never unsee the way al-haitham's eyes softened at the feeling of the head on his shoulder lean onto him, with you no doubt asleep. he even took his headphones off! kaveh has never seen him actually take them off in order to keep the person who's sleeping on his shoulder as undisturbed as possible.

in fact, kaveh doesn't think he's ever seen al-haitham be this touchy or considerate with anyone this much before.

.....and most importantly, kaveh would never forget the way al-haitham, a man who found no merit in politeness and preferred bluntness, a man who preferred solitude rather than company—deliberately getting close to someone—pressing a fleeting kiss on the crown of your head.

kaveh blinks. it seems even the throes of love can reach even the most unconquerable of peaks....)

( 莱欧斯利 ) WRIOTHESLEY — the monster duke of the north

“—i need you to gather information on duke wriothesley. serve him undercover as one of the prisoners of the fortress.”

the duke of meropide—a man swamped with terrible rumors. they say he was exiled from the nation due to murdering his entire family. they say he possessed a face worthy of the title of a beast— grotesque, littered in scars. they say that any who end up in his estate, the iron prison of the north, meropide, never saw the light of day again.

(“only criminals of the worst kind are fated to be sentenced there. nobody returns, so we've stopped questioning it...” )

so to say you're not fearing for your life that bad right now is a massive understatement.

“now, mind telling me how you were able to sneak into the most impenetrable prison in all the land, miss prisoner?”

how did it end up like this?

so you wake up and find yourself in jail. lovely.

seriously, of all the places you can transmigrate into, why did it have to be fontaine?! Teyvat's Seven Stars chapter 4's main starting point, the nation of justice is littered with dark themes and high difficulty capture targets.

.... such is the case with the man in front of you. unlike what the rumors of him say, duke wriothesley paints a rugged yet dashing picture of a nobleman, even if he was —if you recall— one of the hardest capture targets to conquer in the game.

a villain character who you played once during one game route, acting as the driving force during one of the love events of one of the protagonist's other love interest, lyney. duke wriothesley almost assassinates lyney's younger brother, freminent, leading lyney to rally up a certain group to bring the nobleman down.... a typical side character villain, who's existence was added as late as 3 patches away from lyney's.

(even inazuma would be better than this! at least the tyrant route could be avoided, and let's not mention the easy sumeru route as well...)

“well, miss prisoner, cat got your tongue?”

in summary: fortunately for you, the body you transmigrated is in the position to spy on the current affairs of the fortress of meropide, with courtesy and with permission of one of Fontaine's leaders, neuvillette. unfortunately for you, it seems our dear monsieur wasn't able to inform wriothesley beforehand, leading to the current situation.

aka, you're pressed dangerously close to wriothesley's chest, with a knife at his throat and his hands pinning you against the wall, noses almost touching. you're not sure if this is even the kind of tension that two people who are trying to kill each other are supposed to have...

(“i'm an ally!” you sputter out. wriothesley raises an eyebrow at you. “monsieur neuvillette sent me.”

“how am i supposed to trust you after i saw you slinking around here, knife at my throat?” he replies, eyes narrowing. “i know that i'm labelled as a beast, but i don't really know what came over that pretty little head of yours when trying to sneak into my chambers.”

what does he take you for?! “...are you accusing me of something indecent?!”

“just saying — i've met lots of prisoners with your excuse, my lady.”

“i'm prepared to use this knife, you know.”

“hah.” wriothesley grins. “how aggressive. more aggressive than most. do you want me that bad?”

“stop twisting my words!”)

in any case, you hate wriothesley. you know he's one of the characters in Teyvat's Seven Stars and is a villain for one of the easy love interest routes in the game, but his personality is... a real piece of work.

you'd rather the protective and kind kazuha, or even the charming and elusive lyney! why did it have to be him?

not only did he not believe you, he even told you to prove your authenticity! you're just glad that his assistant sigewinne had been there to vouch for you — you're not sure if you'd even be on your two feet right now if she didn't.

so now you're stuck constantly on your feet, running to and fro — helping the dark-haired man record new prisoners, establishing trading routes to the main city of Fontaine, and treating other prisoners of the fortress with sigewinne.

your biggest surprise by far, though, is just how... different the duke is from the rumors. his scars were merely battle scars of honor (to which sigewinne rolls her eyes, “your grace, please stop trying to look cool”) he got from various succession fights, not scars to show how he was cursed to turn into a beast. he has a love for tea, but always seems to have a cup of your favorite blend with him when you feel tired after a long day of working (laboring) for him and the estate.

(“your daily report of new convicts, your grace.”

“-this is the tea you like, your grace. i've prepared it in advance.”

“you're very adamant on proving yourself. aren't you sick of such tasks by now, miss prisoner?”

“no.” wriothesley's expression screams 'why not?' on it. “ it's because of my own misjudgement of you.”

“...elaborate.”

“i may have had unnecessary prejudices on your conduct thus far. but you're... not like what the rumors paint you out to be.” you say sincerely. “you're more amazing and incredible than anyone else. i truly do admire you.”

wriothesley's expression; you couldn't decipher it. “i see.”)

he's battered, but caring. sigewinne makes you watch (in horror) as she doodles cartoonish looking characters on his face when he's asleep — wriothesley never fusses, only an exasperated sigh to his assistant. he's harsh with his tasks and duties, but is the first to rush you into sigewinne's infirmary to tend to you after you pass out from overwork.

(“don't worry, [name]. the duke may not look it, but he's very gentle!” sigewinne giggles. humoring the little girl who was the first to show you actual decency in this place, you try to nod. sigewinne doesn't seem convinced.

“i'm serious! after all, compared to other people who've snuck into the fortress, you're the first he's treated this way.” she says cheerily.

“what does that mean?” you can't help but scoff at that. “so he just works someone to the bone from the get go?” you shudder. damn production zone...

sigewinne blinks. “ oh no, not like that. it's just that he's never been so lenient before. in fact, when you fainted, he even gave me the order to prioritize treating you over anything else.”)

well, this wasn't exactly what you thought you would be doing when you transmigrated into your favorite game, but you suppose you can take it.

besides, you'd miss a certain duke otherwise. life truly is full of strange twists....

a/n: thank you for making it this far! if anyone asks why wriothesley's was short, listen, this was completely impulsive and i was out of inspiration LOL, but i do hope you enjoy! look forward to new parts though hehe :3

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

𝙸𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 ||𝙾𝚍𝚢𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚜 ||

A/n: here it is, our dear Odysseus fucking you while he is covered in the blood of the suitors.

A/n: Listened to Like A Prayer (the Glee version) and it helped 🤣

Warnings: Fucking, just pure smut, Ody being possessive, biting, dirty talk, p in v, oral ( female receiving) blood, blood shed ( start of fic with Ody killing the suitors) cream pie, Odysseus having a breeding kink. Mention of the Suitors wanting to S/A the Reader.

These men

No...not men

Filth

The great halls of Ithaca had become a den of jackals.

They drank Odysseus’s wine, gorged themselves on his feast, and laughed in the face of the gods.

But tonight—their laughter turned to whispers.

Odysseus, cloaked in rags, his face hidden by age and filth, stood in the shadows, hunched like a beggar, his hands curling around the wooden staff he used to mask his strength.

He listened.

His heart thundered.

His blood boiled.

And when he heard their plan—their wretched, vile, unforgivable plan—

He nearly lost himself to rage.

Antinous, the boldest and cruelest of the suitors, stood at the center of the gathered men, his voice rising over the murmurs.

“Enough.”

The room fell silent.

“Screw this competition,” he sneered, throwing his goblet onto the floor, his arrogance dripping from every word. “We’ve been here for hours. None of us can string this cursed bow—because we were never meant to.”

The men grumbled, shifting uneasily.

“Can’t you see?” Antinous continued, his voice laced with fury, his lip curled in disgust. “We are being played.”*

He turned, pacing before them like a lion preparing to strike.

“The queen weaves her shroud, unweaving it at night.The boy plots in shadows, whispering of his father’s might.And we— we sit here like fools, waiting for a king who is never coming home."

Odysseus’s grip tightened on the wooden staff, his knuckles white.

The suitors nodded, murmuring, some pounding their fists against the table.

“So, what do we do?” one of them asked.

Antinous smirked. “We take what is ours.”*

The room stilled.

“Telemachus returns tomorrow,” Antinous said sharply, his eyes glinting with malice. “Alone. No army. No father to save him.”*

A pause.

Then, with a voice as cold as the steel of a dagger, he declared:

“We kill him.”*

A shiver ran through the men.

Even among cowards, killing the prince was a bold move.

“We wait at the docks,” Antinous continued, stepping closer, weaving poison into his words. “The moment he steps onto the sand—we strike.”

His lips twisted into a cruel grin.

“We hold him down, until the boy stops shaking.We hold him down, while we break his bones.Cut the boy into tiny piece's until the Sea is the only one who knows and the gods forget his name.”

The suitors stirred, some grinning, others nodding in agreement.

Odysseus’s heart pounded in his chest, his body thrumming with barely restrained fury.

But Antinous wasn’t finished.No—he had worse to say.

The Unspeakable Sin

“And when the boy is dead…” Antinous mused, pacing once more, his eyes dark with hunger, greed, cruelty.

“The queen will have no one to stop us.”*

Odysseus stilled.His breath caught.His blood ran cold.

“We break down her door,” Antinous sneered. “We take her, claim her, strip her of her pride. If she does not bow, we make her bow. If she resists, we...well she will find out."

Odysseus moved.

There was no thought, no hesitation, no mercy.

The suitors barely had time to react.The twang of a bowstring snapped through the hall.The whistle of an arrow cut the air.And then—Antinous stopped speaking.

A single choked gasp escaped his lips.

He staggered, his hands clutching at his throat, where the arrow had pierced clean through.Blood gushed, staining his tunic, spilling onto the floor.

The goblet he had dropped lay beside him, shattered—just as he would be.For a heartbeat, the suitors froze, their eyes wide, their faces pale.

And then—they turned.

Turned to see where the arrow had come from.

Turned to see the beggar standing at the edge of the hall.But he was no beggar now.

He stood tall, his back straight, his grip steady on the great bow of Ithaca.

His disguise—torn away.His eyes burned with divine fury.

And in a voice that thundered through the hall, Odysseus spoke.

“You dare speak of defiling my wife?”

The suitors took a step back.

“You dare plot the murder of my son?”

Another step.

“You feasted on my food, drank my wine, defiled my home—and now, you will pay for it in blood.”

And Odysseus showed no mercy.For twenty years, they had taken.

For twenty years, they had tormented his wife, his son, his home.

Tonight—he would take everything from them.

And when it was over, when the last of them had fallen—Odysseus would finally return to the arms of the woman he had bled the world for.

His Y/n.

His queen.

His home.

When the men were slaughtered, bodies littering the floor nothing mattered but you.

You should have turned him away, looked at him with disgust but instead you took him in your arms, her fingers gliding across his cheek not caring that he was covered in blood. "My love you have returned to me."

Odysseus pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your hair, the softness of your body pressing into his. His strong arms encircled your frame as if afraid you might disappear like a mirage. "My little dove," he murmured, his deep voice thick with emotion. "After twenty long years, I've finally found my way back to you."

He cupped your face gently, thumbs brushing away the tears clinging to your lashes. His piercing gaze drank in every beloved feature - those luminous eyes, the delicate curve of your cheeks, the glossy pink of your parted lips. "You're even more beautiful than I remembered, if such a thing were possible," Odysseus said fervently. "Tell me, my heart, have you waited for me all this time?"

You choked back a sob as tears continued to fall as your fingers clutched his tunic. "Yes." You whispered as your fingers tightened its hold. "And I need for you to take me, My King. It has been far too long."

You needed him, desperately, hopelessly. You did not care he was coveted it blood. Nothing mattered because he was home.

Odysseus' breath caught at your impassioned plea. In one swift motion, he swept you up into his strong arms, cradling you against his broad chest. "As my Queen commands," he rumbled, his voice low and husky with desire.

He carried you swiftly to the bed, kicking the door shut behind them. Gently, reverently, he laid you upon the sheets, his hands roaming over your curves as if memorizing every dip and swell. "Let me worship you as you deserve, my goddess," Odysseus breathed, pressing hot kisses along the column of your throat.

His calloused fingers made quick work of the fastenings of your gown, parting the fabric to reveal the soft skin beneath.

Your lips parted feeling his hands push the fabric of your dress away, the blood from his palm cupping your breast. Thumb rubbing your nipple as the man bent down to kiss your stomach.

Odysseus paused, drinking in the sight of his wife splayed out before him like an offering. The moonlight filtering through the windows bathed your skin in an ethereal glow, making you look almost otherworldly. "Y/n," he groaned, his large hands then skimming reverently over your sides and hips. "My love, my life, my everything."

He then captured your lips in a searing kiss, pouring twenty years of pent-up longing and devotion into the press of his mouth against yours. One hand tangled in your tresses while the other mapped the curves he'd dreamed of for so long. Odysseus trailed his lips down the column of your throat, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. "I want to taste every inch of you," he growled against your flesh. "

You let out whimper, a gasp as you pressed yourself into him. It's been to long, you craved his touch to much as you let out a shaky laugh your fingers ranking through his hair tugging at the strands.

"Nothing is stopping you from doing so my King."

A wicked grin spread across Odysseus' face at your breathy invitation. "As my queen wishes," he purred, his voice a low, seductive rumble. He began his sensual assault, trailing open-mouthed kisses and teasing licks down the elegant line of your throat. His hands roamed your body with bold possessiveness, caressing every dip and curve he'd yearned for during his long absence. The blood of the suitors coating your body.

Reaching the swell of your breasts, Odysseus lavished attention on the sensitive mounds, suckling and laving each peak until they pebbled under his ministrations. He took his time exploring you, determined to rekindle the passion between you both to make up for lost time. "You taste even sweeter than I remember, my love," he murmured against your skin, his beard scratching deliciously.

"I have waited so long for this moment and you are finally mine." You whispered as you placed a hand on his cheek until you shifted your body, your tongue trailing across his neck licking the blood away.

Your night gown rising as your legs parted for him, your heart pounding in your ears. You wanted to feel his tongue on you again.

Odysseus shuddered as your tongue traced his neck, your intimate gesture igniting a fire in his veins. He could feel the heat of your core as your thighs parted invitingly beneath him. With a low groan, he settled between your legs, his broad shoulders nudging them further apart.

"Patience, my eager little dove," he chuckled darkly, his breath ghosting over your most sensitive area. "I intend to savor every moment of our reunion."

Slowly, torturously, Odysseus dragged his tongue along your slit, relishing your unique flavor. He lapped at your folds with long, deliberate strokes, circling your aching pearl with the tip of his tongue. Two thick fingers slid inside your slick channel, pumping steadily as he suckled your clit.

"Mmmm, still so tight for me,"

"Odysseus!" You whined, your fingers grabbing a fistful of his curls, another whine escaped your lips as your hips bucking. Your body shuddering with pleasure, your could the blood of the men he killed coating your body but you didn't care.

Not when you had your husband back.

Odysseus growled in approval as your fingers tightened in his hair, your desperate movements spurring him on. He redoubled his efforts, alternating between deep, curling thrusts of his fingers and firm suction on your throbbing bud. The obscene wet sounds of his ministrations filled the room, mingling with your increasingly high-pitched moans.

"That's it, my love," he praised huskily, his voice muffled against your sex. "Let me hear how good I make you feel. You've been so brave, waiting for me all these years. Now let go and take your pleasure."

He added a third finger, stretching you deliciously as he crooked them just right to rub that special spot inside you.

Your body was writhing on the bed and soon you were seeing stars as your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave.

Odysseus felt your walls clamp down around his fingers as your climax crashed over you. He worked you through it relentlessly, prolonging your pleasure until you were boneless and panting beneath him. As the last aftershocks subsided, he slowly withdrew his digits, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean with a satisfied hum.

"You taste divine, my queen," he rumbled, crawling up your body to capture your lips in a searing kiss, letting you sample yourself on his tongue. Odysseus settled between her thighs, the thick head of his arousal nudging insistently at your entrance.

"Are you ready for me, My Queen?" he asked, his voice strained with barely restrained desire. "I need to feel you surrounding me, to know that this is real and not just another fever dream."

Chest heaving, you nodded your head as you did your best to return the bruising kiss your husband with your body still trembling.

"Yes my love...and I need you to fill me." You whispered. "Let me give you another child."

Odysseus' heart swelled with love and desire at your impassioned words. With a powerful thrust of his hips, he sheathed himself fully inside your welcoming heat. "Ahhh, Y/n!" he groaned, his head falling forward to rest against your shoulder as he savored the exquisite feeling of being one with his wife once more.

Slowly, he began to move, setting a deep, sensual rhythm as he rocked into you. Each thrust was a declaration of his love, a promise of a future together. Odysseus peppered your face and neck with tender kisses, murmuring sweet nothings against your skin. "My heart, my soul, my everything," he panted, his pace gradually increasing. "I'm going to fill you up so thoroughly, plant my seed deep within you and watch your belly swell with our child."

Your body shuddered, leg resting against his hip as you did your best to match the man's thrusts.

"Odysseus!"

Your walls clenched around him, the blood that clung to your husband's skin making your bodies slick.

Odysseus felt your inner muscles flutter and clench around his cock, drawing him deeper with each powerful thrust. The slick glide of your sweat-slicked bodies, combined with the coppery tang of his dried blood, created an intoxicating friction. "Yes, my love! Take me, all of me!" he growled, his hips snapping forward relentlessly.

One large hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he pounded into you, chasing the shared release. The other tangled in your hair, tugging lightly as he claimed your mouth in a bruising kiss. Odysseus could feel the telltale tightening in his loins, signaling his impending climax. "I'm close, my love," he panted against your lips. "Come with me, my queen."

Your buddy shuddered at his words, nails digging into his back as your fingers clutched and tugged at his hair. "Odysseuss...I." Your breath hitched and soon you were seeing stars, as you hit your climax."

Odysseus felt your velvety walls clamping down around him like a vice as your second climax overtook you. The rhythmic squeezing of your sheath proved too much, and with a guttural roar of completion, he buried himself to the hilt inside your welcoming heat. His cock pulsed and twitched as he emptied himself deep within your fertile womb, painting your insides with his potent seed.

"Y/n!" he cried out, your name a prayer on his lips as waves of ecstasy crashed over him. Odysseus collapsed atop of you, careful not to crush your smaller form beneath his larger frame. He peppered your face with tender kisses as they both struggled to catch your breath, basking in the afterglow of your passionate reunion.

"My love, my life,"

You let out a weak laugh, you could only imagine what you both might have looked like but you could careless because Odysseus was home.

"My King, My heart. You are home."

[eddiesghxst]

BENEATH THE BLADE - part one

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: swordsman!eddie x noble!reader

summary: with your father on the brink of war he finds himself in need of a bigger army, and the only person capable of helping is none other than eddie munson, the lord of death, but the only way to achieve his loyalty is through marriage.

contains: enemies to lovers trope, marriage of convenience, alcohol use, themes of misogyny/sexism, SMUT - 18+, mentions of bedding ceremony tradition, loss of virginity, oral (f receiving), p in v (unprotected — stay safe pls), hint of breeding kink, tiny bit of blasphemy, mentions of domestic violence (brief), mentions of death, mentions of blood/gore/violence, asshole!eddie, and eddie being dark and hot <3

word count: 12.5k

| next part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

Eddie is handsome.

Charming in a soft light, you’d say— at least when he’s not covered in dirt and the blood of his enemies— his features are vivid this way, sharp yet kind, free of the anger that you’ve known to follow him in tow.

When he arrived, he was a sight to see— a jarring one.

Mud and filth caked over his body; blood smeared down his face to match the blade of his sword, soiled hair tied back and dripping with a liquid you’re not sure you would even want to know the name of. He was walking death. Cold eyes and a honed fleet to match. When his lips cracked to form a grin, you had accepted that nothing could be worse than marrying the very walking doom of the earth.

You hated it. You think you hate him.

Your wedding caused quite the commotion amongst the city of RedGate— travelers from the opposite side of the world came just to see you be wed today, the biggest day of your life, yet you’re struggling to find the joy in it.

When you were little, your mother would tell you stories of how one day you’d be married off to a prince, a handsome one with a gorgeous smile and all the gold in the world to make you happy, and somehow you ended up with the complete opposite.

Still, even if this marriage is the least adhered to your liking, you don’t have a choice. It’s your duty. Your promise to the people of RedGate.

A marriage of convenience, your father told you.

You have the money, and he has the men.

In the eyes of the storyteller, it’s a match made in heaven. You see anything but.

Because the truth is, you don’t know him— Eddie— and he is now your husband.

Despite the circumstances, Eddie seems to be having a grand time. Beside you, fresh in his sharpest clothes and finest jewelry, he sips on his nth glass of wine, loudly laughing at the room's commotion before you. They’ve been entertaining you for hours now. Hours of singing, dancing, and jesting all to appease you, yet you haven’t cracked a single smile.

Eddie sees it. He glances at you and smiles to himself, dark eyes shimmering beneath golden light as he finishes his chalice. He raises the cup, a silent order for more, and you swallow hard, wary of what’s to come with a drunk husband on the first night.

You’ve heard the stories women tell of their first night. You’ve heard the horrors of the pain and dread their men put them through, and it’s sure to say that wine doesn’t help the case— it never does. 

As you prepare for the doom of your evening (assuming it’s yet to happen), you hardly notice the cup-bearer filling your husband's chalice to the brim. You expect Eddie to begin sipping on the fine wine, but you’re proven wrong when the cup is brought down and held steady in front of you.

You look at the cup, shiny gold with twinkling jewels embedded in the sides, rich red sloshing up the walls, spilling over the edges, and snaking around his bruised knuckles. You drag your gaze up the arm holding the cup, decorated fingers, and storytelling ink on the skin that belongs to him. Eddie quirks up an eyebrow, watching you with such precision that it makes your blood run cold.

“A lady doesn’t drink.” You say.

Eddie grins, light dancing in his eyes as he says, “No? How come?”

You straighten in your chair, dragging in a slow breath as you tip your chin up, “It is not of a lady’s nature to drink such poison.”

Eddie’s face stretches in amusement, “Poison?” He hums. He retracts the cup, bringing it to his lips, but he waits as he adds, “You have never drank wine, then?” He snickers. The boom of the crowd seems to drown out as you glare at your husband, watching as he takes a sip, playful humor still painted across his face. You find nothing funny.

“Wine distorts the mind.”

Eddie sighs, loud and heavy, as he shifts in his chair, turning to look out into the crowd, “Wine tastes good, princess. You’re too rich to deprive yourself of such luxury.”

“Dull thinking is a luxury?” You question.

You’re testing the waters. Asking the questions that will ultimately let you know just what kind of a man your husband is— as if the stench of death from earlier wasn’t enough.

“It is when you’ve seen the things I’ve seen.” He responds.

You assume he means the sight of his enemy's severed heads. The sea of bodies and blood he’s sailed upon. All of which are his doing. You can’t find it in yourself to be sympathetic to him, no matter how hard you try.

Eddie sighs again, sinking into his seat as he taps a ring against the gold cup, “You know, wine might make it better for you.”

Your eyebrows furrow at his words, confusion etched in your voice when you look at him with a tip of your head, “What?”

Eddie speaks with a grin around the rim of his chalice, eyes dancing across the dining hall as he says, “Wine makes it better,” he repeats, his eyes finally landing on you as he adds, “Numbs the pain for your cute little cunt.” 

You’re stunned by his words, disgusted and shocked by such crass words as he casually sips his wine. “Have you no manners?” You stress.

Eddie doesn’t respond; he ignores you as he studies you. He adds, “You’re a tiny little thing. I reckon you would have your fill within less than a cup.” You open your mouth to respond, maybe throw some choice words his way, but he beats you to it, “I’m quite big, you know? I’m sure you have heard the stories. You’ll be smart to prepare for it.” He shifts in his seat, hips tilting up just enough to tell you what he’s talking about.

“I will do no such thing.” You quip.

Eddie shrugs with a snicker and a smack of his lips, speaking against the cup as he eyes you, “I’ll go slow then.” He says with a wink.

A cold shiver runs down your spine, an echoing bang of doom resounding in the walls of your skull as his words sink in. It doesn’t help any better when the infamous bedding ceremony music starts up, the men in the room cheering along to the song as they begin making their way to you.

Your nails dig into the palms of your hands, blood sure to rise as your heart races. The bedding ceremony, while for your guests means the nearing end of the celebration, only represents the beginning of the end for you. Your night has only just begun.

The men will carry you away, grab at your clothes, and cheer as they lead you to your bed chambers, and Eddie will soon follow suit with women grappling at his clothes as well, preparing you both for what’s to come behind closed doors.

If you’re lucky, the men will grant you the decency of keeping your chemise on. But even still, that will soon come off as well. You won’t win either way.

Eddie leans in, the sour stench of alcohol seeping from him as he speaks, “Looks like it’s time, princess,” he teases, a white smirk haunting you before you’re hauled up from your seat, a yelp leaving your lips as the men lift you above their heads.

Rough hands and drunken fingers prod at every inch of your body, a song you’ve heard many times before wafting through the air— you still don’t find the joy in it. You always thought the bedding ceremony was a bit unfair. The women were never as ruthless to the groom as the men were to the bride. You’ve seen more than you’d like to admit— and you never wanted to be on the performing side, yet here you are.

You catch sight of Eddie as the dining hall doors open to carry you away. You see the heavy gaze of his eyes on you, an unspoken threat to the men carrying you lingering through the air— harm her, and it’ll be the last thing you do. 

You’d be a fool to think he cared.

Cheerful singing booms down the halls as they tear off pieces of your gown and corset, leaving a trail of innocence through the castle. It’s not long before you’re tossed onto the bed of your chambers, white chemise still covering you, the men still cheering as they leave you alone in the vast room, echoes of the celebration playing harmony to your racing thoughts.

You scramble up from your bed the second the doors close, reaching out for the thin robe that rests on a chair across the room. You pace for what seems like hours, talking yourself down in preparation for what’s to come. To aid you in preparation, you find yourself sitting at your vanity, candlelight illuminating the mirror so you can see as you freshen up— because although you’re not exactly excited, you still (annoyingly so) want to look appeasing for Eddie. You want to fulfill his desires. You will be a failed wife if you don’t.

You find yourself growing worried when time grows longer with no sign of Eddie, and the sounds of the celebration seem to be dying down. You can’t imagine where he’s gone. Maybe he wanted to drink more. Maybe he doesn’t want you— you’re unsure if that hurts or relieves your ego.

Before you can decide to leave and look for him, the heavy doors to your chambers slide open, light seeping into the dim room as your husband steps in. You catch his eye through the mirror before facing him, standing from the worn bench and clenching your fists as you ask, “Where have you been?”

Eddie, ever the dark looming tower he is, steps further into the room, steps echoing in the silence. He’s fully dressed, not a piece of attire missing from his frame, so you suppose the women didn’t drag him here like the men did you. Had something wrong happened?

“Miss me already, wife?”

You grimace, rolling your eyes as you turn back to your vanity, “Hardly so.” You mutter.

A few moments of silence pass before Eddie speaks, “I had a conversation with your lady-in-waiting.”

Your face twists in confusion, chills dancing up your arms at the breeze that blows in through your open balcony doors. “Robin?” You question.

With his back turned to you from across the room, Eddie removes his cloak, draping it across the couch in front of the fireplace. He doesn’t look at you as he walks around the furniture, responding with a smooth voice, “If that is her name, then yes.”

He sits, busying himself with unbuttoning the chest of his shirt.

“Why?” You ask.

It’s not usual for men to speak with the ladies in waiting. There is nothing for them to discuss, really. But Eddie surprises you when he responds, voice steady yet still indirect towards you, “I wanted to know you.”

Suddenly, you find yourself making a journey across the room to stand before Eddie. The light that the candles cast upon Eddie is beautiful, and his eyes glow when they lift to gaze upon you, fingers still busy with buttons and strings. He is handsome and dark, and he is now yours.

“You kept me waiting.”

“And I am sorry.” He admits.

You don’t know why, but you’re left speechless by the apology that rolls off his tongue. From the stories, Eddie is not one to apologize for much of anything, and you expect he would carry the same traits as a husband. Apparently not.

Eddie stands then, tall and broad in nature— intimidating to most, but his eyes are soft and sincere as he looks down at you. You find your feet stuck where you stand, expecting him to reach and touch you, to initiate the big finale, but he never does.

“I want to apologize for my behavior at the feast,” He begins, “That was no way to speak to a lady, let alone my wife. May you forgive me as I am only now learning to be a husband.”

The Eddie before you now is a different Eddie than you had seen at the dining table. Where he had once looked upon you with lustful and roguish eyes, he now looks at you with sincerity. A softness you would’ve never thought could come from a man like him.

“What did she tell you?” You ask.

His mouth twitches, and if you’re not mistaken, you might’ve thought he wanted to smile.

“She told me you like to garden.” He says. “Your favorite flower is the Middlemist Red. You spend a pretty penny each season to import them from Cathay.”

You smile with your eyes, lips pressed into a line, shying away when he finally cracks and lets his lips tip upon the sight of you. “I do. They are beautiful.” You respond.

Eddie nods once, “You will have to show me, then.”

You nod silently. And Eddie doesn’t seem to want to take the initiative, so you take the first step, reaching forward with shaky hands to finish the buttons of his shirt.

You’re too focused on the task; you don’t notice how Eddie looks at you until his warm hands cover yours. His hands are rough and calloused from days of fighting and hours of work, and you don’t know whether the bumps on your skin rise from his touch or the breeze. 

Dark pools of swirling mud sear into you, so kind around the edges that it makes your breath hitch in your throat. Eddie squeezes your hands in his palms, no sense of insincerity as he untangles your fingers from his shirt and says, “Not tonight.”

And for some reason, your heart drops.

You blink at him, confusion flashing across your face for a split second before you mask it. “You do not want to?” You ask, a tremble of worry you so desperately want to bat away dancing around the edges

Eddie’s thumbs drag over the bumps of your knuckles, “You mistake my words.” He says, “I… I do, but I can’t. I won’t.” He shakes his head.

You frown, a feeling of rejection looming over your head as you look at your husband. “Why?” You ask.

He relaxes, shoulders weighed down with the earth as his thumbs drag to press into your palms. Soothing and grounding, yet overwhelming for the moment.

“You’re shaking, my love.” He points out.

Your gaze drops to your hands, heart racing as you realize— yes, you are shaking. Visibly so.

You shake your head, eyebrows furrowing as you reply, “It is only excitement.”

You’re not sure why you’re doing this. You would’ve leaped for joy an hour ago had Eddie turned you away, yet you can’t help but find yourself fighting for him to say yes. A part of you doesn’t want to be seen as a failure in the eyes of your counsel if they find out you couldn’t consummate your marriage. And another part of you— a very small yet loud part of you— just… wants him.

He is handsome; that part was never a lie, even in the stories. It isn’t hard to feel different forms of frustration when it comes to him. And well, you’d be lying if you said you’re not curious to find out what it feels like.

Eddie laughs softly, gently dropping your hands before turning away and grabbing his cloak, “I know when a lady is excited, my lady.” He admits. You hate the green serpent of jealousy that hisses in your chest.

You ignore the unwelcome feeling when he turns back to you, eyes still profound as they fall upon you, “And I also know when someone is scared.” He lowly says.

“I won’t have you when you are afraid of me.”

You gaze up at him, fingers curling around the long sleeves of your robe as you gather your strength. “I am not afraid of you.” And you’re not. You’re more so… reluctant of him— unsure of the extent of his morality in the throes of power. But standing before you, you can see he has no intentions to hurt you.

He looks at you as if he’s studying you. Pretty, dark lashes fluttering beneath the movement of his eyes, and you think you see the grip on his cloak tighten for a moment. “You deserve better for your first, princess. Someone soft. Someone whose hands haven’t touched the face of death.”

And he’s right. His reasoning is so right it may be wrong, and you begin to feel sorry for thinking so ill of him at the start of the night. He is trying now, and that is already more than what most receive. 

How much of it is true?

You don’t think much before reaching out and curling your fingers into the cloak on his arm, eyes never leaving his as you step closer, tilting your chin up to size him. “You are my husband now, and I am your wife.” You say, removing the heavy cloak from his hold.

“So long as you are mine and I am yours, we will have no other.”

And something in Eddie’s gaze churns.

Like your words have altered something within him— opened a portal to something you have yet to experience in him.

“I won’t fuck you.” He replies.

Your gaze challenges his, and you don’t think before dropping his cloak to the ground to press your palms against his chest. Two steps and the back of his knees hit the couch, legs buckling beneath him and forcing him to drop onto the plush seat. 

You grasp at your robe and chemise, hiking the thin material up as you gently mount Eddie’s lap, nerves be damned.

Eddie’s hands hover at your hips, but he doesn’t touch you, resistance swimming in his eyes as he gazes up at you. You settle over him, bare thighs touching the rough material of his breeches, your centers ghosting over one another as you lean over him.

“Then I will fuck you.”

He is so articulated with his eyes, bright in the words that refuse to roll off his tongue, and you know you have him caught now.

You lower yourself onto him, shifting your center over his growing bulge, and your body preens at the shaky breath that leaves him. You rest a hand on the back of the seat, nails digging into the stiff material as your other hand settles on the curve of his jaw.

You hadn’t kissed since the ceremony hours earlier when you were still brewing with anger and misfortune— but now, with Eddie’s wide eyes watching you and the brewing heat of pleasure that comes with every drag of your hips, you can’t help but find yourself wanting to feel his lips on yours again.

Eddie, seemingly keeping true to his word, does not show any signs of acting on the intense pull between you, so you take it upon yourself to lower your lips onto his.

He is soft, bittersweet with the taste of wine on his tongue, but it only makes you want more.

You lean into him, body pressing against him as he kisses you back, lips moving in tandem with yours as his hands finally— and hesitantly— touch you.

They leave trails of fire up your skin, coasting up your sides and back, gentle yet firm as he holds the back of your neck and presses into you.

Your hips are steady in movement against his, seeking pleasure with every roll until you can no longer hold back the moan that spills from you. Eddie breathes heavily against your lips when you part, blown eyes focused on you as you crumble beneath the weight of pleasure, chasing that twisting feeling of heat.

He keeps one hand on your neck as the other travels down the expanse of your body, fluid and malleable with the dips and rises of your body. He lands on your hip, gentle fingers pressed against your skin as he follows the flow of your motion. He doesn’t try to take charge, doesn’t dig his fingers into your skin to move you against him in the ways he wants you to, but he’s there.

He is gentle in his guidance, delicate in the way he lets you use him— and he is a sight.

Flushed cheeks and blown eyes, bated breaths, and shaky grasps of restraint. He is war and the solemn peace that comes after.

You want more.

You move in hopes of searching for the ties of his breeches, but he stops you faster than you can move, shaking his head as he speaks with heavy breaths, “Cum like this. Keep going.”

You whimper, hips never having stopped their pace as the pleasure threatens to spill over the edges. It’s an all-encompassing feeling, having Eddie beneath you and encouraging you as you rut up against him, needy to feel that explosion of fire.

It doesn’t take much longer, not with the way Eddie leans up to press soft, fluttery kisses beneath your chin, and you find yourself falling into the abyss of satisfaction, moans and whimpers seeping from you like loose change.

The room seems to spin, candlelight and heat searing through you as you come to, legs shaking on either side of him. But you’re not done.

You kiss him, wet and heavy and needy. Less calculated than the others yet outdoing them by miles.

“Take me to bed,” you pant against his lips, “If you do nothing, do this one thing and take me to our bed.” You say, fingers curled into the soft material of his collar. 

There is a slight edge of reprimand in your words, a taunting lilt— if you don’t want to fuck your wife like a man, the least you can do is carry her to bed— it’s so mean. Yet, it does the job.

Eddie's eyes grow dim, an untamed beast growling to wake in his chest before he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as he stands. You are caught in his gaze, chest still rising with bated breaths as he walks away from the couch and towards the bed. 

“Our bed?” He lowly huffs. 

“Against my wishes, yes.”

Your fingers sink into his nicely pulled-back hair, searching for the tie to tug and loosen. His hair falls like a flower in spring, blooming with the dark riches of the earth, orange fire framing his mane of curls. He is beautiful and devastating.

You drop the string, careless where it falls as you run your hands through the soft strands.

Despite the fire radiating through Eddie, he lowers you onto the bed softly, handling you as if you’re a gem, and you squirm when you find yourself missing the heat of him as he stands at the foot of the bed.

He stands before you, tall and brooding, as he untucks his shirt from his breeches, slinking his arms out from the sleeves and letting the thin material drop. 

The reveal of his body is earth-shattering. Mind-numbing. The feeling of awe that overtakes you when you wake up just in time to see how the sun kisses the sea and melts the glass waters. 

He is violent. Sharp and merciless to the mind, a living depiction of the growing demise of the world.

But he is also radiant. Imperfect like a mine of gold, jagged around the edges with cuts and scars that run deeper than you’ll ever know. Inked stories pressed into his skin, thick lines running across his ribs and slithering to his back, hours of pain spent to capture a moment. 

He is so devastatingly beautiful.

The world grows dull in your ears; you hear nothing but the crackling snap of the candles that light the room and the uneven breaths that expel from your chest. Eddie looks at you, steady and calculated, watching you as if hunting you— and you don’t know why, but you find yourself reaching for him.

Your fingers are colder than his body when they touch him, soft tips grazing the sewn skin of his torso, and you leave trails of bumps in their wake as you dance over his skin.

Eddie’s skin is warm beneath your lips, and the steady thump of his heart is so vivid you can almost taste it through the layers of skin, blood, and bone. You gently caress what you can touch, thumbs sliding over raised skin that had once been broken, lips following suit with gentle pecks to each one until Eddie raises his hands to cup your face.

His lips are on yours like hot metal meeting water, sizzling fire and bursting in color. It’s addicting, kissing him. You don’t want to stop.

He presses into you, pushing you back until you’re laid against the bed, steady on your elbows as his ringed hands coast up your legs. So gentle in tow, rough in comparison to your soft skin as they push your gown further up your thighs. The air is cool between your legs, chills dancing up your spine until you shiver and pant against his lips.

Eddie then parts from you, dragging in air like he is greedy for it. His gaze dances over your body as he drags a hand over his mouth, looking at you in seemingly deep thought. He swallows, his resolve loose as the seconds pass before he finally speaks— “Need to be wet.”

Your face twists in confusion, the sheets twisting in your grip as you gaze up at him, “What?”

Eddie sinks to his knees, wordlessly dragging his hands over your thighs as he grumbles, “You need to be wet.” His hands coast up your legs, pushing your chemise up over your hips until you are bare to his eyes. “Wetter than this.” His gaze is hungry yet appreciative, drinking you in as if he will never get another chance to— if he will, you’re not sure. Your face is warm, blooming with shock, and a churning heat that settles in your stomach. 

And you have never had a man kneel before you. You are of high rank, yes, but you are no queen. Neither are you a lord. The people don’t bend a knee to your honor as often as they do to your father, and though you never really understood why men puffed their chest out so high and mighty upon the gesture, you think you understand now as you watch Eddie sink to the floor.

It’s humbling, seeing such a man of his stature relinquish his pride to rest before your feet, and it only gets better when he parts your thighs and leans forward to pepper wet and warm kisses to the insides of your thighs.

You’re shaking already, fists curling into the plush sheets of the bed, chest heaving in ecstasy. The feeling of Eddie’s curls brushing against your thighs makes you tremble, a smile threatening to pull on your lips at the sensation. His lashes flutter as he moves forward, a sense of shock overtaking your body as he pushes his face into the hilt of your cunt, nose pressed to the neatly trimmed hairs of your pelvis before breathing in deep. You whimper, squirming beneath his hold as he noses at you, breathing you in like you’re the last draw of air his lungs will ever receive.

“You smell divine.” He grumbles, voice thick with lust.

You breathe, teeth sharp against the inside of your cheek as you gaze at him with wide eyes, “T-thank you…” Your words fall off in a moan as he drags his tongue against you, through your folds and wetness, humming as if he hadn’t had his fill from the feast.

He leans in more, hooking an arm around your thigh to pull you in before completely devouring you. You can hardly keep your composure, licks of fire running through your veins in pulses as you quiver on Eddie’s tongue. Your vision wavers, eyes fluttering shut as your head tips back, mouth parted in desperate moans as you struggle to keep yourself open for him.

He groans against you, palm heavy on your tummy as the other hand reaches up to drag a thumb over your lips, sinking into the wet heat of your mouth. “Open your eyes,” he says against you, “Look at me.”

It takes everything in you to do so, but you manage, tilting your head back down to look at the man between your thighs.

“I want you to watch.”

Gods— you’re not sure if the air has been sucked out of the room, or you’re just that speechless. But you have no time to figure it out because Eddie is back to licking and sucking at you like his life depends on it. Like you are his last meal on earth. Like your cunt is the fountain of life and he’s spent years searching for it.

You are his altar, his god, and he is your loyal disciple.

The familiar feeling of pressure builds quicker this time, and your grasp on restraint is little to none, so Eddie can feel it when you’re close. He is cruel when he parts from you. A slick, wet sound and a string of spit come with his withdrawal, and it makes your face burn.

You had forgotten how great Eddie is in size with his position beneath you, but you’re reminded when he stands to his full height. You can’t help but watch with hungry eyes as his hands drop to the waist of his breeches, skilled fingers quickly unlacing the ties. 

He is an encapturing scene to watch, his muscles flexing with each movement, stories coming to life with each twist— and you almost become too distracted with it to notice the unveiling of his cock.

But you can not ignore it for long because Eddie… is big.

He had told you so at the feast, and you had taken it with a grain of salt. However, this is no grain of salt before you. This is—

“It’s not as frightening as it looks.”

Your eyes snap to his, wide and no doubt doing nothing to mask your shock. “Well, that is easy for you to say.” You respond.

And for the first time, a genuine laugh spills from Eddie. It’s warming to hear it, a sound that could— arguably— put the mourning doves to shame. And you think you might see little carves of sun in his cheeks. A strong juxtaposition for someone like him to carry an angel's kiss within his smile, yet incredibly appreciative.

He rids himself fully of his trousers, shoes already off, as he kicks them to the side. He is a force of nature as he towers over you, gentle hands brushing against your skin when he cups your face. But he doesn’t take action. No, instead, he steps away and walks towards the side of the bed, climbing up to lay against your pillows.

You watch over your shoulder before turning to him, face twisted in confusion as you ask, “What are you doing?”

Eddie shrugs, “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

You look at him for a moment, a long moment— his thick cock the only thing giving away the state of his desire, which apparently, is enough for you to turn and crawl your way over to him.

You frown as you swing your leg over him to straddle his lap, an annoyed tone in your voice when you speak. “This is wrong, you know?” You huff as you unbutton your chemise.

Eddie watches silently from beneath you, eyes failing to stay trained on your face when you begin to untie the neck of your chemise.

“You are supposed to fuck me. Worship me and show me that you want me.” You grumble as you fully open your chemise, your body on full display.

Between you, Eddie drags a slow fist up his cock, his tip ruddy and wet with excitement. A thrum of shock and sick pleasure twists through your body when he lightly taps his cock against your lower tummy, “Not proof enough for you, princess? Or are you just being greedy?” He teases with a tilt of his head.

Your heart races at the sight— Eddie pressed into your pillows, hair fanned out beneath him, his bare and scarred chest pink beneath your touch as his cock begs to be touched. Your core aches at the sight of him between your thighs, your fingers taking his place as you wrap them around his cock— and he is so warm. So thick and full of weight between your fingers, you can’t help but look up and ask— “Will it hurt as you said?”

Eddie gazes at you, never having stopped, brown eyes blown with desire. He can hear it, the slight tinge of fear in your voice. A warm hand resides beneath your open chemise and rests against your hip, a gentle thumb caressing your hot skin. “I licked you for a reason.”

Though lewd, it does well to ease your nerves. You find the tension in your shoulders lessen, and you hardly pay any mind as you wriggle closer to Eddie, softly sighing when you feel the heat of him. 

It makes your body ache.

He is heavy in your palm as you press him against your core, the soft tip tapping the aching bud of your clit. Your body writhes at the feeling, thighs parting further for him. His grip tightens on your waist, his gaze falling to watch as you paint his tip through your folds and down to your entrance.

You suck in a breath, toes curling in anticipation before you sink onto him. It’s an odd feeling at first, something more like a foreign pressure than pain, but the further you sink down, the more the heat rises and the burn of the stretch eats away at you. Below you, Eddie curses, his head dropping when you pulse around him. You pull in a sharp breath, thighs threatening to close as the first wave of pain washes through you. Eddie returns to reality quickly, looking up at you as he reaches out to pull you forward, cooing at you soft and sweetly, “You’re doing so good. So fucking well, princess. Just relax.”

You try your best, taking steady breaths as you continue to wriggle down into him, but by the time he is pressed to the hilt, you hardly have control over the breathless pants leaving your throat. “I— it’s big. It’s so big,” You shakily breathe. 

His lips are warm against your forehead, pressing soft, warm kisses as you flutter around his cock, the burn slowly but surely becoming bearable. Your hips squirm against him and he hums, praising you and caressing every inch of you whilst making no effort to make you move. 

You don’t know how long you stay seated on his cock, but you can feel yourself stretched to the brim with him and suddenly you want nothing more than to feel it move within you. With your palms pressed into the pillows beside Eddie’s head, you find stability on your palms and knees before dragging your hips up, slow and steady— and your vision goes white.

It is indescribable, the feeling of Eddie’s cock pressed so snugly against your wet walls, the feeling of him dragging through you slow enough for you to still feel the lingering burn mixed with that dull tease of pleasure. And you can feel Eddie physically holding back. Can see it swimming in his eyes when he looks up at you.

He wants to ravish you.

He wants to push himself into you so deep you won’t know where he ends and you begin.

He is a brooding force of desire and lust and power, and he could very well do it within the blink of an eye, yet… he doesn’t.

He stays beneath you, hands shaking with impulse as they drag up your sides to softly cup your breasts. His chest rises and falls shakily, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he lets you drag your cunt up and down his length.

He watches your body move, eyes seemingly overwhelmed with where to focus— and you don’t even think he meant for you to hear it when he says, “You are so beautiful.”

You whimper at his admission, head lolling back as you sink down onto him again and again. He kisses your neck, wet and hungry, and your body keens when he wraps his lips around your pert nipple, rough thumb dragging over the other, “Such pretty tits. All mine now.” He mutters.

“Is it—” You can hardly breathe when you fully sink onto him again, it feels like his cock is lodged between your lungs, but god it’s so good. “Is it g-good for you?” You ask.

His hands tighten on your hips, face twisting in pleasure for just a moment before he grunts out a response— “Fuck. Yeah, yeah, keep going.” His voice is low and rough and it sends shivers up your spine as you grind your hips into his. “Is it good for you?” He asks. 

Your mind goes blank for a moment— you hadn’t imagined he’d care, not when he’s so vividly troubled between the throes of his pleasure and the fight to sustain his composure. You drop onto him, harder than before, your cunt fluttering around him as you whimper in pleasure and respond, “Yes.”

He smiles at the action, his cock pulsing within you at the sound of your bliss. You do it again, this time both of your resolves cracking, a broken moan slipping from you as Eddie grunts, fingers digging crescent moons into your skin. 

You lean over him and press a hand to his jaw, a thumb dragging across his lips as your breath hitches, watery eyes gazing into his as the stretch burns through your hips and thighs. Your face twists in a mix of unrecognizable pleasure, a mix of pain and fear, but overall— “Show me.”— curiosity. 

How does Eddie want? How does Eddie need? Is he greedy? Rough? Angry? Or is he soft and kind— just like this?

The clench of his hands on your waist says otherwise.

Eddie shakes his head, jaw clenching as you drag his cock out of your wet, warm heat, just the tip caught in your pulsing entrance as your body shudders at the feeling. You sink back onto him, veins running against your velvet walls as you shakily breathe, “Show me, Eddie.” You say again, your other hand sinks into his hair, nails dragging against his scalp.

“I want to know what you like—” “It isn’t kind.”

Your heart races then— will he hurt you? Will he beat you like you’ve heard other women whisper about their own husbands. A feeling churns in the pit of your stomach, his rough hand dragging over your chest to palm at your breast.

“...Show me.”

Earth, dark and rich, pools swirling with lust as they gaze at you. Eddie’s chest is like restless waters beneath your palms— rising and falling— the beast gnashing its teeth, hungry for something between its jaws.

You give yourself right into him. Placing your gentle nature amongst his riot— you’re unsure if you’ll thank yourself or hate yourself later.

Eddie presses his feet onto your bed, fingers tight on your waist as his hips press into you— as if he could get any deeper than he already is. If he could, you think you would die. Your moan breaks around a sob, one hand grappling to hold one of his as your other curls against his chest and your head falls, your knees digging into Eddie’s sides.

One pull out and one push in— hard and fast— it has you seeing stars. He knocks the breath out of you, his cock so wide and deep in you that you fear you’ll be feeling him for days after this. You don’t care enough to be embarrassed about how much you're gushing around him, or the jumbled moans and words that tumble from your mouth with each punishing thrust. 

Eddie groans beneath you, fingers tight on your hips as he picks you up and drops you on his cock like you’re nothing but a toy. He’s punching out staccato moans from you, that beast thrashing in his chains— so close to freedom and yet…

“Fucking cunt’s sucking me in like I paid you for it— shit.” Eddie curses, briefly letting his head drop onto your pillows before easing back up to watch where he pounds up into you. You whimper, an annoying warm twist in your belly from his words despite the disgust that tumbles from your tongue— “As if I’d ever take your money.”

Eddie’s brown eyes snap up to yours, a growl rumbling deep in his chest before he slinks a hand up your body and around your neck. He squeezes, hard enough to have your toes curl and your nails dig into his chest. He drags you down, hovering your face above his as he drills into you, his other hand grabbing a handful of your ass to help him bounce you on his cock. “You can act as if you are above me all you want, princess,” He pants against your lips, fingers tight on your neck, “But who’s cock are you about to come on, hm?” He lowly asks.

Fuck.

You aren’t sure if your lungs exist anymore. You think there might just be a big, gaping hole in your body— an empty space where Eddie’s cock has carved its way into. Because you can not breathe when you fall apart above Eddie.

You can hardly see or think. You definitely can’t speak. And beneath you, Eddie hums as if he’s some sort of demon and he’s satisfied now that your soul has left your body.

You are speechless from the overwhelming feeling of bliss, and it intensifies when Eddie hits his peak, emptying himself into you with moans so beautiful you would call anything else that reaches your ears after this a disgrace. 

It’s warm, the feeling of his cum seeping into you, and it makes your body feel as if it’s boiling, but you sink into it either way, chasing the filling sensation that erupts within you.

Beneath you, though he had just defiled your body and had nearly strangled you, Eddie is spewing out soft words in appreciation, promises of keeping you forever, making a home, keeping you round and full with his babies. If you had known better, and you do, you would say he is drunk on the feeling. You think you might be as well.

And if the feeling only exists in this room— where Eddie holds you like you’re the last piece of soul he has on earth, where he is warm and throbbing inside of you and you can almost swear you share one set of lungs— then you never want to leave.

Morning light comes quicker than you had hoped. 

After a night spent with incessant writhing as Eddie plowed into you more times than you could care to count, you wake with an aching body and a soft pull of a shy smile threatening your lips. 

Between your thighs, you ache, but it is somewhat of a welcomed feeling knowing where it came from. The breeze of warm ocean-scented air drifts through your chambers like a song, and the sheets are soft against your skin as you stretch your sleep-weighted limbs.

Flashes of yesterday come to you with each moment you spend waking. Anger and frustration, worry of what the next chapter brings, betrayal of having to give your hand to another as you came to terms with the fact that your hand was never yours to begin with. You were always a pawn in the game. You were naive to think otherwise.

Understanding and acceptance, opening your world to the favors of the man who is now your husband. Desire and lust and the bittersweet fruits of passion. It comes crashing down on you like a rogue wave.

You are a wife now. You no longer only live for yourself but for and with another as well— and it is jarring to try and understand.

Still, you are thankful Eddie seems to be… less than what he is known to be. Maybe he is more than what is believed— of course, in the sense that he is not some monstrous being that lives and breathes to destroy everything in its path.

He is not easy to read yet, no, that will come with time. But you are hopeful in the sense that you believe you may be able to live with him without hating all you have become.

And anyway, now that you have fully acknowledged yesterday and the fact that you are now married, you wonder— where is your husband?

You leave bed, limbs cracking and popping at the stretch as you throw your chemise over your naked body. You shrug a robe over for the sake of your decency and slip your feet into the nearest pair of silk slippers, shuffling over to the door. Your hand settles on the doorknob before the door swings open, barely missing you.

Eddie steps in, brown eyes roving over you as you gaze at him in slight shock from his abrupt entrance. His eyes drop to your chest, the soft material of your robe having opened when you stepped back to give him space. You cover yourself, face heating in embarrassment as you clear your throat.

Eddie blinks, stepping further into the room to let the door close, “Pack your things; we leave for Ironhold tonight.”

Your face twists in confusion as you step away, furthering your distance from him, “What? Why?”

Eddie lowly huffs, turning away and pacing towards your dresser, yanking a drawer open, “I don’t know if you noticed, but your father is on the brink of war.” He grumbles as he pulls out various articles of your clothing. You march over to him, grabbing your clothes from his hands and stuffing them back into the drawer before slamming it closed. “Why do I have to go?” You frown. Eddie turns to you and looks at you as if you’re a pain in his ass— you want nothing more than to slap the look off his face.

“Because the council demanded I bring you.”

Your chest brews with a strong sense of annoyance— your father’s council has always found ways to prod and poke at your peace. And have they not done enough within the last day?

You hardly realize you’re pacing out of your room, quick strides carrying you down the wide hallways, ignoring the greetings of maids because how can you think straight when you have just been ordered to leave your home?

The knights at the door of the council chamber don’t ask why you’re there; the fury in your steps says enough to make them drag the heavy doors open.

“I won’t go.”

The councilmen are no strangers to your sharp tongue. Since you were a child, you were never one to willingly bend to their absurd demands— you want me to do this? Then you do this— and they hate it.

The meeting has yet to finish; they are all seated, seemingly still in conversation— but you don’t care, your gaze set on your father— the man at the center of it all. He drags in a breath, shifting in his seat; the slow tap of his finger against the table shows his patience with you— you have never given him an easy day in your life, and he knows your anger best. Which is why he doesn’t hesitate to respond, “You will go.”

You step further into the room, passing the council members to stand at your father's side, the heavy, stone table cold beneath your palms when you lean down to face him. “I will have nothing to do with your corrupt and murderous war.” You sneer.

Across the table, a councilman who is watching the entire interaction barks out a laugh, “My lady, you lost that choice when you married him.”

Your body burns hot and red, frustration pumping through you in riveting waves— that was not your fault. “That was against my wishes. You forced my hand.” You remind them all.

“So you say,” Your father says with a dismissive tone. He taps against the table again, “You owe a service to your country—” “I owe a service to our people. Not your politics.” You snap.

“I will not go.” You slowly repeat.

Your father’s gaze is bothered and bored when he looks at you; a long pause of silence before he speaks, “You are married now. You go where your husband goes—” he lifts a finger to silence you when you try to talk, “You will accompany him in solidarity, and you will provide him the love and care of a good wife— do not forget that he is helping us. He is helping our country— your people.” He mocks your last words. “You will go with him if it is to be the last thing you ever do, am I understood?”

The room, though physically quiet, is loud in suffocating domination. You gaze at the stone table. You remember when you were a child and sat on your father’s knee, here in the council chamber, and you wanted nothing more than to fill his space when you grew older. You know now that his chair was crafted for no one but him.

Your voice is stern when you speak again, “I am not a mercenary.” 

The councilman speaks again, “No, but you are a woman— a wife now. This is now your assignment.”

You stared at your chamber door for some time— how long, you’re not sure, but you feel the heat of your anger as if it’s been there for years. You are no longer your own. You’re now the property of the council, told what to do and expected to follow through with no complaints, and this is only the second time you have felt it hit full force— the first being the second a ring was slipped onto your finger.

You’re being pulled away from your home now, the place you know best, the place that has kept you safe, healthy, and free. The place you’ve grown to love and know— you’re being ripped away from it and it fuels the fire within you.

You pack your things with angry hands, grabbing clothes and necessities and tossing them onto your bed in a disordered manner. Robin steps in just after noon, eyes widening when she sees the heap of clothes on your bed.

“They’re forcing me to go with him.” You huff.

Robin walks towards you where you angrily fold your clothes, stuffing them into bags with an angry scowl. Robin places a hand on your arm, a gentle suggestion to let her take over.

You huff and step away, turning towards the window of your room facing out towards your city's port. “As I have heard,” Robin softly says as she begins folding your things, “I will be with you the whole way.” She tries to comfort you. It’s kind, and although it does ease you a little bit, it’s not enough to put out the burning embers in your gut.

Out in the port, you watch as Eddie’s men prepare the ships, hauling heavy crates of goods and weapons onto the deck. Eddie is there too, on the deck of the biggest ship, pushing crates and barking orders, telling them where to put containers and what shipments go on which boat. He commands like it’s second nature. Hardly thinking about it as he flicks his wrist to gesture towards a ship, never having to repeat an order twice because his men hear him, and they obey him.

You grimace at the sight of him, annoyed that you’re about to be stuck on a ship for him for at least two weeks.

“He is insufferable, Robin.” You grumble, eyes trained on him down at the port.

“One moment he is sincere and kind and the next minute he is the complete opposite. You should have seen him last night,” you say, briefly turning to look at her, “He was like a shapeshifter. And to think I’m bound to him til death— gods, nothing could be worse.” You grumble.

You’re brewing in silent anger, watching the chaos from above as Robin softly sighs.

“I wish he would just disappear.” You softly whisper.

And you do… you think. The only good thing Eddie has brought you was quivering legs and a few purple bruises between your thighs. 

Robin drags in a deep breath as she walks over to you, her shoulder touching yours as you both gaze out into the port. “It will get better, I’m sure, my lady.” She softly says.

Eddie’s ship is not what you had imagined it to be.

In stories and word of mouth, the Lord of Death sails on ships made of bones and steel, with a putrid scent of burning flesh and echoing screams of torture to complete it.

It’s terrifying to imagine. Appalling to hear and nearly impossible not to gasp at, but somehow, the moment you stepped onto the ship, no overwhelming sense of death hit you. Instead, you were greeted with curt nods and quick, warm hellos— surprisingly good hospitality seeing as the men you’ll be stuck with are brooding with rage and a thirst for blood.

Eddie’s quarters are adequate. Where Eddie has a character that exudes chaos and disarray, his quarters are somewhat cleaner than you had expected.

There is a large desk to the right, books upon books stacked on the floor and shoved into the bookcase on the wall behind it. There’s not much room, so aside from the desk and the books, there’s a sofa that rests beneath the window and a bed off to the left of the room. It’s a shameful sight of a bed, but it is now your reality.

Upon boarding this ship, you were under the impression that you would be sleeping somewhere else given the unfortunate circumstances of your presence and rather strained relationship, but after a short (and exasperating) discussion, Eddie told you it would be ridiculous for you to sleep anywhere that is out of his sight on a ship full of men. So, despite your heart's desires, you begrudgingly agreed that it would be best that you just stay in the captain's quarters… with Eddie.

You are not so excited about staying with him.

Along with Robin and your few bags of clothes, Steve has also tagged along despite Eddie’s clear and strong distaste towards him and his ‘unnecessary need to protect you’ as Eddie had said it. 

“Steve goes everywhere I go; he is my guard.”

“I’ll give you a new one in Ironhold. A real one.”

Your face pinches in annoyance, “Steve is a real guard, he’s a sworn knight.” You argue. 

“He’s an amateur.” Eddie grumbles. 

“Well, I only want Steve—” “Oh, would you like to fuck him as well?” Eddie pressed. You looked at him for a moment, realizing this was not an argument of your safety, but one of possession. “Steve is coming. End of discussion.”

Because Steve is your guard. His father was your guard when you were little, and when Steve became old enough and well-crafted with a sword, he became your guard. He has never left your side since and he won’t be doing so anytime soon just because Eddie has some unspoken problem with him. Steve was the deciding factor that you would be sleeping in Eddie’s quarters, even though Eddie refrained from saying it— you can tell.

RedGate is now nowhere in sight, and the only thing you can see through the cabin window is miles of nothing but water and sky. It’s been only a few hours since you left shore, but you are already feeling the burning rocks of yearning beginning to settle within you. 

Or maybe it’s just brewing anger that’s hot within you.

Eddie’s desk is clear of papers and has been replaced with plates of warm food and bread, and across from you sits none other than your beloved husband. It is silent in the cabin, save for the humming noise of the rocking ship and the occasional clinking of Eddie’s utensils. And despite the fact that the meal looks good, you haven’t moved an inch to even try it.

Eddie takes note of this after a few bites of his dinner, glancing up at you as he chews his food, jaw prominent under work. He gestures to the table with his fork, “Are you going to sit there and stare until it rots?”

Your gaze flickers from your plate to the brown eyes watching you. They look like thick honey under the candlelight, and you hate that it stirs your insides. He nods towards the food before you, “Eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

As if you are a child.

“Do you enjoy telling me what to do? Is that the kind of power you seek in a union?” You prod.

Eddie looks at you, chewing his food as he drops his fork and knife on his plate to rest his fists against the table. He swallows, eyes never leaving you as he shrugs, “If you do not want to eat then—” You don’t care to let him finish before you cut him off, “Because I will warn you now, it will be easier for you to cut off your fighting arm and learn to wield a sword with your other than to tame me to be your pet.”

Honey light spills across Eddie’s face, silky smooth tendrils framing his face and casting shadows— and you think you see a ghost of a smile on his lips, but you don’t see well enough before his lips start moving, “I have hounds in Ironhold, I do not need a pet.”

Your eyes subtly narrow, “You’re clever.”

“And you’ll starve,” Eddie drags in a breath as he picks up his utensils again, “Eat.”

You don’t bother moving to reach for your fork and instead reply, “Shouldn’t captains eat with their crew?”

Eddie gazes at you for a long moment, letting your question hang in the air as he cuts his food— and from here, you can see why people are so afraid of him: he glares like his gaze is meant to kill.

He finally drops his gaze from you, focused on his plate, as he replies, “I am a married man now. I should dine with my wife.”

To which you can’t help but scoff, rolling your eyes as you shift in your chair, “Please,” you scoff, “I thought the people of Ironhold do not follow tradition.” You say, reminding him of the conversation he had with your mother right before you left. Your mother had scolded you for being difficult about your situation as you pleaded that there was no reason for you to accompany Eddie on his journey home. 

“I’m sure you have a tradition for newlyweds in Ironhold— you wouldn’t want to miss that, would you?” Your mother pointed out. To which Eddie softly laughed, “We’re not a traditional family, my lady.” 

Eddie grumbles, cutting into his food and still avoiding your gaze as he responds, “That was a lie to get your mother to relent for your and my sake. My people are built on tradition, everyone knows that.”

You watch as he eats, his words turning your head— it was almost as if he was implying your mother isn’t well-versed in her history— and she is. You relent and pick up your fork, pushing at your food before you softly say, “She’s only looking out for me.”

Eddie still does not look at you when he replies, “Good for her then.”

And Eddie’s walls are thick and tall. Indestructible from your point of view. You had hope last night, but now he is as cold as he was at the feast, if not more. And even though this is not ideal for you, it would be foolish of you to not at least try to make it work— at least for your father’s purpose. What does it take to ignite the man from yesterday?

You stare at Eddie for a moment, the candle flickering against his features. Soft and beautiful in this light, always. Your nails dig into the skin of your palms as your fists clench before you abruptly rise from your seat, “You are insufferable.” You huff, tossing your napkin on your unfinished plate and walking away towards the bed.

“If I’m so insufferable, join the fish.”

You scoff out a laugh, forcefully rearranging the pillows and blankets on the bed with a scowl on your face, “Believe me,” you huff, “I would want nothing more than to leave this god-forsaken ship. Anywhere far away from you and this vessel of death.”

Eddie laughs, a screech of his plate bouncing through the room as he replies, “I can guarantee you won’t find that place in my bed, darling.”

Gods, the smug manner of his words infuriates you. You opt to stop replying, busying yourself with getting the bed ready for your rest. Eddie takes a deep breath and sighs, “You have barely eaten, you can not go to bed.”

“I’m not bloody hungry.” You snap

“Stop being difficult.” Eddie huffs.

You manage to tune out the noise of Eddie cutting and eating his food, paying no mind as you begin to undo the laces of your dress. You focus on untying your dress, becoming frustrated when the intricate lacing does not bend to your will because— god, the dressmaker really loves to make your gowns extravagant and storytelling, but it is times like these when you curse him for such talent.

And in the frustration of your dress and your situation, you must’ve missed the tapping of Eddie’s boots on the hardwood floor, only realizing his presence when it’s too late and he presses a warm hand to your arm.

You jolt with a breath, body colliding with Eddie’s hard chest. “Let me,” He says. You shrug yourself away from him, elbow digging into his chest as you huff and continue twisting and prodding at the strings, “I don’t need your help.” You sneer.

Eddie’s hands are firm this time when he touches you, steady and demanding, and flashes of last night roll behind your eyes. “You’ll hurt yourself.” He grumbles, gentle but annoyed as he pushes your hands away. 

You give in, seeing as he is your best way out of this damned dress, and neither of you say anything as he weaves the strings in and out of one another.

His touch is a path of fire, knuckles brushing down the middle of your back, shivers splitting like roots through your bones when you feel the cool air of his breath.

So gentle and affirming, much like the touch you knew just hours ago. As quick as it comes, it goes, and the cracking sound of silence is gone with the clearing of Eddie’s throat.

“It gets cold at sea.”

You clench your jaw, teeth-gritting against one another as you step out of your dress, a loose slip keeping you modest. “Do you think I have never sailed before?”

You glance at Eddie, raising an eyebrow as you neatly fold your dress. Eddie says nothing, jaw clenching as his fingers curl towards his palm for a moment. He paces back behind his desk and sits, ignoring you as you move about the room and he continues eating. You get into the bed— it’s stiff and hard, and the sheets are nothing like the sheets you have at home— but there’s no point in complaining, is there?

You turn your back to Eddie, shutting your eyes in defiance as you try to force yourself to sleep. But… that noise. That constant noise of chewing and utensils clicking, jesus christ— “Could you eat in a quiet manner?” You snap.

You don’t turn to look at Eddie, your body still facing the wooden wall that lines your side of the bed— but you can feel his stare. It burns against your shoulders and spine, heat trickling up the back of your neck despite the cool temperatures of the room.

“This is as quiet as I can be.” He finally responds.

And god, he’s such an asshole.

“Then you’re an imbecile.” You grumble back.

Eddie hums, dragging in a breath as he continues to eat, “Not far off from you then, princess. You’re going to freeze.” He says, an etch of annoyance dancing around the edges of his voice.

You roll your eyes, though he can’t see, “I’d rather freeze to death than be stuck here with you.” You respond. 

And when you expect to get some annoying and rude response, you only get a huff of a laugh and more clinking of plates and forks. As if he doesn’t care that you’d just implied death is more welcoming than the thought of being with him. Though you can’t see him and refuse to turn to do so, you imagine a pained expression on his face— or maybe an angry one— either way, the picture paints in your mind beautifully and you let it dance there behind your eyelids until you fall into a deep sleep.

The room is dark when your eyes flutter, barely able to fully open.

It is still night, the moon bright in the window above the sofa. Eddie is gone, his desk clear of dinner and replaced with his usual stack of scrolls and books. He is not beside you; and though the extra heat would’ve been pleasant, you don’t mind his absence. The boat softly groans against the small waves, the sound pulling you back under the arms of sleep.

And just before you feel the weight of sleep covering you again, you glance down at the bed you are laying in, more blankets spread over you than you remember there being when you fell asleep. You don’t have the time to feel your face warm before your eyes shut and your body falls limp once again.

And in the morning, you refuse to eat breakfast at the table.

When Eddie was a boy, his mother drowned at sea.

He doesn’t remember much of his mother, but from the tall portraits that hang in the vast castle halls, he knows she was beautiful. 

At night, when Eddie feels the most restless, he walks the gallery and studies his mother's portraits, tries to commit as much as he can to memory, and cling to it as if she’s still here. A part of him feels guilty for forgetting his mother; what her voice sounded like, what she smelled like, what she hated, and what she loved. He remembers none of it.

Some parts of Eddie he likes to believe came from his mother. There are the physical parts; her curly hair, her brown eyes, her sharp structure. And there are the other parts, the parts from within; his intelligence, his stubbornness, his strong-willed nature. Eddie inherited them all from her.

At the passing of his mother, Eddie loathed the sea for its treacherous waters that took her from him, and he swore to always carry the resentment in him. But it is hard.

It’s hard when you spend most days of the year bending to its will. It’s hard when the sound of her swishing waves lulls him to sleep most nights. It’s hard to hate the sea when the sea is what knows him best.

He can not sleep tonight. His mind is busy with a whirlwind of thoughts; tasks that need him, things he left unfinished back home, people he needs to see, and— you. It always swings back to you.

He’s been pacing on the deck for nearly an hour now. Trekking to one side of the boat to gaze at the still and dark waters before growing bored and switching sides.

Robin interrupts his silent storm, raspy voice nearly causing him to jump when she speaks, “You do know there are people sleeping below deck, yes?”

Eddie glances over his shoulder, stares wide-eyed as if seeing a ghost, and almost believes he is considering Robin's white gown. He clears his throat, looking away and clenching his grasp on the ship's rails, “Sorry. I did not think I was loud.”

Robin huffs out a laugh, stepping up to the rails, a good distance between them but enough for him to hear over the roar of the waters, “It’s wood. Sound travels. I would assume you, as a sailor, would surely know this.”

He does, though he does not care to point it out or pay mind— again, too busy with other things.

“What troubles you?”

Eddie glances at the woman, scoffs a laugh, and shakes his head, “Nothing you could fix.”

The wind whips around them, wisps of hair brushing across Eddie’s face, salt filling his lungs. Robin hums, “Sometimes it’s nice to talk…”

Eddie thinks for a moment. Considers the waves below him, sees his mother's face in them, catches a glimpse of the rippling moon, and sees you. Hears you. Almost thinks he can feel you. He clears his throat, looking at the sky for a moment, “There’s a losing war I’m joining,” He starts, “Ironhold is starving, I owe debts I don’t think I can ever repay, and my wife— she hates me.”

It’s been six days now. Six days since you and Eddie joined hands, and you just can’t seem to see eye-to-eye. One would think with the sex being as good as it is, the resentment would lessen tenfold— but no. Days go by where you don’t even say a word to Eddie. You refuse to eat with him, you grumble when you have to sleep next to him, and on the days that you do speak to him, it’s never a kind word. 

But Eddie isn’t innocent either. He plays your game just as dirty; says sly and mean things to you, and only ever really tolerates you during the few times you’re on top or below him— hell, most hours he even goes the extra mile to make himself busy with tasks that are usually left for his crew just so he can avoid you. It’s not ideal, but it’s the only way either of you can exist without wanting to fling the other overboard.

“You avoid her.”

“There’s work to be done around here.”

Robin scoffs a laugh, “I’ve sailed many times in my life, and never once have I seen a captain scrub the deck.” She points out. “How will you get to know her when you can hardly spend a day with her?”

Eddie clenches his jaw, frustration bubbling in his chest, “I don’t want to know her. It’s better this way. Easier.” Which is true. Eddie may come off as cruel, but he’s doing this for the both of you. Keeping you at arm's length, in the long run, will make life easier for both of you.

“It doesn’t seem easier from this point of view.”

Eddie drags in a deep breath, turning to Robin, “It doesn’t matter what it looks like to you. Our marriage is political, it doesn’t have to be anything more and it never will be. For the sake of peace, don’t encourage it to be something bigger.”

Robin looks at Eddie as if she can see right through him. Sear the skin off his bones and see to his heart, the true and devastating foundations of Eddie Munson. 

Eddie hates it.

Robin takes a short breath, shifts on her feet and tips her head, “You can learn to co-exist, you know?”

Eddie nearly forgot Robin was even there. He glances at her, freckled face and soft eyes watching him, picking him apart. 

“It doesn’t have to be a beautiful harmony, but… you both know the circumstances of your marriage, I'm sure you could both come to an understanding if you just… talked.”

Eddie looks away and grunts in response, fingers curling over the railing. “She is smarter than you think.” She adds.

“I don’t underestimate her wit.” Eddie quickly corrects. “She hates me.”

“She doesn’t know you.”

“She shouldn’t want to.”

“So you expect her to happily lie with a stranger? Protect a stranger? Risk her cause for a stranger?” Robin challenges. “She lost more than you see. She’s grieving.”

Grieving. What could you possibly know about grieving? A noble woman who’s only ever known sunshine and the riches of your father’s work. If anything, Eddie just feels sorry that he’s ripped you from the luxury he’s always wanted.

Eddie grips the railing, leaning forward slightly, annoyance bubbling through him as he acknowledges Robin's words. At the very least, Eddie should make sure you don’t hate his entire being. You carry his name now. You hold the title of his home— his people will look to you as an emblem. Having this division between you two— it’s not only putting your image at stake, but his as well.

You swore a promise to the council, a promise to your father and your people and despite the tensions between you and the world you’ve grown to detest, you’ve done a damn good job at never losing sight of your duty— no matter how much you despise it.

But how long until you grow tired of him? How long until you destroy him for all his worth? How long until you realize you and Eddie will never be the same? You are like oil and water.

Eddie can admit you're good for the game you were forced to play a hand in. You have the strength to withstand any obstacle thrown your way. He just can’t say he’s all that happy to play a part in it— not when half of his name resides on your shoulders.

“She can not read your mind. Talk to her.”

Eddie glances towards Robin again, watching as she turns and walks away, back to sleep he supposes. And Eddie is left with this new task of having to figure this out— figure out what is best for the stability of this union in the eyes of the crown and his home. 

Eddie hates to admit it, but Robin is right. He will have to set aside his pride and meet you in the middle, no matter how much it pains him.

part two.

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a/n: OH EM GEEEE, guys this has been in my google docs for over a year LMAOO, I'm SHOCKED she's seeing the light of day honestly. if you've made it to the end of this chapter, thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoy the ride if you choose to stick around !!!

as always, thank u for reading and being here, ily and love appreciate any form of feedback <3 THERE'S MORE TO COME, ILY MWAH <3

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cutesy lil royal taglist: @munson-blurbs @ali-r3n @rogueinmymind @pretty-vulture @jasminelafleur @georgeweasleyslostearhq @emxxblog @3rd-conchord @leelei1980 @t00thfairy20 @bl00d-puppy @hereforshmut

@sst0txx @mdurdenpitt @stylesxmunson @l1ving-d3ad-girl-69 @chaoticgood-munson @sirensleepingsoundly @missjadesfics @awkward00noodle @darknesseddiem

[starmocha]

Hi hello so im back again with a smaaaaaaallllll rant about Colonel Caleb and general's daughter. I just got the ideea and i had, once again, nowhere to rant about it.

Ahham. So....them having their own 'myth' lets say. They were lovers in their past lives(historical maybe the 1800 or the 1900)but couldn't be toghter since she was of lower status then Caleb, him being a Colonel in the army (i love Colonel Caleb so bear with me) and her being a commoner or someting and she dies in his arms and he swears to protect her in their next lives and faith makes sure to have them be of the same 'rank'??? so he could fullfill his promise FUCK MY MIND IS IN RUINS 😭😭😭😭😭😭

I hope i made myself clear if not blame my mind, thank you! Good night! 😭😂❤️❤️

MINA I AM DELIGHTED TO SEE YOU AND YOUR LOVELY AU AGAIN. <333 gosh I wanted to answer this immediately last night, but Caleb’s latest trailer had me losing my mind and things spiraled 😭😭😭

Giving you all of my attention, because EXCUSE ME. WHEELS ARE SPINNING.

Can we…can we just indulge on this a little more? 🥹 omg excuse the slightly heavy Moulin Rouge! influences sprinkled in here, but this is the vibe I am getting, especially for their “tragic” ending.

A Colonel and His Lover

Imagine Colonel Caleb is dragged to a brothel by his associates and superiors. He finds the whole thing disdainful, but is pressured by his own superiors to indulge in a little nightly fun and let loose and forget their duties for a bit.

He doesn’t plan to. He had planned on leaving the moment everyone finds their partners.

Until he sees you.

Literally lust love at first sight.

He’s captivated by your beauty, your wits, and he’s falling hard and fast before he realizes what is happening.

One night with you leaves him yearning for more. He has already remembered how you felt under him, the way you quivered and moaned for him.

He remembers the sweet nothings uttered between the two of you, and though a tiny part in his mind is telling him that you are just a whore who is good with her tongue, he wants to believe that there is something genuine blossoming between the two of you.

He starts going back to the whorehouse more often. Nightly, if he could. He still puts on an act that he was being pressured to tag along, but in reality, all he wants is to see you again. No matter what it takes, what the price, he wants you and only you.

In the beginning, he was just another client. One of those military brutes who only saw you as something that can be bought for and used until they were satisfied.

You did intentionally charm him in the beginning. A false smile, a few sweet words to prickle his male ego, but it soon becomes apparent to you that Caleb is not like all of your previous clients. When he sees you, there is genuine feelings in his eyes, he is truly looking at you for you and not just a body to be used.

You try to discourage your own feelings, reminding yourself of the different classes you belong to. This can never happen—could never happen.

A prestigious colonel on his way to greatness and a common whore? What a joke. It seems almost insulting to entertain such an idea that you could ever truly be his. You quiet those feelings, try to imagine him as any of those other bastards who drag you to bed.

Except you can’t.

Caleb won’t let you. He sees you for you. He wants to know you, the real you, who you have hidden away for years.

You no longer wait for him to come to you as a client. You begin to sneak around whenever you both could, having regular rendezvouses where he is no longer a client or you’re a whore, but two lovers meeting to be together.

After one afternoon delight, you lay with him in an inn bed, tangled in sheets and wrapped in his warmth, and he paints you a beautiful picture of the life you both could have together.

He would buy you all of the beautiful dresses for you to wear, show you off with pride, his equal at his side wherever he goes. Men may still lust after you, their wives green with envy, but to Caleb, he couldn’t care, because he knows you are his and his alone.

You would live in a beautiful house, your days filled with idle contentment and no longer have to worry about anything or want for anything. Caleb promises to provide you with everything you could want and more.

When you tell him, though, that he is all that you want, his cheeks tinge pink, but his smile is layered with joy and also…gratitude? He looks at you like you are his whole world, because that’s just how it is: you are his world now. He had never thought he could cherish someone as much as he cherishes you.

A beautiful life awaits you. He asks you to marry him.

For just a moment, you hesitate, and he is confused. He gently questions you, wondering if you have any doubts about his feelings.

“No! Never!” you tell him, and then reluctantly, you reveal that you could still feel that distance in classes between the two of you. You worry about his reputation, and Caleb seems surprised.

He reassures you there is nothing for you to worry about. He can handle whatever happens, and he promises to keep you safe.

You agree to marry him.

Life continues as normal as the two of you plan to run away and elope. He had promised you an extravagant wedding, but you want him now, already wanting to be his wife and he your husband.

This rosy life you are seeing turns grey in an instant, everything grinding to a halt when you start to display symptoms of an unknown illness. You start coughing up blood more often, your body weakened some days to the point you need to be bedridden. Secretly, you hid everything from Caleb, not wanting him to worry.

Caleb starts wising up, realizing something is wrong when you continue to evade his questions or even outrightly avoid meeting him again.

When a physician reveals to you that you only have less than five months to live, you realize that the dream life Caleb promised you would never come true. Not wanting him to bear the pain of seeing you dying, you start to drive a further wedge between the two of you, consciously doing things to make him hate you so he wouldn’t ever have to feel the pain of losing you.

It works.

You fight with him to the point that you’re both yelling and screaming at one another until he loses control of his anger and drives his fist into a wall, scaring you briefly, having never seen this side of him before. He doesn’t want you to see him like this either, so he leaves, leaving you with these bitter harsh words and some bills tossed at you in spite:

“I have paid for my whore. My debt is paid and she is nothing to me.”

When he is out of sight, you fall to the ground sobbing, angry at yourself for doing a good job of driving him away and making him hate your existence. The man you loved is gone, and though it hurts, you still wish he would find someone to replace you, because you still love him with your whole heart and never want him to be alone like this.

Caleb is angry and it shows. The Colonel has always been very disciplined and strict, but everyone has noticed his temper seemed even more short. There is no leniency with him. You mess up, he will make sure you learn from your mistakes. You talk back to him, and it will be your last words in his presence.

He starts to drink more often, wishing to numb his pain, to forget your fights, to forget you. There is no alcohol in the world strong enough to cure him of this heartache. In spite of everything, he still loves you. He replays the memories often, wondering when everything had gone wrong.

One night as he sits at the bar, on his fifth glass of scotch, he pulls out a ring box, opening it to look at the dainty little ring he had secretly chosen for you. It wasn’t a huge diamond, but still perfectly sized, and he knows it would look beautiful on your finger.

He downs his glass, pays his tab, and stumbles out of the bar. He staggers through the streets disoriented, not even thinking clearly of where he is going.

He finds himself at the brothel again, and he scoffs. He goes in, demanding to see you.

The madame there tries to turn him away. She knows who he is, and also knows of his secret relationship with one her girls. She knows what you two had planned, because you had revealed everything to her and begged her to never let him come near you again—for his sake. Always for his sake. Even as you are dying upstairs, each day, you breathing growing weaker, you still think of him.

Caleb doesn’t take “no” for an answer and in his current drunken state, he is more prone to violence than usual, slurring insults about you in spite. It isn’t until one of the other girls screams out that you were dying, that he freezes, sobering up instantly.

“What…did you say?”

His whole world had stopped. The colors drain from his face, his heart slowing as he replays her words in his mind. The dots start to connect as he remembers all of your final fights, realizing your expressions had always seemed off somehow.

His throat is dry, his limbs rigid as he tries to move. Suddenly, he runs off in a mad dash before anyone could stop him. He rushes up the stairs, passing several rooms, pushing anyone in his way to the side until he finds your room, the door bursting open and he freezes again, not recognizing the frail woman laying in bed under multiple covers as a nurse is tending to her.

Caleb doesn’t leave and rushes to your side, dropping to his knees as he reaches for your hand, begging you to look at him. He apologizes profusely, his eyes glistening with tears.

“Why didn’t you tell me?! Why did you lie to me?! Why, why…why…”

His large hands wrapped around yours, holding it close to his face as he sobs.

“Ca..leb…”

He looks up, seeing you smiling at him weakly.

“I’m here,” he assures you, “I’m here…I’m not leaving…Not again…”

Too weak to fight, too relieved to see him, you let him stay and you close your eyes.

He stays by your side for your remaining days, cherishing the little time you had left.

One afternoon as he watches you sleep, he sits on the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing aside your hair, his eyes heavy with sadness as he realizes how frail and pale you are now compared to who you were months earlier. Quietly, he pulls out the ring box, taking the ring out, and slipping it on your ring finger. It looks perfect on you, just like he had known it would.

When you wake that evening and see the ring, you start to protest, saying it’s wasted on you.

He silences you with a kiss, and once again, he reassures you that nothing he does for you is ever wasted effort. You are his only bride, and no one will ever take your place.

Time dwindles, and he watches you waste away each day, his heart heavy with remorse and anger that he is losing you before his very eyes and there is nothing that he can do to stop this. For all of his strength and glory, Caleb has never felt as weak and helpless as he does now.

He tries to fill your days with as much comfort and happiness as he could.

It was a spring afternoon when he lays in bed with you. He leans back against the headboard, your body resting against his, the cover up to your neck for warmth, but nothing felt more comforting than his own body heat against you.

He tells you stories again and as you listen to him, you wonder why his voice sounds more distant even though he is right here next to you.

Caleb watches, realizing, he has lost you, your body growing colder and unresponsive.

He breaks down crying as a warm spring breeze rustles into the room from the opened balcony door. He holds you close to him and just sobs and curses every deity in the world.

He promises in the next life, he will be a better man and give you what you deserve. In the next life, things will go right. The story of you and him will be rewritten, he swears on his life.

[ultram0th]

December 16: RJ Portales

00 │ 01 │ 02 │ 03 │ 04 │ 05 │ 06 │ 07 │ 08 │ 09 │ 10 │ 11 │ 12 │ 13 │ 14 │ 15 │ 16

Muscle model RJ Portales worked out in the gym at the bench press as he worked on building up his world famous chest. The former Army Officer had developed quite the Internet following because of his plump pecs that he would often bounce for men to drool over. Therefore, the stud made sure to keep his fans happy, working out religiously and having numerous Chest Days to ensure that his muscletits were always big and juicy.

RJ kept his ear buds in, blasting his music as he worked out, allowing him to drown out any distractions. This prevented him from noticing the small group of smaller nerdy men who were staring at his muscular form, trying to hide behind one of the large workout machines.

They watched intently as the stud worked out, his meaty pecs glistening with sweat as he got them pumped up from his presses. RJ would grit his teeth and bellow out a manly grunt as he lifted the bar, making some of the smaller guys swoon.

The leader of the sneaky group pulled out what resembled a comic book ray gun straight out of a cheesy sci-fi movie, aiming it directly at the top-heavy stud. With a mischievous smirk, he squeezed the trigger.

A flash of light flickered in the gym as a beam darted towards the unsuspecting RJ, hitting him square in the chest.

RJ let out a surprised gasp the very second he felt the ray hit his pecs. He didn’t have time to wonder too much what it was that had struck him, because in a flash, the hunk felt his whole center of gravity shift. 

RJ paled when it looked like the walls of the gym were starting to stretch as they grew upwards; however, it didn’t take long for RJ to realize that the room wasn’t growing, but that he was shrinking. “What the fuck is going on?” the hunk panicked, bristling at the chipmunk squeak that his voice now possessed as he got smaller and smaller.

His clothes weren’t affected by the shrinking, and they grew baggier and looser by the second. RJ’s shoulders slipped through the collar of his too big tank top as he got smaller, and his jockstrap and shorts fell to the ground. RJ looked into one of the posing mirrors in the gym, finding a tiny semblance of relief when he saw that his body still maintained all of its bulging proportions as he grew smaller. However, that relief was short-lived as he continued to shrink.

Eventually, RJ got so tiny that he started to get swallowed up by the bundle of clothes that had been skintight mere seconds ago. He felt like he was swimming in fabric, extremely disoriented from his now minuscule stature. He could hear booming thuds from footsteps quickly approaching, and the shrunken stud felt his heart start to race as he hoped that whoever found him could help him.

The group of nerds swarmed the bundle of clothes that were on the gym floor, the leader reaching through them to find the small man inside. He felt the squirming RJ and yanked him out, the group of guys gasping as they saw the tiny man.

RJ couldn’t have been more than six inches tall, and he fit in the lead nerd’s grasp perfectly. All of his muscles and proportions looked the same— they were just on a much smaller body now. The formerly tall muscle stud felt so incredibly tiny as he was held by another man whom he totally would’ve dwarfed at his previous size. However, now he looked like a top-heavy action figure as opposed to an online model.

“Please!” RJ squeaked in his high-pitched voice. “You gotta help me! I don’t know what happened, but I got smaller all of a sudden!”

The nerds chuckled at his helium-esque voice, and the leader reached over with his free hand to feel RJ’s large pectorals. Using the tip of his index, he lifted the mounds up and let them bounce back down, feeling them squish under his touch.

“Whoa, these things are huge!” the nerd mused aloud as he continued to play with RJ’s muscletits.

“H-hey! Knock it off!” RJ blushed, annoyed that despite how panicked he was, he couldn’t deny the feelings of pleasure that rippled though him at having the now much larger man play with his tits. He was completely helpless to do anything but let himself be fondled, his cock even hardening.

One of the other nerds walked up to the group, holding what looked like a hamster cage in his hands. It was designed to look like a scale model replica of the gym; yet, instead of a variety of machines, it appeared that the only ones in it were meant for chest exercises.

RJ was stunned as he was placed inside the cage, wincing when he heard the door slam shut. His eyes went wide as he took in the sight of all of the chest workout machines, and when he saw the bowls of food and water in the corner.

The lead nerd chuckled again as he crossed his arms in front of his thin chest. “Yeah, that’s right, RJ,” he laughed. “It took us a while, but we managed to turn you into our little muscle pet. But don’t worry. We made sure to give you everything you need in order to keep building up those muscletits of yours.”

RJ gulped as he took in the words he was being told. He frowned when he looked around at the bars of the cage that was now his home. His cock was begrudgingly still hard, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he’d have no choice but to work out and make his pecs get bigger and bigger.

And worse was that he immediately thought about how great it’d feel to have his bigger pecs fondled by the larger nerds. He blushed as he cock throbbed at the thought.

“O-okay,” RJ squeaked as he walked over to the bench press, his hard cock bobbing in front of him with every step. He racked up the weights and set to work being a good muscle pet so that his new owners could enjoy his muscletits up close and personal.

[phantasm-ae]

Okay so I had this idea and I just JSJSJJSJSJSKKS. Anyways here it is. I hope you like it🥺

cw: some fluff

HEADCANON: Soap and Ghost got the wrong intel. Extraction at a… birthday party?

Pairing: Ghost and Soap

it was supposed to be a quick recon. Nothing out of the ordinary. Something they've done a couple out of a hundred times in their lifetime.

Check the warehouse. Mark supplies. Report back.

In. Out.

Easy.

Except Soap and Ghost being Soap and Ghost. Somehow took the wrong door and instead of being met with a supply stash of those black market ammo crates and smuggled gear Laswell briefed them on 2 weeks ago. They were instead met with a cascade of confetti. A blaring of colorful horns. Balloons floating around like some budget dream sequence and a bloody banner sagging lazily across the ceiling with the words "HAPPY 8TH BIRTHDAY JAYDEN" propped up by two mini-Spiderman balloons.

The two cartoony figures swaying ominously in the breeze of the open warehouse door.

Ghost and Soap stood fucking stock still at the sight.

Two hulking and massive men in full tactical gear. Rifles on hand. Kevlar. Christ even bloody prepped with face paint on -- were now staring into the abyss of the suburban chaos in front of them

A table covered in Spiderman themed paper plates. Crowd of sugared-up kids frozen mid-scream at the sight of them. A magician in a sparkly vest holding a rabbit, wide-eyed and doozy. A dad in cargo shorts holding a phone, mid-picture. And in the center, a fucking stunned kid wearing a party hat and face paint… that eerily resembled Ghost’s skull mask.

Soap’s finger hovered awkwardly near the safety switch on his rifle. Ghost just muttered, “...fuckin' hell.”

Then chaos.

One of the kids let out a shriek, but not out of fear -- rather out of sheer and enthusiastic delight. “COOL ARMY GUYS!”

Another yelled, “THEY’RE HERE FOR THE PARTY!” “LOOK, ONE OF THEM’S A SKELETON!”

Ghost could only stand up straighter at that. Eyes narrowed and brows furrowed in annoyance and unease. Turning slightly to Soap and muttering flatly, “This is your fault.”

"How's this ma fault?"

“You’re the one who said ‘let’s take the shortcut.’” “It wis labeled—!

"Labeled with what?"

"Ma gut"

Soap then. Now also irritated and confused. Tried to shoo off some wee scunners around his boots and gear. Some palming and prodding their tiny fingers into velcro and buckles -- "Aw fuck. Dinnae touch that. That's ma di-- uhh... magazine" -- almost swatting a bairn silly for trying to reach for his flashbang.

“Oi! That’s not a toy, ya wee gremlin -- put that down before we all see God.”

And the kid just. This 3'5 kid with some frosting and glitter smeared across his shirt just giggled like Soap said the funniest thing on earth. Clutching the round cap like it was a new Hot Wheels and darting off into the bouncy castle with alarming speed before Soap could pry the dangerous things off of his sticky fingers.

Soap stared after him, jaw slack. "The child's armed"

Soap immediately tried to backpedal toward the door, one hand reaching out blindly for Ghost. But the brooding and hulking mass of a man -- all 6'4 and weighty muscle -- was cornered by some determined little girl wearing various kinds of glittery plastic sheriff badges and a unicorn headband and -- God help them -- trying to handcuff Ghost still with rainbow slap bracelets. A proper master of hostage negotiation she was. She had him pinned down Simon let her. A slap bracelet now stretched around Ghost's wrist, holding him in place like some deranged form of child’s play.

And Ghost, deadpan and trying to remain indifferent despite his amused and softened tone. A distinct air of a man emotionally unraveled, muttered, “Soap, you’ve made contact with the enemy.”

Lips quirking up a bit beneath the mask as she let him lead her to Soap.

“She’s ten!” Soap hissed. Unable to do anything else. Flinching as the girl snapped one of the bracelets on his wrist as well with terrifying precision. "An’ she’s armed wi’ accessories!"

Another kid zipped by them, shrieking with laughter, waving what looked horrifyingly like a half-unwrapped glow stick taped to a toy pistol. Ghost sidestepped just in time to avoid being hit in the shin.

And somewhere in the bloody distance, a karaoke machine started playing Let It Go.

And then came the giggle again.

That same little demon child with the flashbang poked his frosting-smeared head out of the bouncy castle flap, holding the device above his head like Simba in The Lion King, yelling, “LOOK WHAT I GOT!”

Every adult in the room clapped, thinking it was a toy too. Fucking idiots

Soap grabbed Ghost by the tactical vest and hissed, “If we don’t leave right now, that wee gremlin’s gonna detonate us into the stratosphere and the last thing we’ll see is Elsa.”

Well fuck that. Ghost wanted to die sure. But not to some fucking disney song in the background while his body gets scattered into smithereens. Ghost didn’t even argue anymore. He turned. Slowly removed the colored straps on his wrists with an apologetic nod toward the glitter-covered child still trying to fashion a tiara out of pipe cleaners for him -- “Sorry, love. Your boyband’s disbanding yeah?” -- and pushed open the exit with his boot. Both men. Once covererd with warpaint and eyeblack, now stumbled out into the daylight -- covered in glitter, foam sword dents, and existential horror.

But before either of them could properly make a break for it though, a woman -- possibly the birthday boy’s mother -- strode up, wine cooler in hand, phone in the other. “Oh my God, you’re the entertainment?! You didn’t tell me you were doing full cosplay -- this is incredible! What’s your TikTok?”

Soap only blinked.

Ghost shook his head, clearly contemplating his life choices.

“We didn’t hire—” Soap started.

“Do you do face painting?” a child asked Ghost, reaching up to touch his mask.

Ghost took a step back. “Touch me and I vanish.”

That somehow made him more mysterious. A whole circle of kids now followed him like ducklings.

“Do a trick!” someone yelled.

Soap glanced around at the swarm of kids and chaos and, seeing no way out without causing a scene, turned to Ghost with the deadest eyes possible. “Mate, we’re in it up tae our eyeballs”

Ghost sighed heavily, albeit relaxing as he saw the wee lass approach again -- this time, not with slap bracelets, but with her finished paper crown, now glittered, crooked, and proudly labeled “KInG GhoSt” in chunky stickers.

She beamed at him, arms raised in offering.

And Ghost -- Ghost, who had walked through fire, cleaving a man from ear to ear, racked up three targets point blank in one shot, and once barreled through two doors in a single kick -- did not protest. Didn’t move. Didn’t growl or flee.

He simply knelt.

The crown was placed on his head with all the ceremony of a royal coronation, and the little girl patted his shoulder like she was knighting him.

“Fine. Ten minutes. No longer.”

3 hours later, Soap was engaged in a full-on Nerf battle behind the bounce house, dual-wielding foam dart guns he confiscated from a particularly rowdy six-year-old. And Ghost. All tank, heavy, and bruising muscle was sitting in a lawn chair with two toddlers now on his lap and that little girl -- Ella -- sleeping on his shoulder with a half-finished juice pouch in her unconscious grip.

The magician quit.

The cake was served. Soap was somehow made to cut it with a plastic bayonet.

And Laswell. Watching through the drone feed back at base after her two best operatives went complete radio silent could only mutter -- “...I don’t even want to know.”

Price would ask questions. Soap would lie.

Ghost would deny everything.

But Jayden?

Jayden would remember and so would his little sister Ella.

The flashbang though? It was tucked into some kid’s pocket, shiny and definitely armed, but would be later found in Jayden's toy box, where it sat like a prized possession next to a small mountain of Legos, a collection of Hot Wheels, and what appeared to be a very, very well-loved stuffed rabbit modeled after the skeleton guy.

Soap didn’t realize any of this though until a week later when a small package arrived at base. His name written in bright, bubbly handwriting on the envelope -- Jayden and Ella. Soap opened it slowly, half expecting it to explode in his face, but instead, there was a note tucked inside:

"THanK u fOR tHe PArtY Mr. BubBleS ! ThIs BELonGS 2 U - J AnD E."

And nestled carefully in the corner of the box was the flashbang. Clean. Untouched. But most of all -- in one bleedin' piece. Thank fuckin' Christ. The stealthy and dangerous thing nestled in some more shredded color paper and glitters?? in the box like it was just another toy.

Soap got a proper mouthing from Price after that though.

Something about civilian safety. An OPSEC violation? an AR190-03... Christ he didn't know. He forgot. Actually it all bled out into some blurry, distant, and obtuse backdrop. Half-listening like he always did.

Because back on his desk. Scattered. Cluttered. Disorganized and messy -- pinned what Soap taught to be one of the best masterpiece he's ever seen and received in his life.

A crayon drawing of himself in full tactical gear, looking like the proudest soldier on earth, and Ghost, tragically interpreted as a “skeleton king” with a bloody smiley face.

But most importantly. Taped beside it. Creased. Glittery. Slightly sticky with colored and shimmering glue -- was the crooked paper crown. Still intact. Still regal. And still Ghost's.

Aye.

it was worth it.

masterlist

[myladyship]

The first word Steve Rogers said in the MCU was "nope."

His first appearance is in a room full of big, buff men. We don't see Steve initially because he's hidden behind a newspaper. When his name is called, he lowers the newspaper, revealing a tiny scrawny man.

The man, able-bodied, next to him comments about the war and tries to subtly convince Steve, guessing just by looking at his small frame that he has a good reason not to enlist, to rethink joining the war. Steve just puts his newspaper down and without hesitation says, "Nope."

That one word alone summons Steve Rogers' character.

He doesn't care about his limitations. He's not afraid of death. He's going to do whatever it takes to join the army, and not even God himself will stop him.

I wish the movie had explored his medical problems and poor background more.

I wish they had shown or talked more about Sarah Rogers, who shaped Steve's persona. People wrongly assume it was Peggy even though he was already like that before the serum and the army.

[foldingfittedsheets]

So on Tuesday my wife and I dropped off the paperwork to register as legally married and as part of that I want to finally legally change my name. I haven’t used my deadname in decades and I’m so ready.

But the very nice lady at the Recorders office said we’d need to go through Social Security for name changes. Since we were already in the city we walked to the SS office.

The ground floor was like a TSA, with scanners and guards. They asked, “Do you have any weapons?”

We both did. My wife held out their cute Swiss Army knife which got an immediate pass. Mine caused more issue, though. It’s a cute little knife, it folds up to look like a leaf and unfolds into a blade. I showed the man and he looked gravely concerned.

When he asked to see it closer I obliged, folding it closed so I could take it off my key ring to hand over. And this man. This buff security man. Could not open my cutesy little knife to save his life. He futilely pawed at it from all different angles while I tried to say, “Look, you can see the hinge, just pull at the top…”

Finally he had to hand it back so I could open it for him. Then two other men came over and all three Very Serious Security Men in a Federal Building pored over my tiny cute knife with great intensity and concern. A ruler was produced and they conferred in hushed whispers.

I was honestly trying not to laugh when he finally passed it back and said I could keep it, but cautioned me not to pull it out. I solemnly agreed, returning my tiny weapon to my key ring.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

There are so many places in the Villeneuve Dune adaptations where he just...takes all the narrative pieces that Frank Herbert laid out and subtly rearranges them into something that tells the story better--that creates dramatic tension where you need it, communicates the themes and message of the book more clearly, or corrects something in the text that contradicts or undermines what Herbert said he was trying to say.

The fedaykin are probably my favorite example of this. I just re-read a little part of the book and got smacked in the face with how different they are.

(under the cut for book spoilers and length)

The fedaykin in the book are Paul's personal followers, sort of his personal guard. They show up after his legend has already started growing (the word doesn't appear in the book until chapter 40) and they are people who have specifically dedicated themselves to fighting for him, and right from the moment they're introduced there is a kind of implied fanaticism to their militancy that's a bit uncomfortable to read. They're the most ardent believers in Paul's messianic status and willing to die for him. (They are also, as far as you can tell from the text, all men.)

In the book, as far as I can remember (I could be forgetting some small detail but I don't think so) there is no mention of armed resistance to colonialism on Arrakis before Paul shows up. As far as we know, he created it. ETA: Okay I actually went back and checked on this and while we hear about the Fremen being "a thorn in the side" of the Harkonnens and we know that they are good fighters, we don't see anything other than possibly one bit of industrial sabotage. The book is very clear that the organized military force we see in the second half was armed and trained by Paul. This is exacerbated by the two-year time jump in the book, which means we never see how Paul goes from being a newly deposed ex-colonial overlord running for his life to someone who has his own private militia of people ready to give their lives for him.

The movie completely flips all these dynamics on their head in ways that add up to a radical change in meaning.

The fedaykin in the movie are an already-existing guerrilla resistance movement on Arrakis that formed long before Paul showed up. Literally the first thing we learn about the Fremen, less that two minutes into the first movie, is that they are fighting back against the colonization and exploitation of their home and have been for decades.

The movie fedaykin also start out being the most skeptical of the prophecy about Paul, which is a great choice from both a political and a character standpoint. Of course they're skeptical. If you're part of a small guerrilla force repeatedly going up against a much bigger and stronger imperial army...you have to believe in your own agency. You have to believe that it is possible to win, and that this tiny little chip in the armor of a giant terrifying military machine that you are making right now will make a difference in the end. These are the people who are directly on the front lines of resisting oppression. They are doing it with their own sweat, blood and ingenuity, and they are not about to wait around for some messiah who may never come.

From a character standpoint, this is really the best possible environment you could put Paul Atreides in if you want to keep him humble. He doesn't get any automatic respect handed to him due to title or birthright or religious belief. He has to prove himself--not as any kind of savior but as a good fighter and a reliable member of a collective political project. And he does. This is an environment that really draws out his best qualities. He's a skilled fighter; he's brave (sometimes recklessly so); he's intensely loyal to and protective of people he cares about. He is not too proud to learn from others and work hard in an egalitarian environment where he gets no special treatment or extra glory. The longer he spends with the fedaykin the more his allegiance shifts from Atreides to Fremen, and the more skeptical he himself becomes about the prophecy. This sets up the conflict with Jessica, which comes to a head before she leaves for the south. And his political sincerity--that he genuinely comes to believe that these people deserve liberation from all colonial forces and his only role should be to help where he can--is what makes the tragedy work. Because in the end we know he will betray all these values and become the exact thing he said he didn't want to be.

There's another layer of meaning to all this that I don't know if the filmmakers were even aware of. ETA: rescinding my doubt cause based on some of Villeneuve's other projects I'm pretty sure he could work it out. Given the time period (1960s) and Herbert's propensity for using Arabic or Arabic-inspired words for aspects of Fremen culture, it seems very likely that the made-up word fedaykin was taken from fedayeen, a real Arabic word that was frequently used untranslated in American news media at the time, usually to refer to Palestinian armed resistance groups.

Fedayeen is usually translated into English as fighter, guerrilla, militant or something similar. The translation of fedaykin that Herbert provides in Dune is "death commando"...which is a whole bucket of yikes in my opinion, but it's not entirely absurd if we're assuming that this fake word and the real word fedayeen function in the same way. A more literal translation of fedayeen is "self-sacrificer," as in willing, intentional self-sacrifice for a political cause, up to and including sacrificing your life.

If you apply this logic to Dune, it means that Villeneuve has actually shifted the meaning of this word in-universe, from fighters who are willing to sacrifice themselves for Paul to fighters who are willing to sacrifice themselves for their people. And the fedaykin are no longer a group created for Paul but a group that Paul counts himself as part of, one member among equals. Which is just WILDLY different from what's in the book. And so much better in my opinion.

[notspiders]

Oh, Honey! (Bumblebee! Reader x Monster! 141)

General Warnings: Mostly fluff. Reader is female and is described as rather small and chubby. Reader is clumsy. Reader has a very large family. Characters may act out of character. Poor grammar is likely. Cussing. Part 1??? Note: Monster! 141 belongs to @bluegiragi

~~~~

Price watches you through the window.

Truthfully, he isn't sure how he and his team ended up here. One day they were being chased by a bloody team of zombies/cannon fodder, the next- he's laying on this extremely cozy bed (although it is a bit small) with his wounds nicely patched. Soap has gone hunting with the other women. Ghost is satisfied that they're all safe in this... rather massive cottage and has been snoring away in the next room for the past hour. Gaz has told him that he's going to just fly around and keep an eye out- just in case if the enemies somehow find themselves through the dense woods and into this clearing.

They really were lucky, Price thinks. According to you, the woods were a force themselves. Navigating through it, especially at night, is practically impossible. Compasses don't work. There's no signal and, of course, any type of aircraft just fail here. The woods are miles long and unless you packed enough supplies- it's suicide to dive back in and try to find your way out. It's just that sometimes the woods can help you, and sometimes the woods just gives you Mother Nature's middle finger and kills you. So there's that.

Naturally, the team was suspicious.

1) The explanation made no sense. 2) They were just outnumbered by a ton of enemies and to stumble upon this welcoming lot is... well, it's too good to be true, yeah? 3) You and your family are just way too happy. 3.1) There are no guys in your family. Your mother stated that men generally just wandered in, the family would treat them, and then they go away by themselves after a few nights. 3.2) Honestly, all of you look the same. Maybe there's like, a difference in hairstyles, body types, and obvious age gaps between the women here and there, but Jesus… Gaz has already made the mistake of confusing you, your cousins, your many sisters, and other random girls multiple times last night. 3.3) Scratch out the 'massive cottage' you guys claimed it to be. It's a mansion. Your 'family' is very large. There are many aunts, other women, cousins, other girls that were adopt into the family- Just no men. All living under the same roof and might as well be an army itself with how efficient you all did your tasks.

That said, it's very rude to point guns at innocent, clueless civilians. You, an adorably chubby, little bumblebee-hybrid (identifiable by the two rather pathetic buzzing wings behind your back), opened the door to them last night and stared blankly at their guns before cheerily ushering them in without freaking your head out. Next thing they knew, they got some quality homecooked meals cooked and served before them, plenty of drink (the honey mead everyone shared is excellent), proper treatment with their wounds (with... herbs), and warm beds. Ghost had stayed up the whole night and snooped around (just in case) but reported nothing interesting except for a few old hunting rifles and some overdue library books. Yes, each girl did carry a tiny foraging knife, but he's pretty certain they could still punt them like footballs ten at a time.

Morning comes- the team properly introduce themselves without being too specific of their occupation. There was a great deal of oohing and aahing as Price unfolded his one wing. His smoke did cause one girl to faint and her mother quickly asked for Price to... stop. He did his best and has, for now, stopped smoking his cigar. Everyone just steered clear from Ghost. Many children were petting Soap's head and playing with his fluffy tail, and others were stroking Gaz's wings.

Despite all the attention, Price's gaze is always on you. Maybe it was because of the fact that he's seen you first. You were just the cutest out of all of them. He wanted to whisk you away just to squish every soft part of your body and have you cuddled up beside him in his nest back home.

He's sorely disappointed to be told that he needs to return to bed so that his wounds can heal faster. No matter. The window gives him a very nice view of the clearing outside. Some girls are tending to the farm. Others are beekeeping. Plenty have gone to the outskirts of the forest to forage or hunt. Soap has offered to go out with the girls and they gladly accepted his help. (Tomorrow, he'll get off of this bed and join everyone too.)

Right now, you're picking the berries in your garden. It's amusing to watch you. Sometimes you bend over to pluck a few pretty flowers too- he's gotten a very nice view of your plump arse here and there. He's watched you buzz your small wings to just barely get a foot in the air and pluck an apple off the tree. Oh, how he wished to simply go out to lift you up himself... Your weight would be nothing to him.

From his observations, he's smartly deduced: Your body is round. Your little wings aren't designed for distance.

He loves the way you'd burrow your nose into any flower. Sometimes you remind him of Johnny's eagerness by the way you'd get a bit too enthusiastic and faceplant into the bed of flowers to take in the scent.

Price watches you get up, bump into your cousin (or is it sister? Or is this another girl? He couldn't be arsed), and the two of you collectively squeaked and apologized at the same time. Adorable. Fascinating. Beautiful. He hasn't felt this way ever since the time he xaight the glimpse of the shiny Excalibur in that stupid rock.

The lunch horn has been blown. He's been told that today's meal would be freshly baked bread and creamy chicken with wild rice soup. There’ll be tea and coffee for the drinks.

Price wishes his lunch would just be you.

[xetlynn]

Twilight Imagines- Jasper x Fem! Reader

I Am A Fool

[other imagines]

Requested by: @raviolisblog

Summary: Reader is a nurse in the military which is how she meets Jasper, they fall in love and plan a future together but unfortunately Jasper gets moved to another base and they are separated. Which is where he turns and disappears, his writing to Reader stops and she doesn’t understand why. Only to go into her own demise, turning into a vampire. She searches for her love for over a century.

"[Name]!?" A voice calls after me as I clean my medicine station. I turn around to see my only friend, Esther. Both of us started training to become military nurses at the same time. We stuck around each only each other in the beginning and then that's eventually how it stayed. "Yes?" I respond with a tiny smile upon my face.

"Did you hear the soldiers and us will be eating lunch together this week?" She asks, her eyes sparkling with joy. I only chuckle at her question, getting back to what I was doing before she came into the tent. "I did hear. It doesn't matter though, I'm stuck with cleaning duty this week." I sigh out, annoyed. I didn't really care either, getting to know the soldiers who treat us nurses like dirt. As if we aren't the ones who take care of them whenever they get injuries that range from the tiniest splinter to gunshot wounds.

"Oh, [Name], you have to join me. I'll help you get your work done." She grabs my hand, forcing me to look at her once again. I raise a brow at her. "Please, I would like to get to know them. Maybe... we won't be as lonely." She whispers, glancing around but there was no one else but us there.

I knew she had another motive though. She wanted to fall in love. It was something she always talked about. Wishful thinking. All because of these romance novels she read before becoming a nurse.

"I don't mind being lonely, Esther. Besides I don't think I could handle the stupidity that reeks off of those men." I take my hand back from her grasp. Finishing up my cleaning.

"[Name], I will only beg this of you for the rest of the week." She tells me in a sharp tone. "That's only 7 days. I shall live." I grin cheekily, sitting down as I write down things I need from the utility room.

"[Name], join me one day at least. Please." She pleads with me, dropping down in front of where I sit. I place my clipboard and pencil down. Staring at her for a moment before throwing my head back. "One day, Esther. That's all I give you. No more begging after that." I point a finger in her face. Her expression beams with happiness, she stands up from the ground, grabbing my hands once again. "Thank you, thank you. You will not regret it!" She squeals, kissing my hands as if I had saved her family member from death or something. I shake my head, with a tiny smile that I couldn't hide even if I tried. "I better not." I mutter in a joking voice.

And the day after that conversation is the day she chose for me to join her to lunch. Lunch with the army men that chatted with every woman that they could. Multiple coming up to us. I sat silent during most conversations. Esther enjoying every moment. I quietly ate my food. Observing how the nurses almost dumb themselves down for all the men that come their way. It was embarrassing. I felt embarrassment for them. Even though I know they couldn't care less how they're perceived unless it is by the said men.

I stand up abruptly to throw away my empty tray. My best friend doesn't even notice I had left. I shake my head with a small laugh. She would've been fine without me, if only she had known.

After throwing away my tray I stand there for a moment, deciding on if I should go back to my seat or go start on some cleaning. My thinking was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. I stand up straighter, mentally preparing myself for a horrible, short conversation. I turn to see a longer haired blond.

He looks familiar as well. I glance down to his empty tray. "Sorry, am I in your way?" I ask, stepping to the side. "Only a little bit." He gives me a curtly smile, his dimples forming immediately. "My apologies." I bow my head, I go to walk away but he clears his throat. "May I ask what your name is?" He speaks up once again. "I guess you may." I joke before answering him. "[Name] [Last Name]." I tell him.

"That's a beautiful name." He compliments me and I feel my face begin to heat up. I stammer for a moment, attempting to calm myself down before speaking. "Uh, thank you. I uh I better get going." I start to walk backwards bumping into a table. Apologizing to it like an idiot before hurrying away to start on cleaning tasks.

"I looked like a fool Esther!" I cry out, hiding my face in my hands. "I'm sure you didn't." She disagrees with me, I could tell she wasn't paying attention though. Her eyes looking off into the distance as we were supposed to be doing tasks for the day. Cleaning the sheets from the men's beds. "Oh but I did. I bumped into a table and said sorry to it as if it were a human." I ranted to her anyways. "Oh wow." She mumbles.

"I feel as though you do care for what I am saying." I stop my cleaning, staring at her. "Mhm." She hums, she was looking around, outside of the tent. I roll my eyes. "Who are you looking for, Esther Anne?" I question her loud enough to snap her out of it. Her eyes widen as she looks at me. "I'm not looking for anyone." She shakes her head. Lying to me. "Right. What did I just say moments ago?"

She stays silent in response and I begin to laugh. "Ugh, I'm sorry [Name]. I just, I've been talking to one of the soldiers. His name is Ryan. He's perfect. He walked me to the tent after lunch yesterday and then found me later in the day." She excitedly informs me, going back to looking out of the tent where the men walk by. "He told me he'd look for me today." She smiles brightly. "I'm sure he will." I assure her, going back to washing the sheets.

"Oh I hope so." She quietly says under her breath. "So the man you talked to yesterday, was he cute? He had to have been if you called yourself a fool over him." She changes the subject and I glare at her. "I did not call myself a fool over him. It was over me bumping into a table." I argue with her, upset that she would even say that. Acting stupid over a man. I make fun of women like that all the time. I wouldn't go doing it myself. "You didn't answer my question." She sings.

"What question?" I furrow my eyebrows. "Was he cute?" She asks with a smirk. "He was..." I think back to his looks. His hazel eyes, his dimples that appeared when he smiled or even talked a little bit. His blond hair that fit him perfectly. I shake the thoughts out of my head. "He was all right." I shrug my shoulders. She stares at me for a moment with a disbelieving expression. "Yeah, okay."

I don't have the energy to argue with her this time though. Moving on from the conversation as we put all the sheets into baskets, heading out of the tent to hang them up to dry.

Esther begins to talk about Ryan again, describing his features and physical beauty. I stayed quiet only responding when there was a pause of silence.

As we hung up the sheets I felt a couple of presences pop up behind us. I turn around to see the man from yesterday along with two others.

"What can we do you for?" I ask, wondering why they came up to us. Esther notices them and her eyes widen. "Oh Ryan, you found me." She grins, hooking up one last sheet before going up to him. "I told you I would." He smiles gently. He was on the shorter side but he genuinely matched her so well.

"This is Jasper, a friend of mine. And this is John." He introduces his friends. I stare at the ground as they talk. Esther shaking the other men's hands. "Nice to meet you two." She sweetly says. "You as well, I have to get going though. Just wanted to see the pretty girl he won't shut up about." John messes with Ryan before walking away. Ryan rubs the back of his neck embarrassed but Esther only grins ear to ear hearing that.

Suddenly she snaps out of her trance and pulls me forward. "This is [Name], she's my best friend I told you about." She tells the two men not knowing that Jasper is the man I told her about. "Pleasure to meet you." Ryan nods his head to me and I do the same. I look at Jasper who already has a smile on his face. "Nice to meet you, again." He says to me and I give a short smile. Esther has a shocked face but then smirks.

"I was going to show Ryan something on one of the trails, you two should get to know one another." Esther grabs the shorter man by the arm, beginning to walk away. "What? But- Our other chores!" I call after her. "We have time to finish them later." She smiles, turning away and ignoring my other protests.

I give up and turn to the man in front of me. "Hah, so... Jasper is your name." I awkwardly say. He chuckles, nodding his head. "Jasper Whitlock." He sticks his hand out. "Whitlock." I repeat quietly. It's familiar. I take his hand but I don't let go as I try to remember who he is.

"I've taken care of you before." I tell him suddenly. My grip lessening on his hand but I still don't let go. Not even realizing I'm doing it. "That is true. I got sick with a common cold." He says. I stare at him, scrunching my nose. I glance down to see our hands still holding and I let go quickly. "Right, glad to see you're feeling better." I grab the baskets from the ground, stacking them so it's easier to carry.

"Thank you, let me help you." He begins to take the baskets from my hands and surprisingly I let him. We go to the tent to put the baskets away. "Thank you." I say softly, he smiles. His dimples forming even more. I feel my body stiffen and I don't know what to talk about with him.

"Would you want to join me on a stroll in town?" He asks me suddenly and I go to talk but he speaks up once again. "Not today, maybe during the weekend. When you've finished your tasks." He finishes, he seemed nervous and I still stay silent. Not knowing how to respond without stuttering or making myself look like an idiot in front of this beautiful man. "You don't have to, it would be as friends." He assures me, the word friends disappoints me though. I smile. "I would love to join you." I begin to walk out of the tent. "Even if it was more than friends." I tell him.

"I have to go to my higher up, maybe I will see you in the evening?" I ask him, turning to look at him as he still stood in the tent. "Maybe I will look forward to it." He responds and I break out into a smile before walking away.

Days pass, Esther has been busy with Ryan along with her duties so we haven't seen each other much. Only before we go to bed and attempt to catch each other up on everything that has been happening. Jasper comes to find me every day. Even for a short minute it's only to talk to me. Making sure I'm still up for our stroll on Saturday evening, today. He will be seeing me outside of my uniform. Unfortunately he will still be in his. I don't mind it though, I rather enjoy him in it.

I finish up with my tasks for the day, changing into a frilly black skirt and a light pink long sleeved shirt. Tucking it into the skirt. I go to the mirror, checking out the outfit before putting my boots on. It's rare I ever wear these types of clothes. Only being in my uniform lately. It was a nice change. My hair was curled as normal, styled in a certain way that was a little different than what I do for work.

I was happy with how I looked. I head out of the bedrooms and go to the dining hall where he told me to meet him. To my surprise he was already standing there. He didn't notice me walking up to him so I try to stay quiet before loudly saying "boo!" His body jolts up and he looks up at me. "Oh my goodness." He clutches his chest. I laugh, apologizing. "That was too good!" I clap my hands together.

"That was good, but just know there will be payback." He tells me and I smile. "Oh really?" We begin to walk. "Mhm, you'll never expect it." He looks ahead, leading me to the horse stables.

We take his horse into town, I hold onto him the whole time. Maybe more than I have to but I don't hear him complaining.

Once he gets to a spot to tie the horse to I let go of him so he can get down. I watch as he ties the reins to a pole. He pets the animal before his attention goes to me. He lifts his hand and I take it. I swing my leg over and make sure my skirt won't slide up.

I then panic on how I'm going to get down. "I have never really been on a horse before." I tell him suddenly. He furrows his brows. "You got on with ease though?" He reminds me and I smile awkwardly. "I just watched how you get up and I hoped for the best." I tell him and he begins to laugh.

"Just jump down." He tells me and I look at the ground and it feels higher up than it actually is. "I'm a little fearful, Whitlock." I admit to him. "I got you darlin, I promise." He says, but it's still not enough. "What if my skirt rides up?" I pat down the fabric that I am wearing.

"I won't let that happen." He assures me and I sigh out. I was still holding his hand. "here." He lets go of my hand and then both of his hands grab my waist. "Jump off, I got you." He nods for me to do it and I grimace. I close my eyes and then do as told. I let out a little noise but he puts me down gently and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"See, nothing to worry about when I'm around." He nudges me and I smile. "Sorry about that." I frown, holding my hands together. "You're quite alright, darlin. It was a cute moment I will cherish." He takes my arm and we begin to walk. "Darlin a new name for me?" I tease him, moving closer to him as I hold his arm. I look up at him to see him smiling. "If you'd like it to be." He looks down at me in the corner of his eye instead of actually turning his head.

"I don't mind it." I answer, looking forward.

The rest of the day we talked, he bought me little treats throughout the stroll. Telling me it's to support local businesses.

It was a wonderful date that I want to do for the rest of my life. Especially with Jasper. It has only been a week and I think I've fallen for him. In a way that's almost painful when we're apart. I take in every minute we have together.

Weeks pass and it seems we only fall for one another harder than the day before. Our lips haven't even locked but the passion between us is something I've never felt before. We talk of the future. The ending of the war and building a life together.

At least that's what we did until he got told he was leaving to another base. He ran immediately to me to tell me. "Maybe I can leave too, you guys will need nurses." I say in a hopeful tone but he frowns. "I was told they already had their nurses at that base." He was gripping my hand as if I would go away. "I can still ask. We have to be positive." My chest began to move up and down. Panicking. You never know what is to happen in the war.

If this will be our last moments together. I couldn't bear the thought of never seeing Jasper ever again. "Hey, my darlin. It's okay. It's okay." He places a hand on my cheek trying to soothe my thoughts away. I lean into his hand.

"I will write to you every day." I tell him, letting go of his hand to pull him into an embrace. His arms go around me, holding my waist tightly. "As I will do the same." He whispers, kissing the top of my head. We let go and I stare at his lips. One of his hands was still on my waist.

A tear fell from my eye. "Don't cry, darlin." He kisses it away. "I'm not." I lie.

He lets out a small, pain filled laugh. "Can I kiss you?" I ask. "You don't have to ask, my love." He tells me and I put my hand on the back of his neck as I pull him into a kiss. The touch of our lips leaves shivers down my spine. Igniting a fire within me and I never want it to go out.

I never wanted this feeling to go. Even when he left, I saved every letter he sent me. I waited for every letter to come. Writing back immediately.

Then a week passed where I got nothing. Then it turned to two weeks. I couldn't sleep, knowing there was something wrong. He wouldn't do that to me. He wouldn't stop writing to me for no reason. His last letter filled with love and affection. He couldn't have just lost that feeling with me. Something had to have happened. I ran to Ryan not knowing who else to go to.

Esther and him were eating together when I showed up. I looked like a mess. My hair hasn't been kept together, my clothing wasn't as neat as usual. The eye bags under my eyes showing how much sleep I haven't been getting. "Have you heard from him?" My voice was raspy and hoarse. Ryan's eyes faltered and I didn't know what that could mean. Anxiety filled me.

"Have you heard from him, Ryan?" I repeat myself. Esther stared at me sadly. Did she know something I didn't? Did everyone know something I didn't? "Ryan?" I ask.

"They can't find him." He tells me and my body straightens. "What do you mean they can't find him?" I ask.

"He was doing a stroll, he was by himself and hours passed. He never showed back up. I just got word from my Lieutenant. He hasn't been seen for two weeks. His horse came back but not him." He explains to me and I begin to feel dizzy. I grip on the wall beside me. "He could be found. They can find him." I say, it was mainly to myself. I started to spiral. Clutching my chest. "He might've um, he must've gotten lost. The horse possibly flung him off." I say to the two in front of me. "Running off without him, you know? Right?" Eyes filled my eyes as I look to them for reassurance but their faces don't give me what I wanted.

I lose it and begin to sob. Seconds later arms hold onto me. It was Esther. She tried to give me comforting words but nothing works. I soak her shirt as I cry.

I cry only to feel numb. The numbness growing as more weeks pass and nothing new is brought to Ryan or to I. He's officially a missing soldier. They want to call him a dead man but I won't let them. I won't let anyone call him a dead man. He's alive. I know it. He can't be dead.

I ended up getting moved to a new base, Esther and Ryan also were coming. There's been cases of animal attacks here. Draining blood from the bodies. It's incredibly strange. Us nurses are working hours on end, even going into the next day. Helping the villages around the base as we've been instructed to do.

I was told to go to one with Esther, and two other nurses. A few soldiers were guarding the village, Ryan was luckily one of them for Esther. They were the lucky couple. Somehow always getting put together. I was envious. Wishing that could've been Jasper and I and we never would've been separated. He never would've gone missing.

It was a late night and Esther and I were working the shift tonight. Working with children that had lost their parents. I was tired, holding a toddler in my arms. Esther was reading a story to the older children to get them to bed. The toddler I held was fast asleep. His slowed breathing only made my tiredness worse.

And eventually I accidentally fell asleep.

Waking up to the sounds of screaming outside of the tent. My eyes shot open, the toddler I once had in my arms was now in a crib beside me. I look around to find Esther but I couldn't see her. I count to make sure all the children were there and it seemed like one was missing. Maybe they were going to an outhouse is what I thought to calm myself but when I remember I woke up to screaming I go to the exit of the tent. Hearing another scream.

I look back to the sleeping children. None of them even flinching to the scream. I poke my head outside of the tent and see something run in front of me. I gasp, getting back into the tent.

I back away not knowing what to do. It was fast. Faster than a human, faster than any animal I've ever seen.

I look around and find a metal stick that's to control fires. I step outside of the tent. Hearing a scream again. This time I realize it's Esther's screams. A child crying with it. My heart begins to race and I run towards the sound. Staying quiet.

I look up to see smoke, along with light further in the village. I grip the stick and head towards the fire. It was a stupid idea but I couldn't just let Esther die. Along with that poor child.

As I get closer I see Esther holding the child. There were people standing around her and she was cornered. I didn't know what to do. I stood there like a coward. Like a fool.

I am a fool.

I didn't even notice the man that stood behind me. The man who grabs me, covering my mouth as he bites into my neck. I let out a muffled scream. I feel my blood draining from my body but it stops and my body drops to the ground. I see a woman attacking the man who just bite me.

I feel immense pain growing in my neck. I sweat from the pain. I groan, gritting my teeth together. The woman comes over to me and I stare at her in fear. Her eyes were red and she wasn't a woman. She seemed to be a teenager. "Who-" I grunt trying to speak but she just shushes me. It seems like she's about to kill me but a man shows up behind her. "Hold." He says.

"She's a strong one." His eyes were wide as he stares at me. I sit myself up, leaning on the wall, still breathing heavily from the pain. "Who are you!?" I scream out, still holding my neck. The pain growing throughout my body.

"Shh." He puts a finger to his lips. I glare at him, confused on why they are shushing me. I'm confused on why a bite from a man is hurting so badly. Burning my insides.

"What is happening to me?" I beg to know.

I don't get an answer though. I don't get an answer, I never do. Three days of agonizing pain. They left me in an empty village that was killed off.

I sat against a wall the entire time. The only sight I see is the body of the child I never saved along with Esther who still held that child. Even while dying. And the man that attack me with no head beside me.

The sky changing was the only thing that kept me going. Begging that this would pain end eventually.

And when it did I stood up. A strong smell filling my nose. The smell of blood but stronger than usual. I felt feral.

I walk towards the smell, it was coming from the children's tent, the one Esther and I were in three days ago. The night it happened.

I enter inside, seeing the bodies of the dead children. I cover my mouth and nose, smelling their blood. Making me weirdly hungry. I felt disgusted with myself. I felt like I was stopping myself from doing something I know I shouldn't do.

I hear a small voice and I groan out, the feeling getting stronger. My eyes shoot around the tent needing to know where it's coming from. I see movement beside a crib and I go over to it in a fast motion I didn't even know I could make. I see a woman lying there. I worked with her. She's one of the nurses. She seems to be waking up. Her eyes open and look at me as I stand over her. "[Name]?" She mumbles and I just stare at her not knowing what to do but I know that my urges are to suck on the blood from inside her body.

"[Name] are you okay?" She asks me, starting to sit up, my nostrils flair. I start to breathe out of my nose heavily. "You're acting weird." She holds her head and I try to back up but it feels like my body is stuck in place. I see blood from the side of her forehead.

She goes to speak to me again but in a quick motion I'm biting on her neck and draining the blood from her body. She tries to scream but she can't. I feel someone behind me but I don't care enough in this moment as I feel like I've been starving.

Hands wrap around my body and pull me away from the woman that I can't remember the name of. "You've drained her completely, hun." A gentle voice tells me and I glance up to see a blond man with golden eyes staring back at me. "Who are you?" I push him away from me, he grunts but doesn't seem to be surprised by my response.

"My name is Carlisle. I just want to help you." He tells me but I hold myself, backing away from him. "Help me with what?"

"Don't you want to know what you are? Why you just fed off of a human?" He questions me and I glance from him over to the woman's body on the ground.

"You're a vampire. You're not human anymore." He informs me. I snort out a laugh. "Those are myths." I shake my head.

They were myths, but I guess they actually exist. Carlisle told me everything I needed to know. He taught me how to control my hungry and only go after animals. Controlling my thirst around humans.

We learned I have an ability. He told me how some have them. I turned out to be one of them. I can make people forget what they're thinking about in that current moment. Make them forget things that happened ten minutes ago and replace their thoughts and memories with something different. We found it out when we were caught eating off an animal by a hunter. We didn't want to kill him and I somehow focused on him and I was begging him to forget everything. Somehow it worked.

Now we've been practicing on random people.

Carlisle has truly been the biggest help in this whole weird thing.

I told him I wasn't staying with him though. I needed to find what happened to Jasper. I told him about Jasper, about how he was the love of my life. I never told him his name though. I wanted to keep my human life private. It was nothing against the man that saved me but I just wanted to keep certain things to myself. And Jasper was mine. He wasn't for everyone to know about.

And after both Carlisle and I knew we were okay on our own we went separate ways but I told him if he ever needed me I'll be in this area. I gave him my name so he can always look me up. I'd be there to help him with whatever it was.

I spent decades, over a century trying to find anything about Jasper but it was like he disappeared off the face of the earth. No one saw him. I couldn't find anything about him. Nothing about his death. I searched everywhere. Even going into oceans to see if his body was dropped in them. Lakes, the desserts around to see if he was in small areas no one could find him.

Nothing. No trace.

It was the 2000's and still nothing. I had given up at one point. Once it hit 1982. It had been over 110 years since my love went missing. A part of me hoped he became what I have. The selfish part of me. The other hopes he's in heaven, getting everything good that he deserves.

I still traveled, hanging out with random covens for a couple years before moving onto the next thing. That's how it's been for years.

Until I got a call from Carlisle Cullen. The man who saved me from damnation. "Have you heard what's happening in Seattle?" Was the first words out of his mouth. "Yeah, I thought the Volturi would've taken care of it by now." I answer him, crossing my arms as I stood outside of an alley in Chicago Illinois.

"We thought so too. But it looks like they're coming to Forks. We have a human they're after." He tells me and I furrow my eyebrows confused on why they would be protecting some random human. "I'll explain when you get here. We need your help." He says and I stiffen, licking my teeth.

"I'll be there in a couple hours." I tell him before hanging up the phone. He didn't need to explain anything. I'd help him with whatever he asks me to do. Even if it was against my morals. It's Carlisle.

And then I was on my way to Forks, Washington.

I pull up to a beautiful house, lots of glass, doesn't really hide anything. It fits Carlisle though. And his wife Esme. I met her once when I bumped into Carlisle. She had just turned. She was a lovely lady. Only got a few days to know her though.

She matched him perfectly.

I park my car and get out, Carlisle, two men, Esme and the human girl were standing on the porch. I raise my eyebrows. "A welcome party, oh you shouldn't have, Carlisle and Esme." I comment cheekily, walking towards them.

"Anything for you [Name]." Esme smiles to me and I grin back to her. "This the human girl we're fighting newborn vampires for?" I cross my arms,  observing the brunette in front for me. She was nervous but she was observing me back. One of the boys pushes her behind him.

"Who are you?" I ask with a smirk. "This is Edward. That's Bella, his girlfriend." Carlisle explains to me. "And this is Emmett." Esme points over to the other boy. "Got yourself a little family now, cute." I hum quietly.

"There's others as well. Let's go introduce you." Carlisle says and they lead me into the house. There were three other people standing in the living room. A man and two women. We get closer and the three turn to me. My eyes widen when I see the mans face. He looked exactly like Jasper...

I walk closer to him. Eyebrows scrunched together. It looked like he recognized me as well. "Jasper Whitlock?" I say the name that almost seemed foreign at this point. "Darlin?" He smiles back and my face falls before pulling him into my arms rather harshly.

"Jasper Whitlock!" I squeal as he lifts me up, I grab his face kissing him aggressively, my legs wrapping around his waist.

"I thought I'd lost you!" I cry out, no tears coming out of course. All he does is hum in response, kissing me once again. "You have been with Carlisle Cullen for how long!?" I jump down asking him. "Since 1953." He tells me and I close my eyes putting my head down.

"I've been searching oceans for you for over a century and a half." I tell him. "And you've been with one of my closest allies for 50 of those years." I whisper. "I could've been with you for 50 years." I lay my head on Jasper's chest.

I then turn to everyone who was just watching the scene confused. Except for Carlisle.

He was the only one either of us told each other about and he didn't even know it was about one another. I didn't let go of Jasper the entire time they told me about what was happening.

Having to reconcile with my lover after the explanation. I got introduced to Rosalie and Alice. Alice was a nice girl, she was super excited for Jasper and I. She kept going on and on about how amazing it was until Carlisle pulled her away so we could catch up on everything.

And when it was just the two of us, I look at him. My eyes piercing into his. "I never thought I'd see you again." He tells me earnestly. "Where did you go?" I ask, my voice breaking slightly. "I stopped getting letters, no one could find you." I tell him and he frowns.

He explains how a vampire named Maria turned him, forcing him to be her right hand man. He told me about his abilities which led me to tell him about mine. About how and when I turned. I told him about Esther and Ryans horrible fate.

How for the past century I literally searched bodies of water for him along with the desert he disappeared at. He told me how he heard about the base attack and heard I was there. He thought I was dead this whole time.

"I am never leaving your side ever again." I tell him with a serious expression.

"I would never want you to." He pulls me onto his lap, kissing me on my lips.

"I love you, I'm such a fool for not calling out your name to Carlisle." I lay my forehead on his.

He kisses me once more. “I am a fool as well, darlin.”

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This was 6000 words. 😕

It took me almost all day.

I hope you enjoyed is all I’m going to say right now.