#soldier boy x original female character

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

*image of Jensen Ackles is used with permission of the photographer Mandi Lea Photogtaphy.

Summary: After a significant career shift and subsequent break-up, Brandy Miller moves to Wayne County, Pennsylvania, to be closer to family. She invests in a small, sight-unseen condo in a “quiet, charming neighborhood with views of the Poconos and neighbors you can count on.” One particular neighbor seems to have a unique interpretation of what that means.

Characters: Brandy Miller x Soldier Boy, Serge Bernard, Kimiko Miyashiro (mentioned), Maggie Shaw, Annie January, Hughie Campbell, MM (mentioned), John James Davis (AKA Homelander but just as SB’s 21yo son), Butcher (mentioned)

Warnings/tags in this chapter: 18+ ONLY, sexual tension, sexual objectification, rough and degrading sex dream, alcohol, Soldier Boy is a terrible father, explicit sexual content

Words in this chapter: 3,500

Author’s notes: Soldier Boy will be referred to by many names in this fic. The full name I’ve given him is Benjamin James Davis III.

Thank you to @brrose-apothecary @stusbunker and @talltalesandbedtimestories for pre-reads and green lights!

This fills my #Inconsiderate Neighbor square for @jacklesversebingo

CHAPTER ONE

The last five years have been wild. A global pandemic impacted our life choices and decisions more than any other event in the previous 50 years. Career shifts, resettling in vastly different communities, honest declarations of who we are as people and who we love — these things I’ve witnessed first-hand.

I was an executive for a nationally renowned advertising agency. My partner of six years was a successful stock trader. About three weeks into our second lockdown, I realized I couldn’t stand the guy. I went through every reason why I’d have stayed for so long if he was so horrible. I wondered if he hated me too. Then one day, he told me.

“Brandy, I can’t do this anymore.”

He didn’t hate me; he just didn’t love me. He wasn’t horrible; he just wasn’t for me. 

Working remotely gave me a similarly renewed perspective on my career choice. I worked 12 hours a day from my home office overlooking Central Park, drank a bottle of wine to go to sleep, then got up the next morning to do it all over again. Meanwhile, everyone in America was tightening their purse strings on ad spend.

Now, I’m in the Honesdale borough of Wayne County, Pennsylvania, working as a freelance document review specialist. I’m single, own my two-bedroom condo outright, and spend Sundays with my sister Amber and her two teenagers over in Damascus. 

These changes introduced me to a set of concepts that I had previously denied. I thought I was happy, successful, content. 

But I’m told that a constant desire for more hinders contentment. Comparison is the thief of joy, as they say. A sense of entitlement will always bite you in the ass. A lack of gratitude prevents you from appreciating what you already have and fosters a need for something beyond.

As it happens, I have a prospective client meeting in Scranton this afternoon, and my brand-new Jeep won’t start. I guess they don’t make them like they used to. 

“Brandy, mon amie, where are you?” my friend Serge answers my call with worry in his voice.

“My truck won’t start,” I whine.

Last month, I complained to Serge and his partner-in-all-things Kimiko that government work was beginning to bore me. I like new things, which is a bummer, considering desire hinders contentment. Kimiko offered to introduce me to her brother, who works with one of the largest healthcare companies in the country. 

“Oh, cher...” Serge laments in sympathy.

“I know, I know. And this fucking podunk town’s got like two cabs and one Lyft serving the entire county.”

I roll my neck and eyes in frustration, and in my periphery, I glimpse a man inside a single garage stall working on a motorcycle. I’ve never seen him before, but judging by the military-themed tattoos, evident dexterity with the tools he’s wielding, and his proportions, he’s the ‘asshole military contractor’ my next-door neighbor, Maggie, told me about when I moved in. 

Serge frets in Frenglish on the other end of the line before returning to the point. “On se’n occupe. We will handle it.”

I watch my newly discovered neighbor deftly flex and twist and wonder if he’s as adept with other motor vehicles. “Please tell Kimiko I’m sorry and understand if this opportunity’s off the table now.”

My words are meant for Serge, but the man not 10 yards away sends me a subtle, knowing look. There’s an enduring facet of competence and perception in every flick of his eyes and wrist, every shrug of his thick, broad shoulders, and the taunting slant of his jaw. He knows I’m watching him and knows I’m in a bind. 

He pities me.

I tell Serge that I’ll let him know how things go with the car before ending the call then tentatively head toward my neighbor’s garage stall.

“Hey there, I’m Brandy.” I thumb over my shoulder, indicating the general area of my condo. “Are you BJ?”

He smirks at his greasy wrench before answering, “BJ, Soldier Boy, Captain,” then pauses as he drags his eyes from his task to pin me in place. “Take your pick, sweetheart.”

He looks me down and up, slow and heavy, licking his lips. His demeanor would be comical at best and frightening at worst if I weren’t so stunned by the sheer audacity. As he unfolds from a squat, his muscles shift and grind under his sweat-slicked skin. He wipes his filthy hands on a filthier rag and saunters toward me. I have never in my life been so blatantly objectified right to my face.

“Need a ride?” he asks, meeting my eyes again. The rounded toes of his grungy work boots tap the points of my Jimmy Choos.

“I-” I attempt to speak but don’t know what to say. I should be outraged. I should tell him he can’t just look at people like that. He can’t just invade my space.

He tilts his head, and his eyes drop to my chest. “You're all flushed, Brandy. Feeling okay?” He drops his rag to the concrete before ghosting a finger along my collarbone.

Air returns to my lungs and the flush in my chest rises up my throat to my face. I smack his hand away and take a step back. “What the fuck?! Do you always harass and assault women half your size, or is it just me?”

Centuries of gaslighting threaten to drown me from one single look. And then he speaks. “My bad. Didn’t know you were a prude.”

He raises his hands in feigned surrender before returning to his bike.

“I’m a prude because I don’t like being evaluated like a pig going to slaughter?”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Listen—no harm, no foul, alright? I thought you were game; you’re not, no big deal.”

“Man, I came over here as a neighbor to introduce myself. You clearly heard part of my call and know my car isn’t starting. I thought, since you’re in here working on a motorcycle, you might also know something about cars.”

He nods. “Got it. Is that where we’re at right now? You want me to take a look at your car?”

“Jesus- what?! Are you for real?”

“No? Okay, then.” He turns his back, and I stare at him for a moment.

Thoughts swirl through my mind. Where is your spine, Brandy? Show him what you’re made of. This isn’t over until you say it is.

A slave to my guts and ego, I’m determined to re-engage. “Yes.” 

He slowly faces me again, eyebrows raised and head tilted in question. “Yes?”

“Yes. I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look at my Jeep.”

His expression shifts—softens, some might say, but his eyes remain hard and cold. “‘Course. What kinda neighbor would I be if I didn’t?”

He strides toward my two-car stall across from his, and I follow with no other excuse than my competitive spirit and morbid fascination with opposition. 

“You pay extra for two stalls?” he asks, glancing at the gym area I’ve set up beside my Jeep before rounding its hood.

From what I’ve gathered in this brief and bracing interaction, Captain BJ Benjamin Soldier Boy isn’t a small-talk kind of person, but I’m not sure yet why he’s asking a simple question like that. I decide to answer as simply.

“Yeah.”

He nods and gestures to the driver’s seat. “Pop the hood.”

I watch through my windshield and the slant of space between the hood and my dash as he quickly pokes and prods at things I know nothing about. Less than two minutes later, he drops the hood shut and walks around to the open driver’s side door.  

“Try it now.” He’s rubbing his hands together and his brow is slightly furrowed like he wishes he hadn’t tossed that rag aside in his garage.

I turn the key in the ignition, and it starts with no issue. 

My morning started with limited knowledge of this man and the inner workings of my Jeep. I had a single goal in mind to expand my client portfolio. I did not grow my business, I have not learned anything new about my vehicle, and my introduction to my neighbor has provided me with very little satisfaction. 

“Coupla loose terminals. It happens with new cars. Gotta break ‘em in.”

I flick my eyes to meet his. He holds my gaze, licks his bottom lip back between his teeth, then backs away before strolling away. 

+

“He’s the fucking poster boy for misogyny.”

Maggie nods as she tops off my glass of wine. “Yeah, calling him an asshole is an insult to assholes, honestly.”

“I felt like I was transported back to the 1950s or something. He’s a caricature of misogyny.”

“The embodiment,” Maggie replies, settling back into her sofa and sipping her wine.

“Does he think that works on women? Like, are there women in his sphere who respond favorably to his behavior? He can’t be rewarded by it. Maybe he’s conducting a social experiment.”

Maggie laughs. “You’re giving him way too much credit.”

“Then why?”

Maggie stares at me for a beat. “The question is, why do you care?”

I’ve thought of nothing else since he left me in my garage yesterday morning. I felt defeated by him. Used, somehow. Inconsequential in the end.

“I hate how he made me feel.”

Maggie remains silent and intent. She’s a great listener, and she never judges.

“I had a dream about him last night.”

She nods. “And how did that make you feel?”

I shake my head and draw a deep breath. It made me feel hot and wild. I was angry and hungry for him. Or for redemption, revenge, or victory. 

“It makes no sense. We interacted for like 10 minutes and I haven’t seen him since. That’s why I care. I can’t get him out of my head. I keep thinking of what I should’ve said or done instead of standing there like a deer in headlights.”

“Don’t let your pride rule you with him. He has no morals, no decency. You won’t win.” 

“You think I’m trying to win something.” 

She’s right. Maggie and I are a lot alike, but she’s smarter and more cautious than I am. Somewhere along the line, she learned a lesson I have yet to let sink in. She learned to resist a challenge and walk away. 

“Aren’t you?”

I shrug. “Maybe.”

“Let’s change the subject,” Maggie suggests. “Did you get that meeting rescheduled, or is it dead?”

I fill her in on my chat with Kimiko. Kimiko’s brother Kenji was gracious enough to reschedule for next week, and I decided it best to go up the night before and spend the night with her and Serge in case I have any other car problems. 

Maggie opens a second bottle of wine and we proceed with our binge of Dead To Me on Netflix. 

+

I’m face down on my weight bench, straddling the padded seat with his fist in my hair and his cock hammering me from behind. He’s saying things to me, violent, hateful words, calling me names.

My wrists are bound, I’m blindfolded, and I am so wet. So wet from his rough hands, the way he slaps my ass and hips and pulls my hair. His voice is deep and rich, and it dominates the atmosphere and my mind. 

He’s had me so many times already, and he wants more. He wants to devour me. He can’t get enough of me.

And I never want him to stop. He treats me like a whore, tells me I’m his whore, and I can’t stop soaking his cock and slicking up the bench. 

“You fucking love my cock.”

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck me.”

I wake up in a sweat after a third night dreaming of him. I feel fractured and unlike myself. I’ve never wanted the kinds of things I’m dreaming about him. I’ve never wanted a man to degrade me or tie me up. 

And this man is a pig of a man. 

But I can’t get him out of my head.

I’m aching and breathless. My sheets are soaked from sweat and my pussy. I reach into my nightstand for my vibrator to soothe the twitching between my legs and rid him from my mind. I think about all the things that usually get me off, but he just keeps coming back around with big, rough hands and dirty words, and teeth that score my tender flesh.

I come silently, arching into my mattress, imagining his hands around my wrists and his cock driving into me hard.

+

When I told the newlyweds who live across the hall from my nemesis that I’d never been to our neighborhood bar, they invited me to join them for burgers and beers. 

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but Butcher’s is an institution. I literally grew up in this bar,” Annie tells me as her husband Hughie distributes sticky menus and napkin roll-ups. 

“I’ll get a pitcher,” Hughie says and heads to the bar.

“I like it. Thanks for bringing me.”

I glance around the space, taking in old pictures and carved sentiments in the wooden beams. It still smells faintly of cigarette smoke after decades of No Smoking laws have been enforced. It reminds me of my favorite New York dive bar.

“Well, I’m glad. I’m sure it can’t be easy to transplant to a place like Honesdale where everybody knows everybody.”

“You know, it hasn’t been too bad. Between you two and Maggie, I’m meeting all the neighbors and learning the ropes like a real local.”

I don’t mention the man who’s rapidly infiltrated every dark corner of my brain since we’re having such a nice time. I don’t want to spoil it, but you don’t always get what you want.

“Ugh, BJ,” Annie gripes, reaching for a menu even though she surely has it memorized. “He is so gross.”

I hazard a glance in the direction of her glare to see the bane of my existence waltzing toward the bar. 

“He better not fuck with Hughie,” Annie says, narrowing her eyes as he brushes shoulders with her groom. 

Hughie gracefully ignores the man’s obvious intention to needle him, gathers three chilled pint glasses and our pitcher, and rounds the crowd away from Captain Creep to return to the table.

“Who’s the kid?” I ask, finally noticing a quiet young man with BJ at the bar.

“That’s his son John. That kid’s been through the wringer with BJ and his mom. I don’t know why he still comes around; he clearly cannot stand the man any more than us.”

John’s smaller than his dad. He’s almost delicate-looking with a thick swath of blonde hair and deep blue eyes. He doesn’t have the swagger of the man next to him, and he seems to wish he were anywhere but here.

“MM, my man, it’s my boy’s 21st birthday! Get him a whiskey and a round for the house on me.”

“Hey.” Hughie settles the pint glasses on the table before filling each one, serving Annie and me first, then sitting down to pour his own. “John’s 21st. This oughtta be an interesting night.”

Annie tells me stories about babysitting John when he was a kid. He was sweet and gentle, quiet but curious, and his dad taunted him for it.

“He called his 6-year-old son a pussy.” She shakes her head. “Who does that?”

John slides into a barstool and idly sips his whiskey. A few of the older patrons wish him Happy Birthday, and MM makes a point to keep his water glass and popcorn bowl full while John’s dad struts around, flirting with every woman and slapping the backs of every man. 

It’s odd to see people react to him positively. Men, no matter their age, appear to admire him, and every woman he smiles at blushes and giggles. 

“They don’t know him like we do,” Hughie says. “Should we order? Butcher’s in the back tonight.”

I decide on the ”Terror,” a half-pound beef burger with taleggio, prosciutto, and peperoncini, medium-well. Annie recommends the cheesy house fries with special sauce as a shared dish, and within 20 minutes, we have our food and a second pitcher.

A soft buzz from light American beer warms and loosens me up. In this state, I’m less critical of my thoughts about the man who’s starred in my most desperate and debased dreams this past week. 

He looks good. He’s agile and powerful, which is a spectacular combination. People laugh at his jokes. They gravitate toward him. They think he’s charming and handsome, and from the background of Annie’s stories, I learn that he’s a war hero. 

It’s nice to feel something other than the overwhelming angst and shame I’ve felt all week. He affects people; it’s okay. I’m not an outlier. I just have to ride this out.

We finish our food, and I excuse myself to the restroom. There’s a vanilla candle burning on a table beside a well-loved armchair, a basket with single-size toiletries, pads and tampons, condoms, hand soap, and lotion. Definite homey vibe.

As I step through the door into the hallway, I’m jolted from my chill by a deep voice.

“Look at you all caszh and relaxed.” 

He’s propped between the men’s and women’s, so close I brush his arm when I whirl around to connect the voice with a face.

“Jesus, you scared me.”

“Hmm.” He pushes off the wall and turns into me, backing me against the closed door.

“There’s that flush,” he murmurs. He does that thing with his finger again that made me smack his hand away earlier this week. This time, I let him.

“Is it because I scared you,” he pauses and catches my eye. “Or something else?”

I close my eyes and let my head fall back to the door, feeling the heat and buzz of a potentially malicious yet certainly pleasurable outcome. He slides a knee between my thighs and skims a heavy hand over my hip, nuzzling against my throat with a low chuckle.

My breath catches in my chest under the hand he has pressed there, holding me in place, keeping me where he wants me. Ire swirls and rises from my gut, and I grip his t-shirt in my fists to yank him into the restroom.

“There she is.” He stumbles backward with a grin as I throw the lock.

“Shut up.” I push him to sit in the chair before climbing astride him and diving in.

His lips are plush and demanding, his beard is soft, and his mouth is superheated and whiskey-wet. He’s hard and hot everywhere I touch as I tug at the button and zipper of his jeans. His hands roam over denim and my cotton t-shirt. He nips at my lips and toys with the button of my jeans.

“Fuck,” I growl, pushing out of his lap to get my pants down.

Before I know it, he’s spun me around, and he’s shimmying my jeans and underwear over my hips and down my thighs. He slumps into the chair and fits a condom over his length, then juts his hips forward to give me a place to rest. One long arm wraps my middle, and he slips two fingers over my wet slit. The wide pads of his fingertips swirl around my clit, and I brace my hands on the arms of the chair. Then he’s teasing me with his hard cock, rutting underneath, making me squirm. 

When he finally pushes inside, I shout and groan from the stretch and insane rhythm he’s keeping on my clit. I go off—ride him, pumping my thighs and elbows, using his arm around my middle for leverage. 

In less than a minute, I’m coming. One second later, he’s on his feet with me on my knees in the chair. He forces me to bend and hold onto the back, grips my bare hips, and pushes inside me again. He’s muttering, grunting, and, god, he’s hitting that spot with every thrust. 

“Come on, Brandy,” he gasps. “Lemme feel that tight little cunt come again. Make me come.”

I reach down between my legs and press over my mound, relishing his measured thrusts. I’m booze and fuck drunk, and my ears are ringing. His hands tighten on my hips, and we both come, swearing and howling.

Chapter Two coming soon...

What did you think? Reblog to share if you liked it! And let me know your thoughts. xox

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[chainsawsangel]

@spicyboelives (follow them on ig too, same username) did this AMAZING commission of my 'THE BOYS' werewolf!oc/self-insert, pup alongside soldier boy and it turned out so cute and amazing!!! truly, i love how they turned out and loveeeee how they look!

[violentsdog]

she wants to bite that cookie so effing bad.

Pup and Soldier Boy, The Boys: Violent Dog. Commission made by p0ny.planet on ig.

-

YEAHHHH!!! another AMAZING comm by this artist, I absolutely love how fun this one is, just with how Pup looks so feral over Ben while he's all intimidating and 😠 IT'S PERFECT AND I ADORE THEM haha.

i love this so, so much!!!

[bittersweetarts]

How to Disappear - Chapter 4

Soldier Boy (The Boys) x OC

Word count: 3132 words

Summary: Eden Reid can't help her curiosity, and Soldier Boy can't help but take advantage of that curiosity.

WARNINGS: Swearing, minor violence

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - AO3 Page

Chapter 4: Talk

“Good morning princess. Tea or coffee?”

Eden’s body was sore, and her neck and arms ached. The room was cold, like a freezing cold you could feel in your bones, and as Eden’s vision returned and sharpened, she found herself in an unwell-lit, vacant windowless room, and stood in front of her were two figures; an average-looking curly-haired Joe, and the large, dark-haired, bearded man who had attacked her in her home.

Immediately Eden tried to stand, adrenaline now coursing through her veins, but she found herself restrained, with one of her hands handcuffed to a pipe behind her. This would not be a problem, but as she kept roughly pulling, trying to break out of the cuffs or to break the pipe, her wrist started to hurt, and after thrashing about for too long, Eden noticed that her strength was missing. An annoying foreign accent, feigning friendliness, brought Eden’s attention back to the men in front of her.

“I’m guessing neither tea nor coffee.” Eden ignored him, continuing her futile efforts to break free.

“Careful not to hurt yourself, love. You’ve got more than yourself to think about now.”

“What the fuck have you done to me?”

Eden’s tone was filled with venom, angry that her powers were gone. As she spoke, she stared up to the pair, and she noticed how the lankier man was nervous in comparison to the foreign one, and she intended to take advantage of this.

“Nothing permanent, don’t worry. Just a little concoction to keep you at bay, but we aren’t going to hurt you, as long as you don’t give us a reason to.”

“Well, you’re doing a fucking fantastic job, assholes.”

As Eden sarcastically responded she raised her handcuffed hand, which were already tender. Eden now noticed that she wasn’t wearing the office clothes she remembered putting on last, but a black sweatsuit set that she had gotten cheap from Target the previous winter.

Kidnapped, stripped and drugged – what else have they done to me? Eden thought panicked.

Realizing the dire situation she was in, Eden quickly switched up her attitude, and instead of thrashing about, she pulled up her knees and placed her head on them, looking up at the two men, face flushed, letting her eyes water from the very real fear she was feeling now.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean it. Please, just let me go. I don’t know what you want, but you don’t seem like bad men. I don’t have much, but I’ll withdraw everything from my account, you can have it all, I won’t say a single word to anyone. Please, just let me go.”

Eden’s voice cracked as she finished, choking down a sob.

Eden was scared, and if there was one lesson she learned from the Supe conflict resolution course that she took for one semester in college, it’s that she needed to gain the sympathy of her kidnappers, and she needed to capitalize off of her fear to do so. Unfortunately for her, in contrast with the lankier guy, the dark-haired man in charge was not fooled by her theatrics, and clapped as he spoke.

“I can see why he fancied you, love. You are a real damsel, a lady like Vivien Leigh, and the face for it too. Sadly, we’re not in Hollywood.”

“We aren’t going to hurt you Eden, we’re really not the bad guys – ”

Eden was waiting for the smaller man to speak, and immediately turned to him, with her brown hair falling on her face.

“So please then, just let me go.” Eden pleaded directly to her target, who she stared at with rounded eyes.

“Hughie, the pamphlets.”

The dark-haired man ignored Eden’s pleas, and turned spoke to the other man with a definitive tone. Apprehensively ‘Hughie’, took a bag that was on the table next to them – Eden’s bag. The young girl’s stomach turned as she saw him rummage and pull out some familiar papers.

“Stop, who do you think you are? What right do you have to do any of this?” Eden pleaded again.

“I’m Butcher, this here is Hughie. Fabulous, we’re all introduced. Now, how about we tell you what we know about you, and you can fill in the blanks. Your birth name is Eden Michelle Reid, twenty-five years old, blood type B, Capricorn, so you’ll be turning twenty-six soon, happy early birthday.”

The man paused for a moment, as though waiting for a response, but Eden said nothing, and stared with hatred at him.

“Clever girl, got into Godolkin University despite having not very extraordinary super abilities. You were never going to be in The Seven, that’s for sure. The charts say super strength, but it’s not the strongest, at least based on your assessment reports. That’s maybe why you dropped out, and ended up living in some random city in Jersey, working as a receptionist and not making very much. But it’s an honest life, and I can respect you for that.”

Eden looked up at the man, her face frowning. The man turned back to the table, picking up a file with papers, and taking them out to show Eden as he continued speaking. The first paper showed CCTV pictures of a dressed-down Soldier Boy, driving her Mazda, its car plate number clear as day.

“… what we cannot figure out is how Soldier Boy came into the picture. You’re a woman who lives a relatively remote, no social media presence for the past five years. Your manager thinks you’re shy, your co-worker considers you a bitch, the doctors at your clinic praise you, meanwhile it feels like practically no one else knows you. So, love, how did such a lone wolf meet Soldier Boy?”

Feeling the violation of her privacy, with a clenched jaw, Eden answered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb, love. It’s not a good look on you.”

The man then took the papers from Hughie, and dropped them onto the ground near Eden, one-by-one, pictures of Eden from the past weeks, at her workplace, arms wrapped around Felix, their last kiss, pregnancy advice pamphlets, and her results. Eden felt sick, and the only reason she wasn’t throwing up was because she had physically nothing in her stomach.

“Congratulations by the way, a miraculous conception given the IUD. This ain’t the baby shower you imagined, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“And we’re trying to save people.” Hughie blurted out, as though he were searching what to say, and evidently said the wrong thing, based on the look the other man gave him.

“That’s what you’re doing? Saving people by stalking, attacking, kidnapping and drugging a pregnant woman?” Eden said spitefully, chin up in defiance.

“Well, love, we won’t have to do any of that if you listen. We only need one thing from you, and then you can be on your merry way. We don’t need to harm you – in fact,” Butcher declared. “… if you promise not to hurt us, we’ll uncuff you, after you do one little thing for us.”

“You’ll remove this?” Eden suspiciously asked, eyes narrowed.

“Consider it a gesture of good faith. We can’t let you go right now, hope you understand, but if all goes well, you’ll be out of here in no time.” Butcher answered in a lighter tone, while Hughie looked at Eden with guilty, pleading eyes.

Eden weighed her options, but her current physical predicament was uncomfortable, and if she was going to be here for some time, might as well reduce the miserable-ity she has to endure. Defeatedly, she responded.

“What do you want?”

With a smile, Butcher answered, whipping out a phone from the pocket of his jeans. Eden’s phone.

“Nothing crazy. Just a little phone call to one of America’s favorite historic heroes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eden flawlessly lied between her teeth, but it fooled no one.

“Eden darling, here we were being honest with one another.”

“We were there when he called you …”

Hughie interrupted, going on his knees and sorting through the papers in front of Eden. If she had wanted to, Eden could have grabbed him by the hair, made him bleed, but she didn’t. Instead, she watched as he sorted through the documents and photographs, before pulling out photographs of her on the phone, on the night that Soldier Boy called her. Eden had felt eyes on her that night, and other others, but she dismissed it for paranoia. She felt like slapping herself for doing so.

“… and intercepted the call, we heard it all. Please don’t make me play the recording.” Hughie finished, with apologetic eyes

Eden felt overwhelmed and had to lean against the wall to stabilize herself. Even though it was the Butcher-man that was not as nice to her, something about Hughie made her feel vulnerable, maybe because unlike the bearded-man, Eden could tell that Hughie was good.

“But it’s not his.” Eden said meekly, as though she were trying to convince not the two other men, but herself.

“Ah, yes, Felix, the new boyfriend. See love, I don’t care if you are carrying his baby, or your little boyfriend’s, or if it’s the spawn of Satan.”

Eden ignored the bearded man, and continued, looking only at Hughie.

“Felix is going to notice I’m gone, we see each other every day, and he’s got family in the force. The clinic will notice I’m missing, I always tell them when I take a day off. Please Hughie, just let me go now and I won’t breathe a word about this to anyone.” The pleading didn’t work though, as Hughie looked to the ground, avoiding Eden’s stare.

“Do you really think we wouldn’t tie loose ends? Your boyfriend already thinks that you’re driving back home – that’s a two day drive, mind you – and we’ve texted him that you need space. You’ve also taken a sabbatical leave from work, resignation email sent last night, and your car – which is shitty by the way – is also parked elsewhere now, for safe-keeping of course. Are we missing anything?”

As Butcher finished, he seemed pleased with himself and the work that evidently his team (a larger one than just the two of them, Eden deduced) made. Eden, on the other hand, felt defeated, and meanly spoke up to him, chin tilted upwards in temerity.

“You’re just like him, you know? You and Soldier Boy.”

“We’re nothing alike, love.”

“You’re selfish and use people to get what you want. I’m surprised you guys aren’t friends.”

A knowing look flashes before Butcher’s eyes whilst Hughie’s eyes widen, and that was enough to confirm Eden’s suspicions that they all, at the very least, knew each other from before.

“Frankly, your opinions don’t matter to me, princess.” The large man paused for a moment, before coming closer to Eden, putting her phone between them.

“I’m calling now, it’ll be on speaker phone, so use your voice.” As the dark-haired man unlocked Eden’s phone and began swiping on it, Butcher quickly spoke again.

“And maybe don’t mention your boyfriend – Benny Boy’s of the jealous kind, and Felix isn’t a Supe. Understand what I’m getting at.”

Eden didn’t get an opportunity to respond, because as Butcher finished, the phone, on speaker, began to ring, and rang only once before it was answered, and a deep voice echoed through.

“Morning doll, what do I owe the pleasure.”

From the other side, Eden could hear TV noise in the background. It was silent for a heartbeat, and the tension in the room was palpable. Butcher cleared his throat, kneeling over even closer and bringing the phone nearer to Eden; the brunette nervously spoke up on impulse.

“Ben.”

“Eden, what’s wrong?”

“Ah, fantastic, you guys are on a first name basis. This hopefully makes things faster for us. Eden love, will you tell him, or should I?” Butcher didn’t give Eden much of an opportunity to decide. “Oh, I can’t keep the secret any longer ¬– Eden is pregnant, and guess who’s the daddy?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Soldier Boy’s tone drastically shifted, cold and calculated now, like how it was the night he woke up in the cabin. Eden forgot that he spoke like, and she felt like she was having an out-of-body experience, observing the moment like an audience watches a stage.

“Well, if you don’t know, then I guess Eden here probably got knocked up by someone else. My mistake, I’m only human after all. We’ll have to dispose of her though, since she’s of no use.” Butcher declared, and Eden sensed no lie in his speech.

“You’re bluffing, you guys don’t hurt innocents, not when it’s unnecessary.” Soldier Boy responded, his voice sounding like he was speaking through clenched teeth. Butcher however found delight in this and answered almost joyfully.

“But Eden here is not innocent from where I’m standing. She’s a Supe for one, and she’s also helped you, a far cry from a regular old civilian. And who knows what she gets up to in her spare time.” Successfully baited, Soldier Boy immediately reacted, threatening in his usual hostile cadence.

“Don’t fucking touch her, don’t even fucking look at her. A single fucking scratch on Eden, and I’ll make sure to painfully kill not only each and every one of you, but also your entire families. Goldilocks’ mom, I’ll skin her, and I’ll do the same to your entire crew. But your wife’s boy, my bad, your ex-wife’s boy, will be the first name on my list.”

Soldier Boy’s tone was venomous, but rather than being frightened, Eden found herself even more detached from herself, stunned completely.

“Listen here, Ben. There is no place on this Earth from Homelander two-point-O. If you do as I say though, I may just let Eden go unscathed. What do you say, granny-fucker?”

The phone was silent, and Eden thought that maybe Soldier Boy decided to hang-up and leave Butcher to do as he threatened. As Eden watched him, she realized that the lanky man, Hughie, was gone, but she hadn’t even noticed him leave.

Was it because Butcher was telling the truth, and he intended to murder her if Soldier Boy didn’t agree to his demands. The thought of dying the death she was imagining made Eden’s eyes uncontrollably water, and tears started streaming continuously as her sinuses became congested. And the dark-haired man before her noticed this immediately.

“Eden love, don’t cry. Tears aren’t good for the baby.” Butcher loudly pronounced, entirely calculated, and from the other line, Soldier Boy’s voice returned, filled with colorful swearing.

“Fuck you, bastard – are you fucking deaf? A fucking imbecile, that’s what you are. Cheer her the fuck up, and if you make her fucking upset again, I’ll shove a gun so far up your asshole that when I pull the trigger, you’ll explode like a fucking pinata.”

Butcher only rolled his eyes, before responding.

“Sure thing Benny, but you see, I don’t give a fuck. Do whatever you want, but if you don’t do as I say, then Eden here will soon be returning to her namesake, I promise you.”

Still detached, Eden thought maybe she vaguely heard Soldier Boy repeatedly swear some more, even more loudly this time. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Calm down Ben, you can have your Eden back, you just need to do one thing for me, just one job.” Butcher spoke over the ex-American hero, until he became quiet.

“All we’ve got to do, is take out congresswoman Neuman.”

“The brown bitch on TV? I’ll get it done on my own. Just fucking let Eden go.”

“It’s not that simple. She’s the head popper.”

“The head-what?”

“The head popper, the moment she sees you, it’s game over, distance doesn’t matter. She’ll burst your old wrinkly brain before you think another thought, just like how you burst your pimples as a teen, and she can do it to anyone.”

“I’d be stupid to help you then, not to mention that you stabbed me in the back.” Soldier Boy’s voice echoed through the room. Eden, still detached from herself, was staring wide-eyed at the ground.

“You think Eden’s baby will ever be safe? The baby is half you, and it’s only a matter of time before people, including Neuman, find out and target it. These people have no fucking moral qualms about killing babies, they’ve killed and ruined countless already, and babies are easier to manage than adults.”

As Butcher responded, he started to kneel over closer to Eden, and stared at her with a burning gaze.

“… and I’ll throw in a final treat. After this is over, I’ll let you kill me.” Soldier Boy laughed before responding, and his laughter bounced off the walls, a perfect manly laugh for the supposedly perfect man

“And the others?”

“Consider it a temporary truce, which ends as soon as the job is done, and our interests are no longer aligned.” The bearded-man responded, and Eden could feel his musky breath on her skin. The room is silent for a few moments, before Soldier Boy’s answer echoes in the room

“Fine. But I get Eden back, immediately.”

“I can arrange for that; we’ll be working together after all.” Butcher responded obligingly with a smirk, and Soldier Boy ignored him.

“Pass the fucking phone to Eden, right now.”

Eden was still sat speechless and hallow, staring wide-eyed at the ground, and as Butcher brought the phone closer to Eden, the only thing Soldier Boy could hear was her shallow breathing. Butcher let out a humorless chuckle before responding.

“The Mis'ess doesn’t seem to want to talk to you. Oh well, you’ll have plenty of time to catch up. Tomorrow, three pm, world's largest frying pan, North Carolina. Alone.”

Not giving Soldier Boy time to respond, Butcher hung up and threw the phone across the room, shattering it into fragmented bits, before stepping closer to Eden and unlocking the cuffs. Eden was vacant as this happened though, and as soon as her hand was free, it dropped to the side.

“Sorry ‘bout the phone, love. We’ll get you a replacement.” Eden didn’t respond, and Butcher let out an exasperated sigh.

“There’s breakfast and a magazine on the table, and you can rest on the sofa. When you need the loo, give a shout. There’s someone outside.”

Eden still stared at the ground, and despite Butcher’s cold-heartedness, he still felt pity for her, and leaned down, hoping she’d turn to face him.

“Chin up, mama. You’ve gotta stay strong and look after yourself, because there’s two of you now.”

Eden still sat motionless, and giving up, Butcher walked out the room, picking the fragments of the broken phone on his way out.

Author's Note: I've got a busy week ahead of me, so please bare with me if the next update takes some time

– Chapter 5 (WIP)

[thegreatwicked]

WIP Title Game

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Thanks for the tag @split-spectrum! Lord, my WIPs are not quite out of control BUT there are quite a few of them! I'll divide them up into two categories; fanfiction and original!

Fanfiction:

Armitage (Hux x OC)

In Service to the Night Sisters (Opress Brothers x OCs)

Moonlight Rendezvous (Maul x OC)

Padawan (Obi-Wan x Reader Insert)

50 Shades of Obi-Wan (Obi-Wan x Reader Insert)

Unbreakable Bonds (Obi-Wan x OC)

The Generals Wife (Hux x OC)

Take off the Mask, Baby (Roman Sionis x Reader Insert)

Healing Hands (Jason Todd x OC)

Claiming the Red Hood (Jason Todd x OC)

Bayou and the Burrow (Charlie Weasley x OC)

Read to Me (Matt Murdock x OC)

We Were Cursed (Jefferson/Mad Hatter x OC)

It's No Good (Soldier Boy x OC)

Second Son (Soldier Boy x OC)

Tribute to the Horde (Dothraki OC x OC)

1001 Nights of Mischief (Loki xOC)

Professional Courtesy (DC Captain Cold x OC)

Forgive Me (Malik x OC)

Binding (Malik x OC)

Originals:

Call Me Love

Thanks for the Ride

Eternally Yours

Dive

Not your Fucking Grieving Widow

All works listed above are smut and not meant for anyone under 18. Lord give me strength to get through these WIPs before more appear!

No pressure tags! @hereticpriest @decembermidnight @burnthecheshirewitch @keffirinne @daenerys-skywalker @chaotickimchi @viskarenvisla @maulfvckers

Lets see those WIPs!

[thebiggerbear]

"Sleep. I'll keep you safe." - Soldier Boy Prompt Response

Summary: You're tired of running and you go to Soldier Boy for protection. He agrees to do it but not without a price.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female!Reader

A/N: Prompt from @thelonelyempath. The original character I wanted to respond to this prompt with before deciding to make it multi-character. This scenario immediately popped into my head reading the line and I just had to write it. Hope it's okay.

Thank you to my beta @rieleatiel for her services. You rock, girl!

Sequel

Warnings: violence/murder; implied assassination attempts; sexual propositioning; Soldier Boy being himself; starts out as a blackmail type dynamic that appears as if a little dubcon at first; language?

Word Count: 2528

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

SB Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

You can also read on AO3

"Sleep. I'll keep you safe."

Beau version ✨ Dean version ✨ Jenny version ✨ Tom version ✨ Jason version ✨ Anael version ✨ SDV Alex version

You never thought in a million years that you would be seeking out one of the most dangerous Supes in the world for protection. Then again, you never would have thought that a multi-billion dollar corporation would be after you, intent on seeing you torn apart and scattered to the four winds. You didn’t exactly blow the whistle on them, but you didn’t exactly tow the company line either—something Stan Edgar was less than thrilled with and now the evil son of a bitch wanted you dead.

It was no secret that Edgar and Soldier Boy had a falling out of sorts after the truth about his being handed to the Russians had come to light. His old team may have made it happen, but it was Edgar pulling the strings all along. Surprisingly, the Supe who had been so focused on revenge hadn’t hunted Edgar down after this revelation, which made you wary about going this route. However, after narrowly escaping the latest death squad sent after you, you decided you had no choice but to take the gamble. There was nowhere you could run that Vought wouldn’t find you and you just hoped this would be more of an ‘enemy of my enemy’ situation rather than a ‘handing you right over to your enemy’ situation.

Once you had managed to track him down in Hong Kong while you were busy running yourself, he had shockingly agreed to a meet, and even more shockingly agreed to help you. Not without certain stipulations, of course.

“Let me in that sweet pussy of yours and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

You should have known, especially from the way he had been eyeing you up ever since he caught sight of you. Screwing your face up in disgust, you flat out refused. “Not happening.”

He shrugged and began to walk away. “Then you must not need my protection that badly.”

You scoffed in disbelief. “You’re seriously turning me down because I won’t fuck you? Whatever happened to the ‘Soldier Boy is America’s son’ bullshit? The OG superhero who fought Nazis and protected people?”

Soldier Boy stopped and slowly turned back towards you. “I’d be putting myself on the line to protect you. For that, I deserve one hell of a payment.” 

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. “So now you’re blackmailing me into sleeping with you? Unbelievable.” You had heard he was more like America’s Asshole than its Son, but you still couldn’t believe your ears. You had even offered to help him take Vought down with what you knew, so long as he kept you safe. You knew he’d want that kind of information. Why else was he hopping from continent to continent in the last few months, trying to shake Vought just like you were? Instead, his dick was taking top priority. Typical. 

“It’s the least you can do, doll.” He faced you fully again, shield hanging off of his arm as if it weighed nothing. “Like you said, I fought for this country, fought the Nazis, and now you’re asking me to play bodyguard while taking on Vought for you. I deserve something worth all that trouble.”

You ran through all other options in your mind. You still had a contact that could possibly put you in touch with someone that wouldn’t mind tapping into Vought’s offshore accounts that weren’t supposed to exist. You were already on Vought’s kill list; what would a few hundred thousand dollars of theirs matter? “I could pay you,” you offered.

“I’m not interested in money.” His eyes roved over you as he approached. “Besides,” he murmured as he came to a stop in front of you. You tensed as he reached up to tuck a strand of your hair that had gotten loose from under your ball cap behind your ear. ”I haven’t had a looker as pretty as you in a long time. Been locked away.” He gently gripped your chin in between his thumb and index finger, his eyes intent on your mouth before lifting to meet yours. A hint of a smirk started to appear on his handsome face when he most likely heard your heart beat starting to increase.

He released you and even took a step back from you, allowing you physical and metaphorical space. “Your call.”

You bit your lip as thoughts chaotically swirled inside your head. On one hand, you refused to be manipulated or pushed into sex with this asshole. No matter how physically attractive he might be, you weren’t willing to get on your back just so he would help you. But on the other hand, the cold hard truth was that you were tired — tired of running, tired of little-to-no sleep, tired of the paranoia that came with such a flight. Hell, at present, you hadn’t slept in almost two days and you were running on fumes; there wasn’t enough caffeine or energy pills in the world to get you through another day with no rest. Your reaction time was already dragging if your last narrow escape was anything to go by. If you continued this way, you’d be dead before the sun started to warm the sky; you were certain of it.

Soldier Boy stared you down. “What’s it gonna be?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you glanced behind you at a small noise far off down the street. Thankfully, it was an old woman tossing something out onto the pavement, but you couldn’t deny it put you further on edge. You turned back to the Supe whose eyes stayed trained on you. You took a deep breath to steady your nerves and readied your response. His lips began to quirk upwards into a smile; he knew what your answer was going to be before you even said the words.

Vought Tower had been completely demolished. Luckily, it had been mostly evacuated before the destruction occurred. A fight between Soldier Boy and the now-dead Homelander had caused most of the damage, but the C4 that had been carefully lined throughout the infrastructure is what ended up bringing it down. 

Before it went boom, Soldier Boy had approached Stan Edgar, who refused to cower in a corner. The Supe respected that, but it didn’t change what he’d come here to do. He gripped Edgar by the throat and lifted him in the air, choking the older man and ignoring the fingers that desperately clawed at his hand.

“I thought we had an agreement,” Edgar rasped out.

Soldier Boy shrugged. “She made me a better one.” He then snapped the man’s neck and tossed his body aside like a rag doll. 

“Oi! We ought to get out of here,” Butcher warned after seeing Stan Edgar lifeless on the floor. “Frenchie’s about to blow this place to fucking hell.”

He glared over at the Brit and picked up his shield. He still didn’t trust him, not after what he and his merry band of assholes had tried to do the last time they’d teamed up, but he’d made a deal with you and he was intent on keeping his end of it. The only conditions Butcher and Captain Lesbo had given this time around was: no civilian casualties and Ryan was off limits. He did his best with the first and he could give less than a fuck on the other. As far as he was concerned, the kid was Butcher’s problem as long as the kid didn’t come looking for some payback once he got older, which Butcher assured he wouldn’t. That, and there better not be Novichok gas waiting at the end of this mission for him. They’d reluctantly agreed, knowing they had no other way to kill Homelander and take down Vought all in one swoop.

“After you.” Soldier Boy gestured for Butcher to leave first. The man scowled but obliged, keeping a wary eye out as he moved. Smirking, Soldier boy followed. The Supe might have enjoyed the reaction—or even tried to settle the score from Butcher’s previous betrayal—if he didn’t have you to get back to. He needed to let you know that you no longer had Stan Edgar or Vought to worry about. He’d kept up his end of the bargain you’d both made — now, finally, you were free.

You woke up to the sound of someone moving through the darkness in your room. You grabbed the gun from beneath your pillow and bolted upright as much as you could, trying to get your eyes to adjust so you could get a good shot.

“Relax, it’s just me,” Soldier Boy assured you. 

Recognizing his voice, you slowly lowered the gun and focused on his location. When your eyes finally adjusted, you realized he was near the foot of the bed, completely nude, his hair damp from a fresh shower. “Ben,” you breathed out in relief. “You scared me.”

Through the beams of moonlight shining into the room from the window, you saw him give you a smile and lay his shield down on the floor next to him. “Didn’t mean to.”

You slipped the safety back on the gun and stashed it into the drawer of your nightstand. You hated having it under your pillow at night; it was super uncomfortable and you only needed to do that when Soldier Boy — Ben, as he’d asked you to call him instead — wasn’t around. “Everything go okay?” 

“Better than okay.” You glanced back to see a smirk adorning that handsome face of his, with an all-too familiar gleam in those green eyes. You watched as he slipped on some sweats and then made his way to the opposite side of the bed. You moved onto your side to face him, smiling as he climbed in next to you and sat up against the headboard, turning to grin down at you. Within seconds, he had his arms wrapped around you, pulling you up against him, and he was kissing you a proper hello. He only pulled back when you needed air and tenderly rubbed his nose along yours, nuzzling you. “How about you, doll? Everything go okay while I was gone?”

You nodded and snuggled into his bare chest, letting out a relieved sigh when you felt his warm hands stroking your back. “Everything’s fine,” you assured him, closing your eyes. You’d never admit it aloud, but you felt so much better when he was around. Not only did you feel protected but you just felt better in general. You’d have to be under the pain of torture to admit to him (or yourself) that you actually missed him when he had to leave.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and let his lips linger there, continuing to rub your back just the way you liked. “Edgar and Vought are gone,” he murmured. “The Caped Cunt, too. You’ve got nothing more to worry about.”

Your eyes snapped open and you lifted yourself up to meet his gaze, your brows furrowed. “What?” You asked in shock.

“You heard me.” He stroked your cheek with his thumb, his grin now a smug smile. “You’re safe, baby.”    

Your eyes widened when the realization hit you. “That’s where you went?”

Your only answer was the lengthening of that smile. 

“Jesus, Ben.” So many thoughts and emotions swirled within you all at once. You were free, truly free. You no longer had to worry about Vought death squads hunting you down, Homelander coming for you, or Stan Edgar sending after you any ragtag Supes he could scrounge up. You were free. Although, Ben hadn’t told you that he was about to go on his most dangerous mission yet. He might be America’s original superhero and he might be tough to kill, but that didn’t mean he was completely invincible. He’d admitted as much to you over the last few months. “What if… What if you didn’t—”

He kissed you, effectively cutting you off. “I did,” he hummed against your lips. “Told you I would.”

You nodded, gently tracing his facial features with your hands before gliding down to his shoulders, dipping down the warm expanse of his back and then slowly returning to his chest. As always, he remained patient whenever you did this ritual of checking him for any wounds or injuries, knowing you wouldn’t find any but needing to assure yourself just the same. Truthfully, this man had come to mean more to you than you’d ever imagined would be possible. Hell, there had been a time when it wouldn’t have been possible at all.

When you were done, you met his gaze head on. “Do I want to know?”

Ben remained silent, but his eyes said it all: no, you didn’t want to know. You and Ben may have planned for the downfall of Vought and the ends of Homelander and Stan Edgar, the very same bastards that had put a target on your back in the first place, but that didn’t mean you wanted to hear the gory details of their deaths. You were just grateful Ben had come back to you alive and unharmed. 

You gave him a thin-lipped smile in understanding. “Thank you,” you whispered. 

Ben studied you for a moment, then pulled you in and kissed you again, his fingers slipping through your hair until he grabbed the back of your neck and urged you to meet him more fully. Just as you were getting into it, he broke away and chuckled. “You’re real eager for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” You shot him a look and the smirk was suddenly back on his face. Without warning, he picked you up to rearrange you in the bed how he wanted you. “Too bad that you need to get some rest. We’re blowing the fuck out of here tomorrow and you’re gonna need to keep up.”

As if he would leave you behind if you couldn’t. “I thought you said Butcher would leave us alone after this.”

“I don’t trust that dicksucking Brit and I trust his bitch of a boss even less.”

You rolled your eyes, smirking when you felt him settle in behind you, knowing how much he enjoyed spooning you like this. “‘Kay,” you agreed. He had successfully protected you this far; you’d follow his lead on this one, too. You shut your eyes and snuggled into your pillow, content to feel his hands on your back caressing you once more.

You were just about asleep when you heard him murmur in your ear, “Sleep. I’ll keep you safe.” You smiled when you heard the words he’d been saying to you every night now for many months and your heart lightened when you felt his hands trail from your back to cup protectively over your rounding stomach, rubbing gently. ‘Safe’ is exactly how you felt right in this moment, and the little girl moving to meet her father’s embrace—like she always did when she sensed he was near—only cemented the knowledge that this was the first night neither you nor she were in danger any longer. It gave you a sense of peace you hadn’t known in a long time.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

(to the tune of Avril Lavigne's sk8terboi)

He was a human battering ram.

She was a recon sniper.

Can I make it any more obvious?

Headcannons - Fit for a King - König x fem!OC fanfic

Instead of making a y/n fic, I decided to create an original female character because I ususally write all of my stuff in POVs. Due to posting the chapters often right after I've written them some of the context and the characterization might not be explicit in every single piece, some of the information is only gonna get revealed down the road.

(TW: alcoholism, death, violence)

Karina Müller is almost 30 years old, she served in the Norwegian military from right after school until the death of her brother who was KIA on a mission together. She fell off the wagon after that, feeling responsible for his death and effectively being shunned by her family after that. Her pick of poison was alcohol and it got so bad that she more than once was drunk on the job which led to her getting kicked out.

The years after that she spent getting help, trying to get clean and going back to a civilian life, but the military was what she knew, so the civilian jobs didn't stick and she started to work as a mercenary, now a dry alcoholic. Which might be an issue for some contractors, but KorTac doesn't really bat an eye.

She's a compassionate person who loves to laugh, she's seen enough shit not to take any from her teammates and can stand her ground when faced with any challenge thrown her way. She's still working through some stuff, coming to terms with her past, but she has an optimistic spirit and a strong will.

Even though the Colonel seems scary at first, she learns pretty quickly that he is to be respected in training and on the battlefield, but on a personal level he's really not that bad. The 6'10'' killing machine, Austrian war criminal (insert "what murdeeer?!"-meme here) is quite an anxious person when it comes to basic human interaction.

Shouting orders at his team, stomping his enemies into the ground is more comfortable to him than just talking about mundane stuff with other people, he mostly keeps to himself (except for Horangi because that little shit would never leave him alone). And for the first time in a long time, Müller makes him wish that he could just go up to people and strike up a normal conversation like a normal person (don't we all).

König is 38 years old (we don't know his full name) and has the biggest metalhead dad vibes without actually having any children himself (his favourite band is Death, although he listens to a bunch of different ones, it's also their merch shirt Müller steals in "Are you wearing my t-shirt?").

When he started out in the military, he shaved his long metalhead hair off because that was the way to go back then, but he let it grow back when he was older and already Colonel. He has gauged ears and a plethora of tattoos all over his body because the soft pain of body modifications and working out until he almost passes out are his ways of dealing with his anxiety and stress. His body is a testament to that.

He has a huge scar on the right side of his face from when he got beaten to a pulp by his bullies at school, something he never let happen again after that (five on one was really unfair). His nose has been broken two times and sometimes his tattoos get destroyed by battle injuries, but he doesn't really care about that - or his looks in general. He's a soldier and not a model.

So the reason why he's always wearing the selfmade hood is not the scar. He prefers not to show his feelings to others, staying hidden underneath the mask for his own comfort, even if it makes him scarier also in situations where he doesn't want to be.

(CW: some nsfw headcannons ahead, talk about not wanting to have children) They're both switches, though König is leaning more on the Dom-side while Müller is a sub who likes to brat a little too much, just to see her man falter (for example when she calls him a good boy in random scene #1).

Müller is bisexual, something she discovered when serving in an all-women-taskforce of the Norwegian military (we don't really know about König's sexuality though). She decided a long time ago that she doesn't want to have children (she doesn't see herself leaving service again anytime soon and given her past, she doesn't see herself fit to become a mother), so she got her tubes tied. Which also comes in handy when a certain Colonel's favourite pasttime (well, actually second favourite) is leaving creampies inside her (no 'unexpected pregnancy' trope in this household).

König definitely eats pussy for his own pleasure, begging Müller to let him eat her out in "Sit" or losing a little friendly competition for a sexual favour in "But no funny business" (oh and he definitely steals her panties at any chance he gets). She's totally not opposed to servicing him as well, but the size of his dick makes this a whole endeavour (like seen in "Open wide, Prinzessin").

They match each other's energy pretty well, just going at it like rabbits at every chance they get, which sometimes proves to be difficult as they're sneaking around in secret.

Their arrangement is kind of a fuckbuddy/fwb-situation, they fuck hard and rough, without ever really kissing (the mask stays on), but after a while feelings start to get in the way... After all they do belong together <3

Read more at the Fit for a King - Masterlist or keep an eye out for the AO3 link - coming soon.

[valeskawhore]

Mama’s boy!

Series/tv: series! 1/?

Characters and paring(s): Homelander x fem!supe!Caretaker!

Word(s):1.0k!!

A/n: yall it’s finally here, please don’t shun me. I forgot I had this fucking series fr— like I am so series. And then I saw that the NEW SEASON OF THR BOYS IS COMING THE 13th!!!!! HELL YEAHHHHH!! this series will follow the original series. FIND THE IDEA HERE!

(C): I DO NOT OWN ‘THE BOYS’ AMAZON ORIGINAL SERIES/TV!!

———

———

“So.. I’d- what? Be a mother to this little sonuvabitch?” I mocked, leaning back in my chair a little. My coffee cup rested between my cold fingertips on this cold autumn day. The steam filling my nostrils, comforting but didnt make up for the fucked situation i was put in.

We had decided on a meeting in a public place per my request and somehow it had gotten approved. This was surprising yet relieving if you knew anything about Vought International.

“Yes, you’d be a caretaker technically; And whatever else that comes with the job but I suppose a ‘mother’ as you put it, would be a more professional and accurate term in this situation.” He replied. “We just want to ensure our prodigies' safety and having him grow in a lab isn't the most beneficial considering he’s already ripped four or more of his female caregivers in half.” Sipping his coffee nonchalantly.

Stan Edgar.

Always a pain in the ass and who also just happened to be the CEO of said, ‘Vought international’.

Though I always knew him as just Stan and dare I even say he was an old friend of mine from Vought’s ‘Payback’ days when I worked as the second in command to Grace Mallory as we had to partake in being the case managers for the CIA.

Babysitting drugged up supes was never in the job description but as grace always told me; one joy of being a part of the CIA was learning on the job and learning we did.

That is where I first met Stan and if it wasn't for him I would have torn the head of the one and only ‘Soldier boy’ for eyeing my up and down as if I was a piece of cake for him to cut a piece of.

I coughed on some of the coffee I held in my mouth with wide eyes. I swallowed and wiped my mouth, “Pardon? Ripped? In half?” Stan nodded, his face even with even a hint of amusement.

“Are you fucking crazy? And i'm supposed to babysit this little shi-”

Stand cut me off, sensing my panic as he reached his hand on and stopped my bickering as if I was overreacting completely. “Oh please, fret not my friend. We have a plan for that.”

I cocked my eyebrow, “What kind of.. Plan?” I asked.

“I'm so glad you asked,” he smiled, taking a sip of his mocha. “Of course, there will be extra cautionary procedures considering we want you to be long term. And a whole new contract to bridge off our original but sadly, it is required if you’d like to live long enough to receive your check.”

I stayed quiet and listened intently, my fingers suddenly no linger felt frozen.

I felt warm, sick almost as a million feelings and thoughts stirred within me with all the possible circumstances.

“We plan to put you through a series of tests, experiment without the experiment part because we know what we're going yet it will still be the first.” His eyes felt cold on me, like he was brewing up something despicable.

“You’re going to be one strong supernanny– isn't that exciting?” And now I know why.

My body drew back subconsciously even. I stared at him through wilted eyelashes at his proposal. I sat my coffee down, the condensation made my palms sweaty in the autumn chill. Looking anywhere and everywhere but him.

Stan sensed my hesitance, eyes going down to my coffee and then to the show of my wiping my palms on my pants. Nervousness creeping up into my mind, he spoke.

“You don't have to do this,” he began, this time his hands reached out and enclosed mine in his warm ones. His brown eyes searching in mine, “But listen to me as i say this..” my face looked up and found his again at his sudden tone of.. Warmness?

“I would never put you in a situation where I could predict long term harm to you.” i didn't say anything at first once his words set in, i laughed at that, finding my voice finally. “Ah, but short term harm you can predict.” I noted and went to pull my hands away but his grip tightened.

“Well I never said it was going to feel like laying on a bearskin rug, Compound V will tear you apart limb from limb and then rebuild your blood cells all over again. You will become indestructible in every way possible. You will be made. To. be. Able. to. Do. this. Job, i will promise you that above everything”

“Ah, so like Bella from Twilight when she first became a vampire.” I laughed. Stan looked at me with a puzzled expression, “Pardon?”

“Nothing old timer. I wouldn't expect you to know anything of the sort.” I gave his knee a gentle slap. To my relife he dropped it and gave me a nervous laugh, “But, anyways.” He stood and pulled out his wallet to pay for our meals.

“You have by the end of the week, Just call the front desk and let them know your decision. They’ll be expecting to hear from you.” and before i could respond,

He was gone like that.

The carpark returned his vehicle and opened the door for him, Stan was gone as quick as he appeared.

I turned back to my coffee and stared into the milky abyss watching as the cream met the coffee in a caffeinated tango.

I wish coffee was on my mind at the moment. To have something so simple to think about would have been a relief in this moment but I wasn't so fortunate.

I stood up.

And all over again, the cool autumn air made me feel colder than ever.

——

A/n: WHAT ARE WE FEELING!? ooooOOooo what if Billy BUTCHER WAS INCLUDED—

[cheynovak]

Complicated

Characters: Soldier boy x Y/N Female character     

Summary: Y/N, a young personal assistant to Soldier Boy (Ben) and Crimson Countess, is caught in a whirlwind of events that shatter her sense of stability. After accidentally witnessing an intimate moment between Ben, Crimson, and another woman, she’s left shaken and unsure how to process it. The following day, Crimson casually invites her to join them, which only adds to Y/N's confusion.

Warnings: 18+ smut/spice, fight, jealousy, ...

English is not my first language 

*This story is my own original story, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

part 5/?

My mind swirled, still reeling from the intensity of his touch and the weight of his words. “You’re mine,” echoed in my head, over and over, like an endless loop. The way he claimed me, the possessiveness in his voice—it had ignited something inside me, something I hadn’t realized was there.

But as the moments passed, and the adrenaline started to fade, the doubts crept in. I thought about Herogasm, about the things he had done there. The whispers I had heard. The threesomes with Crimson Countess. Was I really his? Or was I just another in a long line of women he claimed in the heat of the moment, only to forget the next day?

The room suddenly felt too quiet, the space between us too heavy. I was still lying beneath him, his body pressed against mine, but I felt distant, like I wasn’t really there. My insecurities gnawed at me, clawing their way to the surface.

What did I mean to him, really? Could I even trust anything he said? Or was this just another game, another conquest to pass the time until he got bored?

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. The questions were too loud in my head, drowning out everything else. I felt my body stiffen slightly beneath his, but I stayed silent.

Very, very quiet.

Ben noticed, of course. He always noticed. His arms, which had been holding me so possessively moments ago, loosened slightly as he shifted his weight, looking down at me with a raised eyebrow.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low but not without a hint of curiosity.

I nodded, but it wasn’t convincing. Not even to myself.

He watched me for a second longer, his gaze searching, but I kept my face neutral, not wanting to give anything away. I didn’t want to ask about Herogasm. I didn’t want to know. But the jealousy, the insecurity, was there, lingering, and no matter how hard I tried to push it down, it was suffocating.

I turned my head slightly, biting my lip, trying to focus on anything but the storm brewing inside me.

Ben lay beneath me, his broad chest rising and falling slowly as I traced soft patterns on his skin. My fingers moved without thought, gliding over the scars and muscles, the silence between us feeling heavier than usual. It should’ve been peaceful, the two of us tangled up like this, but tonight it wasn’t.

I sighed quietly, gathering the courage to say what had been gnawing at me for weeks. “We can’t keep doing this,” I whispered, my voice sounding far more fragile than I wanted.

I felt his body tense beneath my fingertips. He didn’t say anything right away, but I could sense the irritation building. His voice, when it finally came, was low, almost dismissive. "Why not?"

I shifted slightly, pushing myself up just enough to look at him. His sharp greenbeyes were locked on me, searching for an explanation that didn’t exist. I swallowed hard, the words heavy on my tongue. “Because… what if I fall in love?”

For a split second, I thought I saw something flicker in his gaze—surprise, maybe. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that hardened look he always wore when things got too close for comfort.

"Are you... falling for me?" he asked, his voice clipped, like the question itself annoyed him.

I felt my heart skip, my throat tightening. “No, but—”

“Then don’t,” he interrupted, his tone sharp, final. Like it was that easy.

I stared at him, my frustration bubbling up faster than I could contain it. “And what if I fall for someone else? Someone who wants more than just… this?”

His eyes narrowed, a dark look crossing his face. “Again. Don’t.”

The air between us felt cold, and suddenly, it was as if the bed had grown miles wide. I sat up, pulling away from him slightly, the disbelief and frustration flooding out of me in a rush. “You’re so selfish, Ben.”

He frowned, sitting up a bit as well, his chest nearly brushing against mine. “Selfish? I give you everything, don’t I?”

“Everything you want,” I said, the words bitter as they left my mouth. “But I can’t have what I want. You get to have me whenever you feel like it, but the second I want something more, you just shut it down.”

His scowl deepened, his jaw tightening. “What’s so bad about what we have? You get the perks, I get—”

I cut him off, shaking my head. “You get control, Ben. You get to live your life however you want, and I’m just supposed to sit here, waiting for you to decide when you want me again. That’s not enough for me. I can’t be your mistress forever.”

He grabbed my wrist, his grip firm but not painful. His voice was quieter now, but still laced with that possessive edge that made my heart twist. “You’re mine, Y/N. That’s not changing.”

I stared at him, feeling the ache in my chest grow. God, how many times had I wished those words meant something more? But they never did. Not with him.

��That’s the problem, isn’t it?” I whispered, my voice breaking just a little. “You want to own me, but you won’t let me have you. Not really.”

His grip loosened, and for the first time, I saw something crack in him—something vulnerable, something almost real. But it was fleeting, gone before I could reach for it.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he said softly, the closest thing to tenderness I’d ever heard from him. But even then, it was still all about what he wanted.

I sighed, the weight of it all pressing down on me. “I haven’t... yet,” I said, trying to mask the sadness in my voice. I pulled my wrist from his hand and lay back down beside him, resting my head on his chest once more. But this time, it didn’t feel the same. His warmth didn’t reach me like it used to.

He wrapped his arm around me, holding me close as if that could fix everything, as if it could keep me from slipping away. But deep down, I knew the truth.

Something had already changed. And maybe, just maybe, I was already halfway gone.

After a long, tense silence, Ben suddenly sat up, his brows furrowing. “What do you mean, yet?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge underneath, like he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

I shrugged, trying to keep my emotions in check. “I was never meant to stay here forever, Ben.”

His eyes darkened, his jaw clenching. “I want you here.”

I looked at him, feeling the frustration start to boil over. “Well, I don’t want to be held prisoner.”

“You’re not,” he snapped back, almost defensive, like he truly believed that was the case.

“Oh, no?” My patience finally broke, and the words spilled out before I could stop them. “I have to stay quiet, not fall for you or anyone else, and in return, I get pretty clothes and a house, if I open my legs when you want me to. But you? You can go fuck other supes in some orgy, and I’m just supposed to sit here and wait until you come back?”

Ben’s face tightened, but there was something like guilt flickering behind his eyes. “I thought you didn’t want me after Herogasm,” he bit back.

I could barely contain my anger now. “No, Ben! I wanted you during! I wanted you here, with me!” The words came out raw, my voice shaking with the weight of everything I’d held in for so long. “While you were off with whoever, I was here, waiting for something—anything from you. And all I got was silence.”

He opened his mouth, but no words came. For a moment, he just stared at me, like he didn’t know how to process what I was saying. His usual confidence—no, arrogance—had cracked. But it didn’t make me feel any better.

I stood up from the bed, wrapping my arms around myself as if that could shield me from the storm of emotions swirling inside me. “You think you can have everything, don’t you? The control, the power, the women... and me. But I can’t keep doing this, Ben. Not like this.”

He remained silent, staring at me with a mix of frustration and something else—something almost like regret. But that wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

“I need more,” I whispered, my voice trembling now. “I need to feel like I matter to... someone. Not just when it’s convenient. Not just when you want me.”

Ben sighed, the sound low and frustrated, as I started pacing around the room, the tension between us growing thick.

"I already gave you more," he said, his voice almost resigned, like he didn’t understand why I couldn’t just let this go.

I stopped and turned to face him, the frustration bubbling over again. "No, you don’t!" I yelled, my voice cracking with emotion.

He got up in a flash, moving toward me faster than I could react. “I fucking do!” he snarled, his voice full of that deep anger he rarely let show.

Before I could back away, he grabbed me by the arm, pulling me sharply toward him. His other hand came up, roughly pinching my chin and cheeks, forcing me to look at him. His grip was tight, too tight, but I could feel the heat radiating off him, the fury barely contained beneath the surface.

“I sneak around to see you,” he growled, his face inches from mine. “I give you clothes and presents. I kissed you when I wasn’t supposed to. I broke the damn rules for you!” His voice was thick with frustration, like I wasn’t seeing the effort he thought he was putting in.

The words stung, but not in the way he intended. All I could feel was how little it actually meant, how shallow those gestures were when everything else was so broken. My breath came quick and shaky, and before I could think, I lashed out.

“You’re Soldier Boy!” I spat, my heart pounding in my chest. “You never followed the rules. That doesn’t mean shit!”

I hit him. Hard. My hand connected with his chest, and though I knew it didn’t hurt him, it was enough to make him release his grip.

His eyes flashed with surprise, and for a second, he looked stunned, like he couldn’t believe I’d hit him. But I didn’t back down. My chest heaved with all the anger I had been holding in for months, maybe even longer.

“You think because you break a few rules, give me some gifts, that I should just be grateful?” I stepped back, rubbing the sore spot on my arm where he’d grabbed me. “I don’t want your pity presents or your secret meetings.

" I want… I want…”

“What do you want?” he shot back, his voice sharp and angry. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you!”

My breath caught in my throat as I stared at him, feeling the walls between us crack but not yet fall. “You can’t,” I whispered, shaking my head, the frustration welling up in me.

“Try me!” he demanded, his voice booming in the small room, daring me to say what had been choking me for so long.

“I want a life, Ben,” I said, my voice breaking. “A real life. A family. I want—” I faltered, my chest tight, the words catching on something raw and painful inside me. “I want to be loved.”

“You are!” he yelled back, his voice harsh, almost like it was ripped from him. “You are loved!”

His words echoed, and suddenly, the room fell into a thick, heavy silence. I stopped breathing, blinking at him, trying to process what he’d just said. My heart skipped a beat, but my mouth stayed shut.

He looked at me, chest heaving with the weight of his own admission. His face was tight, eyes burning into mine, but he didn’t say anything else. No soft confession, no explanation. Just those three words, flung out into the space between us like a grenade.

I stayed quiet, feeling a lump form in my throat. I had wanted to hear those words so badly, for so long, but the way they’d come out—angry, raw—didn’t feel like how love was supposed to feel.

I waited, hoping he’d say something more, something to make sense of it all. But Ben just stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his eyes darting over my face like he was searching for something—anything—that could fix what had just cracked open between us.

But he didn’t. He didn’t say a word.

After a minute of trying to calm myself down, I took a shaky breath and whispered, “What?”

Ben didn’t turn to look at me, but his voice was low, steady. “I thought that was pretty clear.”

I stood there, frozen for a second, the weight of his words sinking in. As he started to turn away, something inside me stirred—a desperate need to understand, to not let this moment slip away. I reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him back before he could walk any further.

“Ben…” I said, my voice softer now, more vulnerable. His piercing green eyes met mine, and I could see something flickering in them. Uncertainty? Fear? I wasn’t sure, but it was something I hadn’t seen before.

I looked up at him, searching his face. “Are you falling for me?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as I mimicked the very question he’d thrown at me earlier.

He didn’t respond. The silence stretched between us, tense and unbearable. His eyes flicked away from mine, and instead of saying anything—anything to give me a reason to hold on—he just grabbed his clothes.

Without a word, Ben started dressing, his movements quick and deliberate. I stood there, my heart pounding, waiting for him to say something, to explain, but the silence only grew louder. My throat tightened as I watched him, a cold feeling creeping into my chest.

Then, just like that, he walked toward the door, leaving me standing there, still waiting for an answer.

He didn’t look back. He didn’t say goodbye. He just opened the door and walked out, leaving me alone with nothing but the empty space he’d left behind.

--

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[thewalkingwillowtree]

Safe Haven

Series Part Listing Found Here

Neteyam x Original Na'vi Female Character

Summery: Seeking refuge, Xilä and her father venture to the lands of the Omatikaya clan, in the hopes that the Toruk Makto would be generous in allowing them to stay. This is her story about not only finding her strength, but finding love. 

Warning: This story contains smut, violence & abuse (please don't read if these topics will affect you)

Some characters have been aged up. Neteyam in particular is 25.

Xilä is my own creation.

WAIT! Please note this part contains time skips.

~

Part 21 - Epilogue

‘Xilä’s in labor.’

‘My wife is about to have my kid.’

‘Holy shit, my kid. Mine…’

‘I’m going to be a father.’

‘Fuck, I don’t know if I can do this.’

To say Neteyam was freaking out was putting it mildly and- Oh fuck. His damn father-in-law was walking towards him. The last thing he wanted was for the man to see him like this. 

The first time Neteyam had a full conversation with Jxo, he was ten years old. 

To him, Jxo had always been a man of very few words. He never smiled, hated small talk and was extremely intimidating. But he was also incredibly respected throughout the entire clan, and well, Salveen liked him a lot, and so did bossy D’avi, so those were good enough reasons for the ten year old to think him alright. 

Being the chief’s son brought its fair share of challenges. There was a time when a group of boys tried to bully him over his “golden boy” status. Neteyam had fought back- and lost. 

He was ten, and a mess after. And instead of returning home, he ran to Sal’s but she’d already gone to the kitchens that evening. 

Jxo, seeing his cuts and bruises beckoned him in and silently cleaned his injuries- a split lip, swollen cheek, scraped knees and bloody knuckles. 

And when the man finally asked, “What happened?” 

Neteyam broke down and sobbed. He was hysterical and mad at himself for not being strong, mad that he was even crying. He was a man for Eywa sake! A soldier! A warrior! Just like his dad. 

But that day he was grateful that Jxo didn’t treat him like a silly kid- like everyone else did. Jxo calmed him. He was his usual gruff self and spoke to him straight. Treated him like an equal and imparted words of advice Neteyam needed to hear.  

Flash forward to fifteen years later, on the night that he would become a father for the first time, Neteyam was hysterical just like that very day. 

Xilä’s water had only broken half an hour ago and Neteyam was spiralling- or freaking out as his visiting brother had been teasing. Irritated and short tempered, he snapped at anyone who got too close to his mate who had been slowly pacing up and down the interior of the Tsahìk’s tent while her birthing room was being prepared. 

And just like he did fifteen years ago, Jxo and his no nonsense- never one to beat around the bush, pulled him outside and called him an idiot- a skxawng, telling him he needed to to get his shit together and stop snarling and hissing at everyone like a “fucking palulukan”. 

When he’d finished telling him off, he blew out a breath then continued- far gentler or as gentle the man could be, parting fatherly words of wisdom and advice with a comforting hand clasped on his shoulder. 

Neteyam humbled himself and took it all in, and by the end he felt lighter, calmer and far more level headed. 

With a final, “Don’t fuck it up. She needs you. So get in there, skxawng,” the soon to be father chuckled with a brisk nod, thanked the elder and headed towards his wife. 

~

“Swear I’ve gone back twenty-five years,” Jake murmured in disbelief at his grandson in his arms. “He looks just like you did, son.” 

Neytiri hastily wiped a tear that escaped her as she too stared transfixed. 

“He’s got Xi’s eyes,” Neteyam announced proudly as he lingered closely. 

“And her ears,” his mother noted with another sniffle. “He’s beautiful.” Neytiri gently stroked Sprout’s little fist. “Jake, you've had him long enough. It is my turn again,” she bossed her husband. 

Passed over to his grandmother, their baby made a soft sound. He whined and twisted slightly before settling back into sleep.

Jxo pressed another kiss to the top of his daughter’s head as she rested against his shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, darling,” her father told her for the third time since their parents were let in. “You did good.” 

Sal nodded in agreement, her own eyes swimming in happy tears as she tucked a few of Xi’s braids behind her ear and continued to fuss over her- pouring her another cup of tea to help with the pain. 

Xilä was exhausted but yet a soft smile still graced her face as she watched their parents meet their son for the first time. Jxo was the first to hold him after he’d greeted her with quiet words of praise. And just like Mo’at did, when she eased her son into her father’s arms, she didn’t miss the way his eyes glistened. 

The entire moment was heartwarming, yet slightly comical to a degree. She grinned as she watched her husband hover protectively, scrutinizing every move any of them made as they held their child. 

Even when Jake huffed amused, stating, “You know I had four of you right? I think I know how to hold a baby,” even then Neteyam didn’t care, he still fretted and lectured and adjusted their holds. 

“Oh Eywa, you’re going to be a father just like my Jxo, aren’t you?” Sal chuckled and gently adjusted her grandson with the unnecessary aid of her son-in-law who had told her for the third time to, “Watch his head.” 

“Huh?” Neteyam asked, baffled, the same time Jxo released a noise of offence. 

“Yes, yes. He never liked anyone holding our D’avi. So protective he was.” She hummed wistfully at the memory, eyes never leaving the little one who had taken hold of her finger. “You are so sweet, yes you are. Hi. Hi,” she whispered softly as he blinked up at her, waking from his doze. 

“This does not surprise me,” Neytiri chimed in. “Neteyam was never very good at sharing the things he loves. Xilä, and now our grandson will be included as well I’m afra- Oh Sal, look at his eyes.” 

“Mom!” 

But she ignored him since her and Sal’s attention laid solely on baby Sprout who was yawning, tiny body stretching in Sal’s hold.

“We’d be lucky if we ever get to see the kid,” Jake said, joining in on the teasing. “Knowing our son, he’d keep them locked away.”

Neytiri frowned at this. “My sweet Xi, you won’t let him hide the two of you away all the time, yes? I would like to see my grandson whenever I so pl-”

“Mom. Of course you’d get to see him.” Then after a long pause Neteyam continued with, “But there will be boundaries, and Xilä and I would expect that you all would… respect them.” 

Jake covered his grin of amusement behind his fist and Jxo hid his in Xi’s hair- both men’s eyes automatically cutting to their wives who both had identical looks of indignation. In their heads Neteyam might as well just said they weren’t allowed to see their grandson… ever.

The women looked about ready to protest, but in the end they gave their agreement without so much as a peep. Neytiri however did reach out and pull her son- who was twice her size- into a hug with a, “Eywa, my baby is all grown up now.” 

“Can I have him, mother?” Xi was itching to have her son back in her arms. It hadn’t been long but she missed him already. 

Neteyam was the one to pass him over. His palm found Xi’s nape, thumb stroking her cheek as he stole a kiss from her, uncaring of their audience. 

Sprout stretched with another yawn, fingers opening then curling back up before he nosed at her chest instinctively, cooing a tiny fuss as his legs kicked out. 

Xi tossed a thin cloth over shoulder, covering herself and the babe. She bared one breast and guided him to her nipple. Her baby latched eagerly, little mouth suckling with gusto. 

She knew it was probably a bit silly to want privacy since it was a natural thing to nurse one’s baby in the open. But she wasn’t there quite yet. 

Eyes closed, she listened to the quiet conversation around her and leaned heavily on her husband who curled around her. 

“What have you decided to name him?” Jxo asked his son-in-law. “Have you chosen yet?

Xilä felt smiling lips against her forehead. 

“Zyden. Our son’s name is Zyden.” 

~

Neteyam made his way towards the lively activity at the southern border of the clan- eyes roaming quickly to take in every inch of the scene. 

The mission fleet that had just returned were being aided- travel packs and goods were unloaded while ikran wranglers steadied the restless mountain beasts. 

After being months apart, riders were greeted with open arms by their waiting families and judging by the ease of their smiling faces, Neteyam breathed a small sigh of relief that there seemed to be no pressing worries. 

Tasam who’d led said mission was already talking to the chief. Jake nodded at whatever it was he’d said then clapped him on the shoulder before making his way towards another warrior. 

Neteyam had missed Tasam, he realized. Seeing him after so long filled him with nostalgia, and the memory of them meeting for the first time on their very first day of Iknimaya training played in his mind. 

“‘Teyam! You look good, brother,” Tasam called out. He met him halfway, crooked smile wide at the sight of his comrade and friend. “Fatherhood suits you.”

Neteyam couldn’t hide his pride as they clasped arms in greeting. “Tasam, welcome home. My son… Zyden,” he introduced, titling so that Tasam had a better view of the three month old strapped to his chest. 

A soft swear word escaped Tasam when he saw the baby. He reached out and ran a knuckle along the back of Sprout’s hand in amazement. “He favors your looks.” 

Zyden’s wide silver eyes tracked Tasam’s hand. He cooed loudly then promptly shoved his little fist against his mouth, making sucking sounds as he drooled all over his knuckles.

“I can’t believe I missed so much. How’s Xi? The birth went well?”

“It did, thank Eywa and she’s great. Tired but great.”

Tasam grinned at his friend’s expression. Neteyam was a hardass and as serious as they came. He always seemed to wear a mask of impassiveness that was near impossible to discern most days. Today however, the mask was nowhere to be seen. 

“It’s good to see you this happy.”

“Eywa has bountifully blessed me, how could I not be?” He jerked his head, gesturing for them to walk onwards, a large protective palm resting beneath Zyden. “Tell me, how was the trip? I’m sorry we missed you before you left. I didn’t know you’d be gone so long.”

“I share the same sentiments. As for the trip, it was… interesting. The Sarentu clan… they’re in a bad way. The couple months we stayed we managed to make some good changes, but they still need all the help they can get. I’m hoping another fleet can ride out before the end of the week.”

“It’s that bad?” 

“Their clan is but a fraction of ours and they’re unable to help themselves properly. They have maybe five- six, capable hunters?” he said exasperated. “The clan is exposed. Not enough warriors to provide protection. Not enough hunters to provide food. It is a wonder they have survived this long.”

Neteyam considered his words. “It is things like this that make me glad my father reached out and started this entire initiative. Their chief said as much back at Awa’atlu. He came mainly in the hope that would help.”

With the nearest cluster of communities in sight, Tasam slowed his stroll causing Neteyam to do the same. 

During their walk the father had kept periodically checking in on his son who seemed settled and content against him. Looking down, he saw that Zyden’s eyelids were slowly drooping, little mouth quivering in his sleep as though he were feeding. 

“Do you think Kiri would like bellsprigs? As a gift I mean… It's kind of rare here but bountiful near this clearing I found back at Sarentu.”

The sudden topic change had Neteyam blinking in confusion. 

“Um, sure? I think she’d like them. Wait, aren't those extremely dangerous to harvest?”

“They are- were,” Tasan held up his palm showing off a deep gash that was still healing, “but it’s Kiri. I’d do anything for her.” 

“Huh… You really like her, don’t you?” He got no response and halted, noting his friend was no longer walking beside him. “What is it?” 

“I-” Tasam looked uncomfortable now and was no longer meeting his gaze. “I-” He hesitated again and rubbed at his brow, frowning deeply, almost as if he’d forgotten what he was supposed to say. 

“Tas-”

“I wish for your permission to court Kiri,” he rushed out. 

A long uncomfortable silence proceeded before Neteyam found his voice again. “You- uh, well why are you asking me? Shouldn’t you be asking my parents?”

“I’m planning on it. I asked the chief if I could meet with him and your mother after I give my full report tomorrow,” he scratched his neck, “I suppose he knows what I’m going to ask. Your father gave me this weird, blank look then sort of reluctantly agreed… But I- you see…”

It was jarring and almost amusing to Neteyam to see his friend so scatterbrained and fidgety. Was he… nervous? Shit, he was.

“What I’m trying and evidently failing to say here, is- I care for your sister. She has my whole heart and… and although you are my commanding officer and my future chief and I have the highest of respect for you… You’re also my closest friend, and as Kiri’s brother, I’d very much like to have your permission in addition to your parents’.”

Eywa. Neteyam really wished his mate was here. He was not good with these kinds of situations. Not when it came to his sisters. No wonder Jxo always looked like he was about ready to punch his face most times. 

Kiri and Tasam…? His sister and his- well who was Neteyam kidding, Tasam was as good as his best friend. Why did this all seem like a surprise to him though? He somehow knew it would be coming… didn’t he?

He thought back to every interaction between the two. The man was smitten with Kiri, and Kiri… well, Kiri was near unrecognizable around Tasam. 

He made her happy. 

That was all that mattered, no?

“You have my permission.” 

Tasam’s jaw fell a little, then he straightened up when Neteyam’s face turned mildly murderous. 

“But you should know, my sister is precious. I don’t care if you hurt her unintentionally or not… you know what I’m capable of.” 

It should’ve been difficult to take the mighty Neteyam’s threats to heart when he had an adorable infant strapped to his chest. But Tasam still felt the sting of his words.

“Are you nervous to ask my parents?” Neteyam asked when they’d made it to the heart of Home Camp. 

“Am I nervous to ask the clan’s Olo'eyktan and Olo'eykte if I could court their eldest daughter? That’s a joke right?” Tasam huffed. “Course I’m nervous. But I’ve been wanting this for Kiri and I for so long now. That and I already told Kiri I was going to ask her when you all got back.”

Neteyam laughed, accidentally waking his son who woke with a startled cry. He was quick to comfort the baby with soothing strokes and pats on the back. He also gave him his index finger to hold which of course Zyden instantly put in his mouth. 

“You told Kiri you were going to ask her before you asked for my parents permission?” 

Tasam back slapped his arm, careful not to jostle the baby. “If I remember correctly, you did about the same thing with your Xilä.” 

“Shit, that’s right.” 

“And worse… It was all the clan could talk about for months, some still to this very day. No meeting of the parents, no announcements, no ceremonies, no-”

“Alright alright, you made your poi-” 

“You’re back!” a distant voice called excitedly. 

Kiri’s smile was almost giddy as she made her way closer and from the look of Tasam’s he was probably- nope, definitely worse. 

Ugh. Neteyam was suddenly nauseous. While the duo reunited- lovestruck gazes locked on each other, he focused on his son who was still biting away on his finger, drool leaking down his chin and along Neteyam’s palm. 

“Your aunty Kiri and her new boyfriend are going to make your poor daddy sick, aren't they,” he whisper-sang to his son. “Yes they are.” 

Zyden smiled up at this father as if he understood, gurgling while flashing his gums.  

“Oh here, let me help you with that.” Tasam swooped in with ease and hefted the heavy basket Kiri had been straining with. 

“Thank you.” Her cheeks were flushed and she bit her lip to tame her smile while she and the warrior continued to fail at being non obvious lovesick fools. 

Zyden’s coo broke their spell. 

“‘Teyam!” Kiri exclaimed as if shocked to see him standing there.

“Kiri.”

“And Zyden!” His sister snagged the baby right out of his carrier and held him close, squishing his cheek against hers as she rocked him.

Zyden looked slightly alarmed, eyes wide at the sudden movement but he did not cry.

Neteyam simply sighed at the pair all the while and of course, the mighty Tasam was just about melting at the sight. 

~

“What are you up to, my love?”

The baby turned and gave his mother a cheeky grin that showed off all four of his baby teeth and it just about melted her heart. 

But Xi wasn’t fooled by his cuteness, she saw the glint of mischief shining through his expression. 

The determined thing waited until she was busy folding another large sheet before he went off again, crawling towards his most recent fasciation.

“Zyden.” Xilä’s tone was soft but firm. “Uh-uh. No playing over there.”

Zyden released an unhappy whine at the reprimand. And despite his mother’s warning, he still reached and held onto the bottom of the wooden shelf to pull himself up on wobbly legs. 

Even though the shelf that housed her husband’s weapons was sturdy and Xi knew the baby couldn’t reach anything, she still corrected her son- letting him know it was dangerous. 

His little leg tried to lift, dangling with nowhere to perch. Not getting anywhere, he stomped his foot in frustration, though it didn’t stop him from trying again. 

“Zyden Sully!” Xi clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Uh-uh, mama said no. Come down from there.” 

At that, his tiny face scrunched up in anger, bottom lip pouting as tears rapidly pooled along his lash line. He pointed at the shelf and babbled his displeasure.

“I know. I know. But you’re too young for those. When you’re older I’m sure daddy will love teaching you to use them.”

Zyden drew a long, silent breath then promptly wailed louder with his head thrown back. One would swear she’d just ruined his entire life.   

“Aw, come here, my love.” 

She could sense a full blown tantrum brewing and since Sal had told her earlier Zyden missed his afternoon nap, Xi expected her son would turn tired and cranky right around this time. 

Laundry forgotten and scattered around her, she gave him her full attention, beckoning him over. 

“Zyden, my heart, come here.”

Listening, he carefully fell to his butt and crawled towards her. “Mma-ma,” he cried, tiny tail flicking back and forth as he moved.

How was he so perfect? 

Xi gathered him into her arms the second he was within reach and smothered him with kisses- forehead, cheeks, nose, angry twitching ears.

“See? This is why we shouldn’t miss nap time, my love. So cranky,” she cooed in a singsong tone.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned tiredly- proving her point, then impatiently pawed at the cloth that covered her chest.

“Hang on, hang on.”

Settling him against her breast, he nursed more for comfort than hunger and while he fed, Xi stared down at him in adoration. She hummed a song and wiped away his lingering tears, thumb sliding across baby soft skin.

She marvelled over his wild curls while brushing them off his forehead and laughed quietly when he offered her his little foot for her to kiss, tiny toes wiggling cutely. 

Nipple still in mouth, he smiled and reached up to pat her cheek, fingers gentle and stroking much like she’d done to him. 

The action caused a tiny pang of sadness to hit her. He was growing up so fast- too fast.

Every one of his milestones filled her with pride- his first smile, first laugh, first word. She may have shed a tear or two over his first tooth… and maybe over the second, third and fourth ones too. And although she was eager for all the other firsts- especially his first steps, each new milestone always reminded her that he wouldn’t remain a baby forever, so she made sure to relish every moment. 

The clanking sounds of their tent’s chimes alerted her that someone was here, and then the beaming face of her husband entering their home came into view. 

“I’m home!” 

Meal forgotten, Zyden grappled and used her top to help pull himself seated, legs and arms kicking and flailing excitedly at the sight of his daddy, gums and four little teeth proudly on display. 

“Look who’s here, Sprout. Who’s that?”

He glanced back at her and pointed at Neteyam who was hurriedly putting away his things.

Zyden prattled a garble of baby talk, tail slashing so fast, Xi thought it’d flick right off. 

Unable to contain himself any longer and with a loud gleeful shriek, their son crawled right out of her lap and charged full speed across the tapestry-covered ground, towards his father- all traces of his mini tantrum gone. 

Neteyam laughed while scooping him up and tossed him in the air before settling him high on his chest. “Why are you naked, huh little man?” He smacked noisy kisses to Zyden’s chubby cheeks making the baby squeal happily. 

“Your son figured out how to remove his tewng this evening.” Xi adjusted her top and picked up a towel to resume her folding. “Every time I put it back on, he took it off and the game seemed never ending, so I let him win for today.” 

“Oh yeah?” Neteyam grinned proudly, as if she’d told him his son had accomplished some massive achievement. “You’re so clever, Zyden. Daddy’s so proud of you.”

Xilä paused and simply stared at her two favourite people in the universe. Eywa, did she love them with her entire being. 

“Mmba-Da-da.” Zyden babbled, tiny palms smacking Neteyam’s cheek and nose and mouth until he spotted and made a grab for the lone string of beads in his daddy’s hair. 

“That’s right, Sprout, that’s me! I’m daddy.” 

Only recently and after a lot of coaxing, Zyden had started saying dada. Xilä didn’t think she’d ever seen her husband cry that much when he’d said it, but then again she herself was a sobbing sap when his first word was mama. 

Neteyam made his way over and crouched down to greet his wife. She kissed him back and they both broke out into laughter when Sprout leaned over to do the same- drooly lips open against her cheek in his version of a kiss. 

As soon as he was set down, Zyden crawled off towards a forgotten toy. He tossed it away then charged after it, finding fun in doing it over and again. 

“I spoke to Lo’ak and Tsireya this morning,” Neteyam said conversationally as he started helping her fold the laundry. 

“‘Teyam,” she interrupted, using her “mom voice” as her husband so liked to call it. Xi had gotten distracted by the article he’d chosen to fold. 

“What?” he asked in faux innocence. Neteyam snatched up another one after folding it to his best and shot her a naughty wink.

Her mate always went for her undercloths first, forever eager to handle the intimate, flimsy things. She shook her head and snickered while he continued on, telling her about Awa’atlu updates. 

The pair chatted about their day- him informing of the new shipment of goods they were preparing to send to the Sarentu and Ta'unui clans, and her prattling on about her early morning lesson with Mo’at and then filling him in on their son’s fascination with his shelf of weapons. 

At some point Zyden had grown bored of his toy and fussily demanded his daddy’s attention. Neteyam dramatically tossed him amidst a pile of clean furs, keeping him entertained as they fought playfully.  

Later on, it was a battle to get Zyden to put his tewng back on, much less keep it on, but soon after, the little family of three made their way to the communal dinner, with their baby babbling the entire way there.

As if he belonged to her, Neytiri plucked their son out of his father’s arms the second they entered the clearing. Zyden was passed around from grandparent to grandparent before he finally settled contentedly next to his aunty Tuk who fussed over him as if she were a grown up. 

It was honestly quite cute seeing her break off tiny pieces of soft root vegetables and feed them to him. She offered him sips of her water which just splashed right down his chest and scolded him lightly when he ate too fast.  

Neytiri, who was nearer, kept careful watch and intercepted fast grabby hands whenever Zyden went after something he wasn’t supposed to. Neteyam chuckled from his spot when his son made a dive for poor Tasam’s teylu. 

The baby was most unhappy when his grandmother lifted him away with a chiding. He even gave Tuk what looked like a glare of betrayal after she giggled saying, “Zyyyyden. You don’t even have enough teeth to eat that, silly.” 

Midway through their meal, D’av and her family showed up. L’eya- toddler on a mission, plopped herself into Xi’s lap to excitedly show her a bug she’d found on the way. “It- it prewdy huh, aunty Xi? An it-it glows and eberyting too. See?”

Xi oohed and awed over the bug in her niece’s palm and Neteyam did the same- pausing his conversation with Jake when she crawled into his lap as well, before eventually running off to do the same with her grandparents. 

“You’re late. You hate being late,” Xi teased her sister who settled beside her. She frowned when she really looked at her sister.  “Are you unwell? You’re pale. Here let me see your-”

D’avi brushed her fussing off. “Stop that. If mother catches you she’s going to come over here and I don’t need that right now. You’re forgetting Yalnïk and I have two toddlers to wrangle, can you blame me for being la- why are you looking at me like that?” 

The older woman dropped all pretense when she saw her sister’s shocked expression turn into a knowing grin. 

Sighing in defeat, D’avi glanced around their family huddle to make sure they weren’t being overheard by their parents. 

Their mother and father thankfully, both had their hands full. Jxo was eating while balancing Zyden on his knee- the baby focused as he chewed away on a massive piece of fruit and Sal had both L’eo and L’eya who she was fawning over and feeding out of her own meal. 

“You can’t tell our parents yet,” D’avi barely whispered. 

“D’av.” Xi’s tail couldn’t keep its cool, it sprung high in excitement. “So you’re actually-”

“Yep… pregnant. I’m pretty sure it happened the night when Bwiin went and snitched on us.” She scoffed. “Our party was not that loud.” 

Xilä remembered that night. She breastfed so she didn’t indulge in the sweetened wines that were being passed around… D’avi however had just stopped with her little ones, so she went all out, and was pretty much the life of the party. They’d gotten so rowdy, Bwiin, their mother’s nosy and grouchy friend had gone and reported them for disturbing the peace. 

Xi bit her lip. “The night you got drunk at Leati’s bacholet party? And Yalnïk had to come get you?” She butchered that word for sure- every time too.

It was a surprise that Leati even wanted to take part in the odd human custom, but Xilä realized that Ze’lu brought out a side to the woman that outshined her cold and somewhat mean disposition. 

“Yeah. I jumped my mate the moment he tossed my ass in bed... Ugh, and I’ve been so, so cautious, Xi and the one time, the one time I forget to have the damn tea. Bam. Pregnant.” She sighed. “Oh Eywa, truly I pray it’s not twins again.” 

“Are you happy about this though? I can’t tell.” 

D’avi’s eyes turned watery. “Of course I’m happy. To be honest I don’t think it’s completely registered yet, but yes. I’m so happy, Xi. And Yalnïk, ugh. The man is so damn excited. He’s already hovering and-”

“D’av! Do you want ovumshrooms?” 

“Yes, please,” she answered her mate who was currently putting out their food. “He’s the best isn’t he? I mean look at his face, and his body. I’m the luckiest woman in this entire clan, aren’t I?” 

Xi smiled, she felt the exact same way about her own husband. 

She turned towards her son when she heard his cry of frustration. Tuk had just taken something out of his hand when he tried shoving it in his mouth. Zyden seemed to be telling her off in his baby speech, and kept reaching for it, whines turning fussier despite Tuk calmly telling him it wasn’t food. 

“Zyden,” Neteyam called from beside her. 

Their baby pointed at Tuk, as if begging his daddy to make her give it back to him. 

Xilä knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He was tired and cranky and fighting sleep ever since he missed his afternoon nap. She watched him struggle to decide whether to cry or not. Luckily, Zyden was distracted by L’eo’s giggle, so he crawled off towards cousins. 

L’eya was all smiles for the baby. She poked his nose in greeting, mouth full as she chewed her food. L’eo offered him some of the buoyfish he’d been feasting on but Sal was quick to give her youngest grandchild a piece of a mashed bean pod instead. 

D’avi’s low groan pulled Xi’s attention away from their children. Her nose was wrinkled at the meat in her husband’s leaf plate. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Yalnik moved his plate around so it wasn’t too close to her and struck up a conversation with Tasam and Kiri who were on his other side. 

“How are you feeling this time around?” Xi asked. She handed her sister a piece of cider root to chew on.

“My morning sickness feels more like all day sickness and I’ve got this lingering headache that refuses to go away. I’ve drank every tea possible to help ebb my symptoms and they all refuse to work. Can I come by the healer tents tomorrow? So you can check me over, make sure everything’s okay? I’ve been putting off doing that.”

“Of course, D’av.” 

“Eywa. Mother will be mighty pleased. Just look at her now.”

Sal was in her element. The grandmother had all three little ones surrounding her. It was impossible to miss the happiness radiating off of her.  

At home, Zyden was usually clingy with Xilä and she relished in the feeling of him being attached to her, whether it was to be carried or simply wanting her attention at all times. But she wouldn’t be lying when she said she also loved seeing Sprout socialize and bond with their family- especially with his grandparents. It was something she certainly never had growing up. 

Another fifteen minutes passed before it finally happened. 

“Xiiii!” Tuk groaned dramatically as she hefted and carried a wiggly crying Zyden from under his arms. The baby was already reaching out and calling for her. “Sprout wants you. Oof! He’s getting so heavy,” she half laughed, half huffed when handing him over. 

“Hello, my love, are you being a naughty Na'vi for your aunty Tuk?” 

Zyden didn’t waste any time, he stuck his little fist right down her top and gave a frustrated grizzle. 

“Thanks for taking care of him for us, Tuk.”

The little girl beamed at Xi’s praise, and giggled when Neteyam attacked her with his own brotherly affection before she dashed off. 

Xilä quickly tugged down the front of her top and Zyden eagerly found and latched onto her nipple to nurse. She smiled when his small sticky hand rested on her breast as his eyes instantly began to droop. 

“I’m surprised he lasted this long,” Neteyam joked. He leaned over to kiss and nuzzle Zyden’s chubby cheek as he suckled, soft feeding sounds and breathy baby gulps making him and Xi smile at each other. 

L’eo appeared not too long after, food grease shining all over his face and chest. “I all done wid my food,” he told his mother proudly.

D’avi chuckled. “Good job, baby.” She pulled him closer and wiped his face and hands despite his squirming. 

When he made his escape, he approached his aunty. “I play with Zyhen, pwease, addy Xi.”

“Aw, I’m sorry, sweetie, but he’s falling asleep.” Xi caressed his cheek in apology. “You’ll get to see him tomorrow, okay?” 

Poor L’eo looked so disappointed. His pout deepened when he turned to find his sister amongst their family, only to find she was already dozing in her grandfather’s lap. 

“C’mere bud,” Yalnïk reached out and scooped him up and D’avi turned to give them both her attention. 

Xi covered herself back up when she felt her nipple slip from Zyden’s lips.

“Oh he’s out,” Neteyam laughed. He gathered their milk drunk baby in his arms and wiped away the trail of liquid that ran down his chubby cheek and into his little neck folds.

“He’s growing up too fast,” Xi sighed, leaning against her husband to peer at their son. Their baby was sprawled without a care in the world, sticky coated skin, pudgy little tummy on display, tail curled up contentedly. “I feel like I blinked and now look at him. Gosh I’m going to miss this age.”

Neteyam nodded in agreement. He kissed her forehead then whispered, “I know the feeling all too well... But you know there’s a solution for that, right?” 

“What do you mean?” she murmured, perching her chin on his bicep. 

“You could always let me put another baby in you. Then another when they grow out of that age, and another when-”

Xilä pressed her fingers to his lips and snickered at his response. “May I remind you we are surrounded by our family. Don’t start with that if you’re not able to do anything about it right now,” she teased back. 

A dangerous glint shined in his eyes, nostrils flaring at her words. 

“I’m not teasing, Xilä. I'm completely serious.” 

“Oh I know. If it were up to you you’d keep me round and pregnant for an eternity, right?” She tucked a braid behind his ear, not so accidentally brushing the tip of his pointed ear with her thumb and smiled when he gave a subtle shudder. 

“You’re playing with fire, baby,” he warned but she simply gave him an innocent look and pretended she didn’t know what he was talking about. 

“But on a serious note,” she whispered, “is it terrible that I just want to enjoy it being the three of us for now? I’m not saying no indefinitely, after Zyden I know for sure I want more, but he’s not even a year old yet, he hasn’t even taken his first steps. I want to give him as much attention and love as I can until we decide for sure to grow our family.” 

“Nothing’s wrong with that, sweetheart. I like that plan.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.” He sensed a lingering sadness from her, so to lighten the mood, he teased, “And anyway I’ll get to focus on getting my practice in while fucking you senseless.”

“Neteyam!” Her face bloomed in mortification and she glanced around to make sure he wasn’t overheard. 

There’s that smile he so loved to see. 

~

True to her word, L’eo got to see Zyden the next day. 

The boys played loudly with the many block pieces their grandfather had crafted for them. L’eya seemed to find them too rowdy for her, so she sat in her own little world with her toys until Tuk had come by and joined in with her. 

Xilä loved the sound of her son’s laugh and she loved the sounds of her home filled with children playing. 

Zyden squealed and clapped excitedly when L’eo knocked down their pile of wooden blocks and then the two went back to building it all over again- it was mostly L’eo, but Zyden sure helped by handing him each piece. 

They were so stinking cute. 

A little later on when he seemed to have grown bored, her son sought her out. He crawled after her and patted her calf, tiny palms opening and closing- asking for up. 

The second she lifted him, he cuddled her, little face snuggled into her neck and Xi soaked it all up. It was her favourite feeling in the universe. 

Neteyam looked up from his whittling and was quick to join the two. He tried burying his face on the other side of her neck, but Zyden wasn’t having it. 

Their son pushed his daddy’s face away along with a mess of protesting gibberish that had sounds like mama and dada scattered in between. 

“I want cuddles too, you can’t have her to yourself,” Neteyam quarrelled with the biggest grin on his face. 

“Ma-ma!” Zyden argued back fiercely. He leaned his head against hers- their cheeks squished together while he kept batting away his father’s affections for her.  

“Ah,” Neteyam dodged another fist. “I’ll have you know she was mine first.”

“Ma-ma!” Zyden’s both arms locked around her neck. He gave her a wet sloppy kiss on the cheek and grinned wide, and those four little teeth just about killed her. 

“Alright, alright. I’m jealous now. Come here, little man, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” Neteyam stole him away and dramatically rolled them around on the floor. The baby shrieked and burst into breathy giggles as they play-fought. 

Feeling like he was missing out on the fun, L’eo ran and jumped in with a roar. “I rescue you Zyhen!” To which Neteyam pulled him in too. 

Xilä watched on and called out “oh no’s!” from the sidelines. Through her laughs she couldn’t help feel a bit emotional. Neteyam was an incredible mate, but he was an even better father. 

When he cried out asking for her to come save him, she eagerly and happily joined in until they were all a pile of giggling limbs. 

~

Pillow muffling her screams, Xilä arched as her mate licked her into another mind shattering orgasm. 

It was the middle of the night and she’d already woken on the cusp of one, finding her legs thrown over his broad shoulders with his head bobbing eagerly between her thighs, licking and sucking like a starved man… and he hadn’t moved since. 

“‘Teyam.” Shuddering as she came down from another high, she feebly tried to push his head away, hips failing to escape his clutches. She was too sensitive and he didn’t seem like he wanted to stop any time soon. 

Yet he only tightened his grips and spread her legs wider, holding her firm with a bossy growl. “One more.”

One more. One more. That’s what he’d said the last two times. 

Her voice hitched when he nipped then sucked her clit hard, silencing her protests. He stretched her with his fingers, adding one after the other until she was stuffed with all three- digits curling and fucking her just right. 

White noise clouded her ears and her eyes rolled into her head. Body seizing up as it quickly prepared to shatter again, she struggled to keep her moans at bay. Her poor knuckles were painfully white from their tight grips- one fisted in her mate’s hair, holding on for dear life while the other squeezed the pillow she was biting into. 

She could just about cry when Neteyam slowed his pace. The wicked man wanted to draw out her pleasure and no matter how much she tried to ride his fingers faster, she failed. 

He pushed her hand away when she dared to reach for her throbbing clit. Eywa. She was near delusional at this point. 

“Mine,” he’d snapped when she tried to touch again, and then as if teaching her a lesson, he simply reduced his actions even further, fingers curling deep and dragging torturously slow while he lazily lavished her clit with his tongue. 

Turned into a mewling weepy mess, she was completely at his mercy. It seemed almost never ending.

Embarrassingly loud slick sounds emitted with every motion of his fingers making her arousal drench everything- his hand, face, her thighs, their sheets- shit, she’d just changed these sheets. 

Xilä’s orgasm blindsided her, making her cry out and damn near suffocate her husband with her thighs as her entire body seized up. 

She was almost sure she’d momentarily blacked out too, because when she finally came to her senses, her deep, heavy panting had calmed and the strong ripples of pleasure and orgasmic aftershocks had ebbed away, leaving her with lingering tingles. 

Neteyam, as if he had all the time in the world, was sucking his fingers dry. It shouldn’t have been a sexy sight, but damn if it was. 

Damn him.  

Then the asshole dived back down to lick her clean. 

WACK.

“Baby!” His jaw dropped and he was staring at her in surprise. 

Xi had actually smacked him with her pillow when he had the audacity to run his tongue across her oversensitive clit. He got the message this time. He snickered and just moved along to lick away the slick that coated her inner thighs instead. 

Through their bond, tsaheylu still intact from when they went to sleep, she felt him. Like a rolling storm, he was all consuming. He was so pent up and clouded her with his intensity, she wouldn’t be surprised if he combusted just then and there. It felt good to be the cause of it, honestly. 

“You didn’t come?” Shit. She’d tried to move but her legs felt like flopping fish. 

He shook his head and got up on his knees. She was greeted by an angry leaking dick, throbbing and needy in front her face. 

Xilä licked her lips, and between her thighs pulsed at the sight of him. Sitting up, she watched him wrap a hand around himself and give a firm stroke, thumb swiping across his tip before dragging back down again. 

Although she was still a bit light headed, just like he’d done earlier, she batted his hand away to grip him herself. 

At this he let out a pleased little groan and threaded his fingers through her hair. His hips gave a sudden snap and his dick twitched when she pressed a teasing kiss to the head of it- barely even making contact. 

Xilä smirked when she felt his fingers tighten in her hair, pulling slightly at her roots. “Xilä,” he growled, sending a rippling shiver down her spine. 

“What?” she asked cunningly, “No teasing?”

Through their bond she felt his building frustration, his impatience, his need. Tail circling her wrist, he got her moving. 

So bossy.

She stroked his length and found her pace, setting a rhythm that had her mate quickly blowing out puffs of air as he seemed to be trying to keep his composure. 

Cute, she thought. With her free hand she stroked his tail- its tip still wrapped around her wrist, both hands moving in tandem. 

“Xi-”

Reading his mind, her eyes found his own, locked and dangerous and just what he needed to get closer to his peak. 

He was practically fucking her fist by now, and damn near exploded when her other hand left his tail to squeeze the base of his dick. 

Xi licked him again, tongue running up the underside of him, along a vein, then circling its head. That was it, he couldn’t control himself any longer, he came with a blinding force- a strangled endearment, falling from his lips. 

Hot seed spluttered from him, painting his stomach, Xi’s hand and her pouty lips, a drop even landed on her nose. 

A feeling of victory flooded Xilä. She loved seeing her mate come undone, loved seeing him lose control. A side of him she was the only one to ever see. 

She stroked him all the way through, till his shudders ceased and his body grew lax and so pliant she was able to pull him down, his massive frame covering her entirely. 

Their lips met in the middle for a searing, all consuming kiss. Xi could taste herself on his lips, she was sure it was the same for him. 

Breaking apart for a much needed breath of air, Neteyam nipped her bottom lip. “Sorry I woke you up.” 

Xilä laughed. “No you’re not.” 

He grinned too. “No I'm not.” 

After they basked in the afterglow for another couple minutes, they cleaned themselves up, using water and washcloths to bathe each other, mouths unable to stop stealing kisses and hands unable to stop caressing. 

Returning from checking on their son, he helped her strip their hammock and fasten a clean pelt before they both climbed in- him pulling her on top of his chest immediately. 

“Sprout was still asleep?” she asked, breaking him from his thoughts. 

“Mhmm, out like a light.” He kissed her forehead and she snuggled closer. 

~

Somewhere between sleep and wake, Xi heard a hushed whisper. 

“Mama?”

She felt a familiar weight sat on top of her and the gentle pat, pat of a little palm on her cheek.

“Mama. Mama! Mommy wake up, I have to tell you something really portent.” 

“Mmm, I’m up, I’m up.” Xilä blinked awake to the view of her son’s sweet face. Exhaustion momentarily forgotten, she pulled him into her arms and across her chest, peppering kisses all over his cheeks. “Good morning, my love.” 

Zyden struggled a bit under his mother’s smothering, trying to wiggle out. “Mama stop,” he giggled. “Guess what?” His voice was dramatically hushed despite it only being the two of them in the room. 

“What?” she asked just as quietly to match his energy.

“Daddy say I can go fishing today!” Zyden shared, tail flicking in uncontrollable excitement behind him. As if reminding himself, he made a shhhh sound and pressed a finger to his lips before continuing softer. “And- and I get to use my new bow too. You know the one mama? The big boy one granpather Jxo make me? An- an L’eo and L’eya go too but no Js’avi, cause he-he too small still and then daddy show me how to catch the fish!” 

Xilä gasped dramatically as if she didn’t already know all of this. “Oh my Eywa! That’s all so exciting, my love!”

“Yah! I- I catch you a really big fish, mama. Den you cook it.”

“I like that idea. What kind of fish should I make?” She smiled tiredly and smoothed her hand over his hair. He looked so much like his daddy. 

“Zyden!” Neteyam walked into their room, hands on his hips with a disappointed expression. “I thought I told you we’d tell your mama later. She just fell asleep, son.”

Zyden jumped at being caught, his sweet excited face turning into one of guilt. Brow puckered into a tiny frown, he pointed at his mother, then said as if it made all the sense in the world, “But mama awake now daddy. So I tell her now. Later is too far.”  

Both parents couldn’t hold their amusement. 

This kid. 

“Alright little man, come on.” Neteyam grabbed him up and hung him upside down. Tickling his tummy, he made their son break out in a fit of uncontrollable giggles. 

“Da-ha-ddyy!” 

When he set him on his feet, his father said seriously, “Go on and have your breakfast. All fishermen need to have a good meal before they set off for the day.”

“Ohhhkaaay! Bye mama!” 

Neteyam blew out a breath and made his way over to Xi. “Sorry. I swear I only turned my back away for a second and then he disappeared.” 

“It’s fine,” she assured, stretching her neck and puckering her lips, begging for a kiss as if he hadn’t kissed her only three hours ago when she’d gotten home. 

Her husband obliged and when he pulled back he said, “We missed you last night.” 

“Me too. I'll try not to make it a habit, but I was really needed for the night shift. I’m sorry it was so last minute too.” 

“Stop,” he ordered, nipping her lip in rebuke. 

“But it was date night… We made a promise to never miss a date night. I feel terrible. I promise I’ll make it up to you and-” She was about to apologize again so he silenced her with another kiss. 

“Xilä. It’s your job, baby. You were needed. It's okay. And anyway, Sprout and I had an awesome guys night.” 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” His voice drew to a deep whisper, “Although if you keep insisting on making it up to me, I’d really really like to fuck you later. It’s been ages.” 

Xi’s snicker was interrupted by a yawn. “You’re being dramatic. Oh that does remind me though, I need to get more Qla’ira root. I’m running out.” 

Neteyam got quiet. He perched his head on her chest, golden eyes almost pleading. “Or you could… not?” 

“Behave.” She batted him playfully and ran her fingers through his braids. 

“I’m being serious. You know Zyden’s been asking for a sibling lately.” 

“I know, but we agreed when he turned five, to start trying again, remember?”

“Technically, it’d be the same thing… If we get a head start from now, he’ll probably be five by the time-” 

“Zyden will be four in a couple months,” she laughed, cupping his face.

They heard a crash, followed by a, “Daaaddy! I had a naccident!” 

“Duty calls.” Neteyam lifted and hovered over her. “Get some sleep, alright? We’ll see you later. And we’re definitely not done talking about this.” 

“Daaadeeeee!” 

“Coming!”

Xi frowned, when he left. She didn’t know why she was even fighting this decision. She herself was ready for another child- and not just because of her mate’s pleas or their son’s little saddened face when he asked them how come he, “didn’t have a baby like L’eo and L’eya had Js’avi.”

Eywa had told her as much that she was ready as well. Her bond with the Great Mother had been growing stronger and stronger everyday. 

So what was stopping her?

~

Later that night, during a family dinner, the kids excitedly ranted about everything that happened that day- all talking over each other and fighting over the attention of the adults. 

It was a full family night. Neteyam and Xi’s home was not only filled with Jake and his family or Jxo and Sal. There was D’av, Yalnik and their three little ones. Also Yalnik’s twin and his mate along with their brood of five kids- who had also gone fishing. 

Xilä saluted the men for having to take on so many of them. She wished she got to see them at it, since apparently they’d roped along Tasam and Ze’lu to get in some practice. 

Speaking of, Tasam and Kiri had even joined their rowdy bunch tonight- newly mated after their courtship. Their story was incredibly sweet. They’d gone the traditional route and followed through the steps of the Omatikaya’s customs.  

Their love was blinding and Xi was so happy for them. Although it had been years now, she still noticed the one or two times poor Spider would shoot them concealed glances. She was rooting for her friend to find his happiness too.   

“An den I shot my bow like,” Sprout made a dramatic reenactment, “an VOOSH! My arrow went so far into the water, and- and-”

“And the same time I shot mine too!” L’eo chimed in. “And it hit a fish!”

“Oh my! You caught one, L’eo?” Sal asked, intrigued by their story. 

“No,” the boy said sadly. “The fish swam away. L’eya got one though.”

The little girl blushed when the room broke out into cheers for her. 

Xilä loved nights like these. Their family dinners were always a boisterous affair. She felt entirely whole- as if she belonged. A feeling she fought to find for years. 

She watched her son seated in the cradle of his dad’s legs. They were both talking animatedly with Mo’at whose aged face was nothing but smiles. 

Something within Xi suddenly clicked. That uncertain emotion that had been plaguing her now had an answer and a flare of guilt followed the revelation. 

Stephan had taught her an expression once, “Waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

It made sense now why she herself kept putting off having another baby, because that’s what she’d been doing, wasn’t she?

Waiting for the other shoe to drop?

Waiting for things to go wrong, waiting to be told she no longer belonged. Waiting to see if she and her son would be casted out.

A weight lifted off her shoulders now that she knew what was holding her back. Stupid thoughts that would bear no fruits.

She had her whole life ahead of her. One filled with the joy and love of her and her mate, and of their children. Xi stared at her son, her son. Of course she’d wanted more of him, she Neteyam truly made ridiculously cute babies. 

Before she shook off her thoughts and returned to the present, she gave herself a mini metal pep talk- the reassurance that always seemed to help the times her mind clouded in darkness. 

She was here. 

She was safe. 

She was loved.

And she had found, her Safe Haven. 

 ~

Once again, my deepest thanks goes out to all of you who have taken this journey with me, to all of you who have read, and liked and commented.

Special thanks to all who gave suggestions and ideas. I love interacting and hearing your thoughts!

I poured my heart and soul into this story and the unbelievable feedback I've gotten- there's no greater gift.

Although there is one more part I'd like to put out- "a slice of life" to specify, I am officially marking this story as Complete!

Here's to more stories in the future ahead. 💛

Tags:@jakesullyfatjuicypeen@granddearduck@riatesullironalite@strawberri-blonde@earthling55 @innercreationflower @duckworthbean @gyuventure @btsiguess-kpop@blkmystery@neteswife@luvteyams@isnt-itstrange@erenjaegerwifee@faatxma@ivysully@bakugouswaif@pinkpantheris @mntx666@ironcaptainnataliabarnes

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

*image of Jensen Ackles is used with permission of the photographer Mandi Lea Photogtaphy.

Summary: After a significant career shift and subsequent break-up, Brandy Miller moves to Wayne County, Pennsylvania, to be closer to family. She invests in a small, sight-unseen condo in a “quiet, charming neighborhood with views of the Poconos and neighbors you can count on.” One particular neighbor seems to have a unique interpretation of what that means.

Characters: Brandy Miller x Soldier Boy, Serge Bernard, Kimiko Miyashiro, Maggie Shaw, Annie January, Hughie Campbell, MM, John James Davis (AKA Homelander as SB’s 21yo son), Butcher

Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, sexual tension, sexual objectification, rough and degrading sex dream, Soldier Boy is a terrible father, explicit sexual content

CHAPTER ONE: Inconsiderate Neighbor

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

[pascalhowlett]

Ethereal (Chapter One)

A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first time posting a novel length fan fiction on Tumblr, so be patient with me! If you would like to read this on A03, you can find that here!

Warnings: Mentions of r*pe, implied r*pe, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, smut

Summary: After the Roman Empire takes over Numidia, Cecilia is purchased by Emperor Geta as a pawn in his attempts to take over Rome. What will happen when she meets General Marcus Acacius, the soldier who was responsible for the death of her lover, Atticus Claudius?

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Original Female Character

This is Chapter 1! Word Count: 5k

More parts will be added as I edit them. Please let me know what you think! :)

Numidia, a small territory on the coast of Africa, was her home. Quaint and full of life, settled on the Moulouya River, it had everything she needed. Numidia was home to her entire family, amongst them her beloved Atticus.

Her life was idyllic until Rome decided to invade the land. The attack, a nightmare that replayed in her dreams every night, remained vividly etched in her memory. The Romans burned down their homes, cast their belongings into the river, and herded them onto their boats like cattle. Some whispered that those who died had been granted a mercy that was denied to those who were taken captive.

She vowed never to forgive the man who had killed Atticus. He had been trying to save her brother, a young boy no older than ten, who had wandered too close to the burning structures. Atticus, seeing the fear in her brother’s eyes, had rushed forward, shielding him with his own body. The Roman soldier, a young recruit, panicked and fired an arrow. It found its mark, piercing Atticus's chest with a sickening thud.

Cecilia, witnessing the scene from a distance, felt the world tilt on its axis. Atticus, her lover, her protector, lay sprawled on the ground, his blood staining the earth a crimson hue. His eyes, wide with disbelief, met hers before the light faded from them. The sight of Atticus, his lifeblood ebbing away in the dust, was a wound that would never heal. The image of his lifeless body, the terror in his eyes, haunted her dreams, a constant reminder of the brutality of the Roman invasion.

"It's not your time, flower," Atticus had told her as she held his limp body close, "the sun always rises after the darkest night."

Atticus, a poet in his own right, had always possessed a way with words. Even in death, his words continued to resonate within her, an indelible mark upon her soul.

But, my dear Atticus, when will that sun rise? She asked herself that question every night.

Once the people of Numidia were taken to Rome, she was sold into slavery. No one else from her family had survived the journey. She was sold to the lenos of Rome's biggest brothel, becoming a slave to the highest bidder. She wasn't proud of the things she had done, and would do. Even now, she couldn't fully reconcile with her actions that kept her alive.

When the girls of the brothel were informed that Emperor Geta was seeking a wife, the news spread like wildfire. Every single woman who was unmarried and childless was vying for the position. Except for her. Cecilia’s thoughts never left Atticus. She was convinced she could never love another man. Marriage, especially to the murderers of her beloved, was the furthest thing from her mind. However, it seemed Emperor Geta was drawn to those who didn't immediately fall at his feet.

"Geta has ordered that we present him with our finest woman," the men discussed as they pulled Cecilia aside, their eyes leering over her body like vultures circling prey. "And who better than our youngest, newest acquisition? She's fresh meat, still trembling. He'll love that.” 

“Besides," one of them added with a cruel smirk, "the other lupanars always get the best ones. It's time we showed them what we have."

Emperor Geta arrived at the brothel that evening. All the girls greeted him, flaunting their breasts and wearing nothing to attract his attention. Geta ignored them, marching straight forward to where she rested on the large bed in her gown.

"She's our best one, your highness," the lenos told Emperor Geta as he entered the room, "you won't find another like her anywhere else."

Geta's eyes met hers, and a chill ran down her spine. He was a bloodthirsty, cynical man. His eyes made that abundantly clear. Like those of a predator sizing up its prey, his eyes lingered on her lips, then slowly traced the curve of her neck, a chilling smile playing on his lips.

Geta leaned closer, his voice a low growl, “Speak.”

“I have no name for you,” she spat back, her voice trembling with defiance. 

“Her name is Cecilia,” the lenos corrected, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

For a fleeting moment, she swore she saw a glimmer of adoration in Geta's eyes, as if he cared or even liked her, just for a brief instant. But that was quickly replaced by a proud snarl.

"Look at me," Geta commanded, placing his hand on her chin, "you shall be my wife. This is an honor. I paid an awful lot for you."

"I am no empress. Nor will I ever be your wife," she declared, "perhaps death would be a higher honor."

He laughed at that, sliding her gown off her shoulders. "You will be my wife. I would watch my tongue, darling. There are many women who would kill to be here in your position."

"Pick someone else," she told him, his hand roaming across her chest.

"No," he drawled, his finger tracing up to her jawline once more, "I don't think I will."

She felt herself shiver, both from the sudden chill of exposed skin and the fear that was slowly consuming her.

"I like this one," Geta said to the lenos, "I like women with a little bit of fight in them. But nonetheless, she will be tamed."

Even his hand was icy as it slid across her skin, pulling her gown completely away. She was accustomed to such exposure, but his gaze made her feel anxious, unsafe. He smiled as he touched her, as if he derived pleasure from her reluctance. "You'll do just fine," he observed, his eyes lingering on her body, "the Roman people will love you."

She remained silent. He saw her not as a woman, but as an object, a prize to be displayed, a tool to be used. He saw her as a symbol of his power, a testament to his dominance. And that, perhaps, was the most terrifying aspect of it all. She remained silent, her gaze fixed on the floor, her mind racing as she tried to ignore what was happening. Escape seemed impossible, a distant, impossible dream. But she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear, of seeing him break her. 

Then, she looked up at him, her eyes blazing with defiance. "I will not rest," she said to him, her voice low and lethal, "I will fight you and your ideals until the day I die."

Geta, taken aback by her unexpected defiance, was momentarily speechless. He had expected her to cower, to submit. Instead, she met his gaze with a fire that mirrored his own, a fire that ignited a strange, unsettling thrill within him. This was no ordinary woman. This was a caged bird, desperate to break free, and she would not go down without a fight. He found himself strangely intrigued, drawn to this woman who dared to defy him, who dared to challenge his authority.

His touch lingered over her breast, then moved to run a finger over her lips. “You’re a charming little dove, aren’t you?” He asked, his voice a low growl, "But doves are meant to be caged, caged and admired."

Cecilia felt another shiver crawl down her spine, not from the cold, but from the chilling amusement in his eyes. His words, though simple, held a sinister undertone. She knew, with vast certainty, that he was not merely admiring her. He was assessing her, sizing her up, seeing just how much she could handle. 

Geta leaned closer, his breath against her neck as he placed a tantalizing kiss there. "You have a spirit," he murmured, "a spirit that needs to be…refined." He ran a finger along the peak of her breast, his touch a burning brand against her sensitive skin. "You will learn to appreciate your place, Cecilia."

She closed her eyes, the image of Atticus, his blood staining the dust, flashing before her. 

"You will learn to obey," Geta repeated, his voice hardening.

Cecilia opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with a defiant stare. "Never," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Geta's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint entering their depths. "We shall see about that," he hissed, his grip tightening on her arm. The air in the room crackled with tension. The music, once a vibrant backdrop to the festivities, had faded into an eerie silence. All eyes were fixed on the Emperor and this defiant woman, their faces a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity.

Cecilia, trapped in his iron grip, felt a surge of adrenaline. This was a battle she knew she could not win.

She was taken to the palace the next morning. They dressed her in silk white tunics, preparing her for her marriage to Emperor Geta. A handmaiden bathed her, dressed her, and braided her hair before adorning her with gold jewelry.

She barely recognized herself in the mirror as Emperor Geta stood behind her.

"You look beautiful, Cecilia," Geta smirked, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"I feel like a doll," she gritted her teeth, attempting to lean away from him.

"Perhaps you are a doll, dulcissima," he whispered in her ear, "You're a puppet, my puppet. Don't forget that."

The smile he gave her in the mirror was nauseating. His words sounded like an unwanted oath, a promise to torture her for the rest of her days.

"I want you to know one name before we wed,  Geta," she said to him, their eyes meeting in the mirror.

He remained silent, awaiting her response.

"Atticus," she said, "that was the name of my lover, before you sent your men to kill him."

"You dare mention your past lover to me?" Geta asked, his voice laced with momentary anger.

“You will never be him, nor will you ever have my love the way he did,” she said. 

Geta's face contorted in a mask of fury. His grip tightened around her waist, his knuckles white. "You will not speak that name in this palace," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. 

Cecilia met his gaze unflinchingly, a defiant spark igniting in her eyes. Geta's fury escalated. He released her abruptly, his eyes burning with rage. "You will learn to obey," he growled, his voice echoing through the room. "You will learn to fear me."

Cecilia watched him storm out of the room, his footsteps heavy and menacing. She sank to the floor, the weight of her despair momentarily crushing her. She prayed for peace, for just one beacon of hope in the unrelenting darkness that seemed to be her new life.

The wedding was a spectacle of Roman opulence, a grand display of power and wealth. Cecilia, adorned in a heavy silk gown that felt more like a prison than attire, stood before Geta, her heart a hollow ache. The ceremony was a blur of Latin incantations and the clinking of gold. Geta, his face a mask of forced amusement, placed the heavy gold band on her finger, the touch of his skin sending a wave of disgust through her. 

As Geta leaned in, Cecilia felt nausea wash over her. His breath, heavy with wine and the scent of expensive perfumes, reeked of power and entitlement. Closing her eyes, she braced herself for the inevitable. His lips met hers, a forceful, demanding kiss that tasted of metal and regret. His lips on hers felt more like a death wish than a promise to a lifelong commitment. She felt that he had won before she even had a chance to fight. 

Cecilia's body recoiled instinctively, but she remained frozen, a captive bird caught in a hunter's snare. Every fiber of her being screamed in protest, yet she was utterly powerless. The taste of him, the metallic tang of his wine, invaded her senses, a grotesque parody of intimacy that was on display for the people of Rome. 

A single, silent tear escaped her eye, tracing a path down her cheek. It was a tear of disgust, of despair, of a love lost and a life stolen. Pure helplessness. In that moment, Cecilia felt a profound sense of violation, her spirit crushed beneath the weight of her gilded cage. Emperor Geta noticed her tear, a small smirk plastered across his face at the sight of it.

He whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek, “caged, little dove. Caged.” 

She was no longer just a pretty face, but one of politics and cynical tyranny.

As the celebrations commenced, Cecilia stood apart, observing the many people who congratulated Geta. She watched the revelers with a detached gaze, their laughter and cheers sounding hollow and meaningless. Then, she saw him.

General Marcus Acacius stood apart from the throng, his gaze fixed on the festivities with an air of weary amusement. He was a striking figure, tall and imposing. His face was etched with the lines of battle, and he adorned a pair of piercing brown eyes that seemed to hold the weight of the world. There was a melancholic air about him, a sense of quiet strength beneath the surface. Cecilia found herself inexplicably drawn to him.

To General Acacius, she stood apart from the other women, a solitary figure amidst the swirling gowns and leering faces. Her posture was defiant, her gaze distant. Her skin, pale as moonlight, was etched with a sadness that mirrored his own insecurities. Acacius had seen many women in his life, women of privilege and women of the streets, but none had affected him like this in a mere glance. There was an ethereal quality about her, a wildness that resonated deep within his soul. It was as if he was looking at a creature from another world, a creature both fragile and fierce. A creature that must be discovered. 

He found himself drawn to her, a strange pull that defied logic. It was as if a dormant part of himself, a part he had long believed dead, was stirring to life. He watched her, mesmerized, as she moved through the crowd, a ghost of truth haunting the edges of the faux celebration.

Later that evening, while Geta was occupied with his guests, Cecilia found herself drawn towards the gardens, a place of peace and silence. She wandered aimlessly, the weight of her gilded cage heavy upon her. She took her brown hair out of the loosely woven braids, wiping the makeup from her face. And there, beneath the starlight, she encountered him again. General Acacius was gazing at the stars, a pensive expression on his face.

"A beautiful night," he remarked, his voice a low rumble to not draw attention to the two of them. 

Cecilia, startled, turned to face him. "Indeed," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

A comfortable silence fell between them. For the first time since her capture, Cecilia felt a sense of calm, a momentary respite from the suffocating weight of her guilt and fear. The one thing she had prayed for.

"You seem out of place here," Acacius observed, his gaze lingering on her.

Acacius, a man accustomed to observing behavior, recognizes this difference in Cecilia. He sees a lost spirit, a soul that yearns for something more. This, in turn, piques his interest and draws him toward her like a moth to a flame. 

Cecilia managed a small smile. "I most certainly am, I did not ask for this."

As they spoke, Cecilia noticed a subtle shift in his gaze, a fleeting hardness in his eyes that was quickly masked by a practiced indifference. Something about him, a certain arrogance in his bearing, a cruel set to his jaw, seemed strangely familiar. Then, it hit her with the force of a physical blow.

The engraved insignia on his breastplate. She had seen it before. On the breastplates of the Roman soldiers who had pierced Atticus through the chest. It was the symbol of the Third Legion, the legion that had ravaged her homeland, the legion that had taken everything from her. Panic clawed at her throat as if it were swelling shut. This man, this man who had offered her a fleeting sense of solace, was the enemy. He was the embodiment of everything she hated, everything she had sworn to fight.

Her carefully constructed facade shattered. The calm she had fleetingly experienced evaporated, replaced by a sense of dread. 

Acacius, oblivious to the turmoil raging within her, continued to speak, his voice a low, hypnotic drawl. "This city," he mused, "it suffocates the soul."

Cecilia forced herself to meet his gaze, her voice trembling slightly. "It certainly does."

But, she was unable to hide her fury. Cecilia had always been an impatient girl, who was never one to hold her tongue. “You’re the leader of the Roman army, yes?”

Acacius's eyes narrowed, the amusement fading from his expression. "And if I am?" he inquired, his voice indifferent.

Cecilia felt a surge of adrenaline. This was it. The truth was out. "The Third Legion," she hissed, "The one that destroyed Numidia. You were there, weren't you?"

Acacius's eyes narrowed further, a predatory glint entering his gaze. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "You think too much, little bird. I am the General of the Roman Armies, of course I was there. I ordered the attack.”

Cecilia felt a chill crawl down her spine, loss still gripping her heart. The blood drained from her face, leaving her feeling faint. The man who had offered her a brief moment of solace, who had seemed to understand her pain, was the architect of her suffering. He was the monster who had taken everything from her. Anger, cold and furious, surged through her. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to tear him apart with her bare hands. But she knew better. This was not the time for defiance.

"Perhaps," Acacius continued, his voice a silken caress, "we should have a discussion.”

He reached out, his hand hovering over hers. Cecilia flinched, fear and uncertainty overtaking all of her other emotions. How could she trust him? 

“A discussion of what, General?” her voice was bitter, “how your army killed everyone I loved? And destroyed my home?”

Acacius's smile faltered, a flicker of something akin to guilt crossing his features. He withdrew his hand, his gaze hardening. "Sometimes," he said, his voice low and seemingly insecure, "the ends justify the means."

Cecilia scoffed, the sound bitter and harsh. "What ends could possibly justify the slaughter of innocents? The murder of my lover?”

Acacius remained silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the ground. Then, he looked up, but was still unable to meet her eyes. "The preservation of Rome," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, as if his words were rehearsed. "The expansion of our empire. These are noble goals."

"Noble goals?" she repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she laughed. "Goals built on the bones of the innocent? On the tears of the bereaved?"

Acacius remained unfazed. "Sentimentality has no place in matters of state," he said coldly. "The weak must be sacrificed for the greater good."

However, Cecilia sensed a dissonance in his words, a disconnect between the icy facade he presented and the flicker of something akin to regret that had crossed his features. She sensed a warmness within him that she could not quite pinpoint. He was playing a role, reciting a well-rehearsed script as if he had known it his whole life. But beneath the surface, Cecilia sensed a deeper, more complex emotion, something that hinted at a man who was not entirely comfortable with the atrocities he had committed.

Suddenly, Geta appeared in the garden, a look of enraged fury on his face. He saw Cecilia standing with the General, his wife not among the revelers as she should be. His jealousy, like a venomous snake, coiled within him.

"Cecilia!" Geta growled, his voice echoing through the garden. "What in the name of the gods is the meaning of this?!"

Cecilia's heart pounded against her ribs. This was a disaster. Acacius, however, remained stoic. He turned to face Geta, a cool smile playing on his lips. "Enjoying the festivities, Emperor?" he inquired, his voice laced with a hint of bitterness.

The tension in the air crackled as Emperor Geta ignored General Acacius’ remark.

“My dear,” Geta said to Cecilia, “there is someone I want you to meet.”

In walked Emperor Caracalla, Geta’s older brother. If she thought Emperor Geta was mad and cynical, she had not yet felt the wrath of Emperor Caracalla. Caracalla’s face was etched with a brooding intensity as he strode into the room. He was a man of imposing stature, his eyes cold and calculating just like his brother, but in a more intense way. Caracalla surveyed the room, his gaze finally settling on Cecilia.

Geta, noticing the intensity of his brother's stare, giving  Cecilia a possessive squeeze around the waist. "Caracalla," he said, "meet Cecilia, my wife."

Caracalla's gaze lingered on Cecilia, a predatory glint in his eyes. She was not sure if he wanted to touch her or kill her. He stepped closer, his voice a low growl, "So, this is the woman who has captivated my brother's attention?"

Cecilia forced herself to meet his gaze. Caracalla's eyes were unsettling, a chilling mixture of lust and desire. She felt a wave of apprehension wash over her. This encounter had the potential to be far more dangerous than she had anticipated. Caracalla did not care about weddings, he would have what he wanted.

Geta, misinterpreting her fear as shyness, chuckled. "Don't be intimidated, Cecilia," he said, his voice laced with a hint of mockery. "Caracalla is merely admiring your beauty."

Caracalla's smile was a wolfish grin. "Indeed," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over Cecilia's form with a predatory gleam. "You are a captivating creature."

Cecilia felt a surge of dread. This was the opening act of a dangerous game, a game where she was the prize. “I know all about you,” Cecilia said to Caracalla, “you came to the brothel every night. You’re a man of the streets, Emperor. You shared a bed with almost every woman in the lupanar.”

The room fell silent. Geta's jaw dropped, his eyes wide with disbelief. Caracalla, however, remained unfazed. A slow smile spread across his lips, revealing a set of sharp yellow teeth.

"Indeed I have," he acknowledged with a laugh, his voice a low growl. "I have my pleasures. And I have a keen eye for…interesting specimens." He stepped closer to  Cecilia. "You, my dear, are quite intriguing."

Geta, furious, stepped between them. "Caracalla! This is my wife!"

Caracalla chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Relax, brother," he said dismissively. "I merely meant to express my admiration. We did share a bed a time or two at the lupanar.”

Geta's face contorted in a mask of fury, his eyes blazing with a dangerous light. Caracalla, sensing his brother's rage, leaned back, his eyes still fixed on Cecilia, a playful smirk playing on his lips.

Cecilia, meanwhile, couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. Although the air in the room seemed to thicken, the irony of the situation was too much to bear. She was caught in the crossfire of a deeply personal and potentially explosive conflict between the two brothers, the two emperors.

Geta stepped even closer towards Caracalla. "You dare to flaunt your…associations in front of my wife? Your associations with my wife?”

Caracalla, unfazed, raised an eyebrow. "And why not? After all, we both know the pleasures of the flesh, brother. You wouldn't deny it."

But Geta’s gaze lingered on Cecilia, a possessive gleam in his eyes. Cecilia could still feel the tension in the air, the atmosphere thick with unspoken threats. She had just thrown a match into a powder keg, and she had no idea what the consequences would be.

Acacius, observing the scene unfold, remained calm. He watched the brothers gripe with a grim satisfaction. He had expected this. These two brothers, bound by blood yet driven by insatiable ambition and incontinent desire, were a powder keg waiting to explode. Cecilia, with her defiant spirit, had just ignited the fuse.

He watched, his eyes narrowed as the brothers sparred. Acacius, a seasoned warrior, understood the dynamics of power. He had seen empires rise and fall, witnessed the corrosive influence of ambition on even the strongest men. Geta and Caracalla, with their unchecked power and ruthless ambition, were a ticking time bomb. Their sibling rivalry was fueled by jealousy and greed.

Acacius knew adding Cecilia to the mix was only going to cause their empire to crumble even quicker. He had no illusions about the brothers' intentions with her. They saw Cecilia as a prize, a symbol of their power and dominance. After all, an empress would fortify their power. But Cecilia, with her quiet defiance, was more than just a trophy. She was a catalyst.

Acacius, a man weary of war and the endless cycle of violence, saw an opportunity in this chaos. He could use this brewing conflict to his advantage, to further his own agenda, to perhaps even restore some semblance of order in a world consumed by greed and ambition. He knew that playing this game would be dangerous, a high-stakes gamble. But Acacius had always been a gambler, a man who thrived on uncertainty. And in this dangerous game of thrones, he was determined to play his hand. 

Caracalla's smile vanished, replaced by a cold fury as he spoke to his brother. "She is a prize, Geta," he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "And prizes are meant to be admired, to be…appreciated."

Geta's grip tightened on Cecilia's arm, his knuckles white. "She is my property," he snarled, his eyes blazing with rage. "And you will not touch her."

The tension in the room was palpable. Cecilia, caught in the crossfire, rolled her eyes. “I am owned by no one,” she said, yanking her arm away from Geta.

Geta staggered back, his face contorted in a mask of fury. He had never been defied like this, not by anyone. His eyes, blazing with rage, darted between Cecilia and Caracalla. "You will regret those words, woman," he spat..

Caracalla, however, found himself intrigued by Cecilia's defiance. He admired her courage, her refusal to be cowed by her captors. This was not the meek, submissive girl he had initially expected.

"Now this," Caracalla mused, a slow smile spreading across his lips, "is far more interesting."

Caracalla stepped towards Cecilia, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. "You have a spirit, little bird," he purred, his voice a silken caress. "A spirit that needs to be… tamed."

Cecilia felt a shiver crawl down her spine. Caracalla's gaze, intense and unsettling, made her skin crawl. Geta, seeing the predatory gleam in his brother's eyes, knew he had to act. He stepped between them once again, his hand hovering near the hilt of his dagger. "This is enough," Geta growled, his voice thick with barely suppressed rage. "This is my wedding feast, not the gladiatorial arena."

Caracalla, however, ignored his brother. He reached out, his hand brushing against Cecilia's cheek. "You will learn to obey," he whispered, his voice a low growl. "I will teach you if my brother cannot."

Cecilia’s heart was pounding like a drum. She was trapped in a web of lies and deceit, a fresh target. And she knew, with an unwavering certainty, that this was only the beginning.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the tension, "Perhaps a little decorum is in order, brothers."

All eyes turned towards General Acacius, his face a mask of impassivity. His presence was radiating an aura of calm authority. Geta and Caracalla, momentarily stunned by Acacius's intervention, exchanged wary glances. Acacius, a respected military leader, held a certain respect even within the Imperial court.

"A wedding celebration should be a joyous occasion," Acacius continued, his voice low and measured, "not a display of…sibling rivalry."

He turned his attention to Cecilia, his gaze searching hers. "You seem distressed, my lady. Perhaps a moment of fresh air would do you good."

General Acacius  offered her his arm, his gaze challenging Geta. Geta, still seething with anger, hesitated for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. Cecilia, seizing the opportunity, accepted Acacius's offer. She placed her hand on his broad arm, feeling a surge of odd relief in his touch. Acacius, she realized, might be her only hope.

As they walked away from the tense scene, Cecilia turned to Acacius, her voice barely a whisper, "Thank you."

Acacius smiled faintly. "Consider it a…favor."

He knew this was far from over for her. The brothers, their rivalry now further inflamed, would not easily forget this incident. But for now, he had provided Cecilia with a brief respite, a moment to gather her thoughts.

“You seem troubled,” Acacius said to her, not releasing her arm. Cecilia did not pull away, but seeked refuge in the feeling of his strong bicep. 

“Very troubled,” she replied, “I did not ask for any of this. Death would be a privilege compared to what I will face tonight with Geta.”

Acacius's gaze softened. He understood the fear that gripped her, the brothers were relentless and would use her to please even their wildest fantasies. He had seen that same fear in the eyes of countless women who crossed their path.

"You are not alone," he said, his voice a low rumble, a promise whispered in the night. "I will not let them harm you."

Cecilia looked up at him, surprised. He was an enemy, a Roman general, yet he offered her an immeasurable amount of comfort, a promise of protection. It was a strange sensation, a flicker of hope in the midst of despair.

"Thank you," she whispered again, her voice barely audible.

Acacius turned his head to face her. "Consider it a…debt paid."

Cecilia's eyebrows arched. "A debt?"

Acacius's gaze met hers, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. "Let's just say," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I have my own reasons for wanting to keep the peace with you, at least for now."

[chainsawsangel]

The Boys: Violent Dog, Western AU.

right to left: Soldier Boy, Pup (OC), Samael, Esther.

commission done by @irlplasticlamb

below is about the commission and what the western AU is about.

-

OH. MY. GODDDDDDDD. this is my biggest commission YET holy moly! this turned out absolutely SPECTACULAR all thanks to @irlplasticlamb ! they did this commission that is based on my THE BOYS western AU featuring my werewolf oc/self-insert Pup, + my OC Esther (they/them) as well as my priest OC, Samael! There's also Soldier Boy too! haha, all three of my OCs are from The Boys and just seeing them in this western AU is super cool and wicked!!! the western AU has become SUCH A FAVE for me and so I love that I got to see it brought to life through art, THEIR art no less. <33

-

Speaking of the western AU, I thought I'd explain a bit what this western AU is about:

So, this is a western au that takes place within 1890s western. Billy Butcher, a hot-headed gunslingin' cowboy has formed himself a group of ragtags and other cowboys. Basically, the Voughts gang and the boys gang (don't know what to call atm) are at war with one another, John (Homelander) keeps on coming back to antagonize them as he claims he'll ruin their day and kill them all when the time comes.

Meanwhile, they all plan on getting that WANTED werewolf and kill that too.....but they don't realize that the same werewolf (pup) is in the same gang that's their rival, she's right in front of them but, they don't know that yet.

The main four I'll be focusing on here are Soldier Boy, Pup, Esther and Samael.

Ben/Soldier Boy - Ben's a tough one. He used to be a part of a gang that came in and had tortured him before he finally got the courage to take them out himself. He's a wanted man, a gruff and tough dude with an attitude. If you piss him off, you best believe he'll take the guts right out of ya! Yeah, this cowboy doesn't take kindly to others....except for one.

Pup - The werewolf of the group. YES, she's quite literally a werewolf and she intends on making sure no one knows that except for only two people in her life: Ben and Esther. Ben and her are lovers in the gang, they're close. Pup is the werewolf that's wanted yet, other than Ben and Esther, she keeps her identity hidden from everyone. The Voughts want the wolf and some in the group are suspicious of the wolf as well, she doesn't wanna die because of being a wolf. However, she's pretty handy with a gun as well so, don't underestimate her!

Esther - Esther! Esther is a close friend of Pup's, they're also the ones that know the ins and outs of the town and people and can't get information off of anyone for the gang. They're a keeper that's for sure. And yes, Pup did have a crush on them when they first joined the gang when they both were a bit younger but now, Pup sees them as a close best friend. (although, Esther could still be dubbed “Steal your girl” with how often they like to hang with Pup when Ben’s near lol)

Samael - Finally, Samael! Samael is the Priest that the gang run into when they need a place of rest for a few days. Samael is decent enough to let them stick around for a bit. Samael knows it's wrong but does wind up developing a crush on Pup even though he knows it could never happen. Their dynamic is a bit complicated but that's the gist of it.

The dynamic between Pup and Samael in this AU is an interesting one. They do wind up becoming close once Samael joins in the gang and the more he sticks around, the more time Pup gets to know him. Their bond is bittersweet but Samael knows that if he gets too close, Ben might snatch him away and kill him. Samael, overtime, grows deep thoughts about her but doesn’t do anything about them. He knows Pup only views as nothing more than a close friend but, at least he has that: a close connection.

Samael feels guilt over the whole thing and that's not the only guilt he feels, it feels like a sin. In fact, once he started joining the gang, it all felt like a sin. he felt like he was joining a dark path and yet, he intended on staying anyway because he felt like he actually belonged. a priest like him.

anddddd....yeah! that's it for now anywhoooo, this is getting long lmaoo so I'll stop now. 😭😭

[violentsdog]

little did he know I'ma nasty dog!

Pup and Soldier Boy, The Boys: Violent Dog. Commission made by p0ny.planet on ig.

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AHHHHH!!!! IM AMAZED BY THIS ASDJLASKJ. feral!pup my beloved, going crazy over that old man ajsdklasd. no, but fr, this is INCREDIBLE and SO FUN! I love the little details and everything, it's all sooooo good and p0ny.planet did such an incredible job these two.

I love them LOTS. <33

[spnbabe67]

Cry Little Girl, Nobody Does It Like You Do

Kinktober Day 26: Dacryphilia (S.B)

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Original Female Character

Warnings: Smut, PiV, Overstimulation, Edging, Fingering, Oral (F. Rec)

Summary: Part two to She Keeps Me Up

Word Count: 1597

Authors Note: Title inspired by the song Daddy Issues by The Neighborhood.

Their penthouse overlooking the New York skyline was spacious, an entire wall of their bedroom was entirely floor to ceiling windows framed with blackout curtains for those mornings after drinking and snorting too much into their systems. Not that the hangover was anything compared to what they were like back before the Compound V coursing through her veins, but the loud sounds of NYC was already a headache waiting to happen without the factor of drugs and alcohol to contend with. The Alaskan king sat squarely against the far wall of the bedroom, the sheets rarely made with how often they make a mess of them. 

Today wasn’t an exception, the ruffled charcoal sheets embracing Odessa as Ben tossed her onto the mattress. She laughed as she bounced once, twice, before stretching out her arms and legs, her auburn hair fanning out around her head. The metallic clanking of buckles and the hushing of leather and cloth hitting the floor reached her ears as she knew Ben was stripping out of his suit. 

Odessa hummed, a smile curling her lips upwards as the bed dipped below her, Ben’s warm body crawling over her. Her legs fell open to accommodate for his shoulders to notch between them as he kissed his way up her belly, paying attention to every spot, no matter how miniscule, that had her squirming below him, already revved back up. Finally, she was able to savor the feel of his bare body, feel his warmth above her as his mouth found her navel in the form of open mouthed kisses. 

Odessa knotted her fingers in his hair, her other hand gripping the sheets in an attempt to steady herself, to keep herself grounded as Ben chuckled darkly against her belly, green eyed gaze catching hers from between her legs. His arm hooked around her thigh, fingers delving into the patch of neatly trimmed hair at the apex of her thighs, tracing his fingertip against her folds and damn near everywhere but where she wanted him.

“Ben.” Odessa ground out, her hips flexing upwards in an attempt to guide his hand to her heat. “What’d I say about your teasing?” 

“If you tell me what you want I might not hafta resort to teasing.” Ben countered from between her legs, emphasizing his words with a squeeze to her thigh, removing his hand from her heat all together.

“More, Ben. Just touch me goddamnit!” Odessa growled, tugging harshly on his hair, desperately seeking some attention to her throbbing clit. 

She didn’t like his mischievous smirk etched upon his lips, the dangerous glint in his eye right before he pressed on. But Odessa quickly forgot about it at the first pass of his tongue against her soaked core, glistening with her own slick mixed with his spend from their kitchen escapades. At first blush you’d think a guy like Ben would balk at the idea of eating his own cum, but he enthusiastically explored her folds with his tongue, letting the muscle delve into her entrance before dragging upwards to flick her clit. Odessa rutted her hips against his mouth, his trimmed beard scratching the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs adding to the plethora of overwhelming sensations across her body. Her head fell back against the bed, eyes fluttering shut as that pull in her low belly started to grow tighter and tighter. Almost, almost. 

Then Ben, the bastard, pulled away right as the coil was primed to snap. Odessa propped herself up on an elbow, mouth falling open. “Did you just-”

Her protests were cut short as Ben attached his lips back around her clit, sucking hard. His ministrations pulled breathy moans from her as that wave of euphoria started building again, her shaky thighs growing tight around his head.  Her breathing had long since turned into ragged panting, desperately pulling in as much oxygen into her lungs. Odessa practically vibrated with the anticipation coursing through her system, inching closer and closer to that high. 

“Benjamin!” Odessa followed his name with a string of curses as he pulled away at the last second. 

The son of a bitch had the gall to chuckle against her desperate pussy. Odessa went to pull away, frustrated and thoroughly done with his antics, but he quickly ensnared her hips with his arms, and for all the superhuman abilities granted to her, she wasn’t as strong as him. Again his teeth closed around her clit, pulling a desperate whine from her lips. Her thoughts had started to go lazy, unable to focus on anything other than the feeling of Ben’s hot mouth suckling at her clit, his tongue circling her entrance before plunging it in and out of her. His name fell from her lips encased in a plea for more, more, more. She felt tears prick at the corner of her eyes as finally that ebbing and flowing wave of euphoria crashed over her, a ragged moan clawing its way up her throat, back arching clear off the bed, toes curling

But her relief was short lived as Ben’s mouth continued its assault on her oversensative folds. His iron-clad hold on her hips made it impossible for her to worm away from his relentless tongue continuing to flick along her clit so that her fruitless attempts to squirm away from the overstimulating sensations only made it worse. She choked on a breath as another orgasm sent shocks down her spin. It was so much, the tears that had been pricking at her eyes starting to well up, trickling down the sides of her face.

“Too much. I’s ‘nough.” Odessa slurred, so far gone to form a coherent sentence, blinking away the saltwater brimming in her eyes.

“I thought you wanted more, Dess.” Ben feigned innocent, not bothering to pull his mouth, beard soaked with her slick, far from her core. The rumble of his voice only made the overstimulation worse. “Only givin’ you what you wanted.”

Odessa cursed him, still trying to worm away to no avail. Ben continued his assault, pulling another orgasm from her trembling body until tears streamed down her face and down the apples of his cheeks. At last Ben pulled away from her sopping core crawling up her body, his lips marking his trail. With each new tear rolling down her face she felt his cock twitch against her inner thigh, the tip already weeping with a bead of precum. He dipped his head down to drag the tip of his tongue along the damp tracks her tears had left. Odessa had half a mind to push him off her, say ‘fuck you’ to his teasing. But she wasn't really all that mad, the bastard was too cunning for his own good; he followed her instructions to a ‘T’. 

“Got nothin’ to say now, do ya?” He raised his eyebrows at her as he reached down to guide the head of his cock through her folds, instantly reinvigorating her waning sensitivity. 

She rolled her eyes, pulling him down to kiss her. Odessa could taste her slick strongly on his tongue as she swept her own into his mouth in the same breath his cock bullied its way into her. Her legs fell open to allow his waist to slot between them, his thrusts slow but sharp each time he pistoned his hips into hers. This was entirely for his own gratification, the rhythm he set, how harshly his hips snapped upwards into her, but nevertheless Odessa felt yet another orgasm building at the sensation of his cock brushing every nerve and sensitive spot within her inner walls. She let her nails absolutely dig into his golden and freckled shoulders as his movements became harsher and harsher until she felt him hit his release, coming hard inside her. She’d lost track of how many times her high had shook through her, but for what she hoped was the last time tonight her body tensed, legs locking around his waist as she came with a cry into the crook of his neck. 

Ben pulled out of her, moving to sit at the head of the bed. Odessa rolled onto her stomach, pressing her still damp cheek to his thigh as she rested her head on his leg. She could hear him grab a blunt from their stash in the bedside table, the flicking of the lighter as he lit it. 

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Odessa teased him, reaching up for the reefer after he took a long drag from it.

Ben blew air from between his lips, passing her the weed before snagging a hold of her leg behind her knee, hauling her further up his body, hooking her leg across his own. “You wouldn’t have looked at me twice in the first place if I wasn’t.”

Odessa huffed an amused laugh. “That’s not true. Besides, you have your moments.”

“Mm, how dare you.” They both shared a laugh as Ben dipped his head down to kiss her, sucking the drug straight from her. 

He gripped her cheeks between his thumb and index finger, eyes intense, laced with a thread of vulnerability only she was allowed to see. “I love you, you know that.”

Her gaze reflected that oh so rare sentiment, softening just enough for them both to feel it. And there was no fear, no hesitancy. “I know. And I love you too.”

“Good.” Ben nodded, removing his grip from her face, instead wrapping it around her waist as they both laid there, watching the sun rise from their bed.

[ghostgorlsworld]

Moondrunk Monster Pt 1 (Ghost x reader)

Hey so this is my first Call of duty fanfic, so the characters might be wack. The general idea for this one is based off of a Love, Death, Robots episode where werewolves are basically in the military.

You're a retired combat medic that made a mistake, costing you your cushy office job. As punishment, you're sent to an active war zone, where you meet the 141, a squad of werewolves that slowly accept you as their own. (I know, I know I'm bad at summarizing)

Warnings: Extreme violence, smut in the future

Part 1

It was odd to think of how much your life had changed in just a few weeks. At the beginning of the year, you were placed in a cushy job at a base where you were paid large amounts of money to stitch up red-faced recruits and perform physicals on the higher ups–it had been nice, a simple existence where you didn’t have to see blown apart soldiers or hold poor boys down while they screamed and screamed.

But things changed, and for the punishment of your mistake, you were flown here. An active warzone deep in the desert, where there were no boyish recruits eager to please, just grizzled soldiers that look at you like an intruder, a hen in the midst of foxes.

When you were younger, this was easier. You had liked the excitement and adrenaline of danger, of scurrying in the heat of gunfire with your medpack to save lives.

Now you’re older, grumpier, and generally out of shape. They hadn’t given you time to prepare before the Colonel shipped you out here, so here you were in an ill-fitting uniform, setting up your medic bay beside the wolf-soldier’s tent because the Captain insisted that was the only space left in camp.

Their original medic had died after both he and his supplies were blasted to pieces. Captain Graves shortly put in a request for an experienced combat medic, and you could imagine his surprise when he saw you step off the plane, a woman in her early thirties, soft from five years of office work.

The Captain, understandably, hated you. He was saddled with an overweight female medic and a squad of wolves, you were sure the combination put a few extra gray hairs on his head.

Ironically, wolf-soldiers were highly sought after in the military. They were quicker, stronger, and smarter than even the best of the best, able to walk barefoot in the desert without a blister or sniff out an enemy from miles away. You had seen a wolf blown nearly in half get up and walk out of your tent the next day. 

Captain’s group was a particularly intimidating bunch. There was Johnny–or Soap, as he preferred–a mohawked wolf with charming blue eyes and a deadly sense of humor. Gaz was the sweetheart of the bunch, smiling at you in a friendly sort of manner whenever you were forced to sit at the end of their lunch table.

Price was their leader, a wide man with a deep voice and commanding presence. Honestly, he reminded you of your father.

Then there was Ghost, the wolf in the skull mask. He was the biggest, all broad shoulders and muscles encased in a healthy layer of fat–and, from what you had learned from your patients, the most dangerous.  

On your first day, you had to dig a piece of shrapnel the size of your hand out of his shoulder. Ghost refused when you offered wolf-friendly pain medication, seeming to enjoy your expression as you watched the skin around his gaping wound knit itself back together.

The other soldiers disliked them, simultaneously jealous and fearful of their abilities . The 141 were excluded from the rest, much like you were, so you spent meals at  the other side of their table, minding your own business with a novel.

They didn’t seem to mind, after all, you spent half your time digging bullets out of them when the other medics refused to touch them. They weren’t used to humans being kind to them. 

You quickly adjusted to life in the desert, sleeping in the back of the med bay in a rickety cot while your patients tossed and turned through the night. You got used to the early mornings and the shitty food, the screaming, the blood, settling back into a life that you had thought you left behind.

This morning was no different. You wake to the noise of shouting, the dark sky telling you it was far from morning. 

“Where the fuck is the medic?” Price’s voice dominated over the others. You quickly stumble out of bed, shoving your legs through your pants and hastily buckling them as you hurried outside, wiping the sleep from your eyes. 

The scene before you was gruesome. Gaz lay prone on the ground, throat slashed and guts strewn out of his belly like noodles.

If he were a man, he would be dead.

But even a wolf can die, and a body can’t heal around its  own intestines.

You were awake in an instant, shouting orders to the men around you as you dropped to your knees. His pulse was slowing as more blood pooled into the dirt, his body unable to replace what he was losing so quickly. 

The thing about werewolves is that they are partially human, which allows them to take human blood in small doses if the need calls for it. But the issue was the blood itself. 

Every week, you get a shipment of fresh, cold O-negative blood, giving you ample supply for every occasion. But a sandstorm had interrupted the usual shipment yesterday, and while you knew that the shipment was supposed to arrive at noon later today, that didn’t help you now.

Gaz gagged, blood gurgling from his throat.

“Shit, shit,” Soap said, his mohawk slicked with his friend’s blood. “Is he gonna make it, doc?” Soldiers huddled around you, supplies in their hands. You ripped strips of gauze and placed them over his throat, slowing the bleeding before you started on his gutted stomach. 

“We’re out of transfusion blood,” you announced. “Is any soldier here O-negative?”

Silence. No human soldier would volunteer to give his own blood to a wolf. 

Except you. You nodded, swiping an alcohol swab into the crease of your elbow before connecting the two of you with an IV, the bright red of your blood flowing into his veins at the gasps of both human and wolf around you.

It would stir up the healing process so you worked quickly, Amon, another medic, joining you as you worked on closing his stomach.

It felt like hours before his pulse grew strong again, but you knew it could only be ten, twenty minutes. You slid the IV out of your arm, blinking as black spots appeared in your vision.

You might have given a bit too much. 

Gaz looked at you, his dark eyes replaced by an eerie yellow stare. A chill stole up your spine. 

 “Good morning,” you said through numb lips, taking a peek under the gauze on his throat. It was now only a pale scar, just a memory of a wound. “Look at that, soldier, you’re practically brand new.”

Gaz smiled weakly, his head falling back into the dirt. Soap whooped, gripping your shoulder in a vicious hug. “Good job, lass, I thought the pup was gone for sure.”

You stumbled at the weight of him, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Amon, will you get him set up in the infirmary? I think I need a moment.”

Price waved Soap off, gripping your elbow in a guiding hold. “Ease off the poor girl, Johnny, she’s dead on her feet.”

Soap merely grinned apologetically, ruffling your bedhead with a rough palm before helping the others move Gaz into the infirmary. 

Ghost stood behind you, a reaper in sand-colored tactical pants. Price pushed you gently into Ghost’s direction, “Get her something to eat, Lieutenant.” “I’m alright,” you tried to insist, a spike of nerves in your belly about being with Ghost. He was the least human of them all.

“That was an order, doc,” Ghost said, his voice a dry rumble as his hand fell on your shoulder. “Go on.”

You allowed yourself to be herded to 141’s tent, having half a mind to curl up in one of their bunks and sleep until dawn, free from the smell of blood and antiseptic. 

Their tent was neat and smelled, well, like an animal den–not unpleasant, just overwhelmingly…male. 

Ghost nudged you towards the sink without a word. 

It took you a moment to see that you were still wearing gloves, caked in Gaz’s blood. You stripped them off, then began soaping up your hands and forearms, scrubbing the red from your skin.

When you were clean, you hovered over a cot, about to take a seat for your shaky legs.

Ghost stiffened from where he was crouched, his hands in a tub of supplies. “Not that one.” You glanced down, seeing the Scottish flag on the wall, the photos of a couple that looked exactly like Johnny. “Oh, sorry.” 

He jerked his head to another cot, this one bare of any decoration except for a cold cup of tea. You assumed it was Price’s, perhaps he doesn’t mind the stench of a human on his sheets.

You took a seat, your hands trembling in your lap. Ghost tossed an army bar your way. “Eat,” he said, in a tone that didn’t invite an argument. 

“Ew,” you said, eyeing the packaging. He gave you a dark-eyed look, the kind that probably made wolves bare their bellies and whine. “Oh fine,” you huffed, tearing into it. It was awful, the kind of chalky that let you know they stuffed enough nutrition and calories in the bland, tasteless bar to keep a soldier going for days. You chewed and watched Ghost shift around in the makeshift kitchen, heating a pot of water over a spindly propane stove.

Was he making-

“Drink this,” Ghost said, passing over a cup of tea. He kept one for himself, pulling up a chair to sit across from you. He was still filthy from whatever mission the Captain had set them on, blood and dirt smeared over his gear and mask.

“Thank you,” you said, sniffing it doubtfully. You were American, so you didn’t have much taste for tea unless it was iced and sweet. 

But when someone like Ghost makes you a cup of tea, you drink the fucking tea.

He nodded, turning away from you so he could lift his mask over his mouth to drink his tea. You looked away quickly, focusing your attention on the Scotland flag on Soap’s corner.

The two of you sit in silence for a long time, long enough that your cup is drained and you’re blinking heavily at the darkness still outside.

“Go on,” Ghost said, slipping the cup out of your hand.

You hide a yawn, pushing yourself up from the bed.“It’s alright, LT, I’ve got my own bed somewhere.” “You have half a dozen men in your tent, love.” Ghost backed you up against the bed, his heavy hand on your shoulder. “Sleep. We’ll keep an eye on Kyle.”

It made sense. You kicked off your boots and curled up on the cot, hiding your throbbing head in a pillow that smelled like gunpowder and musk. 

Ghost ducked out of the tent as you laid down, your eyes falling on a skull mask folded up neatly beside the cot.

It was then that you realized this was his bed.