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nsharks · 3 days ago

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bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-one —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 4.8k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: if anything regarding the abuse or suffering of children, or SA, triggers you do not read. I wanted to tell you so there are no surprises.

The world sharpens as your senses return, zeroing in on the empty, crumpled sheet where Blue had lain beside you. She’s gone. Your deadened limbs failed her. Guilt rises, choking your dry throat. When your hands can move, you grab the pillow, pressing it to your face. A few hot tears escape. It smells like her hair.

They took her.

She's gone—

A gentle voice speaks, and a hand settles on your shoulder. Only then do you notice your body trembling. You lift your face from the pillow, staring up at Nereida. Her lips move, but her words don’t reach you. Something stirs inside you, deep in your chest, clawing its way toward your mouth. When the door creaks open and Salome steps in with a tray of dinner, it finally bursts free—a roar of pure rage.

“I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t tell me where she is.”

Salome startles, nearly dropping the tray as you fling yourself at the bars.

“I-I understand you’re upset, and I’m sorry we had to subdue you again, but it was only—”

“I don’t give a fuck! Answer me! Where is she?”

Her knuckles whiten around the tray, eyes darting away. “The child has... her own job, as we all do.”

Your lip curls. “Are you brain-dead under that stupid veil? Why take her? She’s a child! Why not one of us?” You lean closer, voice breaking. “If you want me pregnant so badly, fine! Do it now! Just bring her back—bring her back!”

Salome blinks, unnerved, her composure slipping.

“If you’ve killed her,” you hiss, heat flooding your face, “I swear to God, I’ll kill myself—”

“No!” she interjects, stepping forward, wide-eyed. “Don’t speak like that, I beg you. She... She’s alive. For now.” Her voice drops, reverent. “But Maman has plans for her. You must understand—Maman knows the Lord’s will. It is not our—" her throat bobs with a swallow,"Our place to question her decisions.”

“Alive for now ?” you snap. “What plans does that bitch have for her?”

Salome hesitates. For the first time, she looks uncertain.

She opens her mouth, then closes it. “I can’t... I mustn’t say. In time, you’ll understand.” She lowers the tray onto the floor and nudges it closer, staying out of your reach. “Please. You must eat. It’s only food this time, I promise. And the tea is for your bodies—to prepare you. Maman insists you drink it all.”

“You really think we’re stupid enough to eat or drink anything you give us?”

Her voice dips into a whisper. “I fear I... I must insist. If you refuse... I’ll have to tell Maman. She’s chosen to keep the males you came with because they are healthy and strong. But if she hears of your disobedience...” Her voice falters, and she tucks her hands into her sleeves. “There needn’t be any unnecessary deaths.”

Unnecessary deaths.

The door clicks shut behind her when she leaves. You sink to your heels, spine against the bars, as Nereida reaches for the tray. Closing her eyes, a single tear escapes before she rubs her chest and exhales. With no choice, you both eat the braised beef and roasted carrots, though you bitterly imagine it tastes like the unseasoned squirrel meat you're used to.

The tea smells herbal and bitter. On your tongue, the taste makes you recoil.

"I think it's turmeric and parsley," Nereida says softly, taking another sip. "It's good for... regulating our cycles."

You stare into the mug, swirling the warm liquid inside. The urge to dump it on the floor flickers, but the risk of someone noticing holds you back. Instead, you take another sip, chasing it with food to mask the taste. Your thumb brushes the rim, finding a sharp chip in the ceramic. Pressing it deeper, the sting hums as a bead of blood wells up. You suck on it, brows furrowed, a half-formed plan taking shape. Without hesitation, you finish the tea and smash the mug on the floor, startling Nereida.

"Why did you—"

You gather the two biggest shards. "We have weapons now. Break yours when you're done."

"So what’s the plan? Stab her with it?" She shakes her head, frustration clear in her voice. "She’s dumb, but not dumb enough to get close enough for that—not after you just said you want to kill her."

"Well, it's something." Your lips tighten along with your hand on the sharp edges. "At least I’m trying to think of an idea instead of just—just praying my military husband comes to save me."

Her eyes flash with hurt. "I'm trying to think realistically instead of acting rash." She gestures to the broken pieces. "She just threatened to kill them if we do anything to upset this Maman person, and you go breaking the cup. You think they'll be happy about that?"

"I'll say it was an accident. I'm a clumsy female who just couldn't help myself."

"You're not thinking clearly, Twix. I know you're upset about Blue—"

“And you’re not?” you hiss. “We failed her. She’s just a kid, and we failed her. Who knows what they’re doing to her right now. We don’t have time to sit around waiting for Price. He’s not coming! Even if they don’t kill him now, you really think they won’t at some point? These people are insane.” Your voice drops lower. “They’re going to rape us, Nereida. Don’t you see that? They’ll wait for us to ovulate, then breed us like livestock to feed into their delusions. What happens when they find out you can’t have kids? You think they’ll keep you around? You think they’ll still ‘covet’ you?”

Moisture wells in her eyes, and she blinks. "I don't—I don't know. But what can we do? We can't reach her, and they won't open the cell without drugging us again. Even if we could get out, we can't handle everyone out there with just pieces of a broken mug." The tears spill quietly, and she stuffs her face in her hands. "You're right. I've always relied on him. I don’t know how to survive any other way."

Your face softens a little, and you breathe deeply to regain some composure. "I shouldn’t have said that. We’re both scared."

She whispers through the gaps in her shaking fingers. "I was never supposed to live like this."

You reach for her hands, holding them tight. "You were, or you wouldn’t still be here."

The words offer fragile solace despite how steady you force your voice to be.

The rest of the meal is in silence.

The helplessness in the room is suffocating, reminiscent of the week you spent alone in the woods, sleeping in trees and dreading the break of dawn. No—it’s worse than that. It feels more like when Ghost broke your bow and left you for dead, chewing on pine needles to soothe your empty stomach. Funny how this time there’s a delicious meal in front of you, and you’re swallowing it down only because you’re forced. You even have a real bed to slip into, a yielding pillow to rest your head on, yet the helplessness remains, unwavering.

"I'm sorry, Blue. I'm trying," you whisper, clutching the shards of ceramic and slipping them under the pillow.

You replay everything in your head: the lack of items in the room, the bolted cell door, and what Salome said— Maman has plans for her. The moon rises, and you remain awake, even as Nereida succumbs to fatigue. You force your eyes to keep scanning the dark surroundings, despite the lingering effects of the drugs threatening to pull you into sleep. There has to be something you're missing—maybe not in the room, but in Salome's words. What else did she say? You were so angry, you can hardly remember.

It feels like well past midnight when you hear a male voice outside the door and the shift of footsteps.

"Trois minutes, Hugo."

A low chuckle. "Trois minutes, c'est tout ce dont j'aurai besoin."

"N'oubliez pas de ne pas toucher. Et ne vous en vantez pas auprès des autres. La nouvelle se répandra et Maman ou Alexandre l'entendront."

The air shifts when the door parts. You launch up, inhaling sharply when a shadowy figure enters along with the faint scraping of boots. Salome? But broad shoulders give way to an unfamiliar man that steps into the sliver of moonlight, and panic sets in quickly.

Breathless, you rip the sheet from your body.

Nereida stirs. "Twix—?"

You rise to your bare feet, standing a meter from the bars as you take him in. A light smile plays at his lips, which might’ve seemed friendly if you weren't poorly covered by the barely-there slip dress. Unlike Salome, his face is exposed beneath the hood of his grey cloak. You make out a strong nose, ashen brows, and blonde hair. He looks to be in his thirties, much shorter than Ghost. He murmurs something in French beneath his breath that makes your hands clench, then reaches into a pocket in his cloak.

He retrieves three metal chains.

In his upheld hand, the dog tags quietly collide.

Your breath hitches as his eyes flick to yours, and the moonlight catches on the engraved names.

"I'm a friend of your friends," he greets coyly in a hushed, strong accent.

"John," Nereida whispers, ripping herself up from the bed.

The man nods, the subtle smirk tugging at the edges of his lips, but it fails to reach his eyes. They remain cold. "Yes. We've all grown rather acquainted."

"You've hurt them," you snap, grabbing Nereida's wrist and pulling her closer. "Cut the bullshit."

He wraps the chains tightly around his wrist before tucking them away, then looks at you in a way that leaves your mouth tasting like the dinner you just ate. "A female who bites. I will look forward to making you submit as a God-fearing woman should."

You clutch at the hem of the gown, terror whispering in the back of your mind from his words. Something feels wrong.

"Why are you here?" you ask measuredly. "I thought... it isn't the right time for us to... to get pregnant. I thought only women are allowed to see us right now."

"I've heard whispers of the new beautiful women God has gifted us," he says, his English choppy. "I wanted to see for myself. I've been... working hard to please the Lord, you see. Your friends are not so easily broken. Surely, in His eyes, I've earned just a glimpse."

Nereida tenses beside you.

You rear a snarl at him. "Where are they?"

He holds up a finger. "Ah, ah, pretty face. You will have to let me see more if you would like to know. I have just three minutes with you. Two now that we've been wasting time."

Cold sweat coats your palms as his request sinks in, and you glance at Nereida. "I'll do it," you whisper. "You can just... just look away."

"No," his growl interjects. "Both of you, or nothing."

Even in the dark, her face pales. But when he pulls the chains back out and waves them around harshly, her hands dart to the hem of the dress and she peels it up without the chance to rethink it. You follow in stride, teeth gritted, as you scoot a step away from her and do the same, feeling the chilled air brush sickeningly against your bare skin. You've done this before, yet this time you are wholly naked under the stranger's gaze, and your hair is not long enough to conceal your breasts.

When you hear him unbuckle his belt, you remove yourself from your body, mentally retreating to a far corner of the room to block out the horror.

"Tell us where they are," you press.

He chortles, breath catching when he grabs himself. "This land belonged to Maman's husband. It is a farm. New men we keep in the old slaughter house, by the barn, like the swine they are."

"And what about the girl," you interrupt urgently, "The young child who was with us. Why would Maman want to take her? Where else would she be keeping her?"

He grunts low. "I never said I'd answer about the girl, but if you touch yourself, I will consider it."

Your jaw clenches, teeth grinding. Nereida breaks, folding into herself and whispering, "I can't. I can't."

"I will," you whisper, your hand already sliding down your stomach, your eyes locking on his. "If I touch myself, will you tell me?"

His eyes narrow to where your hand dips unthinkingly between your thighs. You keep it there, doing what he wants, putting on the show that will make him talk. His shoulders ripple at the sight and audible groans bounce off the walls.

He clears his throat, voice rough. "I haven't heard nothing yet about the girl. But Maman says God’s punishing us... the land’s... sick. The wheat grows less and less. Only way to fix it—feed God's enforcers."

"His enforcers?" you question.

"The démons."

"The Greys," you whisper, confusion flickering before clarity dawns.

A flash of the vermin-filled chapel plays through your mind—the bites in the corpse—and your hand jerks away from your thighs. The horror clicks into place, slow and suffocating, until all the color drains from your face. Blue... Is she an offering? An offering to God, just like the one you saw. They think the Greys are His enforcers. They will feed her to them. The thought claws its way through your head, and you feel a fresh wave of cold horror crash over you.

"When?" you croak. "When would Maman— feed them?"

"God's wrath... started on the sixth day," he murmurs absently, eyes rolling back. "That’s when we seek His forgiveness."

With a final grunt, his body jerks, and the spill lands on the floor. Bile rises in your throat, but you can’t even register it as you watch him stuff himself back in his pants and smear the mess with the sole of his boot, muttering something under his breath. You snatch the dress from the floor and stuff it over your head, legs wobbly. Faintly, you hear him laugh quietly.

"I can only pray I'm deemed worthy come the next coupling season. And when that time comes, I will be sure to choose you."

Warm water kisses the back of her neck, and gentle fingers scrub soap through her hair. The woman bathing her hums softly, matching the rhythmic pulse in Blue's arm. As Blue closes her eyes, she tries to separate reality from nightmare, pressing two fingers into the clothed wound as if the pain will help her understand. She remembers the Greys coalesced in the old building, the chains used to restrain them, and the terror-blurred walk back to the small commune. After that, everything becomes hazy. She slept a little, she thinks. Was made to eat again. Then somehow, she ended up here, submerged in a wooden tub of lukewarm water, while a young woman quietly encourages her to dip her hair back to rinse.

"There. Time to dry off now."

There is the shuffling around as she fetches a towel. Blue crosses her arms over herself as she accepts it numbly, the air prickling her wet skin. Her feet land on cold tile floor as she dries off, the woman lingering beside the bathroom door with her head bowed. Blue feels like someone has strings coiled tightly around her limbs, puppeteering her.

"Put this on for now." A light smile is offered as the thin gown is placed in her palms. "Maman will have a much nicer dress for you to wear tomorrow."

A puppet string is tugged, making her nod. "Can you... can you look away please?"

The woman turns and stares at the back of the door while Blue drops the towel and changes.

Then she is taken back to the room she came from. The one she first woke up in, where the old woman's knitting needles still rest on the table. Morning light caresses the paintings on the walls, all oiled landscapes of land that looks similar to the one outside. The woman, whose name Blue thinks she mentioned to be Eloise, shuffles around the room, tidying things, before collecting the tray from breakfast. But when she glances back at Blue on her way out the door, her lips part in concern.

"You're bleeding."

Blue looks at the bandage on her arm, where red blood oozes in a trail, a bead dripping onto the floor from the tip of her finger. She frowns, confused, when Eloise sets the tray down to tend to the cut—as if they aren't the ones who caused it. As if the blood smearing her skin when she unwraps the cloth isn't the same blood they used to draw out the two Greys they brought back to the commune and locked up in a small shed.

"I know you're frightened," the young woman whispers, her voice carrying an understanding that feels deeper than anything Salome ever said. Behind the veil, her eyes flick up to meet Blue's. "I can only pray God's mercy makes it quick." She dabs Blue's arm gently and rewraps it with a fresh strip of cloth.

"You mean they are going to kill me, right?" Blue whispers distantly. "With the Greys from yesterday?"

A glint passes through the woman's eyes, and she lifts her hands. "Yes," she says quietly, then leaves the room.

Blue stands in the silence, eyes fixed on the drop of blood. She presses her heel into it, smearing it across the floor. Then, she moves. The fear she's carried since the old woman led her into the trees claws at her chest, but she swallows it. Trembling hands sweep over the room—checking the window, the locked door. The bed, the table, the paintings. Beneath the bed, only cobwebs.

A helpless croak escapes her lips as she collapses onto the bed, teeth clenched against the tears. Her father would never accept her giving up. Tomorrow they will kill her. She sits up, palms pressed to her forehead, knees drawn tight, dry sobs wracking her body. Through her tears, she notices the smear of blood from her heel left on the white linen. She flips over her foot and traces the dried blood with her finger, then digs her nail into the broken skin where the gravel road tore into her feet, seeking more pain—urging fresh blood to rise from the indent she leaves behind.

The last time Ghost was chained, he hadn’t known about the little girl who shared his blood—someone who truly needed him. Tommy was still alive then, of course, but he had his own family. If Ghost had succumbed to Roba’s torture, his brother and mother would have mourned briefly, held a small funeral, then moved on. The world would have forgotten his name. Part of him would have been pleased with that—but somehow, Simon Riley’s more stubborn side had survived.

That stubborn part of him refuses to close his eyes, not even for a second, because this time, he is fully aware of the girl who needs him.

With no windows to mark the time, Ghost can only gauge it by the man who beats him. The man alternates between striking him with a metal bar and taunting him with food and water, tossing them just out of reach so the smell can ignite pangs of hunger. There was once he showed up with an old woman, who clinically poked and prodded at Ghost's arms and abdomen, as if in approval. The longest absences of visitation likely indicate the man’s sleep, meaning two nights have passed since Ghost woke up here. His increasing difficulty in keeping his eyes open confirms it.

Even through swollen eyelids, visions invade the darkness—four faces merging, their screams echoing, sharp and pleading. First, his mother. Then Sara. As they turn to ash, the two other faces remain, their screams fading into buttery laughter. Water splashes his cheek as they play in a creek, then their lips fall silent, and their faces sink below the surface. He reaches for them but can only stare as their eyes drain of life. Still, they remain accusatory. Disappointed.

A slam of the door shatters the images.

"I think you will be pleased to hear the news I bring, Brit."

It must be morning. Ghost's gaze drops to the floor in persistent defiance, refusing to acknowledge him. His muscles loosen in preparation for the bar's routine assault, but a vein in his jowl ticks when he detects a new sound; the quiet slither of a whip against the concrete.

Without warning, it recoils and lashes out with a sharp crack. The sting spreads through every nerve-ending, and he feels a gush of hot blood from the newly opened wound. A quiet, strained grunt slips through his teeth, and his chin dips to his sternum as pain robs him of the ability to hold it up.

Casually, like a friend, the man hums, only his boots visible in Ghost's vision. "I saw them. They are well-kept, you should know, and they are indeed beautiful. A gift from God." The tail-end of the whip caresses Ghost's shoulders then slips to the floor soundlessly. "The child, though, I am disappointed to say she wasn't there."

Ghost stiffens.

His nostrils flare.

"Why wasn't she there?" he forces out.

"Ah. The child is yours, yes? The... fierce one was concerned for her as well." He bends, rubbing his jaw callously. "So concerned, in fact, that she was willing to show me more than I had even come for. Quite eager, too. Let me tell you what I told her—I know nothing of the plans for the girl. I can only guess, as you can, that they will not be pleasant."

"I will... kill... you," Ghost manages, his low voice thick with fury, each word a strained rasp through clenched teeth.

When his fingers twitch, weakly forming fists, the man pats his shoulder with a light laugh. "I will say, I am sorry you do not have a son, instead. Maman says daughters are the purest, most God-abiding of us all. With all due respect to her, this is where we disagree." He tilts Ghost's head back, locking eyes with him, his breath brushing against Ghost's face."They’re whores, all of them. Waiting to be bred. That's why the fierce one was dripping wet when she touched herself—"

In one swift motion, Ghost sinks his teeth into the first piece of flesh he can reach, tearing through skin. Blood fills his mouth, spilling between his teeth. The man jerks back, part of his cheek torn away, his eyes flashing with pure rage as he clutches the bleeding wound with his hand.

"You fucking, lowly swine." He spits out a mouthful of blood, then retracts the whip with a savage snarl. Another strike lands on Ghost's back—harder this time. Another follows. The blows come faster, until blood pools beneath his boots, and his eyes finally close no matter how much strength he tries to muster to keep them open.

The sixth day.

If the Sabbath is the seventh day, then the sixth day would be Friday. The outbreak began on a Friday; God's wrath.

You trace the wrinkles in the sheet, trying to count back to the last day you can remember—back when Blue still announced the dates from the calendar Ghost kept track of. You recall it was the 12th of April, weeks ago. But what day of the week was it? Frustration bubbles up as you tear at the sheet, the harsh reality sinking in: you don’t even know how many days have passed since then.

Morning breaks in washed-out hues, accompanied by the low call of a nearby dove.

Growing content with the regular feedings, your belly hums in anticipation against your will.

"Ask her what day it is when she comes for breakfast," you tell Nereida. "We need to find out when Friday is, and you... you're better at talking."

Luckily, Salome either doesn’t notice that one of the mugs is missing or is willing to keep the fragile peace by not mentioning it. Again, she lowers the tray at an unreachable distance and slides it over. She lingers for a few minutes this time as you nurse a bowl of fresh fruit and sour yogurt, more mindful of how it tastes. But you don't suspect they have a need to drug you this morning—not with Blue already taken.

Nereida manages a bit of small talk, flashing a friendly smile you envy her for. It's enough to get a few pieces of information from Salome—mostly useless. She's about six months along, Maman suspects. There are two other pregnant women, and three infants already born over the years. A few have died during harsher winters, including this past one. The land is sick, that man mentioned. With a flicker of sadness, Salome adds that she had a miscarriage, and for a moment, you almost feel sorry for her.

But when Nereida asks about the day, Salome tenses, wariness creeping into her eyes. "Well, I forget the name in English, but it is the fifth day following the Lord's day."

"Thursday, you mean?" you speak up for the first time since she walked in. "I mean, Saturday is the seventh day. So the fifth would be Thursday."

Salome nods. "Yes, Thursday. Jeudi."

Then tomorrow is Friday.

The weight threatens to crush you.

When she finally leaves, you fling the pillow off the bed and flip the mattress, screaming soundlessly into it.

"We have one fucking day, and I have no clue how to get out of here."

Survival hinges on not panicking. Panic makes you weak. But still, your fingers curl into your hair, tugging desperately, trying to silence the hysteria rising inside you. For a moment, a silent prayer takes hold in your mind, mimicking the ones you overheard from Nereida. You screw your eyes shut in a pathetic hope that maybe when you reopen them, Ghost will materialize with the key on the other side of the cell. When he doesn't, you grab the nearest shard from the mug you broke. Nereida tugs on your shoulder, trying to calm you down, but you furiously press it against your wrist.

It's the sight of blood, not the pain, that makes you freeze.

Suddenly, your panic smooths into a fresh memory.

"She panicked, didn't she?" you whisper, lifting the shard and gently thumbing the shallow cut you've created in its wake. "When I threatened to kill myself. Her eyes—they held fear. Fear for what?"

You turn to Nereida and swallow thickly.

"Fear of... fear of us dying," Nereida finishes slowly, a pinch in her forehead.

"Fear of what would happen to her if we died," you say. "She seemed... scared when she spoke of Maman. Of course she is. She's the one responsible for us right now. What would Maman do if she can't take care of the two new coveted women?"

You reach for the next largest piece and place it in Nereida's hand, tightly closing her fist over it.

"It might not work," she whispers, eyes darting across your face.

"It's the only idea I've got."

Over the next few hours, you smooth over the details in whispered exchanges. These are the only cards you have to play: the value of your bodies here and the power Maman holds. Nereida is uneasy at first but eventually grows convinced. Speaking through the plan helps soothe your nerves, keeping the walls from fully closing in. You remember that Salome usually arrives before the sun sets to bring dinner. So, when the window casts amber shadows across the walls, you suck in a breath, dig the shard into your wrist, and watch as blood spills onto the white linen.

“Three minutes, Hugo.” “Three minutes is all I’ll need.” "Remember not to touch. And don't brag about it to others. Word will spread and Maman or Alexander will hear it."

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #cod #simon ghost riley #zombie apocolypse au

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quicksilversnails · 2 days ago

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It's so fun how the Princess and the Dragon acknowledges and plays with game mechanics that are assumed to be non-diegetic, and uses them to add insight to the story/characters.

The title card is a really obvious example, being something that TLQ actually sees and can comment on, and something that the Princess hadn't ever seen. What most would assume is just a framing device for the player is a real element of the world/construct.

I think it emphasizes how the story that the Narrator constructed is only "meant" to be told to TLQ. After all, The Narrator only appears in TLQ's mind, providing elaborate descriptions and attempting to contextualize the events of the game as a heroic task to save the world. Meanwhile the Princess is all alone, with no title cards or exposition, no context for why any of this is happening to her. The story revolves around her, but it doesn't care about her beyond her designated role, as something to be slain and hated. Her perspective is irrelevant to the Narrator's plan, so she doesn't get the fancy presentation or necessary context: she doesn't deserve it.

There's also those long stretches of dialogue where the voices talk to each other in TLQ's mind without progressing the story. They're occasionally acknowledged by the Princess elsewhere (Prisoner, Nightmare) but P&tD makes it very explicit and confirms that time is actively passing during these conversations, with TLQ staring in silence for who knows how long.

(Personally I don't think all of the voice dialogue is necessarily in real time, if only because some Princesses wouldn't have had the patience for it. Like if you had really stood still for that long, the Beast would've definitely eaten you... she's not waiting for you to finish thinking lol)

This one I think is more for humour, but it also draws attention to how much of the inner conversation the Princess is missing in normal chapters, when the voices aren't actively speaking to her through TLQ's body. Where we're having vibrant debates or key information revealed by the Narrator, she just sees a silent, staring figure. Speaking of the Narrator, He's completely absent from the Princess' POV, either because He doesn't want to speak to her or is somehow unable to (He does say in Tower that she's not supposed to be able to interact with Him...) Again, the story was not made to be told to her, so she isn't given His context, and because the player is usually so immersed in TLQ's perspective, they probably wouldn't realize just how much she's missing until they see things from her perspective.

One other example: if you choose to [Say nothing] immediately after you excise yourself, the Princess reacts to it:

I just find this so hilarious tbh, and the fact that she repeats back those exact words implies that she literally senses the text written in brackets. If you do it once you're back in the basement, she says this:

I wonder if it's the same for the Narrator/voices... do they also “feel” your actions while you’re choosing them? Do they hear you say (Lie) before you lie? When Skeptic said "Wink" out loud did he actually choose a dialogue option with [Wink] in brackets?? Ok that last one's a joke but there's lots of potential here

I just think it's cool because the average player wouldn't think twice about any of these things, because they seem like simple stylistic/game design choices. In a game where all player input is through dialogue options, the square brackets are an immediately understandable way to convey action, as opposed to plain text. In a game structured around repeating loops, it makes sense to make those loops distinguishable for players by separating each loop with a title card, and the chapter naming convention works as a nod to the fairytale storybook aesthetics the game draws from.

But by placing you into the Princess's head and acknowledging those design choices as diegetic elements that change depending on your perspective, it forces you to reevaluate your experiences: the things you didn't think were really "part of the game" and the experiences you didn't realize weren't universal. It exposes your hidden privileges, the luxuries and structural supports you have compared to the Princess that you don't even notice because you've never experienced the alternative.

It might make you realize how the way you perceive and conceptualize the world might be very different from how others conceptualize it (Tony's recent ask about the multicoloured glass in HEA could also play into this in a fascinating way, with the mismatch in perception between TLQ and the Narrator's script). It's all just very cool for a game that's based on perception.

It also makes me wonder... what other elements of this game are diegetic that we just haven't paid attention to?

Well, I think that the captions are probably also diegetic. TLQ occasionally refers to the voices by their complete titles despite them not ever referring to each other by those titles, instead opting for descriptors like "jumpy one" or "the worst one" or "rage boy" or "chilly little freak" lol. For a direct comparison, Paranoid exclusively calls Smitten "the lovesick one" or some variant in HEA, but TLQ refers to him by his full name using quotation marks, as if he's quoting something he's read:

The voices don't seem aware that these titles exist, while TLQ does, despite them sharing a mind. Also, when the Princess shares a body/mind with you, she never uses their titles either. In the Spectre/Princess and the Dragon, she calls Hero "the nice one", Cold "the quiet one" or "cold little freak", and the Narrator "the bossy one" or "that murder-happy know-it-all". Spectre describes the voices as shards of broken glass on the floor, so she likely perceives them completely differently to how we/TLQ see them.

Even The Narrator isn't aware of His title. If you call Him that in the mirror conversation, He says "'The Narrator'. I suppose that's my job, isn't it?", reacting to the title as if it's His first time hearing about it. There's also this question from the fourth Shifty encounter:

It seems like the titles are presented specifically for The Long Quiet/decider, and that they somehow reflect how TLQ perceives the voices/Narrator, since TLQ takes credit for "calling him" that. If the captions were specifically shown to TLQ in the same way that the title cards are, it'd explain how he has this information without it ever being verbally told to him, and why the Princess doesn't know their titles even when she's sharing your body.

But besides the captions, I think it could be fun to interpret the game as if most, if not all of its game mechanics exist in-universe. The choice menu, the music, the cursors, the save/load icons, saving/loading in general, the title screen, the Clown Princess living in the walls (game files), you name it. Let’s peel away these game mechanics cell by cell! Let's see what meaning we can find together, let's see what we're made of!

#og post #analysis #stp #tpc #slay the princess #the pristine cut #the princess and the dragon #stp princess and the dragon #stp p&d #stp p&td #stp analysis #this post originally was an excuse to talk about the [say nothing] interaction bc i discovered it recently and it's hilarious #but my brain is chronically filled with slay the princess thoughts and so the post just kept getting longer lol #hopefully it's comprehensible #also this post is making me want to compile a list of voice nicknames bc they're very silly

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heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 2 days ago

Note

So excited for your requests to be open! I know you'll feed us well with your content, whether it's full fics, hc, imagines, blurbs, or even just yapping

"I want to be good. I want to be good for you, but I just don't know how"

A little angsty number with AK!Jason por favor 🙏🏽

Hurt/Comfort, my beloved (And anything with AK!Jason Todd is my kryptonite fr) ~1.4K words

The Arkham Knight can only be described as dangerous. He's a lethal, brutal example of a man with nothing to lose. He's a trained, efficient machine with one mission– one purpose. His sights are set and focused solely on his revenge, on owning Gotham.

So you don't exactly know where you fit in. You. His– his something. Partner isn't quite the right word, but you don't know what else to call him. He crawls into your bed at the oddest hours of the morning, sits across from you at inconsistent, sporadic meals, drops lavish presents on your laps like a cat bringing home dead or dying prey.

He's tangled himself into the very fabric of your life, and for better or worse, you can't imagine your world without him. At some point between him moving your belongings to his apartment (though you would argue the loft apartment above the warehouse filled with tanks and drones is hardly a home) and the first time The Arkham Knight (not Jason) kissed you, he became a permanent fixture in your days and weeks.

You think you might love him. You do love him, actually. Even if you can't bear to say the words out loud– to threaten the tentative peace of a relationship that is and isn't something more– you love him. No matter if what he does– what he's doing– is right or wrong, your very soul craves to be at his side. It doesn't even matter what 'being at his side' looks like anymore.

Jason could never visit you while the sun shines, he could disappear for months on end, he could ask you to throw away your morals and dreams just to be with him. And you would. In some ways, you already have.

But he did fail. He didn't kill Batman. Gotham is still standing. And all that's left of The Arkham Knight is kneeling in front of you, fingers curled into the hem of your shirt like he can't bring himself to touch you– but can't bear to let you go.

You just never imagined he would feel anything like that towards you– at least not anything more than what he already gives you. (That alone feels like a gift, when a man so scarred trusts you enough to close his eyes and relax into your shoulder, when he lets you trace the lines of his face without flinching)

So you don't know what to do when that lethal, terror-inspiring man you've come to know better than anyone else fails. It's something that was never in either of your plans, something you couldn't have begun to suspect, even in your more cynical moments.

He's crying– sobbing– broken gasps escaping from his throat like he forgot how to breathe. His eyes are manic, darting over your face like there might be something there to save him. And you want to, of course you want to, but you're in your own state of shock.

You don't know how to treat this version of Jason. You're used to The Arkham Knight– him, you know how to cater to, what to say, what to do, when to touch him. But this Jason looks broken, shattered into pieces, so different from the harsh, biting person you know so well. (The one you fell in love with all over again)

"Please," he chokes out– he begs, begs like he expects it to save him, like he has no other choice than to throw himself at your mercy.

Your silence, your lack of motion, must go on for too long. You can tell he takes it as a sign that you're planning something, that some form of goodbye is forming on your tongue.

You can tell he's thinking the worst in this moment, you can see it in the way his face flickers with anguish, the way his hands grasp and tug desperately at your clothes like it might change your mind.

It makes you want to vomit, that whatever happened between him and Bruce drove him to this state. He truly believes he has to beg to get you to listen, that he has to plead and crawl and offer whatever he thinks you need to hear to get you to stay.

"Please," he starts again, his ragged breathing making his words garbled and raspy, "I can't– I don't know what to do. I lost and– I– I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry. I want to be good," He stumbles out into your shirt, pressing kisses over your stomach as if it might please you– earn your favor, "I want to be good for you, but I just don't know how. I'll be good. I'll– I swear, I'll–"

Your throat tightens as he sinks into himself, mumbling your name like a hallowed prayer. He buries his face in your stomach, hiding from the weight of your gaze. You know you need to react, offer him what he needs, but you don't know what it is anymore.

You don't know what comfort you could give, not when he's so unrecognizably erratic, so lost in his own failures and torments. You don't know this Jason, and it scares a small part of you to admit that.

You can't take another moment of it– all of it. You want to run, gather your thoughts and feelings, and break down because he's crying, and you didn't know he still could. But running would break him, tear him down further than he's already fallen.

So, you do what you've been wanting to since he crawled into your window with a broken helmet and chest empty of the emblem he remade himself in.

He freezes, sobs stalling his chest, and you have to believe that this is enough, that you can pour everything you can't say into the way you cup his face to wipe his tears, the way you kiss him like your life depends on it.

You carefully untangle his fingers from your shirt, and he looks up at you, face streaked with tears that don't seem to end, and you sink to the floor to be level with him.

You don't know if what you do next is the right answer, but when you don't have the words to explain how he fills the emptiness in your chest, how your days begin and end with the thought of him, you hope kissing him is enough until you do.

But he doesn't react, doesn't move under your touch, and you wonder if you've got it wrong. You pull away to ask, to offer apologies of your own, but he's never been very good at letting you get far from him. The Arkham Knight– Jason crashes into you like he'll never get another chance to kiss you.

You need it to be enough. You need him to know that you love him and winning or losing, Arkham Knight or not, you have never stopped loving Jason Todd.

There's no escaping it, no burying it down or leaving it behind. Whatever form it takes, whatever form he takes, you can't fight the feeling that swells in your chest every time his eyes meet yours, every time the ghost of a smile paints his face.

Fingers curled around the back of your neck, nails nearly digging into your skin with a force that sends you both tumbling to the ground. But he never stops kissing you, and you never stop pulling him closer, as if it could save you both.

His hands do the same, crushing you to him with the thought that it'll get you to stay.

You think it might just fix something, because he's mumbling thank yous against your mouth like you've dragged him out of hell. And maybe you have.

It's a thought too heavy when you can taste his tears on your tongue, when all you can offer him in the moment are harsh, unyielding kisses and hands that grab desperately at his back, hoping it will keep him with you.

You still don't know how to treat this version of Jason, what the right way to comfort him is. But he kisses the curve of your jaw the same way, hovers over your pulse for nearly a beat too long when he drags his mouth down your throat like he always does, and you decide you want to learn.

You don't know if The Arkham Knight is gone, and you're still not quite sure where you fit with him, but Jason's eyes still flash in the same delighted way when your nails scratch a little too roughly at the back of his skull, and you think you know enough.

#arkham knight x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd #x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd/reader

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taraljc · 4 hours ago

Text

I've held on for as long as I can

For the ones that I had to defend

I've been strong every day of my life

If she wants, death could take me this time

This world is a wasteland where nothing can grow

I used to have strength, but I ran out of hope

I know it's my fault that I'm here all alone

This world is a wasteland

Please let me go, go, go, go, go, go, go

If I could just lay my head down and rest

If there was nothing to fight or protect

Maybe then I could finally be free

Maybe death is like falling asleep

This world is a wasteland where nothing can grow

I used to have strength, but I ran out of hope

I know it's my fault that I'm here all alone

This world is a wasteland

I'm not ready to face it

Don't go saying goodbye

There's a beauty in changes

And I wanna try

This world is a wasteland where nothing can grow

If it weren't for you, I'd be here all alone

I know in my heart this is where we belong

This world is a wasteland

Don't let me go, go, go, go, go, go, go

Don't let me go

I've been strong every day of my life

If she wants, death could take me this time.

This world is a wasteland where nothing can grow

I used to have strength, but I ran out of hope

I know it's my fault that I'm here all alone

This world is a wasteland

Please let me go, go, go, go, go, go, go

If I could just lay my head down and rest

If there was nothing to fight or protect

Maybe then I could finally be free

Maybe death is like falling asleep

This world is a wasteland where nothing can grow

I used to have strength, but I ran out of hope

I know it's my fault that I'm here all alone

This world is a wasteland

I'm not ready to face it

Don't go saying goodbye

There's a beauty in changes

And I wanna try

This world is a wasteland where nothing can grow

If it weren't for you, I'd be here all alone

I know in my heart this is where we belong

This world is a wasteland

Don't let me go, go, go, go, go, go, go

Don't let me go

reblog w the song lyrics in your head NOW. either stuck in yr head or what yr listening to

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earthchica · 3 days ago

Text

always and forever

aaron pierre x black, fem! reader {actress}

summary: you and Aaron have been dating for five months. It's been great, and both of you are happily in love despite navigating each other's busy schedules.

warnings: explicit smut 18+, light teasing, morning sex, unprotected, light daddy kink, breeding kink, long-distance, dirty talking, bubble bath, boyfriend/girlfriend, actor/actress, not real life, original characters, use of Y/N, words: 6k

note: part 3 is here, and part 4 will be out on Saturday. thank you to everyone who voted in my poll yesterday. I hope you enjoy it.

part one | part two

The sun peeked through the curtains, casting a soft glow across your bedroom. You stretched lazily, feeling the warmth and comfort of the bed where you lay next to Aaron.

Your heart swelled as you watched him—the way his lashes fanned against his cheek and the slight smile that danced on his lips in his sleep made you feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

Aaron was everything you ever wanted; the way he treated you with love, respect, and emotional support was irresistible. He stirred, as if sensing your gaze, his eyes fluttering open slowly.

When Aaron finally focused on you, his lips curled into that playful grin you adored. "Caught you staring again, love," he teased, his voice still thick with sleep, sending a rush of warmth through your cheeks.

You rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance. "I can't help it! You're just so adorable when you sleep," you replied, a laugh bubbling up as he wiggled closer, practically snuggling into your side.

"Adorable, eh?" Aaron raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the compliment. "Well, you might just want to keep that to yourself. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, you know."

You couldn’t help but giggle, the sound breezy and light, as you nudged him playfully. "I think you’re just too easy to tease."

"I am not," Aaron shot back, playfully puffing out his chest. "Mhmm, okay, Aaron," you said with a smirk.

"I mean, I’ve got myself such a gentle giant with a little rough side to him. What more could a woman want?"

Aaron chuckled, leaned in, pulling you closer, and his eyes softened. “You know I’ve been doin’ a lot of thinkin’. These past five months? They’ve been…”

He hesitated, looking for the right words. “We've known each other for two years as friends, but our relationship has blossomed into something so special. It's been amazing, and you make me so happy that I can't imagine myself not spending the rest of my life with you."

Your heart raced, you said, looking up at him and caressing his jawline with your finger while looking between his eyes and lips.

“Oh...I feel the same way, Aaron. You make me so happy, keep me grounded, and always make me feel assured and never doubtful.”

And then, with a deep breath that seemed to carry the weight of the moment, he said it: "I love you, Y/N."

For a split second, time froze. Your heart did a little flip-flop; surprise washed over you, followed quickly by a swell of happiness. “I… I love you too!”

The words slipped out almost instinctively, and a radiant smile broke across your face.

"Really?" Aaron asked as his face lit up. He pulled you into a warm embrace and began kissing your neck, which caused you to laugh, which filled the bedroom.

"Yes, I love you," you repeated with laughter. "Repeat it," Aaron whispered in your ear with a more lustfully, darker tone. You look into his eyes, and you know that like all too well.

Moreover, in a matter of minutes, you didn’t think he would have you on all fours, his strong hands gripping your hips relentlessly as he pounds into you without mercy.

Your right hand will be held behind you, rendering you to his every desire. And with each thrust, he demands that you declare your unwavering love for him.

"Oh, fuck I love you, Aaron," You cried, looking back at him. Aaron’s grin turned wicked, his eyes darkening with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

“Repeat it, love,” he demanded, giving your ass cheek a sting smack as his voice dropped low, rough, and dripping with that British accent that always made you weak in the knees.

“Tell me how much you love me.”

“I love you, Aaron,” you gasped, feeling his hands slide possessively down your sides, gripping your hips with a firmness that made your breath hitch.

“I love you so damn much, you are the air that I breathe, Daddy.”

“Mm, that’s my sweet girl,” Aaron purred, his lips brushing against your ear as his fingers dug into your dark-brown skin. “You’re mine, ain’t ya? All mine.”

“Yes, ahhh,” you whimpered, arching into him as his mouth trailed hot kisses along your lower back. “All yours.”

“Good,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “Cause I'm not sharin’ you with nobody. You hear me? You belong to me, baby. Every inch of you.”

His words sent a jolt of electricity through you, and you nodded frantically, your hands clutching at the sheets as he let go of your arm.

“Yes, Aaron. Only you.” you cried softly. Aaron chuckled darkly, pulling out of you, causing you to whimper and look back at him again.

“That’s what I love to hear,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dominance and tenderness. His hands moved to your waist, lifting you effortlessly before flipping you onto your back.

Aaron hovered above you, spreading your legs up to get a better view of your wet pussy. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

"Fuck..you got me all heated, with just you saying three little words,” Aaron said, his voice low and gravelly, that British accent wrapping around every word like silk.

“I guess you got that great effect on me, love,” Aaron grunts, and you bite your lip, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Is that so?” you asked, looking up at him. “Mm-hmm,” he hummed, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. When he pulled away, his breath was warm against your skin.

“You got me all twisted up. Can’t focus on nothin’ but you.” His hands roamed your breasts, leaving trails of fire in their wake. “You feel that?”

His voice was rough as his hard dick traced up and down the wet pussy folds. “Feel how hard I am for you. That’s what you do to me. Every damn time.” He said and you moaned, unable to find the words as his touch ignited a fire deep within you.

Aaron’s lips found yours again, and this time, the kiss was deep and demanding, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless.

His hands moved to your thighs again as he settled between your legs. “You ready for more, baby?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

“Yes,” you breathed, your heart pounding in your chest. “Good,” he said, his lips curving into a wicked smile. “Cause I ain’t stoppin’ till you cumming.”

And with that, he entered you in one swift motion, filling you completely and drawing a moan from your lips. His hands gripped the back of your tights, holding you in place as he began to move, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

“Aaron,” you moaned, your nails digging into his arms as he pounded into you with a rhythm that had you seeing stars.

“Shit, dear—you feel so fuckin’ good. Tight, wet, all mine.” His voice was raw, guttural, each word dripping with a possessive hunger that made your head spin.

“You like that?” he growled, his hips snapping against yours with a force that had you arching off the bed. “You like how I’m stretching you out, fillin’ you up? Huh? Tell me.”

“Yes, oh yes Aaron!” you cried out, your voice breaking as he hit that spot deep inside you, over and over again. “Aaron—please—don’t stop!”

Aaron chuckled darkly, vibrating through his chest and straight into your core. “Oh, I'm not stopping, baby. Not until I hear you screaming my name. Not until I feel you clenching around this dick like you can’t let go.”

His hands slide up your body, gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head as he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You gonna take all this dick, baby, like I know you can?” He asked in your ear.

“Yes,” you gasped, your body trembling beneath him as he drove harder, deeper, his rhythm relentless. “Fuck—Aaron, you’re so deep—I can’t—”

“You can,” Aaron growled, his breath hot and ragged against your neck.

“You're gonna take it all, sweetheart. Every inch. Every stroke. You belong to me, and I’ll ensure you never forget it.”

His words sent a jolt of electricity through you, your body clenching around him as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core.

His grip on your wrists tightened, his body pressing you into the mattress as he fucked you with a primal intensity that left no room for thought—only feeling.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough, demanding. Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his darkened gaze.

“That’s it. Look at me while I fuck you good. Watch how much you’re taking this dick like a good girl.”

You moaned loudly, your hips lifting to meet his thrusts as the heat inside you threatened to explode. “Aaron—I’m close—please—”

“Yeah?” Aaron rasped, a grin across his face. “You are gonna cum for me? Are you gonna let go all over this dick? Huh?”

“Yes!” you cried out, your voice cracking under the weight of the pleasure building inside you. “Aaron—I’m gonna—oh goodness, I’m gonna—”

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, more urgent.

“Cum for me. Let me feel you lose control. Let me feel that pretty pussy milking this dick like you can’t get enough.”

The pressure in your core snapped, and you came undone with a scream, your body convulsing beneath him as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

Aaron didn’t let up, driving into you relentlessly as you rode out the throes of your orgasm. “Fuck,” he groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction.

“That’s what I wanted. That’s what I needed to see. You cumming on this dick like you can’t take no more. But don’t think we’re done yet love.”

Aaron slowed his pace slightly, allowing you to catch your breath before he leaned down again, his lips brushing against your ear. “You ain’t tapped out on me yet, are you?”

“No,” you whispered hoarsely, your body still trembling from the intensity of your release. Aaron lifted you effortlessly, his strong arms cradling your body as if you weighed nothing.

Your legs instinctively under his arms as his hands gripped your waist as he slid back into you with a deep, deliberate thrust. The sensation was overwhelming—your nails dug into his shoulders as a low moan escaped your lips.

“Hmmm, fuck” he growled, his voice dripping with hunger. “You feel that? We were made for each other. Fits you so damn perfect, doesn’t it?”

Aaron punctuated his words with sharp, punishing thrusts, each one sending shockwaves through your body.

“Aaron—” you whimpered, your head falling back as he pounded into you with a raw intensity that left you breathless.

“Nah, baby, look at me,” Aaron demanded, his voice rough and commanding. You forced your eyes open, locking onto his dark, smoldering gaze.

“That’s it. Look at me while I give you this work. You see how much this pussy belongs to me? How much do you need this dick?”

“Yes, fuck Aaron,” you gasped, your voice trembling as he drove into you harder, your body bouncing with every thrust. “It’s yours—it’s always been yours.”

“That's right,” he growled, his breath hot against your neck.

“And don’t you ever forget it. I want you to remember this moment and every movement we have. When I’m not here, even when we’re apart. Remember how this dick makes you feel. How it stretches, you fill you up just right. How it got you moaning like a mess, begging for more. You gonna remember that, ain’t you?”

“Yes, Aaron,” you moaned, your voice breaking as another wave of pleasure began to build inside you. “I’m gonna remember—oh Goodness—I’m gonna remember everything.”

“Good,” he said, his lips curling into a smile. “Cause Imma never letting you forget. This pussy mine and I’ma make sure it stays that way.” He shifted his angle slightly, hitting a spot deep inside you that made your toes curl and your vision blur.

“Fuck!” you screamed, your body arching against him as the pleasure became almost too much to bear. “Aaron, oh my goodness—I can’t—it’s too much—”

“No, baby, you can take it,” he snarled, his thrusts growing more erratic, more desperate. “You gonna take all this dick, ain’t you? You’re a big girl; big girls do big things, right?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, your voice rising with each word as the pressure inside you reached its peak. “Give it to me—please—I need it—”

“That’s it, love,” Aaron growled, his hands tightening on your legs as he buried himself deep inside you one last time. “Now cum for me, baby. Let it all go for me.”

The command in his voice was all it took. Your body convulsed as another orgasm ripped through you, your screams echoing off the walls as you clung to him for dear life.

Aaron’s groan was guttural, primal, as he felt you clenching around him, milking every last drop of pleasure from his body. His thrusts slowed, but they were no less intense, each one drawing out your climax until you were trembling in his arms, utterly spent.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice softer now but still laced with that same possessive edge. “Let it all out. Let me feel you cumming on my dick. Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this—so fucking perfect.”

You could barely form a coherent thought, let alone speak, but your body spoke for you. Your legs tightened around him, your hands clutching at his shoulders as if you never wanted to let go.

And then, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer. “This dick is mine, right?” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with quiet confidence.

“Who else makes you feel like this? Who else gets you this hard, this desperate, this… undone?”

“Fuck, only you, baby, it’s all yours” Aaron let out a low, rumbling growl and buried himself deep inside you one final time. You felt him pulse within you, hot and thick, marking you as his in the most intimate way possible.

For a moment, neither of you moved, wrapping up in each other’s arms. The only sounds in the room were your ragged breaths and the soft patter of sweat dripping.

Aaron’s forehead rested against yours, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He laid you gently on the bed and finally pulled back to look at you, his eyes softening as he saw you.

His fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face, and his gentle touches flutter you. “You alright, babe?” he asked, his voice a low murmur filled with concern.

His rough exterior melted away, replaced by a gentleness that always managed to flutter you. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He asked softly.

You shook your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. “No, Aaron. You were amazing. Just… just the way I needed you to be.”

Aaron nodded, his thumb stroking your cheek as he studied your face. “Good. Cause I’d never wanna hurt you. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you whispered, your hand reaching up to cup his face. “I trust you, Aaron. More than anyone.”

His lips curved into a genuine smile that matched his eyes, making them sparkle with love. “Good, I love you, And I ain’t ever letting you go.”

You leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth of his skin against yours.

“I don’t want you to,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t ever want to be without you.”

“You won’t be,” he promised, his voice firm and unwavering. “Not as long as I’m breathing. You’re stuck with me, love. Always and Forever.”

“Always and Forever,” you echoed, your heart swelling with emotions you could barely contain. Aaron’s fingers lingered on your dark-brown skin for a moment longer before he kissed your forehead, soft and lingering.

Then, with a reluctant sigh, he pulled away, the warmth of his body leaving you feeling oddly exposed.

“I’ll run you a bath,” he said, his voice soft laced with tenderness. “You deserve to relax after… well, after all that.”

"Yeah, but i'm not complaining," You teased and watched as he padded across the room, biting your lip at the sight of his naked ass, his broad shoulders and muscled back catching the dim light filtering through the curtains.

Every movement was deliberate, and every step carried the confidence that made your stomach flutter. He disappeared into the bathroom, and soon, you heard the sound of water running and the faint hum of him adjusting the temperature.

You tried to get off the bed, but your body felt like it had been turned to lead. Your legs were jelly, and slight panic flickered in your chest for a moment.

You flopped back onto the bed and let out a soft groan, half-amused and half-frustrated. Aaron reappeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with that infuriating grin of his.

The one that always seemed to know exactly how to get under your skin. “What’s the matter, love? Can’t move?” Aaron teased, his voice dripping with mock sympathy.

“Guess I really did a number on you, huh?” he added and you pouted, crossing your arms over your breasts as best as possible, though the movement felt like a monumental effort.

“You’re not funny, Aaron,” you muttered, though the corners of your lips twitched despite yourself.

“Oh, I think I’m hilarious,” he shot back, pushing off the doorway and sauntering toward you. His steps were slow and deliberate, like a lion stalking its prey.

When he reached the bed, he leaned down, his face inches from yours. “Just say you need help, baby.”

“I don't,” you lied, your cheeks heating up under his intense gaze. He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“Liar,” he murmured before swooping in to kiss your lips quickly. Before you could protest—or kiss him back—he straightened and offered you his hand.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You hesitated momentarily before taking his hand, your fingers trembling slightly as they interlaced with his. His grip was firm and steadying, and he quickly pulled you to your feet, though your legs still felt like they might give out at any moment.

Aaron wrapped an arm around your waist, his touch grounding and electrifying as he guided you toward the bathroom. The room was filled with steam, the air thick with the scent of lavender and eucalyptus from the bath salts he’d added to the water.

One candle flickered on the countertops, casting a soft, golden glow that made everything almost magical. The tub was enormous, bubbles spilling over the edges, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh of anticipation.

“Thank you, babe,” you murmured, leaning into him as you stepped closer to the tub. “Of course, only the best for you,” he said simply, kissing your head.

Aaron released you long enough to kneel by the tub, testing the water with his hand before nodding in satisfaction. “Perfect temperature.”

He stood and turned to you, his eyes soft but still teasing. “Now, are you going to need help getting in, or can you manage on your own?”

You shot him a look, though no real heat was behind it. “I think I can handle it,” you said, though the way your legs wobbled as you stepped toward the tub suggested otherwise.

Aaron didn’t say anything but hovered close, his hands ready to catch you if needed. The water was divine as you slipped in—warm but not scalding, the bubbles clinging to your skin like a soft embrace.

You sank down with a contented sigh, letting the tension melt away from your muscles. Aaron watched you for a moment, and that infuriating grin still played on his lips before he began to leave.

“Where are you going?” you asked.

“Let you relax,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Unless you’d rather I join?”

“Duh, get in here,” you said with a smile. He chuckled, low and warm, and soon stepped into the tub behind you.

The water rose dangerously close to the edge as he settled in, his chest pressing against your back, his legs bracketing yours. You leaned into him, letting his warmth envelop you as the bubbles tickled your skin.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the soft lapping of the water and the occasional flicker of the candle flames.

His fingers traced idle patterns on your arms, his touch feather-light but enough to send little jolts of electricity through you.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself drift in the moment's tranquility.

“You’re quiet,” Aaron murmured after a while, his breath warm against your ear. He added, “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” you said softly, though that wasn’t entirely true. “Just… this. You. It’s nice, I’m gonna miss you real bad”

You felt Aaron's arms tighten around you ever so slightly, his breath hitching for a moment before he let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh.

His lips brushed against the curve of your shoulder, and you could feel the warmth of his smile even without seeing it.

"I’m gonna miss you too," he admitted his voice low and tinged with something that sounded like regret. "More than you know."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken emotions. You turned your head slightly, catching a glimpse of his profile in the candlelight—his strong features, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks.

Aaron looked pensive, almost vulnerable, and it made your chest ache. "It’s not forever, just for a few weeks," you said softly, though the words felt hollow even to your ears.

"True," he agreed, but a weight to his tone suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced. "But it doesn’t make it any easier."

You reached up, tangling your fingers with his where they rested on your arm. The steam from the bath curled around you both, making everything feel hazy and dreamlike.

"We’ll figure it out," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. "We always do."

An hour later, you and Aaron were dressed, having shared a leisurely brunch filled with laughter and lingering glances. Now, you stood outside, watching him as he methodically loaded his suitcases into the trunk of his car.

The sunlight glinted off the metal, illuminating your surroundings, but all you could focus on was the rising emotion within you. You felt comforted and heartbroken when he closed the trunk with a decisive thud and walked over, wrapping his strong arms around your waist.

Looking into his deep eyes, tears began to well up, threatening to spill over. You had never anticipated that saying goodbye would be this hard; it felt like he was taking a piece of you.

The thought of him being away for just a few weeks loomed heavy in your heart, making it feel like you were parting from your true other half.

“Don’t cry, baby,” Aaron murmured softly, brushing a thumb against your cheek.

“I promise we can make time; we can call, text, and FaceTime each other whenever you want, okay?” His voice was warm and reassuring, yet it still didn’t quite alleviate the ache inside you.

You nodded a silent agreement that felt both comforting and bittersweet. He glanced at his watch, and the moment felt even more fleeting.

“I’ve got to go now,” he said gently, his voice barely above a whisper. The reality of the situation hit you hard.

“Don’t forget me while I’m gone,” you said, trying to inject humor into the sadness, your voice tinged with melodrama. He chuckled softly, a warm smile spreading across his face, and then his expression softened further as he took your hands in his, kissing each one tenderly.

“I could never forget you, baby,” he said, sincerity etched across his features.

“It’s going to be okay; we can do this.” He pulled you into one last embrace, holding you tightly as though he could squeeze every bit of love and reassurance into that moment.

You both reluctantly pulled away, eyes locked, whispering the words that felt like a lifeline. ��I love you, Aaron”

“I love you too, Y/N We’ll be back together before you know it.” With a heavy heart, Aaron reached down to grab his handbag from the ground.

Aron stepped back towards his car but then paused, turning to look at you one last time as if committing your image to memory. The moment stretched, and he climbed into the car, starting the engine, the sound a bittersweet reminder that he was leaving.

As he drove away, you watched until his car was just a dot on the horizon, feeling the weight of your longing settle deep within your chest.

#aaron pierre #aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre x reader #aaron pierre x black!reader #aaron pierre fic #black!fem!reader #aaron pierre x black fem reader #aaron pierre fanfic #x black reader #x black y/n #aaron pierre fluff #terry richmond x black!reader #aaron pierre smut

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kashverse · 19 hours ago

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it is a rite of passage for every child to have a pet, and when it is finally babykuna’s turn, sukuna—being the extra man that he is—does not just take her to a normal pet shop. no, no, no. he takes her to an exotic pet shop. because why settle for a goldfish when she could have a tarantula named missy? or maybe a snake called george? wouldn’t a scorpion be so much cooler? apparently not. because out of all the fascinating, unique, and terrifying creatures in the shop, babykuna walks past them all—ignores the lizards, dismisses the sugar gliders, doesn’t even look at the parrot that screeches a greeting at her—

and stops dead in front of a massive maine coon that is currently squished into a cage far too small for its body. the cat—fluffy, fat, and looking seconds away from sighing like a disappointed victorian orphan—locks eyes with babykuna. babykuna gasps, pressing her tiny hands against the cage. "mama! papa! it’s him!"

sukuna furrows his brows. "what?"

"him! my pet! my baby! my everything!"

you squint at the cat. it looks back at you like it’s seen some shit. "baby, are you sure?" you ask gently, glancing at the other animals. "there are so many cool options, what about—"

"NO!"

babykuna throws herself onto the ground, wailing like she’s in a period drama. sukuna jumps in alarm. "oi, oi, what the fuck, don’t start—"

before he can finish, the cat in the cage suddenly lets out a long, tragic, soul-crushing howl—as if mourning a life it never got to live.

the entire store falls silent.

"…what the fuck was that," sukuna hisses, visibly unsettled. babykuna gasps again, sitting up. "mr pickles! papa said a bad word!"

"mr…pickles?" sukuna repeats, looking at the cat like it personally offended him. "why is its name mr pickles?"

"because he is my son," babykuna says matter-of-factly, wiping away her fake tears. “and my heart knows his true name.” you press your lips together to keep from laughing. "mr pickles is a cute name, love."

"no, it’s not," sukuna grumbles, rubbing his temples. "baby, listen, papa will get you anything else, okay? you want a wolfdog? a komodo dragon? a fucking capybara?"

babykuna sobs.

"I WANT MR PICKLESSSSSSSSSS—!"

mr pickles, from inside his cage, lets out a sorrowful “AAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOHHH—”

and that is how the fourth member of the family—a fat, depressed maine coon named mr pickles—came to be. turns out, despite his tragic victorian orphan appearance, mr pickles is actually a sweetheart. not only does he fulfill his feline duties—lounging around, occasionally chasing invisible ghosts, and knocking over things just for fun—he also doubles as babykuna’s personal weighted blanket. and let’s be honest, nothing has ever knocked babykuna out quite like mr pickles’ fluffy, oversized body.

she sleeps like a brick, snoring so loudly that you once thought a grown man had somehow broken into the house and passed out in her room. but there she was—wrapped around mr pickles like a koala, drool dripping onto his fur, dead to the world. and mr pickles? he doesn’t complain even once. in fact, he doesn’t even move. just lies there, accepting his fate, staring blankly into the void while babykuna uses him as her personal mattress. what a versatile king. in fact, mr pickles has so many roles in this household.

a cat? yes.

a weighted blanket? absolutely.

a luxury aesthetic background for your new nail set photos? oh, you better believe it.

you take a picture of your freshly done nails—perfectly manicured, sitting against the soft, plush fur of mr pickles, the perfect neutral background. you send it to sukuna. he normally loves seeing your nails, but this time—his eyebrow twitches as he recognizes the background.

sukuna: are you using that fucking cat as a backdrop again you: mr pickles is an aesthetic marvel. sukuna: i will throw that thing in the washing machine

you report him to babykuna, who screeches in betrayal and slaps his arm like she’s defending her child from a monster. but let’s be real—the best thing about mr pickles? his impeccable manners.

the moment he finishes eating from his bowl, he delicately pushes it towards the sink—like some kind of distinguished gentleman disposing of his fine china. it is so polite that you almost want to give him a little bowtie. sukuna watches this with a blank face. “i feel like i should be impressed, but i also feel like i’m being manipulated.” and maybe, just maybe, he would grow to respect this cat.

except.

mr pickles is a hater. specifically, a sukuna hater. because whenever it comes to sukuna’s belongings? suddenly, mr pickles is the menace of the household.

one night, sukuna walks into the laundry room to grab his freshly washed, neatly pressed shirts, only to find mr pickles sprawled on top of them, looking at him with such deep, sorrowful eyes that sukuna physically cannot yell at him. he stares. mr pickles blinks slowly.

"…get the fuck off."

mr pickles closes his eyes and pretends to sleep.

"GET OFF."

the very next day, sukuna screams when he finds all of his socks shredded into oblivion—like someone went berserk with a pair of scissors. babykuna gasps, pointing at mr pickles. “papa! it was mr pickles!”

sukuna whirls to glare at the culprit. "you little shit—!"

mr pickles blinks at him, looking once again like a victorian boy with consumption.

sukuna’s rage stutters.

"…you think you’re funny, huh?"

mr pickles does not reply.

(but he does later eat an entire stack of sukuna’s important business papers™ and then vomits them out on the living room carpet.)

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hederasgarden · 2 days ago

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Eternal Devotion (1/3)

Summary: Months after your husband's untimely death, his presence lingers, haunting you in ways you never expected. Pairing: Vampire!Friedrich Harding x Wife!Reader Word Count: 3.9K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Heavy angst and grief, period typical sexism, creepy things, mildly dubious consent, sexual content, vampirism and all the warnings that come with that (I’m diverging from canon a bit in regards to feeding). This is my attempt at Gothic Romance. A/N: The reader has always been Friedrich wife, Anna does not exist in this AU. Big thanks to @ryebecca, @otaku-girl-ao3, @whatblogisthis216 , @eremeldanin and @caught-reading for their help with this fic. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Aaron Taylor Johnson Character Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her. -Hozier

The room is dim with the curtains drawn tight, allowing only a sliver of daylight to creep through the gap. In the distance, the soft hum of morning activity rises from the rest of the house, the gentle chatter of your two daughters layered over the quiet rustling of the servants preparing for the day ahead. You should rise and follow the rhythm of the world outside this room, but you cannot.

Friedrich has been gone nearly six months. It feels like a lifetime. The days stretch endlessly, and each one feels like an affront, a reminder that the world refuses to stop turning. How are you supposed to go on living? You know if you had died, Friedrich would have climbed into the casket beside you and his grief would have blotted out the sun.

But there was no casket for him. No body left to bury. He was swallowed by the sea, lost while fulfilling a promise you made, helping Ellen return to Thomas.

Your daughters do not yet grasp the finality of it. No matter how many times you tell them, they speak of their father like he is simply away at work, perhaps, or out on some important errand. And each morning they act as if he’s come to tuck them into bed, kiss their cheeks, and say their prayers like he did before. They look up at you with soft eyes, the very same as his and you must relive the pain of it again and again when you remind them their father is gone.

Sometimes, you wish you could believe your own dreams, the ones where Friedrich slips back into bed beside you. Yet even in those fleeting moments of illusion, something is wrong. The warmth you long for is absent. His touch is colder, harder, his presence not the way it used to be. When his lips meet your skin, it stings, sharp and unfamiliar, and the truth rises within you, pushing against the comfort of the dream.

It’s not him. And it never will be. Now and forevermore, each morning you will wake to find the sheets beside you cold. Empty.

Everyone told you the grief would abate with time but these past few weeks have drained you more thoroughly than any that came before. Each morning, it feels as though your very blood has turned to sand, your bones to lead. Even the simple act of turning onto your back, to stare up at the wooden beams of the ceiling, takes more effort than you can summon.

You remain in bed until the door creaks open, and the light sound of footsteps follows. Kerstin’s voice is no more than a whisper as she brushes your shoulder.

“Frau Harding. Your parents have arrived for breakfast. Your father wishes for you to join them.”

The sight of your maid’s pale, worried face is enough to rouse you. You let her dress and prepare you for the day. Although she’s done this a thousand times, there’s something about the way her hands hover over the buttons of your gown, the hesitation before each movement, that makes you feel like a stranger in your own skin. You see how she and the other servants watch you now. Even when they pretend to be absorbed in their tasks, their glances are sharp, laden with worry. They fear you’ll descend into the same madness as Ellen, but it is only your grief, so vast and deep, that’s reshaping you in ways you can’t even recognize.

When you enter the dining room, your daughters rush to you. You hold them close, inhaling the familiar scent of their hair. Your mother greets you next, reaching out to cup your face in her hands, her fingers trembling slightly as they linger there. There is a deep sadness in her eyes and she glances over at your father with a look halfway between pleading and resignation.

“Come, you must eat,” she encourages, guiding you to sit beside her.

Your father, sitting at the head of the table, offers no such tenderness. His presence is a commanding weight in the room and the deep set of his brow lets you know this is not merely a social visit. You glance at your mother who stares at the hands in her lap and your fingers curl around the richly upholstered arm of the dining room chair. Whatever he has come to say will not be good, you realize.

“The children are finished with their breakfast,” he announces sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a command. With a quick flick of his fingers, he gestures to the governess. “Take them to the parlor. Their mother and I have matters to discuss.”

Once they are gone, your father doesn’t wait long to speak again. “It has been six months,” he begins, his gaze unwavering. “Long enough. You must remarry, and soon.”

You blink, momentarily stunned. Six months? Six months since Friedrich was swallowed by the sea, leaving nothing but an empty, aching space behind. Six months in which you have not even been able to make sense of the grief that clings to you like a second skin. How could he even think of you remarrying so soon?

“But… Father, I…” you begin, the words faltering in your throat.

He doesn’t let you finish, his voice growing sterner. “You must think of the future, not just of your own sorrow. The children need stability, and you need a husband. You cannot manage alone, not with the wealth you inherited from your late husband.”

You shake your head, even as you know there is a kernel of truth to his words. The vast estate, the shipyard, and the assets Friedrich once managed all fall on you now. It is a burden you are not prepared to shoulder and one you have steadily ignored these past months. But even beyond all that, the thought of remarrying, of taking another man into your life is something you can’t even entertain.

"I cannot… not yet," you whisper, barely above a breath. And in the pit of your chest, a deeper thought rises unbidden: Not ever.

“I understand your reluctance,” he says firmly. “But even now, men circle you like vultures. They want your husband’s wealth and his business. We must act swiftly and secure the right match — for you, for the children, for our family’s future.”

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat refusing to pass. Your hands move to straighten the cutlery in front of you, anything to occupy them, anything to hold off the flood of emotion threatening to spill over.

And then, almost without thinking, you speak. “You never say his name.”

Your father’s brow furrows. “What?”

“Friedrich,” you whisper. “It is always my husband or your son-in-law. You do not… you do not say his name.”

There is a long pause before your father clears his throat, dismissing the uncomfortable silence. “We cannot afford to linger on sentiment,” he says. “Sentiment will not feed the children or keep the business afloat. We need to think practically.”

You stare at him, hearing nothing more than the absence of your husband's name in his voice, the not-so-subtle command that you too must move on, move past this grief, and return to the world of the living.

“You cannot make me do this.”

"Perhaps not," your father concedes, exhaling sharply. "But your husband has many cousins who would think nothing of reclaiming control over the business." He pauses, taking a deliberate sip of his water, his eyes never leaving yours. "Men who would see no value in a widow and her daughters when they have families of their own.”

His words have their desired effect, leaving you feeling small and powerless. Your shoulders slump, the strength in you draining away as your head hangs, heavy with the crushing knowledge of what awaits.

“Now, your mother has already arranged for you and the girls to have new clothes made for your return to society," he continues, his tone cool and businesslike. "We will host a small, intimate gathering. I will invite a few prospective suitors—men I consider promising options. You may, of course, choose which one you wish to pursue."

“How kind you are to offer me a say,” you murmur, the words bitter in your mouth.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “I know grief has stolen your good sense but you will watch your tongue when you speak to me,” your father warns.

A surge of emotion rises within you, sharp and unwelcome, forcing its way up your throat. The words spill out before you can stop them, raw and unrestrained. “You would not speak to me this way if Friedrich were here.”

Your father shakes his head, rising from his seat to tower over you. “He is not here, my girl. He will never be here again. You are alone in a world that is unkind to women such as yourself.”

The pity in his eyes is more than you can bear. The dam breaks, and the first wave of tears crashes down, unbidden and unstoppable. A flood that drags you under. You sink back into the chair, helpless as wracking sobs tear through you, a deep, raw ache flooding every part of your being.

Distantly, you hear your mother’s voice chastising your father. Her arms slip around you, pulling you close. She whispers gentle reassurances, her shushing echoing the soothing words you’ve said a hundred times to your own girls, but it feels empty now, a hollow repetition that cannot shield you from the brutal reality.

Friedrich is gone. And with him, any hope you once held of finding happiness.

–

When you step into your father’s parlor, the weight of every gaze in the room settles on you like a tangible thing. The faces that turn toward you are mostly unfamiliar, offering you that sad, understanding smile you’ve grown so weary of. It is a smile that means nothing at all in light of their presence here. Each one of them is complicit in your father’s schemes.

“You look lovely,” your father says. He presses his lips to your cheek in an exaggerated gesture of affection, more a farce than any real expression of love. “The blue truly suits you,” he adds, his eyes dropping to take in your fine silk dress.

It’s the latest fashion from Paris, or so you’re told. Once, a dress like this would have delighted you—Friedrich always took such joy in bringing you the finest, most exquisite silks and fabrics from his travels. But now, the dress feels all wrong, too tight and too revealing, exposing more of your shoulder and décolletage than you’re comfortable with.

You smile at your father. Even though it barely touches your lips it doesn’t seem to bother him. He simply sweeps you further into the room, his hand on your arm guiding you forward as he begins the task of making introductions. It’s a performance, and you are trapped at the center of it. But you do as your father and society demand, falling into the practiced motions of politeness.

You engage in small talk, offering the kind of perfunctory responses that are expected of you, feigning interest in whatever these men have to say. Some ask after your children, while others offer their condolences for your loss. But behind their kindness lies a predatory sort of interest. It is all you can do to nod, offering your own strained smile as you stand there wondering how much longer you can keep up this charade.

When your father finally leaves you for a moment you close your eyes, exhaling.

“Oh, dearest girl.”

The unexpected voice makes you flinch. You turn, meeting a familiar pair of brown eyes of Herr Gothrim. Of all your father’s friends, he is the one you think might understand your plight the best. He lost his wife to the plague that swept the city nearly a year ago.

“It is shameful what your father is doing. Forcing you from your mourning period so soon.” He shakes his head. “Though, I confess, had I daughter like you I might be convinced to do the same.” He steps closer, his voice quieting. “You are the talk of the city and beyond.”

“They desire Friedrich’s wealth,” you reply. “Nothing more.”

Herr Gothrim stares at you for a moment before he speaks again, his words laden with something that makes your skin crawl.

“Do not sell yourself short. You are young. Beautiful. You might still bear your future husband a son or two.”

Friedrich had wanted a son. You knew that long before you ever married him. He had spoken of it often, longing to see his name carried on but he never once made you feel like an instrument to secure his legacy. More than that he loved your daughter fiercely, completely. And though it might have been a sin, he loved you even more.

“I fear you will not have the luxury of time, my dear,” Herr Gothrim warns. “Your father will push forward with his plans, and if you do not make a choice, one will be made for you. Perhaps a familiar one would be best.”

His eyes briefly flick over his shoulder, and you follow his gaze. It rests on his son, Pieter. The sight of him makes a sharp, uncomfortable feeling bubbling up from within. Once, he had petitioned your father for your hand and before Friedrich had made his offer, Pieter had been the one your father had entertained as a potential suitor.

To your dismay, Pieter seems to take your attention as an invitation, crossing the room to join the two of you. He greets you with an overly familiar kiss to your cheek that lingers, brushing against the corner of your lips. When he pulls away his hand remains on your elbow, tethering you to him.

“Frau Harding, you look well,” he says brightly. “Or should it be Fräulein now?”

His boldness stuns you but before you can gather your thoughts, he continues, oblivious to the discomfort in your silence. “I must confess, I was both surprised and pleased to receive your father’s invitation. And to see you again after so long. I am eager for a second chance to win your hand.”

It is only the thought of your daughters and the need to ensure their future is safe that keeps grief from sharpening your tongue. You force your eyes downward, focusing on a speck of dust on his lapels to avoid looking at his face. “My father was pleased you accepted his invitation. He has always been fond of you,” you reply hollowly.

Pieter smiles, seemingly unaware of how your voice thins and your words fall flat and meaningless.

“You look cold,” he observes. “Come, you should warm yourself by the fire as we reacquaint ourselves. My import business has grown greatly since we last spoke.”

His touch feels possessive, demanding even yet you are helpless to do anything more than follow him. You catch your father’s eyes when you pass him. He looks pleased and it turns your stomach.

Pieter keeps you by his side for the rest of the evening, his words a constant hum around you. Whether he’s wholly unaware of your discomfort or willfully blind to it, you can’t decide. His conversation is a relentless stream of boasts about his business, his wealth, and his success, as though he expects you to be impressed, to be eager for his attention. Each time you try to excuse yourself, your attempts are dismissed with a smile and an insistent push to stay.

It isn’t until your mother comes to collect you at the end of the night that you are finally freed from his hold. You follow her away from the gathering and into the waiting carriage, Pieter’s gaze lingering on you.

You’re so exhausted on the ride home that the muffled sound of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestone streets and the rocking of the carriage nearly lulls you into sleep. You find your daughters are already in bed when you arrive at the house. Though you loathe to disturb their peaceful slumber, you find yourself drawn to them, compelled to check on them before you can rest. You make your way down the dark hallway, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your feet the only sound betraying your presence.

When you crack open the door to their room, a cool rush of air greets you, sending a shiver through you. You find their window unlatched, the curtains fluttering in the autumn breeze that has slipped in. Startled, you step further into the room, a wave of panic rising in your chest. You move quickly to reach the window and quietly shut it again.

Once it is secured, you turn to your girls. The sight of them, peaceful and safe in their beds, eases some of the tension in your chest. Your youngest clutches a slip of fabric in her hands, her tiny face relaxed in sleep. There is something about the cloth she holds that gives you pause. You kneel beside her, gently prying it from her grasp. At the sight of the familiar handkerchief and your own needlework, worn and fraying with time, your breath stutters in your throat.

It was one of the first gifts you ever gave Friedrich, back when he was still courting you. You had made him dozens more over the years, but still, he carried it with him, even as it began to unravel at the edges. You always assumed it was lost with him and to find it here, tucked in your daughter’s hands, feels like both a balm and a wound.

Fingers trembling, you press the fabric to your face and close your eyes. For a brief moment, you swear you can still smell Friedrich’s cologne, faint but unmistakable. You linger in that moment until your daughter shifts in her sleep and you're brought back to reality. Carefully, you tuck the handkerchief into her tiny hands and kiss her forehead before retreating from the room.

–

Your dreams are restless, an amalgam of fractured images and disjointed sensations. Pieter’s dark, unblinking eyes merge with the black fabric of your mourning gown, and then, without warning, the scene shifts, plunging you into the vast, endless depths of the sea that claimed Friedrich.

The cold water envelops you, and you gasp for air, but the water rushes in, drowning your cries. In your panic, you thrash wildly, desperate for escape. Just as you feel yourself slipping into the abyss, strong hands seize you, pulling you upward. Your eyes snap open, your breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. The water recedes, and in its place, Friedrich’s face fills your vision.

“I am here, I am here, my love,” he murmurs softly, pressing his forehead to yours. His hand rests lightly on your chest, guiding your breath to match his steady rhythm, coaxing the frantic pace of your heart to slow.

You stare at him as the world crystallizes around you. Then, you surge forward, your lips crashing into his with a desperation that consumes you. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, clutching him tightly like he might vanish if you let go. The kiss is a lifeline and you cling to it with a need so raw it aches.

“Friedrich,” you gasp, reveling in the familiar tickle of his mustache and his strong hands on your body.

For a fleeting moment, you wonder if this is real, if he’s truly here, or if your grief has finally unraveled, conjuring him from the depths of the ocean to haunt you. But then, as his lips press urgently against yours and the solid weight of him fills your arms, you decide you don’t care. It doesn’t matter if he is a ghost, risen from the sea’s cold embrace. Nor does it matter that death has leached the color from his cheeks and the warmth from his hands. All that matters is that he’s here.

“My love,” you cry.

“I am here,” he promises, trailing his lips down the side of your throat until his mouth seals over the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder.

He lingers there, the sting of his kiss euphoric. You bury your fingers in his thick curls, tugging gently and he all but growls against your skin. With his mouth still on you, his fingers tug at your nightgown, baring your body to his eager hands. They slip between your parted thighs, finding your wet heat, and stealing it away as they work you to the peak of pleasure. Friedrich groans and the pain in your neck flares, sharp and sudden.

When he pulls away, a wave of exhaustion crashes over you, leaving you breathless and spent. You stare up at him as your vision shifts, the world taking on a hazy hue. In the dim light, his blue eyes are dark, almost silvery, and something deep within you recoils, an instinctive fear that you can’t quite name. But then, he blinks, and just as quickly the shadow fades. The warmth of his gaze returns, and those same familiar blue eyes, the ones you’ve loved for so long, look down at you with tenderness.

Your fingers hover over his face, longing to touch him again. But a painful realization stops you.

"You are not real.” The words leave you in a rush.

“Does it matter if I am?" he asks. "Does this not bring you peace, my love?"

You shake your head, the pain of his absence still raw in your chest. You can’t resist the pull of him, the need to feel close again, even if only in this fleeting moment. Without thinking, you draw him down to kiss you, and the taste of him is sharp, unexpectedly coppery.

"It is a horrible thought," you murmur, breaking the kiss, "but I wish I would not wake when morning comes. I want to stay here with you. In this dream."

A deep frown forms between his brows, and his hand finds your cheek, his touch colder than it should be. His mouth parts slightly, and his teeth, white and sharp, glimmer faintly against his pale lips.

“You do not wish to find a new husband? To live?” he questions.

"I wish only for you," you say, voice trembling but sure. "And for our girls."

“My dearest wife,” he whispers, kissing you sweetly. “I will never leave you. I cannot.”

A soft moan slips from you, unbidden, the sound encouraging him to kiss you deeper. His lips move with a possessive tenderness that fills the hollow spaces inside you. “Nor would I ever let you go," he promises. “We are bound even in death.”

#friedrich harding x reader #friedrich harding x you #friedrich harding #nosferatu #aaron taylor johnson

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mulloey · 1 day ago

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the shop

your car has broken down for the nth time, but yunho’s there to save the day. just your luck you don’t have enough money to pay him.

mechanic!yunho x fem!reader

words: 2.7k

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warnings: dom!yunho, sub!reader, paying with your body trope, you already wanted to fuck him though, probably inaccurate pricing for car repair services cus i can’t drive tbh, unprotected sex, degrading, choking, slapping, creampie etc. not proofread

—

You’re dizzy and delirious, putty in his hands as he holds you firmly in place, right where he wants you.

“Y-Yunho!” You squeal. You writhe in his grip a little but it’s far too strong to resist.

He’s got you bent over the hood of the car—your car—while he pounds into you like a desperate, starving man. His overalls are hanging around his waist, just low enough for him to pull his cock out; his white t-shirt is soaked in sweat and the oil-covered gloves on his hands rub painfully against the skin of your hips.

“F-fuck,” he grunts. Your hips collide painfully with the hood every time he thrusts into you and your ass bounces and reddens each time your bodies collide. “What a fucking cock whore. You do this every time you can’t pay the bill? Huh?”

“N-no,” you sob. “Just you, Yunho. Just… hngh… just you.”

“I don’t believe you,” he snarls. His hand comes down on your ass again, raw and painful over the marks he left earlier and you find yourself looking back on everything that lead you here—lead you to being bent over your broken down car while the hottest man you’ve ever fucking seen is slamming his dick into you like his life depends on it.

You suppose the first part—ending up at the auto shop—was inevitable. The car was fucked when you bought it, honestly, but there weren’t many other options for a broke college student. You lived in another district where rent is cheaper, so needed a car to get to class. Didn’t matter how good it was, it just needed to run.

Trust your luck that that seemed to be the only thing it wouldn’t do.

For a period you managed to get by fixing it yourself; Youtube tutorials and favours from friends were enough to deal with all the minor issues that came up, but as minor issues tend to do, they quickly piled up on top of each other until, the morning your presentation was due, you put the keys in the ignition, started the car and—nothing. It did nothing. You were the unluckiest person in the fucking world.

You’d called your best friend immediately, hoping he’d be able to find and fix the problem, but really, you knew it was past that point now—and if you didn’t before, the shock on Hongjoong’s face when he’d popped the hood was evidence enough.

“Jesus, woman,” he said. “You gotta get this thing to a repair shop.”

“You know I can’t afford that,” you snapped back. Instantly you felt guilty for your tone, he was just trying to help after all, so you tried to soften up a bit. “Joong, can you really not fix it?”

“No, I’m sorry. But I know a guy who owns an auto shop. He’ll probably let me use my friends and family discount on you. I’ll give him a call.”

Relief flooded your chest and you hugged him tightly, thanking him profusely even as he walked away chuckling to make the call. In the meantime you called your professor; you thanked God you were such a good student, never missing class or assignments—you doubt she’d have been so forgiving otherwise. “Come by during office hours tonight and you can present it then,” she’d said, and you thanked her with a smile.

Okay, you thought. You just needed to deal with this, do your presentation and the nightmare would be over.

How wrong you were.

—

The auto shop was, well, pretty much how you pictured it. Cars in various states of completion sat in the spacious garage, walls piled with wheels and various other parts, the uses of which you probably would never have been able to guess. The only thing that took you by surprise was the tall, young looking guy who came up and introduced you as the owner.

“Hey, darling,” he smiled. “I’m Yunho. Let’s get you all fixed up, yeah?”

You blushed at his words, and the deep, sultry voice that spoke them. You imagined that was his intention; the way his eyes flickered up and down suggested the attraction was mutual. Or maybe that was just his personality; maybe the flirtatious tone, the innuendo of his words and his intense, intimidating gaze just came naturally to him.

He walked you over to where he had your car laid out and ready to go. Popping the hood, he surveyed the condition with a serious, focused expression. In the heat of the garage, his face was sweating slightly, and he swallowed thickly as he looked everything over. It made the vein in his neck bulge, tension obvious. When he stood back up again he seemed cool and assured; the opposite of you. You felt… confused. Hot. Tense.

“It’s not a huge problem,” he smiled. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour to fix it.”

You didn’t expect that. “Really?” You lit up, overjoyed and he chuckled.

“Yeah,” he said. “We’ve got a staff room if you wanna wait around. May as well, since I should be done pretty quick.”

“Oh, yeah.” That made sense; there didn't seem to be many cafes or places around here for you to wait in anyway—and even if there were, none of them offered the view that the staff room he led you to had; the large glass window looking directly into the garage. You’d be able to keep an eye on your car as he worked—and on Yunho.

He got to work straight away and though you knew next to nothing about cars, save for the Youtube tutorials on greasing brakes and whatever else, but his skill was obvious. His large hands, covered by thick, dirtied gloves, worked quickly and efficiently.

He clearly knew you were watching him, and he clearly enjoyed it; every now and then he would look up from the car, meeting your eyes and tilting his head with a small, smug smirk. When he stood up to unzip his overalls, revealing a thin white t-shirt clinging to his broad chest, you found yourself inching closer and closer to the window without realising. Only when your face was practically pressed up against the glass did you back away, blushing furiously as you sunk into your seat. What the hell was wrong with you?

You’d never been like this about a man. Not even close. No one had ever made you so needy, so hot, so desperate. You didn’t even know you could be affected by someone in this way, yet here you were; thighs clenched together, breathing heavily and your face so hot you were practically feverish. He’d catch your gaze now and then still, and the expression on his face told you he knew everything that was going on in your head—and your body.

The sight of him putting the hood back down was a mercy and a curse; your car was fixed, you could leave, and you could get away from this man; three things you’d been waiting desperately for all this time.

But…did you even want to leave? It would be the smart thing to do, and the sooner you could get him out of your head, the better. But everything in your body screamed at you not to go, to stay and see what happens—if nothing did, at least you’d know. At least you wouldn’t have to wonder for the rest of your life.

He gestured for you to come out of the staff room, proudly showing you your fixed car. Your attraction to him aside, Yunho’s skill surprised you; the old, battered vehicle almost looked new, and when he started the engine to check it worked it sounded clearer and healthier than ever. “Holy shit,” you muttered.

Yunho laughed. “Yeah, I’m pretty good. How do you wanna pay?”

You sighed. You never liked this part; who did? It was always painful to part ways with the little cash you earned at your god awful waitressing job, but you had to do what you had to do. “Card,” you mumbled.

“Alright,” he smiled. “It’s 250,000won. I’ll get the machine.”

He disappeared into what you guessed was another staff room and you stood awkwardly for a moment. Even with him gone the air was thick, sweaty; tense. He returned with the card machine, holding it out for you to take and you put your card in with shaking hands, pressing down the familiar numbers. Well, there goes the last of your mone—

The machine made a high-pitched, displeased noise that you knew all too well. Declined. You made a noise of shock, shaking your head in disbelief. It can’t have declined. You knew you had enough for this. You had to have enough. What the hell is—

Oh. Fuck. When they towed your car here this morning and you followed in a taxi with Hongjoong. When you insisted on paying the fare to thank him for his help. Fuck. You need to be a worse friend.

You didn’t realise you were crying until you felt hands on yours; he grasped your shaking hands carefully, holding them steadily. His face was blank, but he seemed thoughtful.

“Fuck,” you groaned. “Fuck, what do I– I swear I–”

“Hey, hey.” His voice was calm and soft but a little lower than before. “Relax, doll. We’ll work something out, yeah?”

“Work something out?” You echoed his words, voice shaking.

“Of course,” he smiled. He tilted his head and you saw his eyes raking over you again; but this time it felt less like leering and more like… an inspection. You knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Tell me.” His voice seemed to have dropped an octave, thick with tension. “Are you really out of money?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Are you really out of money?” He repeated it, slower this time as though he was trying to dumb it down for you. “Or did you do this on purpose?”

You shook your head fervently, your body heating up with embarrassment and desperation and shame and, well, pretty much everything honestly. “No, Yunho, I—”

“I think you did.” He was grinning now, eyes piercing as he stared you down. He was still for a moment, seeming to consider something before he grabbed your chin, yanking your head up to meet his eyes. The material of the gloves was rough against your soft skin and the tightness of his grip was even more painful. “I bet you put the wrong numbers in on purpose, huh? Didn’t you?”

“I…” You didn’t know what to say. You knew what he was saying wasn’t true, but fuck, you could already feel wetness pooling at the thought of what he’d do to you if it was. But he seemed to have made his mind up either way, so you decided to play his game—you widened your eyes fearfully, lip shaking as you said “I promise, I didn’t” in the most pathetic voice you could muster.

He knew what you were doing, and he fucking loved it. His smile widened as he leaned in closer to you. From this distance you could see his pupils were blown, eyes flashing with arousal. “I think you’re lying to me,” he whispers. “And you know what’s more, little girl?”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

He tightened his grip, yanking your head upwards again to expose your neck. His other hand wrapped itself around your throat like it belonged there. “I hate liars.”

—

You don’t even know how long he’s been fucking you now; your sense of time has blurred and muddied and it could have been minutes just as much as it could have been hours. All you can feel or think about is the feeling of his dick fucking you open, hitting your cervix over and over; and the strong arms that move and manipulate your body to increase his own pleasure.

He grabs your hair, yanking it back painfully and forcing you to look at him. “That’s it,” he grunts. “You’re gonna look at me while I’m fucking you, yeah?”

“Yes,” you cry. “Yes, Yunho.”

“Good fucking girl.” His other hand wraps around your throat again, choking you just this side of too much. The head rush it gives you only sends you further into delirium, amplifying the other sensations. His deep, strained voice is fire in your ears. “Fucking stupid whore, aren’t you?”

He punctuates it with an extra hard thrust and you cry out again, voice strangled. “Yes, Yunho!” You scream. “Yes!”

“Say it,” he growls. “Tell me you’re a fucking whore.”

“I’m a fucking whore,” you repeat. To hear the words from your own mouth, to taste them on your tongue as he forces you to degrade yourself sends another wave of pleasure through you that pushes you closer to the edge. Yunho makes a pleased sound, rewarding you by loosening his grip on your neck ever so slightly.

“You’re my fucking whore,” he whispers. “Yunho’s whore.”

“Yunho’s whore.” You repeat it without thinking and you feel him throb again inside you at your natural submission. “I’m Yunho’s whore.

“That you fucking are. Bending over for me over 250,000 fucking won. You’re a cheap little slut,” he spits. “But only for me, yeah?”

“Yes!” You feel yourself about to come undone and just as you finally reach breaking point he pulls out, cock hard and leaking; before you can protest he picks you up without a word, flipping you onto your back before shoving his cock back inside. “Wanna see you properly when I come in you,” he grunts. “Wanna see those eyes go fucking dumb for me.”

He lifts your legs and pushes them back towards you. The stretch is painful and uncomfortable but it’s hard to care about any of that when he’s fucking you so deep and hard. The weight of his hands pressing down on the backs of your thighs will surely leave bruises but you don’t mind—you’d probably love it, actually.

Now that you’re facing him you can see all the small details of his face while he fucks you; the beads of sweat pooling on his forehead, the black hair soaked through with it, the narrowed eyes and clenched jaw as his grip on your thighs tightens even further. He’s practically pressing all his weight against you now and it’s a delicious, painful pleasure. You reach out to him desperately—though desperate for what you’re not quite sure—and he grabs your hands, bending down to pin your arms against the car as he takes you in a hot, wet, messy kiss.

“Pretty girl,” he chokes. “So fucking pretty.”

“Yunho.” You feel tears pouring down your cheeks, overwhelmed with sensation, with the feeling of Yunho on every inch of your body. He pulls his mouth away from yours to press sloppy kisses across your jaw and neck, teasing the skin with his teeth. “Think you can come for me?” He murmurs. “Just from being used like this?”

“Yes, Yunho,” you whisper. “I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he growls. He moves a hand down to press his thumb against your swollen clit, making you buck against him. “Come on my fat fucking cock like a good little girl. Earn your keep, baby.”

The heat in his words and the pressure of his thumb on your clit are enough to send you barrelling over the edge; you come with a noise you didn’t even know you made and he follows quickly, releasing inside of you with a strangled cry.

It’s silent for a moment and time seems to still while you process what’s just happened. You whine when you feel him pull out of you and he chuckles, gently slapping your pussy. “What a good girl,” he muses. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He sends you on your way with his business card in your pocket and his number in your phone. It takes you two weeks to find the nerve to call him, and that’s only because your car’s been making a weird noise that you can’t figure out. To be honest, it’s probably something Hongjoong or one of your other friends would be able to solve, but it’s too late now; you’ve already pulled up his contact and pressed call.

“Well hello, sweetheart.” Yunho’s voice is as deep as ever, his tone teasing. “Was starting to think I wouldn’t hear from you.”

“Yeah, um.” You clear your throat awkwardly, feeling yourself heat up again. “My car— it’s making a weird noise. Can you take a look at it?”

“Of course,” he says, and you hear the leering smile in his voice. “Why don’t you come down now? It’s a slow day at the shop anyway.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

“Great. Oh, and baby?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t bring your credit card.”

—

requests open! comments and feedback appreciated. love🖤🖤🖤

tags: @pixie0627 @hon3ysun @bbdeongi @hwaromi

#ateez smut #ateez hard hours #kpop smut #ateez x reader #ateez hard thoughts #yunho smut #jeong yunho smut #yunho hard thoughts #yunho hard hours #yunho x reader #mulloey writes

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floralscented · 2 days ago

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SOMETHING IN YOUR MOUTH ━ DARYL DIXON x BOLD!READER

18+ CONTENT! daryl told you to be quiet how many times? and yet still, it is so much more fun to push his limits than follow his grunted pleas.

"mmph," you can't even get a proper word out through the fingers shoved between your parted lips, the taste of daryl's salty skin coating the inside of your mouth.

you don't know why he's so insistence of your silence; at this time of night, the prison was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. it was more that obvious what you were getting up to by the sounds of the squeaking bedsprings and the lewd skin slapping noise seeming to echo off of the stone walls.

but daryl was quiet when he wasn't in your orbit. he stuck to his favorite shadows and observed, so used to being on watch that he'd made a home in the silent dark. getting into this thing with you was, probably, the worst and best thing he could have done for himself.

how else could someone express frustration with the loudest person in the group other than to fuck it out of them?

it was inevitable, you thought. the bigger, isolated cells were reserved for the people with dependents, leaving the rest of the group to pair off and suck it up in the other cells, all in the same block as to not lose track and keep a head count. inevitable that you'd end up buried in the sharp springs of the bottom bunk's mattress, because daryl sure as shit wasn't getting on the top bunk to screw you into silence.

"i told you," daryl seethes in your ear, always so quiet even when he yelled, like he was more than aware that he didn't need volume to demand control of something, "to shut the hell up."

you liked getting him angry, though. every time, it got you closer and closer to this: the breaking point. when he'd climbed on the wiry bunks' frame and grabbed you by the face and slammed his mouth against yours. he was strong enough to haul you down from there for easier access.

now, you were both half dressed, and he was ranting and raving in your ear about your silence, ironically making him the loudest in the room.

you open your mouth around his thick fingers to try and tell him as such, but he pushes them down harder on your tongue. "never fuckin' listen," his words are more rasp and gravel than anything, hardly intelligible around the creaking, the deep thrusts enough to make you see stars. you should piss him off more often. you were going to piss him off more often.

his other hand goes to your thigh, lifting it higher up on his waist, giving him all that more access to getting as close to you as he possibly could. your head tips back into the thin, pathetic excuse of a pillow, no more words trying to escape your mouth but pleas of your own. shut the hell up, he pleaded you before. please make me louder, you pleaded him now, without the proper ability to say such.

daryl's thumb digs into the bottom of your jaw, cupping your open mouth in a claw. your saliva is all over his fingers, pooled in the corners of your lips, and yet the only sounds you can get out are the growled, unintelligible ones in your throat.

your hand reaches up to fist at his raggedy shirt, tugging him down closer. there's something wild in his eyes, like this little sense of normalcy, no matter how raunchy, had him gone. being in a world so ruined made the human things seem that much more exotic.

his thrusts are more erratic, and each noise around his fingers is becoming more desperate, more pleading. tears sprig in the corners of your eyes, clenching them tightly to focus on something, anything, that isn't the fact that you want to scream and cry out and can't even hardly utter a proper moan to show for how he breaks you apart and shatters you.

daryl lets go of your mouth suddenly, that hand going to the top bunk's metal frame as he uses his grip on your thigh to sink one last time into you, a guttural groan heaving from is chest. in the end, it's always the man that breaks his own rules.

his face is flushed when he lifts his forehead from the top bunk's frame, leaning beneath the boxspring above him to get a proper look at you. it's always hard to tell when he's blushing or when he's worked up. you think maybe this time it's both.

"you," you manage to choke out through your broken voice, mouth dry and thick from having it pried open for so long, "are a filthy little hypocrite."

daryl's lip quirks in the corner, more of a muscle twitch than a smile. "y'want me t'tell you to shut the hell up again already?"

he doesn't smile properly, but you do. a wide, toothy grin that only turns the pink on his cheeks more vibrant. "if you'll let me scream this time." daryl goes to argue, but you dig your heel into the muscle of his thigh. "only fair. you probably already woke up every damn walker at the gate."

a man of little words is more than likely also a man of many actions. he grabs your other ankle and pulls you closer to the edge of the mattress, and when the bed starts to creak again and you melt into a fit of moans hardly muffled by the scraps of fabric they called blankets here, he doesn't bother trying to shut you up this time.

notes. u let me write when i'm tired and i start acting like a proper slut PLSSS. anyways my venture into another fandom i hope the twd ppl don't bite.

tags. idk if i have any twd girlies in my audience rn but if u are one & want tagged pls lmk. for now special mentions to @deansbeer & @starzify & @frosttbitessam who ik at least have seen it hehehehe

#divider by cafekitsune #──★ dahlia's jrnl #daryl dixon x bold!reader #bold!reader #norman reedus #daryl dixon #daryl dixon one shot #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead one shot #twd one shot

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eddiesghxst · 1 day ago

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BENEATH THE BLADE - part one

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: swordsman!eddie x noble!reader

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

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

word count: 12.5k

| next part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

Eddie is handsome.

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

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

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

You hated it. You think you hate him.

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

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

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

A marriage of convenience, your father told you.

You have the money, and he has the men.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A lady doesn’t drink.” You say.

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

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

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

“Wine distorts the mind.”

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

“Dull thinking is a luxury?” You question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will do no such thing.” You quip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d be a fool to think he cared.

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss me already, wife?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” You ask.

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

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

“You kept me waiting.”

“And I am sorry.” He admits.

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

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

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

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

“What did she tell you?” You ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for some reason, your heart drops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How much of it is true?

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

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

And something in Eddie’s gaze churns.

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

“I won’t fuck you.” He replies.

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

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

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

“Then I will fuck you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Our bed?” He lowly huffs.

“Against my wishes, yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is so devastatingly beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you to watch.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes your body ache.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wants to ravish you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The clench of his hands on your waist says otherwise.

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

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

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

“...Show me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morning light comes quicker than you had hoped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because the council demanded I bring you.”

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

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

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

“I won’t go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will not go.” You slowly repeat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are not so excited about staying with him.

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

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

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

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

“He’s an amateur.” Eddie grumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if you are a child.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not bloody hungry.” You snap

“Stop being difficult.” Eddie huffs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It gets cold at sea.”

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

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

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

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

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

And god, he’s such an asshole.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What troubles you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You avoid her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie hates it.

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

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

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

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

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

“She doesn’t know you.”

“She shouldn’t want to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

part two.

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

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

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

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

#HEAR YE HEAR YE OR WHATEVER THEY SAY #ENJOYYYY #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #swordsman!eddie #royal!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson au #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie x y/n #stranger things fic

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andvys · 2 days ago

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The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter one

⭐︎ Welcome and Goodbye

Warnings: hurt/no comfort, angst, mentions of death, gore, post apocalypse, mentions of being drugged, mentions of SA (not actually happening here), allusions to sex trafficking, dark themes, mean!Steve, grumpy!Steve, grumpy x sunshine

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Steve can't stand your presence, won't accept his friends' pleading to let you stay with them, nothing will change his mind, he wants you gone... he really does.

Word count: 7.5k

Author's note: first chapter ya'll, I know there isn't much action yet but trust me when I say it's gonna get wild in here. @hellfire--cult is my assistant as always, so don't forget about her, she proofreads AND she writes with me (don't listen to her)

⭐︎ series masterlist

⭐︎ prologue

☀︎

It’s not the nightmares that wake you from your sleep this morning, it’s not the lingering fear and the anxiety this world has brought upon you, it’s the silence, the ray of sunlight peeking through the curtains that Nancy had closed last night. The mattress is soft beneath you, the covers are warm, your hair is sprawled over the pillow under your head, smelling of shampoo, floral and sweet, a luxury in this world, to smell nice, to be clean, to wake up in safety, fully rested, you can’t remember the last time you woke up like this, you can’t remember ever waking up like this since the world has ended, and every day you find yourself missing your small apartment you left abandoned in New York. You wonder what happened to it, if it was one of the buildings that burned down after the big cities were bombed, when the government, the military still thought that the end of the world could be stopped, that the monsters could be stopped.

You don’t look back a lot, there is no point to it, to grieve something that will never come back again but a part of you feels sad for the girl you were before the evil had spread, before you had to adapt to the ugliness this world has brought, before you had to accept that the real monsters weren’t the creatures.

A sinking feeling takes over when you register the voices downstairs, loud and angry, filled with rage and hatred – hatred for you, for no reason at all.

The lump in your throat grows, bigger and bigger each passing second.

He doesn’t want you here, and it didn’t change overnight.

You swallow harshly, and throw the covers off yourself, your feet hit the cold ground when you stand up. You look around the room, Nancy’s room, that she kindly let you stay in. You find the clothes she picked out for you, probably in one of the abandoned houses. You reach for the pants, a pair of denim jeans, you grab your belt and your thigh holster, surprised that it’s still on the desk where you had left it last night, a part of you expected Steve to take it from you and only give it back when you are by the gates and ready to leave this place, like he wants you to.

It felt nice to be around people again, people your age, ones who didn’t turn you away or had ill intentions for you. Eddie and Nancy were sweet and welcoming, they provided food and a place to stay, they made conversation, the way people used to do before all this.

It makes you sick, knowing you have to leave today, by yourself, to know that you won’t get a good night’s sleep again, to know that you won’t wake up so peacefully tomorrow morning – if there will be one for you.

You throw the black shirt on, before you lean down towards the different pairs and sizes of shoes she had left here for you. They are different from your converse, which have too many holes in them already, the sole is wearing off. They used to be your favorite pair but it’s time to abandon them now too, you pick a pair of combat boots this time and tie the laces tightly.

You stop by the bathroom first, to wash your face and brush your teeth, you drown out the angry voices that belong to Steve and Nancy, you know they are fighting because of you. She wants you to stay, he wants you to leave, he doesn’t care to hide his distaste.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, taking in the sight of yourself. You haven’t changed much, you think. Your hair got longer, you lost weight but that isn’t a surprise to you, you have gone days without food or even water, too many nights you struggled to fall asleep because of the hunger and the emptiness in your stomach.

A sigh escapes you, a sad one, you know what is waiting for you downstairs.

“Steve, she is all alone, we can’t just let her go like that!” You hear Nancy say when you slowly make your way towards the staircase.

“You know we have a supply limit. We rationed water and food for three people only, and now we would have to do it for one more?” Steve scoffs, and from what you have seen of him yesterday, you can imagine the look on his face and how he is crossing his arms over his chest, stubbornly.

“No one else would take her in! Everyone left in Hawkins are old people who can’t even fend for themselves properly–”

“She didn’t ask to stay,” Steve interrupts, not allowing her to finish her sentence. “Besides, I give two shits about her, Nance.”

His words shouldn’t sting the way they do, he is nothing but a stranger, his harsh words shouldn’t even touch you… and yet they do.

“What is wrong with you? You weren’t like this at all!” Nancy’s voice seems shocked, taken aback by the words that just left his mouth.

You hear his scoff, his humorless chuckle, “oh really? I thought you weren’t like this either! Before you would have threatened a stranger with a gun to their head, and now you let some random girl just use our things and let her stay!?”

“She seems nice, Steve!”

A part of you wants to run down the stairs and break apart the fight, you never planned on staying, you never wanted this to happen, all you wanted was shelter for the night and a new map, you never meant for this to happen.

You stand frozen in place, holding onto the railing of the stairs.

“She ain’t going to replace Barb if that’s what you think.”

Silence follows after, no words are spoken, nothing, just silence, for a minute or two.

You know he’s hit a nerve, you know he aimed for the kill with that. It fills you with guilt, knowing that this is only about you, that your presence prompted him to throw something at her that he knew would hurt her.

“You’re bringing Barb into this!? Are you seriously bringing back what happened to Barb?!” Nancy’s voice of disbelief rings in your ears.

“I am not bringing anything back, all I’m saying is she is not a pet, or a doll to keep you both fucking company!”

“She is a person!”

“She is a nuisance!”

You suck in a sharp breath, that one stung. You know you aren’t welcome here, you aren’t – weren’t welcome anywhere, it never really hurt to be turned away, so you won’t let it hurt now either.

You start making your way down the stairs, slowly and quietly. You ignore the beating of your heart as you step into the hallway and make your way into the dining room to get to the kitchen where the silence is suddenly deafening. You step where they can’t see you and you take in the sight of both of them as they stand across from one another, he is leaning against the kitchen island, glaring at the girl that welcomed you with nothing but kindness. Her arms are crossed, her eyes are burning with anger and disbelief, but mostly with disappointment.

“Wow Steve, you sure sound like your dad there.”

You watch and wait for his reaction, you see the way he tenses up, the way he furrows his eyebrows and frowns at her, he huffs loudly and drops his arms to his sides, shaking his head at her.

“See? She comes along and we fight, when we never fucking did this whole year!”

“How could there be any time to fight when we spent it grieving–”

Before she can say anymore, and reveal something that they might not want you to know about, you clear your throat and step into the kitchen, making them both snap their heads towards you.

“You guys don’t have to fight because of me, I’m not staying here, that was never my intention. I was passing through, like I told you yesterday,” you tell him, looking at him only for a second, not wanting to look any longer and see the false pity. “I appreciate what you have done for me, Nancy. You and Eddie, you have done more for me than I could have asked for, but I’ll be on my way now, and out of your hair,” you mumble the last part to the man before you, who is avoiding your eyes now, choosing to look at the hardwood floor instead.

“Good, got your map?” Steve asks, not caring about saying anything else to you.

Nancy scoffs at him, clenching her fists, she shakes her head. She can’t believe what she is hearing, what he is saying, the hatred in his eyes he holds for someone he doesn’t even know, how he is ready to turn someone away and send them to their death, because this is what is waiting for you behind these walls.

You nod your head and eye him slowly, his jaw is clenched, his eyes filled with something you can’t fully read, you see the disbelief in her whole expression – he hasn’t always been like this, the shock in her voice proved it, you wonder what happened to him, you wonder what made him so… cruel.

“Yeah, I’m gonna go now–”

“What’s happening here?” Eddie’s voice interrupts you, he stops beside you, wiping motor oil off his hands with a dark blue bandana, he scans your faces, notices the tension in the room, right away. One look at Nancy and the deep frown and he knows what is happening.

You can’t even open your mouth to answer his question before Steve beats you to it.

“She was just leaving,” he glares at his friend, warning him with his eyes not to try anything, but Eddie isn’t like Nancy, he won’t fight, he won’t argue, he simply won’t listen to him. “Got the map, right?” He asks again.

“You know what,” Eddie starts, already grinning at his friend. “I lost my last copy. And requesting one in the community takes a long while, which I already took care of. Callaway is preparing one but you know… gotta scavenge to find a good updated one and that ass is a fucking sloth.”

Steve pushes himself off the counter, furrowing his brows, he purses his lips as he shakes his head in confusion, “what– are you lying?”

“Absolutely not,” Eddie shakes his head, already stepping closer to you and wrapping his arm around your shoulder, not letting you go anywhere. “So, no. Sweetheart here can’t leave without a map. The only copy is the one for when we leave–”

Steve sighs again, probably for the tenth time this morning.

“We’re not leaving.”

“--And we’re not giving our personal map away so… until there is a spare one, she has to stay.”

Your cheeks heat up when Steve glances at you, the hazel in his eyes darkens, the frown on his face deepens. You feel weird beneath his gaze, you don’t like this, you don’t like staying somewhere you’re not wanted but Eddie is persistent, Nancy is too, and you don’t want to be by yourself again, not yet. You can’t look into his eyes any longer though, or at his face, so you look down instead.

Steve knows not to argue with Eddie, it’s no use, not with him, the look on his face tells him that Eddie is ready to bite his face off if he even dares to utter another word about you leaving. He still doesn’t hide his distaste for you, and he scoffs at his friends, looking between Nancy and Eddie, he shakes his head in disappointment, “you know, this is exactly what will get you both killed,” he grumbles before he storms past you and out of the house.

Eddie murmurs words under his breath as he shakes his head, before he turns to you, noticing the frown on your face, the uncertainty.

“Come on, you are helping me with something today.”

You finally look up again, glancing at him first, at the kind smile directed at you, the warmth in his eyes so different from the coldness in Steve’s. Nancy offers you a small smile too but the tears in her eyes aren’t hard to miss, the sadness in her features, the disappointment – maybe you should have left when he told you to.

“I– um, I can find a map somewhere else, I’ll go–”

“No.” Nancy shakes her head, “you’re staying, that’s final.”

“He doesn’t want me here,” you speak, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I want you here,” she argues, shrugging her shoulders.

“So do I.” Eddie nudges your shoulder, still smiling just as softly as before. “You’re staying until he– we’re ready to leave, we’ll go together when the time is right.”

You don’t understand why they want you here so badly, why they even care as much as they do, you understand him more, better.

You welcome their company with open arms though, appreciating it more than anything. You have been on your own for too long, you hated every minute of it, no matter how normal it became to you, you hated it, you don’t want it anymore.

Eddie doesn’t wait for you to say yes – he won’t let you leave anyways, even if you insisted.

“So… have you ever gone fishing?” Eddie asks you, beginning to lead you away when he hears Nancy’s soft sniffle, knowing she won’t want comfort or sympathy from him or you. There is only one she would want it from, but that one is long gone, so the only thing he or anyone can do is give her the space that she needs in moments like these.

He shuts the door behind him.

The wind is soft against your skin, warm and pleasant, the sun shines down on you, bright and golden rays hitting the lake and the grass surrounding you. There is a boat by the shore, slightly moving every time the waves slosh against it.

Eddie is humming beside you, enjoying the warm day, the silence. It’s easy to forget what’s out there when you take in your peaceful surroundings and breathe in the fresh air – though the smell of spring, fresh grass and flowers are missing, nothing really grows anymore. You remember the rotten smell in the first few months before winter came, you remember the dead birds on the ground, the apples that fell from the trees, infested by maggots, it was disgusting and you constantly had to wear a mask as to not gag after every breath you took of this rotten world.

You feel sad every time you think of how you will never smell flowers again or grass after the rain, how you will never see a field of sunflowers again, even when a part of you always hoped that the one behind your house was somehow spared by this world – it would have to be a miracle and miracles are something rare nowadays.

You wonder what this place looked like before, if any flowers grew surrounding the field in front of the lake, if it was filled with people in the summer, if any teenagers have snuck down here to throw bonfire parties, to jump into the water in the middle of the night, to share a first kiss, to come here to be alone, to cry, to enjoy the silence, to enjoy the view.

Places that were once filled with people, are now abandoned, haunted with the sound of what once was, of something that will never be again. It’s not only the world that has changed, people have too.

“Do you wanna try?” Eddie asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Hm?” You tilt your head to the side, furrowing your brows at the curly haired man before you.

He chuckles, noticing the confused frown on your face, the lost look in your eyes. You were distracted, far away from here.

“I know I’m handsome, didn’t think you’d be so distracted by my beauty,” he smirks and rolls his shoulders.

You can’t hold back the giggle that falls from your lips, the playfully arrogant look on his face, the plastered smirk. You have only known him for a couple of hours, yet you can already tell that this man loves to tease people.

“I was actually distracted by my surroundings, I was wondering what this place looked like before… you know.”

Eddie nods, his smiling fading a bit, he looks down at the rod in his hand, “it was nice, I mean it still is, considering everything,” he pauses, pointing at the big willow tree that was somehow left untouched by this new world. “Flowers used to grow right here though, lots of ‘em. Bet you would’ve loved that.”

A smile grazes your face, you nod at him, “I know I would, there used to be this big field of sunflowers behind my parents’ house, it was beautiful. I got lost in it as a child though… once or twice.”

Eddie chuckles at that, “or thrice?”

You squint your eyes and smile sheepishly at him, making him chuckle again, “that’s cute.”

You nudge his shoulder with your own, “you think me getting lost is cute?”

“Hey, you’ve come a long way since then, look at you, traveling through the country without getting lost,” he teases, nudging you back.

“Who says I didn’t get lost a few times? I might’ve taken one too many wrong routes and got off the path.”

“Oh no, sweets,” Eddie shakes his head at you, “I think you’ve taken the right ones, they lead you right here and now you’re with us, you’re on the right path.”

Eddie can see the bit of confusion in your eyes, like you don’t understand him, just like you don’t understand Nancy, he knows there must be reasons for that, he can’t even imagine them though.

You look away from his warm eyes, to his arms, to the tattoos and the scars that linger on his skin, his hand is holding the rod tightly, his fingers are adorned with rings, you can tell that they are a part of him, just like the tattoos, every single one of them has a meaning. You look back into his eyes – Eddie is still a stranger to you but there is a certain energy around him, you can’t help but feel safe with him.

“You are really kind, Eddie. You and Nancy, I appreciate that a lot.”

The tone in your voice is sad, he can tell that much, he can see it too when you cast your eyes on the ground.

“Hey, I think we could use some kindness in this world, don’t you think?” He smiles softly.

Your lips curl upwards, you nod slowly, though you stay quiet for another second or two.

“Steve doesn’t seem to share that opinion with you…” You murmur quietly, a little scared to touch that topic but still curious. You heard what Nancy had said to him, it left you wondering all day. ��He is not very kind, and he doesn’t want me here.”

“He’ll come around,” Eddie says, shrugging. “Besides, we’re not staying either, as soon as the RV is done, we’re leaving, together.”

Nancy had told you about it, about the community, a safe haven, somewhere far away, on the shores of California. Her family is there, her mother and her siblings, Mike and Holly, and other survivors who were led away from here by a man named Hopper. For months they hadn’t heard from them, didn’t know if they had made it there or not. Steve was positive that they had died just like everyone else did – but then, a few weeks ago, the radio station in their living room had finally given a signal, after months and months of waiting, it finally came to life, and through came the voice of Dustin Henderson, Mike’s friend.

Eddie had started fixing the RV right after. He didn’t want to waste more time staying in Hawkins, in the small gated residential that is now only filled with a few old people who refuse to leave their homes behind, they will die here and they’re okay with that. Eddie and Nancy aren’t.

“Nancy told me Nevada is your destination?” Eddie asks, continuing after you nod. “It’s on our way, we’ll go there together.”

You like the sound of that, you like the thought of not having to continue your travels by yourself, because it gets quite lonely, sometimes unsettling.

You want to go home, to your family, to your parents and your brother. You know that there is a great chance that they have left, that they have found some place else to stay but the last time you have spoken to them, when you were still able to call, when you were still in your apartment in New York, they were set on staying at the house. Your dad said that it was safe to stay, that gates and fences were built around the town, around the neighbourhood, nothing could come through.

“I’d like that.” You wish you could smile, you wish you could believe it, but you know that Steve doesn’t want to leave and you can’t imagine Eddie and Nancy leaving without him. “Steve doesn’t want to leave though… why is that?”

At that, Eddie falls quiet for a moment, his back hunches, his lips curl into a frown, sadness flashes in his features.

“He uh,” he pauses to take a deep breath, “he doesn’t want to leave his best friend, Robin.”

When he looks up at you, he notices how you get lost in your thoughts for a moment, millions of questions flash before you, questions you want to ask but won’t, out of respect. You open your mouth a few times, though no words come out.

There is this feeling inside of you, that heavy yet hollow feeling that takes home in your chest that tells you everything you need to know, it’s a feeling you have mistaken for anxiety before, when you didn’t know yet what it actually was.

“...Why isn’t Robin going too?”

Eddie hesitates, turning to look at the lake, he takes a few deep breaths, blinks as he stares ahead.

“She uh, she wants to stay here.”

“Oh.”

Eddie tries to smile, though it seems forced.

“But you don’t want to, and neither does Nancy,” you point out, knowing that she can’t wait to get out of here.

Eddie shakes his head, pressing his lips together as he breathes in, “no, I wanna be with my friends and my uncle.”

“He’s in the community too?”

Now he smiles genuinely, “yeah, he is there. Bet he is on a boat all day, catching fish for everyone. That’s something he always dreamed of actually, living by the ocean, going on boat tours, he never got the chance to before, when he wasn’t struggling with money, he was taking care of me… I can’t believe the world had to end for him to live a better life.”

You smile sadly, you can see that his uncle means a lot to him, you can tell that he misses him strongly.

“Yeah, well… life is weird, most people don’t fit into this world, most people are guided by fear and hatred now but… some have it the other way around, I suppose, as crazy as that sounds.”

Eddie nods at that, a soft chuckle falls from his lips as he looks back at the water, “honestly, this still feels like a fever dream.”

It did to you too, it felt like a dream you desperately wanted to wake up from, a nightmare like none you have ever experienced before. You don’t even remember what it was that made you realize that your old life was over, that nothing would go back to the way it was, that this was your life now and for always – perhaps it was the evilness that had awoken in most people you have encountered, or maybe it was the gruesome ways you watched people getting killed, or maybe it was the loneliness and the lack of life on the streets.

You doubt that Eddie had changed much, you feel like he had always been this way, kind and openhearted.

You wonder about Steve though, you have heard what Nancy said to him.

“What uh, what about Steve? Was he always like this?”

“You mean was he always an asshole?” Eddie asks, chuckling.

Your face flushes at that, and you quickly shake your head.

“No, I-I mean–”

“Come on, sweetheart,” Eddie tilts his head, eyes flashing with amusement, “he is kind of an asshole but to answer your question, no, he wasn’t always like this, he was always protective but now it’s more than that, he’s… everything is a threat to him now, everything he doesn’t know is danger.”

“So… I’m a threat to him?”

Eddie chuckles again, he shakes his head.

“I don’t think you could look like one even if you tried. He is just wary, he’ll come around though.”

You huff at his words, frowning a little, you’re well aware that people think you’re an easy target. Your experiences from the past, ones that happened not too long ago even, are proof of that.

“Well, even if he saw me as a threat or anyone else for that matter, I wouldn’t blame him.”

Eddie furrows his brows, “this world, the monsters are the real enemy.”

You once thought so too, back when you were still naive, still untouched by this world.

“There are worse things than monsters out there, Eddie.”

There’s no smile on your face now, no softness in your eyes, the tone in your voice is serious. A chill runs down his spine, something about the way you said it, worries him. He wants to ask, he wants to know what you are talking about, though a part of him already knows the answer to that.

“I–” Before he can utter another word, he watches the way your eyes widen as you touch his shoulder without forcing your eyes away from the lake.

“You got one! I think you got one!” You point at the line that keeps jerking forward.

“Oh!” Eddie jumps up, lifting the rod back up in the air, he starts pulling the fish up. His tongue pokes out between his teeth, a look of concentration taking over his face now.

“You got it, you got it!” You clap your hands excitedly, making him chuckle beside you as you jump on the grass.

“Alright,” Eddie murmurs, not even struggling against the strength that keeps pulling at the rod, “get the net for me, please.”

You bend down and reach for the net that he threw down earlier. You pick it up, and follow him to the shore.

“You’re next, sweetheart,” Eddie grins at you, “gonna let you catch the second fish.”

“That’s one big fucking fish! Good job, Eds!” Nancy exclaims with joy as she serves the big plate in the middle of the table.

Steve looks up at Eddie to see if he is smiling proudly, instead he sees him scowling.

“It… wasn’t me.”

Steve and Nancy slowly turn their heads to you, to see you wiggling in your seat, excitedly.

“I caught the mackerels,” Eddie grumbles as he reaches for the freshly baked bread, “she caught that one.”

Steve hides his surprise well, though he still looks at you as he sips on his whiskey before he reaches for the bowl of cooked potatoes.

“Wait, you fish?” Nancy asks as she sits down beside you.

You shake your head, smiling at your new friend, “nope! But I’m strong and I learn fast!”

You ignore Steve’s sighs and his incoherent words that he grumbles under his breath. You look at him from the side though, catching him glaring at you.

“I can tell!” Nancy chuckles as she turns to Eddie, “you’ve got some competition.”

“I fucking know, Nance,” Eddie mumbles, pretending to be mad, like he didn’t cheer when you caught that fish. He turns to Steve, who not only fills his own plate but also Eddie’s and then Nancy’s.

It’s a sweet gesture, one that shows you that he isn’t as heartless as he pretends to be.

“Thanks man,” Eddie grins, to which Steve doesn’t even smile or look at him, he turns to you though, looking into your eyes intensely – no smile, no kindness, nothing. It’s hard to look past his cold behaviour, to take him in fully, he is so robotic and rude, even when he isn’t speaking to you, he is mean, you can’t see anything else but that. You don’t expect him to put dinner on your plate like he does for his friends, you are not welcome here in his eyes but you also don’t expect him to hand you the bowl.

You reach for it, taking it from his hands, he immediately withdraws when your fingers touch his, like you are venom.

“I can take you to the greenhouse tomorrow!” Nancy smiles as she picks up her fork, stabbing it into the steamed carrots. “I’ll show you our crops, we’ve got a lot of carrots growing, right now!”

Steve glares at her, he wants you gone by the morning, he’s made it loud and clear when he came back earlier while you were out fishing with Eddie.

Nancy ignores him, Eddie does too, he is too busy taking apart the fish on his plate. But you, you can’t unsee the disapproving look on his face, it makes you squirm in your seat, it takes away your appetite too.

“I’m still surprised by how much food you have–”

“It isn’t much,” Steve interrupts you as he takes a bite of his food, his eyes practically pierce through your soul, making you cower. He acts like you will take away everything.

Nancy’s angry eyes do little, she even kicks him under the table but he ignores her.

“It’s much for someone who had nothing for months. Besides, I didn’t think that vegetables and fruit could still grow, there’s a lot of rotten land out there.”

There is no regret or guilt in his eyes, he can tell that you hadn’t had much to eat, that yesterday’s dinner and all the food on the table tonight, is a real feast for you.

“I’m sure there are other places out there that have more food, you’ll find your way there.”

Eddie sighs loudly beside him, shaking his head, though to keep the peace at this table, he bites his tongue.

Nancy leans back in her chair, she clenches her jaw, not hiding the anger she has got directed at him.

“Yeah… I’m sure I will,” You murmur quietly before you pick up your fork and start eating, forcing the food down that you were excited for.

He looks down at you, not blinking, not moving. You chew your food slowly unlike the night before. You tuck your hair behind your ear and pull the sleeve of your sweater over your free hand. There are dark circles under your eyes, like you haven’t slept in days – and you probably haven’t until last night, even that wasn’t enough to catch up on all that you have lost. You probably haven’t had a warm meal in weeks, maybe months. You probably haven’t felt safe since the day the world has ended. But he can’t care, he shouldn’t, it will only make things complicated, it will only do damage.

“We will,” Nancy exclaims.

“What?” Steve asks, forcing his gaze away from you.

“I said, we will find a place like that out there, in fact we will find our way to California together, she is coming with us as soon as the RV is ready.” Nancy says with a loud and determined tone, not caring to go soft on him anymore.

Steve slams his fork down, making you flinch. He stands up, nearly causing his chair to fall over. He grabs his gear that he threw on the coffee table earlier.

“Where are you going?” Nancy frowns, also getting up.

“To Robin. I can’t believe you two are still going on about this,” he scoffs, taking one last look at you before he storms out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

You sit quietly, looking down at your plate, no longer feeling the hunger in your stomach.

Nancy sighs loudly, she looks up at the ceiling, her jaw still clenched. She sits down again, and picks her fork back up.

You lift your head and glance at Eddie, “is Robin…”

“The best friend who doesn’t want to leave the community, yeah.” He glances at Nancy, for only a split second, before he looks down again and continues eating.

Nancy clears her throat before she looks at you, she knows you’re curious about her, about why she isn’t here, why she isn’t coming too.

“Her parents are really strict, they don’t allow her to leave Hawkins,” she explains, hesitating for a moment, “and… Steve doesn’t want to leave without her, so…”

“Oh,” you nod in understanding, squinting your eyes as you look at his empty space. He is so angry, so hateful towards everything and everyone. “Is he… are they like in love or something?”

Eddie laughs at that, shaking his head, “mmm… no… trust me, birdie’s type is more… people like you.”

Nancy looks down with a smile and flushed cheeks.

You tilt your head to the side, “oh… you mean non grumpy?”

They both chuckle in amusement, the questioning and innocent look in your eyes is funny to them both.

It takes you a moment to realize why they are so amused by your question, and you grow flustered once you understand.

“...Oh!”

That still doesn’t answer your question about him though.

“Now eat up, sweets,” Eddie says, gesturing to your nearly untouched plate, “forget that grumpy asshole.”

Nancy looks down with wide eyes, taking a deep breath as she starts eating again too, “kinda hard to when he acts like this.”

Yeah, it is hard to forget that man and his glaring eyes, the cold shoulder and the mean comments that are meant to drive you away as fast as possible. You know he is probably counting down the hours until you’re gone and he doesn’t have to see you anymore.

Tomorrow you will be alone again, all by yourself, with no one to talk to, with no one to laugh with. You will be back on the road and you will turn around after nearly every step that you will take, you won’t have a warm dinner and a hot shower, you won’t have that feeling of safety, you won’t sleep again.

So, you try, you try to forget him, you try to enjoy this moment with Eddie and Nancy, you try for as long as you can, even when it gets late and Nancy excuses herself to take a shower while you and Eddie clean the kitchen together.

A comfortable silence settles between you both, you wipe down the counter while he washes the dishes. You can tell that he is thinking hard about something, you noticed that he always frowns really strongly when he gets lost in his own head.

You grab a fresh towel and lean against the counter beside him, reaching for one of the washed plates, and you start drying it.

“Can I ask you something?” He finally breaks the silence, and you know you’re about to find out what went on in his head.

“Sure.”

“Earlier you said that there are worse things than monsters out there,” he pauses and puts the sponge down, putting the washed cutlery on the counter for you to dry, he wipes his hands with the towel that was thrown over his shoulder and he crosses his arms over his chest when he turns his whole body to face you. “What’d you mean by that?”

A quiet ‘oh’ falls from your lips. You don’t answer his question right away, taking your time to finish drying the plates. Eddie doesn’t push you, waiting for you to be ready, and when you are, you turn to face him, as well.

“I meant people.”

He only raises his eyebrows at you.

“People are bad, Eddie. You can’t even imagine what it’s like out there,” you sigh, not hiding the fear in your eyes. “People will do anything to survive, they will take anything they want, anyone they want…”

His brown eyes that were previously filled with confusion and curiosity are blank for a moment, his eyebrows stay furrowed until your words fully dawn on him and his features pull into a look of shock, understanding.

“Oh,” he whispers softly as his arms fall to his sides.

“There are no rules out there, anyone can get away with anything. I’ve seen people kill others for cans of food, for ammo or water. I’ve come across people who didn’t take me in so kindly, all I got was stale bread and a cell to sleep in for the night and those weren’t even the worst ones.”

Eddie frowns, he doesn’t open his mouth to speak, not knowing what to say yet.

“I’ve heard rumors… of young girls and boys being sold, traded for weapons and other things. I didn’t want to believe it.”

His face pales at your words, he shakes his head slowly, disbelief is written all over his face.

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, take a deep breath, you try to ignore the chills that run down your spine still from that night.

“A few days ago, maybe a week… I was looking for food at a gas station when a sick person snuck up on me, nearly ripped a hole into my head when it grabbed at my hair. I fell onto broken glass,” you pause to show him the wound on your shoulder, “that fucker nearly got me, I couldn’t reach my gun fast enough, I thought I was done for… Someone saved me, a man.”

Eddie swallows, bracing himself for what he is about to hear.

“Scared me more than that sick person, honestly. I didn’t trust him, but he helped me, got me alcohol and bandages for my wound, and offered me water and food. He told me that he lived in a nearby community, that his wife and his kids were there too. I was naive. I was tired and desperate for shelter, I fell for it and I almost paid for my stupidity.” You pause, feeling your heart race from just telling the story. “I had a bad feeling but I still got into his car, and it only took two minutes for him to pull out a syringe. I knew right then and there what I had gotten myself into.”

“Jesus,” Eddie whispers, eyeing you worriedly.

“I fought, I-I don’t know how I got myself out of that one but I did.”

You try not to think of the way you had almost lost that fight, how his hands grabbed at you, how scared you felt, how you thought that your heart was gonna jump out of your throat, how he nearly stabbed that needle into your neck if you hadn’t managed to kick your heel into his groin, buying you that time that you needed to get out of there and jump out of the moving car.

“I ran into the woods, I didn’t want to get back into that town and risk him coming back for me… with more men. I was lost for days, at one point I thought that I wouldn’t find my way back out of those woods but I did, I made it out and I got here. Steve was the first person, the first man I stumbled into after that. I-I was a little scared… but he looked harmless compared to the one before, and even if he wasn’t, I would’ve taken him over anyone else.” You admit, looking down at your hands.

Eddie is stunned, he doesn’t know what to say after all of this. He is shocked and horrified. He knew that people were cruel, even before all of this, but he never thought that they would turn into this. He looks down at you, sadly, he is glad that worse didn’t happen but what you went through was bad enough.

“People are like that…?”

You nod, “yeah… it’s rough out there… when you’re alone.”

Eddie didn’t want you to leave before but now? He would fight Steve to make you stay.

He places his hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly, he looks into your eyes, giving you a promising look, “you’re not alone anymore, alright? You’ve got us–”

“But Steve–”

“It doesn’t matter what he said, he wouldn’t let you out there either if he knew about this. He is not that cruel, I promise. You’re with us now and you ain’t leaving without us.”

Eddie makes a promise, and you can tell by the look in his eyes that he won’t break it.

“Okay,” you whisper, smiling softly at him before you turn away and pick up your task again.

Eddie keeps looking at you though, with a smile that slowly fades and eyes that flash with sadness. He has only known you for one day but he couldn’t help but grow protective of you already, just the way he felt when he was still in high school and he took in all the lost sheep who were looking for shelter from all those hungry wolves.

He won’t let you out there on your own, he won’t let Steve throw you out to the wolves who have gotten even hungrier.

Eddie had dealt with so much guilt when he was dragged into this world two years ago. He had no chance of saving her, but he can save you. He knows you will die if you go out there alone, with or without a map. You can’t depend on your luck alone. It got you this far, but how much more is there for you to use?

And as he chats away with you again, to distract you and himself from the sudden fear of what else they might encounter once they leave the community, you two don’t hear the creak of the stairs as someone goes to their room after spending the last minutes perched on the kitchen’s doorway.

Someone whose eyebrows were furrowed in the middle with worry, with guilt. He didn’t know it was that bad out there. He didn’t know the monsters weren’t the only ones killing, and from what you told Eddie, the bite of a demobat seemed a far better outcome than being taken away by some random people for them to do, god knows what with you.

Steve’s heart was torn as he went into his room, sighing as he dropped his bag to the floor. He felt his stomach twisting with emotions, with nerves, with feelings that he couldn’t quite figure out at the moment. It was all too dangerous, everything was. But maybe now that Eddie knew how dangerous moving around was, the idea of leaving was no longer brought up to him.

And you… He wants to strangle you.

Your feet drag you down the stairs, rubbing your eye lazily as you try to wipe the sleep away from you. You kept thinking of the conversation with Eddie, and you wondered how in the world were you going to be in the same place as someone who just didn’t want you breathing their same oxygen. There was no way you could possibly stay a long time with someone like that.

The smell of coffee filled your nostrils, something you just couldn’t believe you were smelling yet. Something you never thought you would smell ever again. Nancy must be awake, and you couldn’t wait to ask her what you could help with today, but the moment you crossed the kitchen’s doorway, you were surprised to see brown brushed hair, a broad back facing you, wearing a plain white t-shirt and some black sweatpants.

Steve turned around, his eyes clashing with yours for just one second before placing a cup on the counter, filled with coffee.

“We have milk, but we save it. I can only offer black coffee and some sugar.” You were not expecting him to hand you coffee. You were not expecting a good morning from him at all, and for you, this gesture was his way of saying it.

“I– It’s okay…” Your hands grabbed onto the cup and then poured six spoonfuls of sugar, making Steve wince at the sight.

“God, just like Munson–” You heard him scoff as he turned away from you and your eyes looked at his broad back as you watched him pour coffee into his own cup. You immediately brought the cup to your lips as he turned to face you again.

“T–Thank you.” His jaw clenched for a second, taking a sip of his coffee at the same time you did. Silence filled the room and you could feel just how awkward everything was. What were you supposed to say now? Should you be the one to tell him you might be staying? That Eddie is not letting you leave? Your mouth opened only for his voice to interrupt you.

“If you are planning on staying here, you’ll have to do chores and tasks like we all do.”

“Huh?” Your eyes widened as you looked at him. He was looking at his coffee as if it were the most interesting thing in the world before his sharp gaze turned to you.

“We shift our tasks daily. We don’t do the same thing everyday. Patrolling is a two men job–”

“You were alone that day–”

“Eddie had an emergency and it was time I had to go home anyways. There’s fishing, cooking, cleaning, gardening, patroling.” You were blinking absentmindedly at him as he kept talking and you couldn’t believe he was letting you stay. With conditions, but he was letting you fucking stay.

“Wait, are you serious?” Your voice was small as you asked the questions, “I can stay?”

“Who’s staying?” Nancy walked in, her hair a matter mess on her head, which made Steve scoff in disapproval, only for her to shrug at him as she went to get a cup from the cupboard.

“She is staying.” Nancy almost dropped the cup as she heard Steve’s words, her eyes widening as she looked at him and then back at you. “And you better not make me fucking regret this.”

His eyes were locked with yours and for some reason he felt a shiver running down his spine. Something that was telling him ‘you did the right thing’. He better have. Whatever just told him he made the right decision, better not fuck him over. Nancy turned to jump in excitement your way, smiling as she started to tell you what tasks you could take on, while you stared between her and him, not understanding what was going on yet.

Maybe he can convince you to stay, and maybe that is the key to making Eddie and Nancy stay. To forget the idea of leaving Hawkins. He can’t leave Robin. He doesn’t understand how Eddie and Nancy can easily leave her behind. He just hopes you don’t do the exact opposite.

God, he really does hope he did the right thing.

☀︎

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