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nuzipilled · 9 months ago

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THE GANGS ALL HERE 🗣️🔥‼️ information below the cut, “B” cast ( Doll, Lizzy, Thad) have not been included yet as they dont have a role in the main story yet. feel free to ask any questions, me and @kylelily123abc4 will do our best to answer them (:

UZI

Uzi is a 21 year old woman with an undergraduate in medical engineering, which she was coaxed into by her parents (Namely Khan). She is incredibly adept and smart and prefers the technicalities of weapons engineering, and majors in art on the side. She would like to do it full time, however her parents insist it’s not a “real job.” She volunteers at the local hospital N, V and J are relocated to from overseas so they can continue inpatient care until they are stable enough to be discharged and resume physio / psychotherapy as outpatients. She meets N during his time there and immediately clicks with him, and eventually begins to visit him on her off hours, and continues to visit him even after her contract ends. They end up establishing a relationship together and, after finding it is much less expensive commuting to school, moves in with N, V, J, Cyn and Tessa in their apartment for the semester.

She spent most of her childhood moving around and being bullied—the most significant moment having been when her first kiss was stolen by someone who only dated her because he was dared to.

Uzi is a big fan of all things anime, edgy humor, hot topic, and nightcore. she’s got the soul of an unabashed 2000s emo girl stuck in the modern day.

Private first class Nate (all his friends call him N) Is a 23 year old man who was fostered from a family in Utah alongside his sister Cyn under Tessa, another childhood friend, and the Elliot family in Melbourne Australia from the ages of 8-18. When of applicable age, he went back to the United States to enlist in the marines and live with Cyn, a former child prodigy who was scouted and given multiple scholarships due to record breaking academics and reflexes on simulator games.

He was severely traumatized during his first deployment overseas along with his other childhood friends, V, and J, after their humvee hit an IED during a routine supply run. All three were critically injured and the sole survivors of their team of 6. He, along with J and V spent a total of 12 hours alone in the desert before they were airlifted to an emergency hospital in germany, then, once stabilized, returned to the states to resume inpatient care in Salem, Oregon.

Despite his honorable discharge and severe ptsd diagnosis, N does his best to remain upbeat and positive, almost to a fault, oftentimes repressing “bad” thoughts or feelings.

He ends up meeting Uzi in the hospital and they form a relationship together, her eventually moving in and living with V, J, Him, Tessa, and Cyn in their flat after they’re discharged from the hospital.

Sergeant Jane (Only preferring J when around close friends) is a 26 year old trans woman who was fostered from an immigrant afghan family under Tessa, another childhood friend, and the Elliot family in Melbourne Australia from the ages of 4-18, having realized she was a woman very early in life. She began socially transitioning at 12, and began HRT as soon as she aged out of the system. She was the first to be involved with the Elliots and was pushed to enlist in the australian military, quickly moving up the ranks to sergeant and was eventually posted in the united states to assist in training other cadets. She was severely traumatized during her second deployment overseas along with her other childhood friends, V, and N after their humvee hit an IED during a routine supply run. All three were critically injured and the sole survivors of their team of 6. she, along with J and V spent a total of 12 hours alone in the desert before they were airlifted to an emergency hospital in germany, then, once stabilized, returned to the states to resume inpatient care in Salem, Oregon.

Having been their squad leader, J often blames herself for the incident, even if she doesn’t talk about it or say anything out loud. J is an ass kisser. She will do anything and everything to succeed and has a Holier Than Thou personality, often very uptight and not about any bullshit. Her relationship with N specifically is horrible, and she harbours lots of jealousy and resentment from their time growing up due to favoritism.

She has a long standing, massive crush on Tessa Elliot, her longtime confidant and friend, though it went unrequited for their entire childhood and into their early adult life, J often being subject to Tessa’s dating endeavours and crushes in the meantime.

Lance Corporal Victoria, (Who prefers to go by V present day) 4-18 who was fostered from a family in Vermont under Tessa, another childhood friend, and the Elliot family in Melbourne Australia from the ages of 8-18. She enlisted in the military alongside J and eventually N, and was transferred to the states to assist in training procedures for new cadets with J.

She was decommissioned during her second deployment overseas along with N and J after their humvee hit an IED during a routine supply run. All three were critically injured and the sole survivors of their team of 6. She took the brunt of the blast, sustaining the most severe wounds and was airlifted to an emergency hospital in germany, then, once stabilized, returned to the states to resume inpatient care in Salem, Oregon.

The doctors operating on her told her she would never walk again--V proved that wrong by walking the next week. It was a miracle—however V simply states it was due to “having that dog in her.”

She is very resilient, but is often grumpy with a dry sense of tone and humor. She used to have feelings for N when they were kids, but it's since faded as they grew and disappeared during their time in active duty. Though despite this, she still cares for him as a friend, even if she rarely shows it.

She is the first to be discharged, having been set up in an apartment downtown by Tessa, who lives with her and eventually is joined by N, J, Cyn, and eventually Uzi. She is a gym rat with a heavy workout regimen that she will make everyone else's problem if its interrupted.

CYN

Cynthia (Who ONLY goes by Cyn present day) is N's little sister. She is still in active duty in the military air-force. She was a child savant who graduated highschool at 14 and college at 18, moving on to become one of the best UAV operators in history, with successful missions reaching into the hundreds. Cyn is autistic and physically disabled, having been born with cerebral palsy, and uses forearm crutches as mobility aids--but make no mistake, she is incredibly intuitive and adept. often knock-kneed and walks with an awkward gate, and speaks with very ‘robotic’ mannerisms. She sometimes struggles to show empathy in a ‘socially normal way’ or have a conversational filter. She has a very dark sense of humor as well, that for those not used to her may find jarring or off putting. Cyn hates being referred to as a child or incompetent because of her appearance or her disability, she will even go to an extent to prove the point that she does not need assistance. Tends to be protective of N, to a lesser but still protective of V and J and much later down the line Uzi becomes a close friend of hers.

In her off time she enjoys painting warhammer figurines, collecting cards and playing video games. She has a very kitsch, macabre sense of interest, often owning eclectic, odd knick knacks and memorabilia, namely a taxidermied wombat she’s affectionately named “Suzie.”

TESSA

Dr Tessa James Elliot is a very talented surgeon working out of a public hospital in Brisbane, Australia, descending from a very rich family. She is N, V and J’s childhood friend and frequently travels to different parts of the world to assist in surgeries or specialist care. Tessa paused all of her work when she learned of their incident overseas, flying to America to personally attend to their care–with some bribery and finagling due to HIPPA not allowing biased treatment. She just cares too much to not do anything. Tessa is a joyful, social butterfly. Excellent bedside manner and a good sense of humor but sometimes comes off as socially awkward. She is J’s lifelong crush despite not being aware of it, having spent some time dating around but nobody ever seems to be the right fit. She often complains about her recent dating endeavors to J much to her chagrin.

Tessa is, for the lack of a better word, weird. Think Cyn with a little more charisma, often not having a conversational filter or saying things out of the blue. She is not disturbed by otherwise off putting things like death, bodily fluids, nudity, gore etc, and has a bit of a dark sense of humor that she portrays very upbeat and positively. She is incredibly smart and adept bookwise, however socially she comes up a bit short.

there is an alternative version of these guys however it is 18+ for nudity. you can see it on bluesky here and twitter here

#murder drones #uzi doorman #serial designation n #serial designation v #serial designation j #md cyn #tessa md #tessa james elliot #murder drones doll #md doll #md lizzy #md thad #murder drones fanart #nuzi #human au #md fanfic #my stuff

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curawrites · 2 months ago

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Searching, Saving, Sparring, Kissing

Garrick Tavis x fem!Reader

Warnings: Minor Onyx Storm spoilers, cursing, unwanted attention from a man, sparring, kissing, lazy ending.

Note: Exams are finally over and I’m finally free!! Yippee!!! 💚Anyways, I tried something different with this fic and it turned out okay I think? Idk I kinda gave up on editing this more because it’s all I’ve done for the past few days.

Tag list: @ttheslutttybookwworm @sheblogs @mazzer @luvly-writer @river-of-woe @celeste-fourthwing

Garrick sighed as he once again, looked at the time. You were supposed to have joined him for training in the sparring gym ten minutes ago but you still hadn’t showed up.

Strange.. It wasn't like you to be late.

Although, it was the weekend so you could have just slept in.. Wait- No, you couldn’t have because every morning you wake up early to go fly on your dragon Ahvi, he knew this. But even then, you should have been back by now.

So where were you?

When five more minutes had passed and you still hadn’t showed up Garrick decided that he should go find you. Who knows, maybe you lost track of time flying or maybe you were still getting ready in your dorm.

Figuring the most likely scenario was the first one, he decided to question Chradh before venturing out to look for you in the quadrant, “Is Ahvi in the Vale?” He asked through the bond.

“She is and has been for the last thirty minutes now that she went out on her usual morning flight with the Shy One you like.” Chradh answered.

So you were back from your flight.

After thanking his dragon, Garrick left the sparring gym to try and catch you on what he assumed would be your way to the gym from your dorm.

But he never got to run into you before he found himself questioning the girl who lived next to you as he stood in front of the door to your dormitory. “Hey do you know if Y/n is in there?” He asked her.

She blinked at him suspicious before answering, “I heard her leave this morning like she usually does but I don’t think she’s been back.” She shrugged before walking off.

Well that’s weird. If you weren’t in your dorm, or on your way to the gym, or out flying, where were you?

The only other place Garrick could possibly think of would be the Archives. It was possible that you had decided to return a few books before meeting up with him, and had lost track of time while looking over the new books Jesinia would have given you.

To avoid the long walk to the Scribe Quadrant, he decided to discreetly use his distance wielding to travel there in an instant.

Thankfully the first person he saw when he entered the Archives was Jesinia. He quickly signed a greeting to her before asking her if she had seen you this morning.

She gave him a confused look before signing back that she hadn’t seen you since you had came the week prior.

Garrick visibly deflated at her answer then signed a quick thank you before he left.

How in the gods names was he not able to find you? It wasn’t like you were Xaden who could hide in the shadows. You had your routine and you liked books where else- Then it hit him, you could be in the library!

Not only was it in the Rider’s Quadrant but it was on the way from your dorm to the sparring gym.

He scolded himself for not thinking of that sooner, before he once again used his distance wielding to get to the library. Only to not find you anywhere amongst the many cadets currently studying for whatever tests they had.

Now he was truly stumped, it’s not like you would’ve wanted to ditch him or anything. You had agreed to his offer very enthusiastically and with the cutest blush on your face, so he knew you had intended on coming.

As a last resort, he decided to question Chradh again, “Does Ahvi know where Y/n is? I can’t find her anywhere.” Garrick asked as he walked through the halls, still keeping an eye out for you.

Chradh grumbled in slight annoyance, “I’m sure Ahvi knows exactly where her own rider is. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be eating double her weight in sheep as we speak.” He pointed out, as if Garrick could see what he was observing.

Garrick sighed, “Could you just ask her where she is? ..Please.” He said as he undid the wrap around his hand.

Chradh let out a displeased growl, “And interrupt Ahvi’s feasting? I think not. I’d rather fly all the way to the border in a thunderstorm before facing her wrath.” He responded.

Garrick rolled his eyes, “Tell her I asked then, maybe she’ll take it better because she likes me.” He rewrapped his hand as he waited for a response.

Seriously how bad could Ahvi be? She was half Chradh’s age and size for the gods’ sakes.

After a few seconds of silence Chradh finally replied, “The Shy One is in the courtyard.” He informed through a stubborn grumble.

The courtyard? Why would you be- Garrick shook his head, all that mattered was that he knew where to find you, “Thank you.” He huffed before immediately heading to the courtyard.

Thankfully the walk wasn’t long and when Garrick finally stepped outside, he was immediately met with the sight of you talking with some guy. A guy he couldn’t seem to recognize.

It’s not like he knew every person in the quadrant, but this guy was no cadet, he had a lieutenant’s patch on his flight jacket. But why would a lieutenant even be at Basgaith? More importantly, why were you even talking to this guy in the first place? And what the fuck was he giving you?

Garrick felt his fists tighten as he watched the guy hold out a black leather harness strapped with two very ornate looking short swords and eight matching daggers towards you.

Considering he knew Xaden had spent a small fortune on Violet’s daggers, he could only imagine that this man had used his entire life savings to buy those.

Jealousy churned in the pit of Garrick’s stomach as he watched you tense up in surprise. But to his shock and relief, you didn’t jump up and squeal like you usually did when you were excited. No, you took a few steps back, causing the guy’s smug expression to falter before he started to step towards you.

Garrick’s protective instinct kicked in before he was walking closer to the rotunda where you stood.

The first thing he was able to hear was your very shy but polite protests, “N-no. Gods no I can’t accept that..!” You stuttered, waving your hands frantically in front of you.

The guy chuckled at your stunned expression, “Come on Y/n, don’t be so modest! This gear is specially made for your signet! You see, all the swords and daggers have runes imbedded in their blades that allow you to cover them in flames without the metal melting.” He explained proudly.

You stared at him in complete disbelief before an awkward laugh bubbled its way out of your throat, “Oh Tom- Th-this is.. This is too much..” You sputtered as you took another step back.

Tom flashed you a charming smile, “Nonsense! I can’t help but spoil you okay? You are my favourite cadet after all.” He said as he began to unbuckle and pull out all of the harness’ straps. “Here, I’ll even help you put it all on.” He offered.

Garrick felt bile build up in his throat. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Your entire body tensed, “Tom it’s really not necessary- I’m already late for my sparring session..” You protested but he had already sunk to his knees.

Tom completely ignored any and all of your pleading as he strapped you into the harness. Once the straps were wrapped snuggly around your thighs and hips, he adjusted the sheaths of each blade, making sure the two short swords crossed comfortably above your butt, while the daggers rested on the outside of your thighs.

When he was seemingly done you let out a sigh of relief. Thank the gods..

But Tom wasn’t getting up, instead he was staring up at you while his hands rested on your thighs, inches away from your ass.

You blinked down at him, waiting for him to move but the moment never came, “Um.. I need.. I need to go now- Garrick is waiting for me..” You chuckled awkwardly.

Tom’s brows furrowed, “Y/n, I barely see you.. Surely he can wait a little longer.” His hands gripped your harness tightly.

A shaky sigh left your lips, “Tom, please.. I’m already really late..” You pleaded, keeping your tone gentle as you tried to loosen the hold he had on the leather straps.

That was the last straw for Garrick. It was clear to him that you were not feeling this guy at all and despite that you were still being way too nice to the fucking creep.

And while he adored your shy and kind demeanour, it was unfortunately your biggest detriment when it came to confrontation. Especially when it came to people who were of a higher rank than you, like a lieutenant.

Having enough of watching you let Tom walk all over you, Garrick finally decided to make his presence known. “Ah, there you are Y/n, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” He called out as he walked to your side.

Your head whipped towards him, revealing the embarrassed flush that coloured your face, “Garrick I’m so sorry. I- I was just on my way after I flew with Ahvi but I got caught up-“ Words awkwardly tumbled from your mouth as you desperately tried to explain yourself.

Stupid Tom! This was not how you wished Garrick had found you. Now he was going to think you weren’t interested in him but you really were and-

Garrick only shook his head, “Don’t apologize you were only ten minutes late when I decided to go look for you. I assumed you went to the Archives to return some books to Jesinia before we were supposed to meet up.” He smiled reassuringly.

A blush warmed your cheeks, “A-ah.. you know me too well..” You muttered as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

With your attention else where, you didn’t notice that Tom was finally standing up.

He completely ignored Garrick’s presence as he brushed the grass off of his pants, “We’ll continue this later, yeah?” He looked at you expectantly, a strained smile plastered on his face.

Before you could respond, Garrick glared at him, “Unfortunately you won’t. We have a test to study for after training.” He lied before turning to you, “Now then, let’s go spar.” He put a hand on your lower back.

You nodded stiffly, quietly uttering a simple goodbye to Tom before you let Garrick lead you back inside the quadrant. “Thanks for getting me out of that Garrick..” you muttered as the tension left your body.

He glanced towards you, “Yeah, don’t worry about it. That Tom guy seemed like a real creep..” Garrick commented with a shudder.

A sigh left your lips, “He seemed perfectly normal the last few times we’ve chatted but I guess me mentioning we had plans set him off or something..” You shrugged as you walked into the sparring gym. “Anyways enough about him. I want to talk about sparring.” You huffed before pulling out some cotton wraps from your pocket.

Garrick smiled, “Someone’s excited.” He teased while adjusting the mat that he had claimed earlier that morning.

Your cheeks warmed, “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s good practice to spar with you, especially unarmed because I’m shit at it. I do well with a weapon and my signet, and I can take on most girls without them. But I’d rather not get my ass handed to me by some buff first year guy again because that was embarrassing..” you cringed at the memory as you wrapped up your hands and knuckles.

He hummed in response as he fixed his own wraps, “So no weapons?” He said as he glanced towards you.

“Nope. Just hand to hand.” You confirmed as you loosened all your harness’ straps

The harness fell down your legs and hit the floor with a metallic thud, “Aww you don’t want to try out your new gear? I was looking forward to having you hold such a pretty knife at my throat.” He pouted playfully.

A flustered noise of surprise slipped past your lips, “Sh-shut up..” You kicked the gear to the side before walking towards the mat.

Garrick snorted as he saw your flushed face, “You ready?” He asked, matching your fighting stance.

Your fists clenched against the cotton wraps, “Ready.” You nodded before swinging.

He dodged your punch easily, only to be kicked in the gut. Not bad, he thought, not bad..

Winning a sparring match against Garrick had seemed practically impossible before. But now that you had actually landed a few good hits on him, you couldn’t stop the hope from blooming in your chest.

Maybe you had severely underestimated yourself earlier or perhaps Zinhal had blessed that damn first year with some beginners luck because you were actually holding your own-

Suddenly your feet were swept out from under you. Panic washed over you in an instant and before you could really think it through, you had already grabbed onto Garrick, forcing him to go down with you.

Your back hit the mat with a force that knocked the wind right out of you, and the smacking sound that followed echoed throughout the empty gym. Despite struggling to breath, you still tried to fight back.

And while your attempts were valiant, they weren’t able to stop Garrick from pressing your thighs down with his knees before grabbing both your wrists into his hands and pinning them above your head. You tried you best to squirm out of his hold but it was no use.

A defeated sigh left your lips as you realized that you were in fact trapped, “I yield..” you muttered as your head fell back against the mat.

Garrick let go of your wrists, “Fuck yeah!” He cheered, raising both arms in the air before he placed his hands on either side of your head.

His victorious smirk faltered as he gazed down at you. Gods.. You looked absolutely irresistible like this, all flushed and sweaty under him.. He hadn’t intended to pin you down so suggestively but he wasn’t complaining when his eyes met your own.

You panted heavily as you looked up at him, a blush slowly creeping up your cheeks as you realized how inappropriate this would look to any outsider passing by.

A grin tugged at the corners of Garrick’s mouth as he watched your face turn bright red while your lips pursed into a flustered pout. He couldn’t help but stare at them, they looked so soft.. So kissable.. So- His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned down and kissed you. …Warm.. He finished the thought as his lips melded against yours.

When you weren’t kissing him back, Garrick pulled away and opened his eyes. He was about to apologize for taking it too far but your stunned expression stopped him in his tracks.

Your eyes were wide with shock while your mouth opened and closed as your tried to find your words, “Garrick.. I..~” You licked your lips before looking him dead in the eyes, “Kiss me again..~” You demanded.

Garrick grinned as his cheeks warmed, “Gladly.~” He said before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours again.

This time you kissed him back passionately, wrapping your arms around his neck before tangling your hands into his dark hair.

The world seemed to fade away while the sounds of your lips melding against each others echoed throughout the empty gym as you lost yourselves in your passionate exchange..

#fourth wing x reader #fourth wing #garrick tavis x reader #garrick fourth wing #garrick tavis x y/n #garrick tavis fluff #garrick tavis x you

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lemmesayimyourbiggestfan · 4 months ago

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Crossing the line - Dain Aetos

Dain Aetos x reader

word count: 4,6 k

trigger warning: mild onyx storm spoilers, NSFW, SMUT, 18+

requests are open!! i’m currently reading onyx storm and i’m obsessed with nearly everyone so shoot

Ever since entering the rider’s quadrant, you’d made it your personal mission to get under Dain Aetos’ skin. There was something about the way he carried himself - so composed, so infuriatingly perfect - that made you want to crack that facade wide open. Being in the same squad only gave you more opportunities to push his buttons. You told yourself it was just for fun, that you didn’t care about the way his jaw tightened when you teased him or the way his eyes flashed with something he couldn’t quite hide. But deep down, you wondered if maybe, just maybe, you were trying to see if there was more to him than the rule-following, by-the-book cadet everyone thought he was.

But later on, your comments grew to be more of a joke than genuine criticism and both you and Dain made it a part of your routine. Halfway through your second year, your teasing remarks had taken on a different tone - lighter, flirtier, though neither of you acknowledged it. You told yourself it was just a game, a way to keep things interesting. But sometimes, when his eyes met yours across the mess hall or during training, you wondered if there was something more behind his sharp retorts and smirks. And maybe, just maybe, you weren’t the only one who noticed the way the air between you seemed to crackle with something you couldn’t quite name.

But during your third year, you couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under your wingleader’s eyes nor the lack of humour in his retorts. You’d been there when his father disowned him. The words had echoed through the room, sharp and final, like the crack of a whip. You’d seen the way Dain’s shoulders stiffened, the way his jaw clenched as if he were holding back a storm of emotions. But what struck you most was the way his eyes - usually so full of fire and determination - had gone hollow, as if a part of him had been extinguished. Your heart ached for him, though you’d never admit it out loud. For all the times you’d teased him, you’d never wanted to see him broken.

Somehow, you found yourself standing in front of the door to his room, your heart pounding in your chest as you paced back and forth. What the hell were you doing? This was Dain Aetos, the man who’d spent three years glaring at you like you were the bane of his existence. And yet, here you were, holding a bottle of wine like some kind of peace offering. You took a deep breath, your knuckles hovering over the door. Before you could second-guess yourself, you knocked - three sharp raps that echoed down the empty hallway. You heard those soft but tired steps coming closer and closer until the door opened and your eyes met his, their sandy-brown irises lacking their usual spark.

“Hey,” Dain said, leaning against the door frame in a poor imitation of nonchalance. But you saw right through him. The shadows under his eyes were darker than usual, and the usual sharpness in his gaze was dulled by exhaustion. His brown hair was disheveled, as if he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly, and his posture, though carefully casual, betrayed the weight he was carrying.

“Thought you could use some company,” you said, holding up the bottle of wine with a grin. “And before you say no, remember that I’m the only person in this quadrant who can put up with your brooding. Well, besides your paperwork, but I’m way more fun.”

Dain eyed the bottle suspiciously, his brow furrowing as if trying to decipher your motives. But you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged under an invisible weight. For once, he didn’t have the energy to push you away or fire off one of his usual sharp retorts. Instead, he glanced down the hallway, as if checking to make sure no one was watching, and then stepped aside to let you in. You didn’t need to say it out loud - you’d already won.

You’d never seen his room before, but it was exactly what you expected: barren walls, a simple bed, an armoire, a chair and a table buried under piles of paperwork and books. The sight made your chest tighten. This wasn’t just a room - it was a reflection of him. Orderly, functional, and painfully lonely. The guilt in your heart grew heavier. Had you been so focused on breaking his walls that you’d failed to notice how much he was already carrying?

Dain sat down back in his chair and started cleaning the surface of the table, to no avail. You could see the nervousness creeping into him. When was the last time he had a girl in his room? You forced yourself to not think about such nonsense.

You perched on the edge of his bed, the mattress firm beneath you, and took a swig of wine. The rich, tangy flavor grounded you as you watched him shuffle papers aimlessly. The room smelled faintly of leather and ink, and the fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over his tired face. You fidgeted with the bottle, unsure what to do with your hands - or your thoughts. Upon noticing the empty glass on the table you walked over and filled it to the rim, sensing the way Dain was looking at you. You ignored the heat of his body and stalked back to the bed, the distance between you two palpable.

“Why are you here, Y/N?” Dain asked, his voice low and weary. He kept his eyes on the paper in front of him, but you noticed the way his hand stilled, the pen hovering mid-sentence.

You hesitated, the question hanging in the air between you. Why were you here? To tease him? To comfort him? Or because, despite all your jabs and jokes, you couldn’t stand to see him like this - broken and alone.

“So you wouldn’t be so lonesome, wingleader,” you teased, smirking as you held up the wine bottle. “Besides, someone has to make sure you don’t drown in all this paperwork. I hear it’s bad for your health.” To your delight, the corner of his mouth lifted.

“How was your day?” he asked, still not looking at you. As surprised as you were, you didn’t comment when he took a sip of his wine. Oh, he must be actually going crazy.

“Sucked. Yours?”

“Same.”

You chuckled, laying down on the bed. The blanket smelled exactly like him.

“I could help you out with something,” you pointed to the piles of books.

“No need, thanks.”

“You scared I would mess something up, wingleader?”

“Well, don’t you always?” he jabbed back and you pretended to be offended by his words, though on the inside you couldn’t be happier he was turning back to his normal self.

“Excuse me? Never.”

Dain looked over his shoulder at you and lifted his brows.

“If you say so.”

With a scowl, you turned away from him.

For an hour, you kept each other quiet company, the only sounds being papers turning, pen scribbling and fire cracking in the hearth. You pretended you didn’t notice how Dain stole glances at you, the same way he pretended he didn’t see you looking at him. He looked damn perfect in this light.

So you two just drank, too much of cowards to actually acknowledge the chemistry between you two that has been growing ever since you first met.

When his glass was empty, you were there to fill it again. Silently, you watched with interest the effect alcohol had on him. Gods, had he ever drunk before? You could see his reddened cheeks, how he leaned his head back against the chair, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. He looked so unguarded and beautiful.

To speak for yourself, the wine made you drop your defenses. When you saw his perfectly messed up hair, you couldn’t help but get up and go touch it. His eyes opened at your touch and Dain just stared up at you as you sunk your fingers in his silky hair.

“You have pretty hair,” you mumbled, blush creeping up your cheeks. What the fuck were you doing? He was your wingleader and the fact that you two had flirted for two years changed nothing.

“Really?” he whispered. You watched his tan throat, the soft skin as it bobbed when he swallowed.

“Mhm…” you hummed softly, moving your fingers to his temples, then caressing his sharp cheekbones. Slowly, you moved to touch those gods' damned lips.

Suddenly, his hands shot up so fast as he gripped your wrists. You could do nothing but stare at him, hurt flashing across your features.

“What are we doing?” Dain asked, unguarded confusion etched into his face.

“What we should have done a long time ago.” You knew he was bluffing. The grip he had on your wrists disappeared the second you kissed him.

After a moment of hesitation, you felt his body melt. With one arm he lifted you on his lap, the other holding your face as he caressed your neck, kissing you with intensity you never even thought of, his beard scraping your already sensitive skin. You felt his warm hand splayed on your hip, his fingers moving in circular motions up your waist. You couldn’t help but shudder at his touch.

For a second, Dain pulled away. “Is this fine?” he asked quietly, misunderstanding your shiver. Immediately, you missed the heat of his powerful body.

“Yes.” you said, breathless. “More than fine, actually.” you grinned and that blissful smile on his face made you melt. His hand gripped your hair as he pulled you close again, his lips trailing a path down the side of your throat. A gasp of pleasure escaped your lips and you heard Dain groan into your skin.

You needed him. For almost two years, you were saving the spot in your bed just for him, even though you would never admit it out loud. Buckling your hips, you felt his bulge rub against you. The sweet ache in your lower belly grew, as did your body’s need for this man.

“Dain,” you whispered, moving against him again. Dain whimpered softly, his forehead resting between your breasts while his hands explored your ass and waist.

“Yes, cadet?” you felt him smiling into your skin. Letting out a huffed laugh, you reached for the hem of his tight black tunic and tried to pull it off his toned torso. Only with his help did you finally shrug it off of him.

You’ve seen him shirtless many times before but now you could finally touch those muscles, visible with his every move.

“Oh, nothing important, wingleader. Just wanted to ask if you put a sound shield up or if you want the whole quadrant to hear me scream your name.” You purred into his ear.

He immediately froze and you knew you would never forget the look he gave you. But then he smirked, that gods’ damned cocky smirk and you melted right there and then.

“It’s up. If you scream my name, I would prefer it to be just for me, love.”

Dain gripped your hips firmly, making your bodies grind against each other harder. With a swallowed gasp of pleasure you caressed his muscular shoulders, pecs and biceps, admiring the bulging veins on his arms. Dain trembled under your touch while soft whimpers escaped his wickedly perfect lips. Oh, how you loved to see him like this.

"Guess I finally found a way to break your precious rules, wingleader." you smirked. “Who would’ve guessed that all it takes is just a pretty face.”

“It’s probably past curfew, pretty face or not,” Dain breathed out and you stopped, giving him an unbelievable look. “I’m kidding, Y/N.” he laughed and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him.

“I hope I make you think of other things than curfew.” you smirked at him, caressing the skin of his torso right above his buckle.

“You know what I’m thinking about?” Dain asked. You shook your head and he leaned closer, his scent overpowering you as he whispered in your ear: “I’m thinking about bending you over this table and making you fucking melt.”

A delicious shiver ran down your spine at his words as heat pooled low in your belly. You had pushed and teased him for years, but never had you imagined Dain Aetos would ever say something like that—to you, no less. To anyone, really. Was it the wine? It must have been.

“Is that so?” you murmured, tilting your head back slightly as his lips traced a slow path along the curve of your throat. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers pressing into your flesh as if he was barely restraining himself.

“Mhm,” he hummed, his breath warm against your skin. “But something tells me you wouldn’t make it that easy for me.”

You smirked, reaching for his belt, but he caught your wrists again, this time with a firm yet careful grip. His sandy-brown eyes locked onto yours, something unreadable flickering within them. At least their spark was back.

“I mean it, Y/N,” he said, his voice lower now, rougher. But you also saw the question in his face.

Your heart thudded against your ribs. This was Dain—your wingleader, your rival, your… friend? No, you had crossed that line long ago, hadn’t you? This moment had been simmering between you two for years, an unspoken tension in every sharp remark, every stolen glance, every touch that lasted a second too long.

You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, your hands slipping free from his hold to cup his face. His stubble scratched against your palms, grounding you in the reality of this moment.

"Do your worst," you whispered, your voice trembling despite your bravado.

Dain froze, his eyes searching yours for a moment, as if waiting for you to take it back. When you didn't, he exhaled sharply, a flicker of something raw and unguarded crossing his face. "You have no idea what you're asking for," he murmured, his voice low.

"Then show me," you challenged, your heart pounding in your chest.

Dain exhaled sharply, something in him snapping. In an instant, he stood, lifting you effortlessly onto the table, sending books and papers scattering to the floor. You barely had a moment to laugh before his lips crashed against yours again, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Gods, you had wanted this.

And by the way Dain groaned into your mouth, the way his hands roamed your body as if memorizing every inch of you, you knew he had wanted it too.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with heat and the sound of your mingled breaths. Dain's hands were everywhere - tangling in your hair, gripping your waist, sliding up your thighs-and you couldn't get enough of him. His lips left yours only to trail down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, leaving marks you knew you'd have to hide later. You didn't care. Let the whole quadrant see. Let them know that Dain Aetos, the stoic, rule-following wingleader, had finally let his walls crumble - for you.

"Dain," you gasped, arching into him as his teeth grazed your collarbone. His name felt like a prayer on your lips, and he responded with a low growl, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulled you closer.

"You've been driving me insane for years," he muttered against your skin, his voice rough and strained. "Every damn comment, every smirk, every time you looked at me like you knew exactly what you were doing... I wanted to hate you for it."

You laughed breathlessly, your fingers threading through his hair. "Hate me? Really?"

"Yes," he said, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark, intense, and you could see the truth in them. "But I couldn't. Not when you were the only one who ever made me feel... alive."

Your heart stuttered at his words, and for a moment, you were speechless. Dain Aetos, the man who always seemed so composed, so in control, was laying himself bare before you. And it was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

"Dain," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I-"

He cut you off with a kiss, deep and desperate, as if he couldn't bear to hear what you were about to say. Maybe he was afraid it would break the spell, shatter the fragile moment you'd built between you. Or maybe he just didn't want to waste another second talking when he could be showing you exactly how he felt.

His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and over your head in one swift motion.

The cool air of the room hit your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze as he took you in. His fingers traced the curve of your waist, sending shivers down your spine.

"I've spent years trying not to look at you like this," he murmured, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite grasp. "I don't know how l managed to keep my hands off you for so long."

You smiled, your heart swelling at his words. "You're not doing a very good job of keeping them off me now," you teased, your voice laced with amusement.

Dain chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made your stomach flip. "Good," he said, his hands sliding up to cup your face. "Because I don't plan on stopping."

You moaned softly, your fingers tangling in his hair as he continued to kiss and tease your skin. His hands moved lower, undoing the fastenings of your pants and sliding them down your legs. You kicked them off, your heart racing as he looked at you, his eyes filled with desire as he caressed your thighs.

You arched into his touch, your fingers fumbling with the buckle of his belt. He groaned against your mouth, his hips pressing into yours as you finally freed him from the confines of his pants.

"You're going to be the death of me," he muttered, his breath hot against your ear as he pushed you back onto the table. You laughed, the sound breathless and wild, as his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them apart.

A gasp escaped your throat as his lips trailed down your chest, his tongue teasing your breasts. He paused, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But then he smirked, that infuriating, cocky smirk that had driven you crazy for years, and you knew there was no turning back.

You gasped as his mouth found the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, his teeth grazing lightly before he kissed his way higher. The scratch of his stubble against your skin sent shivers down your spine, and the warmth of his breath made your pulse race. You could smell the faint scent of wine on him, mingling with the earthy aroma of leather and sweat that clung to his skin. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue flicked against you, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. You bit your lip to stifle a moan, but it was no use. Dain knew exactly what he was doing, and he wasn't going to stop until you were completely undone.

"Dain," you gasped, your hips bucking against his mouth as the pressure built inside you. He groaned, the sound vibrating against your skin, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge. And then, with one final flick of his tongue, you shattered, your body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Dain didn't give you a moment to recover. His hands gripped your hips again as he changed his position, bending you over the table - just like he promised.

His lips trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your spine, sending shivers down your body. You could feel the heat of him pressing against you, his arousal evident as he leaned over you, his chest brushing against your back.

"Dain," you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation. His name felt like a plea, a prayer, and he answered with a low growl that vibrated through your entire being.

"You have no idea how long l've wanted this," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. His hands slid up your sides, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, before settling on your shoulders. He pressed you down gently but firmly, your chest meeting the cool surface of the table as he positioned himself behind you.

You gasped as you felt him, hard and eager, pressing against you. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. But you didn't want him to stop. You wanted this - wanted him - more than anything.

"Don't you dare," you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside you. Dain laughed, the sound sending a thrill down your spine.

"Good," he said, his voice low. And then he was pushing into you, slowly, deliberately, giving you time to adjust to the feel of him. You bit your lip to stifle a moan, but it escaped anyway, a soft, desperate sound that only seemed to spur him on.

Dain groaned, his hands tightening on your hips as he buried himself to the hilt. For a moment, he stayed still, his forehead resting against your back as he fought for control. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he trembled with the effort of holding back.

"Dain," you whispered, your voice breaking. You needed him to move, to give you the release you so desperately craved. And then he did, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in, hard and fast.

You cried out, your fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth surface of the table as Dain set a relentless pace. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, building the pressure inside you until you thought you might explode.

"You feel so good," Dain growled, his voice strained. His hands moved from your hips to your shoulders, pulling you up so your back was pressed against his chest. His lips found your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin as he continued to move inside you.

You reached back, tangling your fingers in his hair as you turned your head to capture his lips in a searing kiss. Dain groaned into your mouth, his hips stuttering as he lost himself in the feel of you.

"Y/N," he gasped, breaking the kiss to bury his face in your neck. "I'm close."

"Me too," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breathing.

Dain's hand slid down your body, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. You cried out, your body tightening around him as pleasure ripped through you.

Dain followed you over the edge, his hips jerking as he spilled himself inside you. He held you tightly, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he rode out the waves of his release.

The room was quiet now, save for the soft crackling of the fire and the sound of your mingled breaths. He scooped you into his arms and moved you to his bed. Dain's arms were wrapped around you, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back. You could feel the warmth of his skin, the faint thud of his heartbeat, and the way his fingers traced idle patterns on your arm. It was a stark contrast to the intensity of moments ago, and yet it felt just as profound.

For years, you’d teased him, pushed him, and now… now you were here, in his arms, wondering if you’d crossed a line you could never uncross.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. Words felt unnecessary when the weight of what had just happened hung so palpably in the air. But eventually, Dain broke the silence, his voice low and rough, yet softer than you'd ever heard it.

"Y/N," he began, his fingers stilling on your arm. "This... changes everything."

You turned slightly in his arms, enough to meet his gaze. His sandy-brown eyes were darker now, the usual sharpness softened by something you couldn't quite name. Vulnerability, maybe. Or fear. You reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, and felt him lean into your touch.

"I know," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "But maybe it's a change we both needed."

He let out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh, and pulled you closer. His forehead rested against yours, and for a moment, you just breathed together, the rhythm steady and grounding.

"I don't know how to do this," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "How to be... this. With you."

Your heart ached at the raw honesty in his words. This was Dain - your wingleader, your rival, the man who always seemed so unshakable - laid bare before you. And it was terrifying and beautiful all at once.

"You don't have to figure it out right now," you said softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "We can take it one day at a time. One moment at a time."

He nodded, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring your words. When he opened them again, there was a flicker of that familiar spark, the one you'd missed so much. "You always know what to say, don't you?" he murmured, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Someone has to keep you in check," you teased, grinning when he rolled his eyes. But the smile he gave you in return was genuine, and it made your chest tighten.

For a while, you just lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, the fire casting flickering shadows on the walls. The world outside - the quadrant, the rules, the expectations - felt far away, like it couldn't touch you here. And maybe, just for tonight, it couldn't.

But as the fire began to die down and the room grew cooler, reality started to creep back in. You felt Dain shift beside you, his hand tightening around yours.

"We should probably get some sleep," he said reluctantly, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "Tomorrow's going to be... complicated."

You nodded, though the thought of leaving his arms was almost unbearable. "Yeah," you agreed quietly. "But we'll figure it out. Together."

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and you saw something in his eyes that made your breath catch. It wasn't just desire or affection - it was trust. And maybe, just maybe, something more.

"Together," he echoed, his voice firm despite the weariness in it. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling away. "Get some rest, Y/N. I'll be here when you wake up."

You smiled, your heart swelling at his words. As you settled back into the bed, his arms wrapping around you once more, you felt a sense of peace you hadn't known in years. This wasn't the end of something - it was the beginning. And whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you'd face them together.

Because Dain Aetos was no longer just your wingleader, your rival, or your friend. He was yours, and you were his. And nothing would ever be the same again.

#dain aetos #dain aetos x reader #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing x you #iron flame #iron flame x reader #onyx storm #onyx storm x reader #fourth wing imagine #dain aetos imagine #rebecca yarros #dain x reader

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pepsoui4 · 2 months ago

Text

Where I Want to Be

The strong willed, fierce and independent reader learns she may feel too much when Bodhi Durran is around.

I'm thinking of doing a part 2, thoughts? I need more Fourth Wing fics, cmon now!

Word count: 4,971

Warnings: sparring, unsaid feelings, threats

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/pepsoui4/783108795206451200/where-i-want-to-be-part-2?source=share

Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/pepsoui4/783225952109035520/where-i-want-to-be-part-3

No one ever questioned why Y/N walked alone. In fact, most people seemed to prefer it that way. She wasn't the type anyone approached lightly, not with that clipped stride and expression set in practiced indifference. She carried her family name like armor: heavy, polished, and meant to intimidate. FlameWalker. It echoed in the halls of Basgiath like a warning bell. The kind of legacy that demanded perfection, that turned heat into a weapon and raised its children to burn weakness out of themselves. And she had learned early and brutally that loneliness was safer than defiance.

As Tail Section Leader of Fourth Wing and in her second year, she had eyes on her from every angle. Commandants, legacy families, her own brutal bloodline, and the cadets under her. Her squad ran on precision. She was known for being harsh, efficient, emotionally distant. And she liked it that way. Or at least, she told herself she did. She was a model of everything her family expected. Focused. Efficient. Distant.

The FlameWalker name carried weight. Her parents, her brothers, even her distant relatives were all expected to be leaders if they weren't already. They were brutal, fanatics for purity and power. Her family’s ideology burned through generations: strength is order, order is control.

Her reputation preceded her: sharp-tongued, fiercely independent, and unapproachable. Her lineage was synonymous with power and an unyielding disdain for marked ones. This legacy was both her shield and her shackle. Her orders were followed without debate, not because of any natural charisma, but because she didn’t tolerate questions. Legacy riders weren’t raised to be liked. They were raised to lead. Efficiently, coldly and without attachment. Of course, she had taken that lesson to heart.

She had mastered the art of isolation. She didn't make friends. She didn't laugh in public. She didn’t bother pretending to be anyone but the hard-edged girl she’d been molded into. People steered clear, not just because of her attitude nor title, but because the FlameWalker name came with rules. Written and unwritten. The most sacred of which was this: do not fraternize with the marked ones.

Her family loathed them. Those who bore the magic-stained scars of being chosen. They saw it as impure. Unnatural. A flaw, not a gift. They said marked ones were dangerous, unstable. That even the best of them were ticking bombs with smiles. She’d repeated it like scripture. Believed it, at least enough not to question it out loud. That was the line she had never stepped over. Never let herself. Her loyalty to her family was supposed to be unquestionable.

Which made her second-in-command an ongoing problem she didn’t know how to name.

Bodhi Durran, the Tail Section Executive Officer, was supposed to be a headache. At least, that’s what she expected when he was assigned to her team. Son of a rebellion leader, marked one, and a cadet known more for his sharp mouth than diplomacy. He wasn’t supposed to be competent. He wasn’t supposed to fit. And yet, somehow, he did.

He handled strategy meetings with a strange mix of intensity and humor, never missing a beat even when she threw last-minute changes at him just to test his adaptability. He pushed back when it counted, stayed quiet when it didn’t, and always seemed three steps ahead. He read people fast. Sometimes faster than she did and called out weak spots in training routines with brutal honesty and no concern for ego.

She didn’t like how much she respected him. Worse, she didn’t like how easy it was to slip into a rhythm with him.

There was ash in the air. Not literal, but in the way heat clung to the breath between bodies and soaked into the worn grit of the sparring mats. The sun cast long lines across the yard, catching on the shimmer of flame-marked gauntlets and the dull gleam of sweat. Y/N FlameWalker stood at the edge of the rotation lines, arms crossed, her posture as immovable as her reputation. The leathers clung to her shoulders, blackened by flame use and time, branded with the sigil of legacy and command.

Her section moved through drills under her watchful eye. Pairs locked in rhythmic strikes and counters. She’d fought harder than most to get this time slot, and even harder to keep it. The training schedule had been chaotic since the term began, with the Gauntlet looming and the Threshing yet to come. Instructors overlooked the Tail Section unless blood stained the wall. She refused to be overlooked.

She noticed everything. Every missed beat. Every falter in stance. She called them out without mercy. Because mercy didn’t forge riders. And her surname meant something. It weighed on her shoulders like a mantle woven from fire and bloodline. There was no room for softness. Not for her.

And yet lately her gaze kept drifting. Slight. Subtle. But always toward the same direction. The Marked Ones.

Not just the inked relics on their skin, but the way others reacted to them. Cold glances. Whispered judgments. Muted sneers passed like notes between cadets. She caught it more now, in the raw tension that followed someone like Imogen crossing the mats, or the way silence trailed behind Garrick’s clipped orders. She noticed it in the way first-years bristled when Liam Mairi passed—still unbonded, still observing, but already too familiar with contempt.

They didn’t deserve it, not like she did.

She had earned the disdain. With her sharp tongue and flint-edge demeanor. With a legacy family that preached loyalty to the Crown and whispered poison about rebellion behind closed doors. The disdain wasn’t new to her, it was expected. Welcome, even. She’d worn it like armor. Made people fear her before they could dismiss her.

But the Marked Ones? They bore hatred they hadn’t asked for. They trained harder than anyone, carried centuries of betrayal on their shoulders, and still showed up.

And none more vividly than Bodhi Durran.

He moved through the sparring rings like wildfire in silk. Lean, fast, sharp. He didn’t bark commands like she did. He offered sharp humor, smirks, and easy laughter. Cadets listened. Relaxed. Fought better under his guidance. He was her second-in-command, appointed as Executive Officer of Fourth Wing Tail Section at the start of second year. A Marked One. A rebel son. And the one who had, somehow, slipped under the cracks of her armor.

She never spoke to him more than required. Never gave anyone a reason to think she was softening. But she listened when he gave instruction. Watched how effortlessly he led, not with authority, but with respect earned through action.

And it burned, didn’t it? That quiet shame. That sick twist in her gut when someone muttered “traitor” as Bodhi passed. She said nothing. She never did. Not when the same words were hurled at Imogen. Or Garrick. Or even Xaden Riorson himself.

She could justify her own bitterness, her isolation. Her family had made her what she was. But the Marked Ones? They carried judgment like a noose and still walked tall.

Why did it bother her so much? She didn’t flinch when others hated her. Why was it different now?

Across the yard, Bodhi flipped a first-year flat onto the mats with effortless grace, landing in a crouch, his smirk wicked and sharp. The younger rider lay stunned, groaning, as Bodhi stood and brushed off his leathers like he hadn’t just humiliated someone in five seconds flat. The section around him went quiet. Someone behind her muttered under their breath.

“Marked bastard.”

The words hit harder than they should have. She didn’t turn. Didn’t respond. But something in her chest coiled tight. Hot. Ashen.

She told herself it didn’t matter. And still, her gaze lingered.

The hum of sparring filled the yard like a living thing. Grunts of effort, the sharp crack of palm against wrist, the scuff of boots pivoting across the mats. Y/N hadn’t moved in minutes, hadn’t spoken since assigning rotations, but her eyes were everywhere. Watching. Calculating. Measuring the potential of every fighter in her section. This was the time she’d fought tooth and claw for. Petitioned up the chain of command, argued with Wingleaders in louder wings who had dismissed Fourth Wing as the underdogs they always were. She’d earned this block of uninterrupted sparring through sheer force of will, and she would not have it squandered.

Still, even her focus couldn’t drown out the whispers.

They started like static. Low murmurs behind her right shoulder, a ripple of ill-contained amusement from two first-year cadets who thought the tail end of the mat was far enough from her line of vision. She didn’t need to turn to know who they were. She’d clocked every name, every face, and more importantly, every attitude in her section. One of them laughed, just a little too loudly. A scoff followed. Then a voice, male, smooth in the way that made her think of oily charm and the kind of confidence that came from too much privilege and too little humility.

“Cocky little rebellion rat. Figures he thinks charm makes up for dirty blood.”

The words struck something inside her. Not like a blade or a blow, but like flint against stone. A spark. Small, bright, hot. For a moment, she said nothing. Years of upbringing held her still. Don’t engage. Don’t lower yourself. Don’t defend the disloyal.

Her father’s voice again, stern and hollow: Their weakness will reveal itself. Stay above it. Stay true to the FlameWalker name.

And yet, she couldn’t unhear it. Couldn’t pretend the words hadn’t curled beneath her skin like smoke looking for a fire to feed. She hated how it lodged itself in her chest. How it burned deeper than it should have. Not because she cared what they thought of Bodhi. Not because she was soft on the Marked Ones.

Gods no. But because it was happening in her section, under her leadership, during her time. And that she could not abide.

Her boots scraped across the mat as she moved, each step sharp, deliberate, echoing over the din of practice. Cadets turned to look. Some went still. The tension shifted like metal drawn tight. She made a beeline toward the cadet who had spoken, a broad-shouldered, golden-haired first-year with a too-white smile and the arrogant posture of someone who hadn’t been humbled yet. He straightened the moment her shadow hit his shoes, his chin twitching up in something that almost passed for pride. But his eyes gave him away.

“Repeat what you just said,” she said, her voice clipped and laced with fire.

The boy blinked, feigning confusion that didn’t suit him. “I’m sorry?”

She tilted her head ever so slightly, the motion precise as a knife drawn slow from its sheath. The section knew the look. They’d learned to fear it the first week of being under her command. “Did I stutter? Or should I assume your mouth only works when you think no one with rank is listening?”

The boy paled, lips parting uselessly before his gaze darted toward the others as if hoping someone would bail him out. None did. Her presence turned them to stone.

“It was just a joke,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean anything by it. Just locker room talk, right?”

Gods, the weakness in his voice was an insult on its own. She arched one eyebrow, slowly, as though drawing blood with expression alone. He stumbled again under the weight of her silence.

She let the tension stretch like a bowstring, letting him squirm in the trap he’d set for himself. Then, evenly, voice cool as banked embers, she said, “Strange. Because it sounded like you were wasting the valuable sparring time I fought for us to have. Time that does not come easy for our Section. Time that Flame and Claw would never bother to share.”

Her steps brought her closer, enough that he had to tilt his head back to meet her eyes. “So tell me,” she said, almost a whisper now, the threat in her tone razor-thin and gleaming, “why are you standing here polluting the air with nonsense when you should be on the mat proving you even belong here?”

The boy opened his mouth, perhaps to defend himself, perhaps to grovel. She didn’t care.

“Get your ass on the mat,” she snapped, and shoved him. Not hard, but enough. Enough to make him stumble forward, lose his balance, and feel the full weight of the watching eyes behind him.

He caught himself, barely. Face flushed red. Mouth tight with humiliation.

She felt it. The shift in air pressure, the awareness that prickled across the back of her neck like static. She didn’t have to look to know Bodhi Durran’s eyes were on her. There was a stillness to his presence that always made her uneasy. Like he could sense the moments she didn’t mean to reveal, the cracks in her armor she kept sealed under discipline and disdain. And yet, this time, the weight of his stare held something else. Curiosity. Surprise. Amusement, maybe. The familiar glint of mischief she’d grown used to ignoring. Across the sparring yard, he stood with his arms folded in that infuriatingly relaxed posture of his, body half-angled as if he had all the time in the world to watch her unravel something in front of an audience.

Their eyes met for less than a heartbeat. Hers sharp and unreadable, his lifting slightly with unspoken commentary she refused to invite. She severed the moment before it could breathe. Turned her back to him like it meant nothing. Like he didn’t matter.

She stepped onto the sparring mat with purpose, the space still buzzing from the suddenness of her earlier command. The boy, twenty, smug, and still blinking through the sting of humiliation stood at the edge with one foot hovering just off the padded floor. He was trying to recover what little dignity he had left, trying to mask the panic behind a mask of stiff bravado. She recognized the type. Fourth Wing, Tail Section saw more than its share of would-be warriors who thought their age or height bought them power. But she’d been shaped by a bloodline where power had to be earned. And today, she was going to remind everyone that legacy alone didn’t make her dangerous.

Her boots hit the mat with a satisfying thud as she squared off. No sword. No elemental flash. Just her body, her fists, and the rhythm that had kept her alive long before she earned her dragon’s flame. She bounced lightly on her toes, shoulders loose, her stance coiled and exact. There was a violence to her stillness, something that promised consequence in the smallest of shifts. She fought like a boxer, light on her feet and heavy in her hands, and she’d never needed brute strength to dominate. Precision was her weapon. Timing, her blade.

The boy hesitated as he stepped in. His pride begged him to make a move, to reclaim control of the situation she’d shattered. But his instincts screamed retreat. She saw it in his shoulders, the tension drawn too tight, his balance a second too slow. He was already lost.

“Come on,” she taunted, voice low and confident, her mouth curling into a slow, cruel smile as she gestured him forward with a single curled finger. “Let’s see if you’re as fast with your hands as you are with your mouth.”

It was the final shove. He lunged, heavy and forward, his form all aggression and no thought. He came in hard, trying to overpower, trying to silence the shame with force. He was too loud. Too slow. Too easy.

She pivoted cleanly to the side, her weight already shifting into the next step before his foot fully planted. Her left hand caught his wrist mid-strike, her right sweeping behind his knee in one swift motion. The world flipped beneath him. The mat met him with a brutal, satisfying thud. He didn’t even have time to register the fall before the breath was knocked from his lungs.

She was already standing over him and not even winded.

The entire section had gone silent, the kind of silence that sinks deep into skin. She didn’t bask in it. Didn’t milk the moment. But she felt it, how the tension warped into something else. Respect. Fear. She crouched slowly, letting her eyes lock onto his, and the boy so smug just minutes before couldn’t even meet her gaze.

“If you can’t fight with respect,” she spat, her voice loud enough the entire crowd could hear, especially Bodhi. “you’re not just a coward. You’re useless.”

She straightened and stepped back without ceremony, walking off the mat with precise, grounded steps, her back straight, her chin high. She didn’t look at Bodhi again. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. But she felt his gaze still lingering, sharp and searching. Not mocking like the others. No smirk now.

The flush in her chest wasn’t from exertion. It was something else entirely. Something she wasn’t ready to name.

The archives were near-empty at this hour, which was exactly how she liked it. The sun had long since dipped behind the mountains. The halls of Basgiath quiet now, save for the occasional laughter drifting from the dining hall or the far-off echo of boots on stone. Most riders used Friday nights for blowing off steam. Drinking, sparring, or finding warm bodies to forget how brutal their days had been.

Not her.

She was curled into a deep armchair in the back right corner of the Archives. A thick leather-bound volume resting in her lap, her boots planted firmly on the seat. The overhead light cast a warm halo on the open pages, tactical strategy layouts for Gauntlet formations and squad combat drills. She read them not for the first time. Markings lined the margins in her narrow, sharp script. Even now, her brow furrowed as she revised a rough plan for the following week’s maneuvers.

Her body ached from training, her knuckles still raw from striking the mat too hard earlier that day, but she didn’t notice. Not really. Pain was a constant. It was the silence she needed. Space to think, to plan. Being section leader was more than commanding a ring. It was shaping the squad beneath her into something stronger, smarter, and worthy of surviving.

So she didn’t notice him at first. Not until the chair beside her shifted slightly with weight and warmth, and the unmistakable scent of worn leather and wind-touched pine cut through her focus.

Bodhi. Of course it was him.

She didn’t look up, not right away. She stayed rigid, her eyes tracking the same sentence twice on the page, even as the air around her shifted.

He didn’t speak for a moment. Just leaned back, a little too comfortably. As if this had been his plan all along. He didn’t look like someone who spent the day getting flung around mats or thrown under whispered insults. No, Bodhi looked maddeningly at ease. His arm rested against the side of the chair they now shared space between, closer than he normally sat in group briefings or training discussions. Close enough she could feel the heat of him through her sleeve, though she was certain he’d act like he didn’t notice.

Then, finally, his voice cut softly through the quiet, threaded with amusement. “Didn’t think you were the type to go feral in defense of a disgraceful rebellion rat.”

Her eyes didn’t lift from the page, but her lip twitched. “I did no such thing.”

“No?” he drawled, and she could hear the grin in his voice. “Because it looked a whole lot like justice to me.”

“I was defending the sparring slot I nearly dislocated a shoulder to win from Claw Section. I’m not in the business of babysitting egos, especially not yours.”

He chuckled, low and warm, and it slid down her spine like a touch she wasn’t prepared for. “Ah. So I’m just an unfortunate footnote in your schedule, then?”

“Exactly.”

“And here I was thinking I owed you my life,” he said, teasing. “Or at least a drink.”

She finally looked up, eyes narrowed but calm, meeting his gaze full-on. His face was unfairly handsome in the dim light. Shadowed in all the right places, mischief softening into something sincere just beneath the surface. He didn’t look like someone baiting her for fun. He looked grateful, curious and a little too close.

She leaned back slightly, if only to collect herself. Her voice was softer when she replied. “You want to thank me for doing my job, Bodhi? Then show up tomorrow with a section plan that doesn’t involve you charming half the recruits into slacking off.”

“That’s a lot of words for you’re welcome,” he said, and smiled. An actual cheek splitting smile, not the cocky slant he wore during training. This one was softer. Real.

She hated that it made her heartbeat hiccup.

He leaned back, his hand brushing the armrest between them like he wasn’t thinking about it, but of course he was. Bodhi never did anything without calculation. He was all casual grace and practiced unpredictability. But tonight, here, beside her, quiet and still? It felt different. The teasing was still there, sure. But beneath it, a thread of sincerity curled like steam between them.

“You didn’t have to do anything,” he said after a moment, quieter now. “I’ve heard worse. Ignoring it would’ve been easier.”

She looked at him again, and this time she didn’t hide the tension in her jaw. “It’s not any easier. It’s about standards. Mine. And theirs.”

“You still didn’t deny it,” he murmured.

She gave him a flat stare. “If you’re looking for some kind of poetic confession, Durran, go find a scribe.”

His laugh was soft, but it lingered. She didn’t push him away. Didn’t shift to reclaim the space between them. For once, it felt earned. Like the silence meant something other than avoidance. Like maybe he wasn’t the only one trying to make sense of a shift that had already begun.

“I don’t need a confession,” he said after a long beat. “Just wanted to say it meant something more. Coming from you.”

She didn’t respond. Not right away. Her gaze drifted back to the pages in her lap, the words now blurred by thoughts she wasn’t ready to face. She didn’t do vulnerability. Didn’t know how to receive that kind of thing without burning a hole in her chest.

But she didn’t push him away, either. And she didn’t ask him to leave.

Instead, she turned a page she hadn’t finished reading, more out of habit than focus. Her eyes flicked down the line of text, but nothing stuck. Not the formation pattern. Not the movement analysis. Not a single godsdamned word.

Bodhi was still watching her.

And not in the usual way. The way men looked when they were calculating, when they were peeling back armor to find a weakness to press. No, Bodhi’s gaze wasn’t hungry or cruel. It was maddening in its patience. Soft, even. Like he was waiting for her to stop pretending this wasn’t affecting her.

She hated that it was affecting her. “I told you,” she muttered, voice clipped as she flipped the page again. “It wasn’t about you.”

He didn’t buy it. Of course he didn’t. Bodhi never accepted the first answer. He always peeled back the first layer, then the second, until whatever was left stood naked in the light. She’d seen him do it with recruits in training, even with instructors..

But it was different when it was her.

“Right,” he said, drawing the word out just enough to make it irritating. “Totally unrelated. You stormed across the yard and knocked a first-year flat on his ass just to defend, what? Scheduling?”

She didn’t respond as her jaw twitched.

“And that little speech about respect?” he continued, tilting his head as if he were genuinely pondering it. “Sounded real personal. Almost like you gave a damn.”

“I give a damn about structure. And cohesion. And not letting entitled little bastards poison the section I’m responsible for.”

He leaned forward slightly, close enough now that she could smell the salt of dried sweat clinging to his collar, the worn scent of leather and something just undeniably him. He rested one arm along the top of her chair and smirked, but his voice softened.

“Come on, FlameWalker. You’re not fooling me.”

She hated the way her breath caught at the sound of her name on his tongue. Not sneered, not barked. Spoken like it meant something more than the legend wrapped around it. Like it was hers and not her family's.

She glared at him, forcing her voice not to waver. “And what exactly do you think I was doing, Bodhi? Hiding a secret crush under all that righteous fury?”

His smile spread, crooked and utterly infuriating. “Nah. I think you’re uncomfortable with the idea that you care. That somewhere between hating my guts and tolerating me as your executive officer, I stopped being a Marked One to you. Started being something else.”

Her lips parted, words on the verge of forming but none came. And gods, he saw it. Saw the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. The war she waged against herself in the space of one breath. The way she turned her face slightly as if it would shield her from how exposed she suddenly felt.

“You really are an arrogant bastard,” she said instead, but it lacked venom. It was breathy, uneven. Off her rhythm.

Bodhi leaned in just a hair, his voice low and teasing, but softer now like he knew exactly what line he was walking and liked it.

“And yet here you are. Letting me sit too close. Not barking orders. Not flinching when I get under your skin.” He paused. “Kind of sweet, actually.”

That broke her. Her head snapped to him, eyes sharp with disbelief. “Sweet?”

He grinned, eyes gleaming. “Admit it. You’re going soft.”

“Don’t push your luck, Durran.”

He laughed, full and bright, and something inside her cracked a little further under the sound. Because it wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t mocking. It was honest.

“Too late.”

She hated how the edges of her mouth betrayed her. How she almost smiled. How her fingers clenched around the book in her lap, grounding herself in something tactile, because otherwise she might have leaned into him.

The heat was crawling up her neck now. Slow, traitorous, and unmistakable. She shifted slightly in her seat, fingers tightening around the edge of the book in her lap like it might anchor her back into herself. Back into control. She’d mastered a thousand ways to shut people out. A hundred more to bury what they made her feel. But Bodhi was like water slipping through cracks. Always finding the places she didn’t guard.

She tilted the book upward, hiding behind it even though she wasn’t reading anymore, hadn’t been for several minutes now. Her voice was steadier when she said, “Shouldn’t you be off charming someone else by now? It’s a Friday night. I’m sure there’s at least three first-years still breathless from watching you fight.”

Bodhi didn’t laugh this time. He didn’t tease. He just stayed where he was. His arm still draped across the back of her chair, his shoulder warm beside hers, his presence steady and unshakable. “I’m exactly where I want to be,” he said simply.

The words struck deeper than she wanted them to. No clever tone. No sarcasm. Just honesty, dropped like a pebble into a still pond, rippling through her ribcage in places that had been untouched for far too long.

She lowered the book again, turning her head just enough to look at him out of the corner of her eye and finally closing it. He was watching her again, but the grin had faded into something gentler now. Open, but not demanding. Patient, but not waiting for her to be anything other than what she was.

And gods, that was worse because she knew how to fight insults. Knew how to command, how to discipline, how to dominate a sparring mat. But this? This quiet kind of softness? She didn’t know what to do with it. She didn’t know what to do with him.

“You’re insufferable,” she said again, but this time it was barely a whisper. There was no bite to it. Just breath and uncertainty.

“And yet you haven’t told me to leave,” he replied, voice barely louder than hers.

She opened her mouth to deny it, to say something sharp, to retreat behind the armor that always worked. But it didn’t come. Her breath caught instead. Her lips closed around nothing. And her heart betrayed her with a single, quiet truth: She didn’t want him to go.

He seemed to feel it too. That final surrender she didn’t speak aloud. “Then you better make yourself useful, Durran.” She sighed, rolling her eyes in faux annoyance.

He shifted slightly, and without a word, he leaned just a little closer. Not enough to press, not enough to crowd but enough for his shoulder to brush hers, warm and solid and real. They sat like that for a long while. The silence between them wasn’t tense anymore. It had softened into something fragile and tentative. Something sacred. She kept her eyes forward, but every inch of her was aware of him beside her. Of how still he was now. Of how he didn’t need to say anything else. He just stayed.

And for once, she didn’t push him away. She let herself breathe. Let herself exist in the quiet without flinching from it.

#fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #bodhi fourth wing #bodhi durran #the empyrean series #onyx storm #iron flame #bodhi x reader #bodhi durran x reader #bodhi x you

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leviackermanstoes · 3 months ago

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PLEASE WRITE SOMETHING FOR XADEN I’M BEGGING🙏🙏🙏(I just love this man more than anything)

IT'S MY TIME TO SHINEEEEEE

-----

Any corner of this earth.

X.riorson x fem!reader

MINORS DNI. Slight violet slander, fluff. Angst, Canon stuff. Xaddy daddy being too sexy. Tairn isn't sgaeyl's mate for the sake of this story. Sorry i love them but I had to.

🍂

The clouds set over Basgiath War College around 7:30, bringing a chill with them and somehow a sense of dread, which i didn't even know was possible. Xaden stood across from me, giving his speech to the first years. He claimed he did it to harden them but I think he's just doing it to scare them the fuck out.

The silvery, white armour i wore gleamed from raindrops. White belts across my waist and hips, a badge on my breastplate of the riorson house symbol made of pure ivory, sat proudly on my chest. I probably looked like some kind of icicle to everyone, and that was almost entertaining.

As xaden finished up, he did the thing with his hand that he does when he wants me close to him. I walked a few steps over to him, now rubbing arms with the fearsome wingleader. He smells like mint and metal and it's so unbelievably addicting that I swear even when he's not around i still smell it in the air.

"See your squad yet?" Xaden leans down to me.

I shake my head. "Not yet. But I've seen a few people I'd like to have on it"

Xaden emits a low, deep chuckle from beside me. my best friend of 13 years was too sexy for his own good, and as I scanned the crowd I saw two first year girls giggling over him, and knew this would be a long day.

"Next!" I called out.

The rain was heavy, and if it had been first year me on parapet, I would've been shaking. With excitement. But everyone here is afraid and I can't say that I blame them.

"Name"

It's a girl with brown to silver hair. She is thin and frail and looks as though she's barely survived the trip here. I pityed her.

"Violet sorrengail"

I poked my head up to get a look at her properly after I ticked her name off the list and saw she was wearing a dragon scale armour that I knew only very little people wore here. "Ah, a sorrengail. You'll do...just fine"

She glances at me before she walks to parapet. I'm not really bothered to ask any more questions or think anymore on it. I know, xaden is down the row a little bit as he does routine checks on the first years. Sometimes, when I look at him for too long, I remember all the things we've been through together, and then it makes me afraid, and I begin to cry because soon nothing will be the same as before.

In the arena, I train the first and second years who celebrate their victory on parapet. I remember back on my first time and smile to myself knowing how it feels. And it feels good.

"Next in the ring is Barlow and sorrengail"

Cruel mix. Sorrengail approaches the ring as does Jack Barlowe from the other end. This almost seems like it could be entertaining, even xaden's group has stopped to watch. Sorrengail was a thin weak girl, and Jack barlowe was a human brick who could crush her skull between two fingers.

"You may begin" I say as I lower my sheet of names.

Xaden has left his group to stand beside me. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

I shake my head.

"No, but what can I do? Besides, she needs it"

Xaden watches, like many other cadets, second and third years too as sorrengail falters before Jack before he lands a hard punch to her stomach making her cough violently as she falls to her knees. A hush falls over the room.

The silver girl stumbles to her feet just as Jack hits her once again, this time on the jaw, before he laces his legs in hers and trips her to the ground. He remains unharmed and standing. Clearly aware he's going to win. Xaden turns his head to me, noticing I am focused on not just Jack but how weak sorrengail is.

"Tap out" Jack growls against sorrengails face as he holds her down on her stomach.

"You yield sorrengail" I announce, and barlowe lays off.

I walk to the ring where sorrengail is still coughing up bile and blood from Jack's assault. "Get up sorrengail" I command.

But she can't, so I kneel down to her instead. "You know why we make you fight above your level?"

She stutters. "N-no, some cruel t-trick?"

I chuckled. "Because you won't always be weak. But not everyone will be weaker than you” As as she lifts her head up, she can only make it to where the golden logo of riorson house sits at my hip. “And we don't always make you train like fools. But you can choose to look that way by your own actions. Now go clean yourself up sorrengail”

I walk back to xaden who has a slight smile on his face. “I must admit I thought it would be me who would kill sorrengail” he turns back to his squad, hot mouth against my ear as he says “but i think only one of us might die this year. You might be the death of me with that attitude”

Xaden leaves, his trail of scent and heat following behind him. There’s absolutely no reason for him to be this sexy.

“Next. tavis and matias”

---

The first years I train over the next few weeks refuse to acknowledge that I can't let them see riorson house. Second year, rider Rhiannon Matias, who is constantly whispering about the logo on my white uniform, is especially stubborn. She thinks i can't hear it when she rumors i am sleeping with xaden from across the arena, but when i call her up to fight on the ring, she has no doubt seen me roll the sleeve up on my white shirt and realised i’ve heard everything. As the girl approaches the ring, the look in her eyes is almost apologetic.

“Do you enjoy spreading rumors, cadet matias?”

She doesn't look at me.

“Answer me”

“No, wingleader”

“Mmm, that’s what I thought. Get into position cadet” i set up stance, my left foot behind my right, both fists in the air in front of me. Matias is sloppy, but not bad.

“Do you know the first rule about fighting cadet?”

“Always have a plan,” she says confidently.

“Close”

I swing my fist. As she goes to catch it, I swing my leg at her knee, spinning her around and to the ground where I pin her down. All within seconds, I proved not every move is truthful. “First rule to win a fight is to never let your opponent know your next move” I announce as I help Matias to her feet.

“Should you ever find yourself in this arena talking about me like you were, I will not hesitate to have you expelled cadet. Am I clear?”

“Crystal” she nods before I dismiss them all.

I hear claps as xaden walks up to the ring. He's smiling. He's actually smiling. "Glad to see you're not so rusty"

I tuck strands of my hair behind me ear and stance back up. "What do you say we test that rustiness huh riorson?"

Xaden chuckles. Not the sweet or funny kind, no, this is the kind of chuckle where he's saying my condolences. And unfortunately for me I found that unbearably attractive.

The second and first years around us begin cheering. Most of them because xaden had taken his shirt off. Not that he had to, but he knew how much it distracted me. And I despised that he knew that.

"Regretting all your life choices, xa?" I laughed and swung at him, but he caught it.

"One of us certainly will"

Xaden strikes me in the arm, and I swing back at him in the jaw. I always forget fighting xaden is like wrestling a dragon. I strike at his stomach, getting him in the side. Xaden twists my wrist before I can hit him again and in a swift move he's got my hands behind my back and I am pinned to the floor by his knee.

"Real cute riorson," I groan from below him.

He let's me go, and I stand back up. I can't let myself be intimidated by him. He's my best friend. He's my best friend. He's my best friends best friend. Shit, gods bless Garrick tavis.

I swing at xaden, who catches my arm agin, this time, I slide myself through his legs and grab them both on my way, knocking him down with a thud. I kneel at his head with a smirk.

"Not too untouchable, xa." I smiled at him.

Staring down at him, I hate how's stupidly gorgeous he is. His stupid gleaming tan skin, his stupid smile, stupidly crystalline eyes, and don't even get me started on the body. Xaden has always been too perfect for his own good. Too beautiful to be scary. He's never been scary to me although he's tried.

And I couldn't argue that, in a sense, xaden was almost like a husband to me. Obviously not literally, but I've spent so much of my life with him and seen so much of him that i might as well be his wife.

---

A month passes without any issue. I hear that xaden has taken up training the sorrengail girl, who bonded two dragons. I may not like her, but that's a pretty big deal. But the real possibility that xaden is fading from me is becoming true. Like I knew he would one day.

He doesn't talk to me unless werr in the same room and he doesn't reply to my letters anymore. If he had been anywhere else, I could've understood, but he was training his enemy just 6 feet away from me. Yawn.

It's only then when I see Garrick walking towards me. He strides right past xaden and directly to me, which is odd. The metal on his clothes clicks as he sits down.

"What is it tavis?"

"You know yours and xadens dragons have been non-stop rubbing on each other? It's weird" Garrick shivers.

It would've been funny if it hadn't been for the fact that our dragons werent bonded. It's not unusual for unbonded dragons to be overly affectionate, but this seemed more like a cry for attention.

I stood up and walked to xaden, where I informed him of everything. I expected him to care, but what i didn't expect.

"I'm a little busy right now"

Was that.

"Too busy for your own dragon? Xaden-"

"I said I'm busy!"

The tone in his voice strikes me right in the centre of my heart.

"You don't have to be such a dick about it." Garrick steps in, but it's not enough defence to block off xaden.

Nothing quite is.

"Im sorry, I'll finish up here and ill-"

"No." I say. "You've made it perfectly clear where your loyalties now lie"

Before xaden gets another word in, I'm already walking towards the dragons with tavis, and somewhere along the way, I collect mairi and durran. The only thing I missed was xaden riorson.

Thunder pounded the college, rains battering the stone walls. Still, I found myself outside carving into the fountain with a small stick, bored out of my mind. The tears have since been washed away by rain and I am now red from cold not from upset.

"What the hell are you doing out here?"

It's xaden. He's wearing a black tee shirt and leather pants. I'd say he must be cold but xaden is never fucking cold. It's kind of annoying.

"I'm bored can't you tell?"

"Can you not do that inside? It's freezing out here!"

I'm not replying to his concerns. For it feels like he has none anymore.

"What is going on with you?!" He yells over the thunder.

"Me?! What's going on with you!" I stand up.

"What changed that made you so far from me?!" Xadens fists are white.

He's so pissed off that I almost feel sorry for having feelings and emotions like I do.

"You did!" The statement is short but powerful enough that the next lightning strike doesn't begin to compare to how that felt.

"People change! Why is this such a crisis for you!"

"YOU WERENT SUPPOSED TO CHANGE!"

It's then when I can now feel the difference between rain and tears as my eyes well up again and I am sat back down on the fountains edge with my head in my hands as I get soaked from rain.

"What is this about? I can't help you if you dont let me"

Xaden is now kneeling before me.

"I just wanted you to stay the same"

"Is this about sorrengail?"

Even her name leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I suppose this is actually going to happen now. I'm actually going to tell xaden 13 years of built up feelings based upon one tiny thing that keeps me sane.

"No xaden, it's about you. Fuck it's always been about you, I've never felt so strongly about anyone before in my whole life and now I'm losing the one person who I thought felt the same"

Xaden lift my head up to look at him. His touch has never been so light and gentle. He almost makes me feel like a feather.

"You aren't losing me"

"I already have"

Xaden shakes his head and pulls me into his chest. The rain has made his clothes cold and wet but I don't care about it. Or anything now.

"There is nothing on this earth that could take me from you." he kisses the top of my forehead.

"So why did you refuse to come with me when I was going to the dragons?:

"Because I already knew what was going on. And i didn't want to be there when you found out"

I couldn't believe any of this.

"That our dragons are bonded?"

"Yes," he nods.

"This changes so much xa"

"It might. But I'm not going to change again. I am yours so much as you are mine"

#xaden riorson x reader #xaden riorson #xaden riorson smut #fourthwing #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #violet sorrengail #liam mairi #rhiannon matthias

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dragonridersandhighlords · 1 month ago

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Hi I love your writing!

Could you do a Bodhi fic where he gets super jealous and possessive? Like you two have a no strings attached FWB (that never works out) so when he sees you talking to another cadet who he finds out is trying to catch your eye he gets pissed. Ultimately confessing he doesn’t want just sex he wants more?

Where There's You and Me | Bodhi Durran

Summary: Tension escalates when the reader grows close to another cadet, Talon, forcing Bodhi to confront his true feelings. In a heartfelt confrontation, the two acknowledge their love, choosing vulnerability over fear and finding rare peace in each other’s arms.

Pairing: Bodhi Durran x Reader

Notes: Short and sweet cause I've been so busy but I wanted to give something!

Warnings: jealousy

Word Count: <1k

Masterlist | FW Masterlist

You are the one place Bodhi could go to forget that Basgiath is designed to kill you.

That first night you hooked up, neither of you made it to bed. Squad Games did not go well for your squad, and you both needed to let off some steam.

So when you started screaming at him for being reckless, Bodhi just watched you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask, finally turning to him.

“Because there is nothing I want more right now than to make you shut up right now.” He says as he presses his lips to yours.

No feelings, you said. No attachments, no expectations.

Keep it simple, keep it quiet, and survive.

Always slips out before dawn. No cuddling, no morning-after regrets and leave like none of it matters—like you haven’t memorized the shape of his hands on your skin, like he don’t hear your voice in every quiet moment between drills.

Bodhi knows he should’ve ended it the minute he realized he wanted more, that there were feelings. But he didn’t–couldn’t–because he’d rather have stolen nights and silence than nothing at all.

Then him.

Talon. Confident, charming, all flash and no depth—but you laugh when he talks to you. It’s the one you used to give Bodhi when he teased you or made some smart-ass comment during briefing.

Now Talon gets it.

He gets your eyes. Your attention. Your smile.

And Bodhi gets distance.

You stop showing up after training. You barely look at him at meals. Bodhi tries to tell himself it doesn’t matter. That it was supposed to be casual. That you’re not his to lose. But when he sees you laughing with Talon—too close, too comfortable—something inside him snaps.

Bodhi finds you in the gym just after sunset, sweat-slick and beautiful in a way that makes his chest ache.

“You having fun with him?” He asks before he can stop himself.

“What?” You ask, continuing with your routine.

“Talon.” He shrugs, leaning against the wall. “You two seem pretty close.”

You scoff, ripping off your wraps and tossing them into your bag. “Jealous much, Durran?”

“I didn’t know the rules changed,” He says, creeping closer. “Didn’t know we could shop around.”

Your expression hardens. “And?” Your back meets the wall as he gets closer.

“Tell me it never meant anything.” You freeze. “Tell me I imagined it every time you stayed a little longer than you had to. That I’m the only one who notices the way your hands shake when you think I’m hurt. Tell me this was just sex.”

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Good because I don’t want just your body,” I say. “I want you. All of it. All the messy, maddening, brave, infuriating parts of you. And yeah, it scares the shit out of me.”

You step into him, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. Your fingers brush his wrist—light at first, then firm. Like you're afraid he’ll disappear if you don’t hold on. “I tried to fight it,” you say. “I thought it would be easier to just entertain someone else but…”

“It’s always been you,” He murmurs, “and me. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone the way I want you.” He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, and it’s the closest thing to peace either of you felt in months.

That night, you stay. There’s no sex, there's only you and him and the quiet.

You fall asleep in his arms for the first time without a rush, without an exit strategy. And he lies there, heart pounding like he’s just ran the Gauntlet again, whispering into her hair:

“You were never just a way to feel alive. You are the reason I breathe.”

Everything Taglist: @lxnvmvrzx @bodhidurrans @bookwormysblog @nikfigueiredo @fictionalrelapse

#iron flame #fourth wing #onyx storm #the empyrean #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing fanfic #bodhi durran #bodhi durran x reader #bodhi durran angst #bodhi durran imagine #bodhi durran fic

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diejager · 1 year ago

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I've been reading the Stepfather! Konig fic and I had just an idea. What if to get away and feel at least some safety reader fakes their death and joins the military with many fake names and constantly changes up themself to keep safe and away from König and Horangi?

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, military, recruitment, enlisting, military inaccuracies, tell me if I missed any.

Where was the best place to hide? The last place they would look, right under their nose. You managed - somehow - to keep your papers a secret from them, you were lucky they dealt with things online on encrypted servers, keeping it as hush-hush as possible. Fortunately, there weren’t many requirements for enlisting, all they had asked was your age, level of education and citizenship, some vague papers about you and that was all. You bode your time, leaning on your freedom when you left the house to hit the gym to get a head start in your training, pack a bit of muscle and get into a tight routine to get used to it before you joined; and buying the few things you’d need to build you stage with the few materials and story you made up.

You were prepared when the time came, just a week before your training and your body thrummed with adrenaline and anxiety, slowly finishing off your plan. And when the time was right, you struck, vanishing with the car that you drove into the lake, you made sure that it was deep enough to be left untouched until you had at least finished your training. It was a stroke of luck, sheer luck that you made it to the base, flashing your papers and given a permit to meet the major of the base to receive your identification once you passed the examinations and interview.

“Welcome to hell, cadet!” Were the first words you heard in the mass, dressed in the black and white uniform of the navy you stood ramrod with others beside you.

They separated men and women in the early stages of training, once the selections were done, they’d mix both sex and leave them to train and learn together. It was a gruelling process, the physical and mental exhaustion of it all almost made you crash more than once, mind on the brink of frustration and muscles worn into painful bruises. You’d seen friends - made through nights of venting and moaning about life - and acquaintances quit early or halfway through the training and education. They were weeding out the weaker ones, the less competent and determined from the rest. You feared being picked of quitting, but you powered through it, all your blood, sweat and tears culminated to your graduation nearly eleven weeks later.

You could stand with pride in yourself, head held high as you received your praises from the major, his rough voice echoing through the room in congratulations. You took your oaths and were given a white uniform and a hat, the black cap and gold encrusted hat that gleamed under the sun. You were proud; you were happy; you felt accomplished and free. You thought of flying, to be and feel as free as the birds that soar the skies, perhaps you’d join the aviation branch of the Navy. It didn’t seem like such a bad idea, to be moved and passed around wherever you were needed, never staying in one place made finding you much harder if König and Horangi found your bluff.

But you’d gone so far, done so much to take things back or be taken back. You’d accomplished something with what little you had and you knew- You knew that your mother would be so proud of you for persevering.

“I miss you, mom,” you kissed the sole picture of your mother, the only thing you thought worth keeping, “I’m sorry, I miss you.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @lucienbarkbark @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @223princess @maylovesyousomuch @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

#x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig cod #horangi #horangi mw2 #horangi x reader #tw: dark content #dark content #tw: dubcon #tw: non con #dead dove do not eat #tw: stepcest #Stepdad!konig #Stepdad!könig #Dbf!horangi

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areyoufuckingcrazy · 25 days ago

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“Dark Water”

Chapter one: Darkness at the Door

The Bad Batch x Reader

Summary: Before they were the Bad Batch, they were just four misfits bred in a lab and deemed too defective to succeed. Five years before the Clone Wars, a Mandalorian warrior—one of many brought in by Jango Fett to train the Republic’s growing clone army—is assigned an unusual task: shape Clone Force 99 into something useful. But what begins as an assignment slowly unearths moral fault lines, personal connections, and the uncomfortable truth that these ‘defects’ are still just children with no say in the war they were born for.

The descent into Kamino’s atmosphere was like sinking into a living bruise. Stormclouds churned in every direction, and rain lashed the transport’s hull with relentless force, a rhythmic hiss that reminded you more of hydraulic steam than water.

You’d flown through worse. But it still felt unnatural.

As the pilot aligned for docking with Tipoca City’s landing ring, you stood at the rear of the shuttle, arms crossed, your beskar damp with condensation. Mandalorian armor always ran hot under pressure, but here, it simply felt heavy—suffocating in the artificial chill.

You didn’t bother to remove your helmet until the hiss of the airlock seal released. When you stepped into the sterile white hangar, you were met with the smooth gliding gait of the Kaminoan attendants, their dark eyes unblinking, their movements too fluid to be comfortable. One looked at you with a curious tilt of the head, as if studying a museum relic.

Behind them stood a man you hadn’t seen in years.

Jango Fett.

Still armored, still coiled like a spring, still unreadable beneath the edge of his Mandalorian visor. He stepped forward and gave a nod that passed for welcome.

“Glad you came.”

“I owed you,” you replied, your voice flat through the vocoder. “And I’m curious.”

He gestured for you to walk with him, away from the docking pad and into the bowels of the facility.

“Curiosity’ll get you far here,” he said. “Just keep your mouth shut in front of the whitecoats.”

You snorted. “That’s never been my strength.”

“Wasn’t mine either. That’s why you’re here.”

You followed him deeper into the labyrinth of white corridors—cold, gleaming, and lifeless. Kamino didn’t bother with aesthetics or morale. Efficiency ruled. There were no colors beyond white and grey. The silence was heavy, broken only by the occasional hiss of automated doors or the soft clatter of clone cadets moving between drills. Identical boys. Identical voices.

But you hadn’t come for the standard ones.

“You brought in others,” you said, eyes scanning the clinical halls. “Mandalorians. Mercs. Old friends.”

“Most of them washed out,” he replied. “Or couldn’t handle the Kaminoans breathing down their necks. They’re not looking for heart out here. They’re building weapons.”

“And what am I training?”

Jango stopped before a sealed blast door. He keyed in a command, but didn’t enter.

“A squad,” he said. “Small unit. Four of them. Different from the regs. Genetically modified.”

Your head turned slightly. “More than the standard acceleration?”

He gave a tight nod. “Each one has a unique mutation. Done by design. Kaminoans call them Clone Force 99. Prototypes. Failed in their eyes.”

“But not in yours.”

“They’re effective. Unpredictable. Problem is—they don’t take well to regulation. Or… routine discipline.”

“So you want me to break them.”

He looked at you for a long moment. “No. I want you to shape them.”

You said nothing for a moment, then glanced toward the observation window beside the door. The interior room was empty now, but you could see the faint burn marks on the walls. Scorch marks. Impact dents. A combat simulation room, not built to simulate standard infantry.

“Where are they?”

“Rest cycle,” Jango answered. “And you won’t meet them today. First, you need to understand what they are.”

He turned and gestured for you to follow again. You passed a long chamber where cadets—young, probably six or seven in standard years—stood at attention before a drill instructor barking orders. Uniform in posture. Identical in voice.

“Not like them,” Jango said, nodding toward the clones. “Clone Force 99’s mutations go beyond just strength or speed. They were given autonomy. Traits you can’t program.”

You said nothing. You didn’t need to. Jango knew you understood—because you were the same. You’d fought in chaos. Led irregulars. Survived under no banner but your own.

Eventually, you arrived in the laboratory wing. Inside waited Chief Scientist Nala Se, her towering frame bent slightly forward, hands folded in front of her.

“Fett,” she greeted him first. Then her dark eyes shifted to you. “And this is the Mandalorian instructor?”

You removed your helmet and tucked it under your arm.

“I don’t do ranks,” you said plainly. “Call me what you like.”

Nala Se blinked slowly, her tone even. “Jango Fett has recommended you to oversee the combat conditioning of Clone Force 99. Your assignment begins with an observational phase.”

She gestured toward a nearby monitor. With a flick of her hand, four holo-displays lit up—each tied to a different clone.

“CT-9901,” she began, “possesses heightened spatial awareness, sensory enhancement, and reflexes. We believe this is due to a mutation in his neural mapping. He calls himself Hunter.”

The feed showed a dark-haired clone moving through a jungle course simulation, almost too fast to follow. He paused behind a holographic tree and lifted his hand slightly—feeling something. The feed’s bio-data confirmed heightened EM sensitivity.

“CT-9904,” she continued, “is a sniper-class clone with extreme visual acuity, skeletal modifications for stability, and a behavioral profile marked by cold efficiency. He refers to himself as Crosshair.”

That feed showed a leaner clone with a perpetual scowl, taking perfect shots mid-sprint, never missing a beat. The rifle was almost an extension of his arm.

“CT-9902 is known as Tech. Enhanced cognitive function, accelerated pattern recognition, and reflexive calculation ability. He is… uniquely articulate.”

That was an understatement. The feed showed the pale clone dismantling a live blaster in under ten seconds, rewiring it, and using it to hack a control panel.

“And CT-9903…” Nala Se paused for a half-second. “His physical strength exceeds all clone parameters. He is… emotionally unique. Calls himself Wrecker.”

The last feed nearly overloaded its frame as the large clone lifted a heavy training sled and hurled it across the sim yard, laughing.

You frowned slightly.

“They’re not just enhanced,” you said. “They’re completely divergent. This isn’t evolution—it’s experimentation.”

“Indeed,” Nala Se replied, her expression unreadable. “Your job is to test whether such deviation can be… weaponized.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re not just asking me to train soldiers. You’re asking me to civilize a storm.”

“They don’t need civility,” Jango said beside you. “They need control. Focus. Discipline from someone who understands what it means to be different.”

You stared at the frozen frames of the four misfit clones.

They didn’t need a handler. They needed a warhound.

You turned to Jango. “When do I start?”

⸻

The observation deck was cold.

Not just in temperature, but in design—glossy white walls, bright overhead lights, and a reinforced transparisteel viewport that stretched from floor to ceiling, allowing an unobstructed view into the combat simulation chamber below.

You stood with your arms crossed, helmet tucked under one arm, and your gaze fixed on the chaos unfolding beneath you.

“Simulation 04A: Urban siege conditions,” came Nala Se’s cool voice from the comm station behind you. “Objective: breach, secure, and hold all four zones. Timer: three minutes.”

A sharp tone echoed in the room below.

And then they moved.

Hunter was the first to sprint ahead, motioning silently to the others, a vibroknife already drawn. His black headband clung tightly to his brow, strands of unruly hair bouncing as he dropped into a low crouch and vanished behind cover.

Crosshair hung back, perched in a high corner of the sim room, balancing a training rifle almost too large for his frame. One eye closed. One held open. He didn’t speak.

Tech darted in the opposite direction, mumbling rapid-fire calculations under his breath, adjusting the scanner in his glove mid-run while slicing a fake terminal on the fly.

Wrecker? He just charged forward through a barricade, roaring with laughter as faux-debris scattered in his wake like leaves in a storm.

You blinked slowly. They were… coordinated. Sloppy in some ways—Hunter’s knife was over-extended, Crosshair’s shoulders were too tense, Wrecker didn’t check his corners—but still, for ten-year-olds?

Damn.

Jango stood to your right, arms folded over his chest, watching silently as his “projects” swept through the simulated zone.

“They move like they’ve done this a hundred times,” you murmured, eyes still locked on the viewport.

“They have,” Jango replied. “Twice a day. Every day. Since they could walk.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Below, Wrecker took a simulated hit to the shoulder. He laughed it off, grabbed a nearby training droid, and hurled it across the chamber. It shattered against the far wall.

Ten years old.

“It’s easy to forget what they are when you watch them like this,” you said quietly. “But they’re still just boys.”

Jango’s jaw shifted slightly. “They’re soldiers.”

“They’re children,” you shot back, turning to face him. “You can train them to kill. Train them to obey. But that doesn’t change what they are.”

His gaze was flat, unreadable. “By Mandalorian tradition, you were what—eight? Nine? When you started?”

You didn’t answer right away. The memory came unbidden: the biting cold of Concordia’s air, the sting of practice blades on bare arms, the weight of your father’s armor strapped to your back for the first time.

Finally, you said, “The difference is, I had a choice.”

Jango didn’t flinch. But something subtle shifted behind his eyes.

“You think I didn’t?” he asked after a pause.

You looked away, back toward the viewport.

Below, Crosshair dropped a final target with a clean shot between the eyes. Tech shouted something, gesturing toward a timer that had just run out.

Hunter stood, breathing heavily, a little scratched but alive. Wrecker lifted both fists in the air, victorious. Like it was a game.

You exhaled slowly. “They’re good. Raw, but good.”

“They’re better than good,” Jango said. “They’re alive. And in this war, that’s going to matter more than anything else.”

You glanced sideways at him.

“There is no war,” you said. “Not yet.”

Jango didn’t smile. “There will be.”

⸻

Next Chapter

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thatnightlamp · 2 days ago

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Alright heretics and hobbyists, here's your comprehensive deep dive into Imperial Corporated's latest and most dangerous addiction:

Champions of the Imperium: The Gachapon

If you’ve seen the eggs on the shelves, heard about the Primarch pulls, or caught a glimpse of someone being followed around by a foot-tall Space Marine yelling about honor, this is what’s going on.

WHAT IS THIS PRODUCT?

It’s a gachapon line small capsule toys sold from vending machines, mystery box style, except the prizes are living, semi-sentient, Imperium branded companions. Think sentient chibis of your favorite grimdark figures, scaled down to 20–35 cm, semi-autonomous, capable of bonding, talking, learning, and causing minor domestic incidents.

Each capsule contains an Egg Unit, which hatches into a Companion Asset after warming for a few hours.

They’re not just merch, they’re partially bio-grown constructs with integrated behavioral cores. You don’t collect these just to look cute on a shelf. You live with them.

EGG CLASS TIERS & PULL RATES

There are five base tiers of gachapon eggs. These define both rarity and complexity of care.

1. CIVITAS CLASS – 40%

Examples: Administratum clerk, Hiveworld civilian, Servitor Type-B, Ministorum acolyte,…

Easiest to maintain.

Behaviors are low-complexity: think Tamagotchi meets bureaucrat.

Mostly sit around, sometimes file papers, offer minor quotes from the Lectitio Divinitatus.

Great for first-timers or kids.

2. MILITANT CLASS – 30%

Examples: Astra Militarum officer, Adepta Sororitas initiate, Enforcer Cadet, Junior Commissar,…

Moderate interactivity and training options.

Often carry tiny, non lethal weapon replicas. Do not be fooled: they will pretend to arrest you.

More expressive personalities, including loyalty, suspicion, discipline, or random heroism.

3. ADEPTUS ASTARTES CLASS – 20%

Examples: Space Marines from Legions like Ultramarines, Blood Angels, Salamanders, Raven Guard,...

Fully armored, fiercely loyal once bonded.

Common traits include tactical obsession, disdain for weakness, and random battle cries.

Need regular structure and affirmation.

Display complex bonding behavior, from guarding their caretaker to demanding respect.

4. SPECIALIST CLASS – 9.5%

Examples: Sisters of Silence, Custodes Initiate, Eversor-in-training (very unstable), Tech priest, Navigator Novice,...

Niche behaviors. Some require unique care methods (Tech-priests need data inputs, for example).

High variability in attitude and interactivity. Navigators are psychic and unpredictable.

Often come with unique environmental needs (aromas, soundscapes, ritual routines).

Some owners report light psychic interference from these units.

5. PRIMARCH CLASS – 0.5%

Examples: Miniature versions of the 18 Primarchs (loyal and traitor alike, though Corp won’t admit to selling traitors directly)

Immensely rare and complex.

Personalities are rich, intense, sometimes unstable.

Known to display deeply human traits: depression, wrath, guilt, need for affection, or egomania.

May "adopt" you as a subordinate, child, or mortal confidant depending on imprinting.

Every Primarch behaves differently. Guilliman reorganizes your life. Curze stares at you while you sleep.

THE EGG

Each egg is a glowing containment pod, softly warm, marked with the Aquila and a purity seal sticker.

You’ll get:

One sealed egg with internal bio-incubation field.

A random Companion inside (species/class based on gacha RNG).

Starter pack with:

30-day nutrient capsule supply.

One incense disc (for hatching ritual).

Scan token to link the Care Codex app.

Tracking chip for your Companion (don’t remove it unless you want them going rogue).

Hatching takes 1–4 hours. You must not disturb the egg during imprinting. It affects bond level.

BONDING SYSTEM (Servo-Affinity Core)

Every Companion has a built-in Bonding Core which tracks its relationship with you over time. The stronger the bond, the more features and behaviors unlock.

Bond Levels:

0–9% Null Recognition: May ignore or reject your presence.

10–39% Asset Tolerance: Accepts care, may follow basic commands. Often sarcastic or hostile.

40–69% Tactical Symbiosis: Follows you, protects your property, performs actions to “improve” your life.

70–89% Honor Bound Familiarity: Performs affection-like behavior. Some report sleeping beside them or sharing food.

90–100% Exemplar Bond: Deep loyalty. Companion may refer to you as “commander,” “scion,” or even “beloved.” Unlocks secret interactions, including small acts of devotion or emotional moments.

Bond level improves through consistent care, verbal interaction, letting them “assist” you in tasks, and proper environmental alignment.

CARE ROUTINE

While all Companions are semi-autonomous, they do require consistent interaction.

Daily Care Includes:

Feeding: Nutrient capsules or ambient feeding depending on class.

Verbal Interaction: They learn from you, and most need verbal affirmation to grow.

Structured Environment: Especially most of Astartes and Primarch classes. Messy room = angry Companion.

Stimuli Enrichment: Books, battle reports, poetry, incense, strategy games. Bored Companions act out.

You’ll want to set aside at least 20 minutes a day to engage meaningfully if you want high bond levels.

COMPANION BEHAVIOR VARIES BY TYPE

Civitas: Passive. May clean, chant, or ask to file things.

Militant: Patrol the room, shout drill quotes, and try to maintain order.

Astartes: Will attempt to lead, defend, strategize, and occasionally sulk in corners.

Specialist: Highly unpredictable. My friend’s Tech-priest made a shrine to his wifi router.

Primarch: One user said their Mini Russ demanded a wolf pelt bed and challenged their cat to combat.

COST & ACCESS

Basic Gachapon Egg Pull: 15 Thrones per pull.

Starter Pack Refill: 10 Thrones/month.

Advanced Modules (optional): 5–25 Thrones depending on the class (language packs, personality chips, etc.)

They’re not cheap. But they’re not just toys either. People live with these. Some treat them like tiny saints. Others like roommates. A few… well, there’s a whole sub for people who got a Mini Konrad and fell in love, and that’s its own horror-romance situation.

ARE THEY WORTH IT?

Depends what you're after.

Casual collector? Civitas or Militant Class is good. Low maintenance, fun personalities.

Want a challenge? Astartes give you that disciplined buddy experience.

Chaos gremlin at heart? Pull a Specialist. Risk everything.

Crave drama, philosophy, and 2am sermons? Go Primarch. Just… be ready.

Some people collect them all. Some bond with one for life. Some trade or gift unwanted pulls. There’s even a “Loyalty Forge” upgrade program where two bonded Astartes may merge behavior sets or unlock shared story arcs (details classified).

FINAL THOUGHTS

This isn’t a gimmick. This is Imperial Corporated turning every major War of the Imperium figure into a living, breathing, emotionally manipulative mini roommate. And it’s working.

They’re funny, endearing, creepy, insightful, and sometimes life-changing.

I’m five pulls in. Got two Guardsmen, one Sister Novice (who’s been reading my books in Latin), a Silent Sister who literally never talks, and my favorite: a grumpy, fussy Salamander who warmed up after I let him sleep near the stove.

10/10. Would risk the wrath of the Ecclesiarchy again.

Edit: If anyone pulled a Mini Dorn and doesn’t want him, DM me. I have teacups, incense, and the patience of a Saint.

#Imperium_gachapon #pls don't judge me hard i just want to share #maybe you will like it...#using all my knowledge in gacha and marketing #warhammer 30k #warhammer 40k #something between fantasy and husbandry and mini marines but now it stretch into all faction

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manasastuff-blog · 11 months ago

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Daily Routine of Cadet in Indian Air Force Academy#airforce#academy#indain

youtube

The daily routine of a cadet in the Indian Air Force Academy is a blend of discipline, dedication, and relentless training. In this video, we take you behind the scenes to expose the rigorous schedule that shapes the future leaders of the Indian Air Force. From early-morning drills to late-night study sessions, you'll get an in-depth look at the challenges and triumphs these cadets face every day. Whether you're aspiring to join the Air Force or simply curious about military life, this video provides a unique perspective on the journey of a cadet. Don't miss out on discovering what it truly takes to earn those wings. Watch now to uncover the secrets behind the making of an Air Force officer!

Call:7799799221 Website:www.manasadefenceacademy.com

#IndianAirForce#AirForceCadet#MilitaryTraining#CadetLife#IAFCadet #IndianDefence#MilitaryRoutine#DailyRoutine#AirForceAcademy #DefenceJobs

#airforce #Daily Routine of Cadet in Indian Air Force Academy #Air Force cadet daily life #Indian Air Force Academy routine #military training in India #life at Air Force Academy #Indian Air Force training #cadet routine Indian Air Force #Air Force Academy secrets #military discipline daily schedule #Air Force cadet life #how to become an Air Force officer #Indian Air Force Academy training #military lifestyle #behind the scenes Air Force Academy #Indian Air Force journey #life of a cadet #training at Indian Air Force Academy #Air Force Academy day in the life #military academy routine #Indian defence training #Air Force cadet routine #Indian Air Force Academy cadets #Air Force officer training #military education in India #inside Air Force Academy #daily life of Air Force cadet #Air Force Academy student life #Air Force Academy daily schedule #life of an Air Force cadet

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nerosukehiroo · 5 months ago

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𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦

Levi Ackerman x Female Reader

(Smut)

A/N… all I can say is I’m on my period rn, and I’m going fucking feral for this man.

(Not proof read)

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▄▀▄▀▄▀ ▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

Everyday was always the same routine. Eat, train, eat again, train more, eat again then go to bed. Life as a soldier wasn’t so bad. I mean you get a bed, 3 meals a day, form friendships with amazing people and if you’re really lucky you’d get to be Captain Levi’s fuck buddy.

As first it was an accident. We had lost so many people during the mission and I just happened to be there for Levi in that moment. He was frustrated and needed some relief, so I offered a helping hand.

What I didn’t think was that meant he would push me on his desk and rearrange my insides. Instead of my hand it was my pussy, not that I mind though.

The captain may be on the short side but this dude literally has a fucking third leg hidden. Lucky for me I’m shorter so I have to constantly look up to him. Anytime I do he smirks at me which just makes the butterflies in my stomach do dances.

It has been a few months since my first sexual encounter with Humanities Strongest. I assumed it was a one time thing and never again, however, Levi had other plans.

So for the last 4 months we had been screwing around together. It’s a secret neither of us tell other people.

“Cadet Y/N, will you meet me in my office in 10 minutes.” Levi not really asking but commanded. As I was finishing cleaning I looked at him for a second then my eyes shot to Sasha. I quickly looked back at the Captain and he shot me a quick wink and a small smirk.

“Uh yes sir!” I saluted and he walked off making me feel a bit nervous.

“Should I go ahead and plan for your funeral?” Sasha asked me causing me to laugh but also still have fear.

Is he wanting to call it off, did I do something that upset him? Surely not since he winked and smirked at me. But we always wait until everyone is asleep, wonder why he’s wanting to see me now?

“Hey you better get going, wouldn’t want scary man to get mad would we?” Sasha says this making me laugh. She so good, I love her so much.

“Okay, I’ll come find you when I’m done with him.” She nodded and smiled.

“Bye bestie!”

__________________________________________________

Before I could knock on the door, it opened and a hand grabbed my wrist pulling me inside with my body getting pushed up against the wall.

“God I fucking missed you.” Levi grips my face and smashes his lips against mine. “But I thought we agreed to wait until everyone was asleep?” My heart is literally pounding out of my chest.

“About that, I want to change our terms. Come sit with me.” He started walking me toward the couch that was in his office. Before I could sit down he gripped my hips and made sure I sat on his lap.

He looked in my eyes and smiled. This caused me to gasp, I have never seen this man actually smile before.

“Are you okay? You’re acting different.” He started laughing. I tried to get up from his lap but his arms wrapped around my waist pulling me even closer to him making my ass sit right on top of his crotch.

“I’m tired of hiding our relationship, I want everyone to know that you belong to me. I can’t keep watching these pubescent boys stare at what’s mine.”

Is he serious?

“Levi, I thought you said relationships were a waste of time. That was the first thing you said before you fucked me the first time and now you’re jealous of other people looking my way. Why do you care?”

He picked me up bridal style and carried me to his bedroom, gently putting me down on the bed he stayed on his knees at the end. He let out a sigh and looked up at me.

“Because… I- fuck this harder than I thought. I want you. Not just for one night, I want you all the time. I want to wake up to you in the morning or in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep. I wanna be able to hold you, kiss you, fuck you whenever I want. I wanna one day marry you and have kids with you if that’s something you’d want. These last 4 months have been the best of my life. Please let me make you mine.”

To say I was at a loss for words was an understatement. So he does feel the same way I do, after all this time? I could tell that he nervous, he was staring into my eyes waiting for me to say something back.

“If you don’t-“ I stopped him from finishing his sentence by giving him a big kiss. “I’ve been waiting to hear this. All I want it you Levi.”

__________________________________________________

“Fuck that’s a good girl, taking my cock so well baby.” Levi praises me. We’ve been going at it for a few hours now. Pretty sure it’s night time since it’s pitch black outside.

“L-Levi I- fuck I’m gonna cum!” This is probably the 8th time I’ve said that sentence. He was deep inside of me, his tip literally kissing my cervix. He was giving me everything and I was loving every second of it.

After we confessed our feelings his face went straight to my pussy making me cum on his tongue 4 times. This man is a hater for dirtiness but loved to make a mess out of me. In fact he took pride in making me squirt with just his tongue alone.

“So deep! So fucking deep baby!”

My throat was so sore from all of the moaning I had been doing. He loved hearing it. It let him know how he was making me feel which was pure pleasure.

“I wanna hear you say who’s owns this pussy.” He demanded and if I wasn’t so cock drunk I would have done as he asked but no. He just has to have a big cock and knows how to use it. He has my eyes crossing, my tongue sticking out. The sound of skin slapping against each other. His heavy balls smacking against my ass and the noises my pussy was making was lewd. Anyone who could walk by Levi’s quarters would be an idiot if they couldn’t figure out what was going on.

As he got tired of waiting, he wrapped his hand around my neck and started to squeeze. “Fu-ck! Yours! MY PUSSY IS YOURS! PLEASE LEVI I NEED TO COME SO SO BAD!!!”

I literally fucking screamed. The way he was hitting spots only he has ever been managed to reach on top of rubbing my clit has me seeing stars. As he kept going I could feeling myself getting ready to squirt again.

Of course I warn him whenever so he has time to stop and not cause a mess to happen. But for some reason Levi did not give a fuck.

“Squirt on this dick baby, Daddy’s gonna fill you up so good.” I’ve lost it. Whenever he calls himself that it always makes my pussy 10xs more wet than usual. He knows this, we’ve fucked countless times so of course he does. Drenched his thighs, my bottom half, pretty sure it’s all over his bed too. But yet again he does not fucking care.

“I’m gonna fucking cum in this tight little pussy, maybe get you pregnant, put a ring on the finger and then everyone will know who you belong to. I bet you’d like that huh? Me making you a mommy? Fuck just saying that and your pussy clenched around me.”

The only thing I could say was “Please Daddy! Make me a mommy. I want your cum so bad. Wanna. Feel. Full.”

And just like that he lost it painting my insides white with thick ropes of cum. He smiled at me and gave me a big kiss on the lips before pulling out and getting up to get something to clean me off with.

“So… trying to get me pregnant?” I said as Levi finished cleaning himself and I up. He looked at me and chuckled. “And gonna put a ring on your finger, just you wait. Soon you’ll be Mrs. Y/N Ackerman.”

I gripped his jaw and gave him an another big kiss before saying.

“One step at a time.”

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman lemon #levi smut #levi aot #levi x reader #captain levi #levi attack on titan #attack on titan

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callsign-rogueone · 1 year ago

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reunification day - d.a.

Dain Aetos x reader part two of Dain and Love's story words: 2.6k 🏷: no book spoilers really, set pre-Fourth Wing, feminine reader but no pronouns used, this one is pretty tame and fluffy if you don't think too hard about the implications of literally every word, Col. Aetos makes an appearance and is a total jerk, as usual, delving into Dain's ~issues~ a bit, and hopefully showing a little more of Love's personality. I really like this one. a lot. I hope you do too. no other girlfriends mentioned this time, but can anyone guess who a certain someone was looking for before the speeches started?

It’s been over a year since you’ve spent this much time getting ready for anything. You’ve missed this feeling, sitting in front of your mirror humming a soft tune as you go through your routine, doing up your hair -- that part is made much easier with your signet, the strands curling and smoothing and pinning themselves to your liking while you darken your eyelashes and brush through your eyebrows, glossing your lips and making everything soft and shiny.

It’s a nice change of pace from your usual rushed mornings at the school, but it doesn’t feel the same, not how it used to, when you’d do all of this with a smile, genuinely excited for the occasion, for the opportunity to take a break from the training and the preparing-for-war to spend time with your family at their formal gatherings, with singing and dancing and food and all the trappings of Tyrrish culture -- because the occasion you’re preparing for right now is a holiday celebrating the anniversary of Navarre making those things illegal.

Either way, you look damn good, and you’re going to let everybody in attendance see it.

“Your friends are outside,” Cosa reports — you’d told them not to wait for you, and they know better than that, anyway, especially when you have a reason to take your time getting ready like this.

With one last adjustment to the skirt of your dress, and one more lingering glance at yourself in the mirror, you drape the long silk wrap over your shoulders and slip out your door, heading down the hall out to the courtyard, where the party — if one could call it that — is just getting started, cadets trickling in slowly and settling into their formations.

You spot Dain in his usual place in the block. Of course he’d be one of the first to get here.

“You clean up nicely,” you greet, brushing a piece of fluff from the collar of his uniform. You let your fingertips skim over the broad expanse of his shoulder, lingering perhaps a second too long before you pull your hand back.

He represses a shiver, his cheeks reddening. “You too,” he manages. “You’re… wow.”

You smile at how flustered he is, at the blush spreading across his cheeks and his difficulty forming complete sentences. “Thank you. I may have a shitty relationship with this holiday, but I’ll take the excuse to be pretty for an evening.”

“You’re always pretty,” he says quietly, still looking at you.

It’s a compliment you’ve gotten from dozens of men before, one you usually brush off, but your heart skips hearing it from the one man who hasn’t been falling at your feet all year.

“He thinks I’m pretty,” you whisper to Cosa, unable to keep the smile off your face.

She sounds amused. “Of course he does. Now, are you going to do something about it?”

That is the question; but she should know by now that you don’t chase after anything or anyone, especially not men.

“Thank you,” you reply warmly.

It’s obvious that he doesn’t know where to go from here, what to say next.

You’re standing at eye level with him, or close to it, for the first time ever, and he can’t look away; mesmerized by the color of your irises and the flutter of your eyelashes as you blink, the barely-there shimmer coating your eyelids.

“Are you wearing heels?” he asks, finally putting it together.

You nod, shifting the long skirt of your dress to show him the simple black stilettos underneath, thick silk ribbons wrapped around your ankles to keep them in place, tied with perfect bows.

He’s in over his head. Thankfully the next sentence that comes out of his mouth isn’t about how much he’d like to kneel down and tug at the ribbons until the bows came undone, to slide the shoes off and…

“Did you really cross the parapet with those in your bag?” he asks, still looking at them.

“I did,” you answer, smiling. “They’re my favorites — they were a gift from my favorite brother. And they’re black, so they’re codex-approved.”

Fair enough.

It stands to reason that you’d have a favorite pair of shoes, and a collection of them back home — in the year that he’s known you, he’s learned that you place a high value on your physical appearance, and you aren’t afraid to modify your uniform within the bounds of regulation, finding subtle ways of making it your own.

You settle into your usual spot between him and Sawyer, who looks to be searching for someone in the crowd, his shoulders sinking when he realizes they aren’t there. You offer him a soft smile that he returns silently, your attention returning to the dais just as the clock strikes seven.

“I should have asked Bodhi what his bet was on the length of the speeches,” you tell Cosa, preparing yourself for a very boring next thirty minutes. She doesn’t respond.

It's a bit unfair that her and her friends get the evening off while you’re forced to listen to these self-labeled war heroes prattle on about patriotism and the importance of this terrible holiday as if you and your compatriots aren’t even here.

“Twenty-eight minutes,” she relays after a few seconds.

You try not to laugh. “Tell him I say thirty-two, and the winner gets ten Krown.”

Another short pause. “He finds these terms acceptable.”

You subtly shift your weight back and forth between your feet throughout the speeches — which add up to thirty-one minutes, if you count the awkward transitions between them — having grown unused to the heeled shoes in the last year of wearing flat black boots every day.

You’re finally dismissed, the formations breaking as riders move around to find their friends for the rest of the evening. You turn toward third wing, looking for Imogen, who will be the easiest to spot with her unconventional hair color — you’re sure she absolutely despises this whole thing, but especially the required dress.

“Cadet Aetos,” someone calls, and he freezes at the voice for a split second before turning toward it.

The colonel insignia on the man’s collar and the shape of his jaw is enough for you to connect the dots — that’s Dain’s father, and he’s approaching with both General Sorrengail and King Tauri in tow.

You’ve just spotted Imogen and Bodhi, but you can’t leave now, not when three of the aforementioned war heroes are looking directly at you. You plaster a smile onto your face, adjusting your shawl. “Your Majesty, General, Colonel,” you greet in order of rank, extending a perfect curtsy to the king with a polite smile and a nod of the head to the others.

The monarch smiles back, but the officers don’t.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” the Colonel says, turning his gaze to you. Ice spreads through your veins, and for a moment you wonder if he possesses some physiological signet that he’s using on you, or if he’s just that cold and calculating because he knows exactly who you are.

But neither of those options explain why the quadrant’s poster boy is looking at this uniformed officer — his own father — like a wolf that’s about to bite.

You give him a slight dip of your chin in deference. “Cadet Callwell, sir. Second squad, flame section, fourth wing — the same as your son. I can see the family resemblance,” you add with a disarming smile.

Dain winces beside you.

Your graceful response doesn’t seem to have thawed things between you and Aetos Senior any further, but luckily, someone changes the subject of conversation; King Tauri himself. “Tell me, cadets, how are you finding your studies?”

“Very well, your Majesty,” you answer with a polite smile. “We are fortunate to have such experienced and knowledgeable professors.”

You nudge Dain’s foot with yours, silently prodding him to say something.

“Yes,” he agrees after a few seconds, “Fortunate indeed. The last year has been a challenge, but one that I know will prepare us to serve our country well.”

That is exactly what the King wants to hear. “And how fortunate am I, to have such valiant students with such bright futures ahead of them.”

“You flatter us, Your Majesty,” Dain responds, finally having found his voice.

General Sorregail still hasn’t said a word, watching the pair of you silently.

The Colonel gives you both a curt nod. “Thank you, Cadets. That will be all.”

Dain bows, and you drop another curtsy to the king, earning yourselves another fond smile before you turn away, but as you cross the courtyard, your blood is boiling on Dain’s behalf. Colonel Aetos hadn’t even spared him a smile. No loving touch, no real goodbye for his only son whom he may very well never see again, no use of his name, just Cadet?

Dain speaks first once you’re out of their earshot, sounding stunned. “I don’t think Tauri even realized you were marked. How did you…”

“It’s a party trick of mine,” you answer, stopping to sit on a small stone bench by one of the courtyard’s open archways. “One I learned very quickly after I got this.”

You let the silk drape drop from your shoulders, exposing the smoky relic trailing up your arm. Dain’s eyes catch on it immediately, like they do every time you’re not wearing long sleeves, studying the intricate swirls that don’t seem to follow any particular pattern, winding up and down your arm near-randomly.

“It’s the first thing anyone sees about me, or any of my friends. But I figured out that if I was perfect in every other regard, if I was charming enough and followed all the rules and did everything correctly, they wouldn’t notice it,” you say, gazing up at the stars.

It’s a remarkably clear night, several of the summer constellations visible, but he remains focused entirely on you as you continue.

“The thing people don’t realize is that we’re all from “good families”, or we were, before they killed our parents. The Laurents were one of the most successful families in Tyrrendor before their assets were seized. So were the Durrans. Xaden is technically a Duke, now that he’s of age, but his duchy was burnt to a crisp.

My point is, we all know how to stand on ceremony and lay a proper table and dance a waltz and speak to authority figures, but people see the relics, or the names on our flight jackets, or how we speak or braid our hair or anything that shows our culture, and they forget all that. They just see a pack of rabid dogs.

Navarre used to respect us, to look at us like we were valuable. And then once we asked for not just a seat at their table, but for a table of our own, they decided we weren’t worth the dirt our houses were built on, and that everything we touched was tainted. They torched my mother’s rose garden and shattered every window in the house the day they arrested my father, just because they could.

So I know it sounds pathetic, or bratty, or whatever other adjectives you want to use, but being able to wear high heels and makeup and a pretty dress once a year is important to me, even if it’s for a holiday celebrating the death of so many people I loved, because it’s the only time that I get to feel like the girl I used to be, who didn’t have to fight for her life every day, who had parents that loved her more than anything in the world, and who was looked at like a person, not a fugitive or a liability or a wild animal.”

“It’s not pathetic,” he says softly. “I know I will never truly understand, but I get it. And for whatever it’s worth, you look perfect.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He starts another sentence that’s interrupted by the crackle of fireworks exploding into the air, startling both of you. He laughs, a sound you’ve hardly ever heard over the last year, but you like it.

You drape the silk back around your shoulders to fight the chill of the night air and pat the cold stone next to you, inviting him to sit. He accepts, perching on the other end of the bench and looking up at the night sky, keeping a respectful distance between you as the show continues, a few minutes of comfortable quiet.

With one last fizzling red firework, the display ends, and you hear applause from the other side of the courtyard, where most of the quadrant is gathered.

“Dain,” you say quietly, throwing him off balance, “I wanted to apologize earlier, but…”

“What for?” he asks, that cute little confused look on his face, head tilted and brows pinched. It would make you smile if you weren’t about to rip the bandage clean off, to end whatever this is before it can even start.

You choose your words delicately. “Tauri may not have realized who I am, but your father certainly did, and judging by the way he left things with you, he was clearly upset by it. If that’s going to have consequences for you, that he found you talking to me…”

“Oh, he’s always been like that,” he dismisses. “He’s never been one for any kind of affection. I’ve learned not to take it personally.”

It all makes sense now, why Dain is… like that, why he never touches you, why you’re always just Cadet Callwell to him and never anything else, why he’s so strict and by the book; the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

But from the two minutes you’d spent with the Colonel, you can tell that Dain is twice the man he’ll ever be; not cold and uncaring, not prejudiced or cruel… he might even have room for someone like you in his heart.

You shouldn’t get your hopes up about that.

“Still… I’m sorry,” you say softly. “If he gets mad at you about it, say the word and I’ll keep my distance, or ask to be reassigned. I don’t want to make things tense between you.”

“It’s fine,” he reassures. “I’m sorry he made you uncomfortable. He tends to have that effect on people. It’s part of the reason I didn’t have many friends growing up— the other kids were scared of him.”

He smiles, but you can tell there’s a tender wound underneath. “And I wanted to say it earlier, too, but thank you. For helping me not look like a total idiot in front of the king, and for showing me a new perspective.”

You smile �� not the fake one he’d seen you give Tauri, but a real smile, one that makes your eyes sparkle like the stars. “Of course.”

“Your friends are probably looking for you,” he says quietly, and you startle as you realize he’s right, that you’d completely forgotten about finding them, too focused on impressing the King, and then you hadn’t wanted to abandon Dain after that conversation… It’s not like you wanted to spend time with him or anything. You definitely wouldn’t choose him over your friends, right?

You rise from the bench, smoothing a hand over your skirt. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he replies, giving you one last look, soaking up the sight of you in that dress before you walk away and things go back to normal between you: regular uniforms tomorrow morning, and your usual rivalry and bickering at formation, with your friends constantly watching the pair of you and scrutinizing his every move.

If you hadn’t each inherited the wars of your fathers, maybe then this could work — but then you would never have met.

He doesn’t know if that would be better or worse.

#dain and love #dain aetos #dain aetos x reader #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #mine

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eldrai · 7 months ago

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Autistic Dogma headcanons

Used to (and does, but is used to it) find eye contact uncomfortable and was frequently reprimanded for disrespectful conduct as a cadet for not holding eye contact

As a result he can force himself to make eye contact and often does, to an abnormal degree, out of habit even when he's not talking to COs.

Has the sometimes unnerving side effect that he can get lost in thought while still staring, pretty unblinkingly, at someone. This also got him in trouble as a cadet but with other cadets who took offense to it

(Attempts to rope him into a staring contest fail though; intensely looking into someone else's eyes with no other purpose? No thank you.)

Very much wore his heart on his sleeve as a cadet and was a frustrated cryer

He's also managed to train most of that out of himself and his expressions tend to fall either very blunted (most emotions) or very expressive (anger, irritation; the "permitted" emotions.)

Strong sense of justice, though until Umbara his concept of justice was essentially synonymous with following the rules

If there's anything Dogma would get in trouble for as a cadet, it's for protesting unfair treatment. Mostly for his batchmates and classmates, less often for himself.

(This did not always end well for them or for him – there's a reason it was so engrained in him the chain of command stands above everything else)

Feels perceived injustice incredibly strongly, more than anything else.

That said, he does like having rules and clear boundaries and examples. It helps things make sense and gives him a metric to compare himself against, a standard to hold himself to.

Before he began to stifle the habit, Dogma had a tendency to stim especially by chewing. As a tubie, it was often the collar or sleeves of his shirt; in blues, he bit his fingernails; throughout intermediates, his stylus was distinct because it was the one with the tooth marks. By the final stage of training in his reds, he'd mostly managed to make himself stop but the habit crept up on him around stressful times. It wasn't uncommon to see Dogma studying for an exam slapping his stylus down on the table determined not to bite it, only for it to end up between his teeth in five minutes' time

(This despite his worry about "damaging GAR property")

Rhythm is a consistent stim for him since he can do it internally: repeating words in his head in a certain cadence, the left-right-left of a march, anything he can run in his head because they can't tell he's doing it. Consequently he was/is among the best at drills in his training group

Routine, routine, routine. Absolutely thrives in the routine of military life—not uncommon for clones, given their entire upbringing, but similar to rules the structure of it all is actively soothing where others just are used to it

Alexithymia

Seriously, other than "pissed off because something is unfair" or "that's breaking the rules, that's Wrong" which are two very straightforward feelings, he is not good at identifying his emotions. Let alone recognising that he's actively really experiencing them.

Not much better at reading other people's emotions. A common complaint during training was that he didn't see why it mattered, because someone's stance in a fight both gave away more AND was more important to be able to interpret than their face (and one he still stands by, thank you very much)

Difficulty reading faces means he finds it difficult to distinguish between someone being subtly mean or just teasing. Errs on the side of assuming they are, which means he enters a lot of conversations as defensive if not mildly hostile.

Low empathy, finds it very difficult to put himself in someone else's shoes

Therefore is – unfortunately, in some circumstances – largely trusting of people and especially authority figures; in their position, he would not have bad intentions so he does not assume it for them. This, paired with the strict following the rules... Umbara. Umbara happens.

With the exception of in training/battlefields, often does not respond to intuited questions—sometimes he fails to recognise them entirely, sometimes he doesn't answer because they might not want him to. Makes small talk difficult and he comes off as a lot more disinterested and blunt than usually intended.

(As a cadet, frequently found his full answers being cut off or laughed at and began to pre-empt this by waiting on someone to ask him to clarify)

On the battlefield, however, information is key so he can and will answer every question to the fullest extent required.

Seeks out and requires a lot more time alone than most clones do

Struggles with grey areas, prone to black or white thinking. Something is right, or wrong. Bad or good. Binary.

Struggles with changing his mental framework even for minor things. Has a very rigid thought pattern

Interested in linguistics, and often searches up new words/slang to understand it, particularly new idioms as they are the hardest to understand. Genuinely just interested in language though!

Hyposensitive to pain, due to bad interoception (internal sense of the body - different to proprioception, which is about the body's position relative to things); this was frequently a positive during training simulations, though it meant he also tended to aggravate still-healing injuries

He does not avoid the medbay, but he does loathe it. His blunted affect and propensity to answer only the precise question he's asked have left Kaminoans, primarily, but also some past medics doubting whether he's in the pain he claims to be when hurt

(Kix does not doubt him. This is possibly even more unsettling.)

If a hug doesn't make it hard to breathe, it's not tight enough for him. Used to sleep under multiple blankets in Kamino's warmer season when his brothers discarded them. Deep pressure is very soothing.

(He'd rather die than actually ask for a hug, though. Or a blanket.)

Doesn't understand why people find inventory boring. He'll agree it's hardly the most intellectually stimulating duty but there's something nice about organisation (but don't ask about it unless you want to hear his full, lengthy thoughts on the subject)

When possible, he separates the food on his plate to ensure he gets some of every element in each bite, and he's learnt to do it pretty quickly too. Can finish a meal this way as fast as his brothers who just shovel it down regardless.

Their field rations don't bother him as much as they seem to bother everyone else. They're always consistent in texture and taste. That's a good thing, as far as Dogma is concerned.

The best way to find out what's on Dogma's mind is to give him a task that requires minimal concentration and no eye contact—he's much more likely to relax and accidentally talk more freely when he's distracted. Conversely, while being upfront with words helps, a face-to-face confrontation about anything even slightly emotional—barring an argument—is the best way to find out how stubborn and closed off he can be.

Struggles to categorise his relationships with people and to judge their level of closeness. Most of the time, someone outright calling him a friend is the first time he will let himself consider that they are a friend of his, too.

(There are not many people he knows on more than a passing acquaintance, and fewer still as friends)

Loyalty to people he's close to, primarily his batchmates, often presents as being overbearing and/or domineering in an attempt to protect them—well-intentioned but maladaptive. Less so since he was a cadet, but it runs deep.

#clone trooper dogma #dogma #autistic dogma #autistic headcanons #i have many many thoughts about him

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