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barbieaemond · 1 year ago

Text

A snake in the bosom

Moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: Prince Regent Aemond x Lady!reader

WARNINGS: dark Aemond, angst, public humiliation, semi public sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), religious kink, knife kink if you squint, overstimulation, light choking.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

Author’s note: House Peake were green loyalists during the Dance. Shout out to @zae5 who helped me brain storming this filth 🫶

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @chompchompluke

The skies rumble as they always do when preluding a storm. But it’s different this time. The thunder echoes in your chest, sliding through your ribs and then rattling them to break free.

A warning, the Gods’ way to seal what cannot be undone. They greet this new day, this new order, with blinding lightning. The Wood seems bathed by the early morning light, and yet the owls will soon resume their sentry task on the branches of these ancient trees.

A new flash forces you to look up and you think you can see them, the Seven, leaning out from their perches, pointing a finger at a woman like any other, with her bowed head devoted to obedience and her tight corset to choke to death any desire inside her heart.

And you did.

You stopped going to the library, you kept your eyes faithfully down, weeding out the need to caress the silver through your gaze, to feel the cold alabaster carved into angles so precise and sharp as to be exhausting.

You stopped lingering on the delicacy of long white fingers turning pages, on white knuckles around the sword, rippling with veins, blue and green as snakes crawling underneath.

Not looking didn't do much good.

It's all burned into your eyelids, and the more you don't look the more your mind betrays you like a stab in the back, evoking slender hands and an arched mouth that lazily pulls itself up into an omniscient smirk.

It happens so often that you've come to terms with it. Desire is a shadow that follows you step by step, crawls into your bed as you lie with your husband, makes you close your eyes as you peak and in the darkness that shadow is finally flesh, pulsing and weighing on you, but it is not.

It shouldn’t and it will never.

The lightning tells you can no longer hide, there is no way to stall now, no way to trick the King about the allegiance of your family. It is easy to fool a fool, more so when he’s willing to make himself one in front of a woman. But the King is burned. His cries of pain can be heard outside Maegor’s Holdfast, until the Maesters are merciful enough to give him milk of the poppy.

The throne is empty, the Kingdom has no ruler. But the Gods are snickering with thrill and dread.

Not for long.

“My lady, there’s a storm coming.”

You turn and see your maid clutching a cloak to her chest to shelter from the wind. "Please, you should go back inside.”

You nod tiredly, walking on the thick grass, dragging yourself back within these walls in which days seem to pass following two different times.

There’s the real, urgent one, a military up and down of whispers and promises, pawns moving and ravens coming and going, breaking or forging alliances as easy and quick as their wings flapping. And then there’s your time, dilated, obscenely slow, like molasses. It sticks to your fingers, prevents you from picking up ink and parchment and write, cheat, whisper what you have easily spilled from the worn out lungs of your husband.

“Men sing like parrots in their final throes, remember that. They’d tell you anything when they think with their cock.”

Samantha had been right. But your sister is playing her game in Oldtown and Old Town is not the Red Keep. There are no eyes on the walls there, or ears behind the portraits. There’s no shadow trailing on her path, clouding her mind enough to look away from the game. A game of life and death, your father reminded you in his last letter, the scolding clear in the way the feather had pierced the parchment in some points. The answer was nowhere but in your head, and you were too ashamed to even confess it to a Septa, let alone put it on paper. There’s a snake crawling in your garden of lies and instead of chasing it away, you’re nursing it in your bosom.

You slow your steps upon glimpsing your husband. He’s striding towards you along the corridor. There’s a slight furrow between his brows, one that you have been able to recognize on the faces of many within this fortress. But it's more severe now, or maybe it's just that shadow that makes you see a new man, a stranger.

Has his hair always been that dull and mousy? Has his posture always been so unassuming?

They have since that night in the library, the sin whispers.

“Husband.”

“I’ve been looking for you. We have been summoned to the throne room.”

“Is something the matter? Is the King—"

"The King lives. But the Maesters believe it is best to confine him to bed. Come, Prince Aemond is waiting for us." he grabs your arm and you walk with him, glad that he can’t see the shadow falling on your face at the mention of the King’s brother.

The throne room is so dark that servants are hurrying themselves to light more candles. Every now and then a new lightning flashes from the large windows, making the Iron Throne an eerie sight at the center of the Hall.

There are a few Lords of the court with their ladies, and they seem just as lost as you as they see you and your husband halting before the ancient seat.

Whereas not more than a moon ago, Lords and Ladies would have had to wait hours to be received by Aegon, the new ruler is not long in coming.

The huge doors open and Aemond Targaryen stalks the room carrying the same storm breaking outside. He makes a striking figure, ominous; the lighting pours on his long silver hair making them look like moon rays.

A dreamy picture, were it not for the conqueror's crown on his head and the sapphire in plain sight.

It is the first time you see him without the eyepatch, the first time anyone has seen him without it. They said he wore it so as not to frighten the ladies, but the one-eyed Prince is done hiding. And if fear is all he can muster, so be it. It serves him well for what will come.

He halts before the Iron Throne and takes a good look at the little gathering. You can’t help but trail your eyes on his lean and tall figure, wearing a dark green doublet made of velvet. But it’s the sapphire that catches your eye, and the long scar marring his marbled face.

You remember that one. You remember it shamefully clear while disappearing along with his head beneath your gown.

“My lords” he starts lacing his hands behind his back “As you may know, my brother is in no condition to rule. Thus, according to the law, in case of physical or mental incapacity of the sovereign, the younger brother must bear the weight of the crown.”

There is a shy, almost uneasy passing of glances between those present, but Aemond ignores them altogether. “I will not style myself as King. You will address me as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm."

Silence falls upon the huge Hall until a loud thunder seem to awaken one of the lords who hurriedly bends his knee before the Prince. "My Prince, I renew my absolute loyalty to you and your—“

"Get up, my Lord, I did not summon you to hear you pledge your loyalty.” He says in a bored tone, darting his eye at the man “Rest assured, if I had any doubt about it, Vhagar would be feasting on your corpse as we speak.”

Silence falls once more and Aemond revels in it. He can smell fear, just like the creature he rides. “But you did raise an interesting subject.” he tilts his head and looks at Lord Peake, your husband, with a benevolent expression stretching on his face. “Lord Peake, if I asked you to pledge your loyalty to me and my family, would you do it?”

You dare not to raise your head, keeping your eyes glued to the ground, but you can sense your husband’s uneasiness, the sound close to one being insulted as he addresses the Prince. “Prince Aemond, my loyalty to your Grandsire and the Dowager Queen has never wavered and it never shall.”

The Prince nods slowly, seemingly pleased by the answer, and keeps his gaze down for a few moments before casting a sharp glance at you. You can’t see it but you can feel it.

“That is very noble of you, Lord Peake. But I can’t help but wonder, is your lady wife of the same mind as you?”

Lord Peake looks puzzled, shifting the weight on his feet “My Prince, my wife is—”

“No.” Aemond cuts him off, darting a single look at the Lord before returning on you “Let her speak.”

With a deep breath, you look up, shrinking under his violet eye and the sapphire ominously glinting of his own light. “My prince, I am saddened that your Grace would think I’m nothing but loyal to your brother, the one and only heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Every day, I pray the Gods to heal him from his burns and give him strength to—”

“Hush.” He says, raising a hand to stop you. “That’s enough.”

You shut your mouth nervously, tensing all the more as he looks at you, unblinking, for a long moment before his lips stretch into a slow, cunning smirk.

“You know, I spoke to your distant cousin once, Lord…something Tyrell. He said something very interesting to me.��

You keep a blank face even when dread starts to run down your spine. Despite the distant kinship, there’s always been bad blood between Tarlys and Tyrells.

“He said to be very careful with Tarly women. Pretty vapid things, he said, hiding a viper’s bite.”

“I am neither my prince.” you state calmly “I’m just a woman like any other, serving my husband, my house, my King.”

“Hmm.” He ponders, the smile lingering still. Then, he picks something form his pocket and asks “What is this then?”

Despite the darkness, you could recognize that seal with eyes closed. And that seal, now, in this room, clutched by Prince Aemond’s fingers, is a death sentence.

“This is not the seal of House Peake.” he rightly says.

You look down, mustering your courage, and say “No, your Grace. That is just a silly token of love between two sisters. I use it to send ravens to my sister in Oldtown.”

“I see. And why do you hide it?”

“I do not, your Grace.”

“Lying to the King may cost your head, my Lady. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Wife…” your husband takes your arm, searches your face with an anxious stare “What is going on?”

“The White cloaks found it.” The Prince informs him “when I made them search your rooms.” He looks back at you and raises an eyebrow “For a token you’re supposed to be so fond of, I may suggest placing it somewhere else than the bottom of an old trunk.”

“Am I on trial for sending letters to my sister?”

“Yes. Considering the circumstances under which these ravens were sent. Ladies give letters to their maids, they do not go personally to the rookery, more so in the hour of the bat.”

Courage leaves you like a gust of wind. You thought you had been clever, careful. Why would anyone take notice of a court lady simply taking a walk in the early hours? And even if they had, they would have dismissed the thought at the first distraction. But not him.

“You think I would not notice? I may be half blind but I can assure you, my lady, I see everything.” He throws the seal on the ground and resumes his soldier-like posture, standing tall and domineering with his arms laced back. “What did you tell your sister? Knowledge about our war plans? Are you secretly siding with the Blacks? I’d advise you to choose your words carefully. From them depends whether you’ll see the next dawn or not.”

Your shoulders slump a little, like a doomed creature sticking its head in the noose.

“My father asked me to spy on my husband to gather knowledge about the green army at Rook’s Rest. But I did not send any raven. I stopped since—"

“Since what? Do continue, my lady, I think your Lord husband is keen to know why his wife stopped playing him like a fool.” He leans his head forward, like someone desperately willing to hear a big secret, but your tongue is a dead thing in your mouth.

“No?” he inquires as silence stretches “Fine, I’ll tell you. You see, Lord Peake, recently your Lady wife seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the library.” the prince says with a little grin “I’m aware of this because I am myself an avid reader. In fact, your lady wife and I have been keeping each other company lately. A rather…intimate company.”

Some of the ladies start to whisper at your back, and you know what kind of words they’re labeling you.

“Wife.” Your husband calls, and this time his voice is steel “What is the meaning of this?”

You open and close your mouth, unsure whether it is worse to tell your husband how you’ve played him or to confess your sin.

“Come, don't deny it now.” the Prince goads you “All the hours you've spent, all those late nights did bear fruit, did they not? You've betrayed your house and the Crown, yet what sweetness it was to have gotten a taste, I'm sure your husband would agree.”

Lord Peaks looks utterly bewildered, shifting his gaze between you and the Prince like a dead fish.

“Oh, so he hasn't after all.” Aemond laughs “A pity, for your treacherous essence reeks of the most bittersweet nectar. Tart, but delicious.”

Your husband’s face is whiter than a sheet for a moment, followed by a red veil of anger and shame. The latter is in plain sight in the way you keep your head down; the Gods have stopped pointing their finger at you and left you in the claws of a much crueler creature. Namely, your own desire.

“Search her.” Aemond orders returning to a stern face “And search her thoroughly.”

“My prince?” asks one of the guards.

“Women can be sneaky with all those veils and layers. Lose the corset.”

The cloaks look at him puzzled, just as you and your husband and anyone else in the room, but the guards know better than to disobey the King.

One of them goes to stand behind you and starts pulling the laces of your dress, another is busying himself with lowering your sleeves.

Your eyes bore to the ground with the purest humiliation as your chest gradually grows exposed. You could raise your hands to hide your breast, but you have nothing to hide, not anymore.

You know it and Aemond knows too. He’s not doing this because he thinks you’re hiding something. He’s doing so for his own pleasure—to see you bare, to finally make you come out of your den and stop hiding from him.

You dare not look at him but you can feel his eye lingering on you, on your body; you can sense the ghost of a delighted smirk on that wicked mouth.

He takes an unreasonably long time before he gives a short nod to the guards, at last satisfied with your public humiliation. What drives your husband to move is not regard for you, but for his own dignity. What are women if not property of men? And however ruined you are now, Lord Peake will not have talk of his wife standing with her breasts out in the Throne Room.

But just as he leans down to you, the Prince speaks “You may go, Lord Peake. All of you.”

The Lord stalls, looking lost at his Prince.

“You can wait outside. She stays.” Aemond commands.

His eye is boring into you as he walks down the few steps with leisure, lingering on the sole of his boot before resting it on the ground. “She needs to learn the price of her disobedience.”

Your husband hesitates, looks at you with lingering disdain and a veil of fear that keeps his eyes wide open, but he can only bow his head.

When you’re left alone the Prince, save for the guards on the four sides of the hall, you dare to look up and see his eye blazing, a cunning edge to it.

He starts circling around you, and what’s left of your dignity makes your hands fly up to cover your chest.

“You said you stopped writing to your sister. And you stopped coming to the library.” he starts with a collected and calm voice. “Why?”

“You know why.” you mutter.

“You better drop this condescending tone if you want to leave this room with your head on your shoulders.”

“Apologies, my Prince. I did not mean to offend you. But I dim you wise enough to understand why I thought it was best to keep my distance from you.”

He stops his circling for a moment “Enlighten me.” and then he’s pacing again.

You swallow, smelling ashes and smoke on his trail. “It was a sin.”

“Hmm. Which one?” He asks somewhere behind you. Out the corner of your eye, you see him slightly leaning towards you, silver rolling past his shoulder as he cocks his head to one side “Your betrayal or the fact that you let me feast on your cunt like a common whore?”

You swallow again. Shame is still coiling in your belly, but there’s also something else on hearing those words coming from his mouth, recalling that night. This man has just humiliated you in front of the court and yet you crave for him to get closer.

“Both.”

“Both?”

“I did not want to.” You say and it’s true. And this, this is the last chance you might have to avoid the pike, or worse, Vhagar’s fangs. “My father forced me.” You say turning your head left and right as he resumes his pacing behind you “I don’t know which kind of deal he has struck with Prince Daemon but I swear it, my Prince, I said nothing about Rook’s Rest, I—“

The word dies on your tongue along with your breath as you feel the coldness of a sharp blade against your throat.

“I should slit your throat here and now.” He whispers dangerously, you can hear his teeth gritting. His arm is pressing on your chest, keeping you locked against him. “What else Lord Tarly ordered you in all his great wisdom? Mh? To seduce me? To play me like a fool, like you played my brother and your husband to gather knowledge about our armies and report it to my uncle and his whore?”

“No, I—" you try to say, but he presses the blade firmer and you choke a gasp, unconsciously grabbing his arm.

“You will speak when I say so.” He seethes, pulling your arm back with his other hand, painfully twisting your bone until a moan of pain escapes your mouth.

It awakens something inside him, something savage that makes him collide his body against yours “Hmm.” He coos darkly in your ear “This brings me back to that night.”

He swiftly twirls the dagger, sheathing the Valyrian steel, but his hand is quick to resume his caging, sliding on your half-covered breast, looking down your shoulders at your bare chest.

His fingers are cold as they slowly travel up, but they lick flames on your skin, making your nipples harden. “Do you remember, little snake? I do.” he runs the tip of his finger on the hard sensitive skin and you whimper softly “It was hard to forget the sounds you made.” He speaks to your neck, his breath scorching “I could hear them when I fucked my hand at night. You made me sin so many times. Was that part of the plan too? Did your father force you to moan my name while you peaked on my tongue?”

“Please…” you sob quietly, feeling fire nestling in your belly at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his bulge against your lower back.

“Do you moan like that when your husband fucks you? Mh?”

He wants an answer, and he pinches one of your nipples when you don’t please him.

“No…”

“No? I thought so.”

Your body reacts on his own, clenching for how his voice in your ear pools like liquid fire below your stomach. You can see his delighted smirk out of the corner of your eye. “You better speak now, little one. Not even the Gods can save you from the spike. Why would they? They turn their backs on traitors and sinners. And you dared to sin with a Kinslayer. You have only me to beg for mercy.”

“You don’t want to kill me.” You choke when his hand laces around your throat.

He would’ve done it already. He might still do it, but his pressing hardness on your back tells you otherwise.

“No. I have a better use for you.” he says squeezing your neck “I will make an example out of your treacherous mouth. They will look at you and be reminded of the mercy of my crown.”

He steps back and you have little time to catch your breath as he sits on the Iron Throne with the confidence of a God on his perch. The candles mix with lightnings, making the blue of the sapphire and the obsidian of the crown shimmer in a disturbing way.

He rests his arms along the forged swords, his long legs almost sprawled out on the ground. “Come and pledge your loyalty, my lady.”

Your heart hammers in your throat as you swallow. This is a game of life or death, but not now. Your two times have merged into a perpetual dizziness and you’re sinking into the claws of your desire like quicksand.

“No.” he admonishes with a voice like honey when you dare a step closer “On your knees. Like the sinner you are.”

You sink to the ground and his eye goes down with you, smirking with something savage flashing on his face. “Go ahead.” He says spreading his legs around you. “Take your blessing.”

You raise your hands slowly, close to his belt but when you start unbuckling it you find there’s no tremor in your fingers. And he’s too quick to notice. “You wanted this, do you?” he asks “Did you close your eyes and pretend to suck my cock instead of your husband’s?”

The buckles clink together as you finish the unbuckling but he suddenly leans over you, gripping your cheeks with a hold of iron.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.” You quickly, shamefully say.

The left edge of his mouth pulls up tiredly, omnisciently. “How? Like this?” In a blink his long fingers breach your mouth, hitting the back of your throat until you choke on them. He pulls them back just slightly, grazing your tongue, and he looks at you with a lustful blaze in his eye.

“Suck.” he orders, and you oblige, keeping your eyes on him as your mouth close around his two fingers, sucking gently and twirling your tongue around the skin.

“Hmm.” He croons with pleasure, leaving your mouth abruptly to lean back against the throne, sliding a little on the ancient seat to push his crotch before you. He makes haste of pulling his cock out, giving it a few tugs while he keeps looking at you, at the longing darkening your eyes and wetting your gowns.

You take hold of his hard hot length, all veiny and leaking from the tip and it’s only natural for you to close your lips around it. You have obscenely dreamed of this.

He lets out a loud gasp, gripping the throne with his hands as your head goes down, taking him all in. It hits the back of your throat with a lewd choking sound; you breathe through your nose, resuming your holy punishment once you have adjusted to length and girth, sucking hard and fast.

"Greedy little thing.” He praises with his eye growing heavy with pleasure “Easy. Easy, now.” he goads you to slow down, and you do, looking up to see him watching you closely, his lips parted, his breath slow and puffed.

“Fuck—” he curses, titling his head back but keeping his eye fixed on you. “See? This is the only good use for your cheating mouth. And you look so pretty.”

The ache between your legs is unbearable, you’re swollen and wet, you can feel your undergown dampening.

“Are you soaked for me, hmm? I bet you’re dripping all over the Conqueror’s swords.”

You have no way to answer as you keep bobbing your head up and down, a sinner worshipping her own sin.

“Open your mouth—wide” he orders and you do, drooling all over him as he starts to thrust harshly in your mouth.

“Yes. Like this, yes—fuck” He pumps in and out, bucking his hips, hitting your throat on and on while he moans helplessly and loudly, as only a King on his throne can.

“Hollow your cheeks.” And when you do it, something snaps inside him. He grabs your hair, pulling at the roots painfully while he keeps fucking your mouth frantically, choking your breath. But you don’t mind. This could be your last day, your last hour breathing. The snake is sucking at your bones and you welcome the poison.

“Enough.” he croaks when he was starting to breathe too fast, too close to the end. “Get up.”

Your knees ache as you pull yourself up but he’s so quick in lifting up your skirts and grabbing your waist to make you turn and sit on his lap, facing the Throne Room. The Guards are exactly where they’re supposed to be, blind and deaf to what they can perfectly see and hear.

“Let me give you my blessing, now.” Aemond says spreading your legs on the throne, making you wince as you feel his hot fingertips on your wet aching folds. “You’re soaked.” he states proudly, smiling with victory next to your ear.

He draws lazy circles on your bundle, sliding down your dripping lips, slowly, too slowly. You buck your hips against his hand and his chuckle travels up and down inside you, rattling your bones like thunder.

“Please…” you cry when his fingers brush your swollen lips once more.

“I should summon back your husband. So he’d see how his pretty wife begs to be fucked by her Prince like a whore. Shall I?”

You grab his hand, pressing it to your core and he dips a finger inside, spilling a loud moan from you that makes him bite your ear as he feels your hot walls clenching around him.

“Fine. We shall let him hear it.”

He brings his soaked fingers to your mouth, sticking them inside to make you taste yourself, and then he takes your wrist, trapping it on your stomach with his hand. He easily slides his cock inside you, moaning along with you into the haunting silence of the hall. His thrusts are deep and quick, desire has consumed him too, for too long. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh are only barely muffled by your frantic gasps. Your eyes are closed in a painful bliss, his hot labored breath dampens your neck as he fills you to the hilt.

Your throat is sore with lack of air as you turn your head and he slams his mouth against yours, filling your mouth with his scorching tongue, biting your lip and sucking until it’s swollen. All of this while relentlessly rutting into you, giving you violent bursts of pleasure that make your moans high-pitched and loud, so loud that everyone outside these walls can hear them. Your husband will hear them, the guards are definitely doing so.

“Fucking Gods, you feel so good” He pants in your mouth “You really wanted this. Your cunt is squeezing my cock like a vice. That husband of yours never fucked you this good, did he?”

“Gods—” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut but he grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to turn your head. “The Gods cannot hear you now. They’re deaf to the pleas of sinners.” with his free hand he clutches your bundle and he starts to torture you, drawing fast circles, while his length keeps rutting harshly. “Lucky for you I’m more merciful than the Gods.”

The tension in your belly is unbearable, it makes you cry obscenely and the sound only pushes him to go harder, faster.

“Please—I—I can’t—Gods—”

“You can’t what? Mh?” he nothing but growls, thrusting once more and then again. “This is your retribution.” He says baring his teeth “You failed your family for this. You lied and cheated. Now fucking—take—it” his last words punctuated with three deeper thrusts that make you whimper and roll your eyes back.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your peak, letting out a long moan matched with sloppy shakes of your body against his. But he doesn’t stop, chasing his own pleasure as you whimper and sob with overstimulation. His hand keeps moving on your apex, all sticky with your pleasure and you grip his arm, trying to stop him. “Please—I can’t take it anymore—please my Prince—"

“You can and you will.” He promises “Give me one more. Come on, little traitor, just one more.”

You’re not late in granting his wish, trembling all over him and curling your toes with spasms in your muscles.

He groans loudly beneath you, teeth clamping down your shoulder and he stills completely, coming inside you with a choked sound of relief vibrating from his throat.

You whimper softly, feeling him pulsing inside you, but he grabs your waist and forces you to stand up. You waver on your weak feet, his hand is around your arm but only to firmly push you away from him. Falling on the ground, you look up to see him fixing his breeches, hair all disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Guards.” He says hoarsely, catching his breath, and two white cloaks stand at attention, their faces blank, pretending to be oblivious to what they have just witnessed. “Take her to my chambers and have the maid give her moon tea.”

Then he looks down at you, his face is wild and yet viciously focused. “We’re going to find a way to send your husband back to Starpike.” He says grazing your lips with his long fingers. “You’re not leaving my chambers anytime soon. In the time being,” his hand grips your mouth harshly, his voice eerily calm “You will write to Oldtown in your own hand, and ask my uncle to send me the head of Samantha Tarly.”

You widen your eyes with terror and he smiles, sweet and poisonous. “And remember, little snake. If I find you near the rookery at odd hours again, I will cut your throat in your sleep. Such a waste it would be. I’d rather have you choking on my cock than your own blood.”

He leaves without another word and you’re left on the ground. You can’t beg mercy to the Gods now, you will have to beg for his and his alone.

thank you so much for reading!! 💕

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iloveboysinred · 9 months ago

Text

Miracle [Keith Kogane]

18+ angst|Keith Kogane x reader

synopsis; During a battle with the Galra you and Keith are cornered, you give up your life to save Keith, and leave him a gift to remember you by.

cw; fem reader, angst, character death, sad Keith, mentions of blood, violence, strangulation, stabbing, heavy grief, survivors guilt.

this will probably be the last angst request I'll write given that I'm not the best at it and i hate putting out work I'm not proud of ;/. Hope you enjoy anon!

masterlist - ask

Adrenaline pulsed through your veins as you ran down the dark halls of a Galra ship. It was an endless labyrinth of walls and turns, the darkness suffocating. You'd swear you were running in circles; every time you thought you'd found another way, you were just met with another band of sentries, shooting at you, chasing you, hunting you down. You tried to keep up with Keith, his hand wrapped tightly around your wrist, but your legs were starting to get tired, and your mind was foggy and confused. You didn't know how much longer you could endure. "Lance? Pidge? C'mon guys, where are you?" you heard Keith shout, trying to reconnect his damaged helmet to the others, but to no avail.

Your mind flashed back to Earth for a second. To when you and Keith were garrison trainees. You were close, seeing through his cold exterior and becoming friends quite quickly. From then on, you have always been there for each other. Supporting each other in training and comforting each other through the good and the bad. So of course, when he had come to you for support after he caught wind of Shiro's re-appearance, you had gone with him. Never expecting to be where you are now, fighting a galactic war and constantly putting your lives at risk.

"Fuck!" Your heart dropped to your stomach when you stopped, staring up at the wall in front of you. It was a dead end. You glanced behind you; they were gaining. Keith pulled you behind him, activating his bayard. You stared in fear when the sentries parted, a large Galra soldier advancing towards you. "It appears the universe has granted me a gift," he sneered, stopping a few feet away from you and Keith. His ugly yellow teeth peeked out from under his lip in a menacing snarl, his glowing yellow eyes pinning you with unsettling malice. You felt Keith tense, his grip on your wrist falling, raising his bayard defensively. "Lord Zarkon will be pleased when I bring him the heads of the red lion's paladin and his co-pilot." He got into his own defensive stance. He was big, standing about 5 feet above you; his body was strong and muscular. His teeth shone in the dim lighting, sharp as blades. "This will be fun. I think I'll take you first, Paladin. Your death will be just the beginning of the end for Voltron. How will your pathetic band of earthlings form Voltron if they're one paladin short? It'll make it all the easier to take you out one by one." You narrowed your eyes, reaching into the band of your boot and gripping the concealed dagger you'd made sure to bring, just in case the situation got dire.

"Cmoooon Keith. Let me drive!" You whined, leaning over Keith's back, trying to reach for the controls of his cruiser. "No way, y/n. Knowing you, you'll drive us into a cliff. "Oh, come on! You doubt my skills that much??" Keith gave you a blank look, shrugging you off. You grumbled, sitting down and wrapping your arms around his waist. He smirked, revving the engine and taking off. You flew through the desert, sand spraying in your wake. The air whipped your hair at the speed you were going exhilarating. You grinned, blood roaring in your ears. "Oh shit!" you cheered every time Keith dodged an obstacle. You gripped his waist tightly, pressing your chest against his back.

"Keith? Keith!" You heard Lance's voice ring through his helmet, the connection glitching. "Lance! Where are you guys!? We're kind of in a situation here. The Galra have me and you cornered." "Don't worry, we know where you are. We're coming to get you in just a tick." The connection cut off once more, the radio chatter blocking out anything else being said. The Galra soldier ran towards you, swinging a large blade right towards you and Keith.

"Y/n.. I have something important to tell you." You and Keith sat in front of his house; the night sky was clear, and the moon was shining down on you. "yeah?" You looked up at him from your bowl of noodles, your cheeks full to the brim. Keith's eyes softened in adoration. "Well, I've been picking up a lot of chatter on my radar. A space vessel is approaching Earth, and I think it might be Shiro." Your eyes widened, and you swallowed your mouth full, leaning toward him intently. "Really? that's great! But... what do you think you should do?"" "Well, I was hoping we'd find the landing sight and go see for ourselves." Keith blushed at your close proximity, looking away from you, bashful of your eagerness. "Oh my gosh, we totally should! When do you think it'll land?" "My guess is that in two days, will you come with me?" You gaped at him in disbelief. "Of course I will! Are you kidding?" Keith smiled at you. You leaned forward, pressing a warm kiss on his cheek. "We're in this together, okay?" "Okay."

You flinched as Keith's body hit the floor, quickly blocking the Galra's attack with his bayard. He had him pinned to the ground, his face a few meters away from his. "I have to admit, you do put on a good fight. I wouldn't expect anything less from a Paladin of Voltron," he snarled, bearing his teeth in a sneer. His tail slapped the bayard from Keith's hands, the weapon clattering as it hit the ground a few feet away. The sentries aimed their weapons at you, stopping you as you tried to run towards them. You stood there, helpless, as you watched Keith struggle. Then, the ground shook as the wall behind you suddenly rumbled, the blue lion appearing from a newly made gap. "Cmon guys, we don't have much time. Galra fighter jets are coming quick!" Your eyes locked on Keith, and your heart raced as the blade inched closer and closer to his throat. Grabbing the dagger, you ran at the soldier, narrowly dodging a sentry blade. Using as much weight as you could to knock him off Keith, trying to give him time to escape. You slashed as much as you could, drawing blood from any skin you reached. "y/n!" Keith shouted, running to try and come to your aid, but a sentry slashed at him, causing him to fall back, holding his side where he had been hit. "K-Keith! Go! Get out of here!" you screamed, trying to hold the Galra soldier down as best you could. "No! Not without you!" he grunted, trying to stand up. You felt your body hit the ground as the soldier flipped you off of him. The air escaping your lungs from the impact. You couldn't catch your breath; the soldier was holding you down by the neck. All you could hear between Keith's shouts and the footsteps of more sentries crowding you was the fast beating of your heart. "KEITH! WE HAVE TO GO!" Lance's voice rang in your ears, but you couldn't move; your neck was starting to ache. You kicked and scratched at the galra, but the lack of oxygen was starting to weaken you. Mustering as much strength as possible, you clumsily gripped the dagger, driving it into the soldier's side, but it did little to penetrate the armor covering his body. "Even if I can't bring him the corpse of your little boyfriend, Lord Zarkon would be just as pleased knowing it's one paladin down. Ever closer to wiping out all of Voltron," the soldier purred, putting more weight down on your neck.

"You know I love you," you murmured, pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss. Keith turned his head, pressing his lips harder, holding you close to him. You threaded your fingers through his hair, smiling as you pulled away. "I love you more," he whispered, gazing into your eyes with so much emotion that it made your heart flutter. "Pfft, big softy." He glared at you, pulling you to his chest and laying back on his bed with you.

"y/n! We can't leave her, Lance! we can't-" "Keith. We don't have time. You'll bleed out; we have to go!" You felt your vision begin to blur, and the grip on your neck felt heavier. You glanced over the Galra soldier, watching as Lance hauled Keith into the blue lion's mouth, shooting at any sentry he could. "Lance, let me go! Let me fucking go!" Keith shouted, struggling against his hold. But he was weakening; the blood streaming out of his wound was making him dizzy, and his movements were uncertain. As his vision became more and more unclear, his panic increased. Where were you? what's happening? The last glimpse he got of you was your unmoving body and the sentries crowding around you. His eyes teared as he struggled against Lance weakly, his fists clenching when Lance pulled him into a hug, constricting his arms. His vision blurred both from his tears and the blood loss. Sobs racked his body as the blue lion's mouth closed, flying out and away from the ship.

You glanced blankly at the ceiling, refusing to look the soldier in the eye as your life slowly faded. "I love you, Keith; don't worry, I'll see you again," you thought, your body going still when your breathing ceased, your heart's beating coming to a stop.

Keith might as well have been dead himself. At least that's how he felt. His heart was hollow, his mind swirling with thoughts of you and how you had passed—to save him. He couldn't even hurt anymore; he didn't feel anything most of the time. Most days where he was stuck in his head about you, he would feel pure, unbridled rage, lashing out in training sequences, pushing himself harder than he ever did before. On nights where he suffered your absence the most, he felt cold grief grip his heart so strongly that he struggled to breathe, becoming inconsolable. Tears fell heavily from his eyes when he cried. He would scream, gripping his chest through his shirt. Shiro would rush in, enveloping Keith in his arms, and he would thrash around in his hold, slightly settling down when he started to tire. Shiro comforted him, assuring him it was going to be okay. Keith couldn't hear him, zoning out and staring blankly at the ceiling with glistening eyes. Going on missions felt like torture. His attacks were uncoordinated, and the team had to make up for his lack of focus. The arguments that ensued between him and Lance almost broke into full-blown fights, Keith's heart only building more and more resentment for everyone in the castle.

Months later, here he stood, watching as Allura pressed a final kiss to Lance's lips, tears falling from their eyes, trying to savor whatever they could before they ran out of time. "Keith, look," Shiro whispered, placing his hand on Keith's shoulder. He paused for a second, the bitterness of the situation making it hard to care about what Shiro was saying. But he glanced up anyway, tears rising along his waterline. The Paladins of old—Allura's father and Zarkon's family—stand right in front of them. He felt his heart squeeze as you appeared from behind the crowd, smiling sweetly at him. You looked so beautiful. A sight for sore eyes to Keith. He ran towards you, his eyes shining with so much love and so much pain. You welcomed him into your embrace. Holding him close as he hugged you, burying his nose in your hair. You quickly pulled him into a kiss, savoring the feel of his lips one last time. "I miss you so much, Keith," you whispered, cupping his face in your hands. Keith felt his heart stop, drinking in every feature of your face, knowing he wouldn't see it for a while. "I miss you every day of my life. I love you, Y/N. So much," you smiled, pulling away from him and keeping his arms in your hold. "I love you more." "I wish you could come back to me. I should've been there with you. I'm so sorry." you shushed him. "We'll be together again. Hopefully not any time soon though!" Keith chuckled, the weight of his grief making his voice shaky. "But I've got to go, Keith. I have a gift for you. Please, heal, and forgive. I'll always have you in my heart." Keith's chest ached as you pulled away from him, taking your warmth and scent with you. "I love you." You smiled at him sweetly, Allura following you. Slowly, you disappeared again, dissipating into the air and leaving everyone feeling bittersweet.

Keith was taken aback when he felt something shift in his arms, looking down to see a moving bundle of cloth. He heard muffled babbling, making him hurriedly unravel the bundle in shock. A pretty baby girl stared up at him; somehow she looked like you, having his dark hair and nose but your eyes, lips, and eyebrows. He gaped down at the baby, holding it close to his chest. "What ?? Where did that baby come from??" Pidge asked, coming up to peer down at the child. "Y/N left her; she's the gift." Keith whispered, his eyes crinkling in a bright smile, pressing a kiss to the baby's forehead. "She's mine. The baby's mine," he whispered, rocking the baby in his arms. The little girl glanced up at him with wide eyes, soft babbling and cooing coming from her as she happily laid in her father's arms. "How is that even possible?" Hunk whispered, glancing down at the baby, adoration in his heart. "It's a miracle." Lance whispered, standing next to Keith. Keith glanced at him for a second, mixed emotions coursing through him. He felt resentment and hatred for the man. Grief still swelling in his chest, but your words echoed in his mind: "Heal, forgive," and he gave Lance a ghost of a smile. "Yeah, she is."

The story of both you and Allura's sacrifices became sensational, with old allies of Voltron helping construct statues of you and the Altean princess standing side by side. Every once a year, the team would unite and visit the statue, sharing updates on each other's lives and recounting old missions. At every meeting, Keith would bring his daughter, making sure she was present for every story the team would share about you. "Y/N and Allura should be here. But it's because of them that we can all continue to keep peace in the universe. I can't imagine anyone braver than them." Coran sighed, glancing up at the statues with bittersweet love in his gaze. Everyone solemnly agreed, toasting to both you and Allura's legacy. Keith glanced down at his daughter, snuggled up next to him in her own chair, staring up at the statues with shining eyes and wonder. He smiled, knowing that as long as he had his miracle, he had something to live for, and some piece of you was still with him here on earth.

#{anonask ੈ✩‧₊˚ ฅ^. .^ฅ}#keith kogane x reader #keith kogane #vld keith #voltron legendary defender #vld angst #❥iloveboysinred

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confusedblakex · 3 months ago

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A burning hatred (Pt1)

Pairing: Takashi 'Shiro' Shirogane X (Male) Reader

Summary: Where most Galra find entertainment, you find nothing but disgust. Shiro arrived at Zarkon's arena one fateful day, perhaps he was just what you were looking for.

Wordcount: 1722

Warnings: TW - Very descriptive violence, Imprisonment, Death, Blood, Asphyxiation, Sacrifice

Requested by: I refuse to let this fandom die

Notes: Star Trek and Voltron feel quite similar now that I think about it; No romance yet; Galra commander reader

Last edited: 16th November 2024

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

There had been a new intake of prisoners.

As was expected of you, you took your seat with the rest of the Galra commanders. The sea of cheering people was overwhelming. Myzax was in the ring again.

The arena was not entertaining to you. There was no fight here, this was a public execution. The gladiators were Salixan wolves playing with their prey before going in for the kill. Disgusting.

Prisoners deemed fit enough to fight were bought here. Luckily, most of the new intake had arrived injured and were declared unfit to fight. You thanked the universe for even the smallest of mercies.

Behind the gates, there were a dozen different creatures of varying species. An Earthling stood at the front of the line, quivering and dressed in an oversized prisoner’s tunic. He was short, scrawny and - by the fear in his eyes - didn’t have the strength to fight.

Perhaps, you thought, by some miracle, this boy would somehow manage to scrape by with only a severe injury. Perhaps you could leave, tell your fellow commanders that the prisoners are too weak for a proper fight and it bores you. That way, you might not have to watch.

A sentry walked down to the gate, rifle pointed squarely at the Earthling boy. In a flash, another Earthling appeared, pulling the rifle from the sentry’s grip and pushing the droid into the wall. It sparked and slumped over, showing the Earthling’s strength.

You watched intently as the audience roared.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered and muscular enough to put up a fight. His back was turned to you, but his body language showed no hint of fear. With the bayonet he held, the man turned to his fellow prisoners and took a slash at the weak one.

Over the cheering and yelling of the area’s audience, you couldn’t hear a word of what he yelled, but another sentry arrived and forcefully took the Earthling by his arm. You averted your eyes momentarily as the gates opened.

There was clearly some relation between the Earthlings, and in a bid to save the boy who couldn’t fight, this man had put himself first in line to face Myzax. It was smart, you had to admit, but watching someone sacrifice themself somehow made it worse than just watching them die.

Myzax roared and the spectators cheered as the Earthling was handed a Galran sword. And the fight began at once.

The large gladiator let the energy orb on the end of his bat charge for a moment before hurling the orb at the Earthling. Barely dodging, the man tripped himself over to get away. Unrelenting, Myzax threw the orb again. In a desperate attempt to dodge, the man rolled over and jumped at the Galra, landing a shallow cut on his arm before retreating from the orb once more.

And the game of Salixan wolf and rodent began.

For a while, the Earthling only dodged, ducking behind the pillars of the arena, seemingly formulating something. The energy orb was thrown again, this time the man used his sword's flat edge as a shield. He was knocked back significantly, but didn’t fall. Once again, Myzax threw the orb. The man knelt down, raising his sword to cover himself as the impact pushed him into the dusty floor.

Myzax raised his bat, the orb flying back to recharge. As the mechanical wiring hummed deep under the loud yelling of the Galran audience, the Earthling lunged to take a swing at the gladiator. A large gash cut across the gladiator’s shoulder, slicing through his neck.

The Galra wobbled on his feet, purple-red blood spilling down his chest. Weakly, Myzax lifted the orb on its plinth and hurled it at where the Earthling had drawn back to.

Panicked upon seeing the energy orb once more, the man rolled away from the incoming projectile. One hit on the ground. The gladiator swung his arm around as much as his injury would allow, the orb flying back over to the Earthling. Narrowly dodged again, he was taking advantage of Myzax’s weakened state. Twice now, and the orb drew back for the final attack. The man raised his sword again.

A third hit. The metal sword shattered, and the orb flew back to Myzax. Before the hum of the recharge could even start, the Earthling jumped and plunged the blunted half of the snapped sword through the gladiator’s chest. With a loud roar, Myzax fell to his knees. The undefeated, killed by an Earthling - of all species.

The spectators cheered more, louder still, and the man standing in the centre of the arena let out a scream of victory. He played to the crowd well.

Without thinking for a moment more, you slammed your fist into the arm of your chair and rose.

“Who’s is he?” your voice sounded over everyone, quiet falling throughout the room.

You stood in silence for a moment, looking across the Galra commanders.

“The Earthling would be mine,” a commander a few rows down announced as he stood.

“I want him. Name your price,” you stated, voice loud and confident. If you could get a hold of this Earthling, you might just be able to do a little good in this universe.

“4000 GAC,” the commander you didn’t know requested.

“Done.” you said, definitively.

“I offer 5000!” A voice called a few chairs to your right. Commander Sendak.

“This is no auction,” you chastised.

“I will not stand down!” he called, turning towards to owner of the Earthling.

“Sendak! You and I both know that I can outbid you.” you reminded him, keeping yout voice level and confident. As a decorated warrior from a long line of commanders, you had the power of currency on your side.

Sandak huffed and stopped for a moment before turning to look up at the Emperor.

“Permission to exercise my Galra rights, my Emperor?” he asked, bowing slightly.

You lowered your head in respect and looked back up to see Zarkon nod.

“I challenge you to a Sar duel for ownership of the Earthling fighter!” Sendak called, as soon as he received Zarkon’s permission.

“Come now, we are in an arena, and the people want a fight,” he taunted as he saw the torn expression on your face.

“I accept.” you said, determined. You may not want to fight, but you couldn’t risk leaving the Earthling with anyone else.

“What are your terms?” the unknown commander asked.

“If I win, I get the Earthling and Commander Sendak shall be sent off to the Javeeno Star System with no crew, for reconnaissance and surveillance.” you called, the crowd surrounding you applauded your decision, “And you?”

“If I win, I take the prisoner. And you, Commander (l/n), will be stripped of rank and sent to Noxxal to die a dishonourable death!” Sendak shouted.

The room went quiet with murmurs. Noxxal… you would die from starvation, if the cold didn’t get to you first. A dishonourable death, to not be killed in battle.

“And the loser pays 5000 GAC for the victor?” you clarified, looking to the Earthling’s finder.

“Agreed.”

“The terms are set. Let us begin,” you announced. Both Sendak and you descended to the arena floor.

“Hold the Earthling!” Sendak commanded, and two sentries stood at either side of the man, leading him back out through the arena gate.

Sendak took gauntlets, his weapon of choice. They were great meatal things that pulsed with Galran energy. This was the only advantage he had over you.

You chose to take a battleaxe. Versatile and deadly, you knew them well.

“Vrepit sa.”

“Vrepit sa…”

You immediately took first swing at Sendak, purposefully overshooting and missing him. The swing went past his ear, and took him off guard, leading him to turn in an attempt to throw a punch at your gut. In his moment of pivot, you took the haft of your axe directly to his face.

He stumbled backwards, nose dripping with blood. You swung again, leaving him no time for recovery, a jab at his chest that he narrowly avoided. And again, quickly, but he had recovered in time and grabbed your axe’s blade with his gauntlets.

He threw your axe to his side, and you barely kept your grip. This was how the fight continued. You would hit a blow, he would recover, and Sendak would send you backwards.

A slash to his knee, a hit to your stomach, a jab that very nearly took his ear off, a punch square to your nose - revenge for that first hit you got on him. Finally, after 10 minutes of equally balanced fighting, you decided to play dirty. This Earthling was worth the life of the idiot known as Sendak.

You backed up slowly, reaching a pillar, then swung and lodged your axe at an angle in the stone. You threw yourself at Sendak, going for the gauntlets. You sent a jab at his neck, causing him to lose his breath enough for you to kick with all your might at his left gauntlet. With a crackle of power, the purple glow dissipated and the glove stopped responding.

Sendak growled at you and shook the gauntlet off his hand, immediately lunging at you. You dodged, but not enough, as he grabbed you by the arm, spun you, and hooked his arm around your neck. Gauntlet to your throat, he held you there, spluttering for a breath that wouldn’t come. Your body burned with adrenaline and you stomped at his feet under you, kicking back at his shins.

Sendak walked backwards slowly to avoid your kicks until his back was pressed up against a pillar. Perfect.

With the last of your oxygenated strength, you reached out for the axe that was lodged in the stone. In one quick pull, the axe swung at Sendak’s arm and your face. At the last moment, you shifted your head to the side, lodging the axe entirely through Sendak’s arm.

His grip fell limp, and you took a great inhale of air.

The crowd roared in cheer, and Sendak made a barely audible noise - like a whimper - that only you could hear.

“Consider that payment for challenging me.” You spoke lowly in his ear, before turning to leave.

Where was that Earthling?

#x reader #x male reader #shiro x reader #takashi shirogane x reader #voltron x reader #vld x reader #galra reader #shiro #takashi shirogane #vld shiro #matt holt #sendak #fight scene #voltron legendary defender #voltron #vld

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throneofsapphics · 1 year ago

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midnight panic

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Request: dark!Rowaelin x reader angst to fluff, she wanders around the castle and they can’t find her and think she ran or something.

Summary: Rowan and Aelin find you missing in the middle of the night

Warnings: darkish rowan/aelin, sleepwalking, hypothermia, fighting, toxic relationships

Word Count: ~3.2k

A/N: this is a standalone, but also fits between parts 4 & 5 of my dark poly!rowaelin series (have your little girlfriend), but you don’t need to read the actual series to understand this one!

Aelin squinted, the light from the full moon hitting at the perfect angle to shine directly on her face. Keeping her eyes shut, not wanting the sleepiness to disappear, she turned back towards her, reaching her arm over to pull her back into her side, to cuddle into her warmth again.

Aelin’s hand hit the bed, the space beside her warm - but empty, her eyes shot open. Majority of the time, she slept between her and Rowan. Lifting her head, she wasn't on his other side. Things had been … testy, lately. She couldn’t shake the feeling that y/n wanted out, wanted to leave the two of them, to escape to gods-know-where. She listened carefully for sounds in the bathroom - or even the sitting room, but nothing. How had she left without them noticing?

“Rowan,” she said, trying to keep her voice low enough she wouldn’t startle him. Wouldn’t trigger the battle-honed instincts. A grunt, and he rolled towards her, reaching his own hand out and - his eyes shot open as well. Rowan checked the bathroom, and she peeked out onto the balcony - empty. Nothing was out of place, no missing items, if anything she’d left with only the clothes on her back.

“What the hell,” she muttered under her breath.

“She was here an hour ago,” Rowan said, all traces of sleep gone. A good bit of distance could be covered in an hour, especially if she’d shifted into her animal form.

I’ll check inside the castle, she said silently

I have the city, he assured her. In bird form, he’d be able to cover more ground. Signal if you find her. If we don’t in two hours, meet back here.

One they’d used throughout the years - a pulse of magic, strong enough the other could recognize, but subtle enough to not cause alarm to the general public.

It was midnight, and absolutely freezing. There was snow on the ground, ice covering the windows, the temperatures well below freezing. Even inside the castle, a bitter chill set in. Within minutes, they were dressed warmly and armed with their usual assortment of weapons. Rowan propped the window open, and with a flash of light a white-tailed hawk soared into the night.

Aelin knew all of the routes to take to avoid any guards or sentries. It went without saying that they’d keep this under wraps. When they found her, there’d be hell to pay. She raced through the halls, checking her workshop, the private library, every place she usually liked to spend time. Every scent was faint, she hadn’t been there in the last few hours. Each minute she grew angrier and more worried.

Tracing back, on impulse she checked on of the older passages out of the castle - and caught her scent. Running, she’d tried to run. Breathing deeply to tamp down her anger, threatening to flow over into her magic, she focused her senses. There’s no way she’d let her get away. A mating bond was for life. There’s nowhere she could run that her mates wouldn’t find her, even if it took years.

Rowan flew over the city, backtracking through every route she could take out, searching for any trail of her scent. He spotted Aelin, following a path out of the castle, and shot down, shifting to fall in step with her.

“She went this way,” Aelin said quietly, and he picked up on the same trail. Fae, at least she hadn’t shifted, that would make this much easier.

This was familiar, something they’d done in their time before her. They were going on a hunt.

Did she really think they wouldn’t notice? He needed to figure out how he’d given her the impression he was that stupid, and fix it.

They trailed her out of the castle grounds, past the gates - a guard currently sleeping on duty. He’d quickly find himself out of a job in the morning, but he didn’t have the time to address that now, instead sending a sharp wind towards him when they were out of sight. A shield wrapped around them, hiding their scents as they stuck to the shadows, tracing her steps.

She led them out of the city, just past the gates, right to the edge of the forest. His anger was rising to dangerous levels, and he knew that. Rowan prayed she wouldn’t fight them.

Aelin held a hand out, as they paused just before a clearing.

They’d found her, and it wasn’t what he expected.

Barefoot, in only her nightgown, not a weapon or any kind of provisions on her, she walked back and forth along the edge of the clearing. She crouched every few steps to pick up something, but her hands came back empty. Something was wrong - there was a daze in her eyes, murmuring random phrases under her breath, low enough he couldn’t hear. She didn’t drink any alcohol that night… Could someone have slipped her a drug? No, they ate all of the same food in their rooms, and he always made a point to check for any kind of poison.

Following Aelin’s lead, they slowly approached her.

“Y/n,” Aelin called. She didn’t react, didn’t even turn around. Aelin repeated her name - louder. Still nothing.

A warm flame caressed her skin, starting to warm her back up. Gods, she’d be hypothermic by now. He’s surprised she hasn’t passed out on the ground.

All Rowan wanted was to sprint towards her, to grab and shake her, to find out what the fuck she was thinking, but instinct had him moving carefully and slowly, keeping his footsteps purposefully loud.

Aelin met his eyes; what do we do?

His breath caught as she turned, but no recognition flashed through her eyes. Actually, it was like they weren’t there at all.

Aelin tried calling her name, again and again and didn’t get a single reaction. Nothing to register she was aware they existed.

An exasperated sigh, and she closed the distance, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Y/n screamed, stumbling backwards, her ass hitting the ground, hands scrambling on the rocks to try and get away. A wall of flame, but not one that would burn her, blocked the path. As she reached the warmth, something in her calmed. Almost like she’d recognized Aelin’s magic, even wherever she was right now.

Did she ever mention sleepwalking? Rowan asked her.

Not that I know of.

That doesn’t mean it’s not possible. There’s a chance she would hide something like this from them, probably not thinking it was important. He’d bet a decent bit of gold that’s exactly what’s happening right now. Gods, they’d be putting locks on everything now.

After five minutes of trying to reach her, five minutes of her increasing distress, five minutes of fear starting to fill the air, he gave up. Palms already bloodied, wiping them off on her nightgown, he crouched as close to her as he could get.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and pulled the air from her lungs, catching her before her head could hit the ground.

Mercifully, she stayed asleep as they ran back to the castle, moving as quickly as possible while staying hidden. Aelin kept the flames going, kept slowly warming her temperature back to healthy levels. Rowan had thrown her over his shoulder, one arm securing her legs in place. It didn’t look comfortable, but it was the quickest way to get back. Comfort could come later, after she was home, warm, and safe. Her mind whirled with the things she needed to do; find a way to secure the room, run a warm bath, hope she’d wake easily, and figure out if she was hiding this from them.

They made it back without incident, taking all of the hidden passageways through the castle. Nearing one in the morning. She’d been outside for two hours. Anything could’ve happened to her. Especially considering how gods-damned vulnerable she was. It wasn’t her fault, not really, but Aelin was still pissed off.

Not how they’d thought, but they came so close to losing her without even knowing.

She felt warm water around her, her muscles tense and aching. Wasn’t she asleep? How the hell did she get into a bath? It took more effort than it should’ve to open her eyes, but she saw Aelin, right there, watching her every movement. Relief flashed through turquoise eyes, followed by … anger or resentment.

“Do you know what happened?” Aelin asked, voice rough.

“What do you mean?” She moved her foot up and down, her leg feeling weaker than normal. The water was warm, she knew that, but a shiver still ran through her and she wrapped her arms back around herself. The bath heated a few degrees, and she felt Aelin’s magic running through the water. Soothing and comforting.

“We found you in the gods-damned forest,” Aelin hissed, struggling to keep her voice low.

The door swung open, revealing Rowan. She noticed they were both fully dressed, weapons still sheathed. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Have you ever sleepwalked?” He asked mildly. A dangerous kind of mild, especially considering the rest of his body language, and the anger she could feel radiating down the bond.

“Not since I was a child,” she admitted. Green eyes darkened, fixed on her, like he’d located his newest target. Her throat bobbed, chest tightening. It was never good to be on the receiving end of that look.

“And you didn’t think to share that?”

“It’s been years,” she focused on keeping her tone quiet and calm, on staying steady, even as her hands threatened to shake. She didn’t like this side of them. Darting her eyes to Aelin, she found herself on the receiving end of that same look.

Liar, her eyes seemed to say.

“I never lied,” she knew what their reply would be.

“Lying by omission is still lying.”

She was tired, aching, and still dazed. Her mind could barely focus enough to actually get a grip on the situation. The forest. Sleepwalking. Lying. It was too much effort to speak, to keep her eyes open, darkness swirled in her vision.

“Stay awake,” fingers pinched her cheek, and she startled, water splashing over the sides of the tub. Fire evaporated it before it could reach the ground.

“I’m trying,” y/n mumbled, running a wet hand over her face. The water heated again. How long had Aelin been doing this with her? “I don’t understand,” she gripped her hair with both hands, yanking at it. Frustrated. None of this made sense.

Hands gripped her own, tugging them away from her hair. She was lifted out of the bath, towels drying her, leaning against someone as they slipped a nightgown over her - too weak to stand on her own. The next thing she knew, she hit soft and warm sheets, cradled between two warm bodies, and let sleep take her under.

Every so often, her name would be called, eyes blinking open, gazing up at either Rowan or Aelin, they’d give her a small nod and she understood that - she could go back to sleep. There wasn’t enough space in her mind to question what was going on, it was easy to listen to what her mates said, to sense and follow their intentions.

Aelin met Rowan’s eyes in the bathroom; she’s too confused.

We won’t get anything out of her tonight, he finished her thoughts.

Seeing the state of confusion, the distress, the vulnerability, all made it easy to just take care of her, to shove away the other emotions for now, to focus on making sure she’s safe. Free from anything that could harm her, including the sleepwalking. But, the major concern now was making sure her body recovered from her little adventure. Neither of them slept that night, Aelin didn’t try - she only grabbed a book and tried to focus on it. Inevitably, her eyes would switch to the clock, waiting for the next half-hour to wake her. It probably wasn’t necessary, or recommended, but she had to know y/n would wake.

When dawn broke, she finally felt like she could leave the room, Rowan still keeping a careful eye on her. Just a week away from Samhuinn, the days rapidly got shorter and shorter as they approached the coldest months. They’d get maybe ten and half or eleven hours of daylight today. The sun always disappeared too quickly for her liking.

A fire roared in the sitting room behind her, and she busied herself making tea, adding extra honey to y/n’s. She was out in the cold for a few hours, and her voice did sound hoarse earlier, Aelin figured she might have a sore throat. If not, she had a sweet tooth anyway.

“I’m perfectly capable,” Aelin heard y/n’s voice rising, “I can get out of this damned bed on my own.”

“Don’t fucking move,” Rowan snapped at her. She agreed with him, and carefully balanced the three cups.

Pushing the door open with her foot, she found Rowan standing over the side of the bed, ready to pin y/n to the bed if she tried to move again. She was propped up against the headboard, fists clenching the comforter. Aelin could tell y/n woke up ready for a fight. Good, she wasn’t feeling particularly calm either. But first, tea.

Aelin came back in, but y/n knew she wouldn’t be on her side. It was two-against-one now. Even as Aelin shoved the cup of tea into her hands, taking up the space next to her on the bed, legs crossed, and hands cradling her own cup. Silently, Rowan took the other from her, and dragged his chair closer to the bed.

Y/n knew exactly what the cups would have. A good amount of sugar for Aelin, plain and boring for Rowan, and based on the scent - honey for her. She’s not sure how, but Aelin picked up that her throat was sore. It was enough to soothe some of the sting from the impending argument.

Sure enough, honey exploded on her tongue - more than usual, but it was soothing her throat, and she wouldn’t complain. Complaining would only make her situation worse. She debated just accepting blame, letting them win this one, but truly - she hadn’t done anything wrong. There was no indication to think she’d end up sleepwalking again. Gods, she’d forgotten about it.

“I haven’t sleepwalked since I was seven years old,” she kept her eyes on her cup, swirling the liquid to give her something to focus on.

“If we’re going to talk about this, you need to look at us,” Rowan said too calmly. Fuck.

Throat bobbing, she looked up at them. Seeing the gleam in their eyes, she went right on the defensive. “I was asleep, how the hell is this my fault?” Rowan stiffened, and she looked to Aelin.

“The problem is, you didn’t think to tell us,” Aelin’s voice was neutral, but she knew that was the sign of her growing anger.

“You never asked,” she hissed back at her.

“Watch your fucking attitude,” Rowan snarled.

Closing her eyes, a few deep breaths later, she tried something different, “my parents always told me it only happened when I felt safe, when my mind - even asleep, thought I couldn’t come to any harm.”

Emphasizing that she feels safe with them, that even though it was dangerous - the deepest parts of her mind believed she couldn’t come to any harm around them. At least she’s hoping that’s what they’d read out of the situation.

“We thought you ran,” Aelin said quietly, her hand reaching out, and y/n slipped her palm into hers, giving her a light squeeze. She could tell Aelin had already softened, that her anger was slowly ebbing out. Rowan, however, would take a bit more time, and maybe some more soothing.

“I’m not running,” she murmured. It’s the truth, she doesn’t want to leave, even if she craved some space away - something she could never tell them. Truly leaving them, she doesn’t think she could ever do that. Her heart and soul might not survive it, even if her mind says it could be better.

Rowan was still assessing her, and she forced herself to meet his gaze, and she read the words in his eyes instead, the silent communication; you didn’t think.

I’m sorry, she answered.

Are you really?

That I put both of you through that. Rowan seemed to be waiting, waiting for her to add something. And myself, she tried. He gave her a short nod, and she understood; conversation over.

She’d expected a much larger fight, but gods she’s glad it didn’t come to that. Y/n stretched, trying to place her mug on the table, but Rowan was there before she could get halfway, snatching it from her hands to place it there himself.

Another realization struck her. Rowan told her briefly that she nearly froze to death. Now they’d be absolutely insufferable until they were satisfied she was healthy again. Knowing them, it could take much longer than necessary. Maybe this was her punishment, she met Rowan’s gaze again, reading the gleam in his eyes. Yes, it’s definitely her punishment.

She debated reaching back into that part of her, trying to shift into her fox form - where everything would be easier.

Rowan - the bastard, sensed that. “Try to shift and I’ll rip the air out of your lungs.”

“A bit dramatic,” she huffed, but it put an end to that idea, and her attention switched to Aelin, who looked tired. A bit of guilt crept in, she’d been up all night for her. “Will you take a nap with me?”

She is tired. Sleep sounded very, very nice. Aelin latched on to the idea, almost chucking her mug at Rowan before sliding in next to her.

Aelin tugged her into her chest, their bodies molding together, legs tangling. Aelin ran her fingers through her hair, humming a tune she didn’t recognize. It was sweet, seeing Aelin in her fussy mode. At least this part of it. “Sleep, my love,” she murmured, placing a kiss to the top of her head. She heard Rowan rustling around the room, but every time she tried to look, Aelin tucked her head back in. Based on the movements, she figured it out pretty quickly. He was setting up something on the various doors in the room, some kind of noise or object would fall to alert them if she made it out over there. On the off chance both of them were asleep and didn’t notice.

Without having to ask, she knew there would be locks on the doors by the end of the day. Locks she wouldn’t be able to access the key to, at least during the night. It felt vaguely like a cage, but the bed dipped again, a strong arm wrapping around her waist, Rowan’s strong chest pressing against her back.

“Rowan,” she murmured, struggling to stay awake, “how the hell did I get past you?”

A low growl from behind her, and she hid her laughter, tucking her face into Aelin.

“I’m the one that found you,” she chuckled, hand resting on the back of her head, like she might protect her from the glare she could feel coming from Rowan.

Y/n jumped as he pinched her arm, letting out a slightly-embarrassing squeak, but heard Aelin slapping Rowan’s hand away, chiding him.

#rowaelin x reader #poly!rowaelin x y/n #rowaelin x y/n #rowan whitethorn x y/n #aelin galathynius x y/n #rowan whitethorn x reader #aelin galathynius x reader #poly!rowaelin x reader #poly!rowaelin #throne of glass fic #throne of glass x reader

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ll7esxs · 25 days ago

Text

Dual Minds, Single Heart / pt3 last part...

── .✦ part1 part2

summary: guess Elias shouldn't have let go of Rorke...

warning: angst (so much!) / Mental Health / Trauma / Character Death / Grief

logan walker X (any) old friend teammate reader!

The night pressed down like a shroud, thick and suffocating, with storm clouds blotting out even the faintest glimmer of moonlight. The C-130 had long since vanished into the heavens, leaving behind only the faintest echo of its engines. Now, silence reigned, save for the rhythmic hiss of the wind and the hiss of rain slicing through the canopy below.

The Ghosts descended like phantoms, their HALO jump executed with practiced precision. Each member landed within meters of their designated points, their movements fluid and soundless as they melted into the shadows of the jungle. The dense foliage absorbed their impact, the soft rustle of leaves barely distinguishable from the natural chorus of the night.

Hesh crouched low, his fingers adjusting the NVGs strapped to his helmet. With a faint click, his surroundings shifted into a glowing landscape of neon green. The jungle came alive with ghostly outlines—trees, vines, and the faint glint of rain streaking past his vision. He inhaled deeply, the humid air thick with the scent of wet earth and vegetation, as he scanned their surroundings.

The team moved as one through the jungle, their silhouettes barely distinguishable from the shadows cast by the rain-drenched foliage. Keegan’s voice crackled softly in their earpieces, his calm tone a steady anchor amid the tension.

Keegan over comms: “Six-one to Ghosts. ISR confirms target compound in sight. Guard rotations are every ten minutes. We move on my mark.”

Hesh felt his pulse quicken, but his focus never wavered. The rain was relentless, pattering against his helmet and running down his gear in rivulets, but it did little to mask the subtle movements of the Ghosts. Their boots made no sound against the mud, their presence a whisper in the vast jungle. Riley, ever the reliable scout, darted ahead, his camera transmitting a grainy feed of the compound’s outskirts to their linked displays.

Keegan quietly: “Two tangos at the northwest gate. Suppressors on.”

Hesh’s breathing steadied as he raised his SCAR-H, the familiar weight of the rifle grounding him. The suppressor caught the faint glow of distant floodlights as he took aim, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. Through the scope, the first guard’s face was illuminated in a pale, green-tinted glow. Hesh exhaled slowly, a breath timed with the rhythm of the rain, and fired. The round struck true, the guard crumpling into the mud without a sound.

The second guard turned, confusion flashing across his face for a split second before Keegan’s shot dropped him where he stood.

Hesh over comms: “North gate clear. Moving in.”

The team advanced, their movements fluid and synchronized. Riley returned to Hesh’s side, his fur slick from the rain but his steps eager and confident. Beyond the gate, the compound loomed larger, its towering walls glistening in the storm. Floodlights swept across the perimeter, but the Ghosts stayed just out of reach, their experience making them invisible to the untrained eye.

Hesh’s jaw tightened as he gestured for the team to move forward. Every second brought them closer to Logan. Every step was one closer to tearing apart whatever nightmare the Federation had created inside those walls.

The compound hummed with the energy of a fortified Federation base. Floodlights bathed the perimeter in harsh white light, slicing through the rain like blades. Guards moved with precision, their boots splashing in puddles as they followed tightly coordinated patrols. Radios crackled faintly, the distorted voices of sentries reporting in. Inside the walls, the Federation seemed untouchable.

Unseen, the Ghosts crept closer, their figures blending seamlessly with the shadows cast by the jungle’s dense foliage. The rain masked their approach, the sound of droplets hitting leaves and metal muffling their movements.

Merrick’s voice came over the comms, low and steady. “Tower One neutralized. Tower Two’s next.”

From his overwatch position, Keegan fired another precise shot. The faint hiss of the suppressed round was barely audible as it found its mark, the guard in Tower Two collapsing without a sound. The tower lights flickered and then went out, the compound losing another layer of its defense.

Keegan’s voice followed. “Tower Two’s down. Perimeter’s thinning.”

Hesh gestured for the team to follow, his hand signals crisp and deliberate. They moved in a line, weapons at the ready, each Ghost watching the angles their training dictated. As they reached the central building, the team fanned out, taking positions at the main entrance.

Hesh crouched by the heavy metal door, reaching into his pack for a breaching charge. The glow of the compound’s lights reflected off the rain streaming down his helmet, but his hands were steady as he applied the device to the doorframe. It adhered with a faint click, the detonator armed.

"Breach on my mark.”

Riley settled beside Hesh, his ears twitching at the faint sounds of movement inside. Merrick and Keegan flanked the door, their weapons trained on the entrance, while you covered the rear, eyes scanning for any sign of patrols.

Hesh held up three fingers, counting down. His voice was calm, steady, but laced with tension.

“Three... two... one... breach.”

The explosion was precise, contained. The door flew inward with a deafening boom, smoke and sparks spilling into the entryway. Without hesitation, the Ghosts stormed in, their movements fluid and deliberate. The shouts of startled guards echoed through the hallway.

The holding cells were cold, damp, and reeked of despair. Rusted bars and flickering lights added to the oppressive atmosphere, each step echoing ominously off the concrete walls. Hesh’s heart sank deeper with every cell they passed. The team had cleared most of the building, but the cells held only Federation captives or were eerily empty, their silence deafening.

You entered the last room of the building, the air thick with moisture and the faint hum of an old screen flickering in the corner. The space was barren, save for the stagnant puddles pooling on the floor. Hesh stormed in behind you, his boots splashing through the water as he scanned the room.

"Nothing... nothing!" Hesh’s voice cracked, a mix of frustration and despair as he spun around, his eyes darting from the empty corners to the faded screen. The stark realization hit him like a blow; the room was devoid of any sign of Logan.

Keegan stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping the room, silent but watchful. Merrick’s expression hardened, his jaw tight as he glanced at the screen, his tactical mind working through the possibilities. Kick leaned against the wall, his posture deceptively casual, but his narrowed eyes betrayed his suspicion.

"This doesn’t feel right," Merrick finally muttered, his voice low and steady, cutting through the tense silence.

Kick stepped forward, nodding in agreement. "A place this secure, and it’s empty? Either they moved him, or..." His sentence trailed off, the unspoken possibility lingering heavily in the room.

Hesh slammed his fist against the wall, his frustration boiling over. "If they moved him, we’re wasting time standing here!" He turned to face Merrick, his desperation clear. "What’s the call?"

Merrick took a long, deliberate breath, his eyes lingering on the flickering screen. "We search for intel. Anything that tells us-"

As Merrick turned to issue more orders, your eyes caught a glint of light reflecting off something near the old, dusty TV in the corner. Your curiosity pulled you toward it, almost instinctively. Bending down, you found a CD, its surface scratched but still functional. The label was faded, but the words “Project Specter” were faintly visible, sending a chill down your spine.

Without a second thought, you grabbed the disk and inserted it into the ancient player attached to the TV. The screen flickered and distorted for a moment, static hissing through the room like a serpent’s whisper. Keegan glanced over, his sharp eyes narrowing as he stepped closer.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice low, but he didn’t stop you he is curious more.

The video sputtered to life, the grainy footage filling the dimly lit room. At first, it showed an empty, sterile chamber—brightly lit and cold, with metal restraints bolted to the floor. Then came the sound.

A high-pitched, piercing scream erupted from the speakers, followed by a series of low, mechanical tones that pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat twisted into something monstrous. The sound clawed at your ears, making you flinch. Hesh turned sharply, his face a mix of confusion and alarm as he stared at the screen.

The image shifted. Blurred figures moved into the frame—Federation soldiers dragging a restrained man into the chair. The camera zoomed in, and there he was: Logan. His face was pale, his eyes hollow, barely clinging to consciousness as electrodes were attached to his temples.

-------------------------------------------

In that time...

The cold, sterile room buzzed with the hum of machinery. Logan's body trembled, restrained by thick metal straps that bit into his skin. Electrodes clung to his temples and chest, the wires snaking across his body like serpents, ready to deliver their next wave of torment. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic, masking the scent of blood that lingered from past sessions.

The electrodes hissed to life, sending a violent shock through his body. Pain coursed through his veins, jolting every nerve as his muscles seized in response. His breath hitched, a strained gasp escaping his lips. The feeling of electricity coursing through him was unbearable, the pain beyond anything he'd ever experienced, but it was nothing compared to the psychological assault that followed.

Rorke’s voice crackled through the speakers, smooth and cold, but dripping with malice.

“Loyalty is strength, Logan. The Federation is your only path forward. The Ghosts are nothing but a dying cause. You were weak... but you will be strong.”

Another shock hit, searing through him, his body jerking against the restraints. The pain felt like it would tear him apart, but Logan held on. His teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached, but he refused to scream. Not for Rorke, not for anyone.

“You’re nothing but a tool,” Rorke continued, his voice relentless. “Your father failed. Your brother—he’s next. You’re nothing without us. You will break, and when you do, you will serve.”

The words were venom, slowly working their way into Logan’s mind, digging into his spirit. He could feel his thoughts start to cloud, the edges of his identity blurring. Was he really strong enough to resist? Was there a point to fighting if everyone he cared about was gone?

The shock came again, more intense this time, and Logan's vision blurred. His breath came in ragged gasps, the world spinning. But despite the overwhelming pain and the crushing weight of Rorke’s words, a small flicker of resistance sparked deep within him. It was faint, but it was there.

Logan clenched his fists, fighting against the overwhelming urge to surrender. He wouldn't let them win. He wouldn't break. His father had taught him to endure. Hesh had taught him to fight.

Rorke’s voice again filled the room. “You’re close. Just let go, and it will all end. Give in.”

But Logan didn’t answer. He couldn’t. There was nothing left but the fight to stay who he was at least

hell they even gave him hallucinogenic drugs to confuse him.

The room seemed to shift around Logan, its edges warping and distorting as the hallucinogenic drug coursed through his veins. His head felt heavy, the air thick with a sense of dread that was hard to shake. The pain from the electrical shocks still lingered in his body, but it was nothing compared to the disorienting fog clouding his mind.

Logan’s vision blurred, the world around him pulsing like a heartbeat. His hands shook uncontrollably, the straps on his wrists cutting into his skin as he tried to move. But then, the shadows in the corner of his vision began to form, taking shape.

At first, it was just a flicker—something familiar, something comforting. A figure stepped into the room, and Logan's heart skipped a beat. It was Hesh, his face twisted in a cruel sneer, a sharp contrast to the brother Logan had known. His eyes burned with accusation, filled with a venomous disdain Logan had never seen before.

"You couldn't even save yourself, Logan," Hesh's voice echoed, low and biting, as if he were spitting the words out. "Pathetic. All your talk about being strong… and look at you now. Nothing."

Logan's breath caught in his throat. This wasn’t Hesh. It couldn’t be. But the words… they felt real. His head spun, the line between reality and illusion growing thinner with every second.

And then, from the shadows, another figure emerged. Elias. But his face was different—hollowed, his expression twisted in disappointment. His eyes, once filled with pride, now seemed cold, accusing.

"You failed them all, Logan," Elias's voice rumbled, his tone full of sorrow and reproach. "You couldn’t save me. You couldn’t save anyone. All that strength… all that training… and yet, you still couldn’t protect the ones who mattered."

Logan's chest tightened. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. His father had always believed in him, always taught him to stand strong, to protect the ones he loved. But the drug had twisted that belief, turning it into a haunting condemnation.

Before Logan could respond, the last figure emerged—you. But even in the haze of his drugged state, he knew something was wrong. Your face was blank, cold, void of any recognition. You stood there, silent, the betrayal in your eyes speaking louder than any words.

"You think you’re the hero in all of this, don’t you?" you asked, your voice distant and hollow. "But you’re not. You couldn’t even save yourself, let alone anyone else. All this time, all this effort, and for what? To fail?"

Logan’s vision trembled as the room around him warped, the figures closing in on him. Their words blurred together, an unrelenting chorus of accusations and failure. He wanted to scream, to fight back, but his body felt like lead, unable to move, unable to escape.

“Logan, you’re nothing but a broken soldier. A ghost of what you once were,” Hesh’s voice sneered, his form flickering in and out.

“I never wanted to be your father, anyway,” Elias added, his voice cutting through the fog like a dagger.

And then, the final blow, your voice again, echoing in his mind: "You’re not the Ghost anymore. You’re nothing."

Logan’s breath came in shallow gasps as he clenched his fists, trying to block out the images, trying to focus on something—anything—that was real. But the hallucinations were suffocating, smothering him with their weight, each word, each accusation, pulling him deeper into the abyss.

-------------------------------------------

The room was dim, the flicker of the old TV casting erratic shadows on the walls. The static buzz grew louder, then suddenly, the screen flashed to life—a chaotic jumble of distorted images, almost like a glitchy fever dream. You stared at it, heart pounding in your chest. It was as if the world had momentarily cracked, showing something far worse lurking underneath.

Kick, standing beside you, glanced at the screen, but the unsettling noise was too much. With a low curse, he turned his head away. "Fucking hell..." His voice was barely a whisper, lost in the tension of the moment.

Hesh, usually the one with the sharpest tongue and the quickest reactions, stood frozen. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came. His eyes were wide, a rare sight, as the horrifying sound of Logan’s scream echoed through the room—raw, desperate. It was the first time he'd ever heard Logan sound like that, and it sent a shiver down his spine. Speechless, he could only stare at the screen, trying to process what he was witnessing.

Rorke knew they would come for him. It wasn’t just a gut feeling or a mere suspicion; he could read the signs with the precision of a man who had lived through far too many betrayals, too many close calls. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t immature. He understood how they operated, the ruthless precision they executed their plans with. And what had happened… it wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when. So he’d made his decision long before they even set foot in that room. He’d taken off, left everything behind—the mission, the cell.

The team stood in the silence, the weight of the moment sinking in like a thick fog, heavy in the air. No one spoke. Not a single word could break through the deafening stillness. They were all lost in their own thoughts, trying to make sense of the things they were witnessing.

Then, out of the quiet, a sudden movement jolted you from your thoughts. You felt the pressure before you saw it—someone’s shoulder brushing roughly against yours, knocking you off balance, sending you a few steps away. It was Merrick, his presence as sharp and unexpected as the snap of a twig breaking underfoot in the woods. You barely had time to register the sudden shift before he reached for the CD player with a smooth, calculated motion.

Without a word, Merrick yanked the disk out, his fingers tight around it like he was holding something fragile, something precious. And then, without hesitation, he slammed the disc onto the ground, the sound of shattering plastic and metal echoing through the room, sharp and final. His boots connected with it next, crushing the remnants underfoot.

His brows were furrowed, his face contorted in a mix of anger and disbelief. There was a certain rawness in his expression, as if he were trying to purge something deep within himself. The act of destruction was brutal, swift. It was clear this wasn’t just about the CD. It wasn’t just about the information on it, the secrets it contained. It was about something deeper—betrayal, anger, perhaps even a sense of loss. Whatever it was, it drove him to destroy the object without a second thought.

And there, in the aftermath, you could feel the room tightening, the air thickening with tension.

"In case you didn’t know, this is the Logan you want to save..." Merrick’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. He spat on the ground, his words venomous as he stepped closer, his boots thudding heavily against the floor. His eyes were wide, burning with something darker than anger—resentment, perhaps. There was a deep, twisted sadness beneath the surface, but it wasn’t something he was ready to show. Instead, he let the fury spill out, as if it would somehow make the weight of everything easier to bear.

Hesh stood there, his eyes still wide, his mouth slightly agape. He was speechless, locked in place, struggling to find the words to respond. Merrick didn’t care for hesitation, though. He was already moving, pushing his emotions outward with every word, every step.

"You still wanna save him?" Merrick's voice rose, the volume breaking through the tension, forcing everyone to listen. "You still wanna save that maniac, that brother who will never return the same, no matter what you do?!" His anger cracked the air between them, the raw emotion almost too much to bear.

Kick stood beside you, eyes focused, lips pressed together, clearly trying to process the whirlwind of words. Both of you glanced at each other, exchanging a look of shared disbelief. The intensity in Merrick’s voice made it clear—he believed Logan was gone, that the man they once knew was lost forever. And yet, Hesh... Hesh stood there, his expression hardening, taking in every word, but not yielding. His resolve had set in, deeper than ever.

"I will still save him," Hesh said finally, his voice low but unwavering, each syllable a deliberate decision. His breath was steady, despite the storm raging inside the room. "And by the way... I never needed your help, Merrick..."

His eyes sharpened as he spoke, cutting through the tension like a razor. There was no mistaking it now—the divide was deeper than the surface argument. This was about loyalty, conviction, and something that burned brighter than the chaos surrounding them. He wasn’t backing down, not now, not ever. And Merrick... Merrick was left standing, his hands clenched into fists, teeth grinding, as though those words had struck a nerve far beyond the surface of their disagreement.

The room fell into an even heavier silence, the weight of Hesh's words lingering in the air like smoke from a fire that refused to die out.

"the hell you didn't..." he spat out.

The tension in the room was thick, hanging like a dark cloud, when suddenly, the sharp crackle of the speaker cut through the silence. "This is Six-One, found reinforced cell." The voice—Keegan's, strong and steady—came through, the words urgent and commanding. Then, before anyone could process what was happening, the call was abruptly ended, the static trailing off into nothingness.

It was as if a switch had been flipped. The air shifted, suddenly filled with a rush of adrenaline that everyone in the room could feel. Without hesitation, Hesh’s expression hardened, his focus sharpening. There was no time to argue, no time for words. His body moved before his mind could catch up. "Let’s go," he muttered, already turning on his heel, heading for the door.

Riley, the dog, was right there at his side, instinctively following the lead of his handler. The dog’s paws padded softly against the floor, ready for action, ready for whatever was coming next. There was a sense of urgency in the way Hesh moved—quick, calculated, as if he knew that every second counted now.

Merrick, still bristling from the earlier exchange, didn’t waste a moment either. He was on his heels, his movements sharp, as he followed Hesh, his eyes scanning the room with a steely resolve. You and Kick followed closely behind, your footsteps barely audible on the cold, hard floor, each of you understanding the gravity of the situation now. Whatever was ahead, there was no turning back.

The team was suddenly in motion, no longer a collection of individuals at odds but a unit, driven by a single purpose. The reinforced cell was out there—Keegan had found it, and that meant time was running out. There was no space for hesitation, no room for second-guessing. Every step they took carried the weight of everything that had come before.

The corridor stretched ahead, cold and silent, but the air was charged with anticipation. Riley’s steady pace slowed as the team neared the end, the dog’s sharp senses picking up on something they couldn’t yet see. Then, just as they reached the final stretch, Riley stopped dead in his tracks, his hackles raised, a low growl reverberating through his chest. The sound was quiet, but it carried a weight of warning, as if the very air had thickened with danger.

"Target located," the voice crackled through the camera feed, steady yet laden with gravity. The words were almost a confirmation, a sharp reminder of the mission at hand.

Hesh didn’t hesitate. His breath caught in his throat for a moment, his chest rising and falling in quick succession. There was no time to process the warning, no space to let doubt creep in. He pushed forward, every step echoing with urgency, his boots slapping against the cold, unforgiving floor.

As Hesh rounded the corner, the reinforced cell came into view, its imposing structure standing like a prison of its own design. Metal bars, thick and unyielding, framed the opening, and inside, chained to the wall, was Logan.

He sat there—motionless at first—his form a silhouette in the dim light. His once-strong frame now appeared frail, his skin drawn tight over his bones. His wrists were shackled, the heavy chains clinking as he shifted slightly, eyes flicking up toward the approaching noise. But there was no recognition in his gaze. No spark of familiarity, no flicker of hope.

His eyes were hollow—cold, detached. It was as if the man they had known had disappeared, leaving behind only the ghost of what once was. Hesh’s heart twisted, and for a split second, his breath faltered. This wasn’t the Logan he had known. This was something else entirely, something broken.

The scene before them was like a cruel mirror of everything they’d feared: the wreckage of a mind, a soul, a brother who might never return. Yet, the urgency in Hesh's eyes remained, unshaken. He moved forward, Riley close behind.

Was Hesh about to break down? He didn’t know. His feet felt heavy as he moved forward, each step bringing him closer to the ghost of the brother he once knew. The air felt thick, almost suffocating, as his heart thundered in his chest. The sharp edge of fear mixed with an overwhelming tide of relief and grief, a complicated knot he couldn't quite untangle.

As he stepped closer, his breath hitched, and the words came out softer than he intended, barely a whisper. "Logan... it is me... it’s Hesh..." His voice cracked, faltering with the weight of everything they had gone through—everything he had hoped to find. Hope. That flicker, that small, fragile thread—was it still alive in Logan? Or was it too late?

The moment the words left his mouth, Hesh felt himself teetering on the edge of something he hadn't allowed himself to feel: vulnerability. It was raw, terrifying. He wasn’t sure whether he was happy to find Logan still breathing, or scared that he was no longer the same man he remembered. Fear wrapped itself around his heart as he looked into Logan’s eyes, desperately trying to see something familiar, anything.

Logan’s brown eyes, once sharp and alive with fire, now seemed hazy, drowsy from the constant torture. They looked through Hesh, unfocused, as if he couldn’t quite place him. There was something—something there, but it was as if the connection had been lost in the fog of pain and suffering.

I think... I know him... Logan’s voice was strained in his mind, distant, his words slurring as if he was trying to grasp onto a memory that kept slipping through his fingers.

Hesh felt the ground beneath him shift. The man in front of him, the brother he’d fought for, bled for, was still there—but buried, hidden beneath layers of torment that had changed him, warped him. It wasn’t just the chains that bound Logan; it was the cage inside his mind that held him captive.

Hesh stepped closer, his hand shaking as he reached for Logan, breaking the heavy chains that shackled him. The metal clattered to the floor, loud and final, but it wasn’t the sound of freedom—not yet. The shackles may have fallen, but the weight of everything that had happened still hung in the air, unseen but felt. Hesh’s heart ached, but there was no turning back now. Logan was still here. Somewhere inside that broken shell, the Logan they had known, the one they still needed, might still be there, as he fell down on the ground hesh was the one to hold him.

"It's me, Logan... it’s Hesh... I’ve got you." His voice cracked again, but there was no time to doubt. They had to get him out. He had to save him. And so, despite the fear and the uncertainty gnawing at his gut, Hesh lifted Logan’s weakened form, doing everything he could to hold onto that fragile thread of hope.

The sharp crack of gunfire echoed through the corridor, the noise slicing through the thick tension like a whip. It was close—too close. Everyone froze for a heartbeat, instincts firing, before Keegan’s voice came through the comms, steady but urgent.

“We’re exposed. Exfil in ten. Move!”

His words galvanized the team into motion, the gravity of the situation snapping them into action. Merrick didn’t waste a second. He knelt by the next reinforced cell, his movements precise and practiced, placing another breaching charge against the heavy metal door. The hiss of the timer was the only warning before the charge detonated with a deafening blast. Shards of metal crumpled inward, smoke and sparks filling the air as the door gave way.

You and Hesh barely flinched at the explosion. There was no time to pause, no time to breathe. Together, you moved to Logan, his body limp but compliant, his weight sagging against the two of you. Hesh slipped an arm under his brother’s, pulling him up, while you supported the other side. Logan’s head lolled slightly, his strength clearly sapped, but there was a faint awareness in his eyes now—a spark, however dim, that told you he was still holding on.

Hesh’s jaw was set, his expression grim yet determined. He leaned close to Logan, his voice soft, almost gentle, a stark contrast to the chaos erupting around them. “We’re getting you out of here. Just hold on,” he said, the words meant as much for himself as for his brother.

The sound of boots pounding against the floor echoed as Merrick rejoined the group, his weapon at the ready. Kick’s voice crackled in their ears again, tighter this time. “We’ve got hostiles closing in. Extraction point is hot—clock’s ticking.”

Riley barked, his body taut with tension, his sharp eyes scanning the corridor ahead. The team pressed forward, dragging Logan through the smoky aftermath of the blast, their movements synchronized despite the chaos. Each step felt like a gamble, every second another test of their resolve.

Gunfire erupted again, closer now, the sharp sound ricocheting through the narrow hallways. The mission wasn’t over, and danger was closing in fast. But Hesh’s grip on Logan tightened, his resolve unshakable.

The Ghosts moved as one, a relentless force cutting through the chaos. Bullets ricocheted off walls, sparks flying as enemy fire rained down on them. Each step toward the extraction point was earned with grit and precision, suppressing fire clearing a path as they pressed forward. Their movements were sharp, deliberate, honed by years of experience, but the weight of the mission made every second feel like an eternity.

Above them, the Black Hawk roared to life, its blades slicing through the storm-laden sky. The powerful downdraft whipped rain and debris around the team as the helicopter descended, its presence a lifeline in the middle of the chaos. The floodlights from the bird cut through the darkness, illuminating the muddy terrain and glinting off the team’s weapons as they neared their salvation.

Through the comms, Merrick’s voice broke through the cacophony, firm and resolute. “Package secured. Exfil in progress.”

Hesh didn’t say a word, his focus entirely on Logan. His grip was unrelenting, his arm wrapped tightly around his brother’s slumped figure. Logan was barely conscious, his body heavy against Hesh, but he was alive—that was all that mattered. Hesh guided him up the ramp of the Black Hawk, his movements fueled by sheer determination as gunfire and explosions erupted in the background.

Kick and Merrick provided cover, their rifles barking as they laid down suppressing fire, ensuring the rest of the team could board safely. Riley darted onto the helicopter ahead of them, the loyal dog’s coat glistening with rain and adrenaline.

As the last of the team climbed aboard, the Black Hawk’s engines roared, the bird lifting into the sky with a shudder. The compound below began to shrink, its jagged structures fading into the distance. Smoke rose from the battlefield, mingling with the storm clouds, while the rain streaked across the windows, blurring the view.

Hesh sank into one of the seats, his grip on Logan still firm. His brother’s head lolled against his shoulder, and for the first time, Hesh allowed himself a shaky breath. Relief mixed with lingering fear, the weight of what they had endured pressing heavily on his chest.

He looked down at Logan, his face pale and drawn, the scars of his captivity etched into every feature. Despite the fear, despite the pain, Hesh’s resolve didn’t falter. He leaned closer, speaking softly, though his voice carried the strength of an unbreakable promise. “You’re safe now, Logan, I've got your back.”

-------------------------------------------

(real ansgt here)

The hum of the Black Hawk’s engines filled the cabin, a steady rhythm that seemed to echo the tension hanging in the air. You sat across from the brothers, the space between you filled with unspoken words and heavy thoughts. Logan was slouched in his seat, his hands resting limply on his knees, his head slightly bowed. His gaze was fixed on the floor, unmoving, too focused on nothing in particular. The dim interior light cast shadows across his face, accentuating the gauntness of his features.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Logan was too silent, too still. Even on the battlefield, even under fire, there had always been something alive in him—a spark, a glimmer of determination. Now, there was only quiet detachment, like he wasn’t truly there.

Your eyes lingered on him, searching for any sign of recognition, of life beyond the shell of a man in front of you. Hoping, maybe, that he’d glance up, meet your gaze, give you some indication that he was still in there. But Logan didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. His eyes stayed locked on the floor, as if the steel beneath his boots held the answers to some unspeakable question.

You exchanged a look with Hesh, and in that moment, you saw the same unease reflected in his eyes. He wasn’t just worried—he was scared. Scared for Logan, scared of what his silence might mean. But Hesh wasn’t one to sit quietly with his fears. He stood abruptly, his movements deliberate but laced with a tension he tried to hide.

Shrugging his shoulders, Hesh stepped in front of Logan, blocking his view of the floor. He leaned down slightly, his face breaking into a soft, teasing smile, though it didn’t fully reach his eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m here,” Hesh said, his voice light, almost playful, as if trying to coax his brother out of the dark place he’d retreated to.

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, nothing happened. Logan remained motionless, his silence more deafening than the roar of the helicopter around you. Hesh held his smile, but you could see the faintest crack forming at the edges, a hint of desperation creeping in. He was trying—trying so hard—but Logan gave no response, no sign that he’d even heard him.

You shifted in your seat, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on all of you. It was like watching someone reach out into the void, hoping against hope for a hand to reach back.

Hesh’s smile faltered, his eyebrows knitting together as he looked down at Logan. He tried to convince himself it was fine—that Logan was just tired, worn from everything he’d been through. But even as Hesh clung to that thought, you felt a chill creeping up your spine. Something wasn’t right. You could feel it, an unshakable dread building inside you. Your head felt light, your thoughts clouded, and an eerie dizziness spread through your senses. The moment felt like the calm before a storm, and you knew—you just knew—something terrible was about to happen.

Hesh leaned closer, his voice soft, still trying to break through Logan’s silence. “Hey, is there any wat—”

The sentence stopped cold, and in the same instant, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. Logan’s hand shot forward, too quick to track, pulling a blade from Hesh’s own gear. Before anyone could react, he plunged it into his brother’s stomach, the motion swift and precise, like a predator striking its prey.

The sharp sound of metal piercing flesh cut through the drone of the helicopter, and time seemed to slow. Hesh gasped, his breath catching in his throat as the shock registered on his face. His eyes widened, disbelief and pain flooding his expression as his hands shot out to grab Logan’s arms, desperate to stop him, to understand what was happening.

“Logan...” Hesh’s voice was barely a whisper, choked with agony and confusion.

You froze, your body rigid with horror as the scene unfolded. The world around you blurred, the edges of your vision darkening as adrenaline surged through your veins. It felt like a nightmare—surreal and impossible—but the blood seeping through Hesh’s shirt told you otherwise.

Logan’s face was eerily blank, his eyes still distant, detached, as if he wasn’t fully aware of what he’d done. There was no malice, no recognition—just a hollow emptiness that made your stomach churn.

The cabin erupted into chaos. Merrick and Kick shouted, their voices sharp and urgent, but the noise barely registered. All you could see was Hesh, his knees starting to buckle as he clung to Logan, his grip weakening. The bond they had, the love and trust that had carried them through so much, now seemed to shatter in an instant, replaced by a terrible, unexplainable rift.

And in that moment, the storm outside felt like it had moved inside, tearing through all of you, leaving nothing but devastation in its wake.

Keegan’s reaction was immediate, his eyes widening in shock before narrowing into a fiery glare. The anger rising in him was palpable, his instincts screaming to protect the team, to neutralize the threat. Without hesitation, he pulled his weapon, the barrel leveling at Logan with deadly precision.

Logan didn’t flinch, his expression still eerily void of emotion, but Hesh—Hesh clung to him desperately, his arms wrapped around his brother’s shoulders like a lifeline. Blood seeped through his gear, staining his hand where it pressed against the wound in his stomach, but he didn’t let go.

Hesh saw it—the unwavering resolve in Keegan’s eyes, the slight shift in his stance as he prepared to take the shot. And in that split second, with a surge of adrenaline and desperation, he acted.

“NO!” Hesh shouted, his voice raw and commanding, stopping Keegan cold. He staggered to his feet, clutching Logan’s shoulder with one hand, his other bracing against the pain ripping through his abdomen. Keegan hesitated, his grip tightening on the weapon, his eyes darting between Hesh and Logan.

Before anyone could process what was happening, Hesh moved. With a strained, determined motion, he stepped between Logan and Keegan, shielding his brother with his own body. The world seemed to slow as Keegan’s weapon fired—a single shot, sharp and deafening in the tight space.

Hesh’s body jerked, the force of the impact driving him forward. He gasped, a ragged sound that echoed in the cabin, and for a moment, it was like everything stopped. His knees buckled, but he didn’t let go of Logan. He clung to him, holding his brother upright even as his own strength began to waver.

Hesh choked out, his voice barely audible over the ringing in your ears. His breath was shallow, his body trembling as the blood from the new wound joined the one already staining his shirt.

Keegan’s expression shifted, the anger giving way to something else—shock, frustration, even guilt. He lowered his weapon, his jaw tightening as the gravity of what had just happened sank in.

The helicopter cabin was silent except for the hum of the rotors and Hesh’s labored breathing. Merrick and Kick stood frozen, their faces pale, as if they, too, were struggling to make sense of the chaos unraveling before them.

And there, in the middle of it all, Hesh stood with Logan, his body shielding his brother’s like a fortress. Despite everything—despite the pain, the betrayal, and the chaos—Hesh’s loyalty remained unshaken. Logan might have been lost, but Hesh wasn’t willing to give up on him. Not yet. Not ever.

The shot seemed to echo endlessly in Logan’s mind, like a bell ringing him back to reality. His world, once clouded and distorted, snapped into brutal clarity. His eyes widened as the haze lifted, the fog of whatever had consumed him dissipating, leaving behind the stark truth.

His gaze dropped to Hesh, his brother—his anchor—who was slumped against him, head resting on his shoulder. Blood stained Hesh’s clothes, a vivid, damning reminder of what had just happened. Logan’s breath hitched, his chest heaving as the weight of it all crashed down on him like a tidal wave.

“Hesh...” His voice broke, trembling with shock and remorse. “Oh my god... Hesh, I... I didn’t mean to—”

Tears spilled freely down his face, trailing along the sharp lines of his gaunt cheeks. His hands shook as he clung to Hesh, desperate, terrified, his own mind struggling to reconcile the nightmare he had just woken from. He couldn’t believe it—couldn’t believe he had hurt the one person who had always fought for him, who had never given up.

But Hesh... Hesh didn’t let go. Despite the agony coursing through his body, despite the blood pooling beneath him, his grip on Logan didn’t falter. His breath was shallow, each one a battle, yet his gaze held steady, locking onto Logan with an intensity that seemed to quiet the storm raging inside him.

The pain was there, yes, but it was distant, a ghost lingering on the edges of his mind. It didn’t matter—not compared to what he saw in Logan’s eyes now. The vacant, hollow stare was gone, replaced by a torrent of emotion—regret, anguish, and a fragile, fractured humanity fighting its way to the surface.

Hesh’s lips moved, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling yet resolute. “I know you didn’t, Logan,” he said, his words slow and deliberate, like a lifeline thrown out to a drowning man. “You’re not the one to blame.”

Logan’s tears fell harder, his shoulders shaking as he clutched Hesh closer. He tried to speak, to apologize, but the words caught in his throat, choked by the overwhelming guilt and heartbreak.

Hesh’s hand weakly lifted, resting on Logan’s arm with what strength he had left. His face softened, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips—not of joy, but of understanding, of forgiveness.

“You’re still my brother,” Hesh murmured, his voice calm despite the chaos that had consumed them moments before. “And I’m not giving up on you.”

Those words pierced through Logan’s guilt, breaking down the walls that had trapped him. For the first time in what felt like forever, the fog lifted completely. Logan’s hands tightened on Hesh’s shoulders, a silent promise that he would fight—to hold on, to make it right.

The moment hung heavy in the air, the storm outside a faint echo to the tempest within. Logan’s tears streamed down his face, unchecked, carving paths through the grime on his cheeks. His hands trembled as they clutched at Hesh, his voice barely a whisper, cracked and fragile like glass on the verge of shattering.

“I don’t deserve you,” Logan choked out, his words tumbling in a broken rush, his head shaking as though he could deny the love and loyalty staring back at him. “I don’t deserve to be saved... They broke me... I’m not me anymore.”

His voice faltered, dissolving into a sob as his gaze searched Hesh’s, desperate and pleading, as if asking for a reason to keep holding on.

Hesh, his strength fading with every shallow breath, managed a weak, fleeting smile. It was barely there, yet it carried a warmth that defied the cold encroaching around him. His hand, stained with his own blood, shakily reached for Logan’s shoulder, gripping it with what little strength he had left.

“You’ve always deserved...” Hesh began, his voice low, almost inaudible, the words laced with a quiet determination that refused to be extinguished. His eyes stayed locked on Logan’s, even as the weight of exhaustion pressed down on him like a suffocating tide.

The faintest spark of a tear traced down Hesh’s cheek as his hand slipped, and he slumped forward, his knees buckling beneath him. Logan caught him, lowering him gently as Hesh’s body crumpled to the floor of the helicopter.

“...to be saved,” Hesh whispered, the final words falling from his lips like a promise etched into eternity. His eyes fluttered, the strength in them fading as they began to close, his breath hitching one last time before a fragile silence settled over him.

Logan’s world shattered. His sobs became raw, uncontrollable, as he cradled Hesh in his arms, holding his brother’s limp form against him. The tears fell harder, his face buried against Hesh’s bloodied shoulder, the warmth fading from the body that had always stood beside him, shielded him, believed in him.

Around them, the team stood frozen, their faces pale, their weapons slack in their hands. Even the roar of the Black Hawk’s engines seemed distant, muffled by the gravity of the moment.

Logan’s voice cracked as he whispered through the sobs, “Hesh...?”

But Hesh didn’t answer.

-------------------------------------------

2027 august 2th

The morning sun stretched its golden fingers across the meadow, illuminating the dew-kissed grass and the delicate petals of wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze. The air was crisp, carrying the faint aroma of earth and new beginnings, yet it felt heavy with the weight of unspoken grief.

Merrick stood silently in front of Elias Walker’s grave, his broad shoulders squared but his head bowed slightly. The polished stone gleamed in the sunlight, its surface etched with words meant to honor a man who had given everything. Merrick’s breath was steady but deep, his chest rising and falling as if he was trying to steady himself, to ground himself in the moment.

For a long time, he said nothing, his eyes fixed on the name etched into the stone. Then, with a long, tired sigh, he broke the silence.

“Not even your sons survived what we did to Rorke...” Merrick’s voice was low, each word carrying the weight of years of regret and guilt. He shifted slightly, his boots crunching softly against the gravel beneath him. His eyes, shadowed by the weight of his memories, didn’t leave the grave.

“I failed to protect them,” he admitted, his voice cracking ever so slightly as the words escaped his lips. “All of them. You... your boys... all of us.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his weathered face as though trying to wipe away the thoughts swirling in his mind. His gaze flickered down for a moment, then returned to the headstone, his expression grim.

“I retired,” Merrick said softly, as if confessing a betrayal. “We fell to the ground. Couldn’t hold it together, not after everything.” He paused, his jaw tightening as his thoughts turned inward.

“Hell, and your oldest... that David...” His voice trailed off for a moment, and a faint, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “He’s unstoppable, Elias. You taught him well, better than anyone could’ve hoped.”

The smile faded, replaced by a pained grimace as his eyes closed briefly. When he opened them again, they glistened in the sunlight.

“And he broke too...and the other one...” Merrick’s voice wavered now, the vulnerability slipping through despite his attempts to hold steady. “They broke him, Elias. Rorke, the war, the weight of it all. I saw it happen, and I couldn’t stop it we failed that since Ajax's death anyway.”

For a moment, the only sound was the wind rustling through the grass, as if the earth itself was listening to his confession. Merrick stood there, unmoving, his gaze locked on the grave as though expecting some kind of answer, some absolution that would never come.

Finally, he straightened, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “I just... I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For all of it. For not being enough.”

The words lingered in the air, carried away by the wind throwing elias ghost mask on his grave getting along with the curves of the rock. Merrick turned, his steps slow and deliberate as he walked away, leaving the grave to bask in the morning light, a silent sentinel to the memory of a man who had given everything—and the sons who had followed in his footsteps.

guess this is the end....

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#call of duty ghosts #cod ghosts #david hesh walker #hesh walker #logan walker #keegan p russ #elias walker #gabriel rorke #thomas merrick #kick cod #kick call of duty #logan walker x reader #david walker x reader #david hesh walker x reader #hesh walker x reader

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wizardofrozz · 2 years ago

Text

Shadow Play

Commander Fox x senator!reader (fem), Senator Farr, Commander Thorn, and mention of Commander Stone

Word Count: ~3.7k

Warnings: NSFW, this is literally just filth, unprotected sex, exhibition, creampie, fluff, Fox being a tease

Summary: Seeing their favorite senator getting wrecked by their commander was certainly not in the Coruscant Guard’s mission briefing for today.

A/N: I finally had the motivation to write some Fox smut thanks to this art. Huge thanks to @homie-one-kenobi for all the encouragement and help editing ❤️ Writing this has reduced me to a puddle so please enjoy 😂

Lights flashed across the rows of seats, making you squint as another Mon Calamari dancer twirled elegantly. You tried to focus on the choreography, praying it would hold your attention but no matter what, you still couldn’t force yourself to enjoy the ballet. Watching it for a third time wasn’t changing your opinion, yet it wasn’t like you could’ve declined the offer. Your eyes flickered to the balcony opposite you, noting Fox’s absence for the fifth time in less than an hour, borderline glaring at the unfortunate Corrie taking his place.

A small part of you hated the poor sentry, his red armor acting as a constant reminder that for the last 21 rotations and 17 hours since Fox left for an off-world assignment, your bed had been cold and empty. Your eyes finally drifted away from the trooper and just barely stopped yourself from rolling your eyes at the small group of senators whispering praises. While you agreed that the performers were exceptional, you couldn’t follow the plot, leaving you to count down the seconds until the next intermission. A small part of you wished that Riyo or Padme were there to make the whole experience a little more bearable.

Years of etiquette training was the only thing that stopped you from jumping out of your seat when a booming voice announced the second intermission. Your aid that was standing near the back of the senatorial box shot you a sympathetic look and you appreciated the gesture even if there was nothing they could do to help. Just as the door was within reach, the faint call of your name had you stopping in your tracks, forcing your expression to remain pleasant.

“Senator Farr,” you greeted, managing a small smile. You had nothing against the Rodian senator, you quite liked him, but you really weren’t in the mood for small talk. You expected him to ask for your interpretation of the ballet only to surprise you when he ushered you into the bustling hall.

“How many more acts are there?” he whispered, leaning in to keep the conversation somewhat private. Your mouth twisted to the side in a poor attempt at hiding your amusement.

“Three,” you replied, chewing on your top lip when Senator Farr’s already large eyes seemed to grow bigger. “I plan to feign a stomach bug for the next two.”

“Will it be any less believable if we both do?” he mused, glancing over your shoulder at the cluster of senators still talking about Act 2.

“Probably more believable,” you snickered, scratching the corner of your mouth to cover your persistent grin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m not feeling well.”

“Hm, now that you mention it,” Farr sighed, his forehead wrinkling in a show of distress that you found quite impressive. He chanced one last look over your shoulder before gently nudging your arm and hurrying toward the bathroom. You allowed yourself a fond laugh before heading in the direction of the lady’s room, making a detour through the nearby door at the last second. The click of your disgustingly uncomfortable shoes was deafening in the silent stairwell, making you pause at the top of the first flight to check no one had followed.

Once you were confident you were in the clear, you took the last flight at a slower pace, contemplating burning the fucking torture devices you called shoes the entire way. You paused one last time at the top of the steps, just to be safe, before slipping through the door at the top. A warm, orangish glow washed over you, melting some of the tension in your neck and shoulders as you stepped into the cupola.

It had been far too long since you’d ventured into the little hideaway, only able to admire the beautiful stained glass windows from afar. Most Coruscant residents had no idea there was even a room atop the opera house, meaning they missed out on one of the most beautiful views. You lazily wandered toward the window, lightly brushing your fingers over the marbled glass, watching the slightly distorted ecumenopolis below. Your original intention had been to find a refuge from the torture of sitting through three more acts but standing there, looking out across the capital world, all you felt was lonely.

The soft whir of the door was lost to your aching heart but there was no mistaking the muted footsteps approaching. Anyone else would’ve felt fear in that moment, yet you only sighed, knowing the taste of solace you found had come to an end. You let your hand linger on the cool glass for another second before dropping it, turning to face the presence lingering off to your left.

For a moment, you were convinced you were hallucinating, that maybe you were sick, when you turned to find a Coruscant Guard member watching you. There was no mistaking the pattern you had sought out in waves of red armor time and time again. He canted his head and it was so painfully familiar, it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you blurted, your manners suddenly tumbling to Coruscant’s surface. Not that he minded.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Fox countered. Just hearing his voice, the unique inflection in his words that set him apart had your shoulders slumping like the marionette strings folding your facade up had been cut. Something between a sob and laugh tumbled past your lips, the sound seemed to break through the barrier Fox built around himself. The second his stance lost some of its rigidity you were moving, throwing your arms around his shoulders. The collision punched a grunt out of Fox but he barely even swayed, catching your weight with ease.

“What are you doing here?” you repeated, the words muffled against his shoulder. It had been three long weeks since you saw him before he went dark for a security detail off-world. Fox smelled of blaster fire, caf, and sweat, a mixture that should’ve had your nose wrinkling, but right then, it was so perfectly him you pressed closer.

“Thought I’d pick up a security shift for a few senators spending the night at the opera,” Fox sighed, pressing the hard edge of his helmet against the side of your head. That had you pulling away, staring into his dark visor. How long had he been back? The question must’ve been written all over your face because Fox laughed, a soft, beautiful sound. “Relax, we landed maybe an hour before it started.”

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” you mumbled, threading your fingers together at the back of his neck.

“I’ll rest when I’m dead,” Fox snorted, pulling you as close as he dared. The bite of plastoid against your body was uncomfortable but you’d take it over his absence any day.

“Drama queen,” you huffed with a fond eye roll. His helmet tipped down and you assumed he was pinning you with a dark glare, something you had never wanted to see more than you did in that moment. You carefully broke the seal, slowly lifting the bright red helmet off, not realizing you were holding your breath. Fox blinked a few times, gently shaking his head, tousling his longer-than-normal curls. But instead of a scowl, you were greeted with a soft smile that melted your heart.

“Hey,” he breathed, gently tracing the curve of your back.

“Stars, I missed you,” you rasped just before surging forward to capture his lips. Fox let out a soft, breathy laugh against your lips before gently cradling the back of your head, and leaning into the kiss. The bitterness of caf lingered on his lips, a taste you shouldn’t have missed seeing that you drank it just as often as Fox, however, it always seemed to taste better this way.

The kiss had started out sweet, a slow and tender brush of lips that made your heart flutter wildly. You intended to pull away until Fox started to knead the back of your neck, molding you against the curve of his chest. Every ounce of fatigue and anxiety you had been holding onto melted away as you coaxed his mouth open. Fox groaned softly, using his hold on your neck to angle your head back with an urgency you weren’t expecting. The shift had your head spinning to the point that you hadn’t realized you were moving until your back met the cool window.

“Missed you too,” Fox mumbled, dragging his lips away from yours to pant against your cheek. “So fucking much.”

“Mm, playing bodyguard for one of my colleagues wasn’t engaging enough,” you teased, carding through his messy hair. Fox nipped at your ear in retaliation, forcing a half-gasp, half-giggle past your lips. He tugged you tighter against his chest, the unforgiving plastoid of his codpiece pressing into your thigh, tempting you with what waited behind it.

“Like any of them could compare to you,” he breathed, nuzzling into your neck with a shallow roll of his hips. Maybe it was because you weren’t used to him being gone for long stretches of time but you were suddenly aching to feel something beyond GAR blacks and rigid plastoid. Fox yelped at the impatient tug on his codpiece, pulling back to dart his eyes between your hand and your face.

“What - what are you doing?” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder. Yet he didn’t try to move your hand, letting you trace the shape at a torturous pace.

“I’m trying to indulge in what I’ve been daydreaming about for weeks,” you huffed, playfully tugging on the clip holding the armor in place. You watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed before his expression shifted, brown eyes somehow growing darker in the low light.

“Right here?” Fox mused, crowding you against the window and pinning your hand in place. Daring you to bow out. “Now what if one of the boys looked up and saw us? How would they feel seeing their favorite senator being ruined by their commander?”

“Fox,” you gasped, closing your fist in his hair, and grinding into the curve of his thigh plate. The idea should’ve scared you, should’ve filled you with a numbing dread at the thought of anyone catching an esteemed senator with a Guard commander. Instead, you clenched around nothing, mouth falling open with your strained pants.

“Oh, you like that, honey,” Fox purred, his gloved hand slipping under the hem of your short skirt. Even through a layer of fabric, his touch left a trail of heat across your skin. The quiet whine that followed the first brush of his fingers over your cunt made him shiver in your grip. “Maker, you sound even sweeter than in my dreams.”

“You - you dream about the s-sounds I make?” you panted, rocking forward in time with the drag of his fingers.

“Oh, I dream about more than that,” he chucked, bumping his nose against yours.

“Care to share?”

“How long do you have?”

“For you?” you whispered, barely brushing your lips against his. “All the time in the galaxy.”

“Is that so?” he mumbled, moving to pepper kisses down the side of your neck. You caught a glimpse of redness high on his cheeks just before a digit sank into you with little resistance. Your cunt clenched around his gloved finger, a strangled moan bursting from your lips as he pumped his finger once. The rough fabric of his gloves never bothered you before but the desperate, clawing need to feel the warmth of his skin had you squirming.

“Take your gloves off,” you all but begged, “please.” You almost wished you hadn’t asked when he slowly, torturously, pulled away. He caught your eye, pinning you in place with a heavy look, never breaking eye contact as he brought his hand toward his face. You had witnessed Fox bring down a mercenary single-handedly after losing his blaster, seen him dissolve a full-fledged riot, and hit what should’ve been an impossible mark without batting an eye. Yet somehow the sight of his tongue curling around the soaked finger of his glove was more electrifying, setting your teeth on edge.

He pinned you in place, closing his lips around his finger; his lashes fluttered, a muffled groan filling the air as he savored your taste. Your lungs suddenly felt too small as you watched the slow drag of his digit over his full bottom lip. Fox was putting on a show, the twinkle in his lust-blown eyes giving him away and you were undoubtedly enjoying every second. A flash of white teeth sinking into the tip of the glove made your breath hitch, your eyes staying glued to the hem of the fabric as Fox tilted his head back, revealing strong, calloused hands.

Fox’s now bare hand came to rest lightly against your chest, following the curve of your body but your focus was zeroed in on the glove dangling from his teeth. He looked far too pleased with himself, a slight smirk lifting the corner of his mouth as he paused, letting you admire the view. The feather-light brush of his fingers over your heated skin jerked you back to reality but your eyes still followed the fabric when he turned his head, letting the glove fall to the floor before turning his attention back to you.

“Better?” he rumbled, brushing through your folds before sinking two fingers into you, his smug grin never fading. Your head bobbed in an almost frantic nod as you tried to bite back a moan. Fox’s smug smile wasn’t helping either.

“Fuck, yes,” you gasped, tightening your grip in his hair. Fox hummed in the back of his throat, lazily pumping his fingers like he had all the time in the world. You were suddenly reminded of your hand placement when he shifted his weight. If your brain didn’t feel like it might leak out of your ears, you would’ve been more impressed with the skillful way you unclipped his codpiece in one swift movement.

“You’re getting too good at that,” Fox groaned, rocking into your hand.

“You only have yourself to blame,” you laughed breathlessly, tracing the shape of his hard length. He surged forward, his finger brushing a devastating spot inside you as his lips slammed into yours, muffling your incoherent cry.

“Will–will you let me,” he stammered between kisses, the sloppy roll of his hips growing rougher, “let me fuck you for all of Coruscant to see?”

“If–fuck–if you don’t–” you warned, trying to sound commanding, but your ability to form words was quickly narrowing to nothing more than curses and Fox’s name. That seemed to be all the permission he needed though as he licked into your mouth again, the hand that had been buried in your cunt coming up to grip your jaw. In a flurry of movement, you were suddenly facing the expanses of Coruscant, Fox’s warmth pressing against your back as he hiked your skirt up, bunching it around your hips.

“Put your hands on the window, honey,” he rumbled, brushing his nose against the shell of your ear. You obeyed without a second thought, bracing both your hands against one of the orange panels; your heart fluttered when one of his large hands filled the space beside yours. “I wonder if I’ll be able to see our handprints every time I pass by.”

The thought that you’d leave behind a reminder, something only you and Fox would know about, had you pushing back into him. He seemed to catch on, unceremoniously tugging his pants down just enough to free his weeping cock, slipping it between your thighs. There was a brief moment where he paused, his tip barely pressing into your folds like he was savoring the buildup before he pushed in. The stretch felt endless, your head falling forward as you panted around soft whimpers until he was fully sheathed.

“Stars,” you chuckled, feeling dizzy with how full you were, “almost forgot how big you are.” Fox’s hips jerked forward involuntarily, punching the air from your lungs. His free hands slowly followed the curve of your waist, catching on the flashy fabric of your outfit, pausing briefly to brush a thumb over your covered nipple. A shiver tore through you when his hand gently curled around your throat, never squeezing, only using his grip as a way to hold you in place.

“Guess I’ll have to remind you,” he growled, pausing long enough for the words to sink in before he moved. The first thrust tested your ability to hold yourself up but Fox barely gave you a moment to steady yourself before he picked up a brutal pace. If you weren’t so high above the bustling crowds, you might’ve been worried about how you cried out, throwing your head back against Fox’s shoulder.

“F-Fox,” you moaned, needing him to hear the desperation pumping through your veins. You mindlessly curled your fingers over the smooth window pane, forcing your eyes open when you met warm skin. Fox’s hand was still braced against the window, your hand half covering his after your frantic scrambling. You were so mesmerized by the sheer size difference that you didn't notice right away when Fox shifted his weight, hitting a spot that made your eyes cross. You blindly grabbed onto the back of his hand, fingers interlacing between his. Fox instinctively closed his hand, pressing your fingertips into the rough skin of his palm. He nuzzled against your cheek, his ragged breathing raising goosebumps along the length of your throat.

“Fuck, you - you feel so good, cyar’ika” he whimpered, pressing a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to your cheek. You were both spiraling out of control, climbing higher and higher with each galaxy-shattering thrust. Fox’s usually composed attitude was long gone, leaving him just as desperate and pleasure-drunk as you were. The heat building under your skin had reached a scalding level but you just couldn’t seem to fall over the edge.

“I– I’m so close,” you whispered, turning your head to try and find his lips. Fox mumbled something you couldn’t quite catch before his hand slid over your chest, coming to rest on your stomach. The pressure of his hand made each punch of his cock somehow more explosive, reminding you both just how deep he was; Fox’s strangled moan overlayed with yours, his hips losing their rhythm.

“Never - fuck - never leaving you behind again,” he panted, leaning heavily against your back to drop his hand lower. Every muscle in your lower half clenched when his fingers brushed your clit, ripping an unusually loud moan from deep in Fox’s chest. The movements of his fingers were sloppy but you were so lost in the blinding pleasure that it didn’t matter. It finally, finally, crested, throwing you over the edge with a cry of Fox’s name as you gushed around him.

It only took three more thrusts before Fox went rigid, burying himself to the hilt with a soft, shaky moan.

Your thoughts cleared slowly, the fog of arousal melting away as you drifted back down to Coruscant. The empty cupola felt oddly quiet without the slap of skin on skin, leaving you to focus on Fox’s slightly labored breathing. Your eyes drifted back to where your hands were still braced against the stained glass, a small smile lifting the corner of your mouth when you noticed that your hand was still wrapped around Fox’s larger one. Flashing speeder lights caught your attention, drawing your gaze to the traffic zipping past the opera house.

“Think anyone saw us?” you wondered absently. Fox laughed, loud and unguarded, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder and the sound alone was enough to make your stomach do a funny little flip.

“We may never know,” Fox snickered, kissing the base of your neck. The deafening chirp of Fox’s comm brought you crashing back to reality, but you did your best to not let your disappointment show when he reached up to tap a button on his vambrace. “Fox.”

“Gotta question for you, Commander,” Thorn said in place of a greeting. Fox propped his chin on your shoulder, humming softly when you let your head drop to the side, resting your temple against his.

“Yes, Thorn.” There was a pregnant pause, your brows pulling together when you swore you heard a muffle laugh through the channel.

“You, uh, wouldn’t happen to be in the opera house’s cupola, would you?” Thorn snickered. Your stomach plummeted to your feet while Fox stiffened behind you. There was no denying it since Fox’s cock was still buried inside you. You tilted your head down, searching for a few dots of red in the sea of creatures, easily finding them near the opera house’s entrance.

“No,” Fox replied stiffly, only making the situation worse.

“Oh really?” a slightly different voice huffed. You glanced to the side, arching a brow in question. Fox rolled his eyes but mouthed, Stone, before returning his attention back to the comm.

“Heya, senator!” Thorn shouted. You only knew it was him because just as the greeting came through, you saw one of the dots with more red paint raise an arm, waving it wildly.

“How’d you know?” Fox grumbled, sounding close to pouting in your opinion.

“We can see your shadows, shit for brains,” Thorn wheezed, barely getting his sentence out between fits of laughter.

“Go do your fucking jobs,” Fox snapped, punching the button to end the call a little too hard. You had managed to keep a straight face throughout the call but you were steadily losing the battle against laughter. “I’m glad you find it funny.”

“I’m surprised you don’t,” you giggled, lightly resting your head against his temple. Fox huffed and hid his face against your shoulder, faintly shaking his head.

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” he groaned, mindlessly squeezing your fingers that were still intertwined with his.

“About getting caught,” you wondered, letting a smirk pull at the corner of your mouth, “or how hot it looked from their perspective?” Fox sounded defeated as he brought your intertwined hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Both.”

Taglist: @techs-feral-wife (thank you for your help too Max ❤️)

#commander fox x reader #commander fox x you #commander fox #coruscant guard #commander fox smut #cc-1010 #star wars #the clone wars #marshal commander fox

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dystopicjumpsuit · 1 year ago

Note

because I’m a greedy ho, may I also request:

the hands. on the waist. oh my god.

with Neyo 👀🫣 do not perceive me pls

A/N: My friend. When I tell you that this awoke me out of a dead sleep in the middle of the night last night. I instantly bumped it to the top of the queue. Who has deadlines? NOT THIS SIMP! Please enjoy, and thank you for the ask!

Pairing: Commander Neyo x Reader (GN)

Rating: T but minors DNI as always

Wordcount: 1,556

Warnings and tags: fluff; minor injury; mention of blood; kissing; Neyo identifies as a warning

Summary: Marshal Commander Neyo takes his favorite medic for a ride. It’s not as sexy as it sounds… or is it?

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

“Commander, we’ve lost contact with CT-2639 on the eastern perimeter.”

Marshal Commander Neyo swiveled his head, pulling away from your hands as you cleaned the cut on his forehead. Head wounds always bled like a mudscuffer, and this one had made an unbelievable mess, but it wasn’t severe enough to be life-threatening. You silently followed his movement, continuing to work as Neyo replied to the trooper.

“Send a BARC trooper to reinforce his position,” Neyo snapped, clearly irritated that the situation had not already been handled several rungs down the command ladder.

“They’re all out on scouting missions, sir,” the trooper said nervously.

Neyo nodded shortly, then turned back to you. “You, medic. Grab a medkit. You’re coming with me.”

It galled you slightly that he hadn’t bothered to learn your name, even though he had refused to allow any of the other medics in the 91st treat him since the first time you’d patched him up months ago, but given that he was one of the highest-ranking clones in the GAR, you weren’t about to call him out.

“Yes, sir,” you replied, quickly sealing the laceration with a spray bandage. Luckily, you were nearly finished treating him before the trooper had interrupted; otherwise, you had no doubt the commander would have simply shoved his bucket back onto his bloody head and jumped on a BARC speeder.

You shrugged the heavy medpack onto your back and followed Neyo to a BARC speeder with an auxiliary stretcher, watching him nervously, dread swirling in your gut.

“Well?” he asked, his tone clipped and impatient.

“I’m not speeder trained, sir. Sorry, sir,” you admitted, hoping that he wouldn’t reassign you to a different unit as he tended to do when his subordinates weren’t up to his frankly unrealistic standards.

His sigh was audible through his helmet’s speaker. “Climb on the back.”

“Sir?” you asked, startled. It was going to be one hell of a tight fit on a speeder designed for one.

“Secure the medpack to the bike and get the kriff on,” he growled. “We don’t have all day.”

“Yes, sir,” you said, snapping rigidly to attention.

You squeezed in behind him, trying very hard not to think about the way his hips pressed your thighs open, or the way his strong back felt against your chest as you wrapped your arms around him and hung on for dear life. The BARC speeder was unbelievably fast, and the landscape whizzed by in a dizzying blur as Neyo expertly navigated to CT-2639’s last known position. The bike turned abruptly, and you unconsciously tightened your arms harder around his torso. He dropped his hand briefly from the controls and settled it over yours, adjusting your position so you gripped his belt instead of the slick plastoid of his chestplate, then raised it back to the handlebar.

The bike slowed as you approached your destination, sweeping the terrain for any sign of the missing sentry. A flash of white and red plastoid at the bottom of a ravine drew Neyo’s eye.

“There.”

The speeder came to a halt, and you jumped off, grabbing the medpack and running to the downed trooper. He was unconscious, but his vitals were strong enough—for the moment—and Neyo helped you stabilize his spine as you carefully transferred and secured the patient to the stretcher on the side of the BARC.

“Bike isn’t powerful enough to carry three,” Neyo said as he mounted the speeder.

You nodded in understanding. “Yes, sir. I’ll make my way back on foot. He needs more care than I can give him here, and the base medics are equipped for it.”

“Negative. Hold position here. I’ll send someone to extract you.”

“Yes, sir.” You hesitated, and Neyo looked up at you, his helmet blocking his expression—not that you’d ever been particularly good at reading the commander’s cold, hard eyes. “What’s his name?”

Neyo was silent for a beat. “Boey.” His helmet tilted as he surveyed you from head to toe, as if suddenly realizing he was about to ditch you in an active war zone without armor or weapons. He handed you his DC-15 and climbed back onto the speeder. “Try not to get killed.”

Luckily, no battle droids appeared to ruin your day. You didn’t have to wait long before you heard the whine of a speeder approaching your position, but you were surprised to see not one, but two BARCs appear, and one of them was the commander himself. He drew to a halt, and you immediately surrendered the blaster to him. The other trooper looked back and forth between you and Neyo, but stayed silent.

“Boey?” you asked.

“He’ll make it,” Neyo replied, sliding forward to make space for you. “Get on.”

You obeyed, feeling very thankful that it was a short trip to the base as you once again straddled Neyo’s hips and tried to think unsexy thoughts.

For kriff’s sake, he doesn’t even know my name. He’s kind of a dick. Why am I like this? Maybe when he reassigns me for not having achieved every single karking qualification in the GAR, I’ll end up in the 212th—if I’m going to have an unprofessional and inappropriate crush on a superior officer, Commander Cody seems like a nice, safe choice. Why do I always seem to go for the dicks? Some mysteries may never be solved.

Neyo started up the speeder and took off at top speed, leaving the other BARC trooper behind to secure the position. Unfortunately for your sanity, it seemed that Neyo had decided to inspect the entire perimeter, because there was no sign of the base anywhere, and the ride seemed interminable. As you gradually became accustomed to the speed of the bike, you tore your eyes away from the center of his back and began to look around at the landscape as you hurtled through the air.

It was actually a beautiful planet, when there wasn’t an active battle going on. Neyo drew the bike to a halt at the edge of a cliff with a stunning view out over the lush forest. He pulled off his helmet and set it on the bike, then dismounted, holding out his hand to assist you off the speeder.

When you met his eyes, they were as hard, cold, and unreadable as ever, and you couldn’t help wondering if he’d decided to just dropkick you off the cliff instead of bothering with the hassle of reassignment paperwork. Well, if this view was the last thing you ever saw, you couldn’t deny that it was breathtaking.

“What is this place?” you asked, unable to keep the awe out of your voice.

“Western perimeter. Cliff provides a natural defense.”

You looked down over the cliff and immediately regretted your decision, feeling dizzy and lightheaded at the distance to the bottom. You swayed dangerously, and Neyo grabbed you by the waist and pulled you back from the edge, your back colliding with his armored chest.

“Damn, that’s a… hell of a drop,” you managed to say.

“Mm-hmm,” he agreed, his voice low and close to your ear.

You couldn’t resist asking, “Is this where you dispose of medics who don’t know how to ride speeders?”

“What?” You felt his head turn as he observed you closely. “Why the kriff would I expect a medic to be BARC speeder certified? Do you know how much training BARC troopers have?”

You cleared your throat, trying not to dwell on how very, very close he was; or the deep, quiet rumble of his voice next to your ear; or the way his hands still rested on your waist. “So… you’re not going to reassign me?”

“I should,” he said quietly.

Your heart plummeted and your stomach twisted. You stared down at the ground in front of you, desperately trying to hide your embarrassment and disappointment.

One of his hands slid forward, flattening over your belly and pulling your body back against him. You felt the rough fabric of his glove move softly across your jaw as he tilted your face toward him with his other hand. His thumb brushed your lips, and then his hand drifted down to rest at the base of your throat, your pulse racing wildly beneath the gentle pressure.

“I shouldn’t—” His lips were so close to yours that you felt his breath ghost over your skin as he spoke. “—with a subordinate…”

You couldn’t tear your gaze away from his mouth. It was all you could see as you whispered, “You’re a marshal commander. Everyone is your subordinate.”

He drew a shallow breath, but made no move to close the tiny distance between you. The moment stretched out unbearably, until at last you could no longer resist the temptation. The tip of your tongue barely grazed the corner of his mouth before he snapped, crashing his lips into yours, clutching your body against his as though, if he only held you tightly enough, he could feel your warmth through the cold, unyielding plastoid of his armor. He kissed you with a passion that left you breathless and reeling, and when at last his lips parted from yours, he nuzzled your face gently as he whispered your name.

“Wait…” you breathed. “You know my name?”

For the first time since you’d met him, Neyo smiled. “I’ve always known.”

---

Want some spicy Neyo content? Check out my fics Everybody Hates Neyo Part 1 and Part 2!

#commander neyo #commander neyo x reader #neyo x reader #star wars #clone wars #star wars fanfiction #clone wars fanfic #ask fic #dystopicjumpsuit writes

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glittergelpensblog · 1 year ago

Text

In the Dark (II)

Eventual Azriel x Reader

Witch!Reader Word Count: 2,122 Summary: You were a witch made into High Fae by your family, kidnapped by the King of Hybern. After he attempts to use your power, you are saved by the Night Court Warnings: Kidnapping, murder, canon violence, graphic descriptions of death, torture, fire, scars, mentions of SA, but nothing happens to reader, panic attack, please let me know if I missed anything! Note: Finally some Azriel interaction!

Prologue Part I

The fire was too much.

You tossed and turned into the sheets, unable to find any position that was comfortable enough to lull you to sleep.

Perhaps you should’ve told Amren, but your pride shoved your voice down. She wouldn’t understand, and if she did, you didn’t want to confront her pity filled face.

The fire that had burned your home, the smell of burning flesh, the screams of your people being burned alive.

It was too much, too recent, and it was dragged into the present by conjuring your magic in that form.

Perhaps that was why she did it, a way to make you stronger, face your past.

But by the Mother, you would’ve given anything to try to conjure your magic in a different form, any form, in the thousands of ways you could wield your power.

Pure magic was what you were cursed with. Magic that you could bend to your will, take any form. Fae had been trapped to gifts passed down through blood, taking form in healing, bending water, or even the darkness of night as Rhysand’s power had manifested.

It was magic one could kill for.

You shivered at the thought, and then shoved it down.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You got no sleep.

You looked at the sunrise from the garden of the townhouse, the orange and the pink on the horizon blending into the purple that eventually kissed the blue from the leftovers of night. The last of the stars were beginning to twinkle out, and you swear you had never seen stars that shone so bright before.

“You missed breakfast.” Azriel stepped onto the patio, softly closing the door.

You turned to face him, a gust of winter wind biting straight through the leathers that had been left on your dresser the night before. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself as your eyes met Azriel’s.

“Yeah,” You muttered. “I didn’t want to get sick before training.”

“Sick?” Azriel raised an eyebrow, and heat filled your cheeks at the question.

“I wasn’t really… fed in the dungeons.” You looked down at your boots. “It’s been hard to keep anything down after barely eating for months.”

“We have a healer,” Azriel stepped closer to you, the warmth of his body reaching yours. You almost flinched at it, how little distance there was between you. “She can make you a tonic, to help with the nausea.”

You were still looking down, your gaze brought to his hands, covered in whirls of scars, almost as if they were burned.

No, they were burned.

The flames flashed in your mind, the heat kissing your face, the screams of people, the burning flesh–

“Are you alright?” Azriel stepped even closer to you, you were almost touching, the guard was touching–

Your breathing quickened, shallow frantic breaths, and you felt your magic bubble, going up to the surface, up up up.

Azriel gently took your hand, and you squeezed your eyes shut. It was him, it was that nasty sentry–

“Don’t touch me,” You rasped, your knees almost buckling beneath you as you took a step back. “Please, please.”

Azriel’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening, the smell of fear rolling off you in waves, felt the rumble of power as you shook.

You are not weak. You are not weak. You are not–

“Y/N, it's Azriel, you're not there anymore. You’re in Prythian, you’re not in Hybern.”

You couldn’t hear him, you couldn’t hear anything over the screaming, your family, your aunt, your nephew, the crackling of wood, the shattering glass–

A hand was on your shoulder, and the power, you couldn’t stop it. “I said don’t touch me.” You shoved against a chest at the word, your power shooting behind it.

You heard a grunt, and rumble of a male as he was slammed against the far wall of the patio. The ground shook from the force, and you opened your eyes.

Bright morning from the sunrise, the harsh winter breeze, and the smell of jasmine filled your senses.

And to the wall was Cassian, currently being helped up by a wide-eyed Azriel.

Cassian, he must’ve come outside, to investigate the surge of power–

“Oh my god,” You rasped, rushing over to the males. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Now imagine what that can do on a battlefield.” Cassian's eyes met yours, and there was no pity, no fear. Just amusement and that cocky grin he constantly wore.

“Are you hurt?” You were now kneeling by him, peeling his head from the brick wall.

“No, Y/N, I’m fine.” Cassian assured, stretching out his wings as he stood up.

“I don’t believe you.” You stood on your tiptoes, your fingers examining the back of his head once again. You were proven correct when blood met your fingertips.

“Oh, mother,” You gasped, as you stepped away turning to Azriel. “The healer.” You stated, your voice firmer. “You said there was a healer, where is she?”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The world was miles beneath you.

Beautiful, long, distant miles. Azriel banked, the force of the wind ripping your braid free.

“Are you okay?” He spoke over the wind. He seemed hesitant to fly you himself, but Cassian’s wings were still healing, and it wasn’t worth the risk for him to carry you.

“Yes,” You breathed, “It’s– perfect.”

The world was nothing but a map beneath you.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, his voice almost a whirl of the wind itself.

You looked up from the land beneath you, meeting Azriel’s gaze through your locks flying in the wind. You didn’t dare let go of his shoulders to push the hair back.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” You stated, “I was the problem. It wasn’t you, I wasn’t scared of you. It was…”

You swallowed your pride, as if you hadn’t already been destroyed earlier. Leashing your magic out on a man trying to help you.

Pathetic.

“I was back there. In my village. And it wasn’t you touching me, it was that damn Hybern sentry, Aruhn. The thought of him being there, of his hands on me, I just…”

His eyes hardened, “Did they, did they ever–”

“No, not like that.” You swallowed, not wanting him to finish his sentence, to say the one thing you were spared from. “Aruhn specialized in torture, but no, never that.”

He heaved a sigh, and his eyes softened.

“I should be the one apologizing,” You said, glancing at Cassian flying to your left, and he gave no indication as to whether or not he was listening to your conversation. “I couldn’t contain my power, couldn’t control myself. What happens next time? When will I take it too far?”

“That’s what the training is for.” Azriel assured. “Not just with us, but with Amren, also. She may be… harsh. But she knows what it's like. To wield power in an unfamiliar body.”

And unfamiliar yours was. You had barely been a fae for a few months before Hybern came to take you. The sneers of your village did nothing to help you accept your elongated limbs, your pointed ears.

“And you?” You asked, “Cassian told me most Ilyrians needed one siphon to harness their power. He said that when you’re in battle, you wear seven.”

“Mine is a different story than Cassian’s.” He stated, flying lower to the streets of the city, “I started training a lot older than most Illyrians start.”

“I think that makes your story more similar to mine, then.”

Azriel landed softly on the cobblestone street, before gently guiding you to stand from your spot curled in his chest. You shivered in the absence of his warmth in the winter morning.

“I guess it does.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Azriel took note of every step you took as Cassian guided you to Madja’s healing quarters.

The trip was useless, as Cassian’s head wound had most likely healed on the flight there, but the sheer determination in your eyes when you demanded the male see a healer kept every arguing word from leaving his mouth.

And even if Cassian needn’t be healed, at least you were doing something other than trying to control that unworldly power.

It had been almost a week and a half since Hybern, and all you had done was sit in the living room with Amren, conjuring your power. And when you weren’t doing that, you were reading with her, learning of the history and inner workings of Prythian. Unsurprisingly, living in a secluded village with distaste for Fae, you knew nearly nothing of the history. Just exaggerated stories of the abuses of magic and your kind.

What was once your kind.

How did you handle it, being the one creature hated by everyone around you? Nevertheless, being made into the one you were raised to fear? Azriel’s chest ached at the history similar to his. To be hated by all around you, left with no family, to be feared by everyone because of a rare but deadly gift.

And Hybern of all people had found it, probably using the very Cauldron he dipped Feyre’s sisters into.

And he had tortured you for months, trying to break you until you did his bending. A weapon of no other by his side.

What would you think of him once you knew his job was to do the same? Not just the spymaster, but one who carved up men just as it had been done to you? How sometimes, when the torturing went too far, he would revel in the pain of those at his hands.

For the first time in almost 200 years, the thought of torturing someone made his stomach churn.

You turned around to look at him, hair still wind blown and cheeks still red from the flight. And while Azriel was keeping an eye on you for any spouts of anxiety in the bustling city, your eyes were shining bright, and a small smile graced your lips.

Azriel remembered it too, his first visit to Velaris. His first time seeing life outside of the Illyrian mountains and Windhaven. The awe of the happy city, the joy of its citizens as they milled about their day.

Maybe this was what you needed, to be out in the world, to see life, rather than being cooped up in the townhouse all day. Azriel tucked away the thought for later.

He gave you a reassuring smile before you turned around and followed Cassian into the healers quarters.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

While Azriel didn’t say it, you knew from the look in his eyes that he thought a trip to the healer was useless.

But you didn’t think it was, as you watched Madja patch together the small remnants of the wound on Cassian’s head, taking note of the way her magic patched him back together.

And after that, you watched how she made a quick inspection of his wings, noting the differences she spoke of that showed the healing of them, and sneakily swirled out an invisible strand of your magic, just as Amren taught you, and examined her power with your own. Whether or not the healer felt what you were doing, she didn’t say anything.

If you could truly bend your magic into any form, then you were sure you could use it for healing, and that the power would be useful if Hybern truly wanted war.

If you could use your magic to heal, not hurt.

The ride up to the House of Wind was just as cold as earlier, your re-braided hair whipping behind you.

“So you had other intentions of seeing Madja other than Cassain?”

He really doesn’t miss a thing.

“Of course,” You feigned, meeting the Shadow Singer’s eyes, “You said she could make me a tonic for nausea.” Indeed, in the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Azriel’s neck, you clutched the tonic and a tin of salve for sore muscles–one that Cassian stated you would need after today with a wink.

“I am the Spy Master for a reason, you know. I saw how you watched Madja, and my shadows could sense your magic.”

You swallowed at his words. Were you truly that much of a threat? That Azriel constantly had to monitor your magic? Why had they even taken you in? Just so that Hybern didn’t have you as a weapon?

You kept your face cool. “If my magic can turn into anything, it can turn into healing. I might as well learn to clean up the messes that I make.” You shot a glance at Cassian.

“Y/N, that could’ve happening to anyone learning–”

“Not everyone is as powerful as me.”

Azriel didn’t reply as he neared the house, shooting down for the training ring.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tag list: @lizziesfirstwife @waytoomanyteenagefeels @starryhiraeth @knmendiola @bionic-donut @caosfanblr @lena-davina @starriestarlight @younxii @starsdoulikedem @lucyysthings @esposadomd @naturakaashi @carolinaflicker @missusbarnes-rogers @vlysseve @lollipop974 @whydohumansss @spaxxxi @graciereads @dumb-sailor-jay @jesssicapaniagua @we-were-beautiful @judig92 @littlemisslovestoread @toriluvsfics @nightless @cassiefromhell @in-luvais @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @poshestpigeon @alainabooks143 @princesslolaasworld @thelov3lybookworm @vickykazuya @fussel9913 @hayley-jadee @cleverzonkwombatsludge @hereticdance @kodokunarisu-blog @alainabooks143 @forsiriussake @fussel9913 @marvelouslovely-barnes @blurredlamplight @i-am-infinite @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @the-hidey-hole @amieinghigh @rorel1a @microwaveallthedemons

#acotar #acotar imagine #azriel #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acomaf

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midnight-proxi · 28 days ago

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.:Ŧħɇ ⱣłȺǥᵾɇ:.

.:Infected Doctor Strange x Gn!Reader:.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I been having brain rot of Marvel Zombies lately as I bought a book called The Hunger: A Marvel Zombies Novel and I always see it at my local bookstores and I never bother to get it until now. I only read the short preview pages of the book on google to have a sense of plot that is going on but I'll be making up as I go with this. However, I did read the original story run of Marvel Zombies (2005), Marvel Zombies: Resurrection, Zombies Assemble and bits of Marvel Zombies: Black, White and Blood. Anyway, I'll be trying to connect the story plot from Original run of Marvel Zombies (2005) and try to link them to Marvel's What If: Season 1 Episode 5. Hope you enjoy it! If you guys want me to make a full series, let me know and I'll try to make it happen. As mention, it's a bit of 18+ as I'm writing this as a really short story than a full length version. I might even rework on the Yandere Strange Supreme x Reader fic as well as that need a renew and repolish.

Yes, there are some errors here as I'm slowly trying to correct them as I was half asleep writing this and posted it xD

Warning: foul language, mention of gore, blood, and of course, zombies eating the uninfected. For now, this will be 17+ as I'll be describing graphic details somewhere! You all have been warn and enjoy...

Summary: A flash of purple light bursting upon the skies of New York when a strange being descended down to Earth. Little did they know when their world will soon crumble. It was no surprise when the reader’s day off turned into a nightmare straight out from a horror movie. The person who may know the incident is their partner, Doctor Strange. But little did they know something felt off about him…

Word count: 2,724

Oh god. Oh god! Oh God!

It was all you could think in your mind; you were not preparing for this. Nobody is. The sounds of screams echo through the streets of New York, civilians running and trampling away from the horde of superheroes who turned into zombies. Nobody knew where the virus came upon or where it originated from as little info from the news saying patient zero: Sentry was the cause of this horrific event causing the heroes to go on rampage eating and shredding the civilians into pieces. This plague. This virus. This hunger consumes anything that comes in contact.

In panic scrambling to reach for your phone from your jean pocket, you try to contact your friends and loved ones through text or calling if they are all right or at least in a safe haven. 'Shit no signal' you thought to yourself running, trying to push anyone to make your way towards the Sanctum Sanctorum. Praying to Vishanti, the others are okay and even your partner, Stephen. Pushing the doors open to the Sanctum and quickly shut it and lock them. Trying to catch your breath against the door, still hearing the cars crashing and screams from outside; however, the Sanctum felt a bit anonymous but more eerie than it should be.

"Hello? Is anyone here" you called out from the main entrance near the grand staircase. No answer. "Wong?”

“Stephen?” Still no answer. The silence eerie creeped over the Sanctum, taking a deep breath as you quickly walked over the kitchen hoping someone is occupied. Taking a quick peek at the entrance towards the kitchen, scanning the room looked a bit normal except for some cut vegetables on the cutting board and unsupervised pot boiling over the stove top. Without a second though you quickly turn off the knob, what puzzled you was unusual for Wong to leave anything on even if he did use magic. Moving your way out from the kitchen walking towards the stairs to the upper floor without taking a moment over the other side of the stove was a trail of blood on the floor, on the wall formed a bloody handprint left behind by someone unknown.

Searching each room on the upper floor including the main bedroom where you and Stephen shared but nothing seemed out of place. Closing the door behind you as you quickly walked down the long hallway towards the other staircase led to grant room where all the artifacts were displayed and where the big window of Vishanti’s protection spelled is found. Taking a few steps into the room when you spotted some of the glass cases shedder with some of the artifacts scattered or destroyed, taking much further in to grab the artifacts and place them back into their display cases when you notice blood covered in one of the staff. Leaning closer to the spot as it was freshly printed, did a struggle occur here before you arrived? Did someone or something attack Stephen and Wong? So many questions clouded your mind when you hear a noise of a soft groan echo from around the room snapped you out from your trans, not knowing where the sound was coming from as you looked around the room. Still gripping on the staff in your hand as you make your way to the noise, keeping on your guard in case something comes out and jumps at you.

Another few steps when another groan echoed in the room with the groan got a bit louder, but a new sound came into the mix. A loud squish noise if someone pour out the last few drops of ketchup onto a plate as you walk a bit closer to it. Whatever it was might be a stray, or an extraterrestrial stray just crashed into the Sanctorum. “Please be a stray. Please be a stray” you repeated yourself quietly as you try to steady your breathing.

Nearly slipping through your verses looking down on your feet noticing more blood trail before your feet, unsteadying your breath as shadow flies toward gripping below your waist nearly knocking you off balance almost slip from the blood trail. Slowly looking below your waist was a red fabric clinching on to you, knowing who it is. It was Cloak gripping you tightly as they tried to pull you into your feet. “Cloak! I’m so glad to see you” you said excitedly. “Do you know where Ste- “

Before you finish your sentence, Cloak tries to pull you away, preventing you from going any further. You gently tugged them away from your waist, pulling them to the side but it quickly grabs your left arm. “Cloak, I know you want to leave this place but right now, I need to find Wong and Stephen. They might know what’s going outside” you said tried not to raise your tone.

Poor Cloak desperately tries to pull you away as your curiosity prevents you from seeing whatever the sound and broken displays cases prevent the mess in the room. A couple of steps further in the room, a whiff of an unpleasant odor struck your nostrils, covering with one of your hands when you spotted a figure about 10 feet away from you, hunched down on eating something off the floor, could be animal its eating. Taking a few more steps when you saw something that made your eyes widen a bit, it looks more human than animal as a ray of purple lightning flashes through the window to brighten up the room with the humanoid quickly dashed away. In your horror your eyes widen even more seeing your friend Wong on the floor with his lower half eating away with his guts oozing out from his stomach with blood surrounding the falling hero. You quickly rushed towards him as Cloak lets go of your arm to his aid, knowing he was beyond responding with no pulse, falling to your knees not caring about his blood soak on your jeans. Gently caressing his cheek as of you falling friend as tears slowly form from your eyes, what kind of sick creature killed him this way. Cloak floats towards you as it wraps itself around your shoulder comforting you expressing its sorrow of his friend.

The sound of heavy boots erupts fills the empty room as it stops midway towards you. “Y/n?” the faint voice called out.

You quickly stood up from the familiar voice with Cloak on edge trying to pull away from the figure, you tried to calm it by gently brushing the fabric, but Cloak didn’t like the idea for you to take a closer towards the figure. “Stephen?” you said quietly trying to make out the figure in front of you.

The figure didn’t say anything but nodded to its name as it slowly extended their arms out for you as invite you to embrace them but the little voice in your head says otherwise. Telling you to step away from the being and leave, you called its name once more. “It is really you Stephen?” you said once more gripping on the staff.

The figure took a closer step to the light for a better light, it was indeed him! Your partner, Stephen Strange! His robe looked a bit damaged and ripped with his front side covered bits of blood and some scratch marks in his hands and face; however, he looked in bad shape after a battle, but something was a bit off as your conscience keeps telling you. You quickly rushed towards him dropping the staff on the ground with Cloak still hanging on your shoulders giving him a big hug as a sigh of relief to see your partner. “Stephen, I’m glad you’re okay! I tried to find you all over the sanctum, as something wrong with the heroes as they’re eating the civilians, and I couldn’t find you and Wong...” you said as tears started to fall from your cheeks. “Oh Wong... I don’t know what happened to him as something killed or….”

Stephen didn’t say anything as he wipes some of your tears from his bloody hands, placing your hand over his feeling his present welcome but something felt off about him but not sure if it’s the aura or the felt of blood from his hands felt unnormal. You scan over Stephen notice a hole in his right arm that looks like a bite mark, a human bite mark deepen into his skin. Your eyes widened to realization as you quickly pointed it the bloody mark. “Stephen, your arm! Did something bite you? We have to get you clean up!” you said in a panic, but Stephen dismissed it as it just a demonic creature bite him during a battle earlier.

He moved one his hand to caress your soft hair wrapped around his fingers, your skin looked so divine, casting from the light it shine and how sweet you must taste, Cloak sense something was off with the Doctor as it quickly yanks you away from him nearly fell backwards almost falling on top of them. “Cloak! What are you doing?” you yelled at the floating cape.

Cloak flaps with their ends signaling to you something wrong, very wrong with Stephen, he’s not his usual self. “What do you mean he’s not normal, Cloak?”

“How rude for Cloak to interrupt our sweet reunion but, I have to take you away from here to a safer place” Stephen said trying not to alarm you. “We better gear up in case they come. We must hurry before the others come and find us.”

Stephen turns his back at you, signaling Cloak to return to him, but they didn’t budge as they were clinging on your shoulder. You quickly grab the staff you had in your hand earlier as you concentrate with little magic you learn from Stephen as the end of the staff quickly turns into a blade. “Stephen, did you get bitten?” you asked pointed the blade at your partner. “Answer me!”

Stephen didn’t want to face you covering his wound in his right arm taking a small breath. “Before the chaos started, I went out to investigate after I sense something awful is going to happen in the middle of New York after we both saw a flash erupting at the sky. I told Wong to stay on guard at the sanctum once I returned. I quickly flied to investigate from a far when I saw the Avengers beat me to it but notice something was off when Sentry started to attack them, biting them, and scratching their flesh only to my horror when they attack the civilians and eating them.”

“I tried to hurry back to the sanctum, but I got sidetracked to save some of the civilians from the Avengers when out of nowhere, Venom came by to attack me on the roof tops. I tried casting spells on this maniac who attacked me but none of my magic won’t turn him back to normal. He quickly use his symbotic web to attach me against the wall, just as I before I could cast my spells; he…. He…”

Before he could finish his story unexpectedly, he quickly laughed, a wicked laugh made you jump a bit as you’re not used to it yet alone from Stephen. He quickly turns to face you with a wicked smile on his face like he’s ready to strike you, play with you until you’re off guard, you taken a few steps back from him, but Stephen follows you with every step. “Oh Y/N. My sweet Y/N. I wish you didn’t find out this way, I could of spare your life at least unlike Wong, he was exceedingly difficult to purse him” Stephen said with wicked grin. “At least he died with dignity.”

“You ate him! You ate Wong, you fucking psychopath!” you yelled at him with tears streaming down once more.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. This hunger, I couldn’t control myself when I ate him. He screamed in agony! Telling me to stop…. Oh god...” The feeling of guilt took over as he suddenly fell down onto his knees, distracting himself of him eating his friend, you quickly ran away from him running to the halls away from your sick partner. Turning to the halls with so many doors but you didn’t have time to stop and decide as you quickly open a door closest to you and quickly went inside closing the door behind you. A cold breeze blows through your body with Cloak trying to cover you; you looked around a frozen winter wonderland as you quickly ran through the plane hoping to find a door to get out of this place. You curse at yourself for not grabbing a sling ring to open portals like Wong told you few months ago to keep. Out of nowhere, a portal slowly opens as you dash away from the portal at least to get a far distance away from him. Stephen jumps out from the portal seeing you making your getaway, he chuckles as he open another portal to your location trying to grab you but in a nick of time, Cloak pulls you away and quickly flies away from his formal master.

Stephen casts a spell to capture you, but Cloak tries to dodge it to get to the door before Stephen cast another spell. Quickly open the entrance as you make your way to another door in the far left as you open the door; you saw a room filled with bones. Piles of Bones with skeleton walking among the skulls but you quickly shut the door before hearing Stephen’s voice calling out to you and run to the end of the hallway. “Y/N, you can’t hide away from me for too long, my dear” he called out.

Searching for any kind of room to catch your breath until you randomly open a door and quickly close behind you, you cast a small light only to see some boxes piling on one side, another was some bookshelves, and another side were some old antique furniture. You quickly hide squeezing your way between a bookshelf and an old display counter, you cast a small disguise spell to blend in with environment. Letting go of your weapon next to you as you steady your breath, wrapping your legs close to your chest with Cloak wrapping you tightly, praying someone could come and rescue you away from this nightmare. You pray this entire incident is just a nightmare and you’ll wake up in your shared bedroom with Stephen. Your normal Stephen. You heard sizzling from a portal opening, hearing those heavy boots you knew he’s here and he’s hungry…

“Y/N, come on out. I know you’re here; I can still smell the stench of Wong’s blood on your clothes,” said Stephen scanning the room. “I won’t eat you; I promise. I’ll lock you somewhere safe away from me until I find a cure for this virus…”

Hearing his voice made you shake to the core, covering your mouth trying not to make a sound feeling him getting closer to your hiding spot. Tears started to form again praying to Vishanti he won't find you and let him leave, he couldn’t be able to find you as quickly opens the door and leaves the room. You felt a sigh of relief that he didn’t find you; letting go of your hiding spot to check if the coast is clear. Cloak unhooked themselves from your shoulder to search the room before you could leave the room, another sigh of relief as you quickly got up from your spot with to be safe. Oh, how wrong you felt when a pair of arms quickly wraps you covering your mouth before screaming for Cloak to come back. Stephen hushed as you tried to wiggle yourself free from his grasp, but he quickly held you still, licking your skin with more tears started to come out. “Hush now my love, there’s no need to shed any more tears as this will be over soon enough. I’ll make sure to end this quickly and soon enough, you’ll understand this plaque. This beautiful gospel. This hunger…”

Before you know it, everything turned black as the sound of your muffle screams echo through the Sanctum Sanctorum…..

A/N: It's been awhile since I done a post anything in this account. Thank you all for sticking around even though I don't post anything here since my last fanfic/incorrect quotes. I know I'm slowly getting back into fanfic as I'm busy doing drawings for my main account and trying to finish up my school as I'll be graduating in Spring 2026! I wanted to create something of a horror Marvel fic for awhile back in October. Yes I know Halloween is over but I'm mentally there and I don't care if I put up my Halloween decorations; if people can put their Christmas stuff up until February, so can I! Anyway, I been going back and forth with my fandoms lately and I'm getting back to Marvel once again. I know shocker! That's what I get for being a multi-fandom and getting back into a fandom until something happens. Just like I did with Marvel's What If? All I could say it wasn't as good at the first season and bits of season 2.

#marvel #doctor strange supreme #stephen strange #doctor strange #marvel fanfiction #Marvel Zombies #doctor strange x reader #xreader #Marvel characters x Reader #gn reader #Horror fanfic #Spotify #Sorry everyone leaving you guys a cliffhanger xD

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barbieaemond · 1 year ago

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A snake in the bosom (teaser)

Moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: Prince Regent Aemond x Lady!reader

WARNINGS: darkish Aemond, angst, semi public sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex (more to be added)

Author’s note: Aemond brain rot is brain rotting. Based on that scene from the trailer. Coming soon!!

SNEAK PEAK

The skies rumble as they always do when preluding a storm. But it’s different this time.

The thunder echoes in your chest, slides through your ribs and then rattles them to break free. A warning, the Gods’ way to seal what cannot be undone. They greet this new day, this new order, with blinding lightnings. The Wood seems bathed by the early morning light, and yet the owls will soon resume their sentry task on the branches of these ancient trees.

A new flash forces you to look up and you think you can see them, the Seven, leaning out from their perches, pointing a finger at a woman like any other, with her bowed head, devoted to obedience, and her tight corset to choke to death any desire.

And you did.

You stopped lingering on the delicacy of long white fingers turning pages, on white knuckles around a sword, rippling with veins, blue and green as snakes crawling underneath.

Not looking didn't do much good.

It shouldn’t and it will never.

The throne is empty, the Kingdom has no ruler. But the Gods are snickering, with thrill and dread.

Not for long.

FULL FIC HERE

#once a teaser always a teaser #liv(in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fic #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #dark aemond #aemond smut #hotd fic

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ms0milk · 2 years ago

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𝟕 | 𝐇𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"Caramel hathos fills your mouth when red eyes let you breathe again."

cw remember when i told you to trust me? angry bkg, angry y/n, shouting, some manhandling. repeated use of "sir" nonsexually though bkg does briefly take pleasure in your power imbalance. y/n's patience is unmatched bless her heart. civil teammates -> enemies. my favorite closing lines ive ever written 2.1k

this chapter officially concludes a hymn to black water part 1, thank you for reading this far with me! and have no fear, part 2 will begin next week :) can't take a break from this story who am i kidding it's just getting good

PREV | M.LIST | TAGLIST | NEXT

She’s been terrorizing you for the better part of the evening. Doctor Chiyo Shuzenji, Takoba’s infamous: Recovery Girl. An evening meant to be spent finding clothes and dinner and Prince Bakugou’s guest chambers so that you could take up sentry outside of his room.

How could you begin to thank him? Declarations and taken knees occupy the gray space in your brain between constant kisses and ramblings about antivenom. You’re held hostage on hospital linens with thoughts of protective canonfire rage.

“And when I got back– poof! Injured Alderans keep me up all night, I leave for one blessed hour, and come back to six empty beds.”

There’s nothing you can say to appease the doctor as a plate of tea sandwiches is thrust into your lap and the kisses begin again. Your companions were moved to their permanent rooms sometime in the throne room-interim and you were just as surprised to come back to a hospital empty of their warmth as you were to hear such a commanding voice come out of such a tiny woman. Shuzenji's magic bubbles at the surface of your skin like it would be comforting if she wasn’t so agitated.

“How you even managed to stay conscious is– it’s– you’re lucky the adrenaline didn’t course the poison straight to your heart! And the prince! Summoning you from the hospital of all places–”

“My prince?” You interrupt with half a mouth full of bread.

She shakes her head, “The little Todoroki.”

“I thought I was summoned by the queen?”

“My queen is not so stupid.”

You submit to treatment again quietly and nurse the plate of food Shuzenji had rushed from the kitchens for you. Was Prince Todoroki in the crowd today? Does he look like his mother? Spiderlace has webbed across your image of the queen and naught but her thin silver hair can be seen behind it.

The doorknob jumps as the doctor pours herself into your discharge instructions, and when she thinks the champion is the one trying to sneak inside again she huffs at the opening door,

“Mr. Eijirou, if you interrupt this examination one more time–”

It felt cruel to make Kirishima watch so you told him to go find his room and something to eat after he escorted you back upstairs. You told him that you would be perfectly fine for the night. He poked his head inside every now and then when you made a particularly loud yelp at the doctor’s prodding, but left to go find dinner an hour ago. He even said goodnight and slipped your halberd inside by candlelight.

“Kirishima, really I’m–”

“Eh?”

The grunt opening the door doesn’t match the person you thought had been knocking, and not only that. Instead of Kirishima, and his big soft worry, the prince emits a cloud of vex so thick that you taste metal. He mouths confusion at the scene.

“Perfect timing Katsuki, you’re next.” Shuzenji beckons him inside from her seat at your bed. He closes the door again wordlessly.

Chasing Prince Bakugou down a Takoban hallway is not going to make it into your daily report, partly because it’s indecent, and mostly because there’s no proper way to recall hunting a prince like game sport.

“Highness, please wait!” Chasing though, is a generous description. You’re more just walking quickly and rather close behind.

As doctor Shuzenji tried to hobble after him, images of the prince hurling diplomats flashed in vivid memory and you sat the old woman back in her seat. You wouldn’t put it past him to launch tiny old women someplace very far away indeed.

“My prince, please–”

“Please what,” Bakugou growls when you’ve finally pushed him past the shallow threshold of avoidance and squarely into confrontation. You couldn’t drown in the shoals of his patience for how very dry they are.

When he stops marching and turns to you his shoes catch sparks before his words do, “You are not my guard and certainly not my companion– leave me be or die.” And the honesty of his violence stalls your image of protection.

The chase has taken you from the hospital wing and into that wide foyer under skylights and for hours now the moon above has effortlessly outshone candles. Competing lights illuminate only white marble and a blue hallway runner, with no other decoration to fight over but the two of you standing in front of each other.

“The doctor,” you slow down fast enough to leave the prince a wide berth but still stumble over words in remembering names, “she– Shuzenji needs to finish her examination. I’m–”

“No one needs anything from me, least of all you.”

Why is he upset? When the prince snaps at you, as he has done a hundred little times over the past few days, he makes a point to swell. He thinks he’s very clever. He’ll dip his chin into the modest curve of your body and tower over you, as if you aren’t already trying as hard as you can to make him feel big.

“It’s important that the doctor sees you, sir.” One of his red eyes twitches a bit by the brow when you call him sir, and you add it to the list of things you’ve done to piss him off, “Please come with me.”

The prince settles with his hands in his pockets, “And if I don’t?” He’s on the precipice of a smirk when he continues, “Are you gonna make me?”

Did Doctor Shuzenji let you chase after him because the headache might kill her? “No,” you frown, “of course not.”

The moon is so bright through the windows above you that the candles can only throw limp shadows across the subtle bones of Bakugou’s cheeks. He doesn't up straight. His broad shoulders round in on you in a generous size difference as you attempt to avoid the eye contact he hates so much. He cocks his head. There are no clocks or bells inside the castle and still the oppressing awareness of time makes you feel as if you are running out of it; fifteen years crush you under their weight in a second. Fifteen years living together in Aldera castle and only two conversations to show for it. Three, if this game he’s playing counts as conversation.

“Go to bed then.” The prince still manages to look menacing in white linen and woolen slippers and he throws words like dung, “Go anywhere away from me.”

When he turns around to skulk back into the dark you don’t mean to say anything at all and you’re sure you don’t. You’re sure you’re only staring after him- watching his earrings catch the last of the moonlight before turning down a dark corridor.

“Why did you come back?”

Bakugou is also sure you didn’t just speak up again, but still he stalls under an archway and creaks his neck back to you all the same. Your question hangs in the stretch of white hall.

You’re hungry, you are delusionally hungry and drunk on Shuzenji’s magic because nothing under heaven, not even the end of the world, could possess you to to pick a fight with this man, and you must have been drugged or, or you’re still exhausted or wounded, anything. The prince is advancing on you now because of course he is.

He’s charging. He growls so low it’s almost a whisper, “Stand at attention.”

Bakugou doesn’t leave any space between you when he approaches this time. His hair has been knocked into every direction gravity will let it fly, but mostly it falls over menacing red eyes and beads of blood between sharp tooth and bitten lip. Jeanist really deserves a medal; even three-hundred miles away, he is right as always. Staring is an incorrigible habit of yours.

“You get concussed in that crowd?” The prince’s voice is still bitingly quiet when he thrusts a palm against your collar to test how much pressure you’ll withstand before failing his orders to stay still. Your dragonbone broach digs into your chest.

“Please excuse me.”

There’s no way to tell how short a fuse you’ve cut for yourself now, so you continue standing exactly at attention, the same way you’ve spent more hours of your life than you’ve spent sleeping. Your fingers don’t so much as twitch with a pulse while you hold them at your sides under squared shoulders. His eyes graze your cheeks.

“Aldera sent me a beaten puppy as a babysitter on mission that has taken years off my fucking life.”

“I only–”

“Only what?!” Bakugou reaches forward and snatches a bit of your nightgown skirt in his fist. You’re jerked suddenly against his chest in his anger, “You’re fucking naked! “You represented Aldera in a nightgown and now you’re chasing me down the hall with your body sketched in satin for any plum, fae, or stray cat to ogle at their shiteating leisure!”

It hasn’t quite clicked, until now. The reason why the prince hates you. He releases your skirts and clenches crackling fists at his sides, “What did I tell you about those creepy fucking eyes?”

You don’t mean to stare this time, and you’ve tried so hard, for days you’ve tried, not to look at him, but for the first time since your bloody meeting in the countryside he is finally, truly, looking at you and the eye contact conjures up nothing but static.

It didn’t even make any sense, how someone you’ve never so much as shared a meal with could feel anything strong towards you, negative or otherwise. But it was clear inside the throne room today and you were just too stupid to see anything past the blue silk cloak gathered like a gift for you in his arms.

The prince was never concerned for your safety. He is embarrassed by you.

“What did I say?” Caramel hathos fills your mouth when red eyes let you breathe again.

You glare unabashedly deer-like from the space between your bodies where ire is so thick you could grasp it. At his eyes, his lovely ash lashes and the downward quirk of a snarl. Bold of him, to call you naked in linens that barely hide his chest.

“Apologies.” And for the first time those words burn when they come out of you. Like a lie. You lower your gaze. Bow your head too.

It is the slightest consolation that Bakugou forgot, in his anger, that he’s pulled you close enough for gold to glint clearly in your periphery. His jewelry is artifact forever in the forest somewhere, so the earrings he’s wearing are yours. His mother’s– your little gold suns jerk and tremble with his temper.

If he remembered he was wearing your charity, he would shout again, but his fury has gone smug at your concession so he presses on,

“Did Jeanist not teach you to say anything else?”

Your fingers twitch at the mention of the name.

“Well? Go on, five days together and you still haven’t introduced yourself to your prince.”

Even with your eyes to the floor you can catch a sneer in the tips of his voice. Bakugou is so close that his breath pricks the skin of your bare neck.

“Put on a show.”

He doesn’t let you move away from him. When you step one foot back he comes one step forward. You take your skirts in subtle fists and bend your knees in a curtsey, and you anticipate his single huff of laughter before it even escapes him.

“Y/n. Apprentice to the Master Jeanist, Head of Royal Guard. Subject of the Alderan Queen, bound by blood and at your service, my prince.”

“Is that all?”

It goes against natural impulse not to watch the thing that is trying to kill you, closely, and it’s a struggle to keep your eyes down when the prince’s body is so close you can count each embroidered stitch of his bedclothes. Years ago, when Jeanist allowed you to work in the castle, on your own shifts without supervision, the queen would stop when her path crossed your post. She’d call your name and you would answer immediately, though eyes down like you’d been told to do. In these early days she crouched in front of you, cape, gown, armor and all, to try and take a peek at your face, or lift your head up with a finger under the chin.

“Pretty eyes, Y/n. Don’t cast them down for anyone.”

Bakugou has your chin now, in a tight hot hand. He jerks your head up hard enough to make you flinch, and gods he’s growling, rumbling like a machine, at both your lack of response and the fact that you haven’t left yet. The pair of you stare.

“Fuck off, Y/n.”

It is your every itching instinct to strike him.

“Yes, sir.”

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tagged angels ✧.* @nnubee @jctaro @nonomesupposedto @zombiewarprincess @kotarousproperty @strawberry-mentos69 @sveetnn @eirlysian @lunrai @km7474 @arayoflia @annoyingleftpinky @noomaisdone @cr33pycrawler @iced-chai-tea-latte @cathwritestragediesnotsins @tragicallygray @idimmadontgiveashit @kooromin @k1tk4tkatsuki @litiri @kiwibao @kiwifujin @mmmaackerel @sarcasticlittlebook @condy-wants-a-cookie @mysticalfridge @dududubebo @falling4fandoms @katanaski @babitchsuki @romiinlove @cherripunch26 @acid-rain27 @madmayo @bakugouswh0r3 @heart-of-haunt @zukowantshishonourback @420mitskilover <- thank u for your sweet comment! @ultracrii

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#a hymn to black water #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha fantasy au #mha fantasy au

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nekoannie-chan · 1 year ago

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Flesh wound

Title: Flesh wound.

Fandom: Marvel, The Gifted, X-men.

Ship: Lorna Dane X Mutant!Reader.

Word count: 241 words.

Rating: Teen.

Summary: Lorna was hurt escaping from the Centinels.

Major Tags: Flesh wound.

Additional tags: This is my entry to @multifandom-flash, Annie-3002 & square 7:

"Only a flesh wound.”

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

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If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

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The deafening sound of the Sentinels chasing them was the most unbearable thing. You had lost count of the times they had had to flee from them in recent years.

Suddenly, a larger and more imposing Sentinel than the others appeared. You swallowed with difficulty; it seemed that they were modernizing their enemies. It also seemed that the robot could adapt to attacks, which made it more dangerous. In a moment of distraction, the Sentinel managed to land a blow to Polaris' side.

"Lorna!" he exclaimed, watching as she recoiled, holding her injured side. "Are you okay?"

Lorna forced a smile. "Only a flesh wound, don't worry. I'm still standing."

You gritted your teeth, frustrated that you weren't quick enough to avoid the attack. But before you could say anything, another sentry rushed at you. Polaris acted instinctively, deflecting the attack with a magnetic shield.

"It was only a flesh wound," Lorna insisted, noticing the concern in your eyes. "I'm fine, really."

But something wasn't right; they had to get out of that place immediately. Maybe Turner was nearby. You grabbed Lorna by the arm and forced her to start running. Suddenly, they saw an open portal and entered.

"I thought you would never get there," you commented when you saw Clarice.

"We had a little trouble," John said.

"Lorna is hurt," you pointed out.

Clarice nodded and took her to one of the rooms where they would check the wound.

#multifandom flash bingo #round 3 #lorna dane x reader

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ikemenomegas · 2 years ago

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Gave my love

Portgas D Ace x Reader || Shooting Stars

a/n: Make a Wish prompt fill for panda-anon. I am crying because my first draft spun off into the void of my own technological mishaps, so I hope the second version is satisfactory. I'm sorry it took so long (it took forever for me to do the rewrite these last few weeks have been a bit hectic) I hope that you enjoy it! I apologize if Ace seems at all ooc, it's been a long time since I last took a deep dive into his character. He reads to me as someone who would be kind of a tsundere about romantic feelings but able to be happy if he told himself it was "just friends" so he could pretend to be normal about it. The boy has so many excuses: Butterflies? he's happy to see you, feeling hot? he's made of fire, jealous of your attention? you were his friend first... (also the linked song aged remarkably well, it's fun and noisy and is where the title came from) Thank you so much to my friend who braved an omegaverse fic to edit for me. I hate editing my own stuff and she did such a good job making sure that things weren't too obtuse. cw: omegaverse, alpha!reader, Ace's canon compliant self worth issues

The trouble with narcolepsy isn't the daytime hours. He'd learned to manage those when he was a kid. The trouble comes at night, when his body is visited with the opposite impulse.

Ace rolls over for the nth time. Now, with the same insistence it had put him to sleep, his body pulls him awake.

He follows that pull with heavy, silent steps. He stretches his arms above his head and feels his back pop. He leaves his hat by his bunk, suddenly eager for the sea breeze through his hair.

He hesitates for a moment. Though he no longer gets cold, he considers wrapping something around his shoulders. His pillows and blankets still smell faintly of you. He looks at the bed.

No one is around to accuse him of something so treacherous as longing, but he still jerks his head away and pretends as if he hadn't spent much too long considering such a thing.

When he leaves the covered floors of the ship a bird - he cannot see where it come from - flutters down and nearly clips his head. It's not a seagull. He wonders for a moment, could it be?, but he quickly casts the thought away. Probably not.

A flash of light streaks across the sky, distracting him.

The worn railing is smooth, almost soft, beneath his fingertips when he leans over it. He folds his arms and lays his head in the cradle of his elbow.

He's been dealing with insomnia for the better part of a decade, either waking in the night or not sleeping at all. He'd see Luffy, sprawled out on the floor of the hideout, snot bubbles and not a care in the world. Even though his little brother didn't often notice his midnight absences, even when Ace would show up with prey in the morning, being unnoticed had not left him feeling unwanted.

Knowing someone was waiting staved off the loneliness. Becoming Whitebeard's son had been the best decision of his life. Yet tonight, he has no desire to disturb the sentries or wake a crew member for company.

A glossy black crow lands on the rail within easy reach. It cocks its head at him, warbling low in the back of its throat. Ace narrows his eyes at it, staring until the crow shrinks back, feather ruffling. This was the bird that had almost hit the back of his head, he's sure of it.

It looks almost sheepish at it places a little bag on the rail between them.

When he doesn't pick it up right away, the bird pushes it closer with one delicate claw, bobbing its head.

He picks it up slowly, keeping an eye on the bird. It tilts its head back and forth, clicking in the back of its throat. It takes him a moment to catch it in the dim light: the reflection of your Eye in the black marble of the crow's.

A grin showing teeth makes its way across his face.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi." Sound comes out of the crow's open beak like there is a microphone in its throat, like there's a snail in its belly. It doesn't move in synchrony with the words, but in an unsettling sort of pantomime.

Your voice is made ragged by the crow, but even with one word he knows it is yours. His grin goes lopsided and he weighs the pouch in his hand.

"Fancy seeing you here, pretty bird" he says.

The crow makes a hacking sort of cough he knows to be its version of your scoff coming from its mouth, but the bird rubs its beak against the gleaming wood of the ship, as though to take the sting from the sound.

"I do occasionally have good timing," it says with your voice.

He leans his head on his arms and looks directly at the bird. His gaze cuts through the animal in front of him and to you on the other side. One side of his bangs falls across his eye.

He has some idea of what you do, but not exactly. He knows it's dangerous, for a certain value of dangerous. You go to places he hasn't seen yet.

When he asks you where you are, you tell him about places you've been, never where you recently were. You don't relent even when he pries, whining low in his throat at your typical evasiveness. The crow speaks the rusted over name of some island he's never heard of.

When he asks you how training is going, the bird does some funny little movements that require it to over-correct when it nearly falls off the rail and imitates the sounds of bo staffs colliding.

The sentry peeks down from a higher level. Ace waves them off, feeling suddenly defensive. He wants to keep this moment a secret.

The bird freezes, looking up from where it's hunched over in an all too human kind of expression that reminds him of the last time you were a guest of the Whitebeard pirates and you'd raided the kitchens with him, sneaking around with unnecessary stealth, pressing back as if to hide him from every passing shadow until he was giggling into your shoulder, you scents mingling as you sweated under the hot atmosphere of a nearby volcanic island.

He snickers as the bird shakes its feathers flat again, giving an experimental little croak and finally straightening up when the noise doesn't immediately bring the sentry back running, looking out for his crewmate. The bird bumps his hand, as if to draw attention to it, and Ace draws his fingers through the soft, smooth feathers.

When you creakily ask him about his own recent adventures, you offer tidbits from the news to get him started, and it warms him in a very strange way to think you've been keeping an eye on him.

Eventually, the late night catches up and a comfortable quiet settles around the two of you.

Ace listens to the crow's low gargly kkqrk as it moves on its perch. He smirks to himself at the sight of the shining black bird shifting against the star scattered, velvet night.

"Are you going to open it?" you, finally ask. The bird pecks emphatically at the rail by the velvety bag.

All of the bird's expressive hopping and pecking for excited emphasis is so very un-human. It amuses him to imagine you puppetting the creature, instructing it to dip and flap for his benefit, even though he knows it is more akin to the bird itself interpreting your emotions.

Even so when the bird, looks at him, he can almost see the pleading look only you can pull off. Truly and delightfully uncanny.

He sighs as if it is all a chore, bobbing the pouch up and down on the string wound around his fingers. The crow follows with the movement with its beak and then its whole body.

"Should I?" he muses. "Suppose I save it-"

The bird all but stamps its little grey scaled foot in expressing your impatience and he laughs at you, at the odd humanity of the motion, as he finally does open the bag, drawstrings tangled in his fingers.

The contents of the pouch glitters, even in the starlight.

"How nice," he says, opening the mouth of the bag wide to reveal an array of crystals inside. "A good bit of shine."

All pirates of course liked things that gleamed. As did crows. The bird tilts its head between his face and the bits of rock in his hand.

He shifts them around in the bag. There are many colors.

"You should try one," it - you - says, shifting its weight. The bird stayed almost perfectly still, head tilted as it took in his incredulous expression.

"I am not dumb enough to eat rocks."

"I know."

The bird, peers up at him, blankly expectant.

Ace looks back in the bag and eventually plucks one of the crystals out. It's orange bleeding into purple like a storm ridden twilight and edged like the inside of a geode.

He glances once more at the bird, at you, but the creature just shuffles its wings to sit more primly against its body. Ace has never been very good at backing down from a dare.

Still he bites down very very carefully.

The crystal cracks apart under his teeth and spills sweetness on his tongue - plum and passion fruit, tart and bright and dark again, like the last touch of a setting sun. The outside is hard and cool like stone, but falls away to jelly by the time his bite sinks to the center.

He cannot help the way his eyes go slightly wide.

"Where are these from?" he asks.

"I made them," your voice slips from the bird's parted beak, almost shy. "The King of Kettles taught me," you add fondly.

He nibbles on more of the crystal, candy he now knows. Rock candy, he thinks as he grins to himself. He's not sure when the last time someone brought him candy of all things. Sugar is expensive no matter its source, and sometimes hard to find among the islands. Even syrups made from fruit would take a long time to make.

"Make sure to brush your teeth!" The crow interrupts his thoughts with a trumpeting, too loud, cackling sort of caw.

He stuffs a corner of the crystal into the crow's beak, interrupting the sound with a choking, fluttering, sputtering.

One thing about birds is that regardless of interpretation, they are sometimes not very good at managing their volume.

The crow hunches over, sending Ace as dirty a look as it can manage. You consider having it play dead, just to get back at him, but the shuffling attention of the sentries has you, the crow, freezing in his shadow.

You are reminded, somewhat guiltily, that your welcome on Whitebeard's territory does not give you unrestricted access, even for stolen moments like this.

But again, Ace waves off the inquisitive sentries, and they go, because he is the commander of the second division.

Ace can tell that they're curious, but this is for him, for now. In the morning if they or anyone asks, he will tell and laugh and tease. And it will be real.

This is real too. He feels protective of this moment, even if it is only a crow with your Eye as a glossy, curved reflection. It's his little secret.

It's not in his nature to keep secrets. Not for long. But for a while, he wants to keep this one. Not out of shame, not like the other, but because this one is warm like a glowing coal.

It is his, to follow the direction of a falling star and have a bird deliver him a gift and a conversation. You can't tell him where you are or where you're going, but you have frequent, funny little names that are familiar enough that you can tell him stories and he knows of whom you speak. The King of Kettles, Catfish, the Forlorn Maiden - all of them people he has never and likely will never meet.

Do you have a secret name for him, do you tell people about him? Something meant to safeguard him from the world?

Will there ever be a time when he isn't the secret? When that secret doesn't drag a darkness along behind it to cover those who know?

Another flash of light goes across the sky - blink and you'll miss it.

He sees it, you don't, going in the same direction as before. It flies away into the night.

Slowly, through the odd technicolor vision of the crow, you see a closed off, thoughtful expression take the place of the easy smile from before.

"What are you thinking of?"

The crow's hissed approximation of a whisper should be unsettling but it isn't.

Ace leans his arm on the railing and looks over at you, at the crow. The corner of his mouth lifts up, but he can't put enough of his heart into it to cover the melancholy.

He finds himself wishing for your scent. Sending a bird is one thing, but if he had not seen the Eye, he wouldn't have even been able to tell you it was you there, and not some well trained pet.

"I wish you were here," he sighs, reaching out to run a finger over the bird's smooth head feathers.

The bird ruffles its wings and says nothing. There is a long moment of nothing, long enough that Ace thinks of going back to bed. Sleep is finally reaching for him, he can feel the chill of it on his skin.

It's through the quiet of the dark that it finds him, a dull sound, almost at the edge of hearing.

He reaches out with his awareness, scanning the sea for any creature stupid enough to attack one of Whitebeard's fleet. A Sea King would be a bit of bedtime fun. Or it might be the distant sound of canons, although intuition tells him that isn't it.

The sound gets closer. It is not canons or the writhing movements of a deep water monster. It is more like someone shaking out sheets, but as regular as a sleeper's heart - the flap of wings.

He sees a shape, black on black, in the distance. It vanishes between one blink and the other, melting into the night. Another shimmer of light falls overhead while the wingbeats suddenly disappear.

Ace remembers owls and the way they hunt, swooping silently down upon their prey. He looks up to see if the watch is at all disturbed, and then to his left. The crow is gone.

The wingbeats return, now soft and so close. Right below him. He looks over the rail and a familiar face rises up to meet him.

This crow upon which you sit is longer than him if he were to lay down, feet and fingers pointed as far as they would go. It drifts upon the shallow eddy stirred up by the ship, drifting alongside.

"Hello," you say. You're smiling. Teasing snatches of scent get caught in the sea breeze.

From behind, the crow that had been your mouthpiece swoops down upon your shoulder.

"Willful thing," you say to it.

It croaks, head bobbing cheekily.

"Hi," he says. His heart feels like it's soaring, light alongside you, every whoosh of blood a wingbeat.

"I heard you," you say, nudging the crow's chest with your finger.

"You do occasionally have good timing," he says, grinning wide.

The enormous bird flaps a few times, slowly, up to the level of the rail.

He catches you when you slide over the side of the ship and step onto the deck. He never feels the flames when they come from him, but your palm sliding over his makes him feel like he's burning.

"I think I'm going to be in trouble with your Father," you say, shrugging a shoulder, "for the bird."

It croaks again, and then caws, as if to prove a point. The both of you wince.

"I'll tell him you came for me," Ace replies. He doesn't bother to keep quiet now, but that's alright. The bag of sweets you brought him dangles around his wrist like a charm.

You're a little breathless when you look at him. He can see stars reflected in your eyes.

"Whenever you want me."

#portgas d ace #portgas d ace x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #it's implied that the reader is somehow involved with the revolutionary army #alpha!reader #omegaverse #panda anon #thank you so much for your patience #this was super fun to write #and i really enjoyed getting back into his character a little bit #hope that i did it justice!#i forgot how young and repressed ace is XD #he will absolutely reject outright romance so you can't tell him that shhhh #just pretend there's another reason he's special and it'll be fine and give him time to figure it out #prompt fill #make a wish prompt fill

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