#the soldiers staring from their training in the square

[shiorihyugawrites]

The Devil's Bride

Aurora Jaeger, Eren's long-lost childhood friend, was taken from him when they were children. After years of suffering under Marleyan control, Aurora is reunited with Eren while he’s undercover in Marley, igniting a bond neither of them expected. Despite her gentle nature, Aurora breaks her vow of pacifism to save Eren’s life, solidifying their deep connection. Secretly married before the Raid on Liberio, Aurora is swept into Eren's world of chaos and destruction. As the Scouts learn of her existence, tensions rise on the airship home. Mikasa’s heart shatters, and Levi demands answers. And Eren will stop at nothing to protect the only light left in his dark world—his bride, Aurora.

In this journey of love, loyalty, and war, Aurora must reconcile her innocent heart with the brutal reality of the man she loves, while Eren faces the truth of what he’s become. (Eren x OC)

Chapter Fifty

The final hours of the night stretched onward, a silent countdown to the invasion that loomed on the horizon. Shiganshina felt haunted, its quiet streets and solemn walls like sentinels observing the men and women gathered to defend this land. The air carried a stiff chill, and every breath of wind seemed to murmur the urgency of what was about to unfold. Yet, amidst the tension, the soldiers of Paradis stood resolute. They had long accepted that they might not live to see the sun set again, but if dying was the price for protecting their home, they would pay it gladly.

Groups of Jaegerists moved through the district, each soldier double-checking equipment and coordinating with teammates. It had taken weeks of hard training to master the Inferno Blades, those compact explosives that could set nearly anything ablaze with terrifying force. The plan was clear. When the Global Allied Fleet arrived, they would ignite Shiganshina in flames if that meant the enemy could not advance further. To the people here, the old saying rang true: better to sacrifice a piece of home than to lose the entirety of it.

Eren stood on a balcony high above the main square, his hand resting against the cold stone. He stared out at the flickering torches of the soldiers below. In the distance, the tall silhouette of the walls loomed, and beyond them, darkness. But soon enough, that darkness would reveal a sea bristling with warships, the combined might of the entire world. He felt his chest tighten at the thought, but he also felt an odd calm. This was the moment he had been preparing for. He closed his eyes briefly, thinking of Aurora, of the child she carried, of the cabin they had once shared. He remembered the warmth of her laughter, the glow in her eyes whenever she spoke of a future free from fear. It was a dream he wanted so desperately to grant them, no matter the price.

Footsteps approached from behind. Eren didn’t turn around. He already knew who it was by the measured pace of boots on stone.

“Figured I’d find you here,” Levi said, halting a few steps away. His tone was steady, but tension lay just beneath its surface.

Eren took a slow breath before speaking. “I needed a moment,” he replied. “Any news?”

Levi folded his arms. “The Jaegerists finished deploying the Inferno Blades. They’re placing them in strategic points around the main gate, the side streets, and near the rooftops. If the enemy tries to breach anywhere, we’ll torch them. It’ll be chaos, but it’s our best chance.”

A grim smile touched Eren’s lips. “Good. We’re not letting them pass.”

Levi’s eyes flicked toward the moonlit sky. “You realize we might burn half of Shiganshina to ash in the process.”

Eren’s jaw tightened. “It won’t be the first time I’ve watched this district burn. Besides, I’m not letting them set foot beyond these walls. No matter what.”

Levi nodded. He understood Eren’s resolve, even if it weighed on him. Their conversation stilled for a moment, replaced by the faint clamor of Jaegerists below. They were adjusting gear, testing the readiness of their horses, or softly exchanging words of encouragement. The tension in the air felt palpable, like a living force pressing down on everyone.

A slender figure dropped down from the rooftop overhead, landing soundlessly nearby. Mikasa glanced between Eren and Levi, reading their expressions. She sensed the same tension that had pulled her here.

“Everything’s set,” she said quietly. “Hange wants to do a final sweep of the southern perimeter.”

Levi gave a sharp nod. “Good. We should join her soon.” He turned to Eren once more, his voice dropping to a lower register. “I’ve told the soldiers to be prepared for anything. We still don’t know which direction they’ll strike from first, or if they’ll try a full-scale encirclement. You see anything suspicious, you don’t hesitate.”

Eren’s gaze hardened. “I won’t.”

Levi and Mikasa exchanged a look, then left Eren to gather his thoughts. Eren stayed a moment longer on the balcony, listening to their footsteps fade. The still night hung over him like a dark shroud. In a few hours, it would be shattered by the roar of cannons, the screams of men, and the thunder of battle. He wondered briefly if Aurora had arrived safely at the palace. He pictured her expression, the worry that never quite left her eyes, and it pained him that he couldn’t be by her side. But the child she carried was his reason to fight. He would carve a path of blood and fire if that’s what it took to give them peace.

Below, Connie and Jean paced through the courtyard, double-checking their squad assignments. Sasha leaned against the outer gate, fiddling with her equipment, her face set in determined lines. Jean’s loud whisper carried across the open space.

“Still no sign of the fleet?” he asked Connie.

“Nothing,” Connie replied. “They might be approaching under the cover of darkness, or maybe they’re delaying to catch us off guard. Either way, we won’t be sleeping tonight.”

Sasha wandered closer to them, her brow knit with concern. “I can’t help thinking about all the civilians we evacuated. At least they’re safe underground, but… how many of us will be left by the time this is over?”

Jean’s shoulders sagged a little. “We do what we have to, Sasha. I’d rather the people stay alive to rebuild, even if we don’t make it.”

Connie reached out, placing a hand on Sasha’s shoulder. “Hey, we’ll all make it. We’ve been through worse, right?”

Sasha managed a small grin. “Guess you’re right. The trouble is, the world hates us so much. This might be our final stand.”

Jean rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Oh, great. Now you’ve got me thinking about how easy it’d be to just toss in the towel and—”

“Don’t even joke,” Connie cut him off, though his tone was lighter than the words suggested. “We’re in this together.”

Nearby, Armin and Hange were in deep discussion, hunched over a makeshift table strewn with maps and notes. Reiner, Pieck, and Porco observed from a short distance, not wanting to intrude but still very much a part of the plan. Armin ran a hand through his hair, his voice earnest.

“If they come by sea, they’ll likely use their naval cannons to shell the coast first. But we have vantage points set up. As soon as they come into range, we can ignite the Inferno Blades in the shallows, turning the coastline into a trap.”

Hange tapped a finger on the map. “Right, we also suspect they might deploy airships. That’s where the risk is highest. If they bombard us from above, the walls of Shiganshina could crumble in minutes.”

Porco’s arms were crossed, his brow furrowed. “Then we’ll need the Titans to intercept any airships that come too close. My Jaw titan’s speed can handle that. Pieck’s Cart Titan can provide covering fire, but it’s Reiner who’ll probably do the heavy lifting if they drop bombs.”

Reiner stood with his arms at his sides, no expression on his face. He still struggled with a maelstrom of guilt and regret, but he was here, prepared to fight for the island that had once been his enemy. “I’ll do what needs to be done,” he said quietly.

Pieck cast him a sympathetic look, though she said nothing. She understood that Reiner’s heart was torn. They all were torn in some way, forced into a war that none of them wanted yet none of them could avoid. The best they could do was fight to protect what they could.

Hange gestured to the sky, her eyes glittering with a mix of apprehension and excitement. “When it begins, everything will happen fast. We’ll be in constant communication via flare signals. If the first wave hits Shiganshina, we detonate. If they try a flanking maneuver, squads will rotate. Remember, these new weapons can create widespread fires, so watch for the wind direction.”

Armin sighed, nodding. “There’s no perfect plan. We’ll adapt as we go. That’s all we can do.”

Reiner closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of Gabi and Falco. Would they be on the other side of the line? His chest tightened at the possibility. He remembered the day he left for Paradis all those years ago, the naive resolve he had as a child soldier, and how it had slowly crumbled under the weight of reality. Now, ironically, he stood on Paradis’s side, wanting to protect it. Wanting to keep Gabi safe from the same cruelty that shaped him.

Porco shifted, noticing Reiner’s turmoil. “If you see them out there… Gabi, Falco, or  any of the others… you do what you have to,” Porco said. “ We know Magath well enough to know he’s brainwashed them more propaganda and told them how we’re all traitors. The don’t have any shifters left besides Zeke so you can bet they’re planning on using those kids as new vessels for our titans.”

Reiner lowered his gaze. “I know. But I can’t imagine… them turning into Titans and devouring us. It’s too cruel.”

Pieck placed a hand on Reiner’s arm, her voice gentle. “Marley is cruel. We’ve known that our whole lives.”

The wind carried the sound of a distant horn, a signal from one of the watchtowers. It was a reminder that dawn drew near, that the hours were slipping away. Everyone was alert, shoulders tensed as they imagined the approaching fleet just beyond their sight.

Levi appeared next to them, seemingly out of nowhere. “We’re doing a final briefing in five minutes,” he said. “Join us by the main gate.”

Pieck and Porco followed Reiner’s lead as they walked across the courtyard, weaving between rows of Jaegerists checking their gear. Some of the younger recruits looked up at the Titan shifters with a mix of awe and wariness. They’d heard the stories of how Reiner, Pieck, and Porco had once fought for Marley, but they’d also heard about how they’d betrayed Marley to help Paradis. Trust was still a fragile thing here.

Jean and Connie approached Eren, who was standing near a broken stretch of wall. Mikasa was with them, her arms folded, worry etched into her features.

Jean cleared his throat. “We’re ready when you are, Eren.”

Connie nodded in agreement. “Just say the word.”

Mikasa glanced at Eren, studying his face. “You’re sure we can handle this many enemies at once? Marley’s not alone this time. The entire world is coming.”

Eren’s jaw muscles worked as he clenched his teeth, but when he spoke, his tone was resolute. “We stop them here. They’ve all come to kill us anyway. Let them try.”

Jean sighed softly. “I guess that’s all there is to it, huh?”

Connie forced a grin, though fear flickered in his eyes. “We’ll give them hell.”

As they walked toward the main gate, a hush fell over the gathered soldiers. Levi and Hange stood waiting with Armin. Reiner, Pieck, and Porco took positions to one side, separate but included. The tension thickened, like an invisible weight pressing down on every single person.

Levi’s voice carried across the courtyard, surprisingly steady. “You all know what’s at stake. If the intelligence is true, the fleet is massive. They have advanced artillery, bombs, and airships. We have the advantage of home ground, the walls, and the new Inferno Blades. That might not seem like much against the entire world, but it’s better than nothing. We just have to hang on until Eren can make contact with Zeke.”

Hange clasped their hands behind their back, scanning the faces of the soldiers. “Remember your training. Keep calm, stick to your squads, and follow the signal flares. The first sign of an airship, and we shift to long-range defense. The first sign of battleships, we detonate the coastline. Should they try to breach the land, we fall back to the inner lines and lure them into a ring of fire.”

Armin glanced at Eren, who gave him a slight nod. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Armin spoke, “This battle will be unlike anything we’ve faced. But we have one another. We have a plan. We have the will to live. So fight for your friends, for your families hidden underground, for the future we want to create.”

Mikasa listened, her expression calm, though her eyes revealed the storm within. She couldn’t stop imagining the horrors about to unfold. Still, she squared her shoulders. This was the choice they had made.

As the meeting dispersed, the soldiers dispersed too, each squad returning to their assigned positions with hushed determination. Eren lingered near the gate, gazing up at the night sky. The starry expanse reminded him too much of Aurora. He recalled the nights they spent together in the cabin, how she would hum softly while stargazing, how she’d lean into him and share her wild dreams of a world without war. He closed his eyes and silently prayed that his unborn child would know a life free from the same chains that had bound him.

Levi halted beside him, glancing up at the stars. “You’re thinking about her,” he said, not really asking.

Eren let out a hollow chuckle. “Am I that obvious?”

Levi sighed. “We both know you’d rather be with her, but we have a job to do.”

Eren nodded. “I won’t fail her. Or any of you.”

Without another word, Levi left him, going to check on the newest recruits one last time. Eren stood alone for a moment, one hand curled into a fist, the other resting on the hilt of his blade. If the Founding Titan’s true power was what he needed to set them free, then he would claim it. He would find Zeke, make contact, and end this cursed cycle of hate forever.

Reiner, who had been watching from a short distance, approached slowly. He paused, unsure if he was welcome. Eren noticed him but didn’t speak at first.

Eventually, Reiner cleared his throat. “I don’t ever expect forgiveness, but if we’re going to fight side by side tomorrow, I just want to say… I won’t betray you.”

Eren’s eyes flicked to him, unreadable. “I never asked for your word.”

Reiner swallowed. “I know.” He hesitated. “I’m doing this for my family…for Gabi. She’s all I have left.”

Eren said nothing, only gave a slight nod, and Reiner turned away, heading for his own vantage point. The sense of finality weighed on them both.

Across the district, Jean and Connie were finalizing the placement of Inferno Blades. Sasha stood by with a small group of Jaegerists, instructing them on how to handle the smaller explosives. When Connie rushed to check on something near the eastern wall, Jean stepped closer to Sasha.

“You good?” Jean asked quietly.

She offered a tight smile. “Ask me again when this is over.”

He huffed a small laugh. “Fair enough.” His gaze shifted to the horizon. “Tomorrow, everything changes.”

Sasha’s smile faded. “One way or another.”

Nearby, Armin was quietly going over strategies with a cluster of recruits who looked pale but determined. Hange swept by, triple-checking flares, gear, and any other detail that caught their notice. Levi, as usual, oversaw it all with an ever-present scowl.

Above them, the moon slid slowly across the sky, each passing minute bringing them closer to dawn. The calm remained, but it felt more like a held breath before the universe exhaled.

Time felt strange now, stretched thin by anticipation. Some squads found small corners to rest, lying awake beneath the stars, their eyes flickering with fear and hope. Others patrolled the perimeter, nerves thrumming at every shadow. The quiet almost mocked them, as though the world were waiting to unleash its fury in a single, punishing moment.

At last, the faintest glow on the eastern horizon hinted that night was nearly over. Eren stood once more on the wall, gazing out at the sea of darkness. He couldn’t see the ships yet, but he could almost sense them. The entire world had set its sights on Paradis.

Behind him, a soldier approached quietly, offering a curt salute. “Sir, it’s almost time. Captain Levi says we should get to our positions.”

Eren took a last look at the murky expanse. He felt his heart pound, a mix of dread and fierce resolve flooding his veins. There was no going back. He turned, stepping past the soldier to rejoin his comrades.

Every footstep echoed in the cold, silent district. As Eren reached the main gathering area, he saw them all waiting: Mikasa, Armin, Levi, Jean, Connie, Sasha, Hange, Reiner, Pieck, and Porco. Hundreds of Jaegerists surrounded them, eyes gleaming with adrenaline. Together, they formed the heart of this final defense.

Eren let his gaze sweep over them, thinking of Aurora’s face, the warmth in her eyes. He let that memory fill him with strength. Then, in a voice that carried across the plaza, he addressed everyone one last time.

“We stand between the world and our freedom. They want to destroy us, to erase us from history. We won’t let them.”

Silence held for a moment, and then, quietly at first, the Jaegerists began to chant.: “If we win, we live. If we lose, we die. If you don't fight, we can't win. Fight. Fight”

It grew louder and louder, echoing off the stone walls and the battered buildings. Their courage rose like a tidal wave, each voice calling out in unison.

Eren felt his own heart thunder in his chest. He didn’t know if any of them would see tomorrow’s sunrise, but for Aurora, for their child, for the men and women who had chosen to fight—he would become the devil they needed him to be.

In the distance, a horn blasted, carrying through the crisp air. Dawn was breaking. The wait was over. Eren’s eyes flicked to the horizon one last time, his resolve set, his soul hardened. Let the world come. Let them bring their armies, their bombs, their hatred. He would meet it head-on.

He whispered to himself, though no one else could hear, “Aurora… wait for me. I’ll come back to you.”

And with that final vow, the defenders of Paradis scattered to their posts, prepared to face the storm.

…

Aurora rested in a plush chair within one of the palace’s grand halls, gazing at the ornate murals on the ceiling. Beautiful patterns of gold leaf and swirling designs told stories of ancient kings and battles long past, but none of that captured her attention. Her thoughts drifted inevitably toward the distant walls of Shiganshina, where Eren and the others prepared for war. Every now and then, she closed her eyes and inhaled a trembling breath, wishing she could somehow stand beside them. Yet here she was, in what many would consider the safest place in all of Paradis.

Historia noticed the faraway look in Aurora’s eyes and approached with soft footsteps. She placed a hand on Aurora’s shoulder, her tone as gentle as her expression. “Try not to worry too much. I know it’s impossible, but you’ll drive yourself mad if you keep imagining the worst.”

Aurora lifted her gaze to meet Historia’s. “I can’t help it,” she murmured, her ice-blue eyes brimming with concern. “All I can think about is Eren out there, preparing for a fight that may leave him…” She trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

Historia gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “He’s strong. They all are. Sometimes I think they’re all unstoppable when they’re together, especially with CaptainLevi commanding the Jaegerists now. I’m sure they’ll do everything they can to come back alive.”

A tight smile flickered across Aurora’s face. She folded her hands over her belly, feeling the weight of her pregnancy as a constant reminder of the precious life she carried. “I know. I just wish I didn’t feel so… helpless,” she admitted. “If I weren’t so far along, if I wasn’t constantly on the brink of going into labor, maybe I could’ve stayed closer. Maybe I could have done something.”

Historia sat down beside her and let out a quiet sigh. “We all have a place in this fight. Yours is to ensure that your baby comes into a world that’s even slightly safer than the one we’ve known. Mine is to do what I can for the people, protect them, and manage the politics if needed. But I’d be lying if I said I’m not worried sick about Porco.” She paused, her cheeks taking on a faint pink hue at the mention of his name. “I still can’t quite believe how close we’ve become. It seems surreal.”

Aurora tilted her head. “You’ve grown so fond of him, haven’t you?”

A self-conscious laugh escaped Historia. “Yes, and it’s so complicated. He ate Ymir and yet somehow, I can’t help falling for him. Maybe it’s because I sense that, deep down, he feels a sliver of Ymir’s memories. Or maybe it’s just the person he’s become. I don’t know. But the love is there, and it’s strong.”

A distant clamor echoed from outside the palace walls, prompting Aurora’s spine to tense for a moment. The noise was only the Jaegerists changing guard. She exhaled shakily, relieved it wasn’t an alarm or anything more dire. The palace was a vision of tranquility on the surface. Stained-glass windows caught the afternoon sunlight, casting vibrant colors across the floor, and beautifully trimmed hedges lined the garden paths. But the tension in the air felt tangible; it was the hush before a tempest.

Soon after, a pair of children from Historia’s orphanage raced down the hallway, one of them being Noah. Their laughter briefly lighting up the solemn space. Trailing behind them were two older Jaegerist recruits, assigned to keep an eye on the little ones. The children paused when they saw Historia and Aurora, offering clumsy salutes and wide grins.

“Is Reiner going to come back soon?” Noah asked, his eyes wide with hope. “He promised to teach us how to do push-ups properly!”

Historia patted the top of his head. “He’ll try his hardest, I promise. You know Reiner—he’s very determined.”

The other child, younger, looked anxiously at Aurora’s belly and then up at her. “And the baby… when are they coming?”

Aurora forced a reassuring smile. “Any day now, I suppose. But don’t you worry about me. I’m just fine here.” She tried to inject confidence into her words, though her heart pounded at the thought of Eren missing the birth.

The children beamed as they ran off once more, the clatter of their small footsteps echoing against the marble tiles. But their innocent questions lingered like echoes in Aurora’s mind, reminding her how deeply everyone was tied to this war, even the youngest among them. These children looked at Reiner as a hero, not knowing the guilt and sorrow that plagued him, not realizing the heartbreak that tore him apart every time he thought about his actions. Aurora swallowed hard, wishing she could shield them from the harsh truths outside these palace walls.

A voice interrupted her train of thought. “Your Majesty, Mrs. Jaeger,” called a gray-haired physician, stepping into the corridor with polite urgency. He gave a small bow to Historia, then turned to Aurora. “I was hoping to check on you again. Given how close you are to your due date, it would be wise to monitor you frequently.”

“Yes, of course,” Aurora said, struggling to her feet as Historia offered her an arm. “I can’t say I’m particularly comfortable with all these constant examinations, but if it eases everyone’s minds, I’ll do it.”

The physician led them down a quiet hallway, where sunlight spilled in through tall windows. On either side of the corridor were grand paintings of past monarchs, each wearing opulent crowns and robes. Aurora followed him into a small chamber that had been converted into a makeshift clinic, complete with a narrow bed and several locked cabinets holding medical supplies. The doctor gestured for her to sit on the bed, then began his routine examination: checking her pulse, listening to her breathing, and gently placing his hands on her belly to feel the baby’s position.

“You’re measuring as expected,” he said in a reassuring tone. “Likely no more than another few days before labor starts, maybe a week at most. But it could also be tonight. Babies have a mind of their own.”

Aurora released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “That soon?” she whispered. “I hoped the baby would wait a little longer, until Eren…” Her voice faltered, the sorrow creeping in again.

The physician patted her hand. “You’re in good hands here. I’ll make sure you and the baby come through this healthy. Please trust me.”

Historia, who stood to the side, offered a supportive nod. “And I’ll be right here if you need anything. You can use my bedroom for as long as you want. I know it’s big and a little over the top, but it’s comfortable, and you shouldn’t be alone.”

A flicker of warmth spread through Aurora’s heart. “Thank you,” she replied softly. “I appreciate everything you’re doing.” She gently pressed a hand against the side of her belly, feeling a small movement from the baby. The thought that she might deliver in the next day or two weighed heavily on her. The father of her child was about to enter the greatest battle of their time, miles away with no guarantee he’d ever set eyes on their son or daughter.

After the brief checkup, Aurora and Historia made their way to the second floor of the palace, weaving through corridors adorned with tapestries of old family crests. Squads of Jaegerists stationed themselves at every possible entrance, their faces grim with duty. These were men and women Eren personally assigned, ready to defend Aurora and Historia at the cost of their own lives. Though Aurora was grateful, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt that others might die for her sake.

Reaching Historia’s lavish bedroom, Aurora settled onto the bed. It was enormous, draped with fine linens and pillows embroidered with the royal crest. Candles flickered on the bedside table, lending a gentle glow to the wide chamber. Historia paced near the tall window, occasionally peering out at the manicured palace gardens.

“It’s so quiet,” Historia remarked, her voice subdued. “Too quiet. I keep imagining the chaos that must be happening in Shiganshina right now, or if not yet, then soon. Makes it hard to breathe.”

Aurora nodded, trying to calm her nerves. “I know. It feels wrong to be safe in this beautiful place while they risk everything out there. But you and I… we both have our roles, even if they aren’t on the front lines anymore.” She offered a small smile of encouragement, attempting to reassure herself as much as Historia.

Historia moved closer, placing a gentle hand on Aurora’s shoulder. “I wish Porco was here,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “But wishing doesn’t change anything.” She inhaled deeply, forcing her composure to hold. “Anyway, we should get some rest. The doctor said you need it more than ever, and your mind needs a break from worrying.”

Aurora let out a tense laugh. “That’s easier said than done.”

She shifted on the bed, adjusting the blankets around her. She felt a wave of exhaustion, though she doubted she could truly relax. Outside, the sun began its late afternoon descent, painting the sky in gradients of orange and pink.

She glanced at Historia. “Do you mind if I stay here for a while? I don’t want to be alone.”

Historia smiled, albeit with a touch of sadness in her gaze. “Not at all. Stay as long as you like. I don’t really feel like being alone either.”

Aurora closed her eyes, yearning for a moment of peace. Yet, every time she tried to imagine something calm—like the lake near that cabin she once shared with Eren—her thoughts circled back to the war. She pictured the towering walls of Shiganshina, the Jaegerists standing ready, and the monstrous grin of a titan lurking just beyond the horizon. She also remembered the Founder's presence, how Ymir had seemingly come to her in the darkest moments. Aurora whispered a silent prayer, her lips barely moving:

“Please, Ymir… or whatever you are. If you’re listening, keep Eren safe. Bring him back to me. Don’t let our baby grow up without a father. I’m begging you.”

She felt a strange sensation, as though a chill wind brushed across her skin, but she dismissed it as a product of her imagination. Ymir’s nature remained a mystery—an all-powerful presence, or a victim trapped in a realm of endless servitude. Aurora couldn’t know. Nonetheless, she hoped the Founder might grant her prayer.

As Aurora drifted into a light sleep, Historia drew the curtains half-closed, allowing only a soft glow of the sunset to fill the room. The hush that settled over them held an air of uneasy expectation.

Outside the palace walls, the kingdom’s capital bustled, but nowhere near as it once did. Many had already been moved underground. Still, the clatter of distant carts and the chatter of soldiers mingled in the corridors, permeating the serene hush with hints of underlying tension. The world beyond these fortress walls prepared for the cataclysmic struggle that would decide the island’s fate.

All the while, far across the sea, the Global Allied Fleet loomed closer to Paradis. Warships stretched in a vast formation, an intimidating labyrinth of naval might. Cannons jutted from every hull, and overhead soared a battalion of airships brimming with bombs. Countries from every corner of the globe had united under Marley’s insistence. Their objective: annihilate the devil island, reduce it to rubble, and rid the world of its monstrous threat. Soldiers stood at attention on each deck, many gazing grimly at the horizon. Some believed wholeheartedly in their mission, others felt uneasy about the scale of slaughter. But none dared to speak against the plan.

Marley’s officers barked orders in clipped tones, ensuring no detail was overlooked. Among them was a quiet presence that many found unnerving: Zeke. He stood near the bow of a battleship, arms folded, expression distant. When he closed his eyes, he still saw glimpses of that fleeting vision of the Founder, that silent girl with impassive eyes. He couldn’t shake the memory, wondering why she would reveal herself in such a place, at such a time.

On one of the airships trailing slightly behind the main force, Gabi clenched her rifle in white-knuckled hands, eyes blazing with fury. Falco sat beside her, less certain, his gaze flickering to the stormy clouds rolling over the sea.

“They need to pay,” Gabi spat, nearly trembling with anger. “All of them… especially Eren Jaeger. Especially that devil who killed so many in Liberio, who turned Reiner into a traitor, who manipulated Pieck and Porco… I’ll make them pay.”

Falco parted his lips, unsure how to respond. He recalled the look on Reiner’s face whenever he spoke about the people on Paradis, the guilt that mixed with a strange fondness. “Gabi,” Falco said gently, “maybe we don’t know everything about what happened. Are we absolutely sure they betrayed us, or could there be more—”

“Shut up,” Gabi snapped. Her voice trembled with bitterness. “They betrayed Marley, Falco. They got all those Eldian refugees on that ship, only to hand them over to the devils. And then those devils turned them into titans. How else could that have happened? They never came back to Marley. They’re traitors.”

She took a shaky breath, forcing the tears away. “Reiner… he used to be so strong. So determined. Now he’s nothing more than a coward who ran off to cozy up to the island devils.”

Falco reached for her shoulder, but Gabi shrugged him off. The tension in the air felt thick, as though it threatened to choke them. Every soldier on the airship braced themselves for the dawn of the final assault. The entire world behind them stood united in hatred, convinced that wiping Paradis off the map was the only path to peace.

High above, the sun was nearing the end of its daily arc, painting the ocean with bands of orange and red. The Global Allied Fleet pressed onward, sails and steel at the ready, guided by the unwavering conviction that this mission would save humanity from the devils. Ships glided in perfect formation, airships poised overhead for an aerial bombardment. The operation was as well-coordinated as any in recorded history.

Marley had set the standard. They commanded the forces, orchestrating each movement, and the rest followed. Magath oversaw the grand plan, barking instructions that echoed across the decks. The tension on every vessel mounted, hearts pounding as each soldier envisioned what lay ahead.

Zeke, for his part, remained silent, a statue of thought. A single word from him could summon towers of dust and transform Eldians into mindless titans. Marley had decided instead of simply slaughtering the rest of the adult Eldians left in the internment zone… they secretly brought them along, packed in a lone airship and all of them already having Zeke’s spinal fluid running through their veins.

The titans are and alwayys have been a dangerous weapon… more so than any gun, cannon or airship. And Marley intended to use those filthy Subjects of Ymirs down to every last man, woman and child.

But his mission remained paramount. He had to ensure Eren never reached him. He couldn’t allow the Founder’s power to be unleashed through Eren’s will. Regardless of what the Founder had shown him or might attempt to do, he was bound by Marley’s orders and by his own twisted vision of salvation. The euthanization plan demanded it. 

Night began to settle over the water, and the stars shimmered faintly above the assembled fleets. In the distance, the jagged cliffs of Paradis loomed, just visible as dark shapes against the sky. The entire force braced for the final approach, adrenaline coursing through the veins of thousands upon thousands of soldiers.

Yet, on the opposite shore, Shiganshina stood equally ready. Eren, Levi, Hange, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Connie, Sasha, Reiner, Pieck, Porco, and every last Jaegerist readied themselves, hearts pounding at the prospect of what morning would bring. The stage was set for a battle that would shape history—or end it.

Back at the palace in Mitras, Aurora leaned against the cushions of Historia’s massive bed. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment as an unfamiliar sensation pulled her from the edge of slumber. It wasn’t quite pain, but a tightness that made her heart skip. She inhaled, eyes flicking around the dimly lit room. The gentle glow of the bedside lamp revealed Historia reading a book in a chair nearby, too restless to sleep.

“Historia,” Aurora whispered, her voice wavering with a hint of nervousness. “I just felt something. Maybe it’s nothing, but… it felt different from the usual aches.”

Historia rose at once, setting the book aside. “Should I get the doctor?”

Aurora swallowed hard, pressing a hand against her belly. “Not yet. Let’s… let’s wait and see. It might just be nerves. I don’t want to bother him if it’s a false alarm.”

Outside, the night sky stretched vast and silent, but Aurora felt the weight of countless destinies converging. She thought of Eren again. She prayed that, by the time this baby truly wanted to come into the world, Eren would be alive to hold them.

She closed her eyes, ignoring the persistent knot of worry in her chest. For now, all she could do was rest and hope that come sunrise, life would still offer them a chance at a future. And across the ocean, the Global Allied Fleet prepared to unleash its wrath, convinced they were bringing justice, while Eren and the scouts prepared to defend the island with fire and steel.

The storm was mere hours away from crashing upon them all.

A/N: Buckle up you guys because it will only be chaos from now on.

~

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[neep-neep-neep]

the first time Auden kisses Frey's cheek while they're chatting on the roof of the tower of Binnoi and Frey falls 200 feet before Cuff does the balloon thing to break her fall again and yells at her and she is just staring at the sky immobile

[danikamariewrites]

Punches & Apologies

Batboys x reader

Notes: this was a commission fic that I forgot to post lol. Buckle up bc she’s a long one with lots of Az angst

Warnings: angst, training accident

Heavy pants and the rush of your blood fill your ears. You are exhausted. Your body begging you to stop. The muscles in your arms and legs screaming and pulsing, never being pushed to this extent before.

Azriel is pushing you as punishment for your latest mission to the Continent. You made a mistake, a miscalculation. One that got an emissary killed and put you within death’s grasp.

But that does not give Azriel an excuse to push you like he has never made a mistake before.

Cauldron, your mates must be feeling your pain. At least Cassian is. You’ve been sending everything to him down the bond in the hopes he stops Azriel.

Slipping to take a knee on purpose, Azriel brings the practice sword to rest against your throat. His nostrils flared as his breathing turned heavy, angry that you would blatantly yield instead of fighting until the end like you were taught.

You just stare at each other for a moment that seems to go on for an eternity. Cassian clears his throat but you two just keep staring each other down. “I think that’s enough for today.” His voice is strained, telling you Cassian was certainly feeling the echoes of your pain.

“No,” Azriel said tensely. “We keep going.” He draws back the practice sword, stepping back to pace in front of your still kneeling form. You screw your eyes shut, putting all of your effort on slowing your heart rate.

“Azriel, I don't think it’s wise to continue. Take a break and cool off.” Cassian gives Azriel a glare reserved for his soldiers. “No.” Azriel replied shortly. His piercing gaze never leaving you. “Get up.” He commands.

“Az, please,” You beg. “Up now, or I’m suspending you from missions indefinitely.” Your eyes widen at his threat. Cassian opens his mouth to interject but you hold your hand out to him, rising from your spot on the mat.

If Azriel wanted your all, fine. You’re done pulling punches. Throwing your practice sword aside you ball your fists. A wave of anger rushing through you, motivating you to beat the ever-loving-shit out of your mate. “Let's go then.” You bite out. “No weapons? Fine.” Azriel says smugly.

The two of you square up, circling each other slowly as you assess the other’s weak spots. You were determined to land the first punch. Not wasting any more time you launch yourself at Azriel with your fist pulled back. Letting your fist fly straight for his nose, Azriel dodges you, dipping to your right.

You stumble, quickly regaining your balance, whipping around to face him. A nasty scowl contorting your features. Azriel throws a series of punches that you duck under. Your arms raised in front of your face for protection.

Between punches you pop up, landing two quick jabs to his ribs. There wasn’t much behind the punches, but enough that you could put some distance between you. Over Azriel’s shoulder you could see Cassian standing rigid, his hands behind his back. A torn look pulling at his rugged face.

Part of Cassian roars to put a stop to this before someone gets hurt. The other part of him whispers that this is between you and Azriel. That you two need to work this out so the anger doesn’t follow you around.

When Cassian focuses again the two of you are getting more and more violent. Punches getting faster and faster.

You can tell Azriel is getting even more frustrated with you. By continuously dodging him you aren’t truly facing off against him. His pace picks up so fast you can feel the wind from his punches. You go to step left, thinking Azriel was going to throw his right hand. It was too late for you to notice the change. Azriel throws a left hook, his fist connecting with your jaw. A loud crack stunning the three of you.

You let gravity pull you down to the mat. Laying flat on your back, tense and in shock waiting for the adrenaline rush to wear off so you would feel the pain. There was a slight ringing in your ears along with Azriel and Cassian’s screaming match that you tuned out.

Looking at the sky you focused on the clouds passing by. Their different shapes and how soft they seemed. Anything to get your mind off the pain that would be taking over any second.

“Rhys,” you whispered in your mind, “Rhys…the training ring…” Even in your mind your voice was weak. When you focused you saw soft violet eyes staring down at you. “Hi darling.” Rhys says softly. “Rhys?” Your voice cracks as pain has your mouth snapping shut. Tears sting your eyes as you try to breathe through your nose to stay calm.

“Hey, hey it’s ok.” Rhys coos. He softly runs the tips of his fingers against the blooming bruise on your face. You whimper at his touch. Rhys winces at your pain, feeling your distress through the bond. You can still hear Cassian and Azriel arguing. “QUIET!” Rhys’s voice booms through the training room. The pair immediately fall silent. The severity of what has happened settled over them.

Rhys carefully scoops you into his arms. As he heads for the entrance to the house he yells at Cassian and Azriel, “Do not disturb me or her for the rest of the day. I will deal with both of you later.” Rhys’s tone left no room for argument. The Illyrians bowed their heads murmuring “Yes High Lord” in unison.

Trying to focus on anything but the pain you look at the hallway Rhys is walking. The floor is lined with an ornate carpet. The walls are covered in old paintings you’re sure his father collected, along with vintage sconces giving off a soft glow of fae light.

That’s when you realize he’s taking you to his personal wing. Rooms Rhys has rarely used in the last few years since the bond snapped.

You make a small noise to get his attention. Unable to move your mouth in fear of something in your jaw popping. You push yourself further into his chest. Focusing on the feel of Rhys under you.

Gently laying you on the large four poster bed Rhys hesitantly lets you go. “I will be right back.” He says, disappearing in a wisp of black swirls.

You knew he would be back soon. That Rhys wouldn’t leave you to suffer alone. To ease your anxiety you use the technique Cass taught you. Five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one you can taste.

There wasn’t much you could do for a few of the numbers, but what you could do caught your attention immediately. It’s been so long since you’ve visited Rhysand’s personal wing of the House of Wind. Longer since you’ve spent the night here.

Looking around the room you noticed the paintings – his favorites from his father’s collection – the curtains half drawn for the balcony doors, a blanket Rhys would always wrap you in hanging off the end of the bed. The canopy on the bed has changed from thick, velvet black fabric to a gauzy, airy white fabric you would see in the Summer Court. Lastly, you notice how brightly lit the room is.

You feel the softness of the comforter under your fingers. You had thought it would feel scratchy or dusty from not being used. But that wouldn’t be like Rhys to let anything in this massive house seem unused.

You can feel your training leathers clinging to your skin from sweat. Feel the heaviness of your boots pulling at your ankles.

Before you can move to unlace them Rhys reappears with Madja by his side. The old healer was fuming, her eyes going wide as she spotted the bruise on the side of your face. Rhys must have told her about training.

“I swear to the Cauldron,” Madja mutters. Striding over to you she plops her bag down on the bed, her gentle hands softly cup your jaw. Rhys stands behind her. Anxiously biting at his nails as he watches the glow from her hands.

Madja straightens, her lips pulled into a frown as she thinks. “It’s not broken or fractured, thank the Mother. But the bruising inside and out will cause you pain for a few days.” You nod at her assessment. Placing her hands on you again you hold back a new wave of tears as Madja healed what she could.

You didn’t pay attention to her when going over what tonics to take and when. Rhys was clinging to her every word for the both of you. You were too busy thinking about how Azriel pushed you so hard that you ended up hurt.

When Rhys came back from escorting Madja to the city he helped you out of your leathers and into a hot bath.

An hour later you were back in bed with Rhys holding you to his chest, an ice pack resting against your jaw to help with the swelling. Tears silently stream down your cheeks as Rhys smoothes down your hair to help calm you.

“Do you want to stay here or in your own room?” He asked, finally breaking the silence. Sniffling your answer, “Here.”

“Ok,” Rhys presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’ll stay with me, right?” You hold his shirt in a death grip. Praying Rhys won’t leave you alone. “Of course, darling.” You let out a shaky exhale in relief. You weren’t ready to face Cassian and Azriel. Staying in Rhys’s wing ensured that. They wouldn’t dare enter his personal wing for fear of being punished by their High Lord.

For a week you stayed curled up in Rhys’s old bed. He opted for working in his smaller study next to the bedroom while you recovered. Though the bruising went down and the pain went away you couldn’t bring yourself to do any of your daily activities. Your failed mission and fight with Azriel depressing you too much, along with the absence of two of your mates. That was your choice though.

You weren’t ready to face them. Still angry at both of them. Angry at Cassian for not stepping in. Angry at Azriel for thinking he could push until he gets his way.

Once you were able to actually chew your food, you thought maybe it was time to leave bed. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a few more days?” Rhys asked. He wrapped you tightly in his arms, resting his cheek on the top of your head.

“Yes, Rhys. I’ll go back to High Lady duties, but I’m not training for now. I don’t particularly want to be around Cass and Az.” You huff. Just thinking about them makes you angry. Rhys leans away from you, holding you by your shoulders. “I know darling. They do feel guilty and are beside themselves.” Rhys frowns.

You knew they were. You could feel them through the bond, Azriel the least. You knew he must have built a wall of steel around his heart. Cauldron, he must be a ghost of himself right now.

After a few days of being back in the usual parts of the house you seek out Cassian. Finding him in the dining room you sit across from him. Cass pauses eating, shocked to see you. You send him a reassuring smile along with a pulse of love down the bond.

“It’s good to see you sweetheart.” He breaks out into a wide grin, reaching across the table to hold your hands. “Hi Cass,” is all you can manage. Overwhelmed by the happiness you’re feeling through the bond to see him again. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Better,” you answer honestly. “The pain is gone but the bruising is still there a little.” You turn your head to give Cassian a better view of the yellowing skin. His fists clench and his face contorts in anger.

“I should’ve stopped him myself. Az was in his own head and I knew it,” Cassian says more to himself tha you. It seems like this is the first time he is truly admitting his thoughts outloud. “Cass,” you say gently, “It isn’t your fault. This is between me and Azriel.”

“I’m sorry.” He chokes out, silver lining his eyes. You quickly round the table, placing yourself in his lap. You wipe away a stray tear, kissing his nose. “Cass, I’ve forgiven you.” Cassian pulls you into his chest, hugging you and sending all his love down the bond. It was almost too much. You felt like your chest was going to explode.

As the days pass and your temper cools, you find yourself craving to have all three of your mates by your side again. Rhys and Cass were keeping you company. You’re back to your old routine, but still sitting out of morning training. You felt like a piece of you was missing.

You had only seen Azriel in passing once. And the male couldn’t even look at you. Your heart clenched at the lack of recognition. You tried to reach out to his end of the bond but you were quickly met with an impenetrable wall of shadows.

Azriel had taken to spending his days in his office, throwing himself fully into his work, and sleeping in his own room.

Packing for your trip to the Winter Court you called Rhys and Cassian into your bedroom. You give them a sweet smile as you fold your clothes, putting them in your bag. “I have a request for while I’m gone.”

“What’s that, darling?” Rhys’s smooth voice sends a shiver down your spine. He presses his chest to your back, hooking a finger under your chin to tilt your head back to look at him. You give him a knowing smirk and swat his hand away. “I’m trying to be serious Rhys.” The High Lord holds his hands up in surrender. “What do you need from us?” Cassian asks earnestly.

You stand straighter, eyes hardening. “I want you two to bring Azriel out of this dark spot. He’s hurting and I don’t think he’ll talk to me until he knows you two have forgiven him.”

They suck in a breath, giving each other a look that tells you neither are sure Az will talk. A long moment of silence passes before they look back at you.

“We will.” Rhys hesitantly agrees. “Do you forgive him though?” Cassian asks with a sad expression. You nod slowly. “I do. And I need you two to forgive him.” They agree to your request, promising to make things better.

Azriel watched from his balcony as you and Mor winnow away. It had pained him to stay away from you. He couldn’t bring himself to face you.

His stomach has been in constant knots. Azriel hasn’t eaten a proper meal in a week thanks to the incident with you. If he didn’t talk to you soon the guilt was going to kill him.

Azriel hadn’t slept properly either. The purple bags under his eyes were painful proof. Every time Azriel closes his eyes he sees the shock set in from the punch. He feels your jaw bone cracking under his fist. He sees you laying on your back, stunned from what your mate had done.

Azriel is your mate. One of three males that is supposed to protect you. Not cause you harm.

A knock at the door pulls him from his morbid thoughts. Opening the door Rhys stands there giving him a tentative smile. Azriel bows his head slightly before looking back at him.

Rhys clears his throat. “I know the last week has been tough, so I thought we could have a night, just the three of us.”

Azriel tenses at the thought of being around Cassian. His murderous eyes flash in his mind along with calloused hands grabbing him, wanting to throttle him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Rhys.”

Rhys holds in a sigh, annoyed that Azriel doesn’t see the peace offering he’s trying to make. “Az, look at me,” he hooks a finger under the taller Illyrians chin, “You can’t avoid us, or y/n for that matter, forever. Please, come have dinner with us. We miss you.”

Azriel gives in, nodding in defeat. Rhys grabs the Shadowsinger’s hand, pulling him to the dinning room. Az tenses when he sees Cassian in his usual seat. Taking his place across from the General, Azriel keeps his gaze glued to him. His shadows ready to protect Azriel at any sign of a threat.

Cassian gives him a reassuring smile, “It’s good to see you, Az.” All Azriel can do is nod. A lump growing in his throat. He reigns in his emotion, keeping them behind the wall he’s built up.

Rhys flicks his wrist, making platters of food appear. “Eat up. I made sure the cooks made everyones favorite.”

The trio falls into an awkward silence. Only the clatter of cutlery against porcelain filling the cavernous room. Cassian breaks the silence, trying to naturally clear his throat. “So…” he drawls, “How was everyone’s day?”

He and Rhys fall into easy conversation with Azriel following along to avoid being consumed by his emotions. When Azriel eventually gets roped into the conversation he’s his typical quiet self.

Moving to the sitting room after the meal Azriel opens up more. Becoming his usual self around Rhys and Cass. Once the whiskey comes out the trio are back to their usual banter. Like there hasn’t been a huge rift keeping them isolated from one another.

Rhys sets his crystal glass down on the side tabel. Leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, he levels Azriel with an interogative look. “Not to ruin the evening, but we do need to talk.” Azriel freezes, that lump returning to his throat making it harder to breathe.

He knew this was coming. They needed to discuss it at some point. Az nods, urging Rhys to continue. “We know what happened, but we want to know what was going on with you.” Rhys says gently, not wanting to drill Azriel.

Azriel swallows hard, screwing his eyes shut to keep tears at bay. All calming techniques from years of training leaving his mind, losing all control on his emotions. Something Azriel isn’t known for. Grappling for words he finally finds his voice.

“What happened on the Continent stuck with me. It wasn’t a typical slip up, you didn’t see her. I thought we were going to lose her. And I wouldn’t have been able to come home and face the two of you if that happened. I thought when we got home things would be better and everything would fine.”

Tears escaped his tightly closed eyes.

A heavy, comforting hand rests on the middle of Azriel’s back. Opening his eyes he finds Cassian giving him a pained, sympathetic look. Something in Cassian’s soft hazel eyes broke Azriel. His tears started falling faster as he attempted to blink them away. Rhys rested a hand on his knee, telling him to let it out.

“Stepping back into training with her I knew I had to teach her how to avoid an accident like that again. I needed to know she could keep up if push came to shove. So I pushed and Gods do I regret it. I got so mad that she wasn’t taking it seriously and Cass you should’ve stopped me.” Azriel anguished. “I got mad and I punched, hard. I hear it all the time. I see her laying there when I close my eyes. I can’t…just,” Azriel breaks down, dropping his face into his scarred hands. Heartbreaking sobs rip from his lips as he leans into Cassians side.

The males cry with him. Feeling Azriel’s guilt and turmoil through the bond.

When Az calms down he looks to the males for guidance. Rhys moves to the couch from his usual armchair, pressing a long kiss to Azriel’s forehead. “Talk to her. Y/n desperately wants to see you too. Being away from you has pained her as much as it has you.” Rhys whispers.

Two days later, with a chill you can’t seem to shake, you return home from the Winter Court. You bid Mor goodnight in foyer and head to your bedroom. Pushing the door open you find Azriel sitting on the edge of your bed, his head down as he nervously pulls at his finger nails.

“Azzie,” you say, hopeful that he truly is here and not an image your very tired mind made up. Leaving your bag on the bench at the end of your bed, you rush over to your mate, holding his face in your still cold hands. “I’ve missed you,” you whisper.

Az leans into your touch, covering your hands with his own. You’ve missed his touch. Those rough, loving hands holding you tight to his chest. “I’m sorry,” his voice breaks, silver lining his eyes. The wall keeping his emotions from you fianlly breaks. Letting you feel everything he’s kept to himself.

“I’m so sorry. I should have stopped when you and Cass told me to. I shouldn’t have let my anger and fear get the best of me. I am so sorry, my love. So sorry.”Azriel’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you to stand between his thighs. You let him hold you, wrapping your arms around his neck.

The two of you cried and clung to each other for what felt like an eternity.

Azriel pulls away, holding you by your waist. You wipe away his lingering tears. “I forgive you, Azriel. Promise me that if something like this happens again you won’t let it build. We’ll talk first before we let our feelings get the better of us. Because I don’t know what will happen is there’s another incident like this.”

“I will, I swear it. And i’m going to make this up to you for the rest of our lives.” Azriel’s tone is a strict promise to you. “As long as you don’t push me in training anymore we’re ok.” You joke with him. Azriel’s face stays serious, not a smirk in sight. “Never again.”

He stands from the bed pulling you into sweet embrace, tucking your head under his chin. “If you’re up for it I want to take you to dinner tomorrow night. Just me and you,” he asks, hopeful. You squeeze Azriel tighter, “I’d love that Azzie.”

Unwrapping yourself from Azriel you look up at him with big, tear filled eyes. Batting your lashes at him. Azriel looked at you with hazel eyes full of nothing but love. He cups your jaw, running his fingers over the spot where the bruise from his punch once was. “How are you feeling? I dove right into my apology I didn’t even ask.”

“I’m good. The pain is gone, so is the bruise on the inside.” Azriel’s eyes widened. He didn’t get a full update from Rhys when Madja had healed you. “But it’s ok,” you assure him quickly. Azriel pulls you against his chest again, kissing the top of your head. You giggle lightly at his action.

You pull away again, going to your closet to change for bed. It’s been a long day and you could leave unpacking until tomorrow. Right now you wanted to sleep with Azriel by your side. It had been two long weeks without him.

Coming back to your room you find Az sitting back on your bed awkwardly. You climb onto the mattress, crawling up behind him. You rest your chin on his shoulder, “Will you stay in here tonight? I don’t want to be without you.”

Without a word Azriel shoots up, stripping his leathers from his body. He pulls the covers back waiting for you to settle in next to him.

You quickly snuggle into his side, resting your head on his bare chest. Azriel pulls the covers up around your shoulders tight to keep you warm. You gently pull his face down to meet your lips in a sweet kiss. “Goodnight Azzy. I love you, so much baby.”

Azriel cradles your head, letting out a small hum. “I love you too, sweetheart. More than you know.”

[b1rds3ye]

Mask On

How the boys react to their new ally who is more adamant on wearing their mask than Ghost himself.

Characters: Captain John Price, Simon “Ghost” Riley, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

GN!Reader w/ no physical descriptions (except shorter than Ghost)

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3.1 (~0.8 each)

Warning: Canon-Typical Violence, Mentions of Reader potentially having insecurities, Not Proof Read

A/N: You know what maybe I want to be the badass masked character 😤

Captain John Price

The captain is thorough, and he immediately knew something was up when he looked up your file only to be greeted with no photo. He’s honestly a little peeved that his rank doesn’t grant him this confidential information, he’s known Simon before he took up the mask so this is the first time he’s genuinely had a faceless ally

But ultimately, as long as he can trust that you’ll be following orders, he doesn’t care if you have a mask or not. But his concern is only that for a fellow soldier

It takes a little longer for him to warm up to you - facial expressions tell a lot about someone’s character. He’s a bit prickly around you, he learns about you indirectly with how you interact with the rest of the 141

But over time there’s a shift. He can’t pinpoint when exactly but the sight of your mask relaxes him. After days separated on a mission, high stakes and adrenaline has Price snapping his head at the faintest of foreign sounds. But upon the familiar sight of your signature mask, he feels at ease

Price is fiercely protective of you and your mask. He likens it to his hat, only far more important - that mask is part of your identity and he knows just how important a soldier’s psyche is. If the enemy manages to take off your mask, he’ll stop at nothing to get it back on your behalf, even if you reluctantly tell him to abandon it

If he can’t salvage your mask, Price has now made it a habit to carry a balaclava for you in one of his pockets. If that’s not available, he’ll even offer you his hat, tipping it down far enough to obscure your eyes

Off duty he finds himself staring at your visage more these days. Looking at how the mask curves over your features, or the small slivers of skin that reveal themselves. He catches himself before you notice but he’s still disappointed in himself, he feels like a Victorian-era prude hyperventilating at the sight of an ankle

“Looking fresh, sergeant.”

You let out an audible chortle at Price’s words. The last mission was a success but at great costs, one of them being your mask damaged beyond repair during melee combat. Your face still wasn’t revealed, but slashes against fabric embedded with dirt and ash have made your signature mask look unrecognisable. Immediately upon returning to base and after debriefing, you were out of commission until you could don a new mask.

Price would be lying if said he didn’t miss your presence for the last few days, hiding away from the rest of the soldiers in base. He has no doubt you’ve still maintained your training and visiting the infirmary for mandatory checkups, but he’s gotten far too used to you being at his beck and call. The famed sight of your mask is no longer in his periphery, giving a nod of approval (not that he ever needed your approval, but he does enjoy your attention).

And now here you are with a new mask, the highlights glowing under the overhead lights and the darks swallowing up the lightwaves like an animal starved. Your updated look had you noticeably confident, shoulders square and head tall.

“Thanks, Captain.”

He can hear your smile and he ends up sitting next to you. Did he need to sit so close? No, but he acts as though his thigh brushing against yours was pure coincidence.

“What are you going to do with the old one?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, giving a light pat to a pocket in your cargo pants that your past mask currently resides in. “I know there’s a lot of memories in this… it’s my first mask… but I don’t know what to do with it.”

“I’ll keep it.”

You look at him. Price now has the uncanny ability to read your mood purely through your body language. From the speed at which you turn your head, the inclination of the neck, how your shoulders slant, he’s surprised that such a vicious soldier can act so endearingly in these moments.

“For what?”

“Safekeeping,” he says simply. “I’m proud of my soldiers, sergeant - want to remember their accomplishments.”

You shrug in agreement and fish your mask out of your pocket. You don’t need to know how much Price truly values you, how having your mask will be like having a part of you by his side to motivate him when he’s working alone.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

You’ve got a mask? Cool, so does he. Simon really doesn’t care when he first met you. He offers a simple nod of acknowledgement to you and then it’s all mission talk. If anything, the mask makes him respect you more, like him it’s always the masked ones who’ve seen shit and can get shit done

Even before you two became friends, you two were often paired together for operations. Perhaps it was just assumed the two masked people were on the same wavelength and to be fair, they were right. It didn’t take long for Ghost to admire your prowess on the battlefield

However as the two of you start to get closer, Simon gets a bit of a eureka moment. So this is how all his allies feel when trying to get along with a masked figure, unable to see any of their expressions. Oh how the tables have turned. It’s not daunting for him, more just amusing

He knows the struggles of having a mask so he helps out where he can. He reminds you if it’s been some time since you last washed your mask (advice he does not follow himself) and he’ll offer you some of his obsidian powder he uses to obscure any uncovered patches of skin

Price often has the two of you accompany him for interrogations, he calls it “mask pressure”. There’s nothing more terrifying to a target than having two imposing faceless figures standing on either side of them, unreadable and unpredictable

It’s clear you don’t want to show your face to anyone and Simon doesn’t question it. His natural curiosity is not worth your discomfort and he makes that abundantly clear. If on the rare occasion you catch him without a mask, he’ll sometimes put it back on so that you don’t have to be the only one with their face covered

If your mask is ever compromised, Simon covers you with his hulking figure. No one dares get on the bad side of Ghost who shoots the most terrifying glares towards anyone looking in his - and consequently your - way. He stands in front of you, back rigid and shoulders square, his posture only slacking if he feels you hold onto his back, seeking comfort

A few weeks ago, when left in a briefing, you finally noticed Simon was staring at you from across the room. He had been staring for a good while now, but you - ever the diligent soldier - were distracted discussing tactics with a corporal. So there he was, standing and observing in the corner of the room - his “observing” being drinking the sight of you. And that was when he noticed, among all the glory that was you, that your mask was slightly off alignment. Cue his eyes being trained on your head for you to get the idea that something was wrong.

When your head stayed still - probably challenging his gaze - he tried to change tactics. He added the occasional upward jerk of the head - miming an attempt to shake the mask back in place - but your head only tilted in confusion. You still could not figure out what he was doing.

Eventually he gave up and walked up to you. He lifted a tentative hand, silently asking for permission and you nodded. He pinched at the fabric on the side of your face.

“Your mask’s slippin’,” he said gruffly. It wasn’t the end of the world, only a small adjustment that only someone as observant as him could notice. Still, he felt satisfied at your heavy exhale, you must’ve noticed it’s a little easier to breathe with everything in alignment now.

“Thanks.”

Today, Simon finds your gaze trained on him, head following whenever he moves across the room. You used to stare when you first met, you probably found him intimidating and he doesn’t blame you. He thought you’d be over that though, you two were closer than that. At least he hoped.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He eventually asks and that spurs you into action.

Standing in front of him, you reach up, your hand grabbing the top half of the skull that overlays his balaclava. Your thumb lightly hooks into the skull’s eye socket - a little close to Simon’s actual eye but he trusts you. He feels you tug upwards, and Simon now realises that the skull had been sinking down his face, the peripheral around his brow no longer obscured. He’ll need to reapply the glue for the mask later.

“We really need a hand sign for this,” you mutter.

And so you two make one. It’s discreet, a closed fist with a thumb poking out, dragged from the jawline up to the hairline. The rest of the 141 just look at the two of you in confusion whenever you use it though, your little secret.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Johnny’s generally a good judge of character. Although it’s a little uncanny being unable to see your features, he’s used to it because of Simon. One conversation is all he needs to reach a conclusion as to what type of person you are and now he treats you as if you’re good friends

Yes, he is curious about what you look like under the mask. He used to make comments about it occasionally until he caught you on a bad day

“C’mon Sarge, just a peek.” “Not happening, Johnny.” “What, you ugly?” “… that’s not for you to speculate, MacTavish.” “Shit, sorry. I- I’d never think that of you, or care. I know you’re a looker.”

And Johnny stands by his statement. Even if he’s never seen your face he quickly developed a little crush on you. How you conduct yourself in battle has him watching you with stars in his eyes and he just knows you’ll take his breath away if you ever show your face

When Johnny’s bored, he likes doodling your mask and potential alternative designs in his journal which he’ll show you sometimes. He’s not an artist but he gets the idea across. He’s created a “happy” design, an “angry” one, and the “when I see Soap” design which is just your standard mask with a whole lot of shoddily drawn love hearts on it (you haven't seen that design yet)

He’s genuinely surprised at how determined you are at keeping your mask on in all circumstances - you’re worse than Simon at this point - but he’ll never ask because he doesn’t want to potentially open up old wounds. Despite his curiosity for what you could look like, Johnny will never invade your privacy and ensures no one else does either. If you’re in your room he’ll knock once, twice, thrice, until he’s absolutely sure you’re ready for him to enter

If something goes wrong and your mask falls off he’s looking away and shoving everyone else to look away as well. He’s like a guard dog, shouting and name-shaming anyone who dares look in your direction. No one except other members of the 141 will be able to approach you until you’re covered

Was it smart to have you and Soap - combined to be the most disruptive and obnoxious soldiers on the field - alone to handle a stealth mission that was off the books? No, but you sure as hell weren’t going to disappoint Price or Laswell. The objective was clear and the rules of engagement were even clearer; under no circumstance can the enemy know you’re from 141.

“We’re gonna need to cover our faces,” Johnny mutters absentmindedly beside you. You pull your binoculars down to send him an incredulous look and he chuckles. “I need to cover my face.”

“You got a mask?”

There’s a pause and Johnny’s looking at you, eyes glinting in that familiar mischief. That was never good news.

“You bet.”

You offer a tentative nod of encouragement before lifting your binoculars back up to observe the target site. You hear the repeated shuffles of fabric against fabric and clothes sliding against skin. It’s prolonged, you swear it’s enough time for Johnny to change his entire uniform. His breaths become muted, mouth now covered until it eventually falls to complete silence. It’s unnerving, the designated demolitions expert is not known for his silence, and you have to look back at him yet again.

Of course you expected Johnny to be wearing a mask, but it was the mask itself that took you by surprise.

“Is that… mine?”

“Was yours.”

You squint and somewhere in the depths of your mind, you vaguely recall Soap asking if he could have one of your spare masks back at the base. You humoured him, and said your wardrobe was his.

That was your first mistake.

You figured he was just going to take the piss, wear your mask to scare some privates around the base. You didn’t think he’d actually wear it on a mission. It was unexpected, but it felt like an honour. How he was so willing to identify with you in some of the most dangerous of situations.

But your silence has Johnny getting fidgety. He’s already reaching up to pull the mask off.

“I have a normal balaclava. If you don’t like this I can-”

“Wear it.”

You can’t see Johnny’s face but you see him pull his head back in surprise. Then he smiles, one so wide, expanding his cheeks you can see it stretch your mask. In that moment you’re glad your mask obscures your features as you feel yourself grin at his own joy.

“We’re a team, aye?”

“You bet.”

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Kyle’s may be close to Simon but he's not entirely used to masked allies. When you first arrived he shot Captain Price a cautious look, a silent conversation between them finished by Price’s definitive nod. Eventually he relents and puts up with you

Subconsciously, without seeing your face he ends up reducing you to a weapon. He respects you like a soldier, a robot. His language is restrained, only issuing orders and you recite them back

It’s only when another soldier cracks a joke on the mission and you laugh does it flick a switch in Kyle’s mind. You weren’t all orders, you weren’t a machine, you were a human (with a damn nice voice might he add). He feels terrible for reducing you to a tool simply because he can’t see your face but he’ll make up for it now

He becomes a bit of a menace in the sparse quiet moments of a mission. He makes the occasional one liner about how you wear the mask so others aren’t distracted by your good looks, but then changes the topic so quickly you’re not even sure he said it

Yes, Kyle’s a little obsessed with your voice. He can’t see you and he doesn’t have the experience like Price or Simon to read body language accurately. Instead, he can read your mood near perfectly with the inflections in your voice (which is arguably more impressive). While he doesn’t want you to ever be upset or angry, sometimes how you taunt the enemy has a shiver running down his spine

Because your mouth is blocked by a mask, many allies don’t offer you food or drinks. Not Kyle though, if he’s grabbed refreshments, he always ensures he has extra for you. At first he just gives them to you and then leaves. But when you said it was okay for him to stay - trusting him enough to just look away when you lift you mask - Kyle’s heart soared

If anything happens to reveal your face, Kyle is immediately by your side. He pulls you close to provide comfort, while also guiding your head into his neck or shoulder to block anyone from seeing you. Another member of the 141 will find a solution to cover your face, you are Kyle’s first priority and he’ll gladly hold you all day

After a long mission, you and Kyle are finally safe upon reaching exfil. Sitting on a helicopter Kyle slumps against his seat, and you do the same beside him. Although he could finally relax, he feels absolutely filthy, swamped in his own sweat under multiple layers. Dirt and mud caked his boots and crept all the way up to his thighs. Some even sneaked up into under his tactical vest.

He spares a look and sometimes he thinks you can’t possibly be human. The heat is suffocating enough without a mask, Kyle has long forgone his signature cap to let his head breathe. If your body language was any indicator, you weren’t handling the sweltering heat of the helicopter engine or Al Mazrah’s temperament. Your chest notably heaving under the weight of your tactical gear, breaths so laboured it sent the fabric around your mouth pulling and billowing with each inhale and exhale.

There isn’t much Kyle can do for comfort, but he tries. He shifts a little closer to you. Your head shifts to look at him, the movement was far too slow, like your head was too heavy and his heart tugs a little.

With one hand, Kyle gently tilts your face up to him. With the other he lightly pinches the fabric of your mask at the junction between your jawline and ear. Teasing it between his fingers, when he pulls his hand away there’s gunk on his fingertips. Dust, dirt and as he squints at your mask he realises that some of the stains are likely the dried blood of an unidentified enemy.

The hand he’s resting on your chin is about to pull away until he notices how you’re resting your head on it. He can’t see your face but he has no doubt that your eyes are near shut, almost drifting off to dreamland. He occupies himself by gently brushing away loose debris off your mask which has you relaxing further into his touch.

“We gotta wash this,” he murmurs defeatedly.

“... yeah, we do,” you grumble, voice thick with fatigue. Kyle does not stop his ministrations - even pulling some fluff off of the cotton of your mask. It does little to actually clean your mask - at this rate it’s going to need pure bleach to clean it - but he can’t bring himself to stop. Not when you trust him this much, leaning into his touch, entrusting him to be the respite from your mission.

Masked Reader Masterlist Call of Duty Masterlist

[allbark-no-bite]

call it brotherhood (not love).

jake seresin x reader (wc: 6.2k)

summary: jake meets his match in a soldier rather than a sailor. you’re a bit more war torn than he expected, but it’s okay because maybe he is too

warnings: 18+ smut, * graphic descriptions of injuries and death ⚠️

* if you are uncomfortable with this, please don’t read

author’s note: spoiler alert, i know this isn’t the Jake fic that you’ve all been wanting but i swear that one is in the works. i’m about to go back to school and wanted to get this out there for y’all :) (ps i apologize for the lazy ending)

————————————————————————

"At ease, gentlemen —And woman," Admiral Simpson adds after a moment, shooting an uncharacteristically apprehensive look in Phoenix's direction. Payback snorts at his hasty correction, and Jake is surprised when the admiral doesn't fix him with a nasty look.

If the man's cursory show of inclusion perturbs the female pilot, she doesn't show it, and instead she takes a seat with all the rest of them. Jake turns back towards the front of the ready room, sinking down into his chair just a bit, toothpick clenched between his teeth as he waits for the admiral to address them.

However routine, this training meeting was a bit out of left field, especially for a Sunday afternoon. The Dagger squad typically had one weekly, but it was usually led by Maverick and much more informal. That wasn't to say that seeing Beau was surprising, but the man usually steered clear of the wayward captain and left him to his own devices when it came to training the Daggers.

Today the captain sits in the ready room beside the rest of the pilots. Jake watches as Bradley sends his godfather an inquisitive brow from across the room, to which the older man just shrugs. Interesting.

Cyclone clears his throat. "Good afternoon. I apologize for keeping you all, but I promise this will only take a minute of your time. As I'm sure you are all aware, the United States Department of Defense takes immense pride in maintaining one of the most well integrated military forces in the world. It's our job to work closely with other service members to ensure their safety and the safety of our nation." He pauses. "As experienced as you all are, your time here at Topgun has not reflected that."

Jake's brow furrows, his tongue worrying at the toothpick clenched between his teeth as he listens to the admiral go on. Javy shoots him a look but Jake stares ahead, waiting for Beau to continue.

"The permanent installment of your squad here at Miramar was to create a tightly knit group of elite fighter pilots who would be available at a moment's notice, and however successful that may have been, I cannot neglect the fact that comfort builds complacency. Later today, a squad of U.S. Army soldiers will be arriving to aide in your training for the next six weeks. The integration of mixed branch training units has been widely effective around the country, and it's about time we do the same here at Miramar."

With that, the screen positioned on the wall behind him lights up, displaying enlarged headshots of about eight soldiers. The first seven are males of varying ages, but none older than probably thirty. Jake quickly skims over their names and credentials, but when he gets to the last profile, his eyes stop.

The last solider is the only female projected on the screen, but even so she stands out as compared to all the other members of her squad. He can't quite put his finger on why though.

She's uncharacteristically pretty. And by that he means that to most, her appearance would be inherently off putting— even without the straight-mouthed scowl on her face. She's got a square, almost masculine like jawline that hardens her features considerably. Her hair is light, worn from spending too much time in the sun regardless of however dark it may have been naturally. The same goes for her skin, which is comparably bronze in contrast to the tan line on her forehead, he would assume from wearing a patrol cap out in the field.

Her eyes are wild.

And that's when it hits him.

She'd been all over the news just a few months ago. Something about a patrol gone wrong out in the Middle East, which ultimately turned into a high stakes rescue mission to extract the surviving soldiers. They went in hoping to bring back nine men and came out with one. Apparently they didn't even get to recover the bodies.

Jake can't imagine what that'll do to a person.

Before he can stare at her profile any longer, Cyclone quickly clicks off the projection and the image disappears. This time he appears almost nervous as he stares back at them. "These soldiers are recently returning from a deployment in the Middle East, so I trust that you all will do your best to make them feel welcome. If none of you have any questions, that is all. You're dismissed."

---

The following morning, the Jake receives word from Maverick that the Admiral wants to see him in his office. It's not a strange request but certainly raises Jake's attention as to why specifically he was needed.

Upon entering the room, Jake finds not only the Admiral but Maverick and another female that he's yet to have seen before. All heads turn towards him when he enters, as if he were interrupting something. Immediately, Jake snaps to attention, his heels clicking together and his fingers brushing his brow with a sharpness that would make the academy proud.

Cyclone nods in his direction, acknowledging Jake's customary greeting and dismissing him with the notion. "Lt. Seresin," he begins, gesturing to the female standing across the room. "This is Lt. (L/n). She's uh—a member of the squad that I briefed you on yesterday."

He hadn't noticed that she was wearing Army OCPs but he connects the dots as soon as the admiral mentions her name. He remembers reading it on the projector during the meeting.

Rather than introducing herself, the soldier stands rigidly across from him, her arms folded in front of her chest with a look on her face that Jake can only describe as fucking pissed. Unsure of what to do but aware from personal experience with Phoenix that he shouldn't try to cross any unknown boundaries, Jake settles for offering her a respectful nod. She glares back at him.

"You're two of our only service members with active combat experience," Cyclone continues, obviously ignoring the girl's crossed disposition. "I'm hoping that you and Lt. (L/n) can find some common ground. Perhaps it would do you both some good to—"

"Respectfully, sir, if I wanted to vent to someone about my feelings, I'd go see a shrink," the woman growls. "I recommend you do the same, Lt. Seresin." Her tone makes Jake's brow raise slightly in surprise. No one talks to an admiral like that, not even Pete Mitchell.

"Lt. (L/n)," Cyclone snaps. "That's quite enough."

This time, she rolls her eyes with a scoff. "You can't just—"

"Get out."

She clamps her jaw shut but doesn't budge from where her feet are planted in the ground.

"I said, Get. Out," Cyclone reiterates.

The eyes that had caught Jake's attention in the first place fix the admiral with a chilling stare. To Jake, there's something familiar in those eyes. Some sort of unmistakably justifiable rage that runs deeper than just being dismissed from the conversation. Jake watches, his breath stalled as she sets her jaw, unwilling to move, when it hits him. Identical jawlines and untwitching scowls mirror each other.

The illegitimate child of Admiral Beau Simpson stands before him.

He doesn't know how he didn't see it before, granted they don't share a last name, but Jake was aware that the Admiral was divorced, had been for a while. Allegedly he wasn't the marrying type. Jake isn't surprised by the statement. Beau Simpson is a hard man to deal with.

Jake watches in silence as the girl ultimately releases an irritated huff and storms out of the office, slamming the door behind her. He can hear the loud, petulant stomp of her boots as she retreats down the hall. Evidently her looks weren't the only thing that she got from her dad. She had a temper that rivaled even Bradshaw's.

The clearing of the Admiral's throat removes Jake's eyes from the door. "I hope you can forgive my daughter's behavior. Her return to the states has been...difficult."

"I'm sure difficult is the way she would describe you too sir," Maverick jokes.

Cyclone fixes him with a perturbed glare but decidedly ignores his comment in favor of addressing Jake. "Lt. (L/n)'s squadron was ambushed six months ago. Just about everything that could have gone wrong went wrong and she was the only survivor. As her father, I wanted her to accept the Purple Heart and retire." He gestures flippantly towards the door. "Obviously that's not what she did."

Jake speaks for the first time since he entered the room. "Respectfully, sir, I don't blame her. I'm taking this career to the grave. I'm sure both your daughter and Captain Mitchell can agree," he adds glancing over at his instructor.

Before Maverick can voice his agreement, the admiral cuts him off.

"As I'm sure Captain Mitchell can attest to, as her father, I'm just trying to look out for her."

With his preexisting connection to Rooster, the godson that he would risk his career to protect, Maverick has no room to disagree with the admiral. For once, the captain, who usually always has something to say, stands with his palms folded behind his back and keeps his mouth shut.

"As I was saying," Cyclone continues, taking a seat behind his desk and kicking back as if to signal that he's won the conversation. "It is my hope that given your own—" the admiral hesitates for just a moment too long for Jake's liking "—personal experience, you'll be able to get through to her."

Jake swallows and hopes that he doesn't look as uneasy as the insinuation makes him feel. He has to take a moment to reassure himself that the psych unit has repeatedly cleared him for duty and that no one's threatening to take his wings away.

The nights that he wakes up, drenched in sweat, with his fingers wrapped around imaginary joysticks hard enough to make his palms bleed are few and far in between these days. And even those he's gotten good enough at faking like they don't bother him because he hasn't failed a psych evaluation in months.

It doesn't mean he likes to talk about it or that he won't hear the fear in Rooster's voice if he does.

But he's more scared of not flying than anything, so all Jake does is nod and offer a dry, "I'll do my best, sir."

———

PTSD or modern day shell-shock is what they like to call it. You call it waiting on the other shoe to drop.

Because there is always another shoe.

The slam of a beer bottle down on the bar top lights your nerves up like nothing else. It sends your heart straight to your stomach and makes your palms sweat like when you miss a step on the stairs and for a split second, you think you're going to die. You never do of course, but your body is hard wired that way to keep you alive.

There's a flaw in your system that hasn't been right since the east.

You knew that a popular naval bar on a Friday night wasn't the best place for you these days but your nerves had been yearning for an ice cold beer and fuck all if you weren't going to get one. The alcohol would soothe your nerves anyhow.

But after thirty minutes of waiting on said beer, you were beginning to lose your patience. Normally you weren't bothered by that kind of thing. The place was obviously busy and the lone woman behind the bar was doing her best to satisfy the flock of servicemen that only seemed to accumulate with every beer that she handed out.

Just when you're about to give up and leave, a large hand covers your lower back, pressing you forwards through the crowd and toward the bar top.

"Two more on me, please, Penny."

The voice belongs to the tall man standing behind you. He's removed his firm, but respectfully placed palm from your back and is now leaning over you to accept the two dripping bottles of beer. It doesn't take you long to recognize the green of his eyes from a few days prior.

"My dad didn't put you up to this did he?" you ask, somewhat reluctantly taking the bottle that he offers you. It's finger numbing cold, just how you like it.

He kind of just slowly smiles and shakes his head.

Immediately you feel like a jerk. You sigh, dropping your shoulders and smile softly back. "Sorry. That was rude."

"No, ma'am, he didn't. Just had to find out if you smiled like that all the time."

The part of you that's a little bit of a bitch makes you clench your teeth together, tightening the smile that was once spread across your lips. "I'm not looking for that kind of thing right now," is all you say.

You want to tell him that you used to not be so mean.

At the realization that his words had the exact opposite effect of what he was going for, the guy graciously extends his hand. "Look I don't mean to bother you, I just wanted to say hi."

Despite not being keen on his advances, you aren't going to be rude so you accept his outstretched hand. You're surprised by his gentleness. It's not the rough, over-masculine shake you are expecting.

"Lieutenant (Y/n) (L/n)."

"I know your name," he admits with a light, almost embarrassed laugh. "I think everybody in here knows your name."

Your skin prickles. You stare at him stoney faced, bracing yourself for what's going to come out of his mouth. "Why's that?"

The guy—Lt. Seresin—you're remembering, shrugs. "I mean, you're quite the story back here in the states. A bit of a ghost story, I must say."

Ghost story is right. Because who survives that? How the fuck does a twenty-two year old girl survive an outnumbered ambush and not eight men with years of experience? Not someone who deserves to be called a hero, that's for sure.

You're trying your best to keep your cool with him. You know that you're in a public space and he's just being friendly. You used to be so good at this kind of thing, the flirting and small talk.

The thought occurs to you that maybe this is what you need. Maybe this will make you feel normal again. You need to feel normal again.

Maybe that is why you let him lean in closer, buy you another drink when yours runs dry, and another one after that. Maybe that is why you make an effort to laugh when he does, and you close your eyes when he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You let out the breath that's been tightening your ribcage and do your best to smile. "Thank you for the beer. You didn't have to do that." You hope the words sound as genuine as they're intended to.

He smiles back like he's supposed to, all polite and inherently forgiving of your original attitude. You catch onto the way it doesn't quite reach his eyes. You're not sure why but it makes you think maybe he's just a bit sad too.

Maybe that is why he lets you wordlessly take his hand and lead him to the back of the bar. Maybe that is why he lets you sink to your knees on the cold, sticky tiles of the men's bathroom floor, his hands already fumbling to unbuckle his belt.

It smells like beer and piss, and you don't even wait for him to get fully hard before you take him in your mouth, your nose buried into his pelvis, where it smells like sweat. It's all wrong and right at the same time, and he won't ask you to stop. He just curls his fingers into a fistful of your hair, pinpricks stinging at your scalp the same way tears sting at your eyes.

He—Jake—he'd told you a while ago, has a pretty cock. At least as pretty as cocks go. Pink and ruddy at the tip, where it mushroomed beautifully. Almost dauntingly long but not grossly so with a throbbing vein on the underside. You run your tongue along it and he muffles a whimper, his fingers wrapping harder around your hair in an effort not to buck up into your mouth. At least he's a gentleman about it.

He's heavy and twitching in your mouth. You feel heavy. He is standing above you, a harsh line of a man against the buzzing bathroom light. You remind yourself to breathe through your nose and he punches himself further, the head of his cock skimming the back of your throat.

You swallow around him, trying to hold together what little is left of your remaining sense of self. It's been a while since you've been so careless as to place yourself in someone else's hands, rolled over and showed your belly to someone who could easily take advantage of you.

Your jaw aches, uncomfortable and familiar, like something you don't want to remember. Tears well up behind your eyes, the threat of an unwanted but unknown feeling looming just out of reach. Jake's hand in your hair hold your head firmly against his pelvis, hips rocking up into your mouth. He sighs like he can finally breathe.

You can't breathe.

You try to and something rasps inside of you, choking. The feeling that had been looming threateningly sparkles through you. Panic.

You know that he tries to settle you, does his best to wipe the tears leaking from your eyes with his thumbs and murmurs softly to you. "Breathe. It's okay, breathe for me."

You can't. You can't breathe.

Your head is pounding and suddenly you aren't kneeling on the bathroom floor of the bar. You're on the ground, crying, screaming like a wounded animal and no one is coming to help. You can almost feel the dirt under your knees, taste the blood in your mouth.

"Y/N, you have to breathe."

Someone's grabbing you, hauling your useless feet across the floor. Your chest hurts like you've been punched with a bowling ball.

"C'mon, let's get some air."

How you end up outside the bathroom is beside you. All you know is one minute you're dying on your knees back in the desert and the next you're being sat down on the back steps of the bar. 

The cool air of the San Diego evening brings you back. That and the press of a cup of ice water to your lips, the condensation dripping from the glass and rolling down your throat. You swallow, letting the cool liquid soothe your burning throat.

You're aware of Jake sitting down beside you, close enough to touch if he wanted to but still keeping his distance. You can feel his eyes on you, watching carefully for a moment before he turns to stare out at the not so distance shoreline.

Your stomach feels odd, like you might be sick.

He probably thinks you're insane. You would think the same. But if he's dying to ask what the hell that was, he's doing a good job of hiding it.

How do you tell him that sometimes you think that you should have died, that sometimes the memories almost kill you?

"I hid."

He looks up from peeling off the label around the neck of his bottle. "What?"

You swallow, trying to collect yourself before your words fail you.

"I hid. A—After I was shot, I didn't get back up. I crawled under the humvee and... and I just laid there. I laid there and I closed my eyes and I prayed. I prayed that they wouldn't notice me lying under there or that they if they did, they would think I was already dead."

A mixture of sweat and dust burns your eyes. When you blink, you can feel the sandy grit trapped between them. You squeeze them shut while trying to swallow back the dryness of your throat in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort, but it doesn't do much. An unwarranted tear escapes and runs down the track of your nose.

With your rifle held closely to your chest, you let it slide down and collect on the bow of your lip. It joins the puddle of sweat that has already accumulated there. Out here, the sun cooks you alive. You swear it's a constant one thousand degrees. The twenty pounds of kevlar doesn't help.

Dirt kicks up beside you and gravel showers your helmet as a round of bullets buries themselves into the ground a mere six inches from your face. You hardly flinch.

Somebody is screaming. The sound of machine gun fire is ringing in your ears. Somebody is screaming.

"(L/N), C'MON. LET'S MOVE."

It's Cain. He's grabbing the strap of your kevlar vest and yanking you to your feet. You scramble after him, desperate not to be left behind. Bullets explode at your feet the moment the two of you emerge from the concealment of the dirt mound. Fear makes you run faster.

You spot Manny crouched behind the tire of the SUV to your right. He's firing rounds into the brush. You can tell that he's bleeding from a wound to his arm and you're about to veer off to help him when his head jerks backwards, the scattered remains of his brain plastered onto the white side of the truck.

You stop running, the words caught in your throat.

"RUN," Cain screams. He'd backtracked a few paces and grabs hold of your vest once again to drag you behind a second SUV. You stumble over him, falling haphazardly onto your rear once he lets go of you. He immediately turns to fire over the hood of the truck, and the bullets hitting the truck stop momentarily.

Clawing at the gravel on the ground, you hurry to scramble to your feet. Your head is pounding, your mouth dry and gritty. Huffing, you glance between Cain, who is fumbling to reload his magazine, and the crumpled figure of Manny a few yards away. You can only hope Ronny is still out there somewhere.

Before you can even try to locate him or any other members of the squad, movement to your left springs your muscles into action. You slam your back into the side door of the SUV just as a round of bullets pelt the spot where you were standing just moments before. Automatically, you raise your gun, returning the fire. There are a few more shots fired in retaliation, but they stop a second later.

Once you're sure they're subdued, you lower your gun, breathing hard. There's so much smoke and debris in the air that you can hardly even see Cain ten feet away. He's shuffling towards you in a low crouch.

"Let's move, (L/n). They know where we are. We've got to find different cover."

You nod, your finger still pressed tightly to the trigger of your weapon. You drop into a crouch and follow behind him as he creeps towards the back of the truck. He pauses a moment, scanning the landscape before looking back at you. His blue eyes are a startling contrast to the dirt and sweat covering his tanned face. He lifts his gun in the direction of a flipped humvee about fifty yards away. His mouth moves in a silent command.

One.

Two.

Three.

The gunfire starts up as soon as the two of you spring from behind the vehicle. You can hear the whizzing of bullets as they just barely miss your head. All you can do is pray you don't trip as you struggle to keep up with Cain. Your lungs burn and your boots feel impossibly heavy.

The terrain is barren but the ground loose, and rocks threaten to upend your footing, slipping out from beneath your feet as the two of you flee towards the vehicle.

30 yards from the humvee, Cain tumbles to the ground with a broken cry. The bullet catches him in the thigh, stopping him mid stride. He hits the ground hard.

Without even thinking, you skid to a stop. Bullets spray the ground around you. Somehow you're more afraid of leaving him than being shot.

"Go!" he yells at you, already trying to shove you away. "Go, I'm coming!"

Already, there's a lake of blood beneath him. You step in it and the ground squelches under your boot. Crimson gushes from his left thigh, effectively saturating the fabric of his pants. His face is terrifyingly pale. The bullet must have hit his femoral artery.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Like hell," you snap at him, your pervious fear suddenly boiling into the purest form of anger you've ever felt. Angry for being in this situation in the first place. Angry that of all people, Cain is going to die.

It's terrifying how quickly the realization comes to you, how easily you accept it as the truth. There's already too much blood. Without a tourniquet, he'll bleed out in minutes and there's not quite time for that.

"Leaving him behind wasn't an option. It never even occurred to me that it was," you confess, as if saying it aloud will somehow explain away this title of heroism that everyone wants to pin on you. "Dead or alive, he was coming with me."

You shoulder your rifle and use both hands to grab onto the straps of his vest, hefting him backwards towards the truck.

He must clamp onto his bottom lip to stop the scream that threatens to escape because the noise that comes from his mouth is garbled.

You drag Cain about ten feet before you realize how just heavy he is. There's sweat leaking into your eyes and all you can see is the bloody lake that's left behind as you drag him through the dust. Cain's gone quiet, his head lulled to the side, eyes almost shut.

"C'mon, Cain. We're almost there."

His boot snags on a rock, and when you tug him free, he doesn't utter a word.

Something inside of you knows he's gone, was gone long before you started dragging him. You're still ten yards from the SUV.

POP. POP. POP.

You pause, your eyes fixed ahead of you. "Have you ever been shot before?"

Beside you, Jake shakes his head.

"It feels like someone has shot a bowling ball into your chest. Knocks the breath right out of you."

Pain explodes straight through your ribcage. Your vision clouds and you're vaguely aware of your knees buckling beneath you.

When you come to, all of the wind has been knocked out of you from hitting the ground so hard and your immediate reflex is to suck in a reviving breath. Instead all that comes out is a gurgle, the tell tale sign that your chest cavity is filling with blood.

You swallow, looking off at the dark shoreline of the beach, watching as the waves crash against the sand. "I knew that I wasn't dead yet—I did— I just—" Your throat constricts and when you speak again your voice is quieter. "He was already gone so maybe a part of me had already gone with him."

Jake nods slowly, as if putting together the pieces that you're laying down bit by bit. Somehow his green eyes have remained soft this entire time and maybe that's where you find the courage to continue.

Lifting your head, you crane your neck to see the damage, but the thick layer of kevlar strapped to your chest obstructs your view of the lower half of your body. Grunting in frustration, you reach blindly in the direction that the pain is radiating from. Numbly, your fingers find the gushing hole in your side. The bullet had buried itself in the exposed inch of your stomach between your belt and your vest.

There mustn't be an exit wound because there isn't a ton of blood surrounding you. If the wet cough you emit is anything to go by, it's probably pooling in your abdominal cavity instead.

You're going to die.

"I don't know how long I laid there," you admit. "I knew that the clock was ticking, had been since the moment I hit the ground. It was only a matter of time before I blacked out or bled out... I guess I was just waiting to see which one came first."

The scattered rounds hitting the ground around you become muffled background noise as the lull of unconsciousness begins to sweep over you, dulling the world as you know it. Through the haze of your fading senses, your eyes fall on Cain's motionless figure a few feet beside you.

He's lying face up, his desert tan uniform seeped a muddy crimson. You'd known he was dead a while ago. Still, you carried him. He'd have done the same for you. He was your brother, dead or alive.

Blood bubbles from your nose as you struggle to keep yourself breathing. The fact that you have to remind yourself to do that isn't a promising sign. Your body is shutting down, doing anything it can to keep your heart pumping, even if it means shutting down everything else.

Somewhere through the dullness, you hear Cain's voice. MOVE, (L/N).

You close your eyes, trying to picture his face from what had been just a few minutes ago. You remember the urgency in his blue eyes, the intensity of his fear overridden by adrenaline. How had that been only moments ago?

MOVE, (L/N).

"I—I heard his voice," you state, your tone not open for discussion. "Not the gun fire, not God, not anyone else's. I heard his voice."

So many people had tried to convince you otherwise, tried to tell you that it was because of the shock and your brain was shutting down, that you were hearing things. But you know what you heard.

"He saved my life, Jake."

You can see the gears turning in his head, the question carefully forming on his lips. "Were you two— I mean was he—"

It's the first time you have to suck back tears, your chest rattling with a longing emptiness as you fight the urge to cry. Memories of his wild blue eyes and wide smile that could only ever mean he was misbehaving flash through your mind.

You met Sergeant Anthony Cain not long after you commissioned as a Lieutenant. You were still a green officer when you were charged with your first platoon and given orders to deploy out East. You were scared as hell and Cain was your saving grace. He came in as if he'd always known you needed him and the rest was history.

There was never any question about intentions or commitment to each other. Cain was as honest as they came and you left it at that. You never imagined that's where your story would begin and end.

"I don't know, Jake. We didn't get that far."

Forcing your eyes open, you access the area around you. The sound of enemy fire has slowed but that doesn't mean movement won't trigger a return of bullets your way. Still, you know they'll be looking for survivors once the dust settles, and you don't want to be around when they do.

The humvee is only a little over ten yards away. You might would say it was crawling distance if it weren't for the fact that you were actively bleeding out. Even so, you don't really have any other option.

You take as deep of a breath as you can, your chest rasping as you do so, before lifting your right leg and using the weight of it to swing yourself over onto your stomach. Immediately, searing hot pain radiates through your chest and legs. You cry out, curling in on yourself, writhing on the ground like a wounded animal.

Sputtering, trying to breathe through the pain long enough so that you can move, you feel hot tears track down your face. They're tears of insurmountable pain and hopeless desperation.

"All I kept thinking was 'how does anyone survive this?' It was unimaginable, the pain. Looking back now, I don't know how I did it. I don't think I could do it again if I had to," you admit.

Softly, as not to scare you, you feel the gentle weight of Jake's palm on your knee. "You won't have to," he promises. "But you did it. You survived."

You stare down at his hand on your knee.

With a trembling, blood stained hand, you reach out in front of you and dig your fingers into the ground. Heaving, you draw yourself forward, your legs dragging limply through the dust. It takes an unimaginable amount of strength to pull yourself even six inches.

Sniffling back tears and out of breath, you curl your fingers into the ground and drag yourself forward again. This time, you probably only move half as far. You have to fight the urge to just lay your cheek against the ground and cry.

You do this again and again, keeping one hand pressed into the gushing wound at your side while the other drags you forward. Your lower half has become increasingly heavier with each passing minute, your legs nothing but dead weight to pull along. You don't think you could move them if you tried.

It takes you forty minutes to drag yourself to the humvee. By the time you get yourself fully under the abandoned vehicle, your fingers are torn and bleeding, the tips ripped open and embedded with bits of gravel.

Your muscles collapse the very second you give them the chance. Your forehead drops down to rest against the ground, and you finally have a moment to shudder out a sob. Your throat is dry and cracked, and dust coats the inside of your mouth. You're dimly aware that your breaths are dangerously shallow. You just know that you're miserably nauseous and each passing moment is more unbearable than the next.

You turn your own palm over, staring at the scars of your ruined finger tips, scars that tell a story of how you survived. They're ugly, and you wish you didn't have to look at the all of the time. At least your torso is mostly hidden. You've moved to a beach town and will never be able to put on a swimsuit.

Jake’s eyes follow yours and after a moment he flips his palm over, his fingers spread and inviting. His hands are large and calloused from years of flying. There are fingernail divots in his palm.

Almost shyly, his green eyes meet yours. You see a bit of that sadness you saw earlier. “I know it’s not my job to be your shrink or whatever,” he adds with a laugh and you can’t help but laugh with him. “But you’re not alone. We’re all a bit fucked up if you haven’t noticed.” He shrugs. “It comes with the job.”

You can’t help yourself. You trace a finger over the scarred palm of his hand. “My dad would disagree.”

Jake is fighting the urge to close his palm around yours, not wanting to overstep, and so he’s pleased when you intertwine your fingers with his.

“Family dinner must be interesting.”

Jake came from a military family himself and so he knows how deep the ties run. His old man was a sailor and so he knew better than to come home sporting anything other than his dress whites.

You laugh out loud because he’s not wrong at all. Jake squeezes your fingers in response. His hand feels good in yours. Safe and heavy in the way a padlock feels. Like he’s not going anywhere.

“It’s not all ‘Go Army, Beat Navy’ believe it or not. Don’t get me wrong, I was raised a Navy brat and I have a hell of a lot of respect for my old man, but at the end of the day, I had to choose myself. I couldn’t do that with him watching over my shoulder. The Army’s been both the greatest and the worst thing that could have happened to me,” you confess.

Jake hums, dare you say almost disbelievingly.

“What?”

“A few weeks here and you’ll change your mind. No one does it like the Navy does.”

It’s your turn to make a noise of disbelief.

“I guess you’ll just have to impress me, Flyboy.”

Jake squeezes your hand again. “Oh I plan to.”

[partoffantasy]

Echoes of the Inevitable - Aaric Graycastle / Cam Tauri

⸻ image credits to artbycassmira & etherealbookart ⸻

summary: during tense negotiations on the Isles, reader witnesses a side of Aaric she never expected—commanding, brilliant, and dangerously compelling.

pairing: aaric graycastle x fem!reader warnings: ONYX STORM SPOILERS - if you haven’t read Onyx Storm yet, don’t read further word count: 1.6k

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

The heat of the Isles pressed down on them, thick and stifling despite the breeze coming from the sea. The scent of salt and damp stone filled the air, mingling with the faintest trace of incense from the nearby marketplace. The sun hung low, casting long shadows over the cracked stone plaza where the delegation stood. Soldiers lined the perimeter, their armor gleaming dully under the fading light, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons. The atmosphere was laced with barely restrained hostility, the kind that could tip into violence really quickly.

Y/N shifted her weight, resisting the urge to wipe the sweat from her brow. She was keenly aware of the weight of her own weapons, the tension in the air settling into her bones. Xaden stood at the head of their group, his posture unyielding and full of dominance as he faced the Unbrish commander. Beside him, Violet held herself steady, her eyes flicking between the foreign dignitaries. Dain lingered a step behind, his focus entirely on the unfolding discussion, ready to translate at a moment’s notice.

The commander lifted his hand, and his soldiers immediately fell silent, waiting for his words. "He asks if this is our champion or our leader," Dain translated. A ripple of unease passed through the squad, but before anyone could react, a voice cut through the tension—smooth, confident, and unmistakably fluent. Not in Navarrian. Not in any broken attempt at the language. But in flawless, fluid Unbrish.

Y/N barely caught the way Dain stiffened beside her, his mouth parting in shock. She could only stare, heat creeping up her neck, her stomach twisting with something entirely inappropriate for the situation. It was Aaric. The moment he stepped forward, every ounce of his usual quiet reservation peeled away, revealing something sharper. He moved with a confidence that sent a thrill through her, his broad shoulders squared as he addressed the commander directly. And then, he spoke.

Aaric’s voice was smooth, assured. It carried through the tense plaza like a blade slicing through silk. The words were foreign to her, but that didn’t matter—because she could hear it in his tone. The weight. The meaning. The command. His accent was perfect, his cadence even, and the effect it had on their adversaries was instantaneous. The commander faltered, his expression shifting, while the priestess beside him flicked her gaze toward Aaric with something close to surprise.

Y/N’s throat went dry. By the time Dain regained his composure enough to translate, Aaric was already pivoting back toward them, his hand brushing the pommel of his sword. “Are you fucking serious?” Dain snaps at him. “Why didn’t you tell us you’re fluent?” "You never asked," Aaric said simply, his voice rich with amusement, and Y/N swore she felt it in the pit of her stomach.

Holy shit. This was not the Aaric she sparred with in training, the one who rolled his eyes at pointless drills and carried himself like he was just another first-year. This was someone else entirely. Someone who spoke like he belonged on a throne. Someone who was utterly, unfairly, devastatingly attractive when he wielded language like a weapon.

She pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to shift on her feet. It wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the place. But when Xaden surged forward, grabbing Aaric by the collar to shove him back into place, all she could focus on was the flicker of defiance in Aaric’s green eyes. Y/N exhaled, barely resisting the urge to groan. Oh, she was in so much trouble.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The second time it happened, they were at the negotiation table in Hedontis, having just met Xaden’s mother, and Y/N swore Aaric was doing it on purpose. She had spent the better part of an hour trying to focus on the discussion, on the careful exchange of words between Xaden, the Isles’ leadership, and their allies. It was a delicate discussion, one she knew could turn dangerous if handled incorrectly. But then Aaric opened his mouth again, and all hope of concentration vanished.

"It is rather arrogant of us to simply refer to it as the Continent," he mused, his voice like velvet-wrapped steel. "As though there aren’t others beyond the sea. But we've been torn apart by war for so long, it's hard for anyone to think that we are one... anything." Y/N nearly choked on her drink. The table fell silent, all eyes snapping to him. Even Xaden looked mildly impressed. But Aaric? Aaric just continued cutting into his meal with calm indifference, as if he hadn’t just upended the entire tone of the conversation.

Nairi’s gaze flickered from Cat to Xaden to Aaric. "So many young royals here. So many potential alliances. Why are you not contracted to one another? It seems... foolish not to forge futures and provide heirs who could unite your kingdoms." The chicken went dry in Y/N’s mouth, but Mira shot her a can you believe these people look that steadied her heartbeat.

"My brother will be king," Aaric said, slicing through his chicken like this was any normal dinner. "Though a horrible one. Heirs and alliances aren't my concern. I will fight in this war, most likely die, and do so knowing that I protected others." Aaric's gaze flickered across the table, his usual air of detached confidence wavering for just a second. Then, his eyes found hers.

Y/N felt the shift—a sudden weight pressing down on her chest. His stare held something she couldn't decipher, something raw and knowing. It wasn’t just resolve or the grim acceptance of war. It was grief. It was finality. And it was personal. She swallowed, her pulse hammering against her throat. Why was he looking at her like that? Like he already knew something she didn't? Like he was memorizing her?

Before she could force her mouth to form a single question, Aaric turned away, his expression smoothing back into that infuriating, unreadable calm. "Honor has never been the equal of wisdom," Nairi sighed, then looked to Xaden. "And your excuse? We received news months ago that your title had been restored to you." When Xaden started answering Nairi, Y/N barely heard the next words. Aaric's gaze had lingered on hers, and the depth of emotion in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. There was something there—something heavy, something she couldn't decipher. He knew something, she was sure of it. But before she could press him, before she could demand an answer, the Hedontis’ changed the topic to what they value most—knowledge and thus drawing her attention away.

“Amaralys. The only thing our kingdoms ever agreed on was calling it the Continent after the Great War," Aaric said, finally putting his silverware down after cleaning his plate. "Rather arrogant of us to simply refer to it as the Continent, as though there aren't others beyond the sea, but we've been torn apart by war for so long it's hard for anyone to think that we are one... anything." For fuck's sake, what else was Aaric holding on to?

"You're rather quiet for someone who seems to know so much," Nairi remarked. "I prefer keeping my mouth shut until I understand the rules of whatever game is aiming for my throat. Helps me judge the character and acumen of my opponent." He looked at each of them in turn. "Honestly, I find you lacking, and I'm not sure I want you for an ally. You have no army and you're stingy with the very thing that should be free to all—knowledge."

"And yet you seek our favor?" Nairi’s eyebrows shot up, and she blinked rapidly. "Me?" Aaric shook his head. "No. I'm just here because Halden can't control his temper and Violet didn't just bond one of our most terrifying battle dragons, but also an irid—the seventh breed. Dark wielders are spreading. People are dying as we sit here. Every day we're gone could change the battle map in ways we can't begin to predict. And my kingdom is full of assholes who won't take refugees under king's orders, so tracking down the irids is our best hope of not only adding to our numbers but maybe figuring out how we beat the venin six hundred years ago.”

Holy shit, this was something else entirely. The way he stood his ground, unwavering, his voice a lethal mix of precision and raw conviction—it sent a thrill down her spine. Every word that left his mouth was deliberate, measured, and she could feel the weight of them settle deep in her chest. This wasn’t just confidence; it was command. And damn it, it was making her smirk. She couldn't help the way her eyes traced the sharp angles of his face, the way his fingers rested with deceptive ease on the table as if he hadn't just unsettled everyone around him. Every word he spoke sent another shiver down her spine, curling low in her stomach. It was dangerous, the way he did this to her—how effortlessly he held his own against people who had spent their entire lives navigating power plays.

"You are the highest member of nobility in your party," Roslyn noted, shifting. "Is it not up to you?" "Nobility doesn't play into rank, at least not for me." Aaric glanced Y/N’s way. "Andarna chose Violet, and though there are four superiorly ranked officers with us, it's Violet's mission. She's in command. And with the exception of her rather questionable taste in men, I've trusted Violet's wisdom since childhood." Their eyes met, and Y/N felt another rush of heat spread through her.

She was so, so screwed.

[driedposies]

It's been a long, long time

Summary: A Second World War grips the world, and your lover, Azriel, is sent off as one of many piolets to win against the Germans.

Warnings: WW2 (violence and talks of war), ANGST, bodily injuries, open ending

Song inspiration: "It's been a long, long time" by Harry James & vocals by Kitty Kallen (& "Cardigan" by Taylor Swift)

Word count: 2.5k

The bar stunk thick of tobacco and whiskey, an old mixture of wood and the tang of sweat permeating the warm air. Jazz music crackled from the music box in the corner, the smooth, calming sound of the saxophone weaving through the few that remained at this late hour, creating a bittersweet harmony. 

Soldiers stood in pairs or warily alone by the bar as the last rounds of liquor were poured, glasses clinking with cheers and promises of a win against the Germans. A few were on the dance floor, men holding their missus for as long as they allowed. 

Azriel didn’t seem like he wished to let you go, not in this lifetime. The moment the two men he met at mandatory training left with their women, he pulled you onto the floor. You had to swallow a sob at the silent declaration—Azriel never danced, but he would for you, one last time. 

Although, what you were currently doing could hardly be considered dancing. You swayed to the beat with your cheek to his finely pressed uniform and his nose against your pinned curls. 

The world seemed to fall away in Azriel’s arms for just a moment. No war was taking him from you on the next morning train. All that was left was the music and him. The saxophone crooned into a soulful solo, the music swelling, rising to meet the heartache in the room. There wasn’t much time left. But for now, you both danced. For now, you held onto the hope that tomorrow was a mere fleeting nightmare. 

“When I return home, there is something I wish to ask you,” Azriel murmurs into your hair, running a palm down the length of your spine until it reaches the small of your back. 

When I return home. ‘When’ was such a hopeful word. 

You lift your head to meet a hazel stare, seeing nothing but adoration in his sharp features. “Will you agonise me with further mysteries?” You ask, not meaning to sound upset. 

Azriel releases a small breath as he cranes his neck to rest his forehead on yours. You raise a hand to cup his clean-shaven cheek. 

“I wish to promise you all of me—for as long as I breathe,” Azriel whispers, cupping his hand over yours to run a finger over your bare ring finger. 

Something in you moves, and it takes everything in you not to shatter. “If you come home to me,” you murmur your promise in return, and Azriel smiles. “I’ll be on my porch waiting for you, like I always am.”

Azriel releases a long breath, tucking your head back underneath his chin. “Don’t wait forever,” he whispers, so utterly devastating, because no matter how selfish he was, he couldn’t ask you to promise yourself to a grave. 

You said your farewells hours later at the small train station. The stand was loud with a cacophony of people sending their men off to fight a war that wasn’t theirs; emotions running high as wives kissed husbands from open windows and mothers cried into handkerchiefs that belonged to their sons. Everywhere, faces were etched in sorrow and hope, all drawn together by one inescapable fate. 

You stood at the edge of the crowd, holding the black and white portrait photograph you saved up for just for this very moment. Azriel stood tall in his uniform, shoulders squared and jaw tight, warm hazel eyes saying he was already missing you. 

Azriel’s fingers brushed yours, gently coaxing the photograph from your grasp before tucking it into the inside pocket that rested above his heart. You step closer to him, hoping to bridge the distance growing between you. Azriel ghosts a thumb over your cheek. 

“I’ll come home to you,” he promises, again, strained with the unknown. 

Your breath hitches as reality settles, and you try to smile, a fragile thing that breaks as quickly as it forms. You nod, knowing Azriel needed all the strength you could give him—a lifeline he could hold onto when he’s up in the skies piloting aircrafts into battle. 

Before you could respond, the train whistled its final call, and Azriel was hauling you into a messy kiss. You hold him just as tight, gripping his coat as you hold in unshed tears. 

Azriel pulls away without another word, stepping into his assigned carriage, the doors closing behind him. You stand there, watching him through the glass as the train starts to move.

Your eyes never leave the train, even after Azriel disappears and all he was is a distant plume of smoke. The station was almost empty now, but the silence weighed heavier. A thousand goodbyes still lingered in the air, but for you, that silence will be what haunts you for the coming months. 

Time was a fickle thing. Occasionally, between the haze of a dream and reality, you could almost imagine you were still living in the time before the war. A Saturday afternoon after a day's work at the small corner store favoured by the school kids down the block. 

Azriel would stroll in 10 minutes before the end of your shift, manning the tray of 50 cent chocolate bars at the checkout station because he’d never crack his sweet tooth. He’d pester and distract you, reminding you of when he’d trek across town to buy a sweet treat because he wanted to see you but was still too shy to ask you out to dance.

Saturdays on Azriel’s deployment seemed to drag on longer, days only brighter when a mailman came with a letter in your lover's handwriting. The last one came two weeks ago—two pages written front and back. Azriel was never one to wane poetics, but somewhere deep in the English Channel, something changed in him. 

In the late hours of the night, you’d flick a lighter to life, reading through the small stack you’ve created. 

My dearest, it would start, and you’d imagine his rough drawl. 

I hope this reaches you. Some of the men have been saying mail sometimes gets lost or unaccounted for in these parts. But if this does find you, I can only dream of your face as you hold this letter in your hands, hoping that my words lessen the true distance that has been cleaved between us. It’s been far too long—a lifetime it's starting to feel—since I held you. I’m ashamed to admit the ink of your photograph is already starting to fade with how much I reach for it.

I’ve flown seven aerial missions at the time I’m writing this, and thirty tours are starting to feel more daunting each day.

I don’t wish to impose the things I’ve seen onto you, as they are my burden to bear. But I will say the skies are just as beautiful as they are on the ground. It’s clear above the rolling stretches of cloud, the sun lasting longer up in the air. It’s beautiful in those peaceful moments before battle. It makes me think of you. 

Everything makes me think of you, really. My heart grows fonder at the thought of when I can finally come home to you. Yet, unfortunately, I believe it’s also started to grow selfish with want.

I know I said I’d ask you properly when I came home to you, and that still stands, yet I can’t shake not telling what I wish for outright. The lads still call me daft for not asking. 

So, will you marry this poor soul?

You don’t have to answer in your next letter; this is me merely releasing the weight on my heart. I miss you more than any words could conjure to explain, but hold onto the promise that soon—soon, my love—I will return to you. You are my reason to remain strong.

My only hope is that you feel the same, that when you close your eyes you think of me—always and forever. 

And his, you were. 

I will marry you, Azriel. You’d send that letter off an hour after you received his. 

When chocolate bars became a rationed luxury alongside butter and sugar, you had to pick up another job at the new factory. You never imagined yourself working alongside mechanics to build aircrafts—Azriel would’ve had a right laugh.

For every plane your crew of ladies helped complete, they’d take photos of you all on the wings, a good luck charm for the soldiers that would later fly it.

Your new colleagues would drag you out to pubs on nights you’d permit, and they’d try to shack up with the men that remained home. A few tried their luck with you, but you’d claim you were taken even without a ring as evidence. 

You’d have to tell Azriel about all the men trying to take you dancing. Perhaps, selfishly, you imagined his jealousy would bring him home faster—take you to that courthouse and make it all official. Or maybe make him respond to your letter faster. It had already been close to a month. 

It had been two months since Azriel’s last letter. 

Each time the mailman came down your street, you’d anxiously wait for him by your family’s box, and each time the old man reached you, his expression mellowed into a knowing pity. 

You could no longer stomach reading the newspaper or listen to the latest information on the radio. Anxiety rattled your system, ripping any small enjoyments you had left to take your mind off of the war. You were left to the mercy of your unforgiving imagination—mind conjuring the worst of tales. 

Until the tale became a reality. 

It was a Thursday afternoon; you were helping your mother hang laundry in the backyard, stealing the benefits of clear weather. Summer was finally arriving, and the cicadas sang with a loud force, much to your house cat's frantic bemusement. 

Your father called your name from the open kitchen window, saying there was a soldier at the door looking for you. 

You hardly waited a moment as your heart lept into your throat, racing back into the house to the front door. Ripping open the piece of wood separating you and—it wasn’t Azriel.

Who stood at your front porch was a soldier you didn’t recognise. The man was tall, shoulders broad yet stiff, expression pallid and gaunt. His eyes were heavy with a burden he didn’t want to relay. 

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” the officer began, voice a little hoarse. “Does this house belong to Major Azriel’s fiancee?”

You swallow thickly, dropping your hand away from the door to step out. “It is—I am, his fiancee,” you stumble over your words, a chill shooting through you. “Is—is everything alright, sir?” You falter, hardly noticing your mother stepping to stand beside you. 

The officer removes his beret, holding it over his heart. “Ma’am,” he begins, his words heavy with emotion. “I wish to extend my condolences. The Major was involved in a raid that resulted in many casualties two weekends ago,” he pauses, his jaw tightening. “He was lost to the wreckage.”

The world around you begins to burn—the silence so wholly suffocating, the air too thick to breathe in. You stumble back into your mother’s arms, the tears blurring your vision. 

You could see the officer apologising once again, knowing your mother was thanking him for his time. You couldn’t recall the moments between being on the porch and being moved to the living room. 

Life was a fickle thing. It was always assumed you’d have it again tomorrow—you assumed you’d have Azriel forever. 

You quit your job at the factory, unable to bear the looks from colleagues and the sight of aircrafts that will be used by soldiers like Azriel. You sometimes blame yourself, no matter how foolish it was to blame yourself through the grief—but you couldn’t help but wonder. Did you help build a faulty aircraft, the cause of his death?

You remained working at the corner store, not just because your family needed the money. It was the little daydreams you began to fixate on when the sun began to set in the late afternoon 10 minutes before your shift ended. 

He would stroll in with those unbuttoned shirts that were tucked into loose trousers and a grin that could rival the moon and stars. He’d tell you about how his friend’s cousin was singing at the bar tonight as he leant over the tray of chocolates, tell you that he’ll get you a front row seat if you joined him. 

A very convincing proposition, you’d respond, brightening when he would flash you another smile—this time with rosy cheeks.

Azriel would pick up a chocolate bar and slide you a 50 cent piece. I aim to be, he’d drawl back, so, is that a yes?

You’d return his abashed grin. To keep my favourite customer coming by? I would. 

On the later nights when your traitorous mind kept you from sleep, you wondered if Azriel read your final letter to him. 

Did he die knowing you shared his wish of forever? Or was he left to wonder how much you truly returned his sentiments? You told yourself that he knew, that he was comforted with the final thought that your forever would just have to be another life, somewhere across the cosmos. 

You just had to hope he’d wait for you. 

When the leaves turned brown and orange, the tidal waves of grief began to lessen their attacks. You were finally able to sleep for a consecutive five hours, and just late last week, an old friend managed to convince you to go dancing again.

You worked at the corner store; you helped your mother with the laundry and your father with his home projects; life is starting to become bearable even with the gaping hole that remains. 

The kettle was boiling water on the stove for the morning tea, and your father was reading the newspaper at the dining table as your mother rationed butter on toast, when a sharp knock came to the front door. 

Your father glanced up from over the edge of his paper, the glasses on his nose sliding down the bridge. 

“Would you get that, darling?” Your mother called from the kitchen and you shared a look with your father. 

The mailman must’ve forgotten some letters.

Smoothing your hands down the fabric of your skirt, you head for the front door. Pulling it open, the greeting and joke you had prepared for the mailman fell dead on your tongue. 

Your shattered heart awakens and you falter at the ghost standing on your porch. Before you can say a word, hands gnarled by burn scars reach for you.

[looulouv]

first meeting — epic!telemachus x reader

pairing: telemachus x gn!reader synopsis: telemachus hopes that this new guard has everything they need to keep the suitors at bay, someone who exudes fear and respect, who can intimidate them with just one look. but when the ship arrives, he quickly realizes he should have kept his imagination in check. yet, he can't wait to see where this goes. genre: fluff warnings: none ig, maybe one joke about offing oneself word count: 1.5k author's note: lil guard and lil tele !!!!! i was just thinking of making little parts of them interacting, kind of just building their relationship to the ithaca saga and maybe after that. have a nice reading, and please keep in mind that english is not my first language, i apologize for any mistakes ! part 1: here!

At fifteen, Telemachus was still an imaginative boy.

His mother had been vague when she told him about the new addition to the palace, only saying that they would be arriving today from Pylos, sent from Nestor himself, and that it would be his duty to escort them from the docks. He hadn't thought much of it at first, assuming that it would be a strong individual—a hardened soldier, someone experienced, someone who could keep the palace safe from the growing number of suitors infesting their halls.

The more he thought about it, the more his expectations grew. He could picture it, a real soldier—a warrior, the kind who loomed over men like an unshaken pillar of war, the kind whose armor groaned with the weight of its own history, the kind that had fascinating stories from gruesome fights and countless kills on their book. Perhaps an older man, one of Nestor’s veterans, weathered by years of battle, with a face carved by scars and a voice like grinding stone. That was what Ithaca needed. That was what his mother needed.

Instead, the figure stepping off the ship looked like they had just come from weaving garlands in a meadow. The first thing that registered was that they were… small. Not in the sense of frailty—there was something too controlled about the way they moved, too precise. But they were young, maybe his age. And their features— Gods help me, they're beautiful—were delicate, almost angelic, like a marble sculpture of a very beautiful, elegant noble.

For a brief, horrifying second, Telemachus thought they might be a companion for his mother, a royal from Pylos. Then—gods forbid—his future betrothed. His heart seized in panic. But when they finally reached the dock, standing at full height, they squared their shoulders and spoke with calm, unfaltering precision.

"My greetings, Prince Telemachus."

Voice smooth, measured, utterly professional—and completely at odds with their face. He was staring. He knew he was staring. He could not stop staring.

For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. He barely managed to keep his reaction contained. He must have looked ridiculous—stiff-backed, mouth slightly open, blinking like an idiot. His hands twitched at his sides as he forced himself to snap back to reality.

"Uh—Yes. Welcome." He cleared his throat, struggling to gather whatever dignity he had left. "Of course, hello."

They didn’t react to his awkwardness. If anything, they barely regarded him at all before shifting their focus to the steward beside him, awaiting further instruction. And that's when it clicked.

They weren't a noble. They weren't some delicate thing come to weave at his mother’s loom. They were the guard.

This was the new guard? The one meant to keep his mother safe? The guard sent by Nestor of Pylos, sent to protect them, to make them feel safer over the looming shadows of the suitors.

His eyes flicked to the sword at their hip, the careful way they carried themselves. Now that he was looking properly, he could see the truth of them—disciplined, well-trained. The confidence in their stance wasn’t that of a teen used to courtly mannerisms, but of a soldier used to command.

Telemachus finally managed to force his mouth shut, though his brain was still playing a losing game of catch-up. His expectations had been torn to shreds, and now, as he walked alongside the newly arrived guard, he was scrambling for something, anything, to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete idiot.

“So… uh, you have a name?” he asked, attempting casual conversation. He regretted it immediately, his face scrunching up with embarrassment. Of course they had a name. Everyone had a name. What kind of question was that?

The guard turned their head slightly toward him, eyes unreadable. "(Y/N)."

Oh. A nice name. Not that it mattered. Not that he was thinking about that. Not that he was kind of reciting it in his head, his mouth itching to repeat it...

"Right. Good." He nodded, as if that somehow helped. "So, uh… you came from Pylos? How was the trip?"

(Y/N) didn’t hesitate. "Pleasant, my prince."

Pleasant. That was all. No complaints, no small talk, no elaboration. He had never met someone around his age who spoke with so much restraint. It was almost unsettling. Almost impressive. Intimidating, he dared to say.

They reached the stone steps leading up to the palace, and just as Telemachus was about to say something else—anything to fill the unbearable silence, probably something stupid again—a servant carrying a heavy amphora stepped out too suddenly from the side, directly in (Y/N)’s path.

Before Telemachus could react, they shifted. A small, precise movement, nothing flashy, but enough to pivot neatly around the servant without so much as brushing their tunic. The servant, oblivious, continued on their way.

Telemachus, however, was left blinking. He had seen plenty of people stumble in similar situations, caught off guard by sudden obstacles. But (Y/N)? Not even a second of hesitation. Their footing had been steady, controlled—like avoiding a collision was second nature to them.

The guard barely acknowledged the servant’s near collision, continuing up the steps with the same measured stride. Meanwhile, Telemachus forced his mouth shut before he embarrassed himself even further. He had been staring again, and judging by the brief flicker of attention (Y/N) gave him, they had noticed.

He cleared his throat and picked up his pace, gesturing vaguely as they walked. “Right, so, uh—this way.”

They followed without question, as silent as a shadow. It was unsettling. Telemachus found himself talking just to fill the empty space between them, pointing out the stone archways, the flickering torches casting long shadows across the walls, the occasional glimpse of the sea from a high window. He fumbled with his words, surely talking more than necessary for the both of them, letting out a few nervous chuckles and internally dying every single time (Y/N) answered with less than ten words.

“This will be your home now, I suppose,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Not that you’ll have much time to enjoy it. Lots of standing around, glaring at people, that sort of thing. Sounds fun, right?”

(Y/N) said nothing.

Gods help him, he should stop talking.

“Uh—what I mean is, uh, I’m sure you’ll, um… do well. Not that you need me to say that, obviously…” Another nervous laugh. “You probably know exactly what you’re doing.”

A beat of silence. Then, they finally spoke.

“Yes.”

That was it. That was all they gave him.

Telemachus had never wanted to fling himself into the sea more in his life.

Finally, after a few moments of silence —silence that made him want to scream or just jump out of a window— Telemachus took the new guard to Penelope's chambers, informing that it was less likely for his mother to be out in the day, as she preferred to keep her sanity, and that meant to stay away from the suitors that roamed the halls, infesting the place with their stupid faces.

"Welcome," Penelope greeted warmly once they made it through the wooden doors, her voice as soft as it was strong. There was no distance in her tone, no royal stiffness. Only kindness.

(Y/N), to their credit, straightened even further and bowed their head. "My lady."

"Oh, my dear. Nestor spoke very highly of you," Penelope continued, stepping forward. "We are grateful for your presence. I trust your journey went well?"

They hesitated, but only for half a second. "Yes, my lady. It was… comfortable, thank you."

A small pause. Then, Penelope smiled—a true, open expression, one meant to ease tension rather than demand respect.

"I imagine Ithaca must seem a bit different from Pylos," she mused, her tone light. "I do hope you’ll find it welcoming."

For the first time, the new guard's carefully composed expression wavered. It was subtle, but Telemachus caught it—the slight shift in their features, the way their shoulders, previously held so stiffly, lowered just the tiniest bit.

And then, to his complete shock, they… smiled.

Not much, just a small, barely-there curve of the lips, but it was real. Genuine. "Thank you, my lady."

Telemachus stared. He had barely gotten more than a handful of words out of them, but his mother? With just a few kind phrases, she had already coaxed out something warm, something human. He could understand it, though. His mother just had that energy that screamed kindness and warmth, and made every soul that met her feel at ease.

He quickly looked away, focusing instead on the blue, clear sky outside the window while his mother kept easily coaxing words out of (Y/N), getting to know them like he hadn't tried to do that for two hours straight. (Y/N), despite their small moment of softness, had already returned to their professional demeanor, yet their words to Penelope were soft, gentler than when they had arrived. Telemachus had seen it now—the glimpse of someone who wasn’t just a guard, but a person. And he prayed to the gods above that he could be the one to make them smile again.

He had a feeling that he would make that his favorite hobby.

[voodoo-tofu]

When you became the unofficial fourth member of the team, it took some getting used to.

Joaquin was the most welcoming, Sam being a very close second. It didn't matter that you didn’t have super strength or the specialized training required to take the sky with wings, you were valued and wanted by the whole team--for both your skill and your personality.

Although Bucky took a bit longer to get into the groove of working with you, he eventually became close friends with you. So much so that he even engaged you in whatever internet trends you and Joaquin were currently obsessed with. This time, you and Bucky were doing the Take A Sip challenge.

The two of you were armed with your favorite drinks; Bucky with a peach tea with tapioca pearls. You thought it was a disgusting combo, but he liked those better than the popping boba so you didn't give him too much grief. At least he was trying new things, figuring out who he was as a person.

The two of you sat by yourselves at the base, watching as airmen and airwomen milled around doing their jobs. It wasn't often you and Bucky had free time, but when you did you made it a point to do pointless and fun things as a break from the traumatic lives you lived.

You both got to about two-thirds of your drinks when everyone cleared out, likely leaving for a lunch break or meeting or something.

"Huh, guess the game's over." You mused after a few moments of silence.

"Guess so." He smiles in resignation, beginning to stand but stops the moment a pair of footsteps are heard.

Bucky turns to flash you an amused look before you both wait in anticipation to see who's walking in.

Oh.

Sam and Joaquin.

Well, you are still playing.

You and Bucky make eye contact before both taking a long sip from your respective drinks, you barely stop yourself from choking on the liquid at this new found information.

Sam gives the two of you a nod as he continues to his destination, but Joaquin slows his step the barest amount. Analyzing eyes take in yours and Bucky's casual demeanors.

He picks up his speed to match Sam's stride before they disappear into the next room.

The moment they're gone, you risk giving yourself whiplash as you look at Bucky, finding he's staring deeply into your eyes.

"Spill. Now."

He smirks, "You first."

"No way." You lean back, eyes flitting around the empty room. "You sipped first."

He shakes his head just as stubborn as ever. "No, I didn't. Plus, I asked first."

"No."

"Youngest first."

You're about to fire back a weak excuse when Joaquin and Sam both reenter, eyes trained firmly ahead... Snapping to look at the two of you just in the knick of time to see you both sipping again.

Sam grins, but says nothing.

Joaquin hurriedly looks away, once again following Sam out of the room.

You mentally count to ten before narrowing your eyes at your friend. He returns the favor, immediately going into a contest even long after you'd already blinked.

You rub your watery eyes. "God, does the super soldier serum make blinking unnecessary or something? Quit giving me the blue eye stare."

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head fondly at you. "Come on, I won fair and square. Who were you sipping over?"

You mulled it over carefully. You trusted Bucky with your life, but was he trustworthy not to ruin it with this kind of information? He seems like he'd have field day running his mouth the moment he had the chance.

When it becomes clear you're not breaking so easy, he sighs. "Fine. Guess we'll figure it out soon enough." He tilted his head at the door to his right with a grin. "Sam's walking in five...four...three...two..."

Except, Sam doesn't walk in. Instead he peeks his head in, and you and Bucky both sip. Sam laughs something boisterous before ducking back in.

You barely catch him saying something to Joaquin before the door shuts behind him.

You feel like you know exactly where this is going, and before you can warn Bucky that the two of you have been set up, Joaquin comes through the door... Holding an open soda can.

His eyes sparkle with mischief as he makes quick work to come sit across from you two, forming a sort of obtuse triangle. He eyes both of you while purposely taking a long sip.

At having been caught, you sip yet again. After all, you'd rather confirm his suspicions and busy yourself so you'd have an excuse not to speak.

You're saved (and maybe doomed) further when Sam follows in Joaquin's footsteps, sitting beside him to form a solid square, with his own drink in hand.

He raises it in the air, as if making a toast.

"To my beautiful and emotionally constipated teammates."

He takes a sip.

[the-fiction-witch]

Bracken Bunny P2

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Davos Blackwood Couple - Davos X Reader Reader - (OC) Lady Y/n Bracken Rating - Smut (Non-Con) Word Count - 1900

Requested -

More please! Lowkey (highkey) into part 2! Would you consider it? I absolutely loved this Please part 2 Can we please get a part 2 of Bracken bunny?? I need to read what happens next 😫 MORE DAVOS PLEASE In desperate need of a part two for bracken bunny! So devious and wild

I contorted and writhed desperately trying to get myself out of his grasp. But Davos kept his hand locked around my upper arm leaving me with no choice but to walk with him. Often I tried to adjust myself slightly and to turn us around in circles but it never lasted long as he soon saw we were off-path and adjusted us back the way we needed to go. I screamed, swore and cursed his name a thousand times but it came out as nothing but muffled and mumbled grumbles from under the gag. If ever I tried to scream too loudly or draw attention to myself he would slap me hard on the ass to force my silence.

Finally, I saw it, Raventree Hall, The tall hall stood with ancient stone walls covered in climbing earthy moss, Large Square towers and a deep stone-lined moat.

I knew once I was inside it was too late, there would be little chance for my escape. And I hardly had hope of Davos letting me go, I used almost every last bit of my strength to try and get out of his grip but he forced me to the drawbridge, the only way across the deep moat.

“Who goes there?” A voice called out from the gate,

“It’s me you fuckwit!” Davos yelled,

“Ohh- Sorry- Who’s that with you?”

He chuckled, “Just a little bunny I found out hunting,” he purred, “Open the damn Gate!”

The thick wooden bridge slowly lowered revealing a well-kept courtyard, Davos dragged me inside with him walking me through the courtyard making sure no one saw my face.

The courtyard was busy with people. Many came and went from farming the various fertile lands House Blackwood owned, Blacksmiths working to make more and more weapons, and soldiers training and preparing. All ready for a battle at a moment’s notice, Likely a battle with my family.

He forced me inside the keep itself. The walls were tall and dark with a muddy smell to the air, and the timber rooms of the keep seemed cavernous and expansive with large dark oak beams high above it all. The walls were adorned with wollen tapestries, every piece of wood had intricate carvings, every door a detailed latticework, and each window had panes of diamond-shaped glass.

He forced me up through the Keep’s corridors until we reached a room, with stone walls lined with dark oak beams, a wooden floor, a stone fireplace in the corner, and a wooden bed lined with woven wool blankets with a window to the godswood above it.

I was thankful it wasn’t a prison cell, but fearful to be in his chambers.

He tossed my body onto the bed without care and locked the door behind him.

Davos came over to the bed leaving his weapons by the door, he pulled down the cloak and rested his finger in front of my nose. “You are not going to scream. You are not going to yell. I will remove the gag but you will not make a single sound. Do you understand me my little Bracken Bunny?”

I sighed knowing I didn’t have a choice, if I screamed the rest of his Blackwood family would come and I’d end up locked in a cell, or dead… or worse. So I nodded,

He smirked licking his bottom lip, “That’s a good girl,” He slowly untied the ribbon,

I quickly caught my breath staring into his dark brown eyes,

He grabbed my jaw hard, “I didn’t hear a thank you?”

“Thank you.” I spat,

“Humm that's a good little bracken bunny,” He smirked letting me go,

“What are you going to do with me?” I asked trying not to let my fear seep through,

He chuckled, “I am going to send a raven to your father, and we’re going to find out just how much Lord Bracken values his precious little daughter.” He growled, “You, my little bunny are going to stay here with me,” He crawled over me pinning my hips to his bed, “And we are going to have a lot of fun.” He stroked some hair from my face, “I am going to put a price on every little inch of you little bunny, your hair, your skin, your … maidenhead. All of it will have a price that your father is going to have to pay if he wants left intact.”

I tried to squirm out of his grip but he was far too strong, “My father would bring his army and burn Raventree Hall to the ground,”

“Oh, would he? Shall we find out how much he values you? Exactly how much he values? Down to the gold dragon?” he smirked forcing up my dress,

I squealed but he clamped a hand over my mouth,

“Quiet my little bracken bunny,” He growled licking my cheek,

“Don’t you dare,” I whispered,

“Don’t I?” He growled forcing me over onto my stomach pushing my head into the pillow and my feet on the floor so I’m bent over his bed. He forced my dress up to my waist exposing me completely to him,

I whined in humiliation at being so exposed, I kicked my feet trying to keep him away but he grabbed my ankles and forced my feet to the floor,

“Umm… such a cutie, “Humm… I best prep the raven now, I don’t know how long I can look at this cute little ass without ravishing it,” He growled his hands stroking my ass and digging his nails in as he forced my cheeks apart as far as they would go,

I squealed against the pillow in pain as he kept me like this for a solid minute making sure he got a good look at me, “If you do anything to me… It’ll start a war.”

“Will it?” he smirked, “Now that will be a war worthy of a song,” He growled slapping my ass hard,

“Ahh!” I complained,

“Ohh yeah do that again,” He growled slapping me again,

“Ahhh! Stop!” I pleaded,

He forced me up again by my hair and cut my hands loose with his knife,

I immediately went to hit him but he grabbed my hands and forced my wrists into chains that he attached to the bedpost of his bed, he chuckled slyly as he waved his knife around me and paced the half circle around me before he pressed the blade to my stomach,

“I think I have been very merciful, I could gut you, From cunt to cranium if I wanted to.” He growled, “But I have been very merciful, and I feel very reasonable. You are my prisoner, and you have my word that I will only harm what your family doesn’t pay to protect, So be a good little bunny and behave or your father gets a head arriving home to Stone Hedge,” He smirked cutting my dress and forcing it off me leaving me naked and utterly at his mercy, “Fuck… look at you,” He chuckled pacing around me once more, “I am gonna enjoy every last moment of this,” He growled in my ear, as his hands gripped me one on my hip and the other between my legs as he loomed behind me pressing his chest against my back,

“Ahh!” I squealed as he touched me so aggressively with no way of stopping him,

He chuckled lowly, “You are such a pretty little bunny,” he began to roughly hold my mound with his palm, his fingers slid over my lips,

“Let me go. Stop this! You gave me your word!”

“I gave you my word that I wouldn’t harm anything your family pays to protect. So… I won’t cut your hair if they pay for it, I won’t break your fingers if they pay for it, I won’t… deflower you if they pay for it.” He growled his finger circling my entrance, “But this,” He purred pushing two of his fingers inside me,

“Ahhhhh!” I screamed,

“This is fair game little bunny,” he purred,

“Stop! Please!” I begged,

“Ohh you sound so cute when you beg,” He chuckled moving his fingers fast and hard moving them in and out with no mercy for me at all, “Where’s that cute little thing threatening me in the field?”

“You gave me-”

“I said no harm, all I’m doing is having fun with you.” He smirked, “And we are going to have so very much fun the next few days… or weeks… or months. However long till your family pays up to get you back,” He smirked his hand moving off my hip and coming around to rub my clit mercilessly,

“Ahhhhhh Please stop!” I screamed my legs already shaking as he worked, standing behind me one hand thrusting his fingers at a merciless pace, the other hand rubbing my clit,

“I’m not stopping till you cum,” He growled nibbling my neck, “Ohh yeah I can feel you trembling, I can feel how wet you are, I know your gonna cum, and I’m gonna force it out of you whether you want to or not. So… Come on my little bracken bunny cum for me.”

I squealed and screamed trying not to hold back but he moved so fast and so hard I didn’t really have a choice, my body responding to the stimulation even if I didn’t want it to, I knew I was close and I tried everything to keep it back and stop it from happening not wanting to give him the satisfaction, of my satisfaction.

“You’re going to be good while you’re here, aren’t you? You’re going to behave, and be a good little bunny for me? Let me touch you and play with you?” He growled as he gave my neck a hickey,

“..Okay,” I whined, knowing I was close and there was nothing I could do to stop it,

“What was that?” he purred,

“Okay!” I yelped in frustration,

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, I’ll behave.”

“Say it,”

“What!”

“Say. It.”

“I will behave,” I said through gritted teeth my knees almost buckling as my hips and legs trembled,

“Properly bunny,”

“I promise I will behave,”

“Almost… little more,”

“Uhhhhh please stop!” I screamed clenching around his fingers trying not to drip down his hands even if it was already too late for that,

“Come on, you can do it,” He growled, “Say it. Properly.”

“I promise I will behave lord blackwood,” I screamed,

But before he could say anything I hit my orgasm, screaming out as my body was flooded with pleasure, my toes curling against the wooden floor.

He chuckled as he watched me, slowing his fingers and letting me ride it out until I was nothing but a gasping mess in his arms, “Good little Bracken Bunny,” He cooed kissing my cheek, “You did so good,” He purred his fingers slow but they hadn’t stopped,

“Please I-” I gasped as his nonstop rubbing and thrusting was sending my body into overstimulation,

“And as for war my little pet bunny,” He smirked thrusting his fingers hard and fast inside me faster than he ever had made me scream for mercy, “I would go to war for this cunt. A Thousand times over.” Before he pulled them out leaving me to gasp, “Get some rest, I’ll go send the raven.” He smirked licking his fingers clean,

“Yes my lord blackwood,” I gasped,

“Good girl,” He smiled giving my lips a kiss, “Such a good little bracken bunny,” He smirked before he left the room shutting and locking the door behind him. 

[tamajiki2]

Can you write a Reiner braun x scout make reader that takes place in S4 smut? If you don't watch aot then can you make a shigiraki x male pro hero smut?

sure!! hope you enjoy;

𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒,, 🦏 𝐁. 𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒;

porn with plot, frotting,

hehim amab reader,

descriptions of hallucinations,

𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 the neck of the bottle of whiskey. it appeared dark and boundless in the low light of the bedroom.

the soft candle glow on his bedside table struck him with a certain comforting nostalgia. he always opted for flame lights; something about them eased a deep part of him.

he took a loud, struggling gulp of alcohol, hissing as it stung his throat. he’d been drinking often lately— at the odd hours of night when guilt and the faces of those he killed invaded his mind and ripped at his sanity. but, seeing the crushed corpses of those within the walls weren’t even the worst of it. it was remembering the eyes of those who were still alive: full of pure, unadulterated, repugnance— waiting for the day he’d die at their hands. he feared for the day he knew he’d see them again.

reiner took another swig of whiskey and his mind retreated to his days at the survey corps. brutish training and barely-edible slop afterwards. he could hardly stand it.

the hands of his fellow soldiers patting his shoulders, yelling praises of, “you can do it!”, and, “keep going!” while annie and bertolt stared at him with empty eyes. their eyes always looked that way; he remembered, for as long as they’d been in eldia. they were able to tune out everything they’d seen and experienced, all for the sake of the mission. but reiner didn’t work that way. he couldn’t disregard it all like them. every day, his mind was torn apart by the facade while his soul cried out for something real.

that was when he saw you.

you came to him like an angel at his worst moments. you accepted him, the entirety of him, and still remained by his side although you knew he had something to hide. something about him being a “bad liar”, you had said to him. he remembered your face back in the shiganshina district upon seeing him transform into the armored titan. you looked more sad than anything. you knew the next time you’d see eachother, it would be in a battle that was likely to kill one or both of you.

he saw you at nights he was most lonely.

tonight was one of them.

he peered at his open window where he saw your familiar silhouette slipping through. he didn’t recognize the black bodysuit wrapped in silver supports you were wearing today. he always saw you in your tattered brown scout uniform— what he remembered you in. now inside, you laid beside him on the bed and gently wrenched the alcohol bottle from his calloused fingers. your body felt strangely warm.

“ [ name ] …”, he whispered, unsure if what he was seeing was even real.

you hushed him with a finger to his lips. if you spoke, you knew you’d tell him everything. and you sure as hell wouldn’t risk the lives of the other scouts for a love affair that was sure to come to an end tomorrow. you pressed your lips to reiner’s.

“just humor me one more time.”

he nodded.

reiner followed with a feverish kiss. he shifted to straddle you, his movements urgent and restless. he had bumped his forehead against yours multiple times and practically tangled his lower half in the linen in the span of seconds.

you gripped his shoulders in a square reassurance. “slow down. we have all night,”, you parted from the kiss to say. reiner released a shaky breath.

your hands lowered to rest on his hips while he rutted against your clothed erection. he was always just as eager. someone like him didn’t get the opportunity to do this often.

reiner clumsily pulled off his clothing, then yours. fluid smeared over your torso as he pressed himself against you. he jerked desperately, groaning and cursing at the feeling of his cock catching on your own.

pre ran along your shafts— sticky and hot. reiner pulled closer and sighed deeply. a chill ran down your spine. reiner bit along your neck as his pace sped up, chasing that warm feeling in his stomach.

it wasn’t long before reiner keened and spurted cum all over your your abdomen. his muscled chest heaved while he caught his breath.

you laughed, amused.

“i hope you don’t think we’re done, reiner.”

—

the morning following proceeded as normal. reiner overlooked the events of yesterday, seeing you, as simply another one of his drunken hallucinations. although much more vivid than normal, still imagination.

reiner finally realized when he saw you again fighting alongside eren yeager as he brutalized countless civilians underneath his feet. you were wearing that same black bodysuit wrapped in silver, and dark marks crept up the side of your neck. your eyes were sharp and murderous, as were the other scouts around you.

but reiner decided that he would be okay with dying that day as long as it was by your hand.

[ an; a lot less focus on the smut here haha um i’ve never written for reiner before so i hope this is okay ]

[ghostlysoaps]

Soap who goes out to the pub with the lads, fellow soldiers who wheedle and jab and egg each other on. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when they caught on to his one-sided staring contest with a man sitting on his lonesome, black face mask on with a glass of something amber between his hands, observing the chaos around him. He’d met Soap’s eyes once and well… he’s always been a sucker for a pretty pair, especially with the unspoken challenge being presented as he’d lifted his brows with a flat stare. So, when his friends push at his shoulders and hedges him to approach the man, Soap only puts up a token protest.

“What do you want?”

And Soap’s off rambling. He’s never been good at acting suave or mysterious. Put him in front of someone attractive he wouldn’t mind a sliver of attention from and Soap turns into a babbling mess. At least the guy looks amused by it, gaze flickering from Soap to the table he’d vacated a while back. Soap knows he’s blowing his shot with every damn word he speaks but he can’t help himself. Silence would somehow be worse on his fraying nerves.

“You need better friends,” the man, Simon he learns later, says once the topic of how he’d ended up here had come and gone.

Soap nods his head in miserable agreement. “Aye. ‘m sorry for takin’ up so much of yer time. I can buy ye a drink to make up fer it? The waitress will bring it out so ye won’t have to stare at my ugly mug no more.”

He tries to rise, fully intent on flagging down one of the waitstaff when Simon’s hand circles around his wrist.

“Or we can give ‘em something proper to gossip about.”

Soap’s dragged, wide-eyed and disbelieving and to the tune of wolf whistles from his supposed allies, through the front door. Simon might be laughing, his eyes certainly are and Soap goes along with him like a trained dog on a leash all for the chance of seeing them light up like that again.

They wander. Weaving through streets and alleys and around town squares. Soap talks and Simon listens and all-in-all it’s a pleasant evening. He’s got a new friend out of it, a number on a paper slip and the satisfaction of saying: “a lad doesn’t kiss an’ tell,” when Wright tries to prod him for information over their shitty, mess hall breakfast.

[stellarbit]

Devotee

Word Count: 3.8k Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Imperial Warnings: NSFW smut with little plot, piv, creampie, oral Summary: You joined the imperial army because of CF 99. They trained you as a freedom fighter and you hadn't stopped thinking of Crosshair since. He'd yet to come across someone who looked at him like you did, and he wants more

Crosshair never substantially interacted with civilians before the Empire. In just one week, he transitioned from dealing with those outside his squad on a need-to-know basis, to leading and training not just regular clones, but also regular people.

It was dismal work that, to him, proved nothing more than his superiority over the majority. Still, there were those who looked down on him for being a clone. Not that it mattered. They were of no significance to Crosshair, it only showed their lack of vision and poor taste.

However, when you came under his command, the opinion of another became of some interest to him.

As a new recruit in a promising class of soldiers, you were part of the elite he was tasked to train between assignments. Among your cohorts, you stood the straightest—rigid as a board, chin raised, eyes fixed forward. It caught Crosshair’s attention in the wrong way.

Walking the lines of you, he stopped in front of you and turned his hawkish gaze on you. Under the weight of his stare, your eyes wavered from their focus.

 In a low, annoyed tone, he challenged, "Something on your mind?"

You hastily shook your head, sealing your lips tightly to maintain composure.

Crosshair took your silence as insubordination. His voice sharpened, "You answer when spoken to by a superior officer."

You responded promptly this time, "No."

“No…?” Crosshair pressed, dragging the etiquette out of you.

You swallowed, willing yourself to relax and offered him a subtle smile. "No, sir."

Crosshair turned to face you fully, his expression tightened with displeasure. He heard attitude in your voice and with it the opportunity to let off some steam.

“Congratulations. You earned yourself an extra hour of training today.” His crisp tone fixed your posture, forcing your eyes forward again.

With a sharp nod, and a dry mouth, you squared your shoulders. “Yes, sir.” He made an annoyed noise and walked on. You’d spent too long planning your first interaction with him for it to have gone that poorly. The worst of it was that you didn’t even know how it managed to go that poorly.

Despite that, it was your first training session under Crosshair’s leadership and you were going to make the best of it. The exercises were more intense than you’d experienced since the Clone Wars. But you had experienced it before.

By the session's end, you still had enough energy to spare. Training to be the best and serving with the best was your ultimate goal. Disappointing Crosshair on your first day was not an option.

The other soldiers filed out, some muttering snide comments. Your instinct was to grab them by their hair but you stood determined to impress. Keeping your composure was crucial; losing it would only show weakness.Once the doors closed and you were left alone with Crosshair, all you could think to do was stand at attention, silently waiting his next command.

Crosshair took slow deliberate steps towards you. He’d been planning this all morning. Using you as a punching bag was going to serve two purposes. keeping the others in line and venting the rage that was consuming him—not just the condescension from the regs but also his fresh frustration with his brothers.

He halted a few paces away, his voice icy. "Anything to say, or is speaking to a clone beneath you?"

Your composure instantly vanished, head whipping to face him. “Absolutely not!” You protested.

"No?" Crosshair began to circle you like a predator assessing its prey. "Then you’re insubordinate." Having once embodied insubordination himself, he recognized it well and had no tolerance for it.

"Insubordinate?" you repeated, shocked. Your mouth opened and closed, searching for the right words. "Sir," you scoffed, tracking his movements, "I think you’re misunderstanding."

A cruel smile flickered across his lips, his eyes challenging you to further provoke him. He paused while still in front of you, taking two long, intimidating steps closer. "Are you questioning me?"

The severity of the situation was beginning to dawn on you. In a sudden panic, you turned towards him, your hands raised in a gesture of surrender. Your words tumbled out in a rush, "No, no! I'm not trying to— I mean, I didn’t mean to—" As his smile twisted into a snarl, you blurted out, driven by desperation, "I'm here because of you.."

Once the words were out, you wondered why you had been so fearful of expressing them in the first place. There was a pride swelling in your chest at the admission, genuine satisfaction in declaring it aloud. His expression didn’t change, but he fell silent,  waiting for you to continue.

You slowly lowered your hands, clearing your throat before adding, "Your squad helped retake my city from the Separatists. I was among the freedom fighters you aided." As you spoke, you watched his features soften, the simmering rage cooling into something more reflective. "I enlisted because of you and your squad. I want to help people the way you helped us. There were rumors about clones leading the best of us and here I am.

"In the Mid Rim?" His voice was a low murmur, recognition flickering in his eyes. You nodded, a spark of hope lighting up your face as he pieced the memory together.

Crosshair scrutinized you, shifting his stance slightly. Your eyes were wide, not with fear or challenge, but with something he hadn't expected—admiration. The smile on your lips wasn't mockery but genuine, warm respect.

You fidgeted under his gaze; it wasn’t a seething stare-down but a thorough inspection. The sensation of his eyes on you ignited a warmth in your stomach that quickly spread throughout your body. His focus intensified, sending heat creeping up your neck and flushing your cheeks.

With muscle memory, Crosshair plucked a toothpick from a compartment on his forearm, stepping closer as he placed it between his teeth. His expression, previously tight with anger, now relaxed into a scoff. "You came here because of me?" he asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

Crosshair rolled his head to one side, pulling out the toothpick to point at you. “You were an archer.”

A giddy flutter ran through you. “I was.” You didn’t think he would remember you. “Actually you showed me-”

"How to ricochet a shot," he finished for you. He all but forgot that mission—it had been a relatively straightforward one for Clone Force 99—but he did recall your group. Your enthusiasm back then had been noticeable.

Your squirming and the flush of your cheeks didn’t escape him.

“Well then,” Crosshair drawled, stepping away and easing the pressure off of you. When you visibly relaxed, he continued, “Then let’s see how good of a student you turned out to be.”

When the extra hour was up, you’d barely broken a sweat and your shooting accuracy rounded out to crisp 93%, Crosshair had to admit - he was impressed.

While you wracked up your training blaster, Crosshair felt something more than being impressed. He toggled through what it could be, almost settling on approval, until you faced him again.

You were smiling at him and whatever it was it didn’t matter anymore. He just wanted more of it.

From that point on, whenever his duties allowed, you had the privilege of receiving Crosshair's exclusive tutelage. He had intended to make your training a form of punishment, and perhaps to others it might have felt that way. But you clung to his every command, turning it into something different for both of you. It turned out there was more than one way to let off steam because Crosshair always felt lighter after your sessions.

At some point he even found himself looking for you in hallways. When the day came that he spotted you and you kept your attention forward, with not a glance his way, his approval soured to annoyance.

Over dinner, he thought about what that meant for your next training session. He was barely a bite into his solitary meal when a tray clattered down in front of him. Mid-bite he glanced over his fork to find you out of uniform and, again, smiling at him.

Swallowing his bite, Crosshair sat his utensil down to ask, “Why are you here?” His tone was more cautious than curious.

You settled into your seat and lightly shrugged, “I saw you headed this way and I’ve been trying to catch you alone.” You gave him a wink, adding, “Trust me, I see you more than you see me.”

Crosshair studied you for a moment, his sharp gaze softening slightly. “Is that so?” he asked, half-joking yet intrigued by your boldness

.Your eyebrows bounced as you quickly replied, “I followed you into the military. You don’t think I’d follow you to the cantine?”

There it was again—your unabashed admiration for him. That unfamiliar, stirring feeling returned, churning something inside him. Crosshair was momentarily taken aback, reveling in the pleasure of this new sensation.

You hummed at him, snapping him back to reality. He blinked, then chuckled—a rare sound from him. “How shameless,” he remarked.

Laughing as you took a bite, you managed to say, “Coming from you?” Setting your utensil down you leaned forward. “I’ve seen you in battle, you pose when you shoot and you and I both know it.”

He stopped mid-bite, slowly lowering the fork with a little smirk. Crosshair forgot what it felt like to banter or be lighthearted. It spurred that feeling inside him.

“If that’s where your focus was in battle, no wonder the mission took so long.” He said in a teasing tone.

Pressing a hand against your chest you laughed innocently, “I was just watching your back.” No matter how you tried, you couldn’t tuck your smile away.

The Clone Wars had been grueling. Imperial boot camp less so, but still a challenge in conformity. You did it all for the chance to be trained again by Clone Force 99. To do for the Galaxy what they’d done for you. Even one session would have made it all worth it. This unfettered attention was beyond what you imagined.w1

“What is your schedule after this?” Crosshair’s question brought you back to focus.

You shrugged, frowning in thought, “Just headed back to my barracks.” You couldn’t resist pushing him. Daring a flirtatious tone you asked,“Why? Trying to catch me alone?”

Crosshair stood, tilting his head back with a lazy smile. “Something like that.” The low tone of his voice sent a chill down your spine. 

“Let’s go.” He said as he waved you on and he left the table.

“Go where?”

“My barracks.” Crosshair said just loud enough for others to hear.

You didn’t hesitate to abandon your tray, nearly tripping to get around the table and catch up.

As you walked, Crosshair found himself discussing small, inconsequential details of training schedules and mission outlines - things that, without his brothers, he’d keep to himself..

"You're different from the rest," Crosshair finally admitted, his voice low as if confessing a secret.

You met his gaze, your expression serious. “I’ll take that as a compliment, because so are you.," you responded earnestly. ”So thank you.”

You could’ve swore you saw his step falter, but regardless in a few more steps you made it to his barracks.

Crosshair let you cross the threshold first, giving him the chance to watch you peruse his space. The room was devoid of life, his new cohorts adhering to strict barracks regulations. Your buzzing about brought a warmth to the space. 

After circling the room, clearly in awe of being in the barracks of the men you so admired, you paused at a rectangular table in the center. Running your finger along its edge, you seemed lost in thoughts of what it must have been like when the entire squad was together. The placement of a rifle nearby hinted at which bunk was his.

Leaning back against the table, you took a deep, satisfied breath. This moment, here in this space, might have been the happiest you’d ever felt. Resting on one hand, you turned to face Crosshair, your expression radiantly beaming.

You were by no means a soft person, if anything he would mark you as fierce. Strong, resilient, and fierce.

And, perhaps his favorite, loyal.

In a few slow strides, Crosshair met you at the table just as you perched yourself on top of it. He scoured your face, and while he wouldn’t call you soft it’s exactly what you made him feel. The feeling inside him grew feverish for more of you.

Crosshair leaned into your space, hands gripping the table on either side of your legs. He couldn’t get enough of the way you looked at him. Admiration, adoration, and Crosshair knew there was attraction. The longer he watched you heat through him and he started pressing his pants.

“Are you enjoying training?” To anyone else he may have sounded imposing, but you saw beyond that. He was teasing you and pinning you with his full attention. The last and only time he’d been this close to you he’d been wrapping his arms around you to show you proper shooting form. And just like the last time, the very scent of him made your core ache.

“Yes.” Your smile squirmed, refusing to go away. You gave them to him so often and freely and still Crosshair wanted more.

He lost all tolerance for the space between you and slipped his right hand down the length of your thigh until he angled it out of his way. “Then I must not be doing a good job.”

The sudden advance took your breath away, but quickly and hushed, you responded, “That’s not true. There’s no one better than you.” Your eagerness got the better of you as you hung a hand on his bicep. A few stars came to your eyes as you added, “You’re exactly what I thought you’d be.”

“And what’s that?” He tilted his head, eyes falling to your lips for only a second.

“The best of us.” You said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

His eyes flared with a sharp inhale. When had anyone looked at him like you were? You were so devoted to him and, beyond that, he suspected you were desperate for him. In one motion he slid his fingers under your thighs, wedged himself between your legs, and pulled you against him. A small noise left you and Crosshair purred, “Am I now?”

Steadying yourself with a grip on his shoulder, you managed a little scoff,  “Oh, don’t act like you don’t know that.”

Crosshair raised an eyebrow with a small smile, “Tell me anyways.”

For awhile you thought you’d been deluding yourself that Crosshair at least found you attractive. Now that you had concrete proof, you felt frantic for him. 

“You’re-” you started, interrupted as he stepped even closer. Crosshair pulled one leg to wrap around him, encouraging you as you continued on a gasp, “The epitome of precision and skill” 

Crosshair’s hips rolled into you on their own, suddenly very fervid to show you what you did to him.

Feeling him rock hard against you, you cursed under your breath. Slowly, you slid a leg to hook behind him. “Crosshair.” His name felt heavy on your tongue.

He only hummed in response and before you could second guess yourself you confessed, “I’ve wanted you since the moment I met you.” You took a deep breath and pulled him in. “And I want you right now.”

He snaked a hand behind your neck and angled you towards him. “I know you do.” His voice was strained, grunting against the urge to jump you and the pressure between you. “And I think I’ll have you.” His tone sent a thrill through you all the way to your core.

In a burst of motion, you tugged him against you and pulled him back by the neck. You moved your lips against his as you both fell back onto the table, Crosshair laying across you. His cock dug into you as your hips ground together. After a moment of shock, Crosshair’s eyes fluttered shut and he moved to consume you.

With a hand under your hip, Crosshair pulled you up just enough to give him the space to pull down his pants. They fell to the floor and his hand met yours at the hem of your pants. You both fumbled with the clasps and worked to wiggle you out of them. Simultaneously you stripped off your shirt, tossing them aside and grabbing each other’s faces. 

Crosshair maintained the kiss while pulling you to the edge of the table, his fingers sliding between your legs to your slit. He found you completely slick, feeling like velvet as he dipped his finger into you.

He moaned into your kiss at the feeling of you so wet for him.

His touch strummed you, pushing you into a feverish frenzy. “Crosshair.” You whined through kisses. Again, he only responded with a hum. You pulled away, panting and reaching between you two.

You found the length of him and gave him a few pumps that he leaned into.

“I need you.” Your words were another confession, an invitation, and a plea.

Crosshair’s huffed a laugh as he removed his fingers. Two were glistening with your juices with a small strand of you hanging between them. He brought his fingers to his open mouth, sucking the taste of you off his fingers.

Slipping them off his tongue, he directed them right into your mouth. The taste of you on him sent your eyes rolling back only for a moment until you felt him slip inside you.

The sudden fullness of him jolted you up right, your hands dropping to his hips. You pulled him against you in time with his rhythm. You both needed him to be deeper.

You squirmed around him, whining as he hastened his pace. The sounds of your body working against each other only heated the room. His moans stood out the most to you, stoking the growing ache inside you.

Not once did he look away from you. You were stunning as you writhed before him, cradling your hips against his. And never did you look up at him with anything other than a lopsided smile.

“Say it again,” He panted, relentlessly driving the full length of him into you.

There was no question as to what he wanted. “I need you, Crosshair.”

As soon as the words were out, his mouth was on yours. He groaned against you, filling you him in a smooth, long thrust. Pulling back just enough that his lips brushed yours, he ordered, “Get up and turn around.”

In perfect tandem, he slid out of you and you slid from the table. You quickly bent yourself over the table for him and he didn’t make you wait.

Crosshair leaned over you, putting one hand between your legs and the other on your face. He lifted your chin, aiming your gaze to the viewport in front of you. The pitch black night made a black mirror out of the glass and your reflection, dizzy and lost in lust, stared back at you. 

Your eyes moved to Crosshair’s. The moment your eyes met his in the reflection, his cock met your folds and pushed right through you. He held you in place as he fucked you, his hand just out of view as he made stroked your clit. 

“Is this what you came here for?” His voice reverberated from his chest into your back.

Had your fantasies played into your journey to Kamino? ”Yes.” The affirmation came out a happy trill.

Crosshair moved your head so that his mouth reached your ear. “You know what you are?” Every word that came from him pushed you further to melt around him.

“Tell me.” You sobbed. The kiss he pressed against your ear ended with a light bite, pulling a whimper from you.

“Mine.”

That was it. One single word and you were crying his name. Your orgasm hit and a moment later Crosshair sheathed himself deep within you. His cock swelled, throbbing and cumming in waves until it leaked out around him.

You slumped against the table, both exhausted and elated, but Crosshair gave you no time to rest. He pulled out of you and dropped to his knees, watching as his cum spilled out of you. After a few drips, Crosshair spread you with his thumbs and gave you a long lick. He started at your clit and ran his tongue all the way up.

“Crosshair!” His name was a mumbled moan from you. “You can’t.”

From his knees, Crosshair turned you around to stand before him. “Too late.” He crooned before diving back into you. His licking and sucking made it hard to stand. When he put two fingers in you and started curling them inside you, another, almost painful, ache bloomed in you. You were so sensitive and his mouth was already bringing you to a second release

You dared look down, not expecting to see his brown eyes looking up at you. With your full attention; Crosshair hummed into you and focused his fingers on a soft spot inside you. The stimulation struck something more in you. Warm pressure pooled between your legs while you reached the brink of release.

“If you keep that up I’m going to-”

You didn’t need to tell him, he knew you were close by the way you convulsed on his fingers and the noises you made. He rocked his fingers harder into you and as his mouth focused on your clit. Impatience took hold of Crosshair and in his drive to see what more you could show him he took your clit into his mouth. He sucked on you, swelling your bundle of nerves so much that when he let his teeth lightly graze you, your entire body shuddered.

The pressure that built around his fingers snapped and you came around him. His fingers didn’t stop though and they kept playing you until your own cum coated his hands. You couldn’t stop the shakes hitting you or the way the floor became wet from you.

Only when you were on the verge of collapsing did Crosshair let you go. You barely caught yourself, elbows catching the edge of the table as your legs gave way. 

Drained in every way you huffed and puffed with a barely there smile. “That was-”

“Have you ever came like that?”

You didn’t have to look at the small puddle you left to know what he was referring to. Getting your feet back underneath you, you admitted. “Never.”

Crosshair got to his feet, helping you straighten out as he went. “Good.” Tipping your chin up he returned one of your smiles. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Your knees went weak again as you said, “Sir, yes sir.”

[mask-of-prime]

VG: Mystery of the Outlands - PART 1

Previous | Next (Next Month)

________________________________

Years Ago…

“You… You wouldn’t! We’re lions!”

An enraged roar reverberated throughout the land. The winds and ground acted with it, as if the heavens and its residents were helping it.

Terrified screeches filled the sky. Pretty soon, the miraculously-airborne lions plummeted to the ground, each with a loud thud and pained groan.

"Uhhh..." Nuka moaned groggily as he shakily got onto his feet. His whole body ached from the near-fatal fall. 

"Where are we...?" he asked, glancing side to side at the wasteland.

Zira sighed irritably as she shot up from the ground. Nuka was either dazed from the fall, or just being his typical, clueless self.

"Our new home." she sarcastically replied.

She glanced toward the horizon, her face clenching hard with rage.

Back to square one…

Later that day…

Night fell across the Outlands. The buzzing of termite wings was soon replaced with the sparse population of crickets, whose chirps were still enough to break the deafening silence of the barren wasteland.

Atop a prominent rock amidst the flat land was a lioness that sat sternly, looking out into the rather empty and drab escape. She may have been looking, but she wasn't seeing, as she was too deep in thought.

'That miserable brat...' she thought, 'All hyenas know is deception and lies. The hyena only got her way because she knew royalty. If she were alone, she and her kind wouldn't stand a chance...'

A small, adolescent cub timidly approached. She tried not to make a sound, as she debated even bringing up what was on her mind at all.

Mother told her to go to bed with her brothers, as she did every day once it was dusk. She wanted to obey her mother, but countless questions buzzed through her head following what had happened earlier that day.

What was a 'Lion Guard'? What was this 'Roar of the Elders'? How did it work? Were they really just going to experience first-hand what might've been the craziest, supernatural event ever, only to just get up and never speak a word of it again?

"I can hear your footsteps, Vitani."

The cub's heart nearly leapt from her chest. The jig was up.

"Oh..." she mumbled, coming out of hiding.

"You need to work on your stealth. We'll go over that starting tomorrow morning." Zira dryly said.

No going back, now. If Vitani had a question, she'd better ask it now before it gets ignored in favor of endless training. She ascended the rock, gulping.

"Mother...?"

"Do speak up, dear. A soldier doesn't mumble."

"Um..." Vitani quickly cleared her throat to talk louder, minding her mother's comment, "Mother, how do you know so much about the Lion Guard?"

Zira stared off for a moment, images of her budding friendship with her beloved Scar raced in her mind. He was without his shoulder mark, a fresh, bleeding wound over his eye. He looked like he had been struggling internally.

“Well, it’s like I’d said earlier.” Zira began, “Scar told me all about what the Roar could do, and what he’d done to lose it. Oh, had his pompous brother not ticked him off, he wouldn’t have wasted it on his fellow lions…”

The preteen tilted her head. She didn’t remember this part at all. Zira saw her cub’s confusion, and continued.

“Yes… it had been the final straw. His father swiped Scar over the face, and Mufasa gave him a cruel nickname to top things off. And what for? Scar had done nothing!” she huffed, “And that mother of his. She was no help, I could tell. She was my hunting teacher. She never gave me so much as one glance. Always had her eyes on that Sarabi. That goody-goody little nerd saw herself as a miniature version of the Queen! I –”

She glanced down at her daughter. Realizing she’d gotten off-track, she quickly regained her composure.

“You’re a very astute listener, Vitani. That will serve you well as you grow.” her mother grinned, “You get it from me, of course. If only the Queen hadn’t picked favorites, she would’ve seen the greatness in me as I see in you. I care about you, all of you, when no one else in this world will.”

Vitani smiled softly, despite still reeling from her mother’s sharp mood shifts. Compliments like that didn’t come often, she cherished what she could of it.

“Anyway,” Zira cleared her throat, “Scar would always turn to me for comfort, and trusted me with the secrets of the Roar. He would tell me about the way it had controlled the wind, the ground, the sky… and animals…”

Vitani gasped. That last part reminded her of her other question. 

“What did the Guard do that made Scar kill them?” the cub asked.

“They refused to help overthrow Scar’s tyrannical family.” Zira scowled, “I wish Scar had reserved it for his family, but he’d instead lost control, and used it on his unruly Guard. The little sycophants favored Mufasa over their own leader… It didn’t stop there, either. Scar’s newfound hyena friends he made had replaced his Guard – and me. Those slobs almost made Scar’s reign unenjoyable, what with their insufferable complaints and endless appetites.”

Vitani’s face fell as her mother continued to vent at her. Quality talks with her had never lasted long.

“They’d always steal his attention from me up until Simba came along.” Zira spat, “Had he not come back to steal the throne, those ravenous heathens wouldn’t have torn my beloved Scar to shreds!”

Zira teared up as her claws gripped the rock she had lain on. The edge now sported eight streaks that briefly sparked upon contact.

“If only I’d been there to protect him…” she turned to her daughter, “Just as you protected your brother back there.”

Vitani opened her mouth. She didn’t know what to say.

“Yes. I saw you stand up against that hyena. Excellent work. That’ll come in handy once you become an enforcer of Kovu’s, one day.”

“R-Really?” Vitani smiled again.

“I can see it now! You, with your very own Lion Guard protecting Kovu’s place as King. You’ll be far better enforcers than Scar’s hyenas, my pet. You won’t even need the Roar! Why, I see a great reign in our future atop Pride Rock…”

Vitani followed suit and gazed at the faraway Pridelands as her mother had. To be a strong leader, just like her mother. She didn’t think herself to be the type, but Mother saw it in her. She wondered what lions she would someday lead.

"Now, off to bed with you." Zira said softly, but still with command, “You need to be well-rested for what lies ahead…”

Vitani understood, and trotted to the main termite mound fortress where her brothers had already been fast asleep. 

Inside the den was a sight Vitani distinctly remembered, and one her older brother would to this day refuse to acknowledge ever happened. The brothers had embraced each other in their sleep, Nuka had a long arm draped around Kovu, and Kovu hugged said arm. Both snored in their own ways, Nuka with his obnoxious, nasally snorts, and Kovu, a soft buzz. 

For a moment, the preteen stole one last glance outside, her eyes reflecting the deep red sunset at Pride Rock, the peculiar lighting making her look not so different from her cunning, ruthless mother, whom she'd been shaping up to be more and more like for years to come...

________________________________

Present Day...

The fully-grown lioness stared off towards the Outlands. Her eyes were her usual electric blue color, as she'd faced away from the sun.

She looked deathly drowsy from a night of no rest due to her intense fixation on her cave paintings. Everything made her drowsy. Everything that had ever happened. Her mother had conditioned her into quite the restless and fidgety lioness, and it showed as she had looked twice her actual age.

Still, she had a territory to patrol. The one she'd inevitably end up guarding like Mother said she someday would, just not like how she'd imagined. 

A familiar sight had grabbed her attention mid-patrol – the termite mounds that she and her family once begrudgingly called home.

But before she knew it, her eyes wandered West, towards a prominent structure that towered over many locations of the Outlands – besides the volcano, of course – the cave that took on the shape of a lion's head. A cave that stood just beside a luscious watering hole, possibly the best one that could be found in the Outlands. One that had been protected for years... by hyenas.

Glancing back at the lion-shaped cave, she saw a leonine shape that stood in front of the mouth. Sporting a dark bluish tint, it had a large, red mane, a head stripe like her mother's, and a bulbous snout like her older brother's. 

"Who goes there?!" Vitani barked.

It walked back to the mouth, and faded away as if it weren't solid.

"Hey!" the Fiercest charged, the rest of the Guard far enough along the patrol route to even notice her leaving her post.

As she bounded, her ears rang from overwhelming glimpses of voices of the past she'd recently heard.

"Get up before I give you a real reason to cry!"

"Lions Over All!"

"What's wrong, my little Moonlight?"

Vitani stopped in her tracks from the sudden migraine that had taken place, but not before crashing into something: An animal that yelled for her to stop, just before impact.

In shock, the lioness quickly shifted to combat mode. She charged as fast as she could, and body slammed the animal with full force before climbing atop of it and pinning its forelegs down to not let it escape. Her snarl lessened as the animal's form came into picture.

"It's... You." was all the lioness could make out.

"I have a name, you know..." the long-haired hyena playfully scoffed.

Before Vitani could think, she was flipped on her back, with far less force than what she, herself, had used. 

"..and a few moves up my sleeve." the hyena giggled.

"Yeah, yeah, I remember you... Prime Minister."

Vitani rolled, and the hyena responded mercifully by gently releasing the lion.

"It's Jasiri, or something, right?" Vitani groaned, "Never bothered to really get to know you."

"I can see that." Jasiri deadpanned.

"I GOT YOU, JASIRI!" a male voice yelled.

"Janja!” Jasiri hopped in front of him, “There's no need."

“B-But that’s –” “I know. She’s welcome here.”

“Alright.” he grumbled, “It… It’s time for my shift at the cell, anyway.”

“Good boy.”

“Cell?” Vitani’s brow arched.

“He’s one of my trusted enforcers. Head warden of the Kizimba Caverns.” “‘Trusted’...” Vitani balked.

"He'll get the hang of it, eventually." the matriarch rolled her eyes, "So... what brings you to the Outlands?"

Vitani rubbed the back of her neck, "Ah, thought I saw something. L-Like, something I recently saw in a dream. Had to chase it. But... I can't explain it, it's too ridiculous."

"You look like you haven't gotten a wink of sleep. Animals' minds tend to go wild without rest."

"Yeah, I'll be fine." Vitani trailed off, staring onward as her eyesight no longer had a trace of blue. How much of that Zamani stuff did she take?

Realizing she had found herself near the entrance of Jasiri's Watering Hole, she looked to the left, then upward at the lion head monument towering over the region.

"Jasiri...?" she broke the silence, "Do you ever wonder what that thing is? My mother wanted to live nearby it so badly. She said she knew of it like the back of her paw, but, never went into how..."

"I’ve peeked at it a bit on my patrols. I haven’t really been wanting to go in, since, well, what happened when we were younger…” Jasiri said, “It seems like an abandoned arena of some sort, by the looks of it. Could’ve sworn I saw paintings in it."

"You're kidding?" Vitani's eyebrows flew upward.

Jasiri smiled. Beyond the paintings, she had a lot of things she wanted the former Outlands resident to see on the way.

"Why don't we find out?"

This had better not been a trap. Vitani had only ever known deceptive, fickle hyenas in life. But, only because of everything Mother had talked her ear off about. She jotted that down as one of the many questionable things Zira had believed, given what she’s recently seen of Jasiri and Janja. Not only had they claimed to be Prime Minister and head warden of the Outlands, respectively, but she’d remembered their collaboration to fight beside Kion. Perhaps Mother was wrong about all hyenas…

But, she had to know about these paintings, if there were any. What could they tell her? 

Semi-reluctant, the lioness followed the Prime Minister of the Outlands.

The two passed the Watering Hole. The older hyenas looked welcoming enough, but the younger ones found the lioness' presence odd. 

The girl had long hair and purple eyes, like Jasiri. The boy with only a few strands of hair and blue eyes. Both sported a wary look at her.

Vitani subconsciously returned the gesture with a puzzled look of her own. What was their problem…?

Vitani digressed. Meanwhile, she noticed something different about the Outlands. She felt something soft under her paws. Grass.

Throughout her trek across the Outlands was an overall pop of color and biodiversity. The Lioness could smell flowers she didn't know had grown in the area, and she observed more potable water sources outside of the notable one in Jasiri's territory.

"Here we are!" exclaimed Jasiri.

Vitani looked up, and saw the lion-shaped cave. It had been overgrown with moss, and even more flowers, funnily giving the cave a mane, somewhat, like it must've been meant to have. A dense, flourishing colony of bats flew from the cave, almost making the lion head look like it breathed fire.

Jasiri smiled warmly at the sheer surprise in Vitani's face.

"A lot has changed since you left the Outlands." the hyena began, "I heard about the monsoon at the Pridelands. The Outlands were in just enough reach to get some of it. We needed it for decades. The lands were so thirsty, that I had to help evacuate the animals from floods. But... It worked itself out, eventually."

Vitani was nearly moved to tears at the potential beauty that finally showed throughout the Outlands. Why couldn't she live in something like this all along? She had to wonder what became of the particular home she survived through every day. Had the Termite Mounds turned many colors, too?

Jasiri tilted her head towards the prominence, “Shall we?”

Vitani gave a quick nod, and soon enough, they walked towards the unexplored section of the Outlands.

________________________________

At the Northern Pridelands Outskirts…

“Would you believe the nerve of some of these animals around here? You’d think the herds would be over this whole separation thing after that old rhino keeled over.”

“Guess he set the blueprint.” Imara shrugged, “All he had to do was set an example for the next animal. There will always be a bigger, scarier successor.”

“Maybe,” Kasi huffed, But, wouldn’t they just leave the Pridelands instead of trying to change – OOF!”

Before she knew it, Kasi found herself briefly sandwiched between the heavy Imara, and another lioness who had stopped dead in her tracks long before her own group partner did.

“Tazama?! What’s going on?”

The Keenest of Sight stared off toward the Outlands, “Vitani’s not with you. I’d like to think –”

Kasi gasped as she looked where Tazama was looking, “Oh, no… She didn’t…”

“I’m afraid so…” the aqua-eyed lioness frowned slightly.

Pretty soon, Shabaha could be seen bounding from the distance, on her way to catch up with the group.

“Taz, why’d you stop?” the Bravest panted, “I know you’re quiet, but I didn’t think I was actually talking to nobody, this time – What’s everybody staring at…?”

“Tazama saw Vitani wander off to the Outlands.” Imara said.

“Was she snatched up, or something?”

“I didn’t see anything from here,” Tazama answered, “but within the Outlands, she could’ve been…”

“We’d better hurry,” Imara stepped forward, “c’mon…”

The Lion Guard headed Northeast, crossing the river that bordered the two territories. Pretty soon they ended up in an escape that was fogged and illuminated by geothermal gases and their periodic explosions.

“Hey! Who goes there?!” a voice barked, “No animal is allowed beyond this point!”

The fog cleared a bit, revealing a clan led by Janja, old enemies who once had their share of territorial disputes with the Outsider pride.

“Really? No animals allowed?” Cheezi tilted his head.

“Guess this means we gotta go, then.” Chungu muttered.

“Not us, furbrains!” the leader groaned.

“Hyenas!” Imara bellowed, “We know you have Vitani!”

“What? No we don’t!” Janja cried. Irritably, he whipped his head toward his fellow clan, “Alright, which one of you’s talked?”

“Enough talk!” Kasi snapped, “Get them!”

Shabaha loved that part of every fight. She couldn’t contain her eager cackle as she went to execute the order.

Janja remembered that laugh. Horrified, he glanced around at the lionesses that had surrounded him and his dimwitted squad of enforcers.

“Uh-oh…” he groaned, not liking their chances.

WHAM! Imara tackled Chungu.

SLASH! Kasi’s paw swiped Cheezi.

WHOOP! Tazama tripped Nne.

Janja’s hackles raised in defense as Shabaha slowly made her way towards him.

PUNCH! BEAT! POW!

Before the hyenas knew it, they were knocked to the ground. The hyenas that remained conscious moaned, saddened and confused as to what came over these lionesses.

What did they do wrong…?

Without a word, Imara took the lead towards the fog. The rest followed.

“Yeesh, we’re in the Elephant Graveyard.” Tazama shivered a bit.

Kasi looked around, “Is it me, or does this place look a little more organized than I remember?”

GROWL!

The Guard paused, hearts nearly leaping from their chests. They looked towards the location of the noise. It had come from one of the ribcages from a pile of elephant carcasses.

"Vitani..." Kasi slowly turned, "Is that you?"

“What are you guys doing, here?” said a gravelly voice.

Squinting to see past the large, petrified elephant ribs, Imara recognized the lion pacing back and forth in his enclosure. He had a scruffy, dark brown beard, a well-muscled body, furious auburn eyes, and a lack of a mane due to it once being burned off by Vitani’s Fire Roar.

“...Kiume?” she finally guessed aloud, taking a step closer to be sure.

“Watch your step.” Kiume smiled.

Imara glanced down and noticed the molten liquid that formed a moat around the maneless lion’s prison cell. Gasping, she placed a large arm in front of the rest of the Guard to keep them from inching any closer and getting badly hurt.

“Molten metal.” the lion clarified, “Keeps me from escaping with my life. A good backup when the hyenas aren’t awake to watch my every move…”

“The hyenas were…? –” Shabaha cringed hard, “Ooof…”

Imara's heart dropped, body going numb. There was no undoing the damage they'd inflicted.

She leaned against the cage bars for a moment and breathed deeply. They hurt animals who were doing good. The Prime Minister would banish them, and rightfully so.

“So that was the commotion outside? Thought the hyenas were up to no good, just because they’re hyenas? Looks like you guys got some prejudices to work out…” Kiume chuckled.

Kasi balked, “Oh, you would know –”

Imara waved a paw to quiet her down, “Look, Kiume. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… We were hoping you could help us find Vitani…”

“Why would I wanna help you, and how?” Kiume continued to pace.

“Well, we figured that since you’re the only one available, right now.”

“No thanks to us… Shabaha muttered in regret. 

“We just wanna know if you might know where she might’ve gone, and who with.” Imara continued.

“Well, I can’t exactly just give you pointers.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t know this part of the Outlands like I do, I’d have to walk you through it. You’re not gonna understand if I just tell you.”

“How do we know you’re not lying?” Kasi glared.

“Girls, trust me, I know the Outlands. I spent a good while here with my boys. We studied up on paintings we saw around here.”

“Paintings?” the Strongest raised her brows.

“Sure. Some paintings you lionesses ought to take notes from. It’ll show you the way a lion’s pride is meant to be. I’m telling you, it’s always been males that have led prides.”

“Whatever.” Imara glanced sideways, “Well, haven’t you tried busting out now that the hyenas aren’t watching?”

“You’re stronger than me – Well, I mean, I’m not saying you’re any stronger than a man, of course.” he said with a passive-aggressive whine that grated the lioness’ ears, “I’m a little out-of-shape since, you guys, you know, imprisoned me here. The hyenas starve me and hardly give me any water to live.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it.” Imara cut him off.

“Not to mention, these bones?” he knocked them, “Solid. Gonna need something hard and heavy, like that plank the hyenas use to give me water, over there.”

They all looked. It was a heat-resistant slab of rock that must’ve been occasionally slid across the ground by the hyenas. They looked back towards the maneless lion.

“How about this, you get me out, and I'll help you straighten this whole hyena mess out. Have we got ourselves a deal, girls?” he grinned, offering a paw for Imara to shake.

Imara scowled at Kiume for a long time before looking at the rest of the Lion Guard, who were seen exchanging uncertain looks.

The Strongest looked back towards him, glancing rapidly as her mind raced.

She continued to hesitate.

________________________________

Pride Rock...

The Future Queen tried hard to think her own thoughts, but a force kept her from it. Something, or someone, with their own memories had taken over her very mind and movement.

The Lion Guard vanished from Pride Rock, and the possessed lioness did not know where they could be, she sniffed around for the scent of any Lion Guard member. The trail led her to the Lion Guard Lair. 

Empty. Of Course…

The Water Spirit within Kiara remembered this place, however. She would often lounge in the once abandoned underground lair, discussing her points of view with her fellow lionesses – her original followers. They didn’t seem to live in the Pridelands, despite earning their right to live here.

Suddenly, her focus was broken by the sound of a young mandrill rushing to another section of the Lair. She watched the mandrill from the other side of the wall, well-hidden behind a dense patch of vines.

“Okay, okay, okay…” Makini breathed, “If I were paint restoration materials, where would I be…?”

She brushed small vines out of the way to reveal a shelf holding orange powder.

“Oh, hello, Baadaye powder! Right where I left you. Good thing Rafiki told me to keep this stuff out of the wrong hands. I’m definitely the ‘wrong hands!’”

Something to be kept out of the wrong hands sounded exactly like something Zira’s spirit probably needed. Ever so silently, the golden lioness inched closer to inspect the powder.

“Oh, there’s the restoration stuff!” the mandrill beamed, still not noticing the lioness.

In her excitement, her hand accidentally brushed by the powder on the shelf. Like another lioness, recently, the powder shot into Zira’s eyes. She grunted, but pretty soon, her world took on an orange hue.

Opening her eyes, she could see her perspective change to the top of Pride Rock. She looked down on various animals who leaped and cheered. 

The Pridelands looked drenched. Grass was saturated, mud was everywhere, everyone looked heavily rained on, and yet, they looked elated.

“Our Queen! Our Queen! Our Queen!” the swarm of animals chanted.

Could this be…? Was this Zira’s destiny? 

Will she have won whatever war was coming?

To Be Continued...

________________________________

Author's Notes:

In order to make sense of that chronological mix-up that happened at the end of Lions of the Outlands, I decided to make the exchange Zira and Nuka have be out of confusion and frustration that they were sent back to the Termite Mounds, rather than Disney implying that this is how they discover the Termite Mounds.

Kizimba (Zulu for "cage") is what I call this makeshift wild animal equivalent of a prison. It's comprised of centuries-old, petrified elephant ribs, a pool of molten iron/nickel, and would usually by guarded day-and-night by Janja's hyenas, who volunteered to be Jasiri's enforcers, and had constructed the prison cell (I figured they'd mastered that since they did something like that in the Morning Report episode).

I know Vitani and Jasiri (and the Guard and hyena clan by extension) should be on good terms by the finale of TLG, but something made me feel they weren't quite: Vitani didn't recognize Jasiri and she saw her as a threat first thing in S3E19, which gave me the vibes that she never bothered to befriend her, so I felt that she and the Guard have some more teachings of Zira's to unlearn.

Kiume's passive-aggressive remarks are based a little on how Butterscotch Horseman always laments every minor inconvenience. I can see Kiume being a lot like Butterscotch in a lot of ways: The constant complaining, generalizing women and just about any vulnerable group, etc.

Where would the hypothetical musical number be? I was kinda thinking, since I was going for an evil We Are One type of scene in the first image, perhaps Zira and Vitani would have a sweet yet sinister mother-daughter duet of some kind.

Artist Notes:

This subconsciously came to me as I was drawing it, but I found the first panel slowly looking like something out of the We Are One scene. Fitting considering that this is about unifying, but for sinister and rather eugenicist reasons instead.

The whole idea for the shot in Image 2 may look like something out of a certain other movie. When I very first saw the mouth of the Outlands cave in TLG, I instantly thought of the serpent-shaped cave formation from Road to El Dorado, but instead of butterflies, we have bats, since they're shown to reside in the Outlands.

Did Kiume get some design tweaks to his face and colors along with that noticeably absent mane? Yes, because it has to do with a big lore drop I plan to write/post art of sometime, something I think would bulk up the story retroactively once I start writing the Ao3 Novelization of VG.

Panel 5 was super easy and cathartic to draw, all it took was scratchy, warped cloud patterns and a mostly monochromatic color scheme. It's very much based on the future hallucination sequence in the Disney Villains: Scar comic.

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

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

Summary for this chapter: Brandy learns more than she cares to know about BJ, and someone loses a bet.

Characters in this chapter: Brandy Miller x Soldier Boy, Kimiko Miyashiro (via text), Annie January, Hughie Campbell, mentions Donna January and Reggie Franklin (A-Train)

Warnings/tags in this chapter: 18+ ONLY, explicit sexual content, rough sex, hair-pulling, 

Words in this chapter: 3,600

Author’s notes: Sorry, I didn't have the patience to make one of those text image things, so I just screenshot my google doc.

This fills my #Someone Loses A Bet square for @jacklesversebingo 

Many thanks @stunudo @talltalesandbedtimestories @bigmouthlass for the pre-reads and reassurance that I'm not a terrible storyteller.

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST - key songs this chapter: “Ball and Biscuit” by The White Stripes, “Closer” by Kings of Leon, “Do I Wanna Know?” by Arctic Monkeys, and “Beck + Call” by July Talk and Tanya Tagaq

CHAPTER ONE: Inconsiderate Neighbor

CHAPTER TWO

What surprises me most about Captain BJ is the way he helps me out of the chair and crouches at my feet to wrangle the twisted denim and modal from around my knees. When I take over to put my clothes back in place, he lingers, fingertips tracing the edges of my underwear. 

I hold back a shiver and cross the room to the sink. My curls are a mess, cheeks ruddy, and lips swollen. When I look up, he’s looming large behind me in the mirror’s reflection. He holds my focus as he leans forward, reaching around both sides of my ribcage to turn the tap on hot.

“Happy Birthday to you,” he quietly sings the song adopted by hand washers across the globe during a pandemic as he lathers and rinses his hands. I stare, buzzing from the reality of having two orgasms with a man I barely know but can’t stand to speak to, and the heat of his broad, solid chest curling against my shoulders.

He twists the knobs off and shakes the excess water from his hands with a slow, sly smile. His eyelids hang heavy just as his irises shine like polished jade. I try to catch my breath as he stands up straight, reaching for a paper towel to dry his hands. 

“See ya back at the ranch, Applejack,” he murmurs, tossing the wadded-up towel into the waste basket before exiting the small room.

+++

I haven’t seen or heard from him in two weeks, but now that I know him, I dream about him more. He still talks — says things that make me furious and hot, but I’m less afraid of myself for getting off on them. 

And I daydream, too.

I imagine taking my time with him. I breathe him in and run my fingers across his broad, bare chest and shoulders. I envision his skin, the skin I’ve only seen peeks of and barely touched, as a sunkissed patchwork of freckles, scars, and tattoos, sheathing an exquisite frame of muscle and bone. I fantasize about lacing our fingers and pressing our palms together, mine smaller and softer than I ever realized compared to his so large and calloused. 

These kinds of fantasies are new and frivolous for me. He’s a bodice-ripper and a pleasure giver, mean and so good at everything he does. I’ve never been one to gather wool, but nothing about me or my way of life is like it used to be these days. 

My phone buzzes on the table beside my laptop, startling me. I look down to see a text from Kimiko.

My friend Kimiko knows me well, and she doesn’t let me hide. If she weren’t so sincere, it would piss me off when she calls me out. Instead, I open to her like a crocus to sunlight.

I don’t know what possesses me, but I hesitate to agree to dinner with my best friends. My first thought is of him and what if I see him and what if we hook up again and what if...

+++

Annie and Hughie invite me out to Butcher’s again. It’s nice to be included and to have something to take my mind off BJ.

Unfortunately, Annie talks a lot about him

“You know, babe, maybe Brandy doesn’t want to spend her night hearing about a person she doesn't even know.” 

Hughie has a point.

“I’m sorry, Brandy.” Annie clasps my hand. “Let’s talk about something other than Benjamin James Davis III for once.”

“The third? There’s three of them?!” I laugh, but I’m honestly intrigued. Apart from learning and seeing physical evidence that BJ has a son himself, it never occurred to me that my enigmatic and evasive neighbor and one-time hookup wasn’t a product of a government science experiment gone terribly wrong — like a test tube Marlboro Man 1950s throwback.

Hughie sighs and playfully glares at Annie. “He’s the third of that name, but I wouldn’t say he’s one of them.”

“I see, so even they don’t like him,” I laugh again, refilling my pint glass from the pitcher.

“His dad quasi-disowned him when he enlisted in the Marines. He wanted him to take over the steel business, told him he was a fucking disappointment.” Annie looks somber and slightly apologetic.

I scoff. “Most people are proud of their kids for fighting for their country, or scared, but disappointed? Wow.”

I look at Hughie who is still glaring at Annie in no longer a playful manner.

Annie clears her throat and pushes away from the table. “I’ll go get a refill.”

Once she’s out of earshot, Hughie lowers his voice and leans in.

“Bottom line is, he’s not a good guy. It doesn’t matter why. Annie and her mom Donna worked for the Davises. She grew up in that house after they kicked BJ out. To this day, Donna talks about BJ — or Tripp,” Hughie rolls his eyes, “as the family calls him — like he’s the second coming, so sometimes Annie takes things personally. She still has a lot of grief work out.”

That was a lot of information that I was not prepared to absorb. I blink and nod. “Sounds like it, yeah. Poor Annie.”

“OK,” Annie returns, setting the pitcher and a tray of popcorn on the table. “And I got M&Ms. Reggie popped us a fresh batch of popcorn so it’s still hot. The M&Ms’ll get all melty!”

Hughie relaxes into his chair and grins, watching Annie shake a package of M&Ms over the hot popcorn. I chuckle and sip my beer.

+++ 

I absently scroll Instagram as I climb the dim stairs to my condo, startled by a presence at the top. 

When I switch on the stairwell light, BJ’s sitting on the boot bench that separates my condo from Maggie’s across the hall, bent elbows balanced on spread knees and hands clasped. He’s unmoving except for the lopsided smirk that balances the sharpness of his eyes.

I pocket my phone and return the smirk. “You do love the element of surprise, don’t you?” I take the last steps to my door.

He chuckles as he slowly stands, and I type in my doorcode. The lock slides, I open the door, and he follows me inside.

I shrug out of my jacket and hang it and my bag on the hooks just inside the door. He silently lets the door shut behind him and waits for me to move further inside.

I didn’t invite him. I don’t know why he’s here. Scratch that — he’s here because somehow he knows I want him here. What I don’t know is how he knows what I want.

“Drink?” I ask, ducking into my galley kitchen for something to calm the sudden burst of nerves. 

Annie’s and Hughie’s info dump is still floating unsorted in my mind. I didn’t need or want any of that intel. In my experience, a person doesn’t go to war, have a kid, never speak of a wife, become a military contractor, and suddenly become Love and Light in their 40s. Especially not with the family history I learned about tonight. 

He doesn’t answer, so I look at him. 

He’s staring me down but nods once. I grab a couple of short tumblers and a bottle of Jameson before skating between his body and the door jamb to head over to the couch.

“So,” I pause to set our glasses on the table and fill them, then kick off my Vans and burrow into one end of the couch with my drink. “Where’ve you been?”

I assume he’s been on a mission. I’ve done enough document work for the government to get a grasp of what he does when he isn’t around.

BJ purses his lips as he bends to scoop his glass from the table and takes a swig. After a moment, he replies. “I didn’t come here to talk, Brandy.”

I nod. “Then what’d you come here to do?”

This is a dumb ass question on my part, but part of me wants him to say it.

He sighs. “I had a long, hard couple of weeks, and just want to relax.” He turns and sits in a very unrelaxed fashion on the edge of my sofa.

“So we’re drinking in silence. Got it.”

He half-shrugs and downs his whiskey before setting the glass back on the table. “We could do more than drink in silence.” 

He looks at me, tension straining his eyes, his brow, and the breadth of his shoulders. 

“You came here to take your frustrations out on me? That’s neighborly.”

He arches a brow. “You’re the one who shoved me into a chair before unceremoniously climbing on my dick, so I could say the same for you.”

I scowl into my glass. “That was...” My words trail off.

“Was? What?”

“I thought it was a one-time thing.”

He tilts his head. “Did you?”

“Well, I didn’t plan on this.”

I didn’t. I’m not making a lot of plans these days. I am truly at the mercy of my gut, and I don’t hate it.

He sighs and leans toward me to take my half-empty glass and set it next to his on the table. “Whatever this is, planned or not, you want it. We don’t need to talk about it.”

He’s closer than before, leaning into me, waiting. I can feel his tension vibrating me. And I do want it. I want him. Because I’m a grown woman who is having what feels like an existential crisis. I’m trying to make mistakes to jolt myself out of a malaise for Christ’s sake.

“Come on, Applejack,” he mutters, drawing lazy circles on the worn knee of my jeans.

I pitch forward to pull my sweater over my head and toss it into the armchair beside the couch, revealing my bodysuit, and reach for him. 

But he’s faster. He hooks one hand under one of my knees and pulls, opening my thighs and dragging me to my back so he can cradle his hips in the opening. I drag my nails up his side under his Henley as he settles over me, dipping in to press kisses to my throat and jaw.

His bare skin is hot, and his muscles are rigid. He sighs and groans into my neck, sliding a hand underneath to arch it and lifting to nip and suck my collarbones.

We don’t talk. He’s a man of action, after all, but my brain is having a hard time reconciling Dream BJ with Real BJ and the stories of Tripp. Dream BJ never shuts up. Dream BJ says filthy, degrading things. Real BJ uses his mouth in other ways. I don’t know anything about Tripp.

He reaches between us to pop the button on my jeans, pulls my zipper down, and pushes his hand inside to cup my pussy, groaning and shuddering as he rubs and fingers at the crotch of my bodysuit. Then he unsnaps the gusset with a hum. 

The thick pads of his fingers separate my folds to slide over and around my clit while his other hand fists and twists my curls. When he tugs, it sends a shockwave of pleasure from my scalp to my toes. 

I shout and buck my hips. I’m so wet, and he’s so sure. He licks his lips and looks down between us to watch me fuck against his hand. His fingers slip inside, and I hiss. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, watching, rotating my clit with his thumb. “Fuck my hand. Such a good girl.”

I nod and huff, doing what I’m told. My legs are spread wide, and I have one foot on the floor for leverage as I beg him, “pull my hair again.”

He switches the heel of his hand for his thumb and presses down, pushing himself up and yanking my head back. 

“Oh, god!” My back arches, and I slam against his hand. 

He’s got two fingers tightly curled against my g-spot and keeps my neck painfully arched as he twists my hair and watches me come completely undone.

I’m breathless and sweating as he whirls like a dervish — boots and socks and denim flying, my bodysuit ripped over my head and his henley over his, couch cushions over the back of the couch, condom wrapper opened, and then, he’s inside me. 

He gathers my wrists in one hand above my head and grips one of my hips tight before falling into a cadence. I brace my foot against my coffee table to open myself wider, and he grits his teeth, seething at the ceiling. His grip bruises my hip and wrists, and he’s pounding my pussy so hard I’ll be bruised there as well. 

“Fuck yes,” he breathes, looking back down at me with a frightening edge. “You like it fucking rough, don’t you?”

I breathe and nod, gasping for air. I do. I love it. I always have, but have never had it this good.

He huffs a laugh, slightly shifting his angle, and I holler and convulse. “Right fucking there. Fucking take it. Shit.”

I’m coming again, and his hips stutter and shake.

+++

“Why do you have to make everything sound so crass?”

I grunt to get out from under him.

“I don’t.” He sits up and leans back into the one remaining cusion. “Your tight-ass value system tells you it’s crass.”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know more about you than you think. I know what you want. I know what you’re afraid of. I know what you dream about.”

This is why I hate rollercoasters and gambling — it’s the debilitating anxiety from the unknown. And if a rollercoaster were a person, Benjamin James Davis III would be that person.

I get up from our post-coital conversation and wrap myself in a couch throw before walking to the kitchen to fill a couple of glasses with water. When I get back to the couch, he’s lounging nude with a half-hard cock, smoking a cigarette. I was so blinded by what he was doing to me five minutes ago that I didn’t fully acknowledge the completely bare sculpted shoulders, broad, hard chest, and ripples of musculature decorated with scars and ink. Just as I’d imagined so many times.

“I don’t have an ashtray, you asshole,” I say, handing him one of the glasses. He makes a face at the glass and then sets it on the coffee table, drops his lit cigarette into the water, and follows me to my bedroom. 

Once inside, he yanks the throw from around me and drops it to the floor. The cold filtered water from my fridge dispenser splashes my chest, and the glass slips from my hand to join the throw with a soft thud.

He loops an arm around my middle, pulling my back to his chest, and immediately cups and tilts my chin to dip in and capture my lips. The angle should be uncomfortable, but instead, it burns away the final vestiges of my self-consciousness. I’m stripped of shame and second thoughts, and my brain hums with pleasure.

He kisses me, demanding, dominating as one hand drags down my throat to my breasts and the other slides up to splay across my stomach. He pulls my bottom lip between his teeth before nipping along my jaw to my ear. 

He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes, and the soft whiskers of his neatly trimmed beard make me shiver. One hand cups and squeezes my breasts, his fingers pull my nipples taut, and he burrows his face in the crook of my neck.

“You smell like caramel, Applejack. What is that?”

“Are we really talking about perfume? Fuck.”

I push out of his hold and walk around my bed to slide under the covers. He doesn’t get underneath, and he stops me from doing so as he crawls across the bed from the other side, dragging me prostrate before climbing astride my thighs.

“Only brought one condom, but I could go a few more rounds.” He grabs a couple of handfuls of my ass, slowly sliding his thumbs up the seam. “Took the edge off for sure. Let me show you what I can do when I’m less,” he pauses to squeeze and then smack my flesh. “Tense.”

I shake my mess of curls out of the way to look over my shoulder at him. “In the bedside drawer.”

He licks his lips and grins. “Good girl.”

He backs off me, so I take the respite to stretch and twist my spine. I already feel like I’ve gone several rounds with a fucking hurricane. It’s a damn good thing that I work from home because I will not be at the top of any one of my games tomorrow.

After rifling through my drawer, he tosses a strip of three condoms on the bed and then dives face down atop the comforter between my legs. “You smell so good,” he nestles along the insides of my thighs before lightly nosing and kissing my folds. 

I clench the duvet in my fists, and my back arches with an exhale. “I smell like sex and B.O..”

“Yeah, good and fucked and primed for more.” He grips the backs of my thighs tight and opens me wider to swipe the breadth of his tongue against my clit. “Such an easy touch; I’m gonna have you howling at the moon in less than 30 seconds.” 

I roll my eyes, even though I know he’s right. All I have to do is think about him, and I’m on the edge. “You’re so fucking smug.”

He props himself up on his elbows and snags my gaze. “Wanna bet?”

“Bet what?”

“That I can make you scream in less than 30 seconds.”

I’m loud. My ex wasn’t the biggest fan. He thought it was trashy, so I learned how to keep quiet.

I smirk. “What’re the stakes?”

“I win — and I will — I get to fuck your ass.”

I shiver. “OK. And if I win-”

“You won’t.”

“If I win, no kissing.”

He scoffs. “You love my mouth and everything I use it for, Applejack. Why on earth would you not want me to kiss you?”

“You have your terms, and I have mine, Benjamin.”

A wicked grin and edge adorn his handsome face. It should scare me, but it fuels me. He loves kissing. He knows his mouth is a fucking wonderland. But I know mouths can do so many things.

“Deal.” He slowly lowers, and I lie back and stretch out.

One at a time, I drape my knees over his accommodating shoulders. This gives me the advantage I need to move just right. And, god, his mouth really was made for this. 

His hands are everyplace they should be, fingers in and around, tongue lapping and fucking inside. He hugs my thigh to his shoulder, rising to his knees and working a finger inside to crook just right as he sucks my clit between pillowy his lips. 

It is less than 30 seconds when I come, and it’s wet. I squirt and squirm, but I’m quiet about it because I will win this bet. It’s not that I don’t want to know if he can make me come fucking my ass; it’s that, since the moment I met him, I wanted to be on top.

“You little shit,” he says, dropping my knees from his shoulders. “You came so hard and didn't make a fucking sound. I guess I should give you a trophy, but I’m kinda pissed.”

I sit up and shift back, laughing. “Uh-uh, Benny. No kissing, I said so.”

He mutters under his breath as he reaches for one of my ankles and yanks. “Calm down, baby girl, I’m not gonna hurt you. I just want a little taste.”

When he pitches forward, I take advantage of his balance and tackle him, rolling him to his back and climbing on top, reaching for a condom.

“Behave,” I tell him, ripping open the package before rolling the condom over his length and guiding him inside me. “My turn.”

He drops his head to my mattress with arms open wide as I set my pace.

Chapter Three

Series Master List | Other Soldier Boy Fic

What did you think?

[starfall-spirit]

Read on Ao3 | Part II | Part III

Summary: In a world were designation was everything, it was bad enough being caught in the middle as a beta. Strong enough, but never at the top of the pyramid, despite bonding a dragon revered among human and dragon kind alike and channeling a signet seen once in a century.

To present as an omega behind enemy lines... well that was an entirely different sort of curse.

AN: Fourth Wing needs more omegaverse, don't you think?

CW: Back on my 'omegas are property' line of writing. Dub-con next chapter.

Part I

Violet 

Drip. Drip. Drip. All the pain and annoyances she’d faced in her twenty four years and a leaky ceiling was going to drive her to insanity. But then, the third member of their squad wasn’t exactly preventing the impending spiral.

“Honestly, people go on and on about how valuable you are. And what happens the first time you’re off that dragon’s back? A bit of land nav is all it takes to bring down the high and mighty lightning girl with your high and mighty dragon. If you have such a great signet—”

The door to the interrogation room creaked open and the ass finally stopped talking. Whatever loathing he had for Violet, Conor was loyal to Navarre and giving away the signet she refused to flaunt on her flight jacket since graduation was just about the stupidest thing he could do at the moment. Just starting her first year as an officer, never having seen combat against a true enemy, she was still an unknown. Small miracles.

Her commander wanted things kept that way. So did Violet. “About time,” Conor remarked when their interrogators stepped into the too-small cell. A dark-haired alpha, and a blond-haired beta, neither of which looked impressed with the situation. “Hey, cool knife you got there. Any chance you brought some food to go with it?”

Sure, start taunting the Tyrrish officers who hate them on principle. That’ll certainly make their torture session more pleasant.  Raising his brow, the man who’d entered first continued absently flipping the blade with an ease that made Violet’s stomach twist, his blond counterpart hanging back slightly to lean against the door, blocking their escape with his body rather than the physical lock. Both moves were respectable intimidation tactics for a reason. Eyes darting, she saw Rhiannon raise her chin in challenge. Level-headed. Unflappable, even as they were very likely staring down their executioner. Violet had survived RSC and all of the brutal training that had followed it in third year. She was no stranger to pain. But despite that, and despite her dragons’ beliefs that she had no sense of self-preservation, she had enough sense left in her to know fear. Especially since she’d been particularly off balance the last few days. 

She also knew how to fake it till she could make it. With that in mind, she mirrored her dearest friend and squad mate, raising her head and squaring her shoulders as best she could while her hands were bound behind her. Even without the best instructor, Violet had learned with Tairn’s help that she didn’t have to channel from the sky. That she could and would need to manipulate the focus of her power. If she could keep them busy until the drug they’d given her had worn off, she’d be able to singe the rope binding her and hopefully catch them off guard long enough to get her squad mates free.

The concept was half-baked at best, but Rhiannon was the strongest of them with a strategic mind to rival Violet’s, and her lightning had to count for something if her physical strength wouldn’t. As for Conor… He was impressive in the way most beta males were, packing enough of a punch to be considered an honest threat. Hopefully he’d hold his tongue long enough for them to take a step towards freedom before some quick comment had their blood spilled across the ancient stone beneath them.

“I trust I don’t need to explain what’s going to happen next,” the soldier wielding the knife said. “What becomes of those who get it in their heads they can infiltrate a place such as this? By the time command realizes—”  His eyes snapped to hers, nostrils flaring. She couldn’t hide the shiver that ran through her when a low growl cut through his monologue. Nor could she muffle her startled gasp when the steel of his dagger whispered across her pulse points to cut her free of the rope. After so much time withstanding advanced interrogation in her second and third year, Violet was certain this wasn’t how an enemy interrogation was supposed to play out. “Little omega, just what are you doing out here in the thick of it?”

“I’m not an omega,” she hissed, doing little more than straining her shoulder when she tried to break from his grip around her upper arm.

“A late bloomer, it seems. Liam, take her upstairs while I get started here, will you? Xaden will want to see her.” Xaden. 

The name clanged through her, only feeding the cold dread that had already sunk its teeth down to the bone. Xaden Riorson, the reigning King of Tyrrendor. Generous to his kingdom alone and unyielding to any foe. Even if their dragons were mated, she didn’t imagine she’d find her way into his good graces, considering the bad blood between their families. Too much had happened in all the conflict. They’d never been allies to start with, but by the time the Tyrrish broke away from Navarre each family had taken a life from the other.

Nearly a decade ago, it was her brother. What was Xaden Riorson going to take from her next? ~~~~~

Xaden

“Tairn has finally brought his human to meet us.” Xaden paused his assessment of the seemingly endless documents in front of him, dissecting Sgaeyl’s announcement. “One of the Navarrians being questioned?” That was going to be an issue, seeing as he had every intention of killing them after they broke under interrogation.

“She’s been removed from the interrogation cell already.”

“Under whose command?” he asked, incredulous that one of his people would break an order to contain the border spies. A sharp knock on his office door redirected his attention. “Come in.”

He scented her before the door had fully open. Freshly presented, terrified, and likely trying to hide it. An omega. That changed things. “Liam, who’s this you’ve brought?”

Liam had barely opened his mouth before the girl was snapping at them. “I can speak well enough for myself. You won’t treat me like I’m not present.” 

He and his brother exchanged a glance. This he really hadn’t expected. Basgiath riders didn’t graduate, mouthing off like that. Honestly, Xaden was wondering how she’d even made it across the parapet to start training as a cadet. Her designation was never meant to serve as a healer or scribe, let alone on the back of a dragon. Even if she was late to present and strong enough to make it to Threshing, dragons sensed such things. She never should have been on Tairn’s radar for selection. 

But she wore rider black. Having been stripped of her flight jacket for interrogation, Xaden could tell from across the room that the corset shielding her upper body had been designed by a professional with the purpose of protecting her from the sharpest of blades. He wondered where she’d gotten the dragon scales for the armor. Tairn was a protective bastard, he knew, but the way the garment glinted under the low lighting revealed a green tint, rather than black.

“Very well, Omega. Who are you and what made you stupid enough to cross Tyrrish soil?”

“Maybe you’ve never had to follow marching orders, Riorson, but the rest of the world doesn’t have such a luxury.” She paused, eying him suspiciously. “Our dragons are mated. How long are you going to pretend you don’t know who I am?”

Xaden crossed his arms, unimpressed with her response. “Tairn has made it no secret he chose to bond during your Threshing, but he’s never revealed your identity.”

That conversation with his dragon had been aggravating. He’d never managed to piece together whether Tairn had revealed the identity of his rider to Sgaeyl, but his dragon had certainly never bothered to inform him on the matter. Only that the rider was female and “nothing like Naolin”. He’d asked her why Tairn had been anywhere near Navarre during that year’s Threshing and she’d told him to mind his own business. The conversation didn’t come up again.

“Her flight jacket said Sorrengail,” Liam provided, mirroring Xaden’s stance from his position against the wall. “Considering Mira has several years of service under her belt and is a confirmed alpha…”

“Violet.” Fuck, this was going to be complicated. Unless, of course, he put her exactly where the world expected to see an omega. He had to admit, the idea of keeping this fiery little thing tied to his bed was far more tempting than it should have been. When it came down to it, no matter what power he held, he was no better than any other alpha when it came to a bratty omega. She’d be a vision on her knees for him.

Liam cleared his throat, a subtle signal from the beta that Xaden was letting himself slip too far into his instincts without an outlet and was being completely obvious about it. With his full focus regained, he looked to the omega once again, barely able to suppress his smirk when he saw the soft pink staining her cheeks—how she had started breathing through her mouth instead of her nose. 

He only took a single step closer, but even that was enough for him to see her eyes had dilated. Newly presented, she didn’t have the slightest clue how to keep herself from responding to an alpha’s dominant energy, not that an experienced omega could do much better. There was very little that could be done to suppress the natural chemistry of an alpha-omega dynamic. He couldn’t begin to predict what kind of affect their dragons’ bond would have on them.

“Liam, where’s Aisereigh?” Violet narrowed her eyes, clearly trying to shake the haze of her arousal and place the name without the provision of a rank before it. “Still outside the wards?” And far, far away from where Violet could accidentally set eyes on him or Marbh.

“He won’t be back for a few days.”

“You intend on keeping the girl, yet you think you can keep her separated from her flesh and blood? Then both of them will want to tear your head off, boy.”

“Brennan will be made aware of his sister’s new residency the moment he returns. And her new affliction."  The blue gave something akin to a mental snort. "Then it will be up to him if and when he reveals himself. It isn’t my place to navigate their reunion, Sgaeyl.”

“Perhaps.”

She retreated from his mind, putting a shield in place. He wondered how long it would take for her to tell Tairn where his rider had landed herself after being drugged to silence their bond. The black dragon would be tempted to test how much truth lied in the suspicion that Xaden and Violet’s lives were tied now.

Whatever the case, the fact remained that the bond had to be suppressed a while longer. He wasn’t about to let her fly right back to Navarre before he’d seen her through her heat cycle and put his mark on her neck. She had presented less than an hour ago, but he suspected in such a high-stress situation the urge to nest would set in quickly. From there it was only a matter of time before she was begging him to keep her filled up…

She was a tiny little thing. Some sick part of him was looking forward to watching her struggle to take his knot. But she would, all the same. 

He finally closed the space between them, wrapping a hand around her arm. “I’m going to get her settled in. Tell the Assembly that Bodhi will sit in my place today.”

“Wait,” Violet demanded, digging her heels into the wood beneath them. “Let my squad go.” He chuckled. “If you keep torturing them I’ll only give you hell. If I see they’ve been allowed to return to our command center—” She grimaced. “I’ll do as you require.”

“You say that as if a brat is hard to handle.”

She glared right back. “I don’t fear you. And I won’t obey you, regardless of what sway you think you hold as an alpha. You will never control me completely.” 

His hand tightened around her arm, making her wince. His people certainly weren’t giving out Tyrrish secrets during interrogation. And if he played this right, Violet would be singing for him within a week. He could humor her in this. 

He looked up from her, catching Liam’s eyes. “Very well. They can return with a message, then.” What would General Sorrengail think, he wondered, when she learned of her last child’s fate? ~~~~~

Violet

She loathed this. Loathed him, more specifically. But mostly she loathed the undeniable craving inside of her. She’d just met the man—her enemy—yet all she could think about was the deep roll of his voice at her ear, his scent that was constantly caught in her nose, and the unyielding hold he kept when he’d escorted her out of the office and straight to his personal room where she was expected to spend her heat. She wouldn’t get her choice of an alpha to help her through it.

But then, omegas rarely did. With such an extreme ratio of betas and alphas in comparison, her dynamic was coveted. More often than not they were sold off to a nobleman or gifted to a high ranking soldier as a reward for years of flawless service. Objects to breed with the hope their children would present some fifteen years later with the same dynamic. She could only imagine what a king would expect. She was a prize twice over—a thing to breed and a taunt to throw back at Navarre. All she could hope for at this point was that Tairn would tear him to pieces in the end. And that she’d survive it.

The one mercy he gave her was that he didn’t hover as she acquainted herself with the space. While she had cleaned herself from the sweat and grime of travel, he’d called for someone to bring a few extra blankets and pillows—and turned out whoever had come to replace the current bedding. Seeing she was clean and dressed in the singular change of clothes from her pack, he settled in a chair set against one wall, eyes casually moving between the stack of papers in his lap and her progress in forming a decent nest. She was just trying her hardest not to think about what was going to be happening in that nest when this presentation spiraled into something more demanding.

It took over an hour for Xaden to speak to her, voice soft and even when he noticed her discomfort. “What do you need, Violet?”

she didn't need his help. Certainly didn't want it. But... “It’s wrong somehow. I need something else.” Her headspace was all wrong right now, too. She hated how she reacted to that softness. The craving would take her pride, she was sure. “I don’t know how to finish it.”

He gave her the slightest smile when she met his eyes, jerking his chin to his left. “Go see if anything in the closet will help. You can have your pick of it.”

The moment she entered the walk-in space her knees nearly gave out. She’d never been so reactive to scents before, but she had her nose buried in the fabric of a soft winter sweater a moment later, pulling it from where it had been meticulously folded and draped over a hanger. 

That was where Xaden found her a while later, surrounded by a small pile of shirts, nose glued to a collar his scent gland had seemingly been pressed against. “Find a few things you like?” She blushed. “No need to be embarrassed, sweet girl. An alpha’s scent should be comforting, especially approaching your heat. Here.” He reached to unlace her corset and she stiffened before remembering their deal. He’d let Colin and Rhi go. Now she had to do her part. “Good girl.”

A moment later her corset and compression shirt were cast aside, the latter thrown to the laundry. The first sweater she’d selected was over her head before she had time to shiver. She shouldn’t have been surprised by the fit of it. She’d always been too small for her age. But that didn’t stop her from flushing again when she bunched up the long sleeves and stood to reach for his shoulders so he could strip her boots and pants, letting the sweater fall to her mid-thigh. There was a slight shake of his shoulders under her hands and his silent laughter did nothing to lessen her second wave of embarrassment.

“You’re alright, Violet. Most omegas are on the shorter side.” 

Just not quite this short, went unspoken. And Xaden certainly qualified as taller than most. Twice as broad as her, for sure. She swallowed, pulling away from him and wishing she’d put up a little more fight about losing her leathers for the thin cotton she wore now. He didn’t give any reaction to her withdrawal, crouching to gather the shirts she’d favored so he could carry them out to the bed for her. His free hand didn’t wander, resting at the small of her back to guide her back to the bedroom. “Finish up, little one. I’ll be back with dinner in a moment.” 

Violet gnawed at her lip, hearing the door lock behind him. She frowned, not that she had hoped she’d have a chance of sneaking out when he slipped away to do something. Instead she let her mind fall back to that urge that was starting to take over it. The shirts would do it, she knew. Her nest would be cozy and smell like her—she shook her head—like Xaden.

Was that how quickly she’d lose herself to this? Trying to claim her enemy as her alpha in a matter of hours? Why was it his scent that set her off anyways. The interrogator was the first alpha she’d come in contact with since presenting. She and Liam had passed half a dozen on their way to Xaden’s office.

It only took a few moments for a knock to fall on the door. Strange, considering this was Xaden’s space. He’d made it clear there would be no shutting him out. “Uh, come in.”

A moment later Liam’s head poked through the cracked door before he opened it wider to extend what appeared to be a plate of roast meat and rice. “Hey. I caught Xaden on his way out of the kitchen. I thought you might be tired of looking at the same face for hours on end. I know he can be a rude bastard.”

Xaden had been anything but rude since taking her upstairs, if a little high-handed in stripping her leathers. But she wasn’t going to voice anything that made her captor sound like a decent human being. “Yeah. Um, you can come into the room completely, you know. I’m sure that’s… awkward.”

He smiled. “Thanks.” 

He was patient in letting her settle into her nest, averting his eyes until she’d covered her bare legs. “When is he gonna be back?”

“Shortly, I’m sure. He’s already pissed that I’m up here offering you food.” She cocked her head, brows furrowed. “Alphas are providers, Violet. Even if they thought you were a beta, surely your mother and siblings…” 

“My mother was always cold, even before we lost Brennan and Dad. Brennan, he acted like most big brothers do. Sometimes he snuck me extra treats, I suppose. Before we lost him. Mira probably tended to me most. Braided my hair, gave me pointers where she could. I would have fallen off the parapet if it wasn’t for her, I think. I know it." She smiled at the memory of Mira braiding her hair before conscription. Brennan sneaking her extra sweetbread in the days before he started training for the front lines. Just like that, the melancholy settled deep. "I guess they did dote on me sometimes. I didn’t think it was anything special back then. But I’ve missed it, if I’m being honest.” He reached out to squeeze the hand that wasn’t fidgeting with her fork. “Thanks for bringing this up for me. I’m not really hungry, though.”

Liam frowned. “Take a few bites. You won’t be eating much once your heat takes over.”

She huffed. “I’ve been cooperative where it counts. I don’t need you people dictating my food intake too. Just—” 

He reached up, his thumb sliding over her tongue to silence her protests. She could do nothing but watch as the friendly concern slid away to make room for something harder. Betas didn’t have the same raw dominance as alphas, but they could be plenty stern when they needed to be. Her nails bit into the skin of his wrist, but he didn’t so much as flinch. When had she become so helpless?

“Back to bratting us, is she?” Xaden asked. When had the door opened? “Why?”

“Doesn’t want to eat. Says she isn’t going to let us dictate her meals.”

Was Liam a part of this now? Next in line to fuck her when Xaden was bored of it?

“Is that so?” He waved his hand and Liam pulled back, retreating to the chair Xaden had occupied earlier with a little shake of his head. Xaden had her repositioned in his lap in a matter of seconds, the manhandling seeming to cost little effort despite her attempts to squirm free. Twin bands of shadow around her wrists and ankles were what finally stilled her. Despite their appearance, they were solid as iron around her limbs. The rumors about his signet hadn’t been exaggerated, then. “Any time you refuse a bite, you’ll earn yourself an extra swat.”

“Extra…” Her mouth fell open. “You can’t spank me! I’m not a child!”

“Could have fooled me, acting out. Don’t test me, Violence.” She sneered at the nickname, turning her attention back to the meal in front of her.

She was only able to choke down half of the plate they served before insisting she was truly going to be sick if she ate any more than that. Xaden assessed her for a moment, onyx eyes hard. “I’ll let it slide this once. Just know that the next time you backtalk one of us, you’re pretty little ass is going to be feeling the consequences.” She scowled back at him. “You can be as pissed as you like, but you’re going to follow the rules we set. If you can’t respect—”

The rest of his threat was lost to the earth-shaking roars beyond the walls of Riorson House, just slightly varying from one another. Serum or no serum, her dragons had found her. And they were livid.