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f1goat · 2 days

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more than friends ; lando norris + part eleven

In which your best friend is going to help you to gain more sexual experience and say goodbye to your insecurities, but he's quick to discover that he never wants to share you and your new experiences with others - the only problem being, him having to confess his feelings.

masterlist - playlist

fem!y/n x lando norris

warnings: smut with a plot. minors dni! probably grammar or spelling errors due to english not being my first language.

requested: yes, based on this request: something with a driver sister that’s still a virgin & lando (her bestfriend) suggests to teach her things

part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven / part eight / part nine / part ten

When you wake up after another sleepless night, you let out a big sigh. Since you’re back in Monaco things feel different. You can’t sleep properly anymore, the cold bed without Lando and his warmth in it aren’t enough for you. Things have changed since you’re back here. Lando is busy with his trainings, Quadrant, friends he didn’t see for a while and everything else he’s normally busy with. Meaning that there’s not a lot of time left for you. Lando told you in advance, but you told him it would be fine. Now you realize that it’s not fine.

You know that if you call Lando, he’ll let you join him with everything you want. There is even a chance that he’ll send you a plane ticket for only today and tomorrow. It wouldn’t be something new. He’s in England for now, spending time at the McLaren Technology Centre. Lando told you about what he was going to do, something in the line of multiple sponsor obligations and a bit of sim work. Him not being in Monaco causes you to only miss him more.

There’s nothing more you want to do then to call Lando up and talk to him, but you don’t wait to claim him too much. What if he thinks you’re too clingy? With another soft sigh you start to scroll on your phone. Not that it helps, when you open your phone you’re confronted with a thousand notifications. Since the last race weekend the notifications haven’t stopped. Everyone thinks Lando and you are actually dating this time. It has caused your socials to overflow with reactions, some people hate you while others claim that you’re their favorite WAG already. On the flight back you talked about it with Lando. There was an option of denying it and hoping they would leave you alone again, but the two of you decided to just let it be for now.

You want to text Lando. Or would that be to clingy? Fuck, you really miss him. When a notification shows up on your phone screen, you’re quick to look at it.

Lando: call me?

Without giving it a second thought you call Lando on FaceTime.

“Hey babygirl,” Lando greets you with a soft smile.

“Hey Lan,” you greet him back.

Lando asks you about the last couple days, you feel boring when you confess to him that you didn’t do a lot. You don’t have contact with your friends anymore since that brunch and now that Lando is also gone, your days have been boring. You are quick to ask Lando about his last days as well. He tells you everything in full enthusiasm.

“But I can’t wait to get back to,” Lando doubts, he wants to say to you but that’s probably weird, right? “To Monaco,” he eventually ends his sentence.

“When are you coming back?” You are quick to ask. You want nothing more then Lando back in Monaco and hopefully back with you. “Tomorrow baby,” Lando answers you, “Maybe we can grab dinner together when I’m back?”

“That sounds nice,” you tell him, that’s exactly what you hoped for.

“What are you going to do today?” Lando continues to asks you.

“I don’t know yet,” you confess, “maybe sleep a bit more, I’m still pretty tired.”

“Did I awake you?” Lando questions. You’re quick to tell him no, mentioning that you don’t sleep well at the moment. When Lando asks you for the reason, you don’t know what to say at first. You stay silent for a bit. “I kinda have the same problem you know,” Lando eventually confesses, “Since I’m back in my own apartment without you I haven’t gotten a good night sleep.”

“Me too,” you share, “It feels weird to sleep alone.”

“Tomorrow we can sleep together?” Lando suggests. You’re quick to say yes. “And maybe some other activities,” Lando says suggestively.

“Oh?” You reply.

“I miss you babygirl,” Lando softly murmurs, “All of you.”

“All of me?” You ask surprised.

“Yes,” he confesses, “I miss your body next to mine in the bed, since we slept in the same bed together I’ve been addicted to it. And don’t forget how bad it became now that I know how your body feels. I miss the soft sounds you make for me when I feel you up, or the way you always look at me with those innocent eyes when I know for a fact you’re not that innocent. I miss the way you pussy clenches around my cock.”

“Fuck Lan,” you mutter softly, “I miss you too. Haven’t cum since the last time you made me.”

“What did you just say babygirl?” Lando asks you. He looks at you through the screen, it’s not hard to miss how red your cheeks are getting. “Didn’t you orgasm since our last time?” He continues to ask. You show him a small nod. “Why not?” Lando asks further.

At first you shrug, not wanting to tell Lando that you have never pleasured yourself, but Lando sees right through you. “Have you ever touched yourself?” He asks you.

“No,” you confess softly.

“Don’t know how to do it?” He asks.

“No.”

“Want my help babygirl?”

“Please Lan,” you almost beg. Since he told you what he misses about you, your pussy started clenching. You feel all tensed up and want nothing more then Lando to help you with it. Lando shows you a grin. He doesn’t say anything yet, causing you to let out another few pleas. “I need your help,” you softly confess, “I can’t do it myself.”

“Place your phone on your night stand baby,” Lando instructs you. You do what he says. “Lay down on the bed, I want to see your body.” You lay down on the bed, still dressed in your pajamas. Now you look at yourself in the camera, you notice that you’re pajamas are a skimpy string and a shirt from Lando.

“Spread your legs for me,” Lando instructs you. You do what he says again. “Keep following my instructions,” Lando says, you show him a nod. “I want you to call me sir,” Lando tells you. “Okay sir,” you try it out, the words leave your tongue without thinking about it. It feels good. You notice the way Lando lets out a soft groan while hearing you call him this.

“Touch your boobs for me babygirl,” Lando continues to instruct you. You lay your hands on your boobs, slowly grabbing them through your shirt. “Knead one of them,” Lando says, “and softly pull on the nipple from the other one.” You act out his instructions, a soft moan leaves your lips when you softly pull on your nipple. “Continue and switch sometimes,” Lando states. You keep doing what he says. Kneading your boobs firmly and softly pulling on your nipples. You feel your stomach tighten from the feeling. It feels weird to do this to yourself, you’re glad Lando is here to instruct you.

“Feels good, doesn’t it babygirl?” Lando asks you.

“Yes,” you whimper.

Lando tuts at you. “Wrong babygirl,” he says, “Stop touching your boobs.” You wonder what he means, then you get it.

“Sorry sir,” you whimper, “Sorry. Can I please continue?”

“No.”

You remove your hands from your tits. A soft whine leaves your lips. Lando chuckles. “Slowly move your hands lower on your body,” he continues to instruct you, “but skip your cunt.” You do as he says. “Tease the inside of your thighs for me,” Lando instructs you, “Stroke up and down on them. Get closer to your cunt, slowly, but don’t touch it yet. Just tease yourself and imagine that your hands are mine.” You keep doing what Lando instructs you to do. “You must be so painfully wet right now,” Lando mutters.

“Move one of your hands back to your tits,” Lando goes on, “Tease them as well. Knead those tits, pinch or pull on your nipples. Keep teasing yourself.”

“Yes sir,” you softly moan while touching your breast again.

“Gonna get you so wet before you even touch your cunt,” Lando tells you. “It’s a shame I’m not there with you, I would put my mouth on one of them. Slowly sucking your nipple inside my mouth, licking and sucking those beautiful tits.”

“Fuck sir,” you moan.

“You like this, don’t you? You love every second of attention I give you. Don’t you wish I was there with you babygirl?”

“Fuck sir, yes, I miss you. Want you here with me.”

“Take off your clothes,” Lando instructs you further. You’re quick to do so.

“Use one hand to keep teasing your breast,” Lando continues, “and with the other one you’re going to get real slow towards your cunt. But don’t you dare to touch it yet.” You let out a soft moan now you feel your breast and nipple without any clothing between it. Lando lets out a soft groan as well. He softly starts to grab his boner as well. Lando never did something like this before, but it feels so natural with you. He’s surprised how well it’s going, the words are flowing out of his mouth without thinking about it.

“Lay down your finger on your clit for me,” Lando tells you, “but only for two seconds. Then you move your hand back to your thighs.”

You let out a whine when your two seconds are up. “Sir please,” you whine. “Not yet baby,” Lando says, “tease your thighs a bit more.” You still do what he says. When you look at your phone screen you notice that Lando has turned over the camera. you’re not seeing him anymore, the camera is focused on his boner now.

“Fuck sir,” you mutter, “you look so hard.”

“That’s what you do to me babygirl,” Lando replies.

“Can I see how you touch yourself, sir?”

Lando doesn’t reply verbally. He moves his hand to his boner and starts to caress it, letting out a groan while doing so. “How badly do you want to touch your beautiful cunt baby?” Lando asks you, “Tell me about it.”

“Fuck sir, want to touch it so bad,” you murmur.

“Ask me.”

“Can I please touch my pussy sir?” You ask him.

“Okay babygirl,” Lando tells you. “Slowly put your finger back on your clit again. Use your other hand to tease your entrance.” You move your hands again. Almost letting out a loud moan when you finally feel something on your clit again. “Make slow movements, really slow,” Lando instructs. “Give it a bit more pressure,” Lando continues.

“Fuck,” you whine, “Thank you sir.”

Lando almost feels his cock bursting out of his pants when you thank him. He removes his pants and boxers. You see his boner springing to his freedom. Lando is quick to put his hand around it and starts to stroke it.

“Oh babygirl,” Lando mutters, “the things you do with me. Continue to add pressure to your clit baby and slowly move one of your fingers inside you.”

You spread your legs a bit more then before, causing Lando to let out a soft moan while seeing your cunt better then before. He strokes his own dick. Slowly you let one of your fingers enter your pussy. “Imagine that was my cock,” Lando teases you, “How much better would that fill you up baby?”

“A lot better sir,” you answer, “There’s nothing better then your cock.”

Lando keeps getting amazed by you. “Such a good girl for me,” he tells you, “my good little..” He doubts a bit if he’s going to say it, but eventually takes the risk. “My good little slut,” he calls you.

“Only for you sir,” you reply softly, “only for you.”

“Fuck babygirl,” Lando groans, “What did I do to deserve you?”

In the mean time Lando increases his own pace. He tells you to do the same. You let out a couple moans while fingering yourself. “I’m getting close,” you softly confess, “can I cum sir?”

“Not yet baby,” Lando tells you stern, “wait a bit longer.”

You’re turning into a moaning mess. You can’t even reply to Lando anymore. It’s getting too much for you. After not having felt anything like this for a week or so, the pleasure is getting to your head. Your stomach is as tight as it can be, your pussy is already clenching around your finger and the only sound coming out of your mouth are moans.

“Add another finger babygirl,” Lando instructs you. You’re quick to act out his instruction. “Increase the pace but don’t let yourself cum yet. Imagine it’s my cock that’s inside you right now.”

“Fuck sir,” you mutter, “I’m so painfully close.”

“Beg for it.”

“Sir please,” you start to beg. You can’t even form normal sentences, words are coming out of your mouth but you don’t even realize which ones. “So close.” “Please sir.” “Fuck sir, it feels so good.” “Need you with me sir.” “Please.”

“You deserve it babygirl. Let it go,” Lando softly tells you, “Cum for me.”

You feel your body spasm. “Fuck,” you moan while you come undone. It amazes you that you just did this for yourself. While coming down from your orgasm, you look at the phone screen on your night stand. Lando is pumping his boner with a fast pace. While looking at it you feel yourself getting horny all over again. Then he comes undone as well with a loud moan.

“Fuck babygirl,” Lando grunts, “That was amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” you softly reply, “It’s insane what you’re doing to me while not even being here.”

“You better wait for when I’m back,” Lando states, “because I can’t wait to feel you around my dick again.”

“Tomorrow right?” You ask teasingly.

“Tomorrow you’re mine.”

+++

The day is passing by slowly. Lando texted you this morning that he will pick you up for dinner tonight. Since then you haven’t heard anything from him. You miss him. You can’t wait for him to show up here and take you with him. Only the idea of sleeping next to Lando again tonight, makes you feel all happy and bubbly.

You’re looking at yourself in the mirror. The dress you’re wearing is a new one. After your FaceTime call with Lando from yesterday, you went out shopping. It felt weird at first to shop alone, but you aren’t in touch with your friends anymore after the last time where they didn’t stop insulting you. It’s for the better, but shopping alone is something else to get used to. Eventually you did find a beautiful dress for tonight. Now you’re wearing it you feel a bit of doubt kicking in. You usually don’t wear stuff like this. The dress is on the shorter side, almost revealing your ass. Maybe it’s too much for only dinner? You doubt about changing, but before you can decide you already hear the door bell. Can that be Lando?

When you open the door, you’re greeted by Lando. He is quick to pull you into a hug before getting inside your apartment. “Hey babygirl,” he greets you with a soft voice. He puts a small kiss on your cheek. When he pulls back from the hug and walks inside with you, Lando is quick to take a good look at you.

Lando can’t take his eyes off you. Fuck, since when do you own dresses like this? Do you really expect him to have dinner with you while you’re dressed like this? He can’t focus on dinner or anything else when you look this beautiful. Fuck. The dress barely covers your ass and Lando can’t stop looking at it, certainly when you walk towards the kitchen to get him something to drink.

“Fucking hell babygirl,” Lando sighs eventually, “since when do you own dresses like this?”

“It’s too much isn’t it?” You ask a bit unsure. Lando hasn’t stopped looking at you since he’s inside.

“No,” Lando quickly states, “it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.” Lando doubts for a couple seconds before speaking up again. “But I do think I can’t focus on anything else then you in this dress and fucking you.”

“What’s stopping you?”

In no time Lando has himself pressed up against your body. You don’t know how Lando got you here like this, but you’re pressed up against the wall. His mouth is attacking yours. You feel his hands all over your body. As fast as he can manage Lando pulls up your dress. When he feels your string and the way it’s already dampened by your cunt, he grins.

“So wet already baby,” Lando mutters. You grab his boner through his pant. “And so eager,” Lando continues. You play with Lando his belt, trying to get if off but you can’t reach it properly. A soft annoyed grunt leaves your lips. Lando grins and removes his belt himself, then he pulls down his pants and underwear. You see the way his boner slaps soft against his stomach. Fuck you almost forgot how big it was.

“When we’re back from dinner I’m going to take my time with you,” Lando states, “but now I really need to feel you on my cock.”

“Please do,” you softly reply. Lando takes his earlier words into action. He lets his dick slide into your cunt. It causes you to let out a hard moan. Lando fucks you harder then ever before, it never felt as amazing as this. When he squeezes your boob you almost yell out his name. “Fuck Lando.”

Lando grunts. He increases his pace again. When he starts to feel close to his orgasm, he almost feels ashamed for feeling his orgasm reaching this soon. Then he notices the way you look. It looks like you’re close as well.

“Never came this fast in my life,” Lando groans when he feels his cum leave his body. You feel your orgasm hitting you as well. “I can say the same,” you joke, “but it’s not like I have a lot of experience.”

“Dinner?” Lando asks you five minutes later. “If you can behave,” you laugh. Lando grabs your hand, intertwines his fingers with yours and takes you with him towards his car. You barely can remember to grab your stuff before getting into his car.

“It’s insane how much I missed you,” Lando confesses.

“Same,” you softly reply.

“And I have to leave again in only two days for the next race,” Lando sighs.

“I know,” you sigh back.

“Join me?”

“You want me to join you again?” You ask Lando confused.

“Babygirl, I want you to join me every time I’m leaving home.”

a/n; i feel like this story is coming to an end but i have no idea how to finish it, help is welcome :)))

taglist: @booksandplushies @dinodumbass @formula1mount @words-are-cheap @allywthsr @inejghafawifesblog @chonkybonky @formulas-bitch @harrysdimple05 @vildetry06 @wherethefuckisthething @nonameishere @lauralarsen@meadhbhcavanagh @obliviatevamps @shy4turcs @fix5idiots @nightlockcornucopia @marialovesf1 @kapsylia @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @lanando4 @lauralarsen @leclercdream @agentadhd @rewmuslupin @allsouls-emma @iamshiningeuw @teenagedreams-cl@kiskso @loxbbg @vellicora @thomaslefteyebrow @avg-golden-retriever @amorydsmt @killjoynotes@barelytolerabled @starmanv @changetyre @kami10471633 @2bormaybenot @httpmrklee @buendiabebeta @aliceespector@ryiamarie @mickslover @sop-hie092 @miniemonie2001 @greymarvelskaikru @kapsylia@swiftiedrafts @thatchickwiththecamera @formulas-bitch @venisvendetta @t3a-3njoy3r @landowecanbewc

taglist p2: @chezmardybum @booksandflowrs @mineandneveryours @strawberryy-kiwii @noneofyourfbusinessworld @secretgal66 @trinity2058 @evieepepi08 @shutupmymomsc4lling @smiithys @nanamilkbread @hellowgoodbye @annie115 @random-1927 @sadmeal444 @christianpulisic10 @peachiicherries @toppersjeep @lovingaphroditesworld @kiskso @silentreader128 @lauralarsen @scopeiguess @trinity2058 @shy4turcs @moonlight-girls-posts @xjval @saachiep81 @leclercdream @adalynneva @swiftiedrafts @oscahpastry @customsbyjcg-blog @idontcare011 @f1fantasys @emyladia

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris imagine #ln4 #formula one #lando norris fanfiction #f1 #lando norris imagines #lando norris smut

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uglyducklingofthe2000s · 6 months

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Hi could i please request something where lando suprises the reader after they didnt see eachother in a while.

Tyyy

Counting The Seconds - LN

Context this is based in August.

This has been in my drafts unfinished for a couple days. I'm trying to work my way through my drafts to finish stuff that is unfinished before I continue with requests or new ideas. So if things slow down or you've sent in a request that hasn't been done as quick as you might expect. I promise I'm working through them.

Travelling a lot for work is not just an exclusive to being an F1 driver, but there is a surprising amount of extra travelling since Lando lives in Monaco but McLaren is based in Woking.

Lando and y/n haven't seen each other for near a month now. The entire month of July having four races with only one weekend off, during which y/n had her own work stuff going on. She attended the Silverstone weekend and they haven't been together in person since.

But now it's the end of August and Lando has been doing stuff for Quadrant. Now they both understand that they have busy schedules, but he misses her and while she hasn't outright said it. There was tears in her eyes last time they facetimed and they had to end the call. He knows she's missing him.

In fairness, during their relationship. This is the longest they've gone without seeing each other.

"Hey, baby." Lando smiles into his phone while she picks up the phone, clearly in the bathroom getting ready to go somewhere but she suddenly looks really sad as she leans down to properly look at her phone. "Don't look so sad. It's three more days."

"I know...I just feel bad. I'm going out with the girls so I can't talk for long."

"It's ok, you're allowed to have a life." Lando states making her sigh softly. "These next few days are going to fly by. You'll see...what are you doing with the girls?"

"We're going out in London for Josie's...cousins...best friend's...I don't know. I swear they've all told me like 5 different reasons. I'm just going to make sure I get drunk." Y/n shrugs then sighing. "I didn't really have much of a choice about it."

"I'm sure you'll have a good time."

"What are you doing today?"

"Training a bit. Got a few things to do. Nothing special."

"Oh alright." Y/n nods, frowning a little since Lando is never so vague about his plans. He always gets into specifics just so they can talk for longer and so she feels involved. "Do you want to help met choose an outfit?"

"To make sure no other man would dare think about touching you? Yes. What's your outfit with the most coverage?" Lando jokes, though they both know he's also being deadly serious and wants to see her most modest outfit.

So after back and forth which is verging on making her run late to meet the girls. They've settled a dress which isn't modest in the slightest but since Lando will in fact be there, he isn't too upset that she's wearing it. Plus he is certainly going to appreciate her wearing it.

Arriving at the club, Lando's had messages confirming the exact location within the club that y/n is from all her friends. He's not going to go straight up and surprise her.

That's far too simple and basic.

So Lando heads up to the DJ set, immediately managing to spot her by the bar where she's sitting on a stool talking to the bartender who seems to be nodding as he tries to hear her order for drinks.

"Alright I'm handing over to a man who is here for one woman and one woman only. Y/n y/l/n, where you at?!" The DJ exclaims into the mic making her perk up, clearly the last thing she expected was to hear the DJ of all people to call her name.

The strobe lights definitely distort her ability to spot and recognise Lando from a distance. Her expression, even from this distance for Lando is readable as confused and shocked. But her friends, beyond excited to be playing a part in getting y/n over to her boyfriend.

He can see her questioning them and almost looking annoyed before her friend literally grabs her jaw to force her to look in Lando's direction once they're close enough for the strobe lights to distort her sight.

When she finally sees and recognises Lando, she scrambles for the quickest way up to the DJ set and when she gets there. She flings herself onto him.

The kiss is like a breath of fresh air after being starved of oxygen for weeks.

He even feels tears drip onto his cheeks from her. Really he's not surprised. Y/n is usually good at hiding just how much she misses him because she doesn't want him to feel bad about not being able to just do what her friends boyfriends might do and call in sick to work, or book holidays to take time to spend with her when he feels like it. He gets more time off, but usually even that ends up being filled with plans that clash with her own life.

It's hard sometimes for both of them.

"Fuck me, I missed you so much." Y/n hiccups as she breaks the kiss to hug him and speak into his ear.

"I missed you too baby." Lando states holding her just as tightly as she is holding him.

Really it's almost easy to forget how much he misses her till he's faced with reuniting with her again. And it's the same for her, they can distract themselves in each other's absence, but then when they see each other. All the emotions they've ignored come crashing down like a tidal wave.

"Alright, no more tears and sadness. We're going to have a good time tonight, together and we're going make up for the last couple weeks. I promise." Lando grins running his hands down her back and squeezing her arse as he pulls her flush against his body. "Ok?"

"Yes. Definitely." She nods with a grin. "I can't believe you actually managed to surprise me. Your organisation is horrific...how much of this was actually planned by the girls?"

"Very little, I'll have you know." Lando exclaims placing his hand to his chest sassily making her grin. If there's one thing she loves about her boyfriend it's his ability to get sassy no matter the circumstance. "Now are we going to talk or have a good night?"

"We'll talk later...but a good night is top priority!" Y/n exclaims with a grin catching him in another kiss only to pull back. "ah, my drinks!"

Lando's yanked form the DJ set, y/n clearly having no intentions of them being divided for another second any time soon. Especially not tonight.

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bahrmp3 · 1 year

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[ID: 7 gifs from season 2, episode 20 “the maquis, part 1” from the tv series “star trek: deep space nine”, the gifs show benjamin sisko and gul dukat in runabout with sisko piloting it.

1st gif: benjamin comments idly while piloting the runabout, "i've heard they put cardassian children in intense mind training programs when they're four years old." he turns his head to face dukat, "is that true?

2nd gif: "the cardassian educational system is unparalleled in the quadrant." dukat brags. benjamin looks straight ahead.

3rd gif: "if you don't mind taking the joy out of growing up." benjamin replies.

4th gif: "education is power. joy is vulnerability." dukat preaches, shocking sisko, who instantly replies, "what?"

5th, 6th gif: dukat turns a bit to face sisko, "your reaction surprises me, commander. i thought you would understand. of all the humans i've met, you strike me as the most joyless and the least vulnerable."

7th gif: "i am when i'm with you." sisko replies, much to dukat's amusements who laughs upon hearing this. /end ID]

#star trek #trekedit #ds9edit #deep space 9 #deep space nine #benjamin sisko #gul dukat #long post #my stuff #*#**#ds9*#tv**#i am once again making smth from this ep technically speaking the part before this is also ready to be published #but i thought both stand alone nicely

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sandinthemachine · 1 year

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Mortal Remains

König x f!reader

written for the request: "You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn't have to go to such extremes." With Either ghost or König? There's not enough fluff for my men.

I don't even know where to begin with this one. It's massive, the longest one I've ever written. I love it, and I hate it. It made me cry. I'm excited and terrified to see what everyone else thinks. I hope someone reading this feels at least one of those emotions while doing so (preferably not hate)

before I begin, thank you to @sprout-fics and @zwienzixes for being lovely beta readers, and a MASSIVE thank you to @itsagrimm for beta-reading, helping me work through ideas, giving me proper German translations, and all around being an amazing and supportive person. I would have given up on this without all the help.

Translations for the German will be at the bottom

Words: 12,450 (yeah...it's big just like him)

Warnings/tags: König is soft and pretends not to be, reader is afab but no pronouns used, canon-typical violence, piv sex, oral f!receiving, self-deprecation, lots of raw emotions, mental health is hard, fluffy ending

---

It started easy enough, as so many things do.

A week-long joint training exercise. Mixed teams, both 141 and KorTac. Something something bonding before the real mission. You hadn’t been listening.

You remember being excited to be teamed with Soap. At least you could get along with someone, you mused. You barely noticed the hooded figure, tall and sticking to the corners, merging with the lengthening shadows. What’s another ghost haunting your footsteps? Nothing special, that’s for sure.

The first four days fly by. Early morning patrols, always in pairs, tracking for signs of the other team. Finding nothing, you move to a different shelter, secure the area, sleep. Rinse, repeat.

The fifth day is different. There are ragged clouds cloaking the sun while the rest of the sky is completely clear. You’re not sure why you noticed that, but you did.

It was an early morning patrol, as usual, you and your partner sweeping around a centerpoint like you were analyzing a single massive clock. Northeast quadrant clear. Southeast clear. Southwest…a scuff in the dirt. You lean down, fingers tracing the air just above it, a black fleck catching your eye. You grasp it, finding it much larger than you originally expected and partially buried. You pull at the rubbery texture, curious. Distracted.

The ambush comes quietly. Perfectly so. The weight lands on your back with an abruptness that flattens your lungs, dropping you directly onto your hands. You might have twisted your wrist, but the pain of that is overshadowed by the thought of the immense beratement you’ll get from your NCO for failing so fast.

Yet the weight from your back is lifted as quietly as it arrived. You turn, rolling to your feet to find that it had been Gaz on top of you only a second ago. Now he dangles like a ragdoll in the air. The shadow holding him draws a knife, taps it against his throat. You're out.

Gaz sighs as he’s set on the ground, giving you a nod before marching off. You don’t return it, too busy staring at the man next to him.

You’d never noticed his eyes before. You’re used to Ghost’s eyes, dark and unyielding, cavernous black holes reaching into a skull long dead. Like he was born to wear the mask.

This man’s eyes couldn’t be more different. They’re pale, washed out, windows into a sky perpetually on the verge of snowfall, slumbering clouds cold and waiting.

They curve down at the corners, lending an air of melancholy to the only part of his face you can see. You wonder how he really feels behind that gaze.

You’re staring.

You clear your throat awkwardly, aiming to thank him before pausing. “I…I’m sorry, I never caught your callsign?”

The head dips down, draped fabric falling down his chest slightly. A nod. “We need to keep moving.”

And he’s walking past you.

Two days later, the training exercise finally comes to a head in a fierce brawl over the fake weapons cache. Knives and fists only.

The fight takes only a few minutes. Ghost on the opposite team notices your attempted ambush immediately, throwing his men after you. Your team is outnumbered, stuck in a hallway. But it doesn’t matter.

Ghost and the hooded man roll on the ground, tousling like a pair of tomcats, Ghost landing on top for just a second, raising his knife-

You’re there. Arm wrapped around his shoulders. Blade tapping against his throat. You’re out.

With that, the fight is over. Ghost moves with a grumble at the man under him. It might have been a threat. But the man doesn’t hear it. He’s too busy staring at you with grey-sky eyes wide. A child dressed as a dirty sheet-ghost. “I…I don’t know your-”

You thrust your hand out, yanking him to his feet. “We’d better head back.”

You feel him at your back throughout the debriefing. Rolling thunder clouds looming over your head, ready to burst at any second. Your tongue is between your teeth, lungs heaving. Soap whispers a joke in your ear, something about Ghost getting chewed out by the NCO. You can barely muster a smile.

You stay still as the meeting finally ends, waiting for everyone to filter out before you finally turn around.

As you turn, your shoulder knocks into hard muscle and you look up, craning your neck to take in the hooded face and the way his pupils are blown wide into dark pits. A gale you should take shelter from lest you be blown away. But for a moment all you do is stand there, watching your own pupils expand in the turbulent reflection.

Your teeth are carving marks into your tongue by now, and it takes you far too long to draw in a shaky breath and push past him. You have more training tomorrow. It’s sleep your body needs. Not…whatever this is.

He doesn’t say a word as you depart, but his eyes track your every move before the door shuts behind you.

Of course this is a night where you can’t sleep. Of course. You flip and roll, hearing your bed frame smack against the wall every time you shift until you get so annoyed you shove it further into your room and flop down on it again. It doesn’t do anything, of course. Just makes your insomnia a little quieter.

It’s nearly midnight by the time you throw your legs over the side in frustration, shivering at the frigid air before throwing on enough clothes to look decent and marching down towards the shared kitchen.

He’s there. Your luck is just perfect tonight. You take a step backwards, planning to flee back to the darkness of the hallway, but he’s already turning his head, shoulders jumping just slightly as you enter his view.

You crumple a little as he notices you, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. “Can’t sleep either, huh?” Your voice is rough as you walk over to the counter next to him, yanking an expired box of cereal from the back of it. Your arm brushes his as you pull it out.

You spare him a glance as you pry the old box open, snorting at his narrowed eyelids. You bet he’s scrunching his nose through that silly hood, too. You reach in, hearing a series of crunches as you rifle around. “Ah, there it is.” You pull out the clear bottle, shaking it triumphantly in his face. “This’ll knock you right out. 50/50 chance you get back up tomorrow.” You trail off, eyes traveling up and down him. “Well, maybe a bit better odds for you.” You chuckle half-heartedly, but it dies a second later.

You puff your lips out in a shaky breath, running your tongue along your teeth before giving him an awkward smile and raising the bottle to him. With that you leave.

As soon as you take a sip you spit it right back out with a blech. You’d forgotten how nasty the stuff is. You toss it into the trash can and flop back down with an irritated groan. How hard is it to fall asleep? It’s literally laying there doing no-

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door, and upon swinging it open you find him, his looming shadow nearly blotting out the light from the hallway behind. It’s easy to forget how big he is when he’s not around. How strong he is. How…deadly.

But right now he’s leaning against your doorframe, hands tapping along his legs. “Have enough for two?”

You smirk a little at that, but as you step closer you feel the heat radiating from him, your shoulder blades clenching together as your mind begins to process something.

You’d sleep better for it. Perform better the next day. It would be good for you.

Your smirk deepens. “I have a better idea.”

As your hand tangles in his shirt you feel a tremble along his skin, but he doesn’t respond when you pull on him. “You’ve been drinking.”

“I haven’t had a drop. Shit’s disgusting.”

“Show me the bottle.”

Despite yourself, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you fish the full monstrosity out of the bin to show him. He nods but still doesn’t move, and you find yourself rushing to assure him as heat rushes up your neck. “If you actually just want to drink, we can. We don’t have to do anything-”

“No. That’s not it.” Finally he steps fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him before he stalks to you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you hiss, moving to hold onto him again, your mind swirling with exhaustion and old memories that you just need out, right now, and he’s right there and he needs it too, you just know it as he swoops down to grab you and toss you on the bed, both of you a mess to rip your clothes off now that the facade has finally fallen.

After the fog clears you find yourself panting on your stomach with him above you, caging you in with his forearms. Each of his stuttering inhales brings his burning chest and stomach against your back. Before the heat can become unbearable he pulls away, breaths still heaving as he tucks himself back into his pants.

Your eyes widen in surprise when he makes his way to your bathroom and comes back, washcloth in hand, to softly clean you up. As he finishes he pauses, thumb brushing the edge of an old knife scar running up your hip. “My callsign,” he murmurs, fingers tracing its length. “It’s König.”

And with that, he leaves.

You were content for that to be the end of it. You’d each gotten what you needed, after all. And as you stretch languidly across your mattress the following morning, an unfamiliar relaxation settles along your tense muscles. Yes, you would be more than happy to leave it at this.

But as the next training drill ends you find yourself faced with your cold barrack and the prospect of another sleepless night. Before you even realize what you’re doing your legs are moving, ready to go to the kitchen and-

He’s right there, startling as you nearly open your door into his face. He takes a step back, but you’re already holding your hand out and his eyes are burning into you as he takes it and lets you pull him in, lets you shut the door behind you before he’s lifting you with laughable ease and carrying you to bed.

You’re already burrowing your face into your pillow by the time he comes back to clean you up. This time his palm runs over a puckered mass on your thigh, a nasty burn scar from failing to dive for cover fast enough. It still hurts sometimes, but the pain is good. Reminds you not to be so careless again.

As you drift off completely to the feel of his warm hand taking in the old wound, you fail to notice the way his head has turned up, eyes running over your face. He contemplates brushing a finger over your hairline, tucking the wild flyaways behind your ear. But no. That would be too…friendly. That’s not what this is.

So instead he spreads your blankets over your now sleeping form, and with one last lingering gaze, leaves you to sleep peacefully.

You’re not surprised when you wake up to the empty room. It was what you wanted, after all. You had gotten another restful night out of it, and he got what he wanted. It was a fair trade. A great trade, even.

And as the training drills continue and you feel how naturally your body flows, how efficiently it executes your will when you’re actually well-rested, you find yourself seeking his company out more and more. Soon the pair of you have built your own kind of routine, him coming to you the evening after each debriefing when the leftover sparks of adrenaline are refusing to die out in you both.

He always lays you down on your stomach, opening you up with his fingers as he patiently works you through your first orgasm before letting himself take you. He’s always slow at first, but he finds you restless and impatient, urging him to go faster and harder, to knock you out for the night, to knock everything out of your mind that you never want to think about again.

You try to look back once only for your face to meet his hand. With gentle but firm fingers, he turns your head away.

Afterwards he’s even more delicate, wordlessly cleaning you up with a touch light enough to leave a butterfly unharmed. Although he rarely meets your eyes, his gaze and fingers take in your body, each time finding a new scar for his fingers to brush over like a chaste kiss.

You’re asleep by the time he leaves, and you like it that way. The two of you can crash against each other like blizzards raging and howling until you finally break into clear skies. And afterwards, you’re soldiers again. Well-rested, sure. But soldiers all the same. No hard feelings, either. You know he understands.

Soon you two find yourselves assigned to the same training team more and more. It’s natural, an unspoken communication flowing between you, and your superiors see it in the skyrocketing success rates. They pointedly ignore the way your stares burn holes into each other, keeping their eyes fixed on powerpoints and mission statistics. Not their business, they tell themselves. What matters is that you two do your jobs.

And then finally it’s time for the mission, a deployment in the middle of a remote and mountainous forest with terrible radio signal.

Like your first training, it starts easy enough. You’re divided into two teams on two separate mountains, and it’s just your luck that they put you on the team with no one you’re close to. Not even König. Maybe the higher-ups were finally sick of you two.

But you’re an adult. You handle it. You swallow the unease that comes with the teams not being able to contact each other. It’s simply too risky, and the signals are shoddy at best anyway. Base will come in for extraction if the other team succeeds.

With practiced ease you push yourself through two weeks of empty trails and summer-camp camaraderie as the talkative ones share jokes around the empty fireplace and the quiet ones listen from the shadows and chuckle their approval.

Week 3, everything goes to shit.

You should’ve known. You really should’ve known. The weather out here can change in an instant, clouds materializing from a clear sky’s empty expanse like an angry god throwing his rage down from above. You should’ve known the people here would be the same.

Before any of you knew the safehouse was surrounded, they were already through the doors.

You remember waking up to the creak of the old door with a groan, not ready to start your watch yet. The man on watch had been short and wiry, and you marveled at how shadows warp themselves against the light, twisting and turning to make one man look like another, tall and burly and carrying a-

CRASH!

The windows burst inwards in a crescendo of sparks and you’re scrambling backwards, reaching for your

BANG!

Dust from the roof is falling on your head, in your eyes and you’re blinking at the haze, the sting, your hands feeling the solid weight of your weapon and yanking it against you, and you’re stumbling backwards towards the

BANG!

and you’re stumbling forwards towards the

BANG!

And you’re on your knees crawling crawling

BANG! BANG BANG BANG!

crawling away from everything and your eardrums are hot iron seething in your skull and your eyes are being scratched by cats and there’s something warm on your face now and there’s something heavy thunking to the floor just next to you and everything is all dark, all the shadows are choking you and-

-grey. Not black. Not the black of the inside. Grey. A doorway. A hole in the wall. You’re on your knees, your hands are on the wall, you’re pushing yourself up, you’re running, and there are patters behind you and gurgling sounds and the volleys of automatic weaponry but your vision is finally starting to clear, you can see the treeline and all you need is to get there.

A roar surges behind you, and you spin into the sun. Heat slams into your body and you’re flung, a leaf in the wind, hard onto your back as yellows and reds surge in front of you or maybe it was behind you and now you’re a deer, eyeballs bulging out of your head and rolling in your skull as you run from a forest fire, angry and starving, only this fire has legs and they’re longer than yours and it’s following you, you just know it, you can’t hear it but you know.

You’re not a human anymore, you’re barely even an animal, you’re not thinking, you’re a scramble of limbs and an impulse. Run.

You try. You try so hard but there’s nothing carrying you, your legs don’t feel connected to each other anymore and they’re not even your legs you look down and they’re still there but you can’t…feel them?

Tilting. Tilting. Tilting.

Light. Burning light.

Fade to black.

No, wait. Not you. You’re still here. Your legs are wavy and jelly but still there.

You fling an arm out and feel something solid. Cold. Rough. Bark.

You made it to the trees.

There’s no time to celebrate. Behind you lights are still flaring, and with each passing second more bodies are falling to the ground, leaking out into the snow. You have to move.

The second safehouse is to the north. It’s your only way out, you know that. The rest of your team would be there.

Should be there.

Better be there.

Don’t think about it, don’t think. Just move.

The battle is fading behind you now and your blood is beginning to cool, settling heavy in your veins like the thick jam your mother used to make on warm summer mornings just as the sun’s rays flowed through your windows.

It would be nice to be there right now. Warm. Content. Full. Your stomach growls in agreement at the thought. You have some ration bars in your pocket, but you know it hasn’t been long enough to have one. You need to spread them out, make sure they can last.

Your stomach groans again, and you shake your head. To divert your attention, you take stock of the rest of your body.

You’re scraped and bruised, your head vibrating like…oh, what is it like? Like…your phone after you get added to a group chat you wanted nothing to do with. Hehe. You can barely remember the days when your problems were as simple as that.

You're letting yourself get too distracted. Anyways, as you were saying. You’re a bit battered and scraped up, alright. But no broken bones. No visible deadly wounds. And you still have your gun clamped to your chest with shaky arms. That’s all you need, really. Making it to the safehouse will be a breeze.

You’re halfway down the mountain as twilight begins to lighten to dawn, and there’s still no sign of anyone chasing you. It’s a bit warmer down here, and as you flex your fingers and toes you feel the sharp pins and needles radiate through them and force a smile. It’s good, you tell yourself. Means they’re all still there. You might just be in the clear now.

Then the sky darkens again, and it begins to rain.

Within a few minutes you can’t see your hand in front of your face in the downpour and you're forced to hide out. You find a fallen evergreen and burrow through its thick boughs, needles pricking your face and poking in your mouth with a sharp scent that settles behind your eyeballs as you force your way through, certain it will block out the worst of the rain. It doesn’t.

It’s past noon by the time the deluge finally lets up, and as you step out, cursing your shelter for all its faults, the slick earth shifts abruptly under you. With a cry, you are yanked off of your feet into a roll down the slope. You fling out your arms, grasping for anything solid, but the world is a mass of dirt and grey-brown snow-slush and you can’t stop yourself until your hip jams into a tree-stump. Hard.

You hiss, twisting your face upwards off the ground. Bad idea. The mud-slush runs down into your nose and you splutter, spasming and hacking up half the mountain. You move to wipe your eyes on your arm but only rub more dirt in them, gritting your teeth and hissing through them at the sting.

You push yourself onto your hands and knees with a whimper, gingerly feeling around your hip. Not broken. Just another bruise. What’s one more bruise? It’ll be fine.

You’ll be fine.

Your ankle is twisted. You’ve wrapped it as best as you can, but every time you put weight on it, you imagine a great big serpent with needles for scales is slithering under your skin, wrapping itself tight around the bones and squeezing.

Even worse, it's getting dark again. Fucking FUCK.

You should get yourself a thesaurus for Christmas. Fuck really doesn’t have much weight to it when you say it every other sentence.

Whatever. You’re fucking screwed.

Your clothes are soaked, you’re painted in dirt and runny snow and as soon as it gets dark temperatures are going to drop fast enough to freeze you right in place like a stupid fucking statue. Fuck this, fuck this so hard what do I do what do I do.

You bury your face into your hands, heels pressing hard into your eyes. It doesn’t matter that your hands have mud mittens anymore because your face is solid mud and you’ve had dark spots in your eyesight for hours and maybe if you rub them really hard this will all be a shitty dream your shitty brain made up and then you can wake up in your shitty cot with your blanket that’s too thin and it will be so fucking lumpy and uncomfortable and perfect. It would be perfect. Maybe König would be there.

What?

You’re breaking down and going to die in a few hours and you’re thinking of him? Some dude you fuck? What the hell is wrong with you?

He was really warm, though. And he was always so gentle afterwards. For hands that kill with such brutal precision, his fingers felt too delicate to be his when they ran along your body, mapping every scar and dimple like he was trying to memorize you. Like he was terrified that tomorrow he might wake up blind and never be able to see you again, so he needed to be able to recognize you by touch alone.

You didn’t even know what his face looked like, but you could get lost in those eyes, you think. You've learned that the skin above them stretches when he’s surprised, and the skin under them scrunches up when he laughs, so you think it must scrunch like that when he smiles, too. You’ve even seen the way his lids drift down to hide the way his eyes roll back when he’s bored.

What do they look like when he’s excited? When he’s angry? Sad?

You wonder what it would be like to look him in the eyes while you both fell apart. Would he look away and screw them shut? Would they water a little, as yours so often did?

Would he stay the night if you asked? Would he hold you? Would he…

No. This isn’t happening. No way in hell. You are not dying thinking of a random man you’ve barely spoken two words to. It’s ridiculous. It’s pathetic. You’re better than this.

You will not go out like this.

You yank yourself to a tree whose limbs burst forth in sprays of dark needles, your shoulders screaming at you as you pull yourself up on the branches, feeling like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. It’s pitiful. You swing your good leg up, grinding your teeth so hard your jaw pops as you pull yourself up to a thick fork and begin pulling down limbs above you, cutting through the ones around you, tying and weaving and undoing and redoing.

It is dark by the time you’ve finished, a thick nest of evergreen boughs settled under you and woven walls crushing you in. You have to curl into a tight ball to fit into it, but you can no longer feel the breezes from outside. You’ve stripped your clothes off and spread them along the walls as best you can, hoping they can dry just a little.

You thank the mud for clogging your nose. You don’t even want to imagine what you and your clothes must smell like by now.

Maybe by the time you meet up with the others you’ll smell so bad you’ll make one of the rookies vomit. Ghost did that last mission, and you and Soap nearly burst a lung as the poor guy emptied his guts over and over again.

You chuckle at that and try your best to fall asleep.

By the time you make it down the mountain the next day, your knees are knocking against each other with every step and your weapon is plastered with muddy slush that has frozen and melted and frozen all over again. The valley is even worse than the slope, with runoff from the rain congregating in a swampy mess that has you sinking up to your calves in some places. Lifting a leg in this feels like pulling yourself out of concrete, so you get really good at sliding each foot forward without raising it upwards at all.

You think the pressure from the mud is helping with the pain. You barely feel it when you move now.

Your jaw is clenched so hard you chip one of your molars.

You’re halfway through the valley when one of them finds you.

It’s funny how it happens. How you both stand in the mud staring at each other. How you both instinctively know who the other is through the curtain of earth camouflaging you both, yet each stand stock-still as statues anyway.

A second passes.

Two.

Three.

In an instant your guns are to your shoulders, fingers rushing to crush the-

Nothing happens. You squeeze. Squeeze again. The man shakes his gun and yells in frustration, the mud and ice having rendered your weapons unfireable.

But not unusable. The man’s head whips back to you with a growl and he lunges forward, his foot sinking into a deep patch and jerking him down face first. He throws himself up again, splatting forward another pace.

You slide backward, forcing yourself to slow down, to keep your feet under you as you move gut-wrenchingly slowly, searching for solid ground. He’s flailing and flinging himself towards you but the mud is slowing him down, and there’s a rocky patch right behind you. You’re going to make it.

He reaches you before you reach the edge, raising his gun and throwing his body behind a downwards blow. Yours is already coming up to deflect, but the blow sends you backwards, landing on your back with a splash. He’s on top of you, a hand shoving your face down as mud flows around it.

You thrash and wiggle, a scream cut off as your mouth fills with liquid dirt. Your hand is whirling all around and it catches something and you yank.

He howls as you pull his ear, sending him off-balance just enough to raise your head for a choking gasp before your palm is on his face, shoving him sideways. He rolls away from you, struggling to his feet as you’re on your hands and knees and your gun is in the mud but so is his. He tries to reach for it but he’s stuck, and in that precious heartbeat of time your legs are back under you, feet planted deep and wide.

He whirls towards you as you stand, throwing a punch at your torso that you know you can’t dodge, you can’t even move, so you throw your fist sideways, twisting, forcing all your strength into shoving from your rear leg so that when you catch his knuckles on your forearm they are savagely wrenched sideways with your momentum. His pinkie pops outwards with a crunch, and he falls back with a choked sob.

You grab your gun off the ground, throwing your whole body into a swing at his head, shattering through his palm as he tries to block it. You both fall sideways with the momentum but you find your feet faster, gripping the weapon through the slime coating it as you bring the stock straight down into his skull.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Your grip slides, dirt scraping more of your skin off with each blow, but he’s not moving. You stumble backwards drunkenly, falling onto your forearms again and army-crawling, gun held tightly in each hand, all the way to the edge. You flop on your back then, one eye on the body, and heave great breaths, coughing again and again until your body has enough and you curl inwards, choking out mud and throwing up even more. You try to even your breathing, try to filter the adrenaline out of your system so you don’t crash. In, out. In, out. In out in out inoutinoutinoutinoutin-FUCCCCCKK. You shake your head violently, over and over.

You take one last look at the body, only seeing it because you know where to look. A mud-covered shoulder pokes out of the ground, the rest already lost.

You can’t balance on your feet anymore, so you crawl away.

You don’t even bother to make a shelter that night. You crawl under a rotting log, ripping your last ration bar from your pocket and devouring it, licking the crumbs from your stained and tainted fingers. You curl up and fall asleep just like that, bones chattering and muscles spasming.

Helicopter blades wake you up in the morning. You’re on your feet, falling and jumping and running and falling, flailing your arms because you know those blades, that’s your team and they’re here for you and you’re finally free, you did it you did it you’re so proud of yourself you can’t wait to have a warm bath and then maybe even afterwards you can see-

The helicopter passes over you and disappears around the mountain.

You stare at it, deathly still. It’s just sweeping the area, making sure it’s safe to land.

But the wingbeats have already faded into the distance, replaced by a vast and engulfing silence. Time stretches out before you, and you’re still staring at the mountain.

Your stomach breaks the silence with a gurgle.

You flop down, shoving your face into the ground, and scream.

You press the button on your radio, cracking the caked mud. It clicks, and you hear nothing. Not even static. You click it again. And again, this time just to hear the sound. Rapidly you click it again and again and again.

You start laughing, your abs clenching and strangling your organs as you guffaw, thrashing around like a headless chicken, and thinking about yourself as a headless chicken makes you laugh even louder. Everything is just so funny, none of this is real, you’re on the Truman Show, you’re the biggest comedy in the world. It’s even funny that your laughter only comes out in squeaky wheezes. It’s all just a big joke. Haha. You can’t wait to tell someone.

You fall asleep just like that, grinning up at the sky with dirt in your teeth.

You wake up, stare into the sun, and go back to sleep.

You feel lighter.

Is this what it feels like to leave your body?

It’s not as bad as you thought.

You wonder if König will remember you.

The ground beneath you is moving, sliding under you and scraping along you.

There's no ground underneath you at all now, and something is pressing, and you feel your legs dangling and swinging all around you, the world spinning a jig and you the unwilling passenger. You think you might tell it to stop, but it doesn't listen to you.

You're yanked back into consciousness by a thundering vibration setting every bone against itself. You jolt upwards, feeling heavy pressure on your shoulders as your eyes roll back into your head. The world is black. Black and blue and blurred. Through the haze you begin to make out a white visage and two black voids that pierce through you.

This must be hell. You don’t want to be awake for your judgement.

Your consciousness drifts away again, blocking out the rumbling flight of the helicopter, completely oblivious to the warm bodies pressed in around you, speaking rapidly through their headsets.

Any more? Sweep around again.

There's nothing else here.

Ok. Let's bring these ones back, then.

You are still asleep as your body is carried into a hospital room, completely unresponsive as the nurses strip and bathe you with clinical precision. You don’t wake until hours later, seeing only a single nurse checking your vitals and bandages. Each hand and foot has been carefully wrapped, the angry red battlefield of blisters and exposed flesh meticulously covered in pristine, unblemished white. The nurse offers a smile as you fight through the haze, imagining you are underwater and slowly floating to the surface, watching the sun jiggle and warp through the abyss above you. Just bad blisters, the nurse is telling you. Very lucky. Very lucky. You think you might nod back. She’s right, of course. You’re alive, aren’t you?

Ghost comes by as you’re released the next day. They’ve rewrapped your hands in a bandage that gives you a little more flexibility, and he finds you sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into the white fabric.

The mattress shifts as he settles beside you. He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes are trained on you. Black voids in a mask of white.

“You left me,” you finally whisper, eyes still on your hands.

“What?”

You look at him, trying to see something in the face to get mad at, but his eyes are just a little wider than before. Confused, maybe.

“The helicopter…” you begin, voice scratchy, and clear your throat. “The helicopter flew right over me.”

“That wasn’t our helicopter.”

“It was heading back from the safehouse.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Oh,” you huff, sinking into yourself. “I…”

You stop as he clears his throat, shoulders expanding in a loud breath. “It’s alright. You were knocked out pretty good by the time our boys found you. Happens to the best of us.”

You nod, swallowing again, and wish someone else was here to comfort you, literally anyone but Ghost. “Is…uh…is…umm…is Soap ok?”

Ghost grunts. “Johnny took one to the arm, but he’ll pull through. I was just going to visit him now.”

You push yourself to your feet, proud that you only sway a bit. “Can I-”

“No,” Ghost cuts you off. “You’ll have time to visit him later. For now you need to go and rest. That’s an order,” he cuts you off as you open your mouth to protest. Your jaw shuts. Call it obedience, call it cowardice, but you find you just don’t have it in you to argue the point. You promise yourself you’ll see Soap in the morning. Well, later in the morning, seeing as it’s somehow 0100 hours already.

When Ghost leaves you slump, any need for straight posture gone with the departure of your superior officer. Trying to keep your breathing even, you will your legs to carry your body down the medical corridor. Just a little longer, you promise them, then you’ll get the break you deserve. But your body has had enough of your unfulfilled promises, and you find yourself forced to sink onto one of the shitty metal chairs littering the hallway. Just a little rest, and then I’ll go back to my quarters.

You wake to the familiar sounds of agony. Before your body has the chance to disagree, instinct has you on your feet again, hands grabbing at the thin air where your sidearm should be. My holster, my holster, where the hell is-

Your eyes land on the white-washed walls. Too clean. Too smooth. And your hands aren’t moving like they should, strangled by white fabric. It finally sinks in that you’re far from the battlefield, far from any fight.

The sounds continue, drawing your eye to one of the many nondescript doors lining the corridor. Someone having a nightmare, probably. Or reacting badly to a procedure, maybe. Either way, a problem best left for the nurses with their iron wills and their tranquilizers. You have enough bruises already. Best not add a black eye to the list.

A pitiful whimper sounds through the door, one that has your heart twisting like a towel being wrung out, sending all the blood to your throat and stomach.

Fuck it. What’s one more bruise?

Your fingers curl the handle down, and you shrink in on yourself as the door swings open on its own with a creak. You catch it and hastily shut it behind you, trying not to make any more noise.

The room is small enough that even the military-issue cot feels too big for it. The room is made even smaller by the man lying in the cot, arms dangling off the sides as he thrashes, his feet hanging off the end. You can see the crumpled blanket on the floor and automatically avert your eyes. The hood is still on, but below it he’s wearing an undershirt and boxers, and you realize this is the most of him you’ve ever seen.

You press yourself to the wall as he spasms again, a leg kicking out and narrowly missing you, causing you to notice the thick white bandage wrapped around his thigh, and the dark line slowly being painted along it.

Hesitantly you flick the lights on, wincing at the burn that rushes through your eyeballs, but he doesn’t even react to it. You have no idea how to wake him up without breaking a bone, so you press your back to the wall, slowly skirting along the edge of the room and staying as far out of his reach as you can, praying to whatever old ghosts are listening that he doesn’t wake up and go straight into murder mode. Or, you know, default alert soldier setting. This is a stupid idea.

As you approach his head you lean over as far as you can, stretching one arm out until the socket pops in protest. You poke his shoulder and leap back.

Nothing.

You take a step closer and lean in again.

You’re immediately interrupted by the door swinging open with a much-louder creak. You and the nurse both pause and stare at each other for a moment, startled, and you sheepishly move to straighten and pull your arm back.

With viper-like speed an arm shoots out to grab your wrist, capturing it in a deadly grip and you yelp, whirling back to the man in the bed and raising your opposite arm.

You freeze when you see his eyes, so wide they’re more white than color. He’s stock-still, fixated on you like a mouse caught in a cat’s gaze. Paralyzed by fear, praying. Shaking.

His hand is…shaking. “Hey, hey,” you coax, hesitantly pulling your arm back in so you can place it over his fingers. “It’s just me, big guy. You’re safe.”

His chest heaves outwards, and you feel his hand relax a little before his head snaps towards the nurse as she takes a step closer, cradling something small and cylindrical in her hands. “It’s alright,” she speaks directly to you. “I can take it from here.”

König releases the breath he’s held, shoving himself backwards on the bed with a shake of his head, prompting the nurse to click her tongue at him before raising the needle. You realize it’s a lot bigger than you first thought. “You’ll be fine,” she’s assuring him. “It will hurt a lot less once it’s done.”

König’s head turns very slowly, back up to you, and for a second you’re confused at his gaze, wondering why he thinks you have enough knowledge to give him any medical advice. Then you notice the way his eyes seem just a little too shiny in the light, the way his other hand is clenching and unclenching around the bedsheet.

You’ve always known him as the perfect soldier, quick and to the point, pin-prick precise, a dancing whirlwind of death. More monster than man. You know him as the one who laughs with every good kill, mocking the reaper of death with a smile. Look at how slow you are. I got here first. He’s the one who dances on the precipice of fate and spits over the edge.

Even sprawled out like this, sweaty and trembling, you are well aware of every flex of his muscles, of the strength he holds back in his grip. Yet as you look into the eyes of the storm you find that for the first time you see no hint of the giddy killing machine looking back at you. The eyes staring back at you from this big soldier’s body are those of a fragile little kid. And he’s terrified.

You gulp, your tongue catching on the back of your throat. “Yeah…yeah, it’ll be ok. I’ll be right here.”

Finally he relaxes, slumping back into the bed, and the nurse takes the opportunity to give him the shot. You feel his flinch in a wave of pressure radiating up your wrist and forearm, but his gaze doesn’t move. He keeps looking into your eyes until his own begin to droop and he sinks even further into the mattress.

Before his hand drops from your wrist you catch it, the skin under your bandages protesting at the sudden flexion. You choose to ignore it, settling down on the floor next to his bed as your own eyes begin to follow his. Even as your head falls into your knees and your body finally gives itself completely over to darkness, you refuse to let go.

You’re woken by something warm trailing along your hairline. You jerk, smacking the back of your head into the wall with an irritated grunt. König’s arm hovers in the air just in front of your face, and you turn to see him pressed to the edge of the bed, looking a little guilty. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

You should be, startling me like that, you want to say. But when you open your mouth, what comes out instead is “No, it’s ok, I just…I wasn’t expecting it.”

König gulps audibly, and the cot creaks as he pulls his hand back, shifting his body even closer. “You stayed.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Never,” he hisses, and you find yourself staring into his eyes again, only this time they’ve taken on their old torrential intensity.

Now it’s yours that are as wide as a child’s. You gulp, feeling the muscles of your jaw flex and unflex. “Ok,” you finally murmur. “I’ll stay.”

And you do. For two more nights König stays in the infirmary, weathering the steady rounds of nurses and bandage changes with a steely resolve even as his fists flex and twist into the sheets. You stay with him all the while, but he doesn’t reach for your hand again, not after noticing your own bandages.

The second night you sleep in the cot next to him at his insistence. You’re hurt too, he reasons. You need a real bed to rest in. He scoots himself to the back edge to give you room, and when you wake up he hasn’t moved.

After the third night you wake to his hand resting on your arm. It’s a small gesture. Innocent even. Yet still you find yourself contemplating it, barely saying a word as the nurses come to remove his bandages. You grind your jaw as you take in the puckered line of stitches running from his knee up to the edge of his boxers, looking away politely as the nurses help him into a pair of sweatpants.

You don’t even say anything when you let him lean on your shoulders, using your own aching body as a sacrificial lamb to transport him back to his barrack. Once you get him into bed you hover in the doorway, taking in the shadows of the walls, twisting your wrists back and forth, a habit you picked up to alleviate the pain from flexing your fingers. They’re in even thinner bandages now, but you’d rather be safe than sorry.

Maybe there’s nothing to say. You found him in a vulnerable situation where he needed a lifeline. It could have been anyone, he was barely lucid. Now he surely wanted to forget all of that vulnerability and go back to a time where he hadn’t needed help from anyone. Not even you. Especially not you. He was a soldier, after all. Fondness wasn’t in the job description.

Best not to say anything then. Just…leave and get this over with. Just like that. Yeah…easy. Really easy.

Your move to shut the door behind you is halted by him calling your name. Your real name. You didn’t even know he knew your name.

He calls it again, quieter this time, and you lean back in the door, eyes drifting across his room to him. He’s still sitting on the bed where you left him, only now he’s hunched over to rest a forearm on his good thigh. “Come back here,” he breathes, voice cracking, and it hits you right in your stomach, settling there like a wounded bird, flapping and screeching at you to stay away, you’re already in too deep, you don’t know how this will end.

But it’s too late. You’re walking forward, the door swinging shut behind you. Locked. You’re already reaching out for the hand he offers, only for him to reach past the bandages and grab your wrist. You pause at that, staring into the hazy depths of his eyes, pupils bursting for you again. Slowly, inch by excruciating inch, he straightens again, face coming closer to yours as another hand snakes around your neck to help guide you down to straddle his good thigh, moving your forearms to rest on each of his shoulders.

The bird in your stomach has moved to your chest, and you’re positive he can feel your heavy breathing even through his mask with how close you are. His eyes look down to your lips, and you wonder if he is going to lift his hood up and kiss you, your cheeks flushing in anticipation as he leans forward.

Only instead he rests his forehead against yours, eyes drifting closed. You feel your arms drift upwards with his inhale. “Stay with me,” he exhales. “One more night.”

You nod against his forehead, wrapping your arms around his neck and finally letting your own eyes close. Your breathing is slowed down now, and you find yourself enjoying the warmth you feel radiating from everywhere you touch him. One of his hands has spread against your thigh, while the other still rests along your neck, thumb tracing up and down your jaw. You know you could fall asleep just like this.

König, however, has other ideas. As you slump even further to him, both of his hands drift to your hips. You notice the movement, sighing at the pleasant sensation of his hands running over your body. You don’t notice the intention until he takes a deep breath, and in one smooth motion he has stood and twisted to lay you down on the bed, climbing on top of you. You gasp, feeling your heart stutter all over again, blood rushing to your core as you feel the fabric of his hood rub up your neck. His nose, you think.

Fuck, you want him. You want him just like this and any other way he’s willing to give, but you can’t, you shouldn’t, and you know you have to at least try to protest. You bite back a whimper as a hand drags up your inner thigh. “König, your leg.”

“I don’t care,” he growls. “Say my name again.”

You groan in protest and he pulls back, tilting your face up to his. “Is this not what you want?” He feels the way your jaw flexes and pulls away.

“Wait. No. I want this. You. I want you. Just…please be careful.”

He hears the last part, but he’s past giving a damn about his own body now. His hand is already undoing your belt and he’s leaning back to ease your pants and underwear off your legs, lazily tossing them to the side.

A harsh word escapes his throat as he looks down at you, but you don’t catch it through the blood rushing in your ears. “Close your eyes,” he orders, and unthinkingly you do, another growling swear reaching your ears. “So obedient for me.”

You hear the shuffling of fabric and feel a hand wrap around one of your knees, lifting it up for a warm tongue to swirl along the inside of it, for wet lips to place a sloppy kiss just above where his tongue had just been. His lips slide up again, and this time he sucks on the skin just slightly, and you feel your leg tremble as a tiny moan escapes you, but he’s already moving further up and this time sucking harder, and then further and harder and further and harder until he’s against your inner thigh and his teeth are sinking into you and you yelp his name, whining in frustration as he pulls back.

“No,” you pant, “don’t stop. Please.”

You feel a chuckle rumble in his throat and his nose presses into the bottom of your slit. You jolt, squeezing your eyes tighter as it slides up through you before pressing into your sensitive spot, and he inhales.

“Fuck,” you cry, tangling your hands in the sheets only to choke on a sound of pain.

König pulls back immediately and you shake your head at him, a sob on the edge of your quivering lips.

“Easy. Watch your hands.”

You grit your teeth and nod, relaxing your fingers and turning your palms up.

“Good,” he purrs as his hands hook under the backs of your knees, easily throwing your legs over his shoulders. As he settles back down you feel the muscles in his back flexing against your calves and moan before his mouth is even on you.

He hums contentedly at the sound, running his tongue along the length of you before swirling it around your clit. His lips pucker against it and he sucks, pulling away with a soft pop that has you clenching your legs around him. He moves in again, lazily altering between sucking and tracing his tongue just around your bud, feeling the way you flex against him, hearing the way you react to each movement, and committing all of it to memory before shifting his head so he can dip his tongue inside you. He groans at the taste, the vibration of it radiating up under your ribs and down through your legs. You’re quiet now, feeling how close you are settling heavy over you, drowning you in deliciously sweet honey.

He feels the shaking of your legs around him and returns to your clit as he slowly works a finger into you, curling it upwards to stroke at the spongy part inside of you.

You break quietly, choking on his name as the pleasure strangles your muscles and sets them briefly aflame, fresh sensations flowing through you as he continues to touch you just so, only pulling away when you sink into the mattress and your legs slip from his shoulders.

You hear the bed frame creak as he pulls back, running a hand up your thigh before the shifting sound of fabric hits your ears, and you feel the mattress sink down in different places as he shifts.

“Open your eyes.”

You do as he says, your disappointment at seeing the sniper’s hood obscuring his face immediately squashed by the realization that the rest of him is completely naked.

You’re seeing him for the first time.

Fucking hell, what a sight.

Your eyes rest on the delicious curve of his cock first, marveling at the pink tip and the thick veins running along it. You had felt his size on plenty of occasions, but seeing it for the first time is a new beast entirely, one that has you biting your lip and wiggling your hips like a teenager all over again.

But soon your eyes are taken in by the strong curves of muscle outlining his hips, and your eyes are traveling upwards to the delicious bulges of his chest, your own heaving at the sight. You find yourself wanting to trace the outline of each hill and valley of muscle that flows along his shoulders, down his arms, to the hands, wanting to run your tongue along the veins like raised rivers spreading down his forearm and across the back of each hand.

You wonder what his back looks like. You wonder how the muscles of his neck shift as he moves, what the outline of his jaw is shaped like. You are greedy and want to take everything he has, and at the same time you are desperate for anything he can give you. You’re a peasant kneeling at the feet of your king, ready to lick the crumbs he throws you off the floor.

His head tilts playfully, breaking you out of your reverie. “You like what you see?”

Your chuckle catches in your chest, only a tiny puff of air leaving your mouth. “Yes.”

His eyes scrunch a little, and you imagine he is grinning as he leans over, balancing himself above you. He moves back a bit, hand adjusting your hips as he positions himself. He looks back up at you, and you nod eagerly, your hands reaching up to grab his shoulders. He clicks his tongue, glancing at them, and with a groan you put your hands above your head. He moves one of his own to grasp your wrists, keeping them pinned as he sinks onto his forearms.

You feel the head of his cock running up and down your folds, and instinctively bend your back to give him a better angle, earning an approving hum that makes you even wetter. But as he braces himself and begins to drive into you, a strangled sound smashes through his gritted teeth.

Oh no. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, only pressing his face into your neck, inhaling heavily as you feel his entire body stiffening against you. “It’s…it’s fine,” he hisses, his hand strangling your wrists. “Just …” he heaves another breath. “Ah... Ich… I…need a…moment.”

You sigh, wiggling a hand out of his grip to push his chin up. He lets you move his face back, and even in the dim light you can see the way the skin around his eyes has gone even paler than normal. “Get off,” you murmur.

He slumps, twisting his face out of your grip and keeping his eyes on the wall. He stays like that for a second before giving a swift nod and pulling out, maneuvering backwards on the bed and moving to get off.

“Wait!” you burst out, and he freezes. “That’s not what I meant.”

After another moment he looks at you in bewilderment, so you sit up and shift to the side, patting the bed next to you. Awkwardly, he crawls to it, nearly dragging his bad leg, stiffening again when you place your wrists on his shoulders. “Let me?”

After a second of staring into your eyes, he nods again, allowing you to push on him, laying him on his back before you straddle him and finally take your shirt off. You see his chest rise with a shuddering breath and before you really think about it you’re leaning down to lick a stripe up his sternum. Seeing his pecs jerk upwards on either side of your tongue emboldens you and you shift your head, running your tongue back down to circle over one of his nipples before you suck.

Immediately the muscles flex again and he pushes up into you. “Like that,” he snarls, loud and vibrating through your skull. You’re aching down there again, but you’re not done yet. You release him with a squelch, watching the patch of saliva glisten before moving to give the other nipple the same treatment, your heart leaping at the sounds falling from his mouth as he quivers under you.

“König,” you croon. “Touch me.”

He whimpers as you flick your tongue over the sensitive bud. “Where?”

“Anywhere. Grab my hair, squeeze my tits, just put your hands on me.”

You groan as he obeys, long fingers tangling tightly in your hair as his other hand spreads along your ribcage, thumb sliding over your breast. You sigh, leaning down to bite into his pec, moaning as his grip on you tightens. You kiss the mark left by your teeth before leaning back. His hands move to cup both of your breasts as you raise yourself up and sink down onto his cock. You’re too excited and you go too fast, and a sharp pinch of pain seizes at your entrance. You gasp, instinctively leaning forward to brace yourself on your palms, but his hands move to your waist, catching you before you hurt them any further.

“I have you,” he whispers, voice scratchy, and despite the pain you clench at the sound of what you do to him. He chokes on his next words, a groan coming out instead. “Do you need to get off?”

“No!” You whisper-yell back so quickly that he laughs, and despite everything you laugh with him. He runs his hands up and down your sides, feeling you start to relax a little, but not enough yet. “Tell me what you need,” he murmurs.

“It’s fine.” You close your eyes and try to focus on your breathing. “Just need…a moment.”

“Hypocrite.”

You shoot your eyes open to glare at him, only to see his chest shake with another chuckle at your scrunched-up angry face. “Your leg is sliced open, it’s not the same,” you scoff.

His eyes glimmer with the start of a witty retort before one of his hands freezes over your bottom rib, drawing his lovely gaze away from yours. His thumb is circling around a tiny hairline of a scar, bone-white and soft. You’ve already forgotten how you got it.

“This one,” he murmurs. “It is new.”

“How…how did you notice?”

“It wasn’t there last time.” His tone was quiet and matter-of-fact, like the answer was obvious, and it takes you back to every time his hands ran over you as you drifted into sleep. How long did he stay there after you fell asleep? How long did it take him to commit you to memory so well that a patch of skin even you had forgotten was instantly recognized as something new?

Your body has always been a means to an end, a vehicle carrying you rather than a full part of you. Batter it, toss it around, whatever you need to do to get the job done. And when your body protests, you treat it like any other tool you can beat into submission. Like your first battered old car that revved to life with a well-placed kick.

But now all you can think of is his hands running over you with thorough determination, acknowledging each new mark with a gentle reverence that was more than you deserved. Getting to know you in the only way he knew how.

For the first time in a long time, you’re reminded to see this body as something more than a bruised vessel you’re obligated to carry around. He reminds you to see it as something more.

Fuck, you think you might love him.

“König?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

His head tilts a little, his hand still running along your rib, and your cheeks flush.

Before he can reply, you gulp a little. “I…I think I’m ready.”

He hums again, his hands moving back to rest on your hips. You stay still for another moment, looking into his eyes. You don’t think you can memorize his body, not like he has yours. But you have memorized his eyes, have burned them into your mind so clearly you saw them even as you were trapped on that damned mountain. Thinking about him.

And now you think he might've been thinking about you, too.

You feel him twitch inside of you, pulling you out of your thoughts. Taking a deep breath, you raise yourself up slowly, feeling his hands tighten and take some of your weight, following your lead as you sink into him again, this time with a sigh that echoes his own. Slowly, hesitantly, you raise yourself up and down, feeling how easily he stretches you, how easily he could break you.

But he never has. The only pain you’ve gotten from him was caused by your own impatience. As you keep going, finding an angle that has him dragging across your most sensitive parts and making you even wetter, you become confident that there’s no chance of pain, allowing yourself to speed up.

His hands are steady as ever, guiding you up and down, but beneath you his shoulders and chest begin to squirm and heave. His eyes wander all around, and his breaths are scattered and staccato.

And his sounds. You’d never known a man to be so loud, and now you know you’ve been missing out all these years. Every grunt, every groan, every moan and whimper goes straight through your core, winding you up faster and faster. As you get closer his sounds shift, and you realize he’s started to stutter out words.

His eyes are hazy and unfocused but you can still tell they’re trained on you, and you urge your body to calm down for just a minute longer, just long enough to hear what he’s saying.

You can’t make out any of the words, but his hands are even tighter on you now and the way his voice shifts from growling to whimpering settles into a melodic language that has you crying out for him anyway.

Beneath your trembling body, he keeps going. “Never..told you …du bist wie ein Traum,” another whimper leaves his lips. “Ich kann nicht glauben, dass du wirklich hier bist.” He gasps as you clench tighter around him. “Du bist…du…Du bist viel zu gut für mich…Dein Lächeln und …und…” His eyes are watering and you slow down only for his hands to dig into you, urging you to speed up again. “Ich weiß nicht wie ich dich loslassen soll aber du verdienst so viel mehr als …”

His mind is lapsing again, his determined confession faltering into a fervent prayer sent to the only god he’s ever believed in, to you - moving over him and taking everything he is giving you, making him wish he had more, so much more than the desert-dry heart of a killer whose hands can only ever pull things apart. His thumb is over the scar on your rib again and his blurry vision is taking in the white of the bandage wrapped around your hands and it has him wishing his own hands could build something instead of destroy it just so he could put you back together again. You’re coming apart around him, crying his name, and he’s thinking of flinging his body in front of you, taking every bullet and blade meant for you, because his body is all he has to give and he knows how to sacrifice it, he knows he’ll gladly lay it at your altar, bloody and broken, if it could only mean making sure he’d never be surprised by a new scar again. Maybe you’d even remember him a little when he was gone.

He’s trying to tell you all of that, the messy syllables punching through his throat. “Niemals, niemals, nie,…” but before he can finish he’s failing already, falling apart under you and screaming your name and emptying everything he has into you.

It’s not enough.

You’re laying on top of him now and he tries his best to be gentle but his entire body is shaking as he rolls you off and staggers to his bathroom, slamming the door behind him and sinking against it.

He shatters in a whole-body-wracking sob.

You’re never going to look at him again.

He tucks his legs in, squeezing his knees into his chest, squeezing even harder as a burn radiates out from the stitches, trying to rein in his ragged breathing in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he can save this and cover up the fact that he’s crying.

It was just meant to be casual sex. He wasn’t supposed to start caring. That’s not what you wanted. It’s not fair to you. It’s not your fault he let himself get emotional. And now he’s ruined the only thing you two did have, he wanted to make you feel better and now he’s made you so uncomfortable and…and…

He slams his forehead into his knees and sobs again.

He’s pathetic. Pathetic to think this could be something more. Pathetic to think he could have something more.

Everything hurts.

That’s what he signed up for, isn’t it?

That’s what he deserves.

A knock on the door has his head jerking back up, hands clutching his knees hard enough the knuckles just might pop through the skin. “Go away!”

“No.” Your tone is flat as he hears a thunk against the other side of the door, imagining you leaning against it and sliding down, mirroring him perfectly. “Not until you talk to me.”

“No.”

You sigh. “That's how it’s gonna be? Well, in that case, to quote a man I…admire very much, I can make you talk.” You drop your voice, trying and failing to mimic his battle growl.

He snorts despite himself.

You take that as a cue to continue. “For one, I’m not leaving until you do. You’ll be stuck with my annoying-ass voice forever.”

“I like your voice.”

“Oh…umm…thank you. In that case I’ll…I’ll steal all your knives and I’ll draw a kangaroo on your door and-”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he growls.

“Guess you’ll never know if you keep that door closed. And that’s not all, I’ll…I’ll steal those cheap chocolates we get every supply drop. Don’t deny it, I know everyone joked it was Ghost but I saw you take them all. You love those.” You smile, laughing a little. “On the other hand, I’ll fly to Austria right now if that’s what it takes to get some chocolate you’d really like. I’d even get you some of those waffle things you were telling Soap about that one time I caught you both raiding the snack cabinets. Well, I’d probably eat some of those. But I promise to save most of them for you. Just…please talk to me. I’ll…I’ll…” you’re cut off by your own squeak as the door opens and you fall backwards.

His hands are already there to catch you, and once you sit back up he stays there, half-crouched and awkward, eyes anywhere but your own.

Slowly, you open your arms, watching his head turn back to you.

In an instant he’s lunged into you, burrowing his face into your neck with an awkward grunt as he stretches his bad leg out to the side. You try to change to a comfier position for him but the man is like a brick wall.

It’s nice.

So you let yourself stay there, wrapping around him as he wraps around you on the hard floor. It’s a softness unknown to you both, two soldiers carved razor-sharp from solid steel. But as you let yourself sink into him, you find yourself liking the strange tranquility of this moment, the way two bodies made for war can still drape over each other and feel peace instead. Against all better judgement, against any scrap of common sense you have left, you find yourself yearning for a few less battles if it can mean more of this. You let your eyes close, imagining it for just a little while.

After a while, he pulls back, moving to lean against the wall and pulling you so you can balance on his uninjured thigh. You let your head loll onto his shoulder, face turned into the hood. His chin rests on your temple.

“Are you cold?”

He grunts noncommittally, eyes half-closed. “Are you?”

“Nooo,” you mumble, burrowing into his neck. He shifts, maneuvering you off his lap, only to grunt when he tries to push on his leg.

“I got it.” You push yourself up, moving to the bed to retrieve one of the blankets there, carefully wrapping it around both of your torsos when you settle back onto his lap. Your legs stick out, but you don’t really care.

After a while you feel his heartbeat begin to pick up again and adjust yourself to look up at him. His eyes drift to you before he sighs. “Do you…still want me to talk?”

You nod.

“Alright then. I will talk. I do not think it is what you want to hear.”

You bite your lip and try to keep your breathing steady as he continues.

“Back in the med bay. No. Before that.” He shakes his head emphatically. “When we were assigned to two different groups…No…Scheiße, I…”

You run a shaky hand up and down his chest. “It’s okay. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

His fingers dig into you for a fraction of a second, so quick you think you might have imagined it before his entire body is deflating, his head settling back against the wall. “They ambushed us. You weren’t there but…they hit us on patrol, hit us and ran before we could counter. I did not even see who hit me, I just look up one moment and down the next and the snow is all red and…” His voice drops to barely a whisper “Das war meines.” He trails off completely, a finger tracing circles on your shoulder. “I've been wounded before. I've accepted death before. This time...before I...while I was…” he exhales another irritated sigh. “I was on the ground and…wie sag ich das…ich hab versucht etwas zu tun, mich zu bewegen aber alles was ich tun konnte...I was thinking of you.”

He freezes, turning his head away and dropping his hands from you. But instead of moving away, you kiss a patch of skin just outside the hood, watching the muscle under it jump. “Is that all you want to tell me?”

He shakes his head.

“Do you think you can keep going?”

His head turns back to you briefly before he tilts it up to stare at the ceiling. “When I was in the med bay. Well, I…it went like this. I wake up and you are there and I think, König this is it, now you are finally dead. And then I feel the pain and I see the nurse and you were moving away and I couldn't…du warst da und dann warst du fast nicht mehr da und ich konnte nicht atmen. Ich…” he shakes his head back and forth, back and forth. “Ich konnte nicht ohne dich. Ich…needed you to stay.” His head jerks down again, eyes boring into yours with all the intensity of a tornado, arms wrapping around you once again. “I need you to stay.”

You nod, holding him tight, the weight of the words unspoken tangling in your chest and constricting your tongue. Stay. With me. He won't ask for more than tonight, not when neither of you can even risk asking for a tomorrow. Stay with me. For as long as you have. A day, maybe. A month. Maybe you'll get out of this mess someday and get years.

Stay with me for a lifetime. Whatever lifetime we get.

You nod, whispering a promise into his skin. Always. Your fingers drift down along his leg, tracing just outside the stitches, your eyes following the line of gooseprickles that rise in their wake.

You feel more than you hear your name being whispered into your hair, and as you look up fingers wrap around your wrist, guiding it up over his hip, his ribs, his chest. Sliding around the edge of the hood, pushing it up, up, up. Until the fabric slides off. You gaze in awe, watching his jaw flex as his lips part to form a word whose sound hides in the back of his throat. Always. You look back into his eyes before surging forward, hugging him tight, tight enough to strangle, you think, but he’s already wrapping himself around you with equal fervor.

“You know,” you murmur, breath ruffling his hair, “if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

He huffs a laugh, the air catching in his lungs with a choking sound. His grip tightens.

When you wake you find you’ve been moved to the bed, but his face is still buried in your neck, unmoving despite the soft light filtering in your window. You smile a little, watching the early-morning sky, perfectly clear and pale blue.

It matches his eyes.

---

German Translations

du bist wie ein Traum: You are like a dream

Ich kann nicht glauben, dass du wirklich hier bist: I can’t believe you are here

Du bist viel zu gut für mich: You are too good to me

Dein Lächeln und…: You smile and…

Ich weiß nicht wie ich dich loslassen soll aber du verdienst so viel mehr als: I don't know how I am supposed to let go of you (eventually) but you (clearly) deserve so much more than me

Niemals, niemals, nie: never again, never again, never

Scheiße: shit

Das war meines: it was mine

wie sag ich das: how do I say this

ich hab versucht etwas zu tun, mich zu bewegen aber alles was ich tun konnte: I tried doing something, moving, but all I could do

du warst da und dann warst du fast nicht mehr da und ich konnte nicht atmen. Ich…: you were there and then you nearly weren’t there and I could not breathe. I…

Ich konnte nicht ohne dich. Ich…: I couldn’t without you. I…

#könig #könig call of duty #cod #cod mwii #könig x reader

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yourfavoritebookclub · 8 months

Text

WINGLEADER: A Xaden Riorson POV Fanfiction

CHAPTER 6

Imogen and I walk along the Iakobos River, our steps near silent as we snake our way through the reedy grass to the cluster of large oaks at the bank.

We stop at the roots of one of the larger trees and Imogen pulls off her hood to give me a long look.

She leans in towards me, voice quiet. “Can you please stop giving me the silent treatment?”

When I don't respond, she turns her head to look me in the eyes, “Xaden, seriously. You weren’t there, she was talking about my parents being murdered. Am I supposed to just let trash like her get away with that? It’s dis—” I lift my hand to silence her. “Don’t finish that sentence, Imogen.” I ground out, my anger rising at the insult.

Hurt and confusion flash across her face and I feel a twinge of guilt. She doesn’t know that with every look, every confrontation, every day that goes by where Violet is in my presence, my self control slips a little more.

“The rest are close.” Sgaeyl says from her position in the sky.

My eyes lift, “We can discuss this in front of everyone. It’s a message for all of you.”

The two of us turn towards the line of trees as the rest of the group converge beneath the giant oak.

My shadows are comfortable here, they feel cool against my skin. As they unravel, my senses extend along every tendril. I can hear every small nocturne creature and subtle wind.

I can also hear the soft, quick breathing above me. What Violet Sorrengail is doing out here, is a question I’d love to know the answer to. But it can wait. This moment feels like another opportunity to push her and see which way she falls.

There are small introductions between everyone, most of them are known, but some of the first-years are from smaller families who haven’t been properly acquainted with everyone.

There’s a palpable anxiety coursing through the younger cadets. I get it, but it’s time to push it to the side, step up, and do their jobs. We protect each other. Panic isn't an option.

Garrick is angsty about the losses this week. We all are. Our numbers are small enough as is.

Garrick addresses the group, his eyes hard, “We’ve already lost Sutherland and Luperco, that’s just how it is your first year, but we can’t afford to lose a single one of us. Division amongst ourselves will be your greatest weakness.”

There’s soft rustling in the branches above as Violet moves from branch to branch.

Imogen turns to the first years, “Like it or not, we’re going to have to stick together if you want to survive until graduation.”

“And if they find out we’re meeting?” One of the younger girls, Gwyn, asks the group.

The fear is clear on all of their faces. They’ve all been scared for too long. But that’s what we’re here to change.

I need to inspire courage, but also remind them that we’re confident in the system we’ve created.

And remind them who they’ll be answering to if things get out of hand.

I cross my arms and lean against the tree, keenly aware of Violet, now directly above me.

“We’ve done this for two years and they’ve never found out.” My eyes scan the group, “they’re not going to unless one of you tells. And if you tell,” I say, raising a brow, “I’ll know. Like Garrick said, we’ve already lost two first-years to their own negligence. There are only forty-one of us in the Riders Quadrant, and we don’t want to lose any of you, but we will if you don’t help yourselves. The odds are always stacked against us, and trust me, every other Navarrian in the quadrant will look for reasons to call you a traitor or force you to fail.”

There’s no use in feeding them bullshit if their lives are on the line.

“How many of you are getting your asses handed to you in hand-to-hand?”

Four first-years raise their hands.

Four.

“Shit.” I exhale, pinching the bridge of my nose. This is not good. After the bargain was made a few of us older kids made sure there were systems in place. Training regimens were created. Academic Curriculums, and tests that mimicked what they’ll face upon entering the quadrant. Tools to ensure every serpartist’s kid was well equipped before they put a single toe on the parapet.

The headache is back.

Garrick, always a step ahead, says, “I’ll teach them.”

After the amount of training, and natural skill he’s had, Garrick’s fighting is instinctual. Good for winning fights, not great for trying to teach someone.

I look at Garrick and shake my head, “You’re our best fighter–”

I’m interrupted by Bodhi, “ You’re our best fighter.”

“Dirtiest fighter, maybe,” Imogen corrects him with a laugh.

There’s some laughter, and even a couple smiles from the younger ones.

“Fucking ruthless is more like it,” Garrick says, grinning at me.

I keep my mouth shut and let everyone get it out of their system before moving on.

“Garrick is our best fighter, but Imogen is right up there with him, and she’s a hell of a lot more patient,” If the two of them want to be mouthy then they can do it together. “So the four of you split yourselves up between the two of them for training. A group of three won’t draw any unwanted attention. What else is giving you trouble?” One of the first years, Kieran begins speaking before anyone else, his voice full of anguish,“I can’t do this.” My stomach lurches.

I can’t deal with this right now

“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice going cold.

“I can’t do this! The death. The fighting. Any of it. A guy had his neck snapped right in front of me on assessment day!” The boy's voice is growing more frantic, and every word out of his mouth is filling me with guilt.

“I want to go home!” Kieran continues, “Can you help me with that ?”

Everyone turns to look at me.

I did this to them.

Bile rises to the back of my throat.

No, this was the only way I could save every person in front of me right now.

I didn’t have a choice.

And neither does he.

I swallow, frustration bubbling up to the surface.

We don’t have time to comfort and coddle. Our goal is to survive. Everything else is an afterthought.

“No,” I say, shrugging my shoulders, feigning indifference.“You’re not going to make it. Best accept it now and not take up more of my time.”

My words come out harsher than intended, but I mean them nonetheless

The color drains from Kieran’s face, and his thin frame begins shaking as my words hit him.

Bodhi turns to look at me, incredulity written on his face. “That was a little harsh, cousin.”

“What do you want me to say, Bodhi? I can’t save everyone, especially not someone who isn’t willing to work to save themselves.” I keep my voice calm, even as the guilt tries to press itself in on me.

“Damn, Xaden.” Garrick says, that same disbelief lacing his voice. “Way to give a pep talk.”

Did none of them hear me after the parapet? We are not special. We will face blood and horror, and the likely possibility of death. Giving me problems that I can’t solve doesn’t help anyone, it holds us all back. This is just a fact of our reality.

“If they need a fucking pep talk, then we both know they’re not flying out of the quadrant on graduation day. Let’s get real. I can hold their hands and make them a bunch of bullshit empty promises about everyone making it through if that helps them sleep, but in my experience, the truth is far more valuable.” I turn to look at Kieran, “In war, people die. It’s not glorious like the bards sing about, either. It’s snapped necks and two-hundred-foot falls. There’s nothing romantic about scorched earth or the scent of sulfur.”

I point to the citadel off in the distance, “This isn’t some fable where everyone makes it out alive. It’s hard, cold, uncaring reality. Not everyone here is going to make it home…to whatever’s left of our homes. And make no mistake, we are at war every time we step foot in the quadrant.” I lean closer to him, and the other first-years in front of me. They need to drill this into their fucking skulls, “So if you won’t get your shit together and fight to live, then no. You’re not going to make it.”

I assess each of them, making sure they’ve heard me loud and clear.

Good. Time to move on.

“Now, someone give me a problem I can actually solve,” I say, this time addressing the whole group.

Aria, one of the first years, speaks up, “Battle Brief.”

That, I can handle.

She continues, “It’s not that I can’t keep up, but the information…”

Imogen steps in to soften the obvious conflict in Aria’s voice. She leans in, voice gentle “That’s a tough one.”

Some of my irritation with her softens. Imogen’s fearless, and has a nasty temper, but she’s always been a buffer between me and everyone else.

And she’s right, It’s hard to know what we know, and still placate the professors.

I’d speak a bit more freely if I didn’t have a certain someone perched on the branch above me. I'm already sticking my neck out by letting her stay.

“You learn what they teach you.” I say giving her a pointed look. “Keep what you know but recite whatever they tell you to.” There are several nods, and I feel satisfied that everyone understands what’s at stake if they fuck up.

“Anyone else?” I say, looking up at the moon. It’s shifted considerably since we got here, which means we’re cutting it close. “You’d better ask now. We don’t have all night.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence before someone in the back says, “When do we get to kill Violet Sorrengail?”

My whole body tenses, my heartrate climbing, and I have to clench my jaw to keep from snapping. In the span of a few seconds I’ve become completely possessed. Just a handful of days around her and I’m already losing my mind at the thought of anyone touching her. She’s mine .

“Yeah, Xaden, When do we get to finally have our revenge?” Imogen says, her voice turning mockingly sweet.

I am now acutely aware of every fast breath coming from Violet.

I throw a threatening look at Imogen, “I told you already, the youngest Sorrengail is mine, and I’ll handle her when the time is right.”

I don’t think I even know what that means right now. There are a lot of ways I’d like to handle–

No.

That’s not even a thought worth entertaining.

Bodhi decides to be Bodhi and stir the pot, “Didn’t you already learn that lesson, Imogen? What I hear, Aetos has you scrubbing dinner dishes for the next month for using your powers on the mat.”

“Her mother is responsible for the execution of my mom and sister. I should have done more than just snap her shoulder.” Imogen argues, her cheeks flushing in anger.

“Her mom is responsible for the capture of nearly all our parents. Not her daughter.” Garrick looks Imogen in the eyes, “Punishing children for the sins of their parents is the Navarrian way, not Tyrrish.”

This is getting exhausting.

“So we get conscripted because of what our parents did years ago and shoved into this death sentence of a college–”

“In case you didn’t notice, she’s in this same death sentence of a college. Seems like she’s already suffering the same fate.” Garrick says, shutting down Imogen’s argument.

Apparently everyone here needs a reminder of who Violet is in all of this.

“Don’t forget her brother was Brennan Sorrengail. She has just as much reason to hate us as we do her.” I say to Imogen before turning to the first-year, “And I’m not going to tell you again. She’s mine to handle. Anyone feel like arguing?”

No one speaks.

The moon has shifted even closer to the horizon. Time to get these walking headaches out of here and deal with the one above me.“Good. Then get back to bed. And go in threes.”

The group clears out and I walk towards the citadel, slowly cloaking myself in shadows until I’m invisible in the dark. I can’t help but smirk as I backtrack to the oak tree and slip behind where Violet is currently positioned.

She’s patient. It takes her a good ten minutes before she finally climbs down from her perch and drops to the ground.

Still cloaked in shadows, I lunge, pulling her tight against my chest. Every place where our bodies connect is buzzing like a live wire, and I resist the impulse to drop her.

It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and dammit if I don’t love every second.

“Scream and you die,” I whisper in her ear. I don’t want to let go of her, but I force myself to remove my arm from around her neck.

Before she can even think about retaliating, I’ve replaced my arm with the edge of a dagger. “Fucking Sorrengail.” I snap, pulling back the hood of her cloak to reveal her face.

Fuck.

I can’t help the way my cheeks heat as she leans her head back to look me in the eyes.

I push my chest against her, forcing her eyes forward before she gets a chance to read the undeniable need on my face.

“How did you know?” She says, her lip curling. For someone who’s convinced I’m going to kill her, she has some bite. “Let me guess,” she continues, “You could smell my perfume. Isn’t that what always gives the heroine away in books?”

Perfume?

I bend my head toward hers, my lips brushing against her ear.

She’s irritating as hell. And yet here I am, excited that I have her all to myself.

“I command shadows, but sure, it was your perfume that gave you away.” I say sarcastically, my voice barely above a whisper.

A thrill goes up my spine as she gasps. “Your signet is a shadow wielder?”

My lips are still at her ear , “What, Aetos hasn’t warned you not to get caught alone in the dark with me yet?”

My voice sounds rough, even to me, and I resist the urge to put my mouth on her, to bite her ear, kiss her neck. I’m in a fog, consumed by being near her.

My grip loosens a fraction as my concentration slips, and she spins towards me, dagger raised, “Is this how you plan to handle me?”

“Eavesdropping are we?” I ask, brow lifting.

Seeing her like this, like she was before the parapet, angry and wild, is doing something to me, and I can’t get enough.

I sheath my dagger. “Now I might actually have to kill you.” The cold look in my eyes is in stark contrast to the way my mind is pleading with her.

Please, don’t say anything.

Because for all my bravado, I don’t know if I have it in me to kill her. I’m worried about what it might do to me.

It would wreck me.

She backs away, reaching into her cloak to pull out another dagger.

Despite her uneven footing and awkward defensive stance, Violet with her daggers out, ready for a fight is…

Fuck, It’s hot.

“That stance is really the best you can muster? No wonder Imogen nearly ripped your arm off.” I say, heaving a sigh. I don’t have it in me to kill her but there are several people who do, and will succeed with her defensive position so…lacking.

“I’m more dangerous than I look,” she says, but her cheeks are flushed and her ears have turned pink at the tips, contradicting the anger in her voice.

She’s being cute, and I can’t help but smirk. I like playing with her, “So I see. I’m quaking in my boots.”

Quicker than I would’ve expected she flings both daggers towards me.

And completely misses.

I look at her dully, if not a little disappointed, “You missed.”

“Did I?” She says, reaching for the two other daggers she has tucked into her cloak, “Why don’t you back up a couple steps and test that theory?”

What?

I smooth my face into a mask of irritated boredom, but from the way she’s looking at me, I know she saw the question in my eyes.

My shadows swirl around her ankles, pulling to touch her. I yank them back, hard, smothering my own desire.

My eyes don’t leave Violet’s as I take three steps back until my back hits the tree.

Where the hilt of each dagger sits perfectly between both sides of my head.

Oh.

Good girl, Violet.

“Tell me again that I missed.” She threatens, flipping the dagger in her hand to hold it by the tip.

I still can’t take my eyes off of her.

I smile, “Fascinating, you look all frail and breakable, but you’re really a violent little thing, aren’t you?”

I will my shadows into something more concrete, forming them into hands, the slender fingers moving to pluck the daggers from the bark, and drop them into both of my palms.

I’m still smiling at her like a fool. I think I’m going into shock.

My body has completely abandoned my mind, and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m moving towards her, steps slow, “You should show that little trick to Jack Barlowe.”

Violet blinks in surprise, “What?”

She clocks how close we are to each other and raises her dagger.

I’ve done my job a little too well if she thinks my only motivation is to kill her. “The neck-snapping first year who’s very publicly vowed to slaughter you.” I tease, lifting an eyebrow.

One more step and the tip of her blade is pressed against my middle. I’m still smirking as I reach under her cloak and sheath one of the daggers.

I lift the other side of her cloak, and the smirk slips off of my face, every ounce of playful banter gone.

Underneath her cloak, her hair is twisted into a loose braid that falls over one shoulder and down past her breast. The silver strands, now exposed to the moonlight, glint as she shifts her head to look up at me.

I can barely breathe for wanting her so badly.

I want to wrap that braid around my wrist and yank her towards me.

For a single heartbeat I’m dumbstruck before I pull myself together and sheath her other dagger. “He’d probably think twice about plotting your murder if you threw a few daggers at his head.”

Violet’s face looks half irritated, half confused, “Because the honor of my murder belongs to you?” My words from earlier play through my head. Mine . “You wanted me dead long before your little club chose my tree to meet under, so I imagine you’ve all but buried me in your mind by now.”

I look at the dagger pressed between us. She looks closer to burying me than the other way around.

A small shiver of fear courses through me. I’ve made a dangerous gamble in letting her hear all that was said tonight. “Do you plan on telling anyone about my little club ?”

“No,” She says bluntly.

I can feel my eyebrows knit together. The answer I was hoping for, but not necessarily the one I was expecting. “Why not?” I ask. My head tilts to the side as I examine this girl in front of me, so different than I had assumed. “It’s illegal for the children of separatists officers to assemble in—”

“Groups larger than three,” Smart little thing.

She continues, “I’m well aware. I’ve lived at Basgiath longer than you.” Arrogant little thing too.

“And you’re not going to run off to Mommy, or your precious little Dain, and tell them we’ve been assembling? ” I can’t help the contempt that drips off my tongue at the thought of Dain. Of his hands on her face, searching through her memories.

“You were helping them. I don’t see why that should be punished.”

I give her an assessing glare.

She looks thoughtful, her mind turned inward for a beat before her eyes refocus on mine, “I’m not going to tell.”

I can’t get my hopes up, but they’re soaring anyways.

Her defenses are slipping away, rotating back to a familiar look of fear.

I don’t want her to be scared of me.

She needs to be scared of me. She should want nothing to do with me.

If I can just manage enough self restraint to put some distance between the two of us.

“Interesting. We’ll see if you keep your word, and if you do, then unfortunately, it looks like I owe you a favor.” I say, my thoughts of staying away are already completely abandoned.

I turn to go and she calls after me, “You’re not going to handle me?”

“Not tonight!” I yell over my shoulder, a smirk on my face.

She makes an indignant sound, “What are you waiting for?”

Gods I can’t help but play with her, “It’s no fun if you expect it. Now, get back to bed before your wingleader realizes you’re out after curfew.”

“What?” She almost shrieks, voice full of confusion.

I start to pull my shadows around me, cloaking me from view, but not before I hear her shout, “ You’re my wingleader!”

Yes the hell I am.

In the shadows my smirk has bloomed into a fierce grin.

#fourth wing #fanfiction #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #xadenviolet #violet and xaden #fourth wing fanfic #tairn and sgaeyl #sgaeyl #liam mairi #mira sorrengail #basgiath

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fourthwingfan · 2 months

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Madness - Chapter 4

Warning: It's a war college so don't read it if you sensitive to violence death etc.

Note: We have finally a "decent" conversation between Xaden and Aelin. And guess what? We have a new nickname. From Xaden. Soo goood. 😍

Enjoy :)

The sparring ring is where riders are made or broken. After all, no respectable dragon would choose a rider who cannot defend themselves, and no respectable cadet would allow such threat to the wing to continue training.

-Major Afendra’s guide to the Riders Quadrant

(Unauthorized Edition)

“Elena Sosa, Brayden Blackburn.” Captain Fitzgibbons reads from the death roll, flanked by two other scribes on the dais as we stand in silent formation in the courtyard, squinting into the early sun.

This morning, we’re all in rider black, and there’s a single silver four-pointed star on my collarbone, the mark of a first-year, and a Fourth Wing patch on my shoulder. We were issued standard uniforms yesterday, summer-weight tightfitted tunics, pants, and accessories after Parapet was over, but not flight leathers. There’s no point handing out the thicker, more protective combat uniforms when half of us won’t be around come Threshing in October. The armored corset Mira made us isn’t regulation, but I fit right in among the hundreds of modified uniforms around me.

After the last twenty-four hours and one night in the first-floor barracks, I’m starting to realize that this quadrant is a strange mix of we-might-die-tomorrow hedonism and a brutal efficency in the name of the same reason.

“Jace Sutherland.” Captain Fitzgibbons continues to read, and the scribes next to him shift their weight. “Dougal Luperco.”

I think we’re somewhere in the fifties, but I lost count. This is the only memorial the names will get, the only time they’ll be spoken of in the citadel.

There are a hundred and fifty-six of us in the first floor of the dormitory building, our beds positioned in four neat rows in the open space. Private rooms are like flight leathers - you don’t get one until you survive Threshing.

“Simone Casteneda.” Captain Fitzgibbons closes the scroll. “We commend their souls to Malek.” The god of death.

I blink. Guess we were closer to the end than I thought.

There’s no formal conclusion to the formation, no last moment of silence. The names on the scroll leave the dais with the scribes, and the quiet is broken as the squad leaders all turn and begin to address their squads.

“Hopefully you all ate breakfast, because you’re not going to get another chance before lunch,” our squad leader says. His name is Theo as we learnt after yesterday’s events. For first impression he seem to be a pretty calm guy. He talked about the rules but not like Dain based on what Violet said last night. I swear the rules are his gods.

In our squad there are third- and second-years besides us, marked and non-marked ones. We’re a really mixed group.

Yesterday I didn’t have a chance to observe our squad mates because when Theo’s briefing was over I went to find Violet. We succeeded securing beds next to each other. Rhiannon too. We talked about a lot of things due to the fact that we’re not in the same squad. I can’t be with her for every lesson, our schedule is different. Vi helped me memorising the order of my lessons. It’s a luck that at least I have good memory.

“Second- and third-years, I’m assuming you know where to go” Theo continues as the scribes wind their way around the edge of the courtyard to my right, headed back to their quadrant.

There’s a mutter of agreement from the senior cadets ahead of us. As first-years, we’re in the back two rows of the little square that makes up our squad.

“First-years, at least one of you should have memorized your academic schedule when it was handed out yesterday.” Theo’s voice booms over us. “Stick together. I expect you all to be alive when we meet this afternoon in the sparring gym.”

We only have the gym twice a week, so there should be time to help Violet learn a little more self defense. She’s smart and quick. She can do it.

I’m more worried about my own lessons. I have to put in so much extra hours to be up to date in our reading materials. Before Basgiath, Violet helped me to study. She often read aloud the texts while I tried to memorize its content. It’s easier. When I’m trying to read, it often makes me so frustrated. I’m trying to read, but I can’t. It’s a really slow process. But because of this I’m good at making notes. I only write down what is really important ‘cause later I have to read it again.

I hope the lessons will be tolerable. I can’t have Violet with me all the time. It’s same for her. She needs to practice her skills before we’ll have to handle the Gauntlet - the vertical obstacle course they told us we’ll have to master when the leaves turn colors in two months.

If we can complete the final Gauntlet, we’ll walk through the natural box canyon above it that leads to the flight field for Presentation, where this year’s dragons willing to bond will get their first look at the remaining cadets. Two days after that, Threshing will occur in the valley beneath the citadel.

I glance around at my new squadmates and can’t help but wonder which of us, if any, will make it to that flight field, let alone that valley.

Don’t borrow tomorrow’s trouble.

“And if we’re not?” One smart-ass first-year behind me asks.

I don’t bother looking, instead I turn to Liam and roll my eyes at the stupid’s girl comment.

He snickers but doesn’t say anything.

“Then I won’t have to be concerned with learning your name, since it will be read off tomorrow morning” Theo answers with a shrug.

A third-year ahead of me snorts a laugh.

Yeah, I totally understand you. It was funny. Or just my sense of humor is sucks.

“You have about twenty minutes to get to class,” Theo says to the seven of us first-years. “Fourth floor, second room on the left in the academic wing. Get your shit together and don’t be late.” Our squad breaks apart around the same time the others do, transforming the courtyard from an orderly formation to a crowd of chatting cadets. The second- and third-years walk off in another direction, including Theo.

“Go, grab your stuff and meet me here okay?” Liam says

“You’d be lost without me anyway.” I reply while heading to the doors.

“And here I thought you’d be kinder with a good night sleep, Snappy.” He sighs.

“Damn, I told you to drop this ridiculous nickname.” I hiss at him.

“Or what? We’re squadmates, you can’t hurt me” he winks.

“No. I can’t kill you. It’s completly different.” I say smiling.

“Whooah look at that. You can smile.”

“Shut up. Go grab your pack or I leave you here.” I roll my eyes.

I go to the dormitory where my bed is, and pick up my rucksack from under it.

When I walk out the door I see Violet at the center of the courtyard and her expression make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. She’s looking at somebody.

Oh shit.

Xaden Riorson is watching her with narrowed eyes, the sleeves of his uniform rolled up his massive arms that remain folded across his chest, the warning in his relic-covered arm on full display as a third-year next to him says something that he blatantly ignores.

Garrick was he?

There’s maybe twenty feet between us. My fingers twitch, ready to grab one of the blades sheathed at my ribs.

His head tilts and he studies me with those impossibly dark eyes, like he’s deciding where I’m most vulnerable. So he noticed me when I exited the dormitory. Interesting.

He smirks then his attention shifts to Violet, and Dain who emerges from behind the pillar.

Shit, do they have to be so obvious? Someone might misinterpret it.

Violet says something to Dain, then his gaze snaps up as the crowd thins out around us.

„I already knew your parents are tight,” Xaden calls out, a cruel smile tilting his lips. „But do you two have to be so fucking obvious?”

I told you, I sigh when the few cadets who are still in the rotunda turn to look at them.

„Let me guess,” Xaden continues, glancing between Dain and Violet, „Childhood friends? First loves, even?”

„I expected you to do a better job hiding where your affections lie, Aetos.” Xaden moves, walking down the steps.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I need to do something.

„Come on Riorson, you have eyes, now use it. You really think that Violet and Dain? I thought you’re smarter than that.” I sigh with feigned disappointment.

„Melgren?” He turns to me. „What are you? A watchdog? Always at Violet’s legs?”

Fucking asshole.

„Now you’re trying to insult me? How kind of you.” I smile at him sweetly. „And no. Violet can protect herself. I just don’t like the fact that now everybody thinks that they have something between them because of you. I didn’t know you liked to gossip.”

„With this attitude you won’t last long, Melgren. Throwing insults at everybody who dares to talk to you or Sorrengail.” He tilts his head to the side. „It’s like you’re a fucking ray of sunshine.”

„Then forgive this little Sunshine and her friend because we’ll have a lesson soon, and it would cast a really bad light on us if we were late. Don’t you think wingleader?” I gesture toward Violet to come with me.

„Hm. Then we should continue our interesting conversation later.” He says slowly with a smirk and I have a bad feeling about it. „And don’t forget to watch your back, Sunshine.” He turns and walks away.

Sunshine? A nickname? Really?

Damn, he’s handsome for sure but at the same time an enermous prick.

#fourth wing #fanfiction #fourth wing fanfic #garrick tavis #liam mairi #the empyrean #the fourth wing #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #xaden x oc #oc

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sitp-recs · 9 months

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Hey liv!! Do you have any recs of fics where there's an imbalanced power dynamic between them or an exploration of that..I guess it is sexual in a way but also not only in that aspect. I just read sth like this and thought it would be an interesting theme between harry and draco. It doesn't need to be a main thing in the plot..Thank you in advance! Kisses 💋

Hi anon! Yes, I’ve read a few fics like that and it can be a fascinating dynamic indeed! Most fics I thought about explore the teacher x student and boss x employee relationships. I hope you enjoy these:

Defined Parameters by Amelior8or (E, 4k)

Harry is a security officer on a ship stuck in the far end of the Delta Quadrant. Malfoy is the Maquis First Officer they tentatively have an alliance with. If they're going to spend the next 70,000 lightyears together, they need to define the parameters of their power. They just so happen to define it on the Holodeck, during a bout of Turkish oil wrestling.

Love, Actually, is All Around by punk_rock_yuppie (T, 10k)

It's Christmastime, and Harry has just started as the new Minister of Magic. It just so happens that Draco works in his office as well, a holdover from Kingsley's tenure. Naturally, love is in the air.

Crutch by AWickedMemory (T, 11k)

Harry has too much to do, and Draco, too little. The solution? Hire him, of course. Who knew Draco Malfoy would be such a perfect personal assistant?

Little Talks by Femme and noeon (E, 11k)

Draco's been shagging the Head Auror for months now, and he's sure it's just a fling. Until Harry asks him to a Quidditch match, that is, and things go horribly wrong.

Rebuilding Draco Malfoy by khasael (E, 11k)

Draco wants to do something to get his life back on track, but no-one seems to be taking him seriously – until he finds himself in an Auror training session led by Harry Potter.

Exiled by A_factorygirl_69 (E, 16k)

Draco is declared persona non grata by the Ministry after the War. Harry has been tasked with keeping an eye on him, ensuring he stays out of England.

UnKnown by DorthyAnn (M, 23k)

Draco just wanted a second chance, he was willing to work hard, he was willing to do whatever it took, but no one would let him live down his past. But when he recklessly casts a spell promising a new life, he's not prepared for the consequences...

The Four Doors by fluxweed (E, 49k)

It’s been four months since Harry lost his memory. Four months of dead ends and no answers. With time running out until his memories are gone for good, Harry agrees to a course of Legilimency therapy with a renowned specialist: Mind Healer Draco Malfoy.

By the Grace by lettered (T, 140k)

Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.

Tales From the Special Branch by Femme (E, WIP)

When Gawain Robards asks him to form Special Branch seven-four-alpha, Harry Potter knows they'll have to work outside the confines of the law--even though they are the law.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #power imbalance

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fanfiction-writer11 · 6 months

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Dates and Numbers - Fourth Wing

I am currently rereading The Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros, and can say, I am way down the rabbit hole. As I was rereading the first few chapters, I really focused on world building and foreshadowing that I missed the first time around. I started to question, what time a year is all this happening in? How is the quadrant organized? So, I did the math:

Timeline/Dates

On page 155, We learn that Threshing happens on October 1st every year. I used this as the base line for the following numbers, please note that these are approximates. On page 47, violet says that they will face the Gauntlet "when the leaves turn colors in two months." This alone places the Gauntlet in late September... but how late?

Reading further on page 47, we learn that if they pass the Gauntlet, all the cadets immediately go to presentation. Two Days later is Threshing. This means the Gauntlet is on September 28th. That means, looking back 2 months, that conscription day is on August 4th.

Page 47, for context, is set during the very first death scroll reading. Meaning Violet has been a cadet for less than 24 hours at this point.

Quadrant Organization:

Right off the bat, we learn that Basgiath War College is home to four quadrants: Scribe, Infantry, Healers, and, of course, the Riders. We know very little on the Healers quadrant, but even less on the Infantry Quadrant. (If I was a betting man, I would wager we will learn more about both in the following books.) We know a little bit on the Scribes, their values, and their mission through Violets training and her father. However, we learned quite a bit about the riders quadrant.

On page 32 we see the first mention of Squads, Sections, and Wings from Dain Aetos. (Notice how he doesn't explain it, just expects Rhiannon to know- Jerk.) Anyway, On page 40, Violet being the sweet soul she is, explains to Rhiannon, and us, that there are four wings. Each wing has three sections and each section has 3 squads. The number of cadets in each squad depends on the number of candidates that made it across the parapet and the cadets that are alive from previous years.

Using this year's number of cadets (new and returning,) there are between 15 and 16 cadets in each squad. That means that there are 540 to 576 cadets, in total, in the riders quadrant. Within each section there are 45 to 48 cadets, and within each wing there are 135 to 144 cadets.

There are 4 wingleaders - with a senior wingleader for the quadrant (Page 40), - there are 12 section leaders (three Flame, three Claw, and three tail, to be exact (page 40),) and there are 36 squad leaders.

That was a lot of information, so let me know if you have any questions. I will continue to update as I continue my reread.

#the fourth wing #conscription #violet sorrengail #I hate dain aetos #fourth wing organization #fourth wing theory #Quadrant breakdown #Threshing #Fourth wing reread #rebecca yarros #i fell down the rabbit hole #obsession

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owlhari · 8 months

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Ravaxis!!!!!

there's a reddit thread out there where bunny says that when four was hit by the blue matter beam, he time traveled and ended up with rav, who helped train him to become commander cosmo. by the time he saves dwight in the song, he's already been cosmo for years.

and i think rav and cosmo has a deeply homoerotic relationship in those years they spent together. it wasn't romantic but it was incredibly gay. only after vice quadrant do they realize they're in love with each other.

also rav is trans and extremely buff thank you for your time

#steam powered giraffe #spg #ravaxis starburner #commander cosmo #ask #anon

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snarliecharlie · 1 year

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Brit got me this treat dispenser for my birthday that I've wanted for a long time. He gave it to me early because he couldn't hide the massive box.

The session I recorded was 40 minutes and the file was like 4 gigs so I had to edit it. Sorry for the ugly watermark, I didn't feel like importing it to my computer.

Anyway, touch session with a treat dispenser.

#dog training #four quadrants #pavlovian conditioning #balanced training

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vigilantdesert · 5 months

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Do you have any ideas for Gerudo holidays? Or a possibility for Highland Gerudo culture? I actually have a couple of theories in regards to Highland Gerudo culture personally.

I once heard someone talk about a sort of Textile & Crafts Festival held at Kara Kara where creators get to show off their products & I thought that was a super interesting idea.

I also had the idea that they might have a sort of Urbosa Day, where they honor Urbosa's sacrifice. Typically held on her birthday.

I'm not procrastinating nanowrimo because there's a gunfight and I'm bad at writing those, YOU'RE procrastinating nanowrimo because there's a gunfight and you're bad at writing those

YES, I do have quite a few! I'll go into Highland Gerudo culture first, since I've done less with that. I've divided the desert into four main quadrants, each with distinct cultures, and then also the nomads. The Northern desert is most sparsely populated and there are only a few groups of sedentary Gerudo because of the harsh climate - most Gerudo who do travel that far North are nomadic and only spend the summers there, though the women who decide to devote their lives to the heroines of knowledge or flight do cross the highlands to leave the country. In my personal headcanons/fics, I've always had the Gerudo that still worship the eighth heroine of power (a standin for Ganondorf) mostly live in the North and interact commonly with the Yiga before the second Calamity. I admit, I haven't given much thought to festivals in that direction, since the sect has been declared heretical and orthodox but on thin ice at varying turns and at the time of botw was considered heretical to the point of outward distrust, if not excommunication.

I've done the most work on the Eastern Gerudo, the sect that includes Gerudo Town, the Bazaar, and most of the border lands with Hyrule. A crafts festival is absolutely fun! I've worked that into the festival of Rinna, which is the new year's festival. There's seven nights at the beginning of the calendar year, one dedicated to each heroine. There's also Aratag, which is a year-end festival and more religious - I've gone into both of those here. There's also a three day festival celebrating love, firstly familial, then platonic, then romantic on the last night, that's held at the end of summer called the festival of lights. The beginning of the storm season in May is marked by a remembrance day, in which they honor their ancestors through story telling, feasts, and meeting with priestesses to have conversations with the newly departed. The beginning of martial training is also something of a holiday, since all the teenagers from across the country head to town, get to know each other, and generally have a go at making the stupidest challenges they can for each other, but that's less official.

I haven't done anything with Urbosa's birthday as of BoTW, mostly because I feel it's a bit soon, but I do think it would eventually come separate from Remembrance day at a certain point, maybe after the events of ToTK. I love hearing everyone's holiday headcanons, though, I think they can be so varied! Thanks for the question <3

#meta #headcanons #answered asks #aikoyia #thank you again lovely!

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elvenferretots · 1 year

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Would you be able to give a rundown of training methodologies, or some resources that explain them? Ive heard of R+ and Balanced, but im guessing there are others out there and Im not sure what each of them look like/mean

Absolutely! All modern dog training uses theory of behavior, and particularly the four quadrants of learning.

Regardless of what tools you use, you're usually using principles laid down by scientists like B. F. Skinner, who learned much of what we know using experiments on rats in a closed environment. There's still arguments on how much the results of the science are effective in the real world no matter which camp you're in because they don't account for outside variables. It's where you'll hear the expression "Life doesn't happen in a Skinner box" and it is why we still have so many training ideologies rather than one proven way to best train.

Any methods, even "positive" methods, sourced before the last twenty years or so would be Traditional:

A traditional trainer depends heavily on positive punishment and/or negative reinforcement. One prolific modern trainer who uses traditional training is The Good Dog Training and Rehabilitation. While some traditional methods use food rewards or even market themselves as positive reinforcement, it is often recommended to deprive the dog of food or water first (making the actual reward relief from hunger or thirst, thus negative reinforcement), such as in this book still on the official recommendation list for a big box store's positive reinforcement program.

Balanced training is your biggest and most popular camp of dog training. Some trainers who claim to be balanced sway mostly toward the traditional with a couple cookies on top. A few (often labeled LIMA, or least invasive and minimally aversive) are basically positive reinforcement trainers who are okay with using a mild aversive to stop dangerous behavior or give the handler more control if they feel necessary. Anyone who uses all four quadrants would be considered balanced:

Most world level competitors are balanced, particularly in sports like IGP. Some resources for middle of the line balanced training would be Larry Krohn, Michael Ellis, and Glenn Cooke and Pat Stewart of The Canine Paradigm.

Positive Reinforcement or R+ training takes out the quadrants that are based on discomfort. Most R+ trainers do use punishment, but ideally avoid physical discomfort of any kind to the learner:

Positive Reinforcement is the preferred method of most animal activists and box stores, and is growing in popularity in the sport world. Some popular R+ trainers are Hannah Brannigan (her book and podcast are popular with the balanced community as well), Denise Fenzi, and Shade Whitesel.

The last popular camp is the newest, the Purely Positive or Force Free community. FF ideology depends heavily on errorless learning and management of the environment to prevent or minimize mistakes:

One popular FF trainer is Sarah Stremming, who frequently hosts others on her podcast.

Honestly, at the end of the day, good training is any empathetic and effective training. But knowing why something works is the best way to become more proficient. Hopefully that clears up common methodologies with as little bias as possible.

#dog training

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thecreaturecodex · 2 years

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Warpwraith

[Commissioned by Soluman Blevins. Evolve is a game I was only passingly aware of, since some artists I follow had done concept art for it. The premise is a fun take on an asymmetrical shooter. Four players are the humans and one is the monster. The monster starts fairly weak, but can evolve (hence the title) by killing computer controlled wildlife, which act as threats to all players.

Of the main enemy monsters, the Wraith is apparently the overpowered one, and was nerfed in later updates before the game was simply abandoned. So I knew I wanted her to be a high CR monster. I ended up picking CR 17 because in the quadrant of 16-20, that was the CR I had the least aberrations in. Sometimes game design leads to arbitrary decisions.

Also, notice how weirdly horny this design is. The Wraith has great hips and thighs for a creature with no legs.]

Warpwraith CR 17 LE Aberration This creature has a lithe, roughly humanoid torso, but its head is little more than a fanged knot of tissue. It has four arms, two of which have clawed hands and the other two of which bear oversized scything blades. Its lower body has bulbous, stabilizing structures that are vaguely thigh shaped, but these terminate not in legs but in three snaking tentacles, on which it slithers effortlessly.

A warpwraith is a powerful alien predator that can manipulate space in a variety of teleportation effects. They glide along the ground using strange forces, not quite slithering and not quite flying, able to traverse undergrowth, rubble or even cross water with ease. They hunt with hit and run strikes, tearing at prey with their claws and armblades. If they face a group, they often rush in with incredible speed, causing a shock wave as their presence ripples the fabric of space. They then grab a single opponent and rush off with them in order to tear them to pieces while their allies recover. If enemies are warded against teleportation, or if the warpwraith is feeling vindictive, it will glow with the light of a sun, simultaneously speeding up its own movements while slowing down others. Warpwraiths rarely fight until slain, using their spell-like abilities to flee and mislead pursuers.

Although warpwraiths behave like beasts, they are of near human intellect, and great canniness besides. They are often on good terms with other powerful monsters, forming alliances to achieve common goals rather than fighting for domination. They also like to taunt their enemies with brief telepathic messages, usually done from hiding long before they strike. They prefer to hunt alone—on the planet to which they are native, they are top predators, with enormous amounts of territory for each.

Warpwraith CR 17 XP 102,400 LE Large aberration Init +10; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +23, scent Aura supernova (Will DC 25, 60 ft.) Defense AC 32, touch 20, flat-footed 32 (-1 size, +10 Dex, +1 dodge, +12 natural) hp 237 (25d8+125) Fort +13, Ref +20, Will +19 Defensive Abilities evasion, improved uncanny dodge Offense Speed 60 ft., lighter than air Melee 2 claws +24 (1d8+7 plus grab), bite +24 (1d6+7), 2 armblades +24 (2d6+10/19-20x4) Space 10 ft.; Reach 10 ft. Special Attacks abduct, isolate, powerful blows (armblades), sneak attack +2d6, warp blast Spell-like Abilities CL 17th, concentration +20 (+24 casting defensively) At will—dimension door 3/day—quickened dimension door, mislead (DC 19) 1/day—interplanetary teleport Statistics Str 24, Dex 30, Con 21, Int 9, Wis 21, Cha 16 Base Atk +18; CMB +29 (+33 grapple); CMD 53 Feats Agile Maneuvers, Blind-fight, Combat Casting, Combat Reflexes, Defensive Combat Training, Dimensional Agility, Dodge, Improved Critical (armblade), Lightning Reflexes, Mobility, Power Attack, Quicken SLA (dimension door), Spring Attack Skills Acrobatics +28 (+40 when jumping), Intimidate +21, Perception +23, Stealth +24, Survival +23 Languages Aklo, telepathy 100 ft. Ecology Environment any land or underground Organization solitary Treasure incidental Special Abilities Abduct (Ex/Su) A warpwraith can move at full speed with a grappled creature, as long as the creature is at least one size category smaller than it. It can take unwilling creatures along with it when it uses dimension door—a creature can attempt a DC 25 Will save to avoid teleporting if it does not wish to. The save DC is Charisma based. Armblades (Ex) The armblades of a warpwraith are treated as primary natural weapons that deal x4 damage on a successful critical hit. Isolate (Su) A warpwraith gets its sneak attack to damage against an enemy with no allies within 60 feet, even if the creature is not flat-footed or flanked. Lighter Than Air (Ex) A warpwraith moves by floating, using its three tentacle tails to steer. Although it cannot properly fly, it ignores all difficult terrain and can move across water or other liquid surfaces without penalty. If it does find itself above the ground, it descends at a rate of 60 feet per round and takes no damage, as a feather fall spell. Supernova Aura (Su) Once per day as a standard action, a warpwraith may shed bright light in a 60 foot radius and gain the benefits of a haste spell for 1 minute. All creatures in the area must succeed a DC 25 Will save or be slowed, as per the spell, for as long as they remain within the aura and for 1d4 rounds thereafter. A creature that succeeds this save is immune to the supernova aura of that warpwraith for the next 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma based. Warp Blast (Su) As a full round action, a warpwraith can move up to twice its speed in any direction, including into the air. This movement does not provoke attacks of opportunity. When it arrives at its chosen location, a blast of energy goes off. All creatures in a 30 foot radius take 8d8 points of force damage and are knocked prone. A DC 25 Fortitude save halves the damage and negates the prone effect. This is a teleportation effect. A warpwraith can use this ability once every 1d4 rounds. The save DC is Charisma based.

#wraith #warpwraith #evolve #evolve game #commissions #pathfinder 1e

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yourfavoritebookclub · 7 months

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WINGLEADER: A Xaden Riorson POV Fanfiction

CHAPTER 13

Liam and I pull our gazes away from the sky, and I scan the crowd for Violet.

She’s standing in the middle of the field with a broad grin on her face. A moment later she disappears behind a wall of people as Rhiannon and Ridoc clamber over to her, enveloping her in tight hugs filled with bright, joyful celebration.

Despite the absolute shit show that was today, my lips twitch up into a fraction of a smile at the scene playing out before me.

Violet did something incredible today and she deserves to be celebrated and cared for.

Even if her existence is the cause of my ever growing state of anger and panic.

Liam claps me on the shoulder and lets out an exasperated chuckle, “This is going to be very interesting, I take it. I’ll see you soon, brother.” I mumble a goodbye and then he’s walking away, hands in his pockets and head held high.

Just as Violet deserves that joy, so does my brother, with his quiet confidence and caring heart. I smile at his back.

He’s turning into a leader.

The kind that people will go to war for.

A leader worthy of the title.

One day we’ll lead together.

I turn my attention back to Violet just as Dain marches toward the group, worry lining his face.

He reaches for Violet’s shoulders and I watch as he crushes her against his chest.

Her body goes rigid at his touch for just a moment before she melts into his arms.

She twines her arms around him and they hold each other in silence, wrapped up in a world where no one else exists. There’s relief in her every breath; an undeniable sense of safety in his presence.

Something bitter coats my tongue. Something acidic, and burning, and nauseating is rising within me at the sight of them standing in their false security. Pretending that he can offer her any kind of protection.

He pulls away to observe the meager remainder of his squad. Four out of nine is better than none, but I wonder if there would be more if he’d spent the last few months training them for survival instead of attempting to smuggle Violet to the Scribe’s Quadrant against her will. Dain grabs Violet’s hand and she turns, her gaze sweeping across the field, assessing something.

As if I’d called out her name, Violet’s eyes land on mine. A shudder runs through me at the weight in her gaze, the strength in those eyes that wasn’t there a few months ago.

There’s a small sense of satisfaction at the way her eyes seem to always find mine, like she knows when I’m around, like she can feel me the way I can her.

With a tug, Dain pulls her gaze away from me and ushers her to the edge of the field, in the shadows beyond the glow of the mage lights.

That quickly, Dain has put them both in danger. A danger he should be anticipating. He’s getting sloppy. His desperate desire to keep Violet safe is causing problems. He’s fumbling, growing weak.

I slip through the crowd, everyone too wrapped up in their own conversation to notice my movements. I step into a pocket of shadow at the edge of the crowd and reach behind me with both hands, grasping the open air. In one fluid movement, I pull my arms out to the sides and back in front of me, encasing myself in shadow.

I make my way over to where Dain stands with Violet, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly.

With a flick of my fingers, tendrils of shadow glide past me to curl in the spaces where they stand.

My ears to listen.

“–Jack ran away, and then it was just Tynan and I, and he…Dain, he was going to kill me. My body was failing, and there was nothing I could do,” Violet says, her voice ragged.

Rage slams into me and as the events of the day come rushing forward. As I remember her fear and pain, and her Gods damned bravery.

“Right before Tairn landed behind me, I saw Xaden move. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him take a step forward, like he was going to help,” Violet whispers, disbelief in her voice.

That makes two of us.

“Xaden was there,” Dain breathes, his tone cold. She nods, “Yes. But he left after Tairn showed up.”

My footsteps are silent as I reach the pair, standing off to the side, still cloaked in shadow.

“Xaden was there when you defended Andarna, and then Tairn just…showed up?” He asks dimly. I can hear his rusty gears turning from here.

“Yes. That's what I just said.” She narrows her eyes at him in question.

“Don’t you see what happened? What Xaden’s done?” Dain’s voice has an edge of panic. His hands tightens over Violet’s thin shoulders, and I feel that ever-present rage flair in response.

“Please, do tell me what it is you think I’ve done.” Boredom laces my words, and I step out of a pocket in the shadows, meeting their surprised stares.

Dain recovers quickly, removing his hands from Violet and putting himself between us. “You manipulated Threshing.”

Violet’s eyes go wide with shock. “Dain, that’s..”

Impossible? Unrealistic? Completely and utterly idiotic?

Yes, Violet, I agree.

Not only am I now completely tied to Violet, but I’m also required to interact with her asinine little bodyguard.

“Is that an official accusation?”

“Did you step in?” Dain demands.

“Did I what?” I ask, my brow shooting up in disbelief. “Did I see her outnumbered and already wounded?” I can feel that rage simmering underneath my skin rising closer and closer to the surfacec.

Fuck Dain, fuck those pricks in the clearing, and fuck this whole godsdamn day. “Did I think her bravery was as admirable as it was fucking reckless?”

My eyes land on Violet’s, and she doesn’t blanch from the anger that’s leaching out of my body, stealing the air from around us.

“And I would do it again.” She lifts her chin, eyes full of defiance.

Of course she would. This mix of anger and fear and care and irritation all directed at the woman before me has my rage reaching a boiling point.

“Well-the-fuck-aware,” I roar at her. Our eyes are still locked on each other, and I can feel the shock that moves through both of us at my outburst. Something crackles in the space between us, something electric and fierce in its nature.

I pull my gaze away from hers before I can get lost in it.

“Did I see her fight off three bigger cadets?” I glare at Dain. “Because the answer to all of those is yes. But you’re asking the wrong question, Aetos. What you should be asking is if Sgaeyl saw it, too.”

Dain’s throat bobs and he breaks his stare. Good. It’s exhausting being the smartest person in the room at all times, but this is particularly exhausting because Dain is clearly living in a state of utter delusion and has been since Violet got here.

“His mate told him,” Violet whispers next to me.

I turn to her, Dain’s existence disappearing as we look at each other. “She’s never been a fan of bullies. But don’t mistake it as an act of kindness toward you. She’s fond of the little dragon.” I pause, grimacing. “Unfortunately, Tairn chose you all on his own.”

“Fuck,” Dain says under his breath.

“My thoughts exactly.” I shake my head in irritation. “Sorrengail is the last person on the Continent I’d ever want to be chained to me. I didn’t do this.”

It’s not a lie. Being chained to her means all the work I’ve done to erase her from my thoughts is melting. As if she was even gone in the first place. It was getting better at the very least.

She makes things complicated where Brennan is concerned. She poses a risk to Athebyne and, therefore, my people, no matter what my suspicions are about where her allegiance lies. I don’t even want to touch the physical aspect of all of this. The heat that flows between us, even in anger and irritation. The way my stomach drops when her eyes are on me.

From the corner of my eye, I can see the way Violet has stiffened, and the subtle flash of hurt that crosses her expression gives me pause. Guilt snakes its way into my chest.

And confusion. I am so utterly confused.

I refocus on the conversation before me, taking a step toward Dain so that he has to crane his neck a bit to look me in the eye. “And even if I had, would you really level that accusation knowing it would have been what saved the woman you call your best friend?” The woman I think he might love. Or as close as he can come to it.

Violet is still ramrod straight, stuck in the middle of a power struggle between Aetos and I.

“There are…rules.”

“And out of curiosity, would you have, let’s say, bent those rules to save your precious little Violet in that field?” I study his face, looking for the answer, knowing it anyway. Yet, I’m still hoping for Violet’s sake that his answer will be different.

A muscle spasms in Dain’s jaw as he stands in front of me, dead silent.

“That’s unfair to ask him,” Violet scolds as she moves to stand at Dain’s side. A tentative line in the sand.

But I want to hear him say it. I want to hear the words land for what they are. His hideous truth. “I'm ordering you to answer, squad leader.”

The beat of immense wings begins sounding in the distance.

His throat bobs and he shuts his eyes, a mockery of shame. “No. I wouldn’t have.”

I scoff, utterly disgusted at the disrespect and the disloyalty that he displays again and again.

Dain turns to Violet, “It would have killed me to watch something happen to you, Vi, but the rules–”

“It’s all right,” she responds a little too slowly, cutting him off.

It’s not alright, not at all. “The dragons are returning; get back to formation, squad leader.” I order, nodding my head to the line of higher-ups reforming at the edge of the dais.

Violet doesn’t take her eyes off of Dain as he walks away, and without a backward glance, the prick disappears into the crowd.

The second he’s out of sight, she whirls on me, “Why would you do that to him?” She pauses and shakes her head. “Forget it,” she mutters, face and body dipping in utter defeat.

She turns on her heel and tries to walk away from me, rage and something else–hurt? – echoing in every footfall.

In two strides, I’m by her side, walking in unison. “Because you put too much faith in him, and knowing who to trust is the only thing that will keep you alive – keep us alive – not only in the quadrant but after graduation.”

The crowd is moving quickly, making room for dragons as they land, rushing toward their own. “There is no us,” she bites back.

A rider comes barreling toward us, and I haul her by her elbow out of his path. Our bodies are touching, and I realize we haven’t been this close since that night in the courtyard. I murmur in her ear, “Oh, I think you’ll find that’s no longer the case. Tairn’s bonds are so powerful, both to mate and rider, because he’s so powerful. Losing his last rider nearly killed him, which, in turn, nearly killed Sgaeyl. Mated pairs’ lives are–”

“Interdependent, I know that.”

“Each time a dragon chooses a rider, that bond is stronger than the last, which means that if you die, Violence, it sets off a chain of events that potentially ends with me dying, too.”

I’m raging again. Everything is compounding on each other: Violet’s attack, the fear that came with it, fighting every urge and instinct and desire for a woman who is not forever tied to me, Dain’s lack of care. It’s becoming too much.

“And now that Tairn is in play, the other cadets know he’s willing to bond.” Malek help me, this is going to be an absolute headache.

I blow out a sigh and turn away from Violet, needing a moment to compose myself before her eyes that see too much.

A sigh escapes my lips and I turn from Violet, needing a moment to compose myself, to look away from her eyes that see too much.

“That’s why Tairn told me to stay with you,” she whispers. “Because of the unbonded.”

We both glance to the outer rim of the field where the forty-one unbonded riders stand, all eyes trained on us.

Including Oren Seifret, whose bruised face is contorted in a sneer of rage.

“The unbonded are going to try to kill you in hopes they’ll get Tairn to bond them.”

Garrick appears between a pocket of riders and strides towards me, his face grim.

I shake my head, and he looks from me to Violet, realizing who stands beside me, and walks in the other direction across the field.

“Tairn is one of the strongest dragons on the Continent, and the vast power he channels is about to be yours. In the next few months, the unbonded will try to kill a newly paired rider while the bond is weak, while they still have a chance of that dragon changing its mind and picking them so they’re not set back a full year. And for Tairn? They’ll do just about anything.”

I can’t contain the dramatic sigh that comes out of me. I’m exhausted. I spend more days than not tired. I’m so tired, and there is no reprieve, no break from the path in front of me.

“And Tairn thinks you’ll play bodyguard.” Violet snorts in false amusement. “Little does he know just how much you dislike me.”

“He knows exactly how much I value my own life,” I snap, turning to face her. My eyes catch on the silver strands of hair that have come undone, and I can’t help the way my gaze travels down her body, my simmering anger turning into a heat of another kind.

She’s eerily unperturbed, if not flat out dismissive of the threat on her life. “You’re freakishly calm for someone who just heard she’s about to be hunted.”

Violet shrugs, unfazed. “It’s a typical Wednesday for me, and honestly, being hunted by forty-one people is a lot less intimidating than constantly watching dark corners for you.”

There’s a part of me that, through the anger, wants to strip her bare before me.

I want to worship Violet’s body in the dark. To use my mouth to please her, run my tongue along every curve, and caress her with every shadow I have within me. I want to be the one to make her moan, to make her cum.

“Walk away before you do something regrettable, Dark One.” Sgaeyl’s voice shatters the tumble of thoughts rolling through my head.

As if compelled, I turn away from Violet and walk towards Sgaeyl without another word.

It takes every ounce of willpower to put one foot in front of the other until I’ve made it to my dragon’s side.

Tucking myself into the crook of Sgaey’ls wing, I run my fingers through my hair, and pull in several ragged breaths as I struggle to regain control of my mind and body.

A hush falls over the crowd as General Melgren moves toward the front of the dais. Codagh, his brute of a dragon, is standing close by, monitoring the crowd with black beady eyes.

“Codagh has relayed that the dragons have spoken regarding the Sorrengail girl. While tradition has shown us that there is one rider for every dragon, there has never been a case of two dragons selecting the same rider, and therefore there is no dragon law against it,” he declares. “While we riders may not feel as though this is… equitable, dragons make their own laws.” His voice drips with disdain. “Both Tairn and…” He looks over his shoulder, and his aide rushes forward to whisper in his ear. “Andarna have chosen Violet Sorrengail, and so their choice stands.”

The crowd murmurs softly until General Sorrengail steps forward for the closing commencement. “First-years,” she pauses, scanning the field full of new riders and their bonded dragons, “you have made it past the Gauntlet, and now stand here ready to begin training as Navarre’s most elite fighters. Protectors of the Continent.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I swing my gaze over to Violet. She’s staring at me intently, questions and curiosities running through her eyes. I study her for a heartbeat and then raise my pointer finger. Lest she forget what she now is in this Quadrant. Not a warrior, not a protector.

Right now she is target number one.

“Welcome to a family that knows no boundaries, no limits, and no end. Riders, step forward.” It’s silent on the field as the first-years take their five steps toward their new positions. I spot Liam in the crowd and a smile blooms on my face at the sight of his joyful, triumphant face.

“Dragons, it is our honor as always,” General Sorrengail finishes with a small bow. “Now we celebrate!”

Moments pass, and there’s a collective noise that spreads across the flight field as rider after rider is branded by their dragon.

My own tattoo spreads across the whole expanse of my scarred back. I know Sgaeyl did it on purpose, to hide as many of the scars as she could behind the great blue dragon twining its way up my back. Fucking softie.

Garrick turns to me, concern flickering in his eyes.

I hold up a hand, “I’m not talking about this right now. Everything’s fine. I’ll brief everyone later on what’s to happen next with Sorrengail.”

I cross my arms and my gaze returns to Violet. My breath catches and my whole body stiffens at the sight of Dain standing behind her, his steady hands slowly unlacing her corset to peer at her relic.

Dain steps to the side and Sgaeyl gives me a glimpse of what Tairn, and Dain, are now seeing.

A silhouette of a black dragon stretches across the uppermost part of her back, the wingtips reaching her shoulders. Smack in the middle is the silhouette of a shimmering golden dragon, its wings outstretched as if in flight; a mirror to the black dragon it is encased by. Protected by.

It takes my breath away. The picture of the woman in front of me, her two dragons by her side.

Two.

The one she protected and the one who protected her.

A fitting match.

Dain laces up her corset and I have to bite down as wave after wave of jealousy ripples through me at the touch of his skin against hers.

He cups both sides of her face, and I wonder what he’s viewing in that touch, if he’d be vile enough to root through her memories without her consent.

They murmur quietly to each other, and I keep the shadows tethered to me. I don’t think I want to know what he’s whispering to her right now

Nausea slams into me as he brushes his thumb over her cheek, eyes fixed on hers. And something crumples in my chest as he leans down and kisses Violet right there in the middle of the damn flight field.

#fanfiction #fourth wing #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #xadenviolet #violet and xaden #fourth wing fanfic #tairn and sgaeyl #sgaeyl #liam mairi #rhiannon matthias #andarnanurran #andarna #violence sorrengail #tairneanach #dain aetos #tairn

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