#(that sound.. that familiar sound… what ever could it be-)

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Urgent Call

"I need your phone."

Tim looks up from his laptop. The boy in front of him looks like he's been dragged to Hell a week ago and just made it back: smudges of soot on his face, his not-so-white t-shirt smelling of smoke, and a nasty looking burn on his hand that he somehow doesn't even pay attention to. Tim thinks back to his mental list of 'Rogues currently on the loose', but it's only Ivy and Harley (who don't even count anymore), and Penguin, who is not known for setting things on fire.

"I can call 911 for you, if you want?" He offers, because this is still Gotham. Despite the fact that a slightly scorched guy casually walking into a coffee shop is not something out of the ordinary here, he's not giving his phone to strangers.

The guy grimaces and starts aggressively rummaging through his pockets.

"No, thanks, ACAB and all that, and they won't do shit here anyway," he says, and then pulls a handful of tangled golden jewelry — rings, chains, necklaces with various gems in them — from his pocket and places it on the table in front of Tim. "I need your phone," he repeats.

Tim stares. First, at the gold — these things look antique, and his parents were archeologists, he knows what he's talking about — then, back at the guy. He looks... ordinary, sans the dirt and smell.

But the burn on his hand looks significantly more healed than it did just a minute ago.

Thankfully, Tim has already had his cup of morning coffee. Which means he is thinking very rationally when he does get his phone out of his pocket and hands it to the guy, just to see what he does next.

"Thanks," the guy grins at him, plucking the phone out of Tim's hand and unlocking it. Tim's eyebrows shoot up — there's a password there! — but the stranger is already dialing in a number and pressing the phone to his ear.

It takes less than a second before someone evidently picks up, and the guy starts talking.

"I have less than three minutes before the phone dies, so listen very carefully. Etrigan is fine, Jason is not, Klarion is still being a bitch. Dora won't help anymore, so you're on your own until Sam makes it there with the staff. I'm in Gotham because, apparently, mazes and I don't mix well together, so if you could summon me back, that'd be cool," he says, a look of mild annoyance on his face.

Tim is back to staring at him. He recognizes some of the names, and, well, one could have been an oddity, two a coincidence, but three is a pattern.

"The fuck you mean you can't, I gave you the incantation two months ago!" The guy raises his voice, his foot tapping on the floor in frustration. "Do you think I just go around giving my summons to people for shits and giggles? Like, yeah, have a spell that unleashes a cosmic being of immeasurable power, use it as a bookmark!"

This interaction, despite Tim only hearing one side of it, gets more and more alarming with every word.

But then, the boy suddenly straightens up and stills, his eyes flashing bright, unpleasantly familiar green.

"You what?" He asks, his voice slipping from just angry to quietly enraged hiss, "Sold it to whom?!" But, before he gets an answer, Tim's phone makes a thin, tiny buzzing sound, and the guy takes it off his ear, looking at the screen.

"No, no-no-no," he mutters, shaking it like that would make it work. To no avail, though: the phone screen flashes a few times and goes black. The guy curses. At least Tim thinks it's a curse because he doesn't understand a word, but the stranger's face and intonation are telling.

"Useless fucking moron of a human, I swear I'm going to drown you in cow shit once this is over," he switches to English, dropping the phone on the table right by the small pile of gold, "I'll bargain your pathetic soul from everyone you've ever dealt with and give it to the Observants, and maybe, after a few millenia of endless Council paperwork, I'll have mercy and sell it back to Lucifer and watch him fry you on a skillet."

...Whoever the boy is, Tim absolutely refuses to ever piss him off, okay. That's an impressive threat to even make, not to mention being able to go through with it.

"Do you need help?" He asks cautiously. If he is getting his context clues right, this is something that involves JLD, and maybe John Constantine specifically since Tim doesn't know any other man who is a magic user, sold his soul numerous times, would care about Etrigan's wellbeing, and could invoke this kind of murderous intent.

The boy looks back at him, his eyes back to normal blue.

"Huh? Oh, no, I doubt this can be helped," he waves Tim off and pinches the bridge of his nose, "Sorry about the phone, but, unless you have a way to yeet me across the globe so I end up in London in the next twenty minutes..." he shrugs, smiling in that helpless 'nothing you can do here' way.

Tim picks up his phone. It's dead, wholly and completely, won't even turn on when he tries.

He really, really shouldn't do that. This is definitely none of his business, and very much out of his capabilities and area of expertise.

But he thinks about the zeta-tube in the Cave.

"Actually," he says, and the guy's eyes snap back to him, a bewildered sort of surprise on his face.

[callmeimlost]

✷ HEART SHAPED BOX:: main!mark Grayson x Reader

WARNING:: naked pictures, pictures during sex, smoking (weed) kissing, riding, unprotected sex, teasing, friends to lovers, porn w plot, stoner! Mark !

SUMMARY:: after the discovery of an old camera under his bed, you and mark have a bit too much fun having your own little photoshoot !

MEIMEI YAPS:: so this is like an updated version of an old smut I had; I’m a slow writer and someone requested something that I really wanted it to be well written, so enjoy this while you wait🫶🏽

Music played as both you and Mark laid on his bed, the smell of weed taking over your senses as this was the third blunt in an hour you both had smoked. Your eyes were low and glossed over, you let the burning blunt sit between your lips and inhale the strong smoke.

You felt your lungs burning as you held in the smoke. Handing it off to the boy who was equally as high next to you seeing him stare at the ceiling as he hits the blunt as well. The blunt was slowly starting to burn out due to the constant chatter bouncing back between the two of you making you take one more weak drag before patting Mark’s leg furiously.

“Can you get me the lighter, feel like my blunt is on life support over here; Grayson” you whine looking down at the neatly wrapped blunt you had rolled along with 2 others that you and Mark had managed to already have smoked after hanging out only 4 hours. Regardless he groans and pats around sheets before he realized it’s not where he last put it. “Where’s the lighter?” He began rolling around lifting up blankets and pillows before huffing frustrated.

“Your lighters grow legs and walk?” Mark asks now as he’s perched up on the back of his legs looking around stupidly as you raise a brow at him unimpressed. “Did you ever think ‘hey, maybe I could’ve dropped it under the bed’?” And it make’s the onyx hair boy slouch slightly before he rolls to the edge of his bed letting his head slip over it bunching the blanket in his hands.

He finds the glitter covered lighter he’s so familliar with he slides the dusty box he doesn’t recognize to the side before grabbing the lighter, his brows scrunch together before he pulls out the box from underneath him then grabbing the lighter before he sits up on the bed along with his new mysterious box. You hold a hand out for him to give you your much needed tool sparking it again.

“What’s in the box?” You ask sluggishly as you take another hit your voice clouded in smoke that fogs the room; but Mark can only shrug “never seen it before, maybe my mom left it in here on accident” he shakes the box hearing how hard whatever was inside was hitting each other making him stop and shake the lid loose until it popped open.

Digging through the box the sound of rumbling could be heard over the music, feeling for the familiar pair of glasses and camera. He clutched them both in his grasp and pulled them from under the rest of the junk he found with a lazy grin.

Mark had the bright idea that came to his fried out mind "lay down I wanna take pictures of you" he says as his hand gently pushes down on your midriff, you lean back until you're in the position that he was once in before he was sitting on his knees as they dig into the mattress , moving his legs to straddle over your stomach.

Your shirt riding up your stomach caught the eye of Mark who had a small smile on his lips, his brain practically short circuits as his large hand pushes your shirt up over your chest revealing your pace bra with a bow sewn into the middle.

Your eyes widen in shock at the feeling of his cold hands on your warm skin "what are you doing?" You ask shyly, seeing the boy above you with hungry eyes "pose for the camera" he mumbled lifting the camera above you. You smile covering your eyes with your arm slightly embarrassed that your friend was taking a picture of you in your bra.

Waving it around you opens your eyes to look at the onyx haired boy who had still been towering above you. His eyes darken as he looked down on you with your sweet doe eyes looking back up at him like a deer in headlights and he loved every single second of it.

Dropping the camera on the mattress his hands pull your shirt over your head and toss it into the carpeted floor. "Mark" you say just above a whisper at how bold the boy had become. "Pose" he whispered back, picking up the camera, the tension in the air becoming thicker by the moment.

Pushing yourself on your forearms you look up at the lens your eyes drain from the bright flash, again the camera spits out the picture. Pulling it out this time Mark didn't look at the picture he put the camera down and took his own shirt off laying next to you with a smile on his face.

You felt your body flush as your shoulders rub against each other. Lifting the camera above both of your faces Mark looked over at you who had already been looking at him. Your eyes are red and glossy as your eyelashes cast a shadow on your cheeks.

Holding eye contact for what felt like forever his eyes flicker down to your lips then back into your eyes. He didn't move any further making you almost let a whine ripple through your throat at how needy you felt to have his lips on yours.

Moving in closer, your eyes leave his and fall to his plump lips, you feel the tip of his nose brush against yours, even the smallest touch makes your stomach churn with butterflies. Giving him one last look your eyes flutter closed as you close the little distance between you and the feeling of his soft lips on yours was all that surged through your mind.

Sucking in a breath through your nose your hand falls to the back of his neck pulling him in deeper making the kiss more needy and lust filled. Progressively speeding up your teeth clash against each other as the smell of his cologne takes over your senses.

Letting out a small groan Mark's hand makes way to the belt loop of your jeans, hooking two fingers inside and pulling your hips closer against his. Your bra covered chest pushes against his naked one while your hand finds his hair, entangling your fingers and shamelessly moaning into his mouth.

His tongue now licking a stripe on your bottom lip begging for access, parting your lips, his tongue immediately brushing against yours mixing your saliva. As you suck on his tongue the remnants of weed and candy on his taste buds didn't bother you a bit.

The flash of the camera goes off making you pull away with hesitation written all over your face, Mark pulling back to see the picture develop and show up with a frame of you and him swapping saliva and shoving your tongues down each other's throats.

You could see the tent in his jeans starting to grow "I'm gonna hang these up all over my room" he mumbled content how they came out . His words make your thighs push together at the thought of Mark having such intimate pictures of you and him being seen by your friends in his room.

But you aren't as slick as you hoped to be. Mark caught the way your knees and thighs pushed together at his words making the small boyish grin on his lips turn into a smirk. Looking back over at you both still high, Mark couldn't help but ask "you wanna keep going?" You could pounce on the boy at any moment seeing as his hair was now messy, his lips now swollen with your lipgloss smeared on them, and his labored breathing making his chest rise and fall more noticeably.

You nod your head looking him in his deep coffee brown eyes with adoration and lust "I want you to fuck me" you say loud enough for him but just above a whisper in the silent room. Your words make Mark twitch in his boxers. Letting out a groan his head falls back "you're gonna fucking kill me" he said as his cock aches within the confinements of his tight boxers and pants.

The way you looked at him was like you were begging for him to just fuck you dumb on his cock. So when he gripped your chin pushing your head back, you could feel his lips on your neck, aimlessly sucking hickeys on your neck leaving purple and red splotches on your supple skin.

You let out small moans at the feeling of his teeth brushing against your sensitive spot that makes you shiver and your hand entangle in his messy black locks. His thumb rubbing against your bottom lip, you open your mouth letting the harsh pad of his thumb press against your tongue.

Sucking on his thumb Mark groaned as the feeling of your warm mouth engulfing his finger, he couldn't help but imagine how good you would look with his cock on your tongue instead of his thumb. Kissing a trail down your neck to your chest.

Your body is covered in goosebumps at the feeling of his warm tongue licking at your cold skin. His hand finds itself behind your back unclipping your bra letting it slip off your shoulders; watching your breasts spill out of the fabric and padding. Discarding it his hands palm your chest as leans down to lick your sensitive nipples making you let out a small moan.

Licking a stripe on one of your nipples you roll your hips at the feeling. But as soon as he pulled away you whine, "sit on my lap" he says in a low tone. Catching a glimpse of the look on his face as the both of you shift until Mark's back presses against the headboard. Pulling his jeans down and tossing them on the floor he looks up expectantly waiting for you to pull yours off as well.

Understanding without saying a word you pull them off discarding them with his as well. Leaving you in your panties that were sticking to you with a small wet patch seeping through the thin fabric. Crawling into his lap you press your ass down on his bulge with no regard earning you a choked moan. You could feel as if your pussy practically stuck to the wet fabric of your panties while you grind your hips against him.

The small wet watch of precum becomes larger as your panties make friction soaking his underwear as well. The outline of his cock rubbing against your clit makes your head spin and you couldn't help but moan and grind harder against him. "You feel so good" you whimper hearing the sticky sounds of your slick thighs rubbing together, it was messy yet the both of you were too eager chasing some form of an orgasm to care what kind of mess you make.

Your hand moves around the mattress to find the camera as you look down at Mark whose head was thrown back while he lets out the deepest groans of pleasure. His hands guiding your hips against his at a faster pace makes you choke out louder moans.

"Fuck" he whispered harshly as you finally find the camera and holding the camera up you place your eye close to the view finder as you point the lens at a dazed Mark who was on cloud 9.

Pressing down on the shutter button the flash finally goes off making Mark open his eyes and look up at you, "you looked too good" you whisper placing one of your hands down on his lower abdomen as you feel Mark buck his hips into you faster.

The feeling of the fabric running against your pussy slightly burned but it felt too good to care. "Feels so good" he grumbled as the pressure began to build. The both of you chasing your orgasms push your panties to the side rubbing your bare pussy against the fabric of his boxers at a fast pace that makes you whine.

You gasp feeling yourself being sent over the edge, Mark begins to slow down but you only shake your head as you anticipate him reaching his peak. "Please keep going, I want you to cum" you moan as your nails drag against his skin leaving behind a trail of red marks.

Your needy words make his eyes roll back as he pushes your hips down, he ruts into you as he moans shamelessly. Mark had no idea if it was just the weed or if your pussy had fucking magic but your sweet moans and the sloppy sounds send him into a spiral of pleasure. His cum seeps through his boxers as his hips twitch in a bit of overstimulation he didn't care, his hips slow down and then stop completely as he feels himself slowly coming back down to earth.

He lets out a large huff as a shy smile finds its way on his face, he can't believe he just came in his boxers after literally letting you dry hump him like a needy puppy. His hands grip at the flesh of your ass he lets out a small chuckle with a smirk on his lips.

"You're driving me crazy- fuck" he groaned as he continues to catch his breath. You giggle at him still feeling your mind trying to process. Who would've thought getting high off of 3 blunts and having sex would feel this good.

Pushing you off his thighs Mark gently pushes you down into the sheets pulling your panties down and sliding them off your ankle he discards them. The view of your pussy practically shining in all its wet glory. Mark was desperate. To touch, taste and fill you up in so many ways he couldn't even think straight.

Nobody had ever made you feel so good just by barely touching. Until Mark had decided to drag his face down your stomach, littering small kisses on your sweet supple skin until he stopped at the place you needed him most. Kissing down your inner thigh sucking hickeys into your skin you shiver at the feeling of his warm tongue giving your puffy lips a small lick. Whispering a curse under his breath he licks again this time he is much more confident.

he holds your thighs when the pleasure starts seizing your limbs, as the feeling of his warm tongue licking from your hole to your clit and sucking needly. You moan as your hand reaches for the back of his head pushing him against your pussy.

Groaning against you sent vibrations all over as you let out a small giggle that broke into a moan feeling the harsh pad of his thumb rub against your clit while his tongue worked to push inside you.

The sounds you make are music to his ears. He presses his nose on your clit, inhaling your scent deeply before his tongue dives inside your waiting pussy. You pull onto his hair, writhing against his face. "Feels so good Mark" you moan as you roll your hips against his face.

You could feel his lips curve against your pussy sending shivers down your spine. The wet muscle repetitively enters you, eager to gather your nectar. It feels like heaven, stomach tightening with each second.

Pulling away his thumb Mark flattens his tongue against you licking from your entrance to your clit again, kissing it he sucks harshly on the bud with no regard as you moan his name mindlessly. "Oh fuck" you manage to whimper out you tug at his hair as he groaned, your eyes shut as you "please use your fingers" you moan neediness dripping from your tone.

His hand moving from your plush thigh, his thumb rubbing harsh circles on your clit he pulled away licking your clit once more his middle and ring fingers make way to your entrance. Pushing in slowly you groan at the penetration, easing your tight walls around his thick fingers as he pushes them deeper you feel the cool metal on his rings all the way at the knuckles of his fingers as it grounds you from the euphoric feeling.

Pulling his head he looks up at you with your juices on his swollen lips and on his chin his fingers begin to move, opening your eyes. You look down at him feeling his gaze as he watches you react gasping as the feeling you grind down against his fingers "you like that? Hm?" He says as he licks your essence off of his lips.

His hair now disheveled as his cheeks were blooming with a soft blush, you nod eagerly "yeah? You want me to go faster for you?" He coos feeling you clench around him at the sound of his lewd words, you clench harder "yes please" you say losing your mind on his fingers as you absentmindedly grind down on them.

Without a single falter in his movements his fingers began to rub against the gummy part of your walls at a faster rate as the sound of your sopping pussy getting pounded by his fingers made you squeal. "Feels so good Mark" you cry out hoping to god he wouldn't stop the rewarding pace he had set. Your hips involuntarily buck against his fingers as his assault of pleasure on your pussy consumed you whole.

"I'm close" you whine as the sloshing sound and the sound of you and Mark's mixed heavy breathing had been the only thing you could hear "yeah, you gonna cum all over my fingers?" He asks teasingly as his tongue licks a long stripe against your clit that had the feeling in the pit of your stomach churning in anticipation for your orgasm.

"Yes, wanna cum just for you" you whine under your breath as he pushes and pulls his fingers in and out of you faster watching you come closer and closer to the edge waiting for him to catch you. He sucks and licks your clit harshly making you let out a loud moan as you cum all over his fingers.

"So good" he hummed as he fucks you through your high slowing down as he kisses your clit that's now sensitive making you writhed under him. "Doing so good for me" he chuckles breathily as he pulls away from you kissing your thighs as if he was rewarding you.

You let out a small giggle that turned into a choked moan when his long fingers pulled out of you. With no hesitation he sucked on his fingers licking off any essence and cum you had left on his digits.

Pulling them away he leans in to kiss you letting his tongue brush over yours to taste yourself. The smell of weed and whatever sweet smelling candle he stole from Debbie had sent you into a spiral of neediness. "Want' you to fuck me so bad" you mumble against his lips.

"I got you don't worry" he says reassuringly, pulling off his cum stained boxers he let out a sigh of relief, his hard cock twitching and blushing a soft red at his tip he couldn't help but wrap his hand around his length and jerk himself off at the beautiful sight that was you naked in his bed looking up at his with round red eyes.

“Fuck, I wanna see you on top of me” he hissed as the sticky sound of his hand wrapped around his cock makes your thigh twitch. “Ride you?” You ask lazily and he hums as he watches you grin letting Mark lay against the pillows in the middle of the bed.

He moves your legs open wider as he takes his rightful place in between them once again. Watching the tip of his cock rub up and down your slit as your hips twitch in sensitivity. His cock glistening from a mixture of precum and your slick he presses the head of his cock at your entrance slowly pushing inside you enjoying the warm and tight feeling inside you.

His hands move to either side of your legs as he looks down on you with complete adoration in his eyes. Pushing deeper inside you he lets out a moan "fuck you feel so good" he says as he catches his bottom lip in between his teeth.

"You're so big" you slur seeing how good he filled you up to the brim your arms wrap around his neck your foreheads pressed together as you watch his begin to slowly move. Mark couldn't get enough of the sight as his cock disappeared inside your pussy.

His cock buried deep inside you that you moan and dig crescent shaped dents into his skin. set a pace for bouncing in his lap. The feeling of your velvety walls tightening around making him choke back a moan. "Oh- god" you whisper shakily. His hands holding onto your hips guiding a pace, the soft sound of skin slapping with your small moans could be heard throughout the room.

You looked so good with your chest bouncing and your hair all messy. You looked good with a small sheen of sweat on your skin and your makeup smeared, he was addicted to the sight. Mark; eager to let his load off inside you, holds your thighs stopping you from bouncing any longer and begins to thrust his hips into you. The feeling of his tip pushing at your cervix.

His hips piston into you as your thighs and ass jiggle at the repetitive thrusts "right there!" You moan as you feel him pounding in a certain part of your walls. You tighten around him as your essence forms a white ring around the base of his dick.

"Just like that! I just want you to come inside me" you babble mindlessly as his stomach churns at the words spewing out. "Yeah? Want me to fill you up with my cum?" he groans as the knot in your stomach begins to tighten and Mark's death grip on the fat of your thighs almost sends you over the edge if it wasn't for how hard he was pounding you.

You nod eagerly as you begin to alternate between grinding and bouncing, your nails drag against his back leaving behind a red and irritated trail- yet he didn't mind it as it pushed him closer to his orgasm.

Leaning down to him your moans against each other's lips push you closer and closer. Your back is arching as you move faster wanting to cum so badly "keep going. Don't stop" he groaned, letting his head fall back.

His hair messily pushed against his forehead as it was covered in sweat and his eyes rolled back "god I'm gonna cum" he said breathily "I want you to look at me when you cum okay?" Says opening his eyes looking up at you.

You nod as you let your moans fall past your lips, the sensation building more and more until it became to overwhelming you gasp "I'm gonna cum" you whine as your hips fall more hastily on him, the strings of your juices latching onto your thighs. His moans mixed with yours as he drowned in the feeling of your walls spasming around him pushing him completely over the edge.

"Fuck" he groaned as warm spurts of cum filled you, grinding down and letting the cum spill past your walls and down the base of his cock you hum as your content with your orgasm. And just as fast as all of this began- it ended with you pulling off of Mark and laying down beside him, your chests both slowly riding and falling, you turn your head over to him with low red eyes, he meets your gaze "want me to re-light the blunt?" You ask with a smirk.

He nods, leaning over to kiss your lips he smiles against your lips as his hand reaches over to the bed side table that holds the ashtray his fingers pluck the blunt from out of the ash tray as well as grabbing the lighter he hands bedazzled lighter you gifted him in his invincible colors; he presses the blunt between his lips as you spark the flame watching him glow under the warmth of the fire.

Watching as the thick clouds of smoke begin to cloud the room filled with the smell of weed and sex wafting over your senses. “One more round after this?” He asks as he blows out another puff out handing the blunt to you which makes you laugh and nod as you take a hit yourself perching your naked chest against his.

Mark looks down at the sheets and reaches for the boxy hunk of plastic he leans away from you before holding the camera up to his face “so pretty” he coo’s teasingly as the camera shutters you snatch it from his hands as the camera spits up the picture you toss it to the end of the bed before tugging his body back into yours he rolls onto you slightly pecking your lips twice before plucking the blunt from your grasp with a boyish smile.

[i-really-like-phrogs]

This is more than a war on kids shows, this is more than a war on whether or not we get to show gay people or black children on TV.

I don’t usually get political on here, but let me give you a history lesson:

The Holocaust did not start with the death camps and blitzkrieg as we know it now.

The Holocaust started with bans and burnings. Music, Books, anything created by Jewish people were thrown into fires and destroyed.

This was because reading their stories and the things they made may cause sympathy and educate the kids about what these individuals were experiencing. And worse, it might give the minorities the power to speak out. So what did they do? Burn it, ban it. It silenced the voices they didn’t want heard, and made sure it couldn’t fall on ears that could help.

Second, Hitler did not walk in and say “what’s up, fuckers, I’m in charge now”. He was VOTED IN. Funny enough, Germany was experiencing times of economic hardship, particularly due to inflation. There is an image of children from that era using stacks of money to play with instead of toys, because it was easier to let them afford to give them real toys.

So what did Hitler promise? He promised the German people that he’d fix the economic hardship, and restore the country to it’s “former glory”, and appealing to nationalists.

Sound familiar? Stay with me.

The Holocaust did not start with the ovens and death camps. Prisoners were deported to ghettos, before being transported into camps with terrible conditions.

Mass deportations? Got it.

Then, and ONLY then, when no one gave a shit, when the public turned their eye, when any education or speaking out was silenced, then the powers that be had the freedom to commit the terror and genocide that ended the lives of millions of prisoners.

This is not a fight of Right Versus Left. This is not a fight to see gay people on TV. This isn’t even a fight to keep a TV channel.

He is cutting funding to our museums, our educational institutions, and our public media, anything that does not spout what he wants. By cutting that funding, he limits their power of reach, public access to knowledge, and is tampering with what we do and do not get to see.

Regardless of your political standing— it doesn’t take three eyes to see that this is fucking tyranny. If you don’t pay attention to our history or turn the other way when you see it happening, you are part of why it repeats itself.

if you think that fascism and totalitarianism can’t come back, you better think again.

If you don’t want to be the villain in our history books, Do. Your. Part. ‘Educate yourself, do your own research, educate others— Donate if you can, create posts, spread awareness, organize protests— ANYTHING is better than nothing.

Even if all you can do is pick up a history book, do it.

If you want to know more about what I’m talking about, here are FREE resources of Nazi history and Holocaust survivor tales documenting most of the things I mentioned. Read for yourself, fact check me if you want, I’ll be grateful for it. Please, please, know the signs and help us stop it from ever happening again.

Spread the word.

[made-of-stars03]

You Are A Hero

Summary: Bucky comes home to you after the events of Thunderbolts* in need of some comfort.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (post Thunderbolts*) X reader. No use of y/n. She/her pronouns.

Warnings/tags: just fluff and kissing, slight discussion of Bucky’s past trauma.

Note: This is my first fic ever, I’m terrified to post it. So I apologize in advance for any horrible grammar, typos, or just bad writing.

You were in the kitchen cleaning up after making dinner when you heard a motorcycle pull into the driveway. That was one of your favorite sounds because it meant Bucky was home and safe. The front door was opening as you walked into the entryway. There he stood in his black T-shirt and tactical gear. You smiled at him as you wiped your hand on a dish towel. Silently wondering where his helmet and jacket had ended up. Bucky didn’t pause or speak as he entered. He walked towards you with what can only be described as a man on a mission. He dropped his tactical belt with a swift motion and without a care as he reached for you.

“Welcome home soldi-”

was all you could get out before Bucky’s hands cupped your face and he kissed your lips. His normal tenderness was replaced with a desperation that took you by surprise. His lips moved feverishly against yours while his hands held your face steady. His tongue brushed against your lips begging for permission. With the dish towel quickly tossed to the side and forgotten, the familiar haze began to creep into your mind as your body caught up to Bucky’s intentions. Soon his hands were tilting your head upwards as his mouth hungrily descended down your neck, nipping and sucking, as he went.

“Bucky”

You softly moaned as he hit that sensitive spot underneath your ear.

“Say that again.”

Bucky softly demanded as he returned to your face. Not pausing in his mission to slowly devour you.

“Bucky”

You said, against his lips. Always more than happy to follow orders, as his lips and tongue continued to make all the butterflies in your stomach awaken and your blood heat to a familiar level. Bucky guided your arms around his neck.

“Jump baby.”

Bucky said as his hands slid down your body to your thighs. You jumped, and Bucky began to carry you towards the bedroom you shared. As he carried you, he rained kisses down the other side of your neck. Soon a feeling began to cut through the fog created by Bucky’s affection. Something wasn’t quite right; Bucky was very much a look in my eyes type of lover. It had always been longing gazes and eye contact with you two. He hasn’t looked me in the eye once, you thought .

“Bucky, baby, look at me.”

You said as he sucked on your neck and entered the bedroom. He didn’t stop but began to nuzzle under your chin, softly pressing kisses to the underside.

“Bucky. Look. At. Me.”

Your voice more stern as you tapped his back, knowing you were about to reach the bed.

“Stop.”

Bucky instantly froze at the word, his head still tucked under your chin. Holding you directly above the bed but unmoving.

“Please, just look at me.”

You tilted your head down to whisper in his ear as your hands moved into his hair. His hesitation made your heart stutter with anxiety. Knowing how he liked to hide and lock himself away when something was wrong rather than cause you to worry.

“James.”

You feel Bucky’s muscles relax at the name.

“Please.”

Bucky slowly lifts his head and looks at you. Your heart shatters as you see tears brimming in his eyes. The lines on his face that you love to trace are deeply etched in a way that lets you know something happened. As Bucky’s eyes linger on yours, he slowly lowers you, and your feet touch the floor. His head hanging down with hair falling forward, you cup his jawline, looking up at him.

“How bad?”

You ask simply.

“I just had to face some things I haven’t thought about in a while.”

Bucky says softly as his eyes drop to the floor. You didn’t need to speak; you knew he would open up when he was ready. So you wait and stroked his cheek with your thumb. Bucky slowly raises his eyes and looked at you with a tenderness that could melt you to your very core.

“I had to face …..my worst moments. The fall, Hydra, Steve.”

He pauses like it physically hurts to say the next thing.

“And, that night, with you.”

He shook his head. Slowly standing to full height, he placed his hands over yours and removed them from his face. You instantly knew the memory as you watched Bucky step out of your grasp and turn, beginning to pace.

“We’ve gone over this, baby. I’m fine; you weren’t yourself; the nightmare caused that reaction.”

“See, you say it, and I know you mean it, but. If I wouldn’t have realized. What I almost…”

Bucky ran his hands through his hair, pulling at the ends in frustration.

You step towards him and reach out, first taking his flesh hand and then his metal one.

“I know you, James Buchanan Barnes. You may think you hide little bits and pieces from me behind your walls, but nope, I see you.”

The resentment begins to melt from his frame, and a small smile plays at the corner of his lips.

“You would never intentionally hurt me, ever. Now hear me loud and clear when I say this.”

For dramatic effect, you squeeze both his hands and raise your eyebrows, putting on the serious face that Bucky often laughs at and calls adorable.

“You are a hero. A true, save-the-day, play-the-theme-song, girls-screaming-your-name-as-you-pass-by hero. As much as we hate Valentina, that’s one thing she got right. You are an Avenger, my love. I can’t wait to see all the good that you will continue to do. You were too hot to be a Senator anyway.”

You smile up at the man you love, reaching on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Bucky smiles and wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush up against him.

“Well, after that speech, how can a fella not feel special?”

Bucky chuckles as he nuzzles into your neck, making you laugh as he tickles you with his stubbly cheek. Raising his head, you see a familiar mischievous glint in his eye.

“Although there’s really only one girl I’d like to make scream my name.”

He lowers his gaze, and your body instantly ignites.

“Oh, really?”

You attempt to answer casually, knowing what’s about to happen.

“Mmmhhhmmm.”

Bucky responds as he lifts you and carries you to the bed, preparing to show you just how much you mean to him.

[universefcb]

can u do a hector fort x reader where he comes back from training and walks inside his house and sees his gf and his parents talking and hanging out and he stops in the doorway and just stays and watches with a smile

HOME, HECTOR FORT.

→ Summary: Arriving home, seeing his girlfriend laughing and talking to her parents.

→ Warning: Mention of Reader. Spanish phrases. Fluff. Romance.

→ Author's note: He's in the bandana era and he's the most beautiful thing in the world. 🫦

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

The clock was almost eight o'clock when Hector slowly closed the door. Training had been tough—as always—and all he wanted was a shower, food, and you. But before he could even take the first step, he stopped.

A familiar sound came from the room: his laughter.

But she wasn't alone. Her voice was accompanied by the laughter of his parents, mixed with light conversations, full of affection. Curious, he approached, his steps silent as if he was afraid of ruining that moment without knowing why.

“He came back from training the other day completely exhausted,” you said, gesturing with your hands, your eyes shining. “His legs were hurting, he had marks all over his arm... and yet he made me tea and stayed with me because he could see I was feeling unwell. I didn’t even need to say anything.”

His mother smiled, leaning against the pillows.

“That’s Hector. Always paying attention to the details.”

“It was always like that,” his father added. “When he was twelve and missed a pass, he would stay out late on the field alone, practicing until he got it right. But at home, he was always the most affectionate one. He was always the one to take care of.”

“He’s the best boyfriend in the world,” you said with a shy laugh, looking down. “Sometimes I think he doesn’t even know how good he is. Sometimes he thinks he needs to be perfect on the field… but for me, he already is.”

Hector stopped in the doorway, his backpack still slung over one shoulder, his hair wet with sweat. His heart tightened in his chest, as if the world had slowed down for a few seconds just for him to watch.

You were there. With his parents. Laughing, talking about him. About everything he was — not as a player, but as a person. And not because he asked, not because he was there, but because it was sincere. Natural. Because you loved him, truly.

A smile slowly formed on his lips, half crooked, half emotional. He rested his head on the side of the door and just stared. The warmth in his chest took over. The kind of warmth that doesn't come from a goal, a victory, or an entire stadium cheering. It was different.

It was love.

When you finally saw him standing there, your eyes widened in surprise.

“Hermoso!” you said, standing up quickly. (Love)

He dropped his backpack on the floor, his arms ready to receive you.

“I should train more often just to see that,” he said, laughing, his voice hoarse with exhaustion and emotion. “It was the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

You hugged him tightly, and his parents smiled at each other discreetly.

“Did you hear everything?”

“Everything. And... thank you. For loving me like this.”

He pulled you closer, as if he wanted to keep that moment in his memory forever. You smiled against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the faint smell of sweat and grass—that training smell that, for some reason, on Hector, always felt good. Familiar. He hugged you like he had come back from a war and was finally home.

“I was going to take a shower first,” he said, running his hand slowly down her back. “But I think I can stay like this a little longer.”

“You deserve this every day, you know?” you whispered, looking up at him. “To be reminded of how amazing you are.”

He just shook his head with that half smile, as if he was still trying to believe that this was real. Still hugging you, he turned his face towards his parents.

“You planned this, didn’t you? You called her here to say nice things about me. Do you want to make me cry?”

His mother laughed, his father raised his hands as if to say “innocent until proven guilty.”

“We just told the truth. And so did she. You needed to hear it.”

After a light dinner and a long shower, Hector appeared in the room with damp hair and a loose blouse. You were already lying down, reading on your cell phone, but your eyes met his as soon as he entered.

“Ready to rest?” you asked.

“Ready to sleep with a full heart,” he replied, throwing his phone on the side table and throwing himself on the bed next to her. “But first, can I say something?

You put your phone down and turned to face him, snuggled into the pillow.

"Of course."

He held her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers carefully, as if he was handling something valuable.

“Sometimes I demand so much of myself... in training, in games, in everything. I think I always need to prove that I deserve to be there. But you remind me that here, with you, I don't need to prove anything. I just need to... be.”

You felt your eyes fill up a little, that kind of silent emotion that only true love brings.

“Because you are already everything, Hector. And I will always remind you of that, even on the days when you forget.”

He closed his eyes, slowly pulling you until you were lying on his chest, listening to your heart beating calmly.

“Quédate conmigo. Sólo eso. Siempre.” (Stay with me. That's all. Always)

"Siempre." (Always)

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @nngkay @meganesanchez @htpssgavi @merinottt @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa @p4uul0vr @pedricando @barcapix @owala6789

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Irresistible Attraction - Anakin Skywalker X Female Reader

Title: Irresistible Attraction

Anakin Skywalker X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda (Mentioned)

Requested By: Anon

WC: 1,279

Warnings: Set during when Anakin's a Knight, teasing, banter, flirting, italics, Star Wars canon violence (brief), Jedi Reader, very mini angst, and fluff

The air was thick with heat and the static whine of nearby droids. Anakin Skywalker dangled from his restraints, arms burning, feet barely brushing the floor as a single bead of sweat traced a slow path down his temple. 

“This is your fault,” Obi-Wan said mildly beside him, his voice frustratingly calm for someone tied up and unarmed.

Anakin huffed, “How is this my fault?”

“You charged straight into the ambush.”

“You said split-up, I thought that meant-”

“I meant strategically, not dramatically.” Obi-Wan sighed tiredly, “Really, Anakin, must every mission end in a hostage situation?”

The younger Jedi twisted stubbornly against his binds, glancing around at the dozen or so droids posted around the room like statues, blasters ready.

Anakin wasn’t expecting this. It was supposed to be a simple mission, as Master Yoda had said. Wouldn’t even take more than a day or so to do, but then this happened. Of course, “simple” rarely meant what it was supposed to - not when Anakin Skywalker was involved.

He sighed through gritted teeth, flexing his wrists against the restraints. The metal bit into his soft skin. “You’re awfully calm for someone who just got captured.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head, unbothered, “Panicking rarely solved anything, Anakin. Besides… Patience is a Jedi’s ally.”

Anakin groaned, sagging against his restraints. “Yeah, yeah. Patience, serenity, all that Jedi wisdom.”

Obi-Wan offered a small, infuriating smile. “Exactly.”

Anakin frowned, turning his head to look at his Master as much as he could, his eyes narrowing suspiciously, “You know something I don’t, Master?”

That familiar, maddening smile tugged at Obi-Wan’s lips, “Let’s just say… I have faith.”

‘In what?’ Anakin was about to ask, until the metal door in front of them clanged open with a violent hiss, smoke curling from its edges. Sparks rained down like stars as the silhouette of a long figure stepped into the room. The droids immediately pivoted towards the figure, blasters raised. But the figure didn’t move. They stood there, mysterious, ominous, cloaked in robes of dark grey and black that almost seemed to absorb the light around them. The hood of their cloak was pulled low, hiding most of their face in shadow. Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan, eyes narrowed in confusion. Obi-Wan’s calm demeanor was as unwavering as ever, but there was something different in his expression. Was that… Anticipation? Before Anakin could even voice his thoughts, the figure ignited their lightsaber.

The blade hummed to life with an eerie, calming hiss of blue. The sound filled the room, and then, without warning, the figure moved. In a flash, they were a blur of speed, their cloak fluttering behind them as they dashed toward the first droid. The droid fired, but the blaster bolt never reached its target. With a swift flick of their wrist, they deflected the shot effortlessly, sending it spiraling back into the droid’s chest. Sparks erupted, and the droid collapsed with a mechanical screech.

Before the others could react, they were already moving - their lightsaber spinning in a tight, rapid circle in front of them, deflecting a volley of blaster bolts with ease. One hand shot out, and a blast of the Force slammed three droids into the wall, crushing them like tin cans. They leapt forward, flipping mid-air, landing in a crouch as their blade swept in a clean arc, slicing through metal. And within seconds, the floor was littered with the smoking remains of droids. Limbs scattered, circuits sparking, and metal still hissing from the fierce heat of their blade; Anakin watched, hanging from his restraints, in a state of awe.

With a calm exhale, you sheathed your lightsaber, before clipping it smoothly to your hip. You turned on your heel, facing the twoo Jedi still dangling from their restraints. Jutting your hip out, hands settling on your waist, you raised a brow beneath your hood. 

“Well,” You said dryly, “Don’t you two look tied up at the moment.”

Obi-Wan chuckled, the corners of his mouth lifting as he gestured towards the restraints with a tilt of his chin. “Mind giving us a hand?”

Without so much as lifting a finger, the cuffs snapped open with a metallic click, and both Jedi dropped to the floor, landing on their feet. Anakin watched you, immediately rubbing at his sore wrists. 

You stepped forward, your cloak swaying behind you, “Obi-Wan, still getting yourself into trouble, I see.”

Obi-Wan smiled warmly, clasping your shoulder, “For the record, it wasn’t my fault this time.”

You raised an eyebrow, scoffing, “That’s be a first.”

Then, you turned toward the younger Jedi, finally pulling down your hood, and revealing your face for the first time. Sharp eyes, calm confidence, and a faint smirk tugging at your lips.

“So,” You began, eyes giving him a once over before meeting his blue eyes, “You must be Obi-Wan’s used-to-be Padawan.”

He swallowed, posture straightening slightly, “Uh… Yeah. That’s me.”

Your smirk deepened. “You’re taller than I expected. And... I gotta say, you’re kind of cute. For a Jedi.” You paused, your eyes lingering on him with an amused glint. “Reckless too, I hear. You get that from Obi-Wan.”

He blinked, a slow grin forming upon his lips at your words, “You’ve heard of me?”

“Oh,” You said, tilting your head, “Everyone’s heard of you, Anakin Skywalker.” You teased, amusement in your gaze.

“Funny… I’ve never heard of you before.”

You chuckled, stepping closer, “That’s because I’m better at staying off the radar.” Then, with a quick nod, you introduced yourself, “Name’s Y/N. Jedi Shadow. Your ride out of here.”

Before he could respond, you spun on your heel with a swish of your cloak and robes, already striding toward the exit. Anakin felt it before he could stop it, his smile growing as his gaze followed you. There was something about the way you moved, the way you fought, the way you spoke.

Obi-Wan nudged him in the side, hard enough to snap him out of it, “Careful, Anakin.”

Anakin blinked and looked over, trying to play it cool and nonchalant. “What?”

Obi-Wan gave him that calm, all-knowing look, “She’s impressive, yes. But if anything were to happen… Remember where your loyalties lie. The Order has never been fond of attachments.”

Anakin rolled his eyes, a sigh escaping his lips as he nodded, “Yeah, yeah. I get it. No attachments, Master.”

Then, suddenly, you popped around the corner of the shattered doorway, one brow raised and a playful smirk on your lips before you tossed Anakin and Obi-Wan their stolen lightsabers. “Well? You two coming, or are you planning to redecorate this lovely prison cell?”

Fixing his lightsaber to his hip, Anakin didn’t hesitate, already moving. His boots echoed against the floor as he quickly caught up with you, that crooked grin breaking into something wider, brighter. He didn’t say anything, but the way his eyes lingered on you said more than words ever could.

You caught his gaze, lips curving as you walked beside him. “Careful, Skywalker,” You spoke up, “Stare any longer and I’ll start to think you like me.”

Anakin’s smirk deepened, his eyes still fixed on you. “Maybe I do,” He said smoothly, voice low. “Is that going to be a problem?”

You glanced at Obi-Wan, who gave you a knowing look, but you shrugged it off, rolling your eyes before turning back to Anakin. You hummed thoughtfully, “Hmm... No, I don’t think it’ll be a problem at all.”

Anakin grinned, clearly pleased with your response, and as the two of you walked side by side, the tension between you felt almost tangible. Obi-Wan simply sighed, muttering under his breath, “This is going to be interesting…”

~~~

Main Masterlist | Star Wars Masterlist

[idkyetxoxo]

Four | Falling Awake | Little Star

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2.7k

Warnings - Domestic abuse, violence, faebane poisoning, angst!!

<- prev || series masterlist || next ->

This side of Velaris always made my skin crawl. Not because it was ugly—it wasn't. 

No part of Velaris could ever be ugly in my eyes. Even the outskirts, where the city grew quiet and the buildings thinned into shadows, held a strange, desolate kind of beauty. 

But that beauty felt hollow here, like it was only skin-deep. Painted on to hide the rot beneath.

I climbed the five narrow flights of stairs with my heart thudding a slow, sick rhythm in my chest. Each step felt heavier than the last, weighted with everything I hadn't yet said and everything I was finally going to.

Daeron's apartment door stood like a final test at the end of a warpath. I raised my fist and knocked once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five.

He opened it on the fifth knock with a rare, lazy smile adorning his sinisterly beautiful face.

Before I could speak, his arms wrapped around me and his lips found mine, soft, almost tender. But when I didn't kiss him back, he froze and pulled back. 

His eyes narrowed just slightly, lips curling into something less sweet. Something corrupted.

"Still bitter?" he asked, voice light and flippant. He closed the door behind me with a careless flick of his wrist, then sauntered back into his apartment like nothing had changed.

Like he didn't already know I wasn't here for another night of pretending. 

Another night of self-inflicted torture.

I picked my way through the chaos. Discarded shirts and empty bottles. The place reeked of stale smoke and soured dreams. 

I sat opposite him on the fraying fabric armchair, the one with the tear in the cushion he never bothered to fix.

"We need to talk," I announced, though my voice barely passed as more than a whisper, low, raw, frayed at the edges like torn fabric. 

I flexed my fingers in my lap, palms damp, nails digging into my own skin as if pain could keep me tethered to something real, something that wouldn't collapse the moment I spoke the truth aloud.

He didn't even glance up. 

Just reached behind him, the sound of glass clinking against glass ringing through the heavy silence, and poured amber liquid into a chipped, smoke-stained glass. 

He shoved it toward me like an afterthought.

"I don't think we do," he said. "Drink."

I hesitated. My eyes met the glass. That familiar, numbing poison tempting me. I took it, not out of thirst, but desperation. 

For courage. For stillness. For something to dull the tremble that had taken up permanent residence in my bones. The liquor burned its way down my throat, spreading warmth like fire, but it was cold in my stomach. Empty.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, already feeling the pull, slow and foggy, like a blanket too heavy to throw off.

"I can't keep doing this."

The words dropped between us like stones.

He turned, head cocked in amusement like I was a curious little insect he couldn't quite understand. His smile wasn't kind. It was cruel. Dismissive.

"You don't have a choice," he said, voice calm in a way that chilled me to the core. 

He leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting casually on his knees, the way one might watch an animal bleed out.

That look, his calm, his certainty, was gasoline to a flame I had buried for years. 

Rage. Not guilt, not shame, not that loathing I swallowed down every morning just to keep breathing. But real, hot, uncontrollable anger.

"You forget, I am one of the most powerful females in Prythian."

It wasn't a threat. I had never truly threatened him, never even considered it. I had hated myself too much to believe I deserved to wield what pulsed inside me. 

Especially after what happened to my brother. The way I failed him.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes like I was reciting the script of a poorly written play. "Yes, yes. Sister to the most powerful High Lord. Spare me."

My jaw slackened. He'd always pushed me, always belittled, but this... this was new. Like he didn't think I was a person at all anymore. Like I was his, and had always been.

"Where was all that power the last seven years?" he sneered, rising to his feet like a slow-moving shadow. "Oh, right—buried under all that self-pity."

I stood and stepped back instinctively. He advanced.

I raised a hand, palm outward. "Stop." I meant it. My power answered when I meant it.

But nothing came.

Panic coiled like a serpent in my stomach. I hadn't used it in years, yes, but power like mine didn't just vanish.

"Go on," he taunted, arms folded. His smirk deepened, mean and predatory. "Show me how terrifying you are."

I reached inward, desperate and frantic but the well was dry. No heat, no crackle. Just a terrifying, hollow silence.

He moved in, swift and brutal. His fingers tangled in my hair and yanked my head back so hard I cried out, my hands flying to his wrist. He forced my gaze to his, his eyes were wild and gleaming.

"You think I'm stupid?" he hissed. "You think I didn't know this day would come?"

His other hand clamped around my chin, squeezing until my jaw ached. "I knew eventually you'd wake up. That something in your fucked-up head would finally whisper that you deserve better."

He shoved me back into the chair. The wind rushed from my lungs as his weight crushed down on me, immobilising me like prey beneath a predator's paw.

"So," he breathed, face inches from mine. "I took precautions."

I shoved him. Hard. My muscles trembled with effort, but it was enough to loosen his hold just slightly. I scrambled out from under him, stumbling, clutching my skull as nausea swirled.

He struck me. A slap so hard my vision flashed white. I hit the floor before I could even register the pain. And then—then he was on me again.

Fists. Elbows. Rage incarnate.

We crashed to the ground, the wooden boards beneath us groaning. His fists rained down like punishment. Like fury. Like all the years I'd swallowed my voice were owed to him in blood and bone.

"Faebane," he said, panting, sweat beading on his forehead. "Nice little additive to all the alcohol you drink, isn't it?"

I gagged on blood, head lolling. "You've been drugging me?"

He laughed, short and humourless. "How else was I supposed to stop you from snapping your fingers and ending me, hmm?"

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. Everything blurred together, pain, fear, shame.

"You don't get it, do you?" he sneered. "You can't feel it anymore. That numbness? That silence inside you? That's me. That's Faebane, darling."

I called for Rhys.

Not aloud, but in my mind. That ancient, silent tether between us fraying under the strain. I had never dared. Not since the day I had disappeared from their lives and sworn to suffer in silence.

But now?

Please.

It was all I could manage before his hands closed around my throat.

The air vanished. My limbs flailed. My chest heaved with nothing. I kicked, thrashed, panic overtaking everything. And still he held.

"Calling to your precious brother now?" he spat, face twisted with disgust. "Bit late for that, isn't it?"

He squeezed harder. The vein on his temple bulging.

"You've never fought like this before," he snarled. "Why start now? It's exhausting."

I tried to scream, but nothing came out.

"Fuck you," I choked, barely audible. But I said it. I meant it.

My hands clawed at his arms, my knees bucked up trying to knock him off, my mind screamed louder than my broken voice ever could.

Help me. Please. Please. Help me.

The sound of splintering wood cracked through the haze of blood and terror. The door exploded inward.

I barely registered it, barely processed the rush of cold air or the light spilling into the suffocating dark. My vision was rimmed with red, my throat on fire. 

Everything was pain—until it wasn't. Until they were there.

Arms, familiar, strong, and shaking with barely-contained rage wrenched Daeron off me with a force that rattled the foundation of the apartment. 

And then more arms, these ones gentler, wrapping around me like iron and safety and memory all at once.

I gasped, choking, clawing at the air, my hands still trembling violently as I fought to convince my body I was no longer being crushed, that he wasn't still—

"It's okay," a voice said—Cassian. Steady, low, his voice somehow warm despite the rage he surely had boiling just beneath the surface. "You're safe. I've got you."

I collapsed into him, body slack with little control, as he cradled me like I was something precious. 

My fingers fisted into his leathers as if I could anchor myself to him and never be lost again.

Behind me, voices collided, one a scream of pain and protest, the other cold, emotionless and lethal. Azriel.

I didn't have to look. I knew the sound of that fury. 

The shadowsinger rarely spoke with words when he was angry. He spoke with silence and violence, and Daeron would be feeling both.

"I'm sorry," I rasped, my voice torn and barely recognisable. "I'm so sorry. I didn't listen—I didn't listen—"

Cassian didn't speak. He just held me tighter. I lifted my head enough to see his face and I wished I hadn't.

The Cassian I knew, the laughing, fearless general was gone. What remained was heartbreak incarnate. His jaw clenched, eyes shimmering, lips pressed into a thin line. 

I watched as he took me in, the bruises, the blood, the raw handprint across my throat.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed again. "Please—take me home. Please, Cass. Take me home."

He nodded, already moving, already shifting me into his arms like I weighed nothing at all. But I looked, just once—back.

Azriel stood over Daeron, shadows writhing around him like vipers made of smoke and wrath. 

Daeron was on the ground, gasping, broken. Blood pooled beneath his face. But Azriel wasn't done. His siphons glowed with a blue so bright it was blinding. 

Death incarnate. Vengeance personified.

And yet he hadn't made a sound.

I turned away, the image searing itself into my mind. It would haunt me as much as Daeron had. Because that darkness, that wrath, Azriel didn't let it out unless something in him snapped.

Cassian moved to the window, and then we were in the sky, wind tearing at us as the apartment shrank below. I clung to him, face buried against his chest, the cold wind a balm on my bruises.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Then, softly, I whispered, "What about Az?"

Cassian didn't hesitate. "Az will come when he's done."

His voice was sure. Quiet. But laced with something... ancient. Like he knew, without question, that Azriel wouldn't leave a single bone unbroken. 

That he wouldn't stop until Daeron was a memory buried in blood.

A shiver rippled through me, but it wasn't fear. It was sorrow. That it had come to this. That I had let it come to this.

The wind howled around us as the heart of Velaris came back into view, golden lights winking in the distance like stars, like hope.

But I didn't feel it.

I felt the bruises. I felt the guilt. I felt the way Cassian's hands trembled even as they held me with impossible strength.

And deep, deep inside, I felt the scream still lodged in my throat, the one that had never left, not since the first night Daeron convinced me I was nothing without him.

Home was close. I could see it. But it had never felt so far away.

Rhys was waiting.

The moment Cassian's boots touched the stone outside the House of Wind, Rhys was already there, shoulders rigid, violet eyes ablaze with restrained panic, darkness licking at his heels like it, too, sensed something had broken.

"I was with Feyre, but I heard you—" he started, words tumbling out too fast, but then he saw me.

And everything stopped.

His voice caught, his breath stilled. All that High Lord composure shattered in a single, sharp intake of breath.

"What has he done?" Rhy's voice wasn't raised. It wasn't a question. It was a roar wrapped in velvet, a storm at the edge of collapse.

And I—I broke.

The tears came like a wave crashing through a dam that had been threatening to give for years. 

Seven years. Seven long, punishing, silent years without a single sob, without a single tear shed. But here, now, under that moonlit sky, in front of the family I'd spent so long avoiding.

I broke.

My knees gave out, and before I hit the ground, Rhys had me in his arms.

I didn't care who was watching. I didn't care that I was trembling, weeping, gasping as if grief was pouring straight out of my lungs. I didn't care that my voice came out in raw, shattered pieces of sound that barely resembled language.

He held me like I hadn't been touched in years. Like I hadn't been seen.

He carried me inside with careful, reverent steps, his hands protective and trembling with fury all at once. 

I could feel Cassian close behind, a steady wall of presence, and then the shift of air as another set of wings landed softly.

Azriel.

We entered the warmth of the House, the familiar scent of cedarwood and citrus clinging to its walls, and Rhys placed me on the velvet couch as gently as if I were made of spun glass.

He knelt before me, not as a High Lord, but as a brother. A friend. A male who had once sworn to protect me and, in my silence, hadn't been given the chance.

"I'm here," he whispered, brushing a strand of blood-matted hair from my face. His fingers trembled as they skimmed over the bruises marring my skin. "I'm here now."

I curled into myself, the sobs coming faster. Ugly, painful things that left me heaving. And still, he held me. Still, he stroked my hair with a tenderness that made me ache.

"Why did you let this happen?" His voice cracked, not with accusation, but heartbreak. 

His hands cupped my face, gently tilting it toward him.

"I tried to leave him," I whispered, every word scraped raw from my throat. "I tried, Rhys. He was drugging me—with Faebane—and I couldn't think. I couldn't feel. I hated myself so much I didn't think I deserved—"

Rhys closed his eyes. The darkness radiating off him was near-suffocating, barely restrained. The floor beneath us seemed to hum with it.

"I will kill him," he breathed, not as a threat but a vow. "I will make him regret every breath he's ever taken."

"I just want—just hold me," I croaked.

He didn't need to be asked twice.

His arms wrapped around me, strong and sure. I melted into his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing grounding me like an anchor in a churning sea.

And then I felt it. Felt them.

Cassian standing a few feet away, hands clenched at his sides like he was barely holding himself together. And Azriel, silent, unreadable, cloaked in shadows that pulsed and shifted like they were alive with his wrath.

My gaze found them, blurry and tear-stained.

I reached out. It wasn't dramatic or loud, just a trembling hand, extended in silent invitation.

Cassian was at my side first, sinking to the floor and wrapping an arm around my waist with the kind of care that made fresh tears sting my eyes. 

He pressed a kiss to my temple, then tucked his head against mine like he could shield me from everything, even my own mind.

Azriel came next.

He knelt on the opposite side of me, his siphons still glowing faintly, and I could see it, feel it, in his gaze. He hadn't calmed down. Not even close. He looked at me, and I knew with utter certainty that whatever had been left of Daeron was nothing but ash and ruin.

His shadows twined up my arms, soft as silk, cool as nightfall. I didn't flinch. I welcomed them.

Azriel reached out slowly, carefully, until his gloved hand touched mine, our fingers intertwined. 

His thumb brushed gently over my bruised knuckles, his shadows curling around my wrist like a promise.

I leaned my head against Rhys's chest, Cassian anchoring me on one side, Azriel a quiet constant on the other. Surrounded. Safe.

The world swam at the edges. Blackness curled like smoke in the corners of my vision. My limbs were heavy, my body screaming from within.

Azriel tensed beside me. "We need Madja—"

But I didn't hear the rest.

Everything blurred, the warmth of their bodies, the pressure of their hands, the safety, the grief, the pain. And then—

Darkness took me.

A/n - Glad we could finally be rid of Daeron x

Unfortunately, this doesn't mean there will be peace just yet because I'm mean like that not quite ready for peace!

This chapter is a bit more descriptive with the abuse, but I still kept it somewhat allusive rather than graphic, as I know it can be highly triggering.

It was important for the plot to show that the reason she couldn’t fight back, even if she wanted to, was because he had been drugging her to suppress her powers.

The next part is a little lighter, though, so look forward to that! <3

Little Star tag list - @jaybbygrl @writtenbypavani @fall-winter-heart97 @coeurdeveea @lilg101010 @krazykangaroo712 @moonlitlavenders @lil-lupa @jasmineee05 @pinksnowtiger @yourdarkrose @nerdybee123 @bookwormysblog @thoughtfulcoffeeflower @suspicious-stain-in-spain @anainkandpaper @theflowerswillbloom @queenoffeysand @historygeekqueen @lexi-in-wonderland @tele86 @saamanthaag3 @whydohumansss @xlosttdreamss @bookishwondersworld @plants-w0rld

[itsnesss]

𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐨𝐤 𝐢'𝐦 𝐨𝐤 | max verstappen × fem!reader

summary | admitting you needed more and it's time to let go. you walk away, realizing you’ll be okay

warnings | emotional distress, heartbreak, past relationship struggles, personal growth and closure

word count | 1.3 k

🖇️ sctw album 🖇️ more mv1

You didn’t want to come here. You told yourself, in the mirror, in the quiet of your hotel room, that you’d be okay. You’d be fine without him. That the past was behind you, that the distance you’d created between yourself and the world of Formula 1 was the healthiest thing you could have done for your peace of mind.

But here you are.

It’s a lie, isn’t it? You told yourself you wouldn’t care. You told yourself that Max Verstappen—your Max—was nothing but a distant memory now, a chapter of your life that was closed, faded like the old Red Bull posters on his wall.

And yet, the instant you step into the grandstands, the hum of the engines, the heat of the sun on your skin, it all rushes back. The late nights in Monaco. The early mornings in Spain. The quiet moments between races when you were his world, and he was yours. The smell of gasoline, the sound of tires screeching across tarmac. And Max, standing tall in the paddock, his helmet under his arm, eyes that always found yours in the crowd, even when they were surrounded by the noise of the world.

You could have stayed home. You should have. But you didn’t. And now you’re here, watching the world go by, watching him.

The race is intense, as always. Max moves like a force of nature, navigating the track with a speed that makes your heart race. You know every move, every shift of the gears, every time he blinks or looks at the crew. You know him better than anyone ever could. And as you watch him, you remember how much you used to love it—how much you loved him.

When the checkered flag waves, the entire stadium erupts in applause. Max, once again, has claimed victory.

But it’s not the victory you’re focused on. It’s her. The woman at his side. The one whose smile is bright, whose presence is effortless. The one who now occupies the space you used to fill. The one who, you realize, is everything you thought you were once to him. His arm is around her waist. His face, usually so serious after a race, is light, carefree.

She laughs, and Max laughs with her. And in that laugh, you hear the echoes of a time you used to share. The warmth of his hand on your back. The way he’d pull you close after a win, burying his face in your neck, whispering how much he needed you there. That used to be you. And it stings, it stings in a way that you didn’t expect.

You turn away. You need air. You need distance. You feel the walls closing in. This isn’t your world anymore, and you need to remember that.

But just as you’re about to step away, you hear a familiar voice. It’s the one you haven’t heard in months, the one you told yourself you’d never have to listen to again.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” Max says, his voice so soft, so tentative.

You don’t turn around immediately. You want to. You want to face him, to see if he looks the same, to see if his eyes still hold the same spark. But you don’t. You stare out at the crowd, at the sea of people celebrating, at the team members patting him on the back, clapping, congratulating him.

“I almost didn’t,” you say, your voice calm, controlled. “But then I realized something.”

He takes a step toward you, but not too close. He doesn’t crowd you. You like that. You like that he respects the space between you now, that he doesn’t push where he used to. That’s different.

“What’s that?” he asks, his voice low, cautious.

“I realized I wasn’t here for you,” you say, finally turning to face him. “I was here for me.”

Max’s eyes flicker with surprise, but it’s quickly replaced with the same remorse you’ve seen so many times before. That look of apology. Of regret.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says, his words genuine but lacking the weight they used to carry. "But I couldn’t give you what you wanted."

You take a deep breath. “It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, Max. It was that you never could.”

There’s a beat of silence between you two, the noise of the celebration almost too loud now. You wish you could block it out, wish you could escape back to the time when you could hear only his voice, only his heartbeat. But those days are long gone.

You look at him, really look at him. He’s still the same—tall, ruggedly handsome, with that intensity you once loved so much. His eyes are still that perfect shade of blue, still looking at you like he’s trying to figure out what went wrong.

But now, it doesn’t matter. It can’t. Not when the space between you two has grown so vast.

“You were perfect at first, you know?” you continue, your voice softening, almost wistful. “You had me fooled. But that was the problem. I thought I was the only one who could keep up with you, that I could be enough. But I wasn’t.”

Max opens his mouth like he’s about to argue, but he doesn’t. He closes it again, eyes dropping to the ground.

The world continues spinning around you, but it feels like it’s in slow motion. Everything moves in bursts of color and sound, except for you and him. Here, in this moment, everything is quiet, everything feels still.

“I know you care,” you say, and it’s not an accusation. “But I needed more than care. I needed you. I needed you to see me, not just the girl who would be there when it was convenient. I needed to be *more* than the background to your success.”

Max nods, looking up at you, his face serious now. "I didn’t see it. I didn’t understand. But I do now. I see it now."

The honesty in his voice stings. Not because you doubt it. But because it's too late.

"I used to love you," you say, your throat tight. "But you were never really mine to lose, were you?"

Max doesn’t say anything. The words he wants to speak hang in the air between you, but he doesn’t force them.

You smile, but it’s bittersweet. It’s a smile that you haven’t given him in months. A smile that feels like closure, like the final chapter of a book you never wanted to end.

“Go to her,” you say, your voice suddenly firm. “She’s waiting for you, and you know it. Don’t waste another second thinking about me.”

Max’s eyes flicker, but this time, there’s no frustration, no anger. There’s only sadness.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he repeats, almost desperately.

“I know,” you reply. “But you did. And that’s okay.”

You turn away, finally, leaving him standing there. The sound of your footsteps on the gravel feels heavy in the silence between you two.

You walk towards the exit, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. A part of you thought you might crumble. But you don’t. You keep walking, because you’ve learned that sometimes, the hardest thing you can do is walk away.

And as you leave, you think to yourself, almost as if to remind yourself:

“It’s okay, I’m okay, had him in the first place…"

You know it’s true.

And you know that, for the first time in a long while, you’re finally free.

He watches you leave, the lights from the pit crew still shining bright, but the glow from his victory feels dim now. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, was it?

tags | @ebkitty

[thatonereallyconfusedbitch]

Usually not political on my blog, but I couldn’t just scroll past this.

In Germany, in the tenth grade you visit Berlin to see the affects of the Second World War and learn about the development and what happened to people (you already do this in school in more detail, but in Berlin you actually see it).

More importantly, in the ninth grade it’s part of the curriculum to visit a concentration camp. No specific one, usually whatever one is closest to the school. The one i visited is the one in Dachau (Munich). You can google it for more information, but it was the first concentration camp built in 1933. It was built a few weeks after H***er came into power as a kind of special prison (sound familiar yet?). It was called the Munich model, as a blueprint for many other concentration camps. In 1937 it was remodelled and expanded. In 1940 they built their own crematorium with one oven because they had too many bodies to bury or send to the crematorium of the church nearby (just think about that for a second). Once crematorium was not enough, since so many people were being killed, so in 1942 they built barrack X had from 1943 they used it. Barrack X had 4 ovens. 4. They could burn 4 bodies at once, and no one would be any wiser.

Anyway, my original point was a different one, this what the general layout of the land looked like:

I know it’s a little blurry, but the “KZ Dachau” is “concentration camp Dachau” (where they slept and eat) and “Crematoria” is “Crematorium”. Basically the houses they slept in were just rowed up. All together there were 34, 30 of which were “living barracks” and 4 “working barracks”. Each barracks had 4 like compartments, which each compartment having 2 rooms, a living room with table, chairs and a tiny locker, and a bedroom. The bedroom had triple bunk beds made out of wood, similar to the photo I reposted, except they made it even more inhumane and made it four bunks, as well as, from the looks of it, not even giving them and sheets.

The only difference at this stage is the material the bunks are made out of, and somehow wood seems more comfortable than metal.

Honestly, just looking at this, the na**s seemed more humane and compassionate than the American government. And that is not a sentence I ever thought would even exist, or should it.

Each barrack was supposed to house 200 people. At the end of world war 2, it housed over 2000 people. Again, just take a step back and think about this for a moment. They built it so that everyone had their own bed. In the end, around 10 people would have had to share one bed. Obviously that didn’t happen and most people ended up just sleeping on the floor, or maybe even in the ceiling (see photo below)

Also, look at the phot I reposted, then look at the one below. Tell me you can see a difference and I will delete this post.

And before you comment anything stupid like “wElL THe uNIfoRmS aRE dIFfeReNT” You know exactly, that that is not what I am saying.

Also, to anyone saying that the concentration camps were built in Germany while this prison (and the many that are following, Trump has said he wants to build more. I don’t have the video right here, but it was when he was meeting the dictator of El Salvador that he kind of quietly said it) that is shown atop is in El Salvador. You are simply wrong. Yes, concentration camps did exist in Germany, but most of them were in Poland, Russia, etc., so NOT in Germany.

I could go on, but this post is already far too long and I’m tired. But there are so many more comparisons, and I will definitely add more, that sits honestly scary that it’s even gotten to this point. How. HOW? HOW CAN YOU LOOK AT HISTORY, AT HUNDREDS OF MILLION PEOPLE DYING, AND THINK, YES, LET US DO THAT AGAIN, BECAUSE I DON’T LIKE MEXICANS BECAUSE ONE ONCE STOLE MY BIKE.

The reason H***er and so got away with it, is because people had light prejudice against Jews (because of propaganda) and everyone had the it-doesn’t-affect-me-mentality.

When the Nazis came for the communists, I remained silent; I wasn't a communist.

When they came for the trade unionists, I remained silent; I wasn't a trade unionist.

When they came for the Jews, I remained silent; I wasn't a Jew.

When they came for me, there was no one left to protest.

— Martin Neumüller

This looks like a warehouse in which each person is a box on a shelf.

I don't care what these people did. No one deserves this. The only criminals are the people who put them here.

[pazziiiiiiii]

Hey guys sorry this took so long I just had some stuff going on but trust me imma get some more chapter out faster. Please give me more feedback and recommendations for the next chapter. ILY!!!

CHAPTER 6

In had been a week.

Seven days since the gym incident. Since Paige collapsed on the court and scared the shit out of everyone, including Azzi, who had never sprinted so fast across hardwood in her life. Since Paige and Azzi had that convo in their room late at night. Since they both got their hearts broken.

But things were… different now.

Not better. Not fixed. But different.

Paige was back in Azzi’s room, not the guest one. She still didn’t talk about what happened, and Azzi didn’t push. It was like some unspoken agreement had settled between them: we will not talk about it, but we will try. Try to be normal. Try to laugh again. Try to forget that there was something thick and sharp wedged between them that neither of them had the words—or the guts—to name.

Azzi noticed the change slowly. The way Paige started lingering in the kitchen longer, joking with Katie again, half-heartedly but trying. The way she didn’t pull away when Azzi’s arm brushed hers on the couch. The way their eyes would meet and hold for a second too long, before one of them—usually Paige—looked away like the glance had burned her.

Azzi didn’t know what the hell they were doing.

But she wasn’t about to mess it up by asking.

Not again.

⸻

Paige could feel it happening—this slow return to normal, this pretending. And part of her hated herself for going along with it.

But after what happened at the gym, after she passed out like some dramatic ass mess in front of everyone, she didn’t really get a choice. Katie had told her she was “worried” in that way moms do that sounds gentle but cuts deep. Azzi had barely let her out of her sight for a day and a half. And even now, a week later, Paige could feel the eyes on her.

But Azzi wasn’t pushing anymore.

And that made it easier to breathe.

They still didn’t talk about what Paige had said before—not the full thing, not the part about her dad and what he’d screamed at her before she left. They didn’t talk about why she’d shut down, why she’d spent three weeks avoiding Azzi’s gaze, or why it made her stomach twist every time Azzi smiled at someone else.

They didn’t talk about Devon.

God, Paige hated even thinking his name.

It wasn’t like Azzi had said they were dating. It wasn’t like she’d even said she liked him. But she’d gone out with him. Smiled on FaceTime with him. Talked about the dinner like it was fine. Like she was fine.

And maybe she was.

Because Paige was the one who wasn’t.

⸻

“You coming to the park later?” Azzi asked, her voice casual, tossing a basketball from hand to hand.

Paige glanced up from the couch, where she was half-heartedly tying her sneakers. “Maybe. Gotta finish this shit first.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you care about your math packet?”

“I don’t,” Paige muttered. “But your mom said if I didn’t get it done today, I’d be on kitchen duty for the rest of the week.”

Azzi snorted. “Alright, fair.”

Paige watched her turn to head toward the door, and something in her chest clenched. “Wait.”

Azzi paused, hand on the doorknob, and looked back.

“I’ll come.”

Their eyes met for a beat. Azzi’s mouth lifted, just barely. “Cool.”

⸻

The sun was dipping low by the time they got there, casting a gold haze over the court. A few neighborhood kids were already playing, but they made room when they saw Azzi and Paige show up with that casual swagger only hoopers carry.

They ran a few games, and it was good. Easy. Familiar in the way only basketball ever really was. Paige found herself laughing without thinking, brushing sweat from her brow, cursing under her breath when she missed a shot she shouldn’t have.

And Azzi was just—Azzi. Confident and steady. Elbows sharp and eyes locked in.

Paige couldn’t stop watching her.

At one point, Azzi caught her staring and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Paige looked away too fast. “Nothing.”

Azzi didn’t press. Just smiled to herself and called next game.

⸻

That night, they lay in their beds—separate, even though they were in the same room again. Paige stared at the ceiling, letting the dark swallow her up.

“Hey,” Azzi said softly.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for coming today.”

Paige’s throat tightened. She almost said of course. She almost said I miss you. She almost said too much.

Instead, she just mumbled, “Yeah. No problem.”

⸻

The next day felt more like summer than quarantine.

Katie grilled lunch in the backyard, and the air was full of that hazy warmth that made everything feel slower, softer. Paige sat in the shade, half-asleep with a plate of food on her lap, and let herself forget.

Forget that her dad hadn’t called since she left.

Forget that he probably wouldn’t.

Forget the ugly pit in her gut that still came back every time she remembered what he’d said. You better not ask her, or you can stay there forever.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe that was what she wanted.

⸻

Later, when Azzi flopped beside her on the grass, Paige didn’t move.

They lay there in silence, watching the sky.

“I’m not seeing him anymore,” Azzi said suddenly.

Paige blinked. “Who?”

Azzi gave her a look. “Devon.”

Paige felt her stomach lurch. “Oh.”

There was a pause.

“Just so you know,” Azzi added. “It wasn’t serious.”

“I didn’t think it was.”

Azzi rolled onto her side, eyes searching Paige’s face. “You really didn’t?”

Paige stared up at the clouds, willing her voice not to crack. “No. I figured he wasn’t your type.”

Azzi’s brow furrowed. “And what do you think my type is?”

Paige’s heart thudded once, sharp. She swallowed.

“Dunno. Just… not him.”

Azzi didn’t say anything for a while. Then: “You don’t talk to me the same anymore.”

Paige flinched.

Azzi sat up, knees drawn to her chest. “I know you’re trying, I do. But you still pull away.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Paige sat up too, brushing grass from her legs. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me get it.”

“I can’t.”

Azzi’s voice was tight. “Why not?”

Paige looked at her. Really looked at her.

Because if she told her the truth—if she said I feel like I’m disgusting for thinking about you the way I do or my dad thinks I’m a freak and maybe he’s right or I’m terrified you don’t feel the same—it would ruin everything.

So she said nothing.

Just stood and muttered, “I’m gonna shoot around,” and walked toward the driveway hoop.

Azzi didn’t follow.

⸻

That night, Katie knocked gently on their door when it was just Paige inside.

“Got a minute?”

Paige nodded, unsure.

Katie sat down on the edge of the bed. “You’ve been through a lot, kiddo. I want you to know this house is a safe place.”

Paige’s throat tightened. “I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that.”

Paige clenched her jaw. “I don’t need to be fixed.”

Katie’s voice softened. “I didn’t say you did.”

There was silence.

Then Paige muttered, “It’s just different here. You all—care. You ask. At home, no one asks.”

Katie touched her shoulder lightly. “Then maybe it’s time you start expecting better. From the people who claim to love you.”

Paige didn’t know what to say to that.

So she didn’t say anything at all.

⸻

The next morning, things were normal again.

They had cereal side by side at the counter, feet touching under the stools. Azzi stole Paige’s spoon just to be annoying, and Paige told her to fuck off with half a smile.

Later, they walked to the park again.

And when Azzi tripped on the sidewalk, Paige caught her elbow without thinking.

Their eyes met.

Neither of them said anything.

But the tension—god, the tension was still there, electric and terrifying.

And neither of them could look away.

[junkpuppet225]

This came to me yesterday after hearing a song. It’s random, set after the series finale while Daryl’s on his journey to find himself but also pre-apocalypse flash back. Similar to things I’ve written before but what can I say I do what I want. Smut! DarylxFem!Reader. Underage (barely, both are seventeen and consenting). Language. Hazardously proof read and quickly written. I hope you enjoy! ✌🏼

~~~

Fear

Daryl’s heart hammers hard in his chest, eyes wide with calloused palms raised in that familiar sign of surrender. The sudden adrenaline coursing through his veins has nothing to do with the shotgun pointed at his face and everything to do with the memory of pushing his dad’s Ford a half mile down the trailer parks dirt road.

He waited for Will Dixon to pass out with a beer in his hand before plucking the keys from his shirt pocket and making his way silently to the worn driveway in front of the shack they called home. He was a pro at slipping the truck into neutral and backing it onto the dirt road, even better at pushing it away from the trailer to where you stood with that amazing smile that lit his fucking soul on fire.

Three years of grand theft auto and he never once got caught but damn if every glance he stole, every gaze into your enchanting eyes didn’t ruin him for anyone else.

“Old man got started late.” Daryl mutters when you lift yourself into the truck beside him - watching him crank the engine to put as much space between you and the trailer park as possible. If your dad ever realizes you’re sneaking out with a Dixon in the middle of the night he’ll kill you both. He’s threatened it before.

“It’s okay. I wasn’t waitin’ long.” You assure with that thousand watt smile that brings on his own along with a flush of pink that crawls up the back of his neck. He allows himself one quick glance your way then glues his eyes to the dark road ahead while you sit in awkward silence picking at your nail polish.

Everything changed between you when Daryl walked up to your shared bus stop this morning empty handed and unable to look you in the eye. That was normal - he never carried any books and eye contact wasn’t really his thing but on this odd Friday morning he didn’t stop a foot away with his head hanging like usual - he kept walking until he was sinking a rough hand into your hair and pulling you to his mouth. This morning he kissed you for the first time ever and it’s left a strange, desperate feeling blooming in your chest.

Daryl bounces down the deserted street, tossing you both around the cab of the truck as he turns off the beaten path to the familiar clearing where the crickets and the frogs are the only sounds. That and the hammering of your heart against your chest. You lift your eyes quickly, studying his profile as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel with one hand and brushes the other over his jaw - meeting your gaze for a split second before dropping it quickly.

“What?”

The word is barely audible, a rumbling in his throat as he sits up straighter failing to not look at you. When your eyes meet this time he doesn’t look away.

“You kissed me this morning.” It’s not a question, more of a confused statement that has him slowing to a stop in the middle of the forest. Daryl doesn’t make you any comment as he puts the truck in park and sits back in the drivers seat without a word.

“Why?” You whisper bringing your attention back to your now ruined nails. He has no idea what to say - how to explain how the sun peeked through the tree line this morning making your eyes almost glow as he watched you chew your bottom lip. Or the smile you gave him when your eyes finally met. It broke something inside of him and the only thing he could think about was kissing you - the thought of your lips on his consuming his very being as he mustered up all of his courage to do just that. It’s left a strange, desperate feeling blooming in his chest.

“Jus’…, wanted to. I… don’t know.”

You drag in a deep inhale of air to get the next few words out as Daryl dares another glance your way. “Do y-you want to… do it again?” You watch his entire body go rigid, eyes falling to your parted lips as he brings his own between his teeth. A habit he’s picked up from years of subtle watching while your attention is elsewhere. When he doesn’t answer you let your eyes fall to your lap and pray the earth will open up and swallow you whole.

“Y-yeah. I want to.”

Daryl’s words are so quiet you almost miss them - your breath catching in your throat as he idly leans closer to you. There’s suddenly no air in the cab of the truck and your heart is reaching a critical speed in your chest. “Do ya want to?” All you can manage is the slight nod of your head as you watch his hand lift from his lap, cupping the back of your neck as he brings you to his waiting mouth pressing your lips together much like he did this morning except this time the school bus doesn’t start up the graveled road and rip him from your grasp.

His lips are warm and surprisingly soft, moving against yours for a moment before he pulls away just enough to take in a needed breath. “W-was that okay?” His deep voice fills the cab causing your eyes to startle open as you whisper yes against his lips and lean into him again, daring to open yourself up to him and brush your tongue against his. The groan that rumbles in his chest boosts your confidence enough to let you touch him, running your fingers along the tight muscles of his shoulders before sinking into the hair at the nape of his neck.

He rewards you with another deep groan, his own hand tightening in the back of your hair as the other grips at your waist to pull you closer. The feel of his tongue against yours and the heat radiating from his body has your head spinning as you all but climb into his lap to get closer.

“Is this okay?” You whisper against his mouth - breathing in his quick and nervous puffs of air, heat prickling at his neck as it runs along his jaw and up his cheeks - unable to look you in the eye once again. His dick is painfully hard in his jeans and there’s no guarantee he won’t blow his load the second you sit down but that’s just a risk he’s going to have to take because denying you in this second would rip his soul from his body. “Y-yeah…” He tries to clear the desire from his rough voice - failing miserably as he adds “…s’okay…” before gripping your hips to bring you down to his lap.

You sink your hands into his hair and kiss him desperately, filling his mouth with your slow tongue while he digs his fingers into your skin leaving bruises in his wake. The feel of you on him - rutting your hips against his cock has him leaning you against the steering wheel to chase your kiss - honking the horn as a giggle that sounds like heaven on earth escapes you.

“Shit…, sorry—-.” You kiss him again, stealing his words as his hands roam your body - sliding up your stomach to caress soft skin as you work your hips against his. You’re driving him crazy and he’s not sure how much more he can take, groaning into your kiss as you grind against him.

You feel like you’re on fire - burning desperately for him as Daryl runs his calloused thumbs along your ribs daring to caress the edge of your bra as he pulls away from you once again and whispers your name like a prayer. He takes his hands from under your shirt and places a rough palm to your cheek as you search blue eyes - chest heaving with desire while he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. “Yer gonna…,” He drops your gaze - holding your face with strong hands, afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. “…gonna make me cum if ya keep that up.”

You feel your own blush heat your face as you whisper an apology and stop moving against him, pulling air into your spent lungs as he hangs his head - sinking his fingers into soft hair. “Daryl?” You watch his arms tense, the thick cords straining against his skin as a rush of air passes between you and he meets your hooded eyes. “Y-yeah?”

You let your fingers trail down his chest trying to keep your hips as still as possible while leaning closer to him - your mouths inches apart. He looks like a man starved, letting his gaze fall to your parted lips. “Do you want to have sex?” You swear you watch his heart stop - eyes glazing over as he takes in your words and a deep, ragged breath.

Has a seventeen year old guy ever said no to that question?

He’s only thought about having sex with you every waking moment since he became a teenager. “Do you?” He grunts - searching your eyes for the truth. It doesn’t matter what he wants - if you’re not ready then this stops now. “As long as it’s with you.” You assure him as you watch his eyes close in desperation, blowing the air from his lungs at the thought of being inside you. “T-that ain’t a yes.”

Another hiss of pleasure passes between you with your answer. “Yes Daryl.” You whisper against his ear bringing a primal growl from deep inside of him as his arms wrap around you - maneuvering inside the tight cab until you’re on your back and he’s kissing you desperately - sinking his body into yours as his hand moves up your leg and into the pleated skirt around your waist - resting his forehead against yours as his eyes close tightly. He has to be able to feel your heart beating against his own chest as he caresses the inside of your thigh and groans from the desperate sounds escaping you.

His fingers hesitate - shaky breaths bringing your eyes together. “Y-ya sure?”

You’ve seen Daryl face a hundred beatings in his lifetime - watched him grab up venomous snakes and chase packs of vicious coyotes out of your yard without faltering but looking at him now as his thumb idly brushes against the center of your soaked panties - he’s terrified.

“Touch me.” You sink your finger’s into the back of his hair as his mouth finds yours while continuing to hesitate between your thighs making you squirm. “P-please Daryl.” His head falls, dark hair tickling your throat as he mumbles a string of profanity against your collar bone before finally slipping inside the soft material and running his fingers along your slit. “…holy shit…” A soft cry rushes from your lungs as your body jerks with his touch, arms wrapping around him as his weight sinks further into your body.

“Are ya o-okay?” Daryl whispers against your throat, sinking another finger inside of you with his own desperate groan. “Y-yeah, don’t stop - please.” It’s Daryl’s turn to rut his aching cock against your thigh while he pumps unsure fingers into you slowly, afraid he’ll somehow hurt you as your body begins to tremble from his touch. “…ya sure you’re okay?”

“Mmmhm.” Stars dot your vision as his fingers slow causing a different groan to fall from your lips as he pushes himself up on his arms to look at you - your name rushing from his lungs as you take his belt in your hands and pull leather from metal quickly. A moment later his throbbing cock is in your hand - heart racing as you brush your thumb over the slick head to pump him in your fist, bringing a groan from deep in his chest.

“…f-fuck…, I ain’t gonna last ten seconds inside of you.” He warns with a grunt as you smile up at him bringing a flood of emotion into his chest. He’s never seen anything more beautiful than you in his entire life. All of the quiet sunsets he’s watched deep in these woods while nursing wounds inflicted by his dad have nothing on the shy smile you’re giving him now.

Daryl leans over you to rummage inside the glove box while you run your hand along his cock slowly, bringing a quiet whimper to his lips. This is going to be over before it even gets started. You lay your head back on the seat and watch him pull a condom from the open box he stole from Merle’s sock drawer letting your hand fall away as he fumbles with the packaging - nearly dropping the damn thing twice before it’s open and sliding over him. If there’s one thing him and Merle can agree on it’s that they should never procreate. The last thing this world needs is another Dixon.

When your eyes finally meet his are still full of fear, heat rising into his cheeks again as you touch his hips and assure him it’s okay - pulling him down to you as his mouth finds yours and he kisses you slowly, savoring every inch of your mouth as his cock twitches against your soaked center causing his heart to nearly stop.

“Y-ya sure you want to do this?” He whispers against your lips as you nod, holding your breath while he grasps the base of his cock - pushing inside of you slowly.

The sound that leaves his throat is like nothing you’ve ever heard before, it sends a thrill to your very core as you place your hands to his throat and nod again - silently encouraging him to keep going as he gives you another slow inch. The groans that leave his lungs are incoherent - garbled curse words barely audible as you watch his eyes close with pleasure, strong arms nearly giving out once he’s filled you completely.

“…y-ya okay?” Daryl asks, burying his face in the bend of your shoulder as you nod - your own eyes closing tightly as he begins to move. “Ya gotta breathe.” He whispers as you drag needed air into your lungs and allow the moan you’ve been suppressing to rumble between you. All you can comprehend is the feel of him inside of you - his shallow thrusts that fuel the fire spreading through your body. “…tell me yer okay..” He pleads against your throat as another soft moan escapes you - clinging to him with your nails digging into his skin. “I’m o-okay…” You gasp as he thrusts harder. “…feels so good Daryl..”

It’s his turn to nod, deep grumbles of pleasure filling your ear as he moves - gripping your hip with one hand while the other sinks into your hair and he locks his blue eyes with yours. Lifting your face to his - demanding his tongue with yours - he thrust into you deeper, causing his pace to slip as a rush of pleasure brings on his release and he groans into your mouth.

“…s-shit…” Daryl hangs his head, emptying himself into the condom as you look up at him in wonder. “Shit.” He repeats pulling out of you quickly as he tries to drag air into his lungs. “M’sorry…, that was too fast…” His worried gaze avoids yours as your fingers brush against his jaw forcing him to look at you.

“It was perfect.” You whisper, raking your nails into the back of his damp hair as he laughs nervously, shaking his head at the thought. The black eye Merle gifted him the next day when he found his empty box of rubbers would forever go down as the best day of his life.

Every second he got to spend with you was etched in his memory - some days it was the only thing that kept him going. Now you’re standing before a ghost - staring into familiar blue eyes with a shot gun raised in warning, a knowing smile spreading across your face as you realize you recognize the trace of fear in his gaze.

~~~

[psformybss]

The Greatest

rafe cameron x sahm!reader

warnings: emotional neglect, hurt/comfort, unrequited love vibes, slow burn realization, long-term marriage issues, angst, emotional vulnerability

now playing: the greatest by billie eilish

The sun was low behind the marsh when she heard the front door close. Not slammed. Just the usual firm shut that said he was home.

Rafe.

Not early, not late. Just on time enough to pretend he hadn’t forgotten about them, but never long enough to really be present. Not in the way she used to hope for. Not in the way she’d stopped hoping for years ago.

She dried her hands on a dish towel and glanced toward the foyer. His dress shoes echoed across the hardwood, followed by the familiar clink of keys dropping into the ceramic bowl she’d bought him for Father’s Day.

The kids were upstairs. She could hear the low thump of Alex’s bass through the ceiling, steady and rhythmic. Marley was probably buried under her blanket, texting in bed like she had been since school ended.

No one came down to greet him anymore. That had faded slowly, after too many missed dinners, too many silent apologies that never came, too many “yeah, yeah” responses that sent the kids looking at her instead, waiting for her to translate what his absence meant.

“Hey,” Rafe said as he stepped into the kitchen. He loosened his tie with one hand, eyes on his phone with the other.

“Hey.” She turned off the burner and gave the pasta one final stir.

He kissed her cheek, distracted. His cologne hit her all at once. Familiar. Clean. Sharp. It used to stop her in her tracks. Now it just felt like something old she hadn’t decided to miss yet.

“How was the office?” she asked, same as always.

“Same stuff. Russ messed up the zoning files again.” He shoved his phone into his blazer pocket and opened the fridge. “Did we run out of that ginger beer I like?”

She blinked. “Marley finished the last one. I’ll grab more tomorrow.”

He didn’t say thank you. Just nodded, grabbed a water, and leaned against the counter like it was his. And it was. He’d designed the house himself, every square inch made to be impressive. Vaulted ceilings, wide open rooms, clean finishes. A showpiece.

But it never felt like home. Not really.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” she offered. It felt like muscle memory more than anything else.

He made a small sound, scrolling again.

She used to wait up for him.

Back when things were still new, when being married felt strange and full of promise, she’d sit on the couch in a silk robe she bought just for him. She’d flip through magazines she didn’t care about, eyes on the clock, waiting to hear the lock turn. Some nights he’d sit beside her. Other nights, he’d head straight upstairs.

She hadn’t asked for much. A look that meant something. A hand on her back. A sign he wanted to come home to her.

Then the kids came. Alex first, then Marley. And her world became a series of needs. Diapers and fevers and school pickups and forms she had to fill out alone. And through it all, Rafe worked. He built Cameron Development into something bigger than his father ever had. Bigger than she ever imagined.

She let him sleep while she stayed up with crying babies. She handled the stomach bugs, the parent-teacher conferences, the midnight feedings. She learned to move through it quietly. Without complaint. That’s what she thought being a good partner meant. Making it easier for him. Carrying the weight so he didn’t have to.

Years went by like that.

And he never once asked how tired she was.

Now their children were nearly grown, and she was starting to feel invisible in her own life. The days blurred together—groceries, laundry, orthodontist appointments, dinners no one sat down for. Everything she did revolved around someone else’s needs.

And lately, she’d been wondering what she had left. Who she even was anymore, outside of being theirs.

She plated dinner and set his bowl on the counter like always. He ate standing up, still scanning emails.

“Alex has a band thing Friday,” she said.

Rafe didn’t look up. “What kind of thing?”

“A showcase. He’s been talking about it all week.”

He nodded slowly. “You’ll go, right?”

She paused. “Of course. But he wants you there too.”

He didn’t answer. Just took another bite.

Something in her cracked. Not loudly. Just enough to feel it.

She set her fork down and turned to him. “Rafe.”

He looked at her, finally. But not really. His eyes landed on her, but they didn’t see her. Just the shape of someone he used to know.

“I’m tired,” she said quietly.

He frowned. “You look tired.”

She almost laughed, but it caught in her throat. “No. I mean I’m tired of this. Of doing everything. Of waiting for you to notice. Of making it easy for you not to show up.”

His expression shifted. Slightly. Like he didn’t expect her to say that out loud.

“I’ve been here,” she said, her voice steady. “Every day. Every night. I let you rest. I let you miss things. I kept telling myself that’s what wives do. That if I held it all together, maybe one day you’d love me the way I needed.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I’ve worked my ass off for this family,” he said, standing straighter.

“I know,” she said simply. “And I appreciated it. I loved you for it, Rafe. I probably still do. But I made it too easy. I made this life look effortless, and you stopped seeing what it cost me.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

She stood up, her chair scraping back quietly. Her heart pounded, not with anger, but something heavier. Something final.

“You could’ve been the greatest,” she whispered. Not to hurt him. Just because it was true.

Then she walked out, her shoulders stiff but shaking slightly—like someone holding too much for too long.

And behind her, in the quiet of the house he built, Rafe stood still. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t reach for his phone.

He just stood there. And realized he didn’t know when exactly she stopped waiting for him. Only that she had.

[better-setterv2]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝐻𝑜𝓂𝑒

Authors Note: Hi lovelies. It’s Mother’s Day in Australia 🇦🇺 ! So I thought I would write a quick special edition one-shot. Enjoy. Lots of love xx

Summary: Mother’s Day 2025, you wake up to a heartfelt surprise from your husband Lewis Hamilton and your 5 year old son Elijah.

Warnings: none

Taglist: @nebulastarr @hannibeeblog

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The first golden rays of morning filtered through the sheer curtains, painting soft stripes across the bed.

The warmth kissed your skin, gently rousing you from sleep and for a moment, you lay still, letting yourself sink into the comfort of the linen sheets and the lingering scent of lavender from last night’s diffuser.

But something felt different.

Not wrong. Just a little off.

Quiet.

Too quiet.

There was no thump of small feet running down the hall, no sound of toy cars crashing into baseboards, no Elijah yelling, “Mummy! Daddy! Wake uuuup!”

Your eyes fluttered open, heart skipping a beat. Where was your 5 year old tornado of a son?

Before the anxious mother in you could spiral, the familiar creak of the hallway door opened and the unmistakable whisper hiss of your son’s voice came through.

“Shhhh, Daddy! You’re gonna wake her!”

You smiled instantly, heart melting into your ribs.

“I thought that was the point, champ,” came Lewis’s low, amused reply.

The familiar rasp of your husband’s morning voice made your pulse skip in a way that still surprised you, even after years of marriage.

A muffled giggle followed. “Okay, okay. Now?”

“Now.”

You closed your eyes again hiding your smile against the sheets, just in time to hear the bedroom door creak open and Elijah’s joyful announcement: “Happy Mother’s Day, Mummy!”

You opened your eyes to find your son standing proudly at the foot of the bed, holding a breakfast tray with both hands and a gap toothed grin spreading across his chubby cheeks.

He wore the “Best Son Ever” t-shirt he’d made in preschool - it was tie dyed and uneven, now slightly too small paired with his Spider Man pajama pants.

The tray wobbled slightly as he crossed the room, Lewis’s steady hand guiding it from behind.

Your heart swelled.

On it sat a stack of pancakes - heart shaped, slightly misshapen topped with strawberries, whipped cream and chocolate chips. A steaming mug of your favorite coffee rested beside a single daisy in a small glass jar, its stem bent but valiantly upright.

Your throat tightened with the force of your love.

“Well good morning, gentlemen,” you said, voice husky with sleep. “What’s all this?”

Elijah scrambled onto the bed, placing the tray in your lap. “Me and Daddy made pancakes! I did the stirring and the chocolate chips. Daddy flipped ‘em cause I can’t yet.”

“You did all that for me?”

He nodded solemnly. “’Cause you’re the best Mummy ever. And it’s your special day.”

You leaned in, kissing his forehead. “Thank you, baby.”

Lewis moved to your side, placing a kiss on your temple before sitting beside you.

He was barefoot, wearing grey sweatpants and a soft white tee that clung to his shoulders in all the right ways. That gold chain you’d gifted him years ago glinted at his collarbone.

You reached up and touched it absently, smiling.

“This was his idea,” Lewis murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “The flower, the tray, the whole plan. Woke me up at six.”

“I couldn’t wait!” Elijah chimed in, bouncing slightly. “I had a secret!”

“Did Daddy keep the secret?” you teased.

Elijah nodded. “He tried to tell you last night but I said no secrets!’ Then I remembered this one was a good secret.”

You laughed, heart full. “Well, I love it. It’s perfect.”

“This is the best wake up ever,” you said, gathering Elijah into your arms and pulling Lewis down for a kiss.

Elijah beamed and Lewis watched the two of you with an expression so soft it turned your insides to syrup.

“Alright, sit still while Mummy eats her pancakes,” Lewis said, adjusting the tray. “You want to help her with the strawberries?”

“I’ll feed her!” Elijah announced proudly, already picking up a fork.

You let him; one strawberry, one pancake piece, a giggle between each bite.

Lewis watched with a hand resting gently on your thigh beneath the blanket, his touch grounding.

At one point, he leaned in and whispered, “There’s more planned. This is only the beginning.”

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to scold. “Lewis…”

“No fancy gifts,” he promised, brushing a kiss along your jaw. “Just love. You deserve that every day, but especially today.”

Your eyes stung. You blamed the strawberries.

After breakfast and a brief but chaotic syrup cleanup involving Elijah’s sticky hands and Lewis’s shirt your husband told you to take some time for yourself.

“Eli and I have got this,” he said with a wink. “Go relax.”

Lewis ushered you into the bathroom while Elijah played with his toy cars.

You stepped into the bathroom and gasped.

Candles flickered along the sink. Rose petals floated on the surface of a steaming bubble bath. A folded robe waited on the bench beside a playlist softly playing from the speaker - your favorite mix of slow R&B, classic soul and the acoustic love songs Lewis added without telling you.

A note rested on the robe.

Take your time. No rush. We’re here when you’re ready. Love you always. — L

Your eyes softened.

You sank into the bath, letting the warmth envelop you, sinking deep into your bones.

You hadn’t taken time like this in months. Years, really. Even when Lewis insisted, you’d always been half listening for Elijah.

But now? You let go.

You thought of your first Mother’s Day how Elijah had screamed through the night, how Lewis had held you while you cried into his chest, convinced you were failing.

“You’re not,” he’d whispered then. “You’re doing the hardest job in the world. And you’re already the best at it.”

You remembered how tightly you’d clung to those words.

Now, five years later they still echoed in your heart.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

When you emerged from your bath, Lewis had dressed Elijah in a little tan linen suit, complete with loafers. “He insisted,” Lewis said, rolling his eyes fondly. “Said he wanted to be ‘fancy for Mummy.’”

Elijah beamed up at you. “We’re going somewhere special!”

Lewis looked smug.

“I told you I didn’t want anything big -”

“And it’s not. Promise. Just a picnic.”

He drove you along the coastline in a vintage convertible he borrowed for the weekend, the wind tugging at your hair, Your son giggles in the back seat every time the wind catches his curls, lifting them like soft little springs dancing in the sunlight.

The picnic was simple, secluded, perfect.

A spot under a tree with views of the ocean. A blanket, a basket of food - nothing too fancy, just your favorites. Elijah made daisy chains while you and Lewis lay side by side, fingers intertwined and your head on his shoulder.

At one point, Elijah leaned against your chest and asked, “Mummy, when I grow up, can I marry someone like you?”

You blinked down at him. “Why’s that, baby?”

“’Cause you’re nice. And soft. Plus you make Daddy smile all the time.”

You looked over at Lewis. He was already watching you, eyes full of something so deep it made your throat tighten.

“He makes me smile too,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Back at the house, Elijah was tucked into bed after stories and snuggles while Lewis led you out to the backyard. Fairy lights twinkled above, music floated from the speakers and a table for two sat under the stars.

“You really went all out,” you said, touched.

He pulled out your chair. “Only for the woman who made this life possible.”

Dinner was slow and full of laughter. Lewis told stories from Elijah’s attempt to help plan the day. “He wanted to buy you a motorcycle.” You told him how grateful you were not just for the day, but for everything.

When he took your hand, the warmth in his eyes made everything else disappear.

“You make being a father feel like magic,” he said. “Watching you with him it’s changed everything.”

You leaned in, brushing your nose against his. “You gave me the best role of my life.”

He kissed you then - slow, deep and it was better than any gift.

His fingers threaded gently into your hair, grounding you to the moment and then he peppered soft kisses across your cheek, down to your jaw, each one lighter than the last, like he was memorising you all over again.

“I got you something else,” he whispered.

“Lewis - ”

“I know, I know. No big gifts. But this one’s different.”

He reached into the drawer and pulled out a slim velvet box.

Inside was a delicate necklace with a gold chain with two pendants. One was a small, engraved heart with E.A.H (Elijah Anthony Hamilton). The other was a tiny compass.

You looked at him, brows lifted.

“The heart’s obvious,” he said softly. “And the compass…because no matter where we go, you’re our true north.”

You couldn’t speak. Your throat was thick with tears.

“I love you,” you finally whispered. “So much.”

He pressed his forehead to yours. “And I love you. I hope you enjoyed Mothers Day, my heart.”

You nodded against his forehead, your hands sliding up to rest gently on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “It was perfect,” you murmured.

Lewis slipped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his warmth and you rested your head in the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of him - floral woody musk and a hint of cologne that always made you feel at home.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

That night, after the candles were blown out and the house was quiet, you laid in Lewis’s embrace sighing softly against him. His arms wrapped around your waist whilst his thumb caressed your skin gently.

You thought of all the versions of yourself before now - the girl who doubted, the woman who worried, the mother who sometimes feared she wasn’t doing enough.

And you smiled.

Because this love, this life was more than enough.

It was everything.

[ballsandbabes]

Haikyuu Captains reaction to their s/o showing up to their game for the first time

Daichi Sawamura

The gym buzzed with energy—sneakers squeaking on the floor, the rhythmic thud of volleyballs, and the familiar shouts of teammates echoing across the court. Karasuno was warming up for a scrimmage, and Sawamura Daichi was in full captain mode: focused, steady, composed.

Until he looked up. Just beyond the bleachers, half-hidden behind a group of students, you stood. Eyes bright. A small, shy wave aimed directly at him.

Daichi blinked once. Then again. You came? Normally you weren't a fan of spending your Saturdays in the local gyms. It just wasn't your thing. His usually serious expression cracked—slowly at first, like ice thawing—until a wide, completely unguarded smile spread across his face. The kind of smile he only saved for moments that truly mattered.

"Oi, Captain! Ball!"

The shout came too late. The volleyball bounced harmlessly off his shoulder, to the amusement of his teammates.

"What’s with that dopey look, Daichi?" Tanaka teased.

But Daichi didn’t answer. His eyes hadn’t left you. And when he finally jogged toward the sideline during a break, he barely managed to contain the flush of pride in his voice.

“You came?!,” he said, slightly breathless.

“Of course,” you replied. “You said tis game today was really important to you....sooo I thought I could you know, come and see you play.”

His hand found yours briefly—just a touch, barely a squeeze—but it said everything. He looked back at the court, then at you again, and this time his voice was quieter, almost reverent.

“Guess I’ve got one more reason to win today.”

Tōru Oikawa

The gym was buzzing, as always when Aoba Johsai played. Students were filing into the stands, the sound of volleyballs thudding on the court mixing with the hum of conversation and the occasional scream from Oikawa’s fan club. He was in his element—smirking, hair perfectly styled, throwing finger hearts at the crowd and spinning the ball effortlessly on his finger like a showman. Classic Oikawa.

“Ladies, try not to faint when I serve~!” he teased dramatically.

But then he froze mid-spin. There, just past the third row, barely peeking over the heads of some overly excited second-years… was you.

Oikawa blinked. For a second, his entire brain just… blue-screened.You were actually here. He hadn’t told you to come. He’d joked about it, sure—countless times. "You have to see me in action sometime," he’d say with that mock-dramatic flair of his. But he didn’t think you’d really show up.And yet here you were, giving him a tiny wave and the sweetest smile. The smile that made him forget entire plays.

“Iwa-chan,” he whispered, grabbing his best friend’s arm.

“What?” Iwaizumi grunted.

“They’re here.” He pointed.

Iwaizumi followed his gaze and sighed. “Focus, Oikawa.”

“I am focused. On love.”

“God help us.”

The whistle blew. Oikawa jogged onto the court, but not before shooting you a wink so exaggerated it almost made you laugh. Every time he scored, he’d sneak a glance toward you, just to see if you were watching. And when you cheered? He glowed.

After the match—victory, of course—he practically sprinted off the court and threw his arms around you. “You came! You came to see me crush it on the court!” he said, still slightly sweaty but far too excited to care.

“I did. You were amazing.”

“I know! But hearing it from you? It’s different.” He grinned, leaning his forehead against yours. “You’ve officially made this my favorite match ever.”

“Even better than that time you scored the game-winning point against Shiratorizawa?”

“Especially better. Because this time, I got to win with you watching.”

Tetsurō Kuroo

The gym was chaos. Shoe squeaks. Thunderous cheers. The ref’s whistle piercing through it all. It was everything you usually avoided on weekends. You weren’t exactly the scream-from-the-bleachers type. But today… well, today was different.

Today was Kuroo’s game. You weren’t even sure how he spotted you—tucked away near the back, hoodie half-zipped, arms crossed like someone trying to pretend she wasn’t exactly where she wanted to be.

But somehow, he knew. In the middle of warm-ups, his sharp golden eyes flicked toward the crowd. His head tilted. A smirk slowly curled across his face. And just like that, you were caught. He didn’t wave or make a scene—yet. No, Kuroo just offered that sly, cat-like grin of his that said “Oh, you’re mine now.”

And it only got worse from there.

Every serve? Flash of smug confidence. Every point he scored? He looked directly at you. Like the crowd didn’t exist. Like the whole gym was just the two of you.

And then it happened. Right before match point, as he jogged back into position, he glanced your way again. This time, he didn’t bother with subtlety.

He blew you a kiss.

Right there. In the middle of the game. Surrounded by yelling teammates and echoing whistles. You nearly sank into your seat. The second-years sitting nearby definitely noticed and started whispering. Kuroo, of course, looked very pleased with himself.

After they won (of course), he trotted over during cool-down, sweaty and flushed with victory.

“You came,” he said, tossing a towel over his shoulder, grinning like he was holding back a million teases.

“I did,” you replied, trying to sound unimpressed. “It was loud. And crowded. I hated every second.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, stepping closer. “And yet… you stayed. For the whole game.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warm. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, too late,” he smirked, leaning down, voice low and warm, “You blew my mind just by showing up. Figured I’d return the favor.”

Kaname Moniwa

The gym was loud. Too loud, in your opinion. The constant echo of shoes on the floor, the sharp thump of volleyballs, the buzz of excited fans—it was the kind of sensory overload you usually avoided like the plague. You were more of a quiet-coffee-shop-on-a-Saturday kind of person.

But this wasn’t just any Saturday. It was Moniwa’s game. You stood toward the back of the bleachers, not quite ready to throw yourself into the crowd. But your eyes were on the court, scanning Date Tech’s warm-up line until—

There. Him.

Moniwa looked locked in, focused, the reliable captain he always tried to be. Calm voice, patient instructions, shoulder claps to his teammates. The pressure of leading never showed too much on his face. But then, like he felt your gaze, his eyes flicked to the stands.

He saw you.

And just like that, his expression broke—surprise first, then something soft and warm blooming over his features. His lips parted slightly, and then the tiniest smile tugged at the corners. A quiet, stunned kind of happiness.

You mouthed, “Hi.” A little awkward wave followed.

His cheeks pinked immediately. He missed the ball that was gently tossed his way by Futakuchi, who, of course, made some snarky comment about "Moniwa-senpai being in love or whatever," which only made his face redder.

The game began, and you stayed tucked in your spot—cheering when you could, flinching a little at the louder moments. But Moniwa? He kept glancing at you between plays. Every time Date Tech scored, his eyes would dart up, like he was silently asking, “Did you see that?”

After the game—Date Tech won—he jogged over to where you stood, his hair a little messy, still catching his breath.

“You came…” he said, like he still couldn’t quite believe it.

“I did,” you smiled. “Loud gym and all.”

Moniwa’s gaze softened. He stepped closer, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know this kind of stuff isn't really your thing… so thank you. Really.”

You shrugged, gently bumping his arm. “I figured if I was ever going to sit through a game, it should be for the guy I like.”

Moniwa laughed quietly, eyes bright. “That’s dangerous talk. You keep saying things like that and I’ll get used to seeing you here.”

You smirked. “We’ll see.”

And right then and there, still surrounded by the noise and chaos, Moniwa looked at you like you were the calm in the storm.

Would you like a version where the team finds out and gently (or not-so-gently) teases him afterward?

Kōtarō Bokuto

The gym was alive with energy—yelling fans, squeaky shoes, the echo of volleyballs slamming against the court. Kōtarō Bokuto was in his zone. Confident, loud, grinning from ear to ear as he launched himself into another perfect spike. “Bo-kutoooo-saaaaan’s in the ZONE!” he shouted, arms raised in celebration.

But then—

A flicker of movement in the crowd caught his eye. Something unexpected. Someone unexpected. There you were. Tucked off to the side, clearly not dressed like the typical volleyball crowd. You looked a little awkward, a little out of place… but you were smiling. At him.

Bokuto froze mid-celebration, his grin faltering into a wide-eyed stare.

“AKAAAASHIIIIIIII—” he half-whisper-yelled across the court, grabbing his vice captain’s arm and practically vibrating. “They're here! THEY'RE HERE! My babe showed up!! I didn’t even guilt-trip them this time!!”

“Yeah,” Akaashi replied calmly, “I see them. Eyes back on the game, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto spun back to the court, but it was no use—he was on cloud nine now. His serves got more dramatic, his spikes somehow even louder, and every single time he landed a point, he immediately whipped his head around to see if you were watching.

You were. During a timeout, he couldn’t help himself. Right before heading back onto the court, he turned toward the bleachers, locked eyes with you, and—grinning like a fool—blew you a kiss.

You immediately turned red. He knew it. He could feel your flustered reaction even from halfway across the gym.

Victory? Already his.

After the game (they won, obviously), he jogged over to you, still dripping with sweat and pride.

“You came!” he beamed, eyes practically sparkling. “You came even though it’s loud and annoying and not your thing and everything!”

You shrugged, a little embarrassed. “Well… it’s you. So.”

Bokuto made a soft, dramatic noise like he’d just been shot in the heart. “You’re gonna kill me with cuteness, babe.”

Then he threw his arm around your shoulder, gently tugging you close.

“Next time,” he said, “you’re sitting in the front row. Right where I can see you every time I score.”

You laughed. “You act like that’s not what you did already.”

He winked. “Guilty. But hey, you were my lucky charm.”

Wakatoshi Ushijima

It was full, very crowded. Almost as if the gym was bursting.The energy buzzed like electricity, tension coiling around every bounce of the ball, mood is at its peak. It was one of Shiratorizawa’s biggest matches of the season—the match Ushijima had mentioned more than once with a rare kind of intensity in his voice. You knew how much it meant to him.

You also knew loud gyms and sweaty sports matches weren’t exactly your idea of a good time. But… this was Wakatoshi, your Toshi. So you made the exception.

And more than that—you were wearing his jersey. You figured, if you were going to go then you wanted to give it a hundred percent. The crisp “USHIJIMA” across the back felt a little big on your frame, but it made you feel closer to him, even from the bleachers.

He didn’t know you were coming. Not until the teams lined up to warm up and his eyes flicked across the crowd like they always did, calm and unreadable—until they landed on you.

His stoic expression wavered. Barely.

But if you knew Ushijima, and you did, you could see it: the ever-so-slight softening of his eyes, the subtle part of his lips, the faintest breath he held in his chest. You gave him a small wave.

His eyes dropped to the jersey. His name. On you. That was it.

For the briefest moment, Ushijima looked overwhelmed in the quietest way—like someone had just handed him a truth he didn’t expect but never knew he needed.

“...You good, Ushiwaka?” Tendou murmured beside him, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes,” Ushijima said simply, his voice lower, grounded. “Better than good.”

He turned back to the court with quiet determination, shoulders squaring, eyes sharper than ever.

He played flawlessly.

Spike after spike, point after point—he was unstoppable. But after every break, every timeout, his eyes would find you again. Just a glance. Just enough to remind himself you were really there.

And after the win, when the gym was slowly emptying out, he found you waiting near the exit, still wearing his jersey, arms crossed like you weren’t as out of place as you felt.

He walked up, quiet as ever, and stood in front of you with that signature stillness.

“You wore my jersey.”

You gave a small shrug, trying to play it cool despite your heart hammering. “Well, I figured… you said this match was important.”

Ushijima nodded once. Then paused. And then, in a tone so soft it barely reached your ears, he said, “It meant a lot to me. That you came. That you wore that.”

You blinked, surprised by the warmth in his voice. He looked down at you, something gentle and deeply sincere flickering in his eyes.

“I always play to win,” he said. “But today, I wanted to win for you too.”

Shinsuke Kita

The gym was buzzing—shouts, squeaks of sneakers, the sharp echo of volleyballs slamming against the floor. It was the kind of environment you usually avoided. Too loud, too many eyes, too much everything. And you’d told him as much, gently and apologetically. “I want to support you, I do,” you had said, “but crowds just… drain me. I’m sorry.”

Kita hadn’t pushed. Of course he hadn’t. He’d simply nodded, his voice as calm as always. “I understand. Don’t worry. I know you’re supporting me, even if you’re not there.” And yet… he’d mentioned this particular game more than once. It was important. A chance to qualify for something bigger. And every time he spoke about it, you could hear it in his voice—how much it mattered.

So here you were.

Tucked quietly near the back row of the bleachers, hoodie slightly too big, hands clutched in your lap. Heart pounding. You’d snuck in just as warm-ups started, unnoticed by most.

But not by Kita.

He spotted you as he turned after stretching, mid-routine. At first, he froze, subtle and still. A blink. A quiet breath. He hadn’t expected it—you’d told him you wouldn’t come—but there you were. Watching. Really there. His expression didn’t change much. Not like some of his louder teammates would react. But you knew him. And the soft widening of his eyes, the way his gaze lingered on you for just a heartbeat longer than usual, the tiniest upturn at the corner of his mouth?

It said everything.

You came anyway.

That was all he needed.

He played with the same precision and calm strength he always did, but there was a new sense of quiet pride behind each move—like your presence grounded him more than it distracted him. Steady and sure. After the game (they won, of course), Kita approached you as the gym slowly emptied out. He didn't rush, didn't say anything flashy. Just walked up and stood in front of you, hands in his jacket pockets, soft brown eyes meeting yours.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, voice low and warm.

You fidgeted slightly. “I know. I… I thought I could handle it. Just this once. Because it was important to you.”

Kita was quiet for a moment.

Then he smiled. Not just with his mouth, but his whole presence—something gentle and solid.

“It means a lot,” he said simply. “More than I can say.”

And then, so naturally it made your heart flutter, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers warm and careful.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “You didn’t have to. That’s what makes it special.”

[honeydippedfiction]

Angel x Joe shy prompt “So deeply in love that it almost makes their friends uncomfortable to witness.” Mixed with “Inside jokes that literally no one understands.” Mixed with “Feathery forehead kisses.”

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So deeply in love that it almost makes their friends uncomfortable to witness, Inside jokes that literally no one understands, & Feathery forehead kisses.

Joe Burrow x Angel

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Joe Burrow and Angel had always existed in their own world. It wasn’t something they planned; it simply happened. From the moment their paths first crossed on the LSU campus, something electric sparked between them. Angel had caught Joe’s eye with her effortless smile, her quiet confidence that somehow commanded attention without trying, and a presence that felt like home the moment he looked at her. He’d never believed in love at first sight, but with Angel, it had felt like an undeniable certainty.

Back then, Joe had been laser-focused on football—his final year at LSU, the looming NFL draft, everything feeling like a set of weights pressing down on him. Angel had been the calm in the storm, her laughter and light a source of peace amidst the chaos. But as the seasons passed, and their relationship deepened, something extraordinary happened. Their connection blossomed into something rare, something neither of them had ever known before.

Their love had grown, subtle and unspoken, like the slow unfurling of petals on a flower. It was organic—rooted in late-night talks about the future, impromptu adventures to random places, and the quiet moments of just being present with one another. Joe had always known he wanted to be great, to leave his mark on the world, but with Angel by his side, it felt like he had already found his greatest victory.

They’d been together since Joe’s final year at LSU, before the bright lights of the NFL had even begun to flicker in the distance. Back then, it had been simpler—just two people navigating life together, learning what it meant to be with someone who truly understood. But now? Now, everything had changed. Their love wasn’t just about being together; it was about knowing each other in ways that felt both intimate and infinite. It was the kind of love that made everything else fade to the background. And sometimes, their friends and loved ones felt like they were intruding on something too beautiful to touch.

It was a Saturday evening, and the usual crew had gathered at Joe and Angel’s house. The backyard was alive with the crackle of a firepit, the soft glow of the flames illuminating the familiar faces of their closest friends. The air was warm, tinged with the promise of summer. The sound of laughter filled the space, mixing with the soft clink of glasses and the rustle of conversation.

But in the midst of the crowd, Joe and Angel seemed to exist in their own little bubble. Every so often, their eyes would meet across the circle, an unspoken exchange passing between them—something soft, something electric. Their shared language, an understanding forged over years of being together, always found its way to the surface. They didn’t need words, just the quiet looks, the tiny gestures, the inside jokes that no one else could possibly understand.

Ja'Marr Chase, sitting across the fire from them, leaned back in his chair with a grin, clearly amused but also slightly uncomfortable. “Okay, okay, we get it, you two are in love,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But can you please stop speaking that weird language that only you guys get for like, five minutes?”

Joe’s lips curled into a smile, that easy, effortless smile that Angel had fallen for all those years ago. His eyes caught hers, and a warmth spread through his chest. There was something in that look—a quiet secret, a language only they spoke. Angel, ever the mischief-maker, raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips twitching as she reached for Joe’s hand.

“Oh, it’s not weird,” she teased, her voice dripping with playful confidence. “It’s an ancient dialect. Passed down through the generations.”

Joe nodded solemnly, playing along. “Exactly. We’ve spent years perfecting it... passed down from the wise elders of... the couch.”

The rest of the group exchanged confused glances. It wasn’t the first time Joe and Angel had thrown out a cryptic comment that no one else understood, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But to them, it wasn’t strange—it was just another layer of their connection, a language created over countless inside jokes and shared moments.

Ja'Marr squinted at them, clearly baffled. “Wait. Are you seriously telling me you have an actual language?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Joe replied with a straight face. “It’s incredibly complex. Takes years of training to master.”

Angel leaned in closer to him, her voice softening into a whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. “It’s called the ‘Couchian Code,’” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear as she spoke the absurdity of it all. “Once you’re initiated, you get a lifetime pass to... absurdity.”

Joe’s face lit up with an impish grin. “And once you’re in, you get the most sacred of rewards,” he said, his voice turning serious, before he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. The kiss was tender, as light as a feather brushing her skin.

Angel closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the simplicity of it. It wasn’t much, just a quiet gesture that spoke volumes to them both. It was their thing. And she had always teased Joe about it, how no one else could ever understand how something so small could carry so much meaning.

“Forehead kisses,” she murmured, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she pulled back to look up at him, her eyes glimmering with affection and mischief.

Joe chuckled, giving her a knowing look. “Only for you, baby.”

Angel grinned, then tilted her head, giving him a mischievous wink. “Just like I only give you the perfect amount of sass.”

Across the fire, Tee Higgins let out an exaggerated groan, shaking his head. “I’m lost, man. Like, I get that you’re in love and all, but these moments? They’re getting weird.”

Angel threw her head back and laughed, her voice light and melodic. “Oh, it’s not weird,” she said, reaching out and giving Joe’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You just haven’t been initiated.”

Joe’s grin widened, his fingers still laced with hers. “Once you’re part of the club, you get the full experience.”

Tee raised his hands in mock defeat. “Alright, alright. My brain’s hurting just trying to keep up with you two.”

The inside joke lingered in the air, like a riddle no one could solve, but Joe and Angel didn’t care if anyone else understood. They didn’t need anyone else to get it; all that mattered was that they understood each other. The rest of the world could fade into the background.

As the evening wore on, Joe and Angel found themselves drifting back into their own world, the noise of the crowd around them becoming distant. Angel turned to him, a playful glint in her eyes. “Remember the time we tried to make ‘Pineapple’ a thing?”

Joe froze for a moment, his expression turning mock-horrified. “Oh God, don’t remind me. That was a disaster.”

Angel’s grin spread wider as she leaned in closer. “But it wasn’t terrible. It was perfectly ridiculous. Pineapple. The way it sounds. The random way we just decided it needed to mean something.”

Joe shook his head, his lips curling into a smirk. “You and your absurd ideas,” he whispered, leaning in to speak against her ear. “Pineapple... means, ‘I’m going to make you laugh so hard, you’ll forget what you were even talking about.’”

Angel burst into laughter, the sound rich and pure, and Joe’s heart swelled with affection. It was moments like this, these silly, meaningless exchanges, that made their love feel so effortlessly beautiful. It wasn’t just about the big gestures or declarations—it was the little things, the private moments that no one else could ever replicate.

“Pineapple,” she said again, as if the word were magic itself, unlocking more laughter, more ridiculousness.

Joe repeated it with a grin, “Pineapple.” He leaned down, pressing another soft kiss to her forehead—this one lingering just a little longer, slow and deliberate, like it carried everything they had built together: the quiet understanding, the shared memories, the deep, unspoken connection that had been growing between them for years.

Angel closed her eyes as she melted into the kiss, her heart beating in rhythm with his. “I think pineapples are officially our thing,” she whispered against his lips, a teasing smile pulling at her mouth as she pulled back to look at him.

Joe smiled softly, his hand cupping her cheek. “Only we could make pineapples an inside joke,” he said, his voice a quiet promise.

And in that moment, it didn’t matter what anyone else thought or said. It wasn’t about grand gestures or big speeches—it was the small, perfect moments: the ridiculous inside jokes, the feathery kisses, the language they had built that no one else could understand. They had everything they needed, right there, in those simple, intimate exchanges.

“Pineapple,” Angel whispered, her forehead resting gently against his once more.

“Pineapple,” Joe echoed, his lips brushing her head in a soft, feather-light kiss. In that moment, everything felt perfect. Their world was theirs alone.

[dragonridersandhighlords]

Chasing Shadows | S E V E N

masterlist | CS Masterlist

Summary: Everything Wren thought she knew is unraveling and the only thing more dangerous than the enemy are those with life altering secrets.

Notes: Updates are going to be slower after this! I will still try to put at least one out a week but no guarantees! Thank you so much for the support on this series!

Warnings: panic attack/dissociation, betrayal, threats of death, terrible descriptions of battle, major character death

Word Count: 8.4k

previous part

“No. This isn’t real. This has to be some sick dream.”

The cry of a dragon echoed through my mind, shattering the silence of the night as the familiar figure of a red daggetail plummeted to the earth. My heart raced, a visceral fear clawing at my chest. 

“He’s gone,” Desa’s gentle voice brushed against our bond, a soothing balm that only deepened my desperation. I begged her to dive, to reach Liam before it was too late.

“Wrennie?” The sound of my name pulled me from the abyss. I met Liam’s concerned gaze, his dark eyes searching mine. “You okay?”

I must have looked pale, a specter of my usual self. This was my second vision in a month, a haunting pattern that left me feeling more vulnerable than ever. Twice now, I had watched Liam die—twice too many for a marked one like me. A cold dread settled in my stomach, and I struggled to mask my unease. 

“Fine.” My voice sounded hollow even to my own ears. “Just didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Okay.” Liam's brow furrowed, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. “Xaden wants to talk to you.”

I nodded, my gaze drifting past him to where Xaden stood, shrouded by the shadows of the rocks, his presence commanding and intense. 

“Something bad is going to happen.” His voice pierced through my mind, sending a chill down my spine as I made my way to him. 

“I know.” I sighed aloud, dread pooling in my gut as I reached his side. 

“What’d you see?” Xaden's instinctive question hung in the air, and I fought to keep the tears at bay, the weight of my visions pressing heavily upon me.

“Something we might not be able to stop, but I’m going to try.” The words spilled out before I could second-guess myself, and to my surprise, Xaden nodded, acceptance mingling with worry in his gaze.

“I have to tell you something,” he said, the gravity of his tone pulling me closer. “But I need you to understand that I made a lot of promises to a lot of people. That’s why I never told you before.”

“What are you talking about?” I searched his eyes, desperate to read the unspoken fears lurking beneath the surface.

“I—” He hesitated, and I could see the moment his bond with Sgaeyl tightened, urgency radiating off him. “Fuck, I thought I had more time.” The frustration in his voice was palpable. “Trust me, please.” 

“What’s going on?” 

The air was thick with tension, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as the reality of the situation settled over me like a heavy cloak. 

“General Sorrengail’s youngest? This is a treat.” The voice was both startling and oddly familiar, echoing around the rocky outcropping as I strained to place it. My pulse quickened, and I exchanged a worried glance with Xaden, who had stepped closer.

As we rounded the jagged rocks, a breathtaking sight unfolded before us: a pair of gryphon flyers stood a few yards away, their majestic forms adorned with gleaming feathers that caught the light of the fading sun. I instinctively reached for one of my blades, the cool steel a reassuring presence against my palm, but before I could draw it, Xaden's hand clamped down around my wrist, grounding me with urgency.

“You’re fucking early.” His voice was low and threatening, his eyes locked on the flyers with a fierce intensity that made my heart plummet. The calmness in his tone clashed with the tension radiating from his body. “What happened to meeting tomorrow? We don’t have a full shipment.”

“The shipment isn’t the issue,” the woman replied, shaking her head, her features illuminated by the dimming light.

“Syrena?” The name slipped from my lips in shock as I finally caught a clear glimpse of the female flyer, her face a mix of relief and confusion. 

“Holy shit, Wren, you’re actually alive?” Syrena exclaimed, pulling me into an unexpected hug. I froze, every fiber of my being alert and uncertain as the warmth of her embrace enveloped me.

“What are you doing here? What shipment are you talking about?” I managed to stammer as she pulled back, bewilderment clouding her features.

“You don’t know?” Her question hung in the air like a storm cloud, dark and looming, as she looked to Xaden.

“Xay?” I turned to look at him, seeking answers, but he avoided my gaze, his expression unreadable, as if bracing himself for the worst.

“I wanted to tell you,” he murmured, desperation creeping into his tone.

“Tell me what?” I stepped back from his outstretched hand, the distance between us suddenly feeling larger than ever.

“We’ve been supplying the drifts with alloy daggers to fight venin,” Xaden replied, his words hanging heavy in the space between us. “From Basgiath’s forge.”

“You what?” Confusion swirled within me, battling with a surge of emotions I couldn’t fully articulate. Am I angry? Am I upset? Impressed?

“I told you she’d react like this.” Garrick’s soft laughter broke the tension, but it only served to ignite the fire within me as I snapped my gaze towards him.

“You knew!” I accused, the realization crashing down around me like a tidal wave. “You’ve been helping? Do you realize how dangerous this is? What if you got caught?”

Xaden stepped closer, his expression earnest, almost pleading. “Wren—”

“How long have you been lying to me?” My voice was laced with betrayal, a bitter edge sharpening my words as I returned my glare to him. “How long have all of you been lying to me?” I turned, surveying my friends as they shifted uncomfortably, shame flickering in their eyes, leaving me feeling more isolated than ever.

“Since I turned 18,” Xaden's voice broke through the turmoil, and I could hear the tremor in his words, a fragile thread of sincerity struggling to pull through the weight of my disbelief. I gaped at him, the truth washing over me in waves, each one crashing against the shore of my understanding. 

“The whole time?” I echoed, my voice rising in pitch, incredulity spilling from my lips like water from a cracked dam. As if in slow motion, I turned my gaze to Garrick and Bodhi, who had shifted closer to Xaden, their faces painted with concern, yet tinged with guilt. “The whole time!” The words came out like a wounded animal's cry, raw and desperate.

In the corner of my vision, I caught a glimpse of Violet standing beside Liam, her expression mirroring my own shock, the two of us bound by the same tangled web of betrayal. She had trusted them just as I had, and now, as our eyes met, I saw the flicker of hurt reflected back at me. We were both casualties of their silence.

“Wren—” Xaden began, his tone softening as if trying to breach the chasm that had opened between us, but I couldn’t bear to hear him out.

“Fuck you!” I spat and turned on my heel, storming past, the ground seeming to tremble beneath my fury. 

“Did you know?” I demanded, my voice steady as I faced Desa, the massive blue dragon who had watched over me for years. Her eyes held a depth of wisdom that made my heart ache even more. 

“Youngling.” Her voice was low, like the rumble of distant thunder, and the single word hung in the air between us, answer enough but I need the truth.

“Did you know what they were doing?” I pressed, my frustration bubbling over, refusing to let the question slide. I needed answers, but the intensity of my glare was met with an unwavering calm. 

“Yes.” Her admission struck me like a physical blow, leaving me reeling as I took a step back. I scoffed, the sound sharp and bitter as I turned away, retreating toward Athebyne.

With each stride, I felt the air around me grow thick with the weight of my emotions—betrayal, anger, confusion—melding into a storm brewing within my chest. Flying to Athebyne would take about thirty minutes from the lake, but with the way my breathing was already uneven, I knew it would take me over an hour. I could feel the jagged edges of my shields rising around me, fortifying my mind against the chaos. Xaden’s door was locked tightly in my thoughts, a silent promise that I wouldn’t let anyone inside—because right now, no one on this team had ever told me the truth, and I couldn’t bear to be near them. 

I can see the front gates of the familiar outpost looming ahead, their weathered stone and iron frame a bastion of memories, both comforting and painful. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the landscape, but its beauty feels hollow as I hear the unmistakable sound of powerful wing beats from behind me.

“Wrenley, just stop for a minute!” Xaden’s voice pierces the air, filled with urgency as I know he’s sliding down Sgaeyl’s side. My heart quickens at the sound, a wild mixture of anger and betrayal surging within me.

“I’ll leave for Eltuval in the morning!” I shout back, the determination in my voice echoing off the stone walls as I push myself to walk faster, the ground beneath me blurring into a streak of dirt and grass. 

“You’re not leaving!” His voice grows louder, a mix of desperation and frustration, and the moment I sense him close behind, I break off into a sprint. “Damnit, Wren! Just stop!”

“Why? So you can lie to me some more?” I snap, my voice sharp enough to cut through the tension hanging in the air. I turn abruptly, my eyes locking onto his, the intensity of my gaze brimming with accusation. “So I can continuously be shown that I shouldn’t trust you?”

“You can trust me.” His response is soft, but the weight of the moment feels anything but gentle.

“Can I?” I challenge, my heart thundering as I reel off the questions that claw at my insides, desperate for answers that may never come. “Where were you for the two years before you went to Basgiath?”

“I was…” He trails off, his words hanging in the air like smoke from a dying fire, leaving an emptiness that chills me to the bone.

I scoff, turning back around with a heavy heart, the outpost now beckoning like a siren, its familiarity a cruel reminder of the trust I once held. 

“Wren?” Garrick’s voice calls out, an attempt to halt my retreat as I push through the gates, the sound of creaking wood punctuating my resolve. 

I don’t dare give him a response, my gaze fixed firmly on the floor, each step weighted with the burden of betrayal as I walk straight for the briefing room. 

“Look at me.” Bodhi’s voice cuts through the haze, his grip on my arm pulling me into the shadows of an alcove, sheltering us from the chaos outside. “You can be mad. You can cry, scream, I’ll even let you hit me. But you cannot shut us out.”

“You’ve all been risking your lives, keeping secrets for years.” The adrenaline from the confrontation begins to fade, replaced by a heavy sorrow that sinks deep into my chest. “I was still believing venin was a myth, a way to get us to behave as kids, but you all knew. Why didn’t anyone tell me?” A tear escapes, a silent testament to my shattered trust. “You were my best friend, Bodhi. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Xaden has to explain that, Princess.” The playful nickname slips off Bodhi’s tongue, and I huff a laugh, my voice echoing off the cold, stone walls of the hall. It’s been almost a year since either he or Garrick dared to use that term, a remnant of our childhood that now feels achingly distant. The corners of my mouth twitch into a smile, but it quickly fades as I remember the weight of the present. “I promise, if it was my story to tell I would.”

“They’re actually real?” The words escape my lips in a breathy gasp, the desperate hope that this is all just a misunderstanding clinging to my heart like a fragile thread. I look to Bodhi, pleading silently for him to dismiss my fears.

“They are. All of the attacks we studied in Battle Brief were the drifts getting alloy daggers, and the classified ones were possibly venin attacks.” His words cut through my apprehension, a stark confirmation that sends a shiver down my spine. The truth hangs heavy in the air, filling the silence with an uncomfortable tension. “We can only go off what the flyers tell us during drops, which is never enough.”

I nod, my mind racing, and glance around the hall, its emptiness suddenly suffocating. “Where is everyone?” I ask, anxiety creeping into my tone.

“I’m sure Xaden and them found the commander and are getting room assignments.” Bodhi shrugs, but the casualness of his tone feels misplaced.

“No,” I interject sharply, the instinctual unease prickling my skin. I move swiftly through the hall, turning to scan the shadows that loom in the corners. “Athebyne, on average, has two riots of twelve riders each, six healers, and four scribes, plus infantry. How have we not seen a single person besides each other?” 

I turn back to Bodhi, watching as the realization dawns on him. 

“They emptied it,” he murmurs, his brow furrowing.

“It’s a trap,” I conclude, urgency propelling me forward as I rush back out to the main courtyard, the chill of dread settling deep within my bones.

“Wren, can we please talk?” Xaden’s voice breaks through the whirlwind of my thoughts, and I halt, a mix of anger and disbelief flooding my senses.

“No, Xay—”

“I know you're mad, and I’m sorry, but I promised.”

“Xaden!” I cut him off, forcing him to meet my gaze, the gravity of my words hanging heavy between us. “Athebyne’s been emptied. We’re the only ones here.” 

“Everyone stop!” His command slices through the air, and I can feel the tension coiling in the courtyard as all eyes turn to him, the realization of danger palpable in the stillness. “Divide and search.” He pivots to me and Violet. “Do not leave my side. I don’t think this is a War Game.”

“Awesome.” Violet mutters, her voice dripping with skepticism as she crosses her arms defensively. We trail behind Xaden, the air growing increasingly tense, with Liam not far behind us. “This is one of the most strategic garrisons we man. There’s no way they’d abandon it for War Games.” Her eyes dart around, scanning the ancient stone walls that have withstood countless storms and conflicts.

“That’s the problem, Violet.” I groan, frustration weighing heavy on my chest. Memories flood my mind, vivid as the hues of dusk settling over the horizon. “My parents were stationed here for 10 years; they never cleaned this place out.” The dust-laden corners and the eerie silence seem to whisper secrets of the past, unsettling in their implications.

“What did Dain say to you before we left?” Xaden’s voice breaks through my reverie as we ascend the spiral staircase leading to the top of the Southwest tower. His tone carries an undercurrent of urgency, forcing Violet to focus. “He leaned in and whispered something.”

“He said something like… I’ll miss you, Violet.” Her reply is hesitant, yet laced with lingering affection. 

“And he said I was going to get you killed.” The weight of those words hangs in the air, and my stomach churns at the thought.

“Yes, but he always says that.” Violet rolls her eyes, trying to brush off the dread that looms in the shadows. 

“Liam, can you see the trading post?” I pivot, the urgency within me spurring me to act. I turn my back on the uncomfortable conversation, seeking clarity.

“On it.” Liam’s voice is steady as he strides to the battlement, his silhouette framed by the twilight sky. He leans over, eyes narrowing as he activates his farsight, searching for answers.

“What would Dain have to do with emptying an entire outpost?” Violet’s question pulls me back, the uncertainty churning within me anew. I glance between them, desperation clawing at my insides.

“Did you do most of your drops here?” I ask Xaden, watching as he nods, concern etched across his features. 

“Who knew you were coming out here?” My heart races, the implications too chilling to consider. 

“Bodhi, Garrick, myself and…” He trails off, his gaze drifting to Violet, and a heavy silence circles us. 

“Violet?” I probe, sensing something amiss, but he doesn’t respond. “Did you tell Dain about the trips?” My voice trembles with urgency.

“No!” She retorts defiantly, then turns to Xaden, the tension simmering. “Unlike some people, I never hid anything from you.”

“Violet,” he says softly, the weight of his words pressing down on us, “did Aetos touch you after I told you about Athebyne?” 

“What?” The confusion in her voice mirrors the anxiety that’s spiraled within me. 

“Like this.” Xaden lifts a hand to her cheek, a gesture both tender and alarming. “His power requires touching someone’s face. Did he touch you like this?” 

“I thought it had to be both hands?” My heart races, a foreboding instinct flaring to life as I watch their exchange. 

“Just the one.” Xaden’s gaze remains locked on Violet, the intensity of his stare pulling the tension taut in the air between them. It’s as if an unseen current courses through the courtyard, charged with unspoken fears that threaten to spill over. The shadows cast by the setting sun lengthen, darkening the stone walls around us, amplifying the weight of the moment.

“Violet?” His voice is edged with concern, a thread of desperation weaving through his words.

“Yes, but that’s how he always touches me. He would n-never…” Her response falters, laced with uncertainty as she instinctively steps out of his hold, the warmth of his palm lingering on her skin like a ghost. “I would know if he read my memories.” Her eyes glisten with defiance, yet a flicker of doubt dances behind them.

Xaden’s expression crumbles, the flicker of hope extinguished as his hand falls away from her cheek. “No, trust me, you wouldn’t.” The finality in his voice sends a chill down my spine, echoing the deeper truth that coils around us like a serpent.

You wouldn’t know if he read your memories. The thought gnaws at me, unsettling and invasive. My mind races back to moments shared with Dain, his hand pressing against my cheek with an intimacy that now feels tainted. How many times did he linger in that manner after my training? Oh gods.

“He knows.” My voice trembles as I take a step back, retreating until my back meets the cold, unyielding stone of the battlement. The air feels thick, suffocating, and the reality of our predicament weighs heavily on my chest. “Oh gods, he knows.”

Xaden locks eyes with me, but before he can even voice his concern, Garrick shoves a missive into Xaden’s hands, breaking the moment's intensity. 

“It’s addressed to you,” Garrick says, urgency etched on his features.

I watch as Xaden breaks the seal, the crisp crack of parchment slicing through the tension. A second letter falls from within, fluttering like a wounded bird. Garrick quickly scoops it up while Xaden reads, his complexion paling with each line that dances before his eyes.

“It’s for you, Wren.” Garrick’s hand extends toward me, and I barely manage to grasp the paper, the world narrowing into a singular focus.

Cadet Wrenley Tavis, Executive Officer of Second Squad, Flame Section, Fourth Wing.

As I break the seal and unfold the letter, the ground beneath me seems to quake, the words within threatening to pull me into an abyss from which there may be no return.

Cadet Tavis,

You can imagine my shock upon learning that you’ve been keeping not one but two signets secret for almost 2 years. An intinnsic and a precog, a dangerous pair. 

Should you live through the task assigned to your Wingleader, you are to report to my office immediately. Should you not, well, that's one less problem to worry about.

May Malek condemn your soul.

Colonel Aetos

The world around me fades into a muted blur, the edges of my reality softening as I stare at the letter clutched in my trembling hands. The parchment crinkles under the pressure of my grip, the inked words dancing before my eyes like phantoms in a fever dream. I can hear the murmur of voices rising and falling around me, but they seem distant, swallowed by the weight of the revelation that settles like a stone in my gut. 

No, no, no, no, no. 

The mantra echoes in my mind, a desperate chant against the inevitable tide that threatens to engulf me. Each repetition is a plea, a refusal to accept the stark reality laid out before me. 

“Oh shit.” Xaden’s voice cuts through the haze, laced with a tension that coils tighter around my chest. The sound of paper crumpling reaches my ears, grounding me momentarily, but it only serves to amplify the fear coursing through me. “It says our mission is to survive if we can.”

A shadow of disbelief flits across the courtyard, mingling with the fading light of day. “That’s not…” Garrick begins, his voice trailing off as if the words themselves are too heavy to bear.

“Guys, this is bad,” Liam shouts, urgency cracking through the air like thunder, and I hear the shuffling of feet as someone moves closer. Yet, I remain rooted in place, my gaze fixated on the letter, my mind racing as it grapples with the implications. 

“We’ve been sent here to die.” Xaden’s tone is grave, and the gravity of his words sinks like a stone into the depths of my heart. The breath catches in my throat, a jagged gasp that feels like an echo of my despair. 

I’m drowning in the suffocating realization; no matter how I twist and turn the situation in my mind, the conclusion remains the same. Leadership knows the truth, and with it comes the certainty of my death. Panic unfurls within me, clawing at the edges of my sanity as the world tilts dangerously off its axis.

“Wrenley?” Bodhi’s voice breaks through the fog, and I blink, trying to pull myself from the depths of my thoughts. His face looms in front of me, concern etching deep lines across his brow, but I am paralyzed. The words of the letter echo relentlessly, drowning out everything else, leaving me voiceless and trapped in a cage of my own making.

I can’t move. I can’t talk. The air feels thick, constricting around my lungs, each shallow breath a reminder of the looming threat that now hangs over us like a dark cloud. The chill of reality seeps into my bones, and for a moment, I wish for nothing more than to slip away, to escape the impending storm.

I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead.

“Xaden!”

“Deep breaths, Little Bird.” 

I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead.

“What is she saying?” 

“What happened, Love?”

I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead.

“No harm will come to you.”

I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead.

“Wren?” 

“Garrick, get her to Desa.” 

“Love, you need to go with him.” The urgency in Xaden's voice resonates through the suffocating air, but my head shakes instinctively, a reflex against the tumultuous reality that encircles us. The world around me seems to warp and sway, as if I’m caught in the eye of a storm, the chaos pulling at my very essence.

Xaden stands before me, yet he feels altered, a shadow of the man I hold dear. His once-striking gold-flecked onyx eyes—those warm orbs that always spoke of comfort and unwavering strength—now seem to smolder with a darker hue, rimmed in crimson. Red veins snake across his temples, pulsing ominously as if they are alive, echoing the frantic beating of my heart.

“Xay?” My voice trembles, feeling foreign as it escapes my lips. I stretch a hesitant hand toward his cheek, craving the familiar warmth that once anchored me, but now I am met with an unsettling chill that sends shivers racing down my spine.

“You should’ve listened, my life.” The words twist out of him, distorted and sharp, a haunting melody that reverberates in my mind. Before I can fully process the change, his hand clamps around my arm, and I watch in horror as the vibrant color of my skin dulls under his grip, a shadow washing over my very being.

In an instant, he shifts back to himself, the turbulence in his eyes still reflecting a worry that penetrates deeper than the very ground beneath us. My breath steadies, but the unease lingers, an unwelcome guest in the back of my mind. 

“Garrick’s going to take you somewhere safe, okay?” His voice softens, yet the urgency remains, a plea wrapped in concern. 

“No.” The word feels like an anchor as I finally force myself to speak. “I have to change it.” Understanding flickers across Xaden’s face, a fleeting connection that grounds us amidst the chaos, before he turns to the others.

“The letter says this is a test of your command." Garrick grips the crumpled letter, his brows furrowing as he reads, "You have the choice of abandoning the village of our enemy or abandoning command of your wing.” 

“What the hell does that mean?” Bodhi's voice cuts through the tension, urgency woven into every word. 

“They’re testing our loyalty without actually saying it.” Xaden folds his arms over his chest, his posture rigid, a sentinel against the encroaching chaos. The stark sunlight gleams off the ink of the missive he holds, casting jagged shadows on the ground. “According to the missive, if we leave now, we’ll make it to the new location of headquarters for Fourth Wing at Eltuval in time to carry out our orders for War Games. But if we leave, the trading post of Resson and its occupants will be destroyed.”

“By what?” Imogen’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife, urgency threading through her words. She leans closer, her brows knitting in concern.

“Venin,” Liam interjects, his tone grave, as if the very name itself carries the weight of a death sentence.

“You’re positive?” Xaden’s gaze sharpens, searching Liam’s face for any sign of doubt. 

Liam nods, resolute. “As sure as I can be without having actually seen them before. Four of them. Purple robes. Distended red veins spidering all around bright red eyes. Creepy as shit.” 

“Sounds about right,” Xaden mutters, shifting his weight, the tension coiling tighter around him like an invisible noose. 

“I liked it better when we just delivered the weapons,” Bodhi mutters under his breath, his words a low rumble of discontent. 

“Oh, and one guy with a giant-ass staff,” Liam continues, his voice rising with an urgent fervor. “And I swear to Dunne, one second the plain was clear, and the next, they were just…there, walking toward the gates.” His wide eyes reflect the fear clawing at the edges of their reality, pupils dilated as he uses his signet to pierce the depths of the valley below.

“Red veins?” Imogen’s inquiry hangs in the air, dread creeping into her voice.

“Because magic corrupts their blood as they lose their souls,” Violet murmurs, her gaze fixed on Xaden with a steady calm that seems almost eerie against the backdrop of chaos. “Nature likes everything in balance. If the fables are true, at least.” She adds when everyone turns to her, her voice a soft balm amidst the rising storm.

How she is so calm right now is mind-boggling. Even if I hadn’t learned that Aetos is plotting my death, I’d still feel a step away from completely losing it.

“You almost did,” Desa interjects, her tone a gentle reminder, albeit a cutting one.

“Thank you, Desa, for the gentle reminders of my shortcomings,” I retort, the sarcasm barely masking my fraying nerves.

“Not shortcomings, Wise One. These moments will make you stronger,” she replies, her words laced with an ancient wisdom that feels like a distant echo.

“The guy with the staff just—” Liam begins again, but the sudden blast of an explosion rings out, echoing ominously up the sparsely treed valley, followed by a plume of blue smoke that rises like a malevolent specter into the sky. “Those were the gates,” he finishes, his voice hollow, the reality of their situation crashing down around them.

“How many people live in Resson?” Bodhi asks. 

“More than three hundred,” Imogen answers.

“That’s the post they do the yearly trades at,” I add, the weight of the truth hanging heavily in the air, a bitter taste on my tongue. Images of traders, children, and families flicker through my mind, faces I’ve seen countless times over the years, now on the brink of annihilation.

“Then let’s get down there,” Bodhi urges, his impatience palpable, his resolve morphing into action. He pivots on his heel, the urgency in his voice a desperate plea. But Xaden, stepping back with a commanding presence, halts him with an outstretched hand, a barrier of authority meant to shield them all from reckless decisions. “You’re kidding me, right?” Bodhi’s incredulity bursts forth, his frustration crackling in the tense atmosphere like a live wire.

“We have no idea what we’re walking into,” Xaden responds, his tone brokering no argument, slipping seamlessly into full wingleader mode. His eyes, usually warm and filled with laughter, now blaze with the cold fire of caution. 

“So we should just stand here while civilians die?” Bodhi counters, his voice rising, a mixture of anger and desperation intertwining with the urgency of the moment.

“You know that’s not what he’s saying, Bodhi,” I protest, my words quiet yet firm, still recovering from the panic that clawed at my throat moments before. 

“This isn’t a fucking training exercise, Bodhi,” Xaden interjects, his voice steady but edged with a harrowing truth. “Some—if not all—of us are going to die if we go down there.” A knowing look flickers in his eyes as he glances at me, a silent acknowledgment of the horrors we’ve faced. I can feel the weight of that shared knowledge, the images of loss pressing against my consciousness, threatening to drown me.

“If we’d been assigned to an active wing, there would be far older, more experienced leadership making this decision, but there aren’t. If we weren’t marked with rebellion relics, if we hadn’t been aiding the enemy”—his gaze darts to mine briefly, the implications heavy—“we wouldn’t even be here with this choice. So, all command structure aside, what are your thoughts?”

“We have the numbers,” Soleil asserts, her voice cutting through the tension, a glimmer of hope amidst the impending dread. “And air superiority.” 

“At least there aren’t any wyvern,” Violet adds, her eyes scanning the expansive sky, searching for any sign of the mythical creatures.

“Uh. What?” Bodhi’s eyebrows rise, confusion mingling with disbelief.

“Wyvern. Fables say venin created them to compete with dragons and, instead of channeling from them, channel power into them,” Violet explains, her voice laced with an unsettling calmness. 

“Yeah, let’s not borrow trouble,” Xaden shoots a sideways look at Violet before returning his gaze to the heavens, wary of the unseen dangers lurking above. 

“There are four venin and ten of us,” Garrick interjects, stepping away from the edge of the battlement, the gravity of their situation settling like a stone in the pit of my stomach.

“We have the weapons to kill them,” Liam states resolutely, turning his back on the valley, his voice strong against the tide of uncertainty. “And Deigh told me seven gryphon fliers—”

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a deep orange hue over the battlement as Syrena emerged from the shadows of the southeastern corner, her presence a stark contrast to the encroaching chaos. 

“We’re here,” she announces. Her gaze drifted beyond the rampart, where plumes of smoke danced ominously against the twilight sky, curling up like tendrils of despair from the valley below.

“I left the rest of the drift outside once we noticed…” Her voice faltered momentarily, her shoulders dipping under the burden of her words. “…that your outpost seems to be… abandoned.” A heavy silence followed, the gravity of her statement settling in the air like a dark fog. She turned her gaze back to us, her eyes filled with a melancholy wisdom. “I’m not going to ask you to fight with us.”

“You’re not?” Garrick’s brows knitted together in disbelief, his voice barely above a whisper, an ember of hope flickering in his chest.

“No.” The sad smile that graced her lips spoke volumes, a bittersweet acceptance of the cruel realities before us. “Four of them is tantamount to a death sentence. The rest of my drift are making peace with our gods.” Her voice cracked slightly as she directed her attention to Xaden. “I came to tell you to leave. You have no clue what they’re capable of wielding. It only took two of them to bring down an entire city last month. Two. Of. Them.” Her voice hardened, and her eyes glinted with unshed tears. “We lost two drifts trying to stop them. If there are four down there…” She shook her head, the motion imbued with the weight of countless battles lost. “They’re after something, and they’re going to kill every single person in Resson to get it. Take your riot and go home while you can.”

“If we don’t help, everyone dies,” I implored, the words spilling forth from a place of deep-seated conviction. “Syrena, let us help.”

“We have dragons,” Imogen chimed in, her voice rising with a fierce determination that hung heavy in the air. “Surely that has to count for something. We’re not afraid to fight.” 

“Are you afraid to die? Have any of you seen combat?” Syrena’s voice sliced through the thick tension. The question lingered, hauntingly quiet, as the weight of truth settled upon us. No one could answer. Even the third years had merely watched from the sidelines, untouched by the horrors that awaited. “Thought not. Your dragons do count for something. They can fly you far and fast. Dragon fire won’t kill them. Only the daggers you’ve been bringing, and we have those.” 

She met Xaden’s gaze, gratitude shining through her weary expression. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. You’ve kept us alive these last couple of years and given us a fighting chance.”

“You’re going down there to die,” Xaden says matter-of-factly, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife through fog. The gravity of his words weighs heavily upon us, each syllable infused with a stark reality that no one can ignore. 

“Yes.” Syrena’s affirmation is resolute, a solemn nod punctuated by the distant sound of another explosion reverberating across the valley. The air crackles with the tension of impending doom as she turns, the fabric of her cloak swirling around her like a tempest, her posture unyielding as she strides back down the rampart, head held high. 

Xaden’s jaw clenched tightly, muscles taut with the weight of his conflicting emotions, the battle raging within his eyes. 

“I won’t leave,” I declare to Desa.

“Sgaeyl and I feel the same.” Desa’s voice breaks through, steady and unwavering.

“Sgaeyl says she has never run from a fight, and today will not be the first. And I’m not going to stand by while innocent people are dying, either.” Xaden shakes his head, his expression a mixture of fierce resolve and protective caution. “But I’m not going to order any of you to join me. I’m responsible for all of you. None of you crossed that parapet because you wanted to. None of you. You crossed it because I made a deal. I’m the one who forced you into the quadrant, so I won’t think less of anyone who wants to fly for Eltuval instead. Make your choice.”

“What deal?” I ask through our channel, my heart pounding in my chest, the urgency of the moment pressing down upon us like a lead weight.

“Live and I’ll tell you everything,” he replies, the promise hanging tantalizingly in the air.

“We’re riders,” Imogen interjects, her voice rising defiantly as another explosion shatters the silence. “We defend the defenseless. That’s what we do.” 

“You saved every single one of us here, cousin,” Bodhi adds, the gratitude in his tone underscored by an unwavering commitment. “And we’re thankful. Now, I’d like to do what we’ve trained for, and if it means I don’t go home, then I guess my soul will be commended to Malek. I wouldn’t mind seeing my mother anyway.” 

My heart aches at his words, for in this somber reality, the notion of dying for the right cause offers a bittersweet solace—if we perish today, perhaps we’d find peace in the embrace of those we’ve lost.

“I’ll tell you the same thing I did after Threshing our first year when we decided to start smuggling weaponry out,” Garrick says, his voice steady yet tinged with a familiarity that brings a sense of comfort. The weight of those memories hangs between us, a testament to our shared survival through the harsh trials we’ve faced. “You kept us alive all these years; we get to decide how we die. I’m with you.”

“You’ll tell me about Threshing too?” I ask, a knot of anticipation tightening in my chest.

“Everything, my love. No more secrets.” His eyes glimmer with a sincerity that calms the storm of uncertainty raging inside me.

“Exactly!” Soleil interjects, her fingers drumming against the hilt of the dagger sheathed at her thigh, the sharp sound echoing like a heartbeat amid the chaos of our decisions.

“I’m in.” Liam steps forward, resolute, positioning himself firmly by my side. “We watched as our parents were executed because they had the courage to do the right thing. I’d like to think my death would be just as honorable.” His words spill forth like molten steel, forged in the furnace of his grief and rage.

“Agreed.” Imogen nods, her fierce spirit evident in the set of her jaw. The solidarity we share ignites a flicker of hope amidst the encroaching darkness.

One by one, our collective resolve solidifies until only Violet and I remain uncertain, caught in the tempest of choices laid before us. 

“I won’t stop you,” Xaden tells me, his voice low and edged with concern. “But I’d prefer you far away from here.” His protective instinct is palpable, a shield against the cruel fate that looms over us.

“My mom died on the wrong side of history,” I reply, the weight of my conviction anchoring my heart. “I won’t.”

“Violet?” Liam questions gently, the attention shifting to her, the lone soul untouched by rebellion until now. 

She studies each of us, her eyes darting back and forth as if weighing the gravity of our fate. As much as I’ve despised her presence since she joined our ranks, the thought of her perishing here feels insufferable. Keeping her alive could mean safeguarding Xaden as well.

“I’ve been defenseless, and now I’m a rider. Riders fight.” Her declaration rings out, a clarion call echoing our shared destiny. 

I watch Xaden’s expression shift through a kaleidoscope of emotions, his concern for Violet battling against the fierce loyalty he carries for us all. In this moment of uncertainty, I cling to the flicker of hope he once offered, knowing that it’s that very light that can guide us through the encroaching darkness.

“Liam. Give me a report,” Xaden commands, his voice cutting through the tension, a beacon of direction amid our collective determination. 

As the plan unfolds, everyone will focus on the Venin threat and the imperative task of evacuating civilians, while Garrick and I watch from the skies, providing recon while I have the silent permission to alter our course if need be. 

“The only way to take them out is by dagger,” Xaden reminded the group, the gravity of our mission pressing down upon us like an impending storm.

“That means we’ll have to dismount and fight once we get the townspeople to whatever safety we can find,” Garrick adds, his expression set in grim lines, each word a reminder of the peril we’re choosing to face.

Xaden nods, the weight of leadership settling on his shoulders. “Save as many people as you can. Let’s go.”

Everything happens so fast, a relentless tide crashing over us. One moment, I’m focused intently on relaying vital information to Xaden, our words barely cutting through the cacophony of chaos surrounding us. The air is thick with tension, anticipation crackling like static electricity in the atmosphere. Then, without warning, a streak of red blazes through the sky, hurtling towards Tairn and Violet. My heart leaps into my throat, a primal instinct screaming danger.

“Liam!” I shout, urgency lacing my voice as I watch Tairn and Deigh besieged by a swarm of wyverns, their monstrous forms slicing through the air with razor-sharp talons. The world narrows to a singular focus. “I need you!” I call for Xaden. 

“I’m hunting the Venin at the walls!” Xaden’s voice cuts through the din, laced with determination and fear. 

“Please,” I responded, desperation rising like bile in my throat.

“If I leave, these civilians are all dead!” Xaden insists, his resolve hard as iron. “You can do this!”

The weight of his words strikes me deep. I can do this. Adrenaline surges through my veins, igniting a fierce fire in my heart. “We need to get the wyverns away from Deigh!” I urge Desa, who nods without hesitation, her wings unfurling as she dives toward the incoming beast.

Tairn is desperately trying to shake off the wyvern clinging to Deigh, its talons embedded deep in his scales, but his efforts seem futile against the creature’s relentless onslaught. 

“Deigh!” Liam’s voice rings out, a sound that sends icy fear swirling through my chest.

“Hold on, Liam, please!” I cry, pouring every ounce of my heart into our shared connection, hoping he can feel my desperation.

“Wren?” he gasps, his voice strained.

“We’re on our way!” Xaden's reassurance filters through, but even Desa’s fierce determination can't mask the dread pooling in my stomach. 

“It’s too late.”

And then, the piercing shriek fills the air, a harbinger of dread that will haunt my every nightmare. “DEIGH!” I scream, anguish tearing through me as I feel Desa’s mourning echo in the very marrow of my bones. 

“We’re too late,” I whisper, my voice cracking as I watch Violet rush toward Deigh’s fallen body. Desa lands beside me, and I slide off, running to Violet, who struggles to keep Liam’s weakening form upright. They stumble, and I dive to his side, the world blurring around me. 

“Wrennie,” he coughs, and my heart shatters. 

“I’m here,” I say, grasping his hand, the warmth slipping away.

“You were…” His voice falters, and I feel like I'm choking on the weight of the moment as I gaze up at Violet. Her face, streaked with tears, radiates despair as she cradles Liam’s other hand. “You were in my head, like Deigh could.”

“Yea, Li. It’s my signet,” I reply, letting out a heavy sigh, ignoring Violet’s reaction to my words.

“That’s cool.” He manages to force out a laugh, but it’s riddled with pain, a sound that twists like a knife in my heart. “Take care of Sloane for me, both of you?”

“No.” Violet’s voice trembles, her shock morphing into fervent denial as she tears her gaze from me, a lifeline slipping through her fingers. “You’ll be there. You have to be there.”

“Promise me, Wrennie.” Liam’s focus shifts to me, his eyes reflecting a vulnerability that makes my heart ache. “She’ll need someone. Just… don’t let her be alone.”

“I promise.” A tear escapes, trailing down my cheek. “I got her, Li.”

“Good. That’s good.” He forces a weak smile, the dimple that usually brings warmth now a ghost of joy that fades far too quickly. “And I know you feel betrayed, but Xaden needs you. Please hear him out.”

“Okay,” I nod, swallowing the lump of conflicting emotions lodged in my throat. “I can’t promise I won’t stab him though.”

“I’m counting on it.” His sigh resonates in the tense air, a rattle that pierces the silence with its fragility. “Just show him you're still here.” 

He turns to Violet, whose cries grow louder, each sob echoing the grief that hangs heavy around us as I feel the pulse beneath Liam's skin start to slow.

“Thank you, Liam. Thank you for being my shadow. Thank you for being my friend.” The words tumble out, imbued with the depth of our shared memories, each moment a thread in the tapestry of our lives.

“It’s been… my honor.” The wind picks up, swirling around us as if trying to carry away the sorrow, but it only amplifies the cries of Xaden as he approaches, despair etched into his features. 

“No, Liam.”

“Deigh,” Liam pleads with Xaden, who quickly moves to lift him, a fierce determination in his eyes. 

“I know, brother. I’ll take you.”

In that moment, I push back into Liam’s mind, desperately seeking the door, the void beyond fading with each beat of his heart. I force forward the bright moments, clinging to the essence of who he is as I watch Xaden lower him to Deigh’s shoulder, my heart heavy with the weight of impending loss.

I pull the memories from when his mother would bring him to Aretia on her visits, each recollection flooding my mind like the gentle rush of a stream. I can almost feel the sun-drenched warmth of those days, the laughter echoing through the vibrant halls of Xaden’s home, a place that once felt so safe. How the five of us—Garrick, Bodhi, Xaden, Liam, and I—would race through those corridors, our feet barely touching the ground as we chased after fleeting moments of joy. The fields outside were a canvas of green, where we’d tumble and play, the scent of wildflowers dancing in the air, our shouts mingling with the whispers of the wind.

The late nights when Liam and I would huddle in the library, pages turning like the fluttering of wings as we devoured every book we could find. Garrick and Xaden would eventually have to carry us to our rooms when we fell asleep by the hearth. Those last days together before I left, where every laugh, every smile, every hug seemed to etch themselves into the very fabric of my heart, now echo in the silence around us.

I slowly walk to them, still pulling memories like fragile threads as I kneel beside Xaden. His arm wraps around me and Liam’s pale face, and for a fleeting moment, I swear it gets brighter, a soft glow of hope in the midst of despair. 

“Make up. For me.” He whispers, but I can sense the heaviness in his fading voice, a plea that carries the weight of his love. “I always wanted to find what you two have.” 

“We’ll work it out, brother. I promise.” Xaden’s voice wavers, and I hadn’t even realized he was crying until now, the tears mingling with the anguish in the air.

I nod along with Xaden’s promise. “Nothing could keep us apart.” The truth is, I don’t know if we’ll ever come back from this, but I’d say anything to put Liam at ease as I watch each of his breaths become a struggle against the inevitable.

We look up at the sound of wingbeats, the sky darkening with dozens of wyvern soaring overhead, a stark reminder of the battle that still looms. I turn my gaze back down, seeing Liam’s head lolled to the side, his eyes unblinking, and a surge of sorrow grips my heart. 

“Goodbye, Liam.” I cry, my voice cracking, as Xaden releases a heart-wrenching scream. I pull him into my arms, our shared grief spilling into the open air, raw and unyielding. “We have to finish this, Xay. For Liam.” 

“I can’t—” Xaden gasps, pulling back to look at me and then at Liam, torn between the present and the loss. “I can’t leave him.” 

“I’ll stay,” I promise. “Desa and I will keep the wyvern away, but you need to go help.” 

Xaden nods, determination hardening his features as he stands, pulling me up with him. “Stay alive. So we can talk.” His hand rests on my cheek, forcing me to look into his eyes, a silent vow passing between us. 

“You too.” I nod, the weight of his gaze anchoring me. 

With a gentle press of his lips to my forehead, Xaden sprints toward Violet and their dragons, the urgency of the moment propelling him forward. 

“Desa,” I start, but she’s already beside me, fierce and resolute. 

“No one gets to them.” 

“Garrick!” I call, my voice strained and raw, slicing through the aftermath of chaos as I watch the last wyvern crash to the earth in a plume of dust and blood. My heart beats heavily in my chest, each thud a reminder of the grief lingering in the corners of my mind, but the sight of my cousin sprinting toward me only brings relief.

“Wrenley!” He envelops me in his arms, and the rush of adrenaline that has fueled my every move finally begins to ebb, leaving me feeling as fragile as a dried leaf. The warmth of his embrace is a lifeline, a momentary sanctuary. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” The words spill out, but they feel hollow as they hang in the air. My thoughts drift immediately to the bodies behind us. “Liam—”

“I know.” Garrick’s sigh is heavy with unspoken sorrow as he gently leads me toward Desa.

“Where’s Xaden?” My voice quivers, laced with anxiety as I search for him. The thought of him in danger sends a chill down my spine, a feeling I can’t shake.

“Violet was stabbed with a poison-covered knife.” Garrick's words strike like lightning, and my breath catches in my throat. “Since Sgaeyl is the fastest besides Tairn, he’s rushing her to the nearest healer. We’re going to meet him.” 

“And where is that?” The question slips out before I can filter my thoughts, desperation creeping into my tone, a thread of worry weaving through my heart.

“Home.” 

next part

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