#expect her brother when the Dark prompt comes

[spitzobsessed]

Swtortober day2. Light

Something about miraluka jedi and the symbolism of seeing the Light

[mythicalmaven]

Helloooo love, could I have nr 1, 13, 23(reader) and 28 with Daniel ricciardo?🤍 so needy for him

Forbidden - Daniel Ricciardo (requested)

As requested: a Daniel Ricciardo fanfic with a few prompts from the list! It's my first Ricciardo fanfic, so I hope I wrote it like you hoped lol :) It turned out a little longer than I expected, but I honestly like how it turned out! (I didn't proofread it, so excuse any mistakes lol)

masterlist | promptlist ↳pairing: daniel ricciardo x female!verstappen!reader ↳word count: 7,7K ↳prompts used: 1 - 'Use my thigh", 13 - "You're fucking soaked". 23 - "I..Uh.." - "I have never done this before" & 28 "We shouldn't do this" ↳warnings: friends to lovers, brothers teammate trope, age gap (8 years), kissing, alcohol, drunk, explicit sexual content, 18+ (MDNI!), jealousy, sexual tension ↳summary: In which it's 2017 and Max Verstappen's twin sister gets a little too involved with her brothers teammate

You honestly had no idea how you'd come up with the not-so-clever idea of getting wasted in a Monaco nightclub, but right now, you couldn’t care less. The music thumped through the room, blending with the haze of alcohol and dim, colorful lights, and a certain curly-haired Australian who had slipped off to the bar for another drink lingered in your mind.

As the beat softened into something deeper, sultrier, you found yourself moving with Carlos once more. His hands rested casually on your hips, his thumbs brushing over the fabric of your dress as you swayed together. Ever since your twin, Max, joined the Formula 1 grid, Carlos had become one of your closest friends.

Carlos leaned in, his lips close to your ear, his voice a low murmur against the music. "So… when are you finally gonna hook up with Danny?"

You scoffed, playfully swatting the back of his head. “Oh, shut up, will you?”

Carlos only grinned, knowing exactly how you felt about Daniel. He'd been trying to push you toward him for ages, but as always, you deflected. “I don’t think Max would be thrilled if I hooked up with his teammate,” you replied, though a part of you knew that wasn’t the real reason you’d been holding back.

Carlos shrugged with a smirk. “Did you forget how convinced Max was that we were hooking up back at Toro Rosso? He didn’t seem too bothered by that idea, did he?”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling as you swayed in rhythm with him, your fingers linking behind his neck. “Yeah, vividly. But that was different…” You let out a laugh, trying to keep your tone casual. “For one, our age gap was a lot smaller than Daniel and mine.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “You’re 20, who cares? Daniel’s 28—it’s not like he’s ancient.”

Sighing, you dropped your forehead against Carlos’s shoulder. “Besides, even if he would consider hooking up with me, he’d probably be disappointed. I’ve never… well, you know. I’ve only gone as far as giving a guy a blowie in a club bathroom, and even that was a drunken disaster. Somehow, I doubt a 28-year-old is looking for a hookup with a 20-year-old virgin.”

Carlos chuckled under his breath, rolling his eyes as he shook his head. “You're really that blind, aren't you? The guy is absolutely head over heels for you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Carlos shifted his grip, spinning you around so your back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist to guide your movements. To anyone watching, it looked like a slow grind, intimate and close, even though he left enough space to keep things comfortable.

He steered you both around the dance floor, inching you closer to the bar. “Look at him,” Carlos murmured in your ear, lifting a hand to tilt your chin ever so slightly. “See for yourself.”

Your gaze landed on Daniel, and your breath caught in your throat. There he was, leaning against the bar, drink in hand, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity you hadn’t seen before. His jaw was tight, his lips set in a straight line as he took in every shift of your body against Carlos’s, his gaze dark, brooding, and unmistakably heated. The way his eyes drifted, tracing the curve of your legs, lingering on your hips as they moved, made your heart race. He wasn’t just watching; he was studying, every look brimming with tension and frustration.

Carlos’s laughter hummed against your back, pulling you out of your trance. “The guy’s been staring daggers at me since the second we started dancing.”

“No way,” you murmured, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady, even though your pulse hammered in your ears. “He’s just… looking. Nothing more.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he leaned down to murmur against your ear, “Who are you trying to convince? Me… or yourself?”

“Fuck,” you huffed, feeling your cheeks flush under Daniel’s gaze, heat spreading through you in a way that felt as dangerous as it was thrilling. “I need more alcohol.”

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Hours and too many drinks later, you’d long since shed your usual shyness, finding a brazen confidence in the music, the crowd, and the glimmer of alcohol-fueled ease in every movement. The world felt hazy but thrilling, every pulse of the bass reverberating through you as you let yourself sink into the beat.

Carlos watched your transformation, amused at how you threw back shots and laughed a little louder than before. At one point, you looked back at him over your shoulder, eyes bright and mischievous, completely oblivious to the intensity with which a certain Australian had been watching you both.

With a chuckle and a playful push, Carlos nudged you forward, aiming you right in Daniel’s direction. “Go on, dance with him already,” he teased, his smirk saying he knew exactly what he was doing.

You stumbled into Daniel, feeling his hand steady you, his fingers lingering just a second too long as you regained your balance. “Well, fancy seeing you here, Ricciardo,” you quipped, your voice carrying an edge of flirtation that you didn’t usually dare with him.

Daniel’s lips curled into that easy, charming smile, his fingers still on your waist. “Fancy that. You’re looking a little… spirited tonight,” he replied, his eyes raking over you with a mixture of amusement and something darker, something almost hungry that you couldn’t miss, even in your haze. He was trying to play it off, keep things casual, but his gaze lingered just a bit too long, drawn to the curve of your hips, the dip of your collarbone, and the dress that had ridden up just enough to reveal more of your thigh.

“Oh yeah?” you leaned in close, fingers grazing up his arm, catching the way his eyes followed every movement. “What do you mean, ‘spirited?’” You were close enough to catch the hint of his cologne, something warm and subtly spicy, like he was, and it made you feel just a little bolder.

Daniel chuckled, but his fingers tightened slightly at your waist as if grounding himself. “Just saying,” he replied, “I don’t usually see you dancing like that.” His eyes sparkled with a mix of fondness and something a little more conflicted. He was trying so hard to keep things cool, but you could tell he was affected. “Especially with Carlos. Didn’t know he was your type.”

You laughed, moving your body a little closer to his, playfully ignoring the tension that brewed between you. “Carlos? Nah. He’s more like… a dance partner for the night. Besides,” you added, looking up at him through your lashes, “I think my type is just a little taller… curly hair.. and definitely Australian.”

A flicker of something like surprise crossed his face, his eyes briefly widening before he collected himself. He swallowed, looking away, almost as if to compose himself. “Is that so?” he murmured, his fingers curling at your waist, his voice low.

Just then, the music changed to something slower, a sensual rhythm that had you pressing a little closer against him. Daniel’s hands slipped to your waist, pulling you flush against him, his heartbeat thrumming fast under your hands as you settled into a rhythm together. You let your body sway, your hips pressing against him as his hands guided you, holding you steady and closer than he should.

“Gotta stop moving like that,” he mumbled, his voice tight, a strained note of amusement as he tried to mask how breathless he sounded.

You looked up at him with a smirk. “Why?” you asked, feigning innocence, though the mischievous gleam in your eyes told him you knew exactly what you were doing.

He swallowed, his gaze darkening as his grip on your hips tightened, pulling you flush against him. The movement brought you closer than before, and in that instant, you felt him—hard, pressing against you through his jeans, undeniable and unrestrained. A thrill shot through you as your eyes met his, your gaze drifting downward for a fleeting second, then back up to find his expression transformed, conflicted and charged. His voice was rough, edged with that undeniable tension. “You know very well why,” he murmured, his tone thick with barely restrained desire and frustration, his fingers gripping your waist as if to hold himself back.

Your lips parted in surprise, but you didn't move away. Instead, you let a slow smile spread across your face, your body swaying against him just enough to deepen his predicament. Daniel’s jaw clenched, his gaze darting down to where your bodies pressed together, his expression shifting between longing and resistance, the internal battle clear as he tried to keep himself grounded, even as you blurred every boundary between you.

You felt the heat radiating off him, the subtle hitch in his breathing, the way his fingers trembled slightly against your waist.

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Hours later, you stumbled out of the bathroom, trying to make your way back to the dance floor but feeling far less coordinated than before. The world tilted slightly as you bumped into a table, a stray chair, and even a few club-goers who offered you amused or annoyed glances.

“Alright, I think you’ve had enough to drink for one night, darling,” came a familiar voice from behind, warm and steady. Before you could turn, a hand wrapped around your upper arm, steadying you, and the familiar scent of Daniel surrounded you, grounding you.

You turned to him with an exaggerated pout, his arm still holding you up. “I… I’m definitely… not,” you managed, words slightly slurred as you tried to shake off his grip, failing miserably. He chuckled softly, clearly amused.

Daniel’s gaze softened, his eyes roaming over you with a mix of tenderness and barely concealed desire. Your dress had shifted, one strap sliding off your shoulder, the hem hitching up to reveal more skin than you intended. He took in the sight, pausing for just a moment too long before swallowing hard and composing himself.

“Let’s get you sorted out here,” he murmured, reaching to fix your dress. His fingers brushed over your shoulder, grazing your skin, and he swallowed hard, the gentle touches sending a thrill through you. His hands moved lower, trying to straighten the hem, and his fingers brushed over the curve of your thigh, a touch that made you let out a soft, involuntary whimper. His eyes darkened, and he hesitated, looking like he wanted to pull away but unable to tear himself away from the way you looked at him.

“Mm… feels nice,” you murmured, leaning into his touch, your gaze half-lidded as you looked up at him, lips parted slightly. You noticed how he tensed, his jaw clenched, clearly struggling to resist.

“Come on,” he said, clearing his throat, his voice a little rough. “Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

He led you through the club, supporting you with one arm wrapped securely around you. As you stumbled along, your hand brushed over his chest, lingering a little longer than necessary, your fingers tracing small patterns as you walked. He glanced down, swallowing, his throat bobbing as he tried to keep his focus. Along the way, you nearly collided with Max, who took one look at you and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm bringing your sister back to the hotel," Daniel explained, nodding toward you with a hint of amusement. "She’s absolutely hammered."

Max smirked, his eyes flicking between you and Daniel. "You sure? I can take her back if you’d rather stay. I know she can’t hold her liquor."

“Hey!” you interjected, stumbling slightly as you tried to regain your balance, waving off your brother with a slurred, “I-Ik ben niet eens d-dronken…” (I’m not even drunk). You gave him a half-hearted glare, rolling your eyes in exaggerated annoyance.

Daniel glanced at Max with a small, amused shake of his head. “I have no clue what she just said, but don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he reassured him. “I was planning to head home anyway, and besides,” he added with a smile, “our apartments are in the same building anyway, so it's no hassle”

Max nodded, giving you a quick pat on the shoulder before turning back to Daniel. "Alright, mate. Get her home safe."

With that, Max watched as Daniel guided you gently but firmly toward the exit, his grip steadying you as you leaned against him, too tipsy to resist.

When you reached the curb, he helped you into a cab, sliding in beside you. You leaned against him, head resting on his shoulder, your hand slipping to rest on his thigh, your fingers drifting ever so slightly higher, sending a rush of heat through him.

“You’re drunk,” he murmured, his voice low and strained, trying to keep his breathing even.

You looked up at him with a playful, tipsy grin, fingers tracing the fabric of his jeans. “So?”

He bit his lip, fighting a losing battle against his own desires, his hand covering yours to stop its teasing ascent. He’d never seen you this forward, this flirtatious, and though it thrilled him, it terrified him all the same. The line between you had always been thin, but tonight, with every touch, every brush of your skin against his, you were slowly erasing it.

When you arrived at the apartment building, you had began starting to sober up a tiny little bit. Still wasted obviously, but it seems as if you had a little bit more control over your own actions.

As you fumbled through your purse, your expression shifted from confidence to frustration as you realized your keys weren’t there.

“I… I had them,” you muttered, searching again, only for the reality to settle in. “I must’ve left them with Carlos or Max.”

You looked up at Daniel with a mischievous glint in your eyes, swaying slightly on your feet. “Guess that means I’m staying with you?”

Daniel hesitated, his resolve weakening as he searched your face, taking in the way your lips quirked in that daring, flirtatious smile. He was already in too deep, the familiar ache in his chest too hard to ignore. After a moment, he let out a resigned sigh, offering a small, reluctant smile as he nodded.

“Yeah, alright,” he said softly, his hand brushing over your back as he guided you inside. “But you’ve gotta promise me you’ll go straight to bed.”

You leaned in, closer than necessary, your breath warm against his cheek. “We’ll see about that,” you murmured playfully, sending one last spark of heat through him as he led you toward his apartment, both of you caught in a delicate balance of desire, restraint, and the thrill of the unspoken between you.

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Daniel led you to his kitchen, pulling out a stool by the bar, gesturing for you to sit. But you had other ideas. Following him over to the sink, you leaned back against the counter, lifting yourself up onto it. Your dress slid up as you settled, exposing nearly everything to anyone watching.

Daniel turned off the tap, glass in hand, and was about to pass it to you when he caught sight of you. His gaze trailed over your bare thighs, and his breath hitched, eyes widening as he muttered, “Fuck.” His eyes lingered, and he dared to glance lower, noticing the smallest glimpse of black lace between your slightly parted legs.

Swallowing hard, he gripped the counter edge, his knuckles whitening as he fought the overwhelming urge to close the distance between you, his lips already tingling with the desire to claim yours. Forcing himself to look away, he pressed the glass into your hand, his voice husky and tight. “Drink this. It'll help,” he murmured, barely able to keep his composure. “I’ll… I’ll go grab a shirt for you. So you don’t have to sleep in that dress.”

You downed the water in one swift gulp, letting your gaze drift back to him. The proximity hit you both, close enough for you to see the tension in his jaw and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. But what captured your attention most was the unmistakable bulge in his jeans, straining against the fabric, betraying the restraint he tried so hard to maintain.

A slow smirk crept across your lips as you reached out, letting your fingers graze his arm, traveling in a slow, tantalizing path up to his shoulder, then down his chest, inching ever closer to his belt. But before you could reach it, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist firmly. “We… we shouldn’t do this,” he muttered, voice low and rough as he gently pushed your hand away, though his touch lingered just a second too long, his resolve wavering.

Undeterred, you hopped down from the counter, stepping forward until there was barely any space left between you. Confidence you hadn’t realized you possessed surged through you, and you reached out, cupping him through his jeans. He let out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a moan, his resolve crumbling under the pressure of your touch.

Bringing your lips close to his ear, you whispered, your voice a hushed, sultry tease, “That’s what you say… but your body’s telling me something else entirely.”

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Daniel forced himself to gather every shred of self-control he could muster, putting a few steps of distance between you before he turned on his heel, heading to his bedroom to grab a shirt from the closet. His mind raced as he moved. He wanted you—God, he wanted you more than anything—but he knew you were drunk, teetering on that edge where even a soft touch or glance was hazy with the thrill of it all. And as much as he ached to feel your lips on his, to let every longing he’d harbored for so long finally spill over, he didn’t want to take advantage of your current state.

Yet, you were making it damn near impossible to keep his composure. Every touch, every glance, every whisper made his restraint crumble bit by bit, leaving him clinging to the last threads of resolve.

When he made his way to the bathroom with the shirt in hand, he stopped in the doorway, noticing you struggling with the zipper of your dress, your back turned to him. The zipper was halfway down, leaving a tantalizing glimpse of your bare skin, and his heart pounded harder, fighting between propriety and desire.

“Danny, can you help me with the zipper, please?” Your voice was soft, but the note of longing was unmistakable, each word sparking something primal within him.

He hesitated, but before he could stop himself, he stepped forward, leaving the shirt on the sink, and positioned himself behind you. His fingers brushed your skin as he reached for the zipper, feeling the warmth radiating off you. You shivered at his touch, a soft, involuntary whimper escaping your lips that sent a jolt through him. He dragged the zipper down slowly, his fingers grazing your skin, unable to resist lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

Once the zipper was down, you slipped the straps off your shoulders, the dress falling effortlessly down your frame, pooling at your feet. Daniel’s breath caught in his throat as he took you in, standing before him in nothing but your black lace lingerie. He clenched his jaw, feeling a wave of heat course through him, the last of his rationality slipping as his eyes traced over every curve, every inch of you laid bare.

You turned to face him, the look in your eyes a mixture of vulnerability and desire, a silent plea that tugged at the very core of him. Reaching up, you let your fingers graze the stubble on his jaw, caressing his cheek as you held his gaze. “Kiss me, Daniel,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, a soft, desperate invitation.

It was all he needed. His restraint finally shattered, and he closed the distance between you in a heartbeat. His hand cupped your cheek, fingers threading through your hair as he captured your lips in a kiss that was fierce, urgent, filled with all the pent-up emotion and longing he’d been holding back. You melted into him, pressing closer, every brush of his lips igniting sparks that spread through your body.

His hands slid down to the small of your back, then lower, gripping your thighs as he lifted you effortlessly, setting you onto the countertop of the bathroom sink. He stepped between your legs, his body pressing firmly against yours, grounding you in the heat and solidity of him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. The slight tug on his hair drew a low, guttural moan from him, his chest heaving as he leaned into you, lost in the feel of you against him.

His hands roamed over your body, sliding along your curves, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You gasped against his mouth, a sound that turned into a soft moan, each note pushing him closer to the edge of his composure. He deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips, exploring, tasting, savoring every second. You could taste the hint of whiskey on his lips, warm and heady, mingling with his natural, intoxicating flavor. Every brush of his tongue against yours sent a surge of heat pooling between your legs, each movement building the need that pulsed through you.

Daniel pulled you closer, his grip tightening as you felt his hardness pressing against you, undeniable, unmistakable. The sensation made you dizzy, your entire body responding to him, the ache between your thighs intensifying as you instinctively rocked your hips against him. His breath hitched, and he let out a soft, unrestrained groan, his head dipping to press heated, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot behind your ear. His lips left a trail of warmth, each kiss setting your skin alight, making you ache for more.

“Daniel,” you murmured, voice barely a whisper, breathless as you held him closer, “I need… I…”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and filled with a barely contained fire. “Use my thigh, love,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, encouraging you, his words laced with both restraint and indulgence. The suggestion was almost too much, the heat in his eyes spurring you on, each word sending another pulse of arousal through you.

You didn’t hesitate, shifting your hips to grind against his thigh, a soft moan slipping from your lips as you felt the friction, your panties already damp against his jeans. Daniel’s hands gripped your waist, guiding you, his own breath coming faster as he watched, the sight of you losing yourself in the pleasure unraveling him bit by bit.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice rough as he pressed a kiss to your temple, his hands urging you to move, encouraging every motion. “Been wanting this… wanting you… for so damn long.” He buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin as he spoke, his voice shaky, every word spilling out in a way that only fueled the fire between you.

“Seeing you with Carlos tonight,” he murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear, “it drove me crazy. Couldn’t stand it. I wanted to kill him for touching you” He paused, lifting his head to look into your eyes, his gaze raw, vulnerable, every wall he’d built around himself now shattered. “I’ve wanted you like this… needed you like this… for so long.”

Every word, every touch, every heated gaze pushed you further, his encouragement spurring you on as you moved against him, feeling the delicious friction, the warmth spreading through you as you both succumbed to the intoxicating pull of each other.

Daniel’s breathing grew ragged as he watched you move against his thigh, each roll of your hips sending a wave of heat through him. The way you looked at him, with that mixture of need and adoration, was undoing him in the best possible way.

Your breathing came in shallow, needy gasps as you looked up at him, eyes heavy with desire. “God, Daniel… you have no idea how good you look right now,” you murmured, your voice thick with arousal.

Your soft moans and whispered praises only fueled him more, each one pushing him to explore, to give you everything you were craving. His gaze darkening even more as he captured your lips in a searing kiss, pouring every ounce of pent-up desire and affection into it.

Without breaking the kiss, he slid you back a little on the counter, his hands gripping your hips firmly. You gasped as his fingers traced the edge of your panties, his touch light but electrifying, and he paused, his gaze meeting yours as if asking for permission.

You gave a small nod, your breath catching as his hand slipped beneath the lace, his fingers brushing over you, his touch igniting every nerve ending. His breath hitched when he felt just how wet you were, a low groan escaping his lips as he murmured, “God, you’re soaked.”

The words sent a thrill through you, making you arch into his touch, craving more. His fingers moved with deliberate slowness, exploring and teasing, drawing out your reactions, each moan and gasp fueling his own desire “The way you make me feel… God, it’s like you know exactly what I need.”

Your words lit a fire in him, a spark that deepened the hunger in his gaze as he pulled you closer. His lips curved into a smirk, fingers dipping lower as he murmured, “Yeah? I think I could get used to hearing that.”

He watched you intently, captivated by every expression, every sound that escaped your lips as he continued, building the tension higher with each movement.

You clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as his fingers moved with perfect rhythm, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. He whispered soft words of encouragement, his voice low and full of affection. “That’s it, love… you’re doing so well. Let go for me,” he murmured, his tone both comforting and enticing.

And then, as his touch pushed you over the edge, a wave of pure ecstasy washed over you, and you cried out his name, your body shuddering as he held you through it, his gaze never leaving yours.

Once you came down from your high, your hand started making their way to Daniel's jeans, intending to return the favor, yet your movements where halted once again by his fingers around your wrist "I won't be able to hold back if you continue" he mumbled, his lips pressing soft kisses against the skin of your neck.

"Maybe that's the point" you whispered seductively.

He shook his head "As much as I would love to, I'm not sleeping with you while you're drunk" he whispered as he pressed one last kiss against your cheek, before he pulled away, grabbing the shirt that was still on the sink with his free hand, assisting you to pull it over your head "We'll talk about it tomorrow, and then we'll see"

As if the post orgasm haze started to kick in, you felt yourself getting tired, giving yourself over to the Australian driver as he carefully lifted you off of the sink and carried you over to his bedroom, placing you down onto it.

He was intending to get up and sleep on the couch, just in case you wouldn't remember things tomorrow, or worse, remember it, but regretting things. But the soft plea that left your lips stopped him in his tracks "Please, stay with me?"

It was as if his legs moved on their own accord, slipping into the bed next to you, feeling you crawl into his arms, your head resting on his chest. Once he noticed you were sound asleep, he grabbed his phone from his pocket and send Max a quick text:

Daniel: Your sister is sound asleep btw, she's crashing here, since she apparently forgot her keys or something.

Max: Figured as much indeed, Carlos came over and handed me her keys, said she forgot to take them before she left. Max: Thanks for letting me know, I'll torture her tomorrow about her headache ;)

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As the soft morning light filtered through the curtains, you stirred, feeling the gentle warmth touch your skin as you blinked awake. It took a moment to piece things together, the room unfamiliar, the quiet hum of an unfamiliar space settling around you. When realization dawned, it hit all at once. This wasn’t your apartment—this was Daniel’s.

Your eyes widened, and you scanned the room, momentarily panicked. But the bed beside you was empty, the sheets cool to the touch, which brought a small wave of relief. Sitting up slowly, you took a breath, glancing down to see yourself dressed in one of Daniel’s shirts. The soft fabric brushed your skin, and you realized, with a sudden blush, that you were only in his shirt and your lingerie.

Heart pounding, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, trying to clear the fog of last night’s hazy memories. The details were elusive, flashes of warmth, laughter, and maybe… something more. You felt oddly refreshed, but the lack of clarity gnawed at you. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to find him, needing some answers.

Moving carefully down the hallway, you made your way to the bathroom, hoping to splash some water on your face, collect yourself before facing him. You twisted the doorknob, assuming the room would be empty. Instead, steam filled the space, and you froze, the faint outline of a figure behind the frosted shower door capturing your attention.

Your gaze locked on the silhouette, recognizing Daniel immediately—the shape of his shoulders, the familiar line of his back. A rush of heat flooded through you, your mind replaying a rush of emotions from last night, and you pressed your thighs together instinctively, trying to banish the sudden surge of desire. You knew you should turn around, slip out quietly, but you were rooted to the spot, utterly transfixed.

Before you could retreat, Daniel turned off the shower, reaching for a towel and wrapping it low around his waist before stepping out. His gaze landed on you, his mouth curving into a smirk, droplets still trailing down his chest and abs. His dark hair was wet, small drops sliding from his curls, and the steam radiated off his skin, casting him in a hazy glow.

“Well, good morning to you too,” he said, his voice a rich, low rumble, his signature smirk making your pulse race. “If you wanted to see me naked this bad, all you had to do was ask. No need to sneak up on me.” His tone was teasing, though his gaze held a hint of something deeper, something almost daring you to respond.

Your cheeks flushed, and you raised your hands to cover your face. “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” you stammered, feeling a mix of embarrassment and that same lingering heat from last night.

You heard him chuckle softly, and when you dared to peek through your fingers, he’d already dried off and slipped into a shirt and a pair of boxers. He stepped closer, gently pulling your hands away from your face, his expression softened, a trace of warmth in his morning-rough voice. “No need to be so shy, darling,” he murmured, the words filled with a quiet affection that sent a shiver down your spine.

You glanced at him, unable to ignore how close he was, feeling both relieved and oddly disappointed that he was now dressed. You couldn’t deny how good he looked, fresh out of the shower, the lingering scent of soap and warmth filling the space between you.

But the question weighed on your mind, and finally, you managed to ask, “Please tell me we didn’t…?”

Daniel’s gaze softened further, his eyes flickering with an understanding smile as he placed a steadying hand on your shoulder, letting it linger for just a moment before he replied. “If we slept together? No, we didn’t.”

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slipped out in relief. Before you could fully process it, though, Daniel added, “But I’m also not gonna pretend that you didn’t try to… and I’m definitely not going to act like nothing else happened.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt your breath catch, a wave of both nerves and arousal coursing through you. “Oh God,” you mumbled, lifting yourself onto the countertop by the sink, feeling a little dizzy, staring at the floor as you tried to piece together what he meant. “What did I make you do?”

Daniel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze steady and entirely too knowing as he took in the expression on your face. “You didn’t make me do anything, darling,” he said softly, his tone gentle yet firm. “It takes two to tango.”

The words lingered in the quiet, settling over you with a weight you couldn’t ignore. He shifted, stepping closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “Let’s just say… this isn’t the first time you’ve sat on that countertop in the last 24 hours. Although, last night it was for… different reasons.”

As soon as he said it, memories rushed back in vivid, unfiltered flashes—the feel of his hands, the press of his lips, the way he held you as if he’d waited forever to do so. Your cheeks flushed deeper, the weight of those memories flooding you, the reality of what had happened leaving you breathless.

“Oh God,” you murmured, looking down, struggling to meet his eyes. The blush deepened, and you tried to banish the embarrassment, but it was impossible to hide the way your body reacted to just being near him, recalling every detail of last night.

Daniel watched you, his gaze contemplative, and he let out a small sigh, pressing his lips together before speaking. “Look… you were drunk. I’d had a bit to drink too. I understand if you regret it” His voice was steady, but there was a subtle tension underneath, as if he was holding something back.

You took a deep breath, fiddling with your hands as you struggled to find the right words. "Yeah, about that.." you said, taking a deep breath before continuing "There might be a slight problem to that"

Daniel studied the way you were acting, unsure of what to expect “We can pretend it didn’t happen, if that’s what you want. That's no problem” he offered, though his tone held a hint of something unresolved, something unsaid.

Finally, you looked up at him, your gaze meeting his, the sincerity in your expression clear. “Well… I guess the problem is that..” you whispered, voice barely audible at first, but then you gathered your courage and continued, “I don’t regret it, Daniel… not at all.”

The words hung in the air between you, thickening the silence, every hidden feeling and unspoken desire now out in the open. His eyes widened slightly, the guarded expression slipping as something raw and vulnerable crossed his face.

Daniel's eyes softened at your words, the vulnerable confession drawing him closer, dissolving any remaining space between you. He stepped forward, situating himself between your legs once more, just like he had done last night, but this time you were both sober.

His presence warm and steady, grounding you in the intimacy of the moment. His hands reached up slowly, one gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing a soft line along your skin, the other tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze was deep, intense, and full of affection as he looked into your eyes, his face only inches from yours.

"Good," he whispered, his voice low and tender, “because I don’t regret it either.”

Without another word, he closed the distance, his lips finding yours in a gentle, unhurried kiss. There was no urgency, only a steady, deliberate affection that conveyed every unspoken emotion he’d held back. His kiss was soft and careful, full of warmth, each touch of his lips conveying the depth of his feelings as he held you close.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, and you both shared a quiet, contented breath, wrapped up in the warmth of the moment. But the tenderness only fueled the lingering desire that had simmered between you both, and with a sudden burst of confidence, you grasped the collar of his shirt, pulling him back to you.

This time, the kiss deepened, your lips moving in sync as the restraint melted away, giving way to something more fervent, tinged with longing. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you even closer, his fingers splaying against your skin. The gentle intimacy turned heated, your mouths exploring, tongues teasing as the passion escalated with each passing second. You could feel his breath hitch as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groaned softly against your lips, sending a shiver down your spine.

Without breaking the kiss, your lips began to wander, trailing a path from his mouth to his jaw, where you lingered, pressing soft, teasing kisses that made him shudder under your touch. You could feel the subtle stubble against your lips, the warmth radiating from his skin as you moved lower, planting slow, lingering kisses along his neck, tasting the faint hint of his cologne mixed with his natural scent. Each kiss seemed to draw a deeper, ragged breath from him, his chest rising and falling as he leaned into every touch, unable to hold back the quiet sounds of pleasure escaping his lips.

You let your hands roam freely, exploring the strong lines of his shoulders, fingers tracing down the curves of his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt. His pulse thrummed beneath your touch, quickening with each passing second. He swallowed hard, his breathing growing heavier as you continued, savoring every inch of him.

“God, Daniel,” you whispered against his neck, letting your lips brush the words over his skin. “You have no idea how good you look like this… or how good you feel.” Your voice was soft but laced with genuine admiration and a suggestive edge that had his grip on your waist tightening.

“Fuck…” he muttered, his voice thick with need as your words and touch clearly had an effect on him. He tilted his head back, giving you more access, his eyes closing for a moment as he absorbed the sensations.

Your lips brushed his ear, and you could feel him shiver as you whispered, “I’ve wanted this for so long, wanted to feel you… just like this.” Your words spilled out as you continued trailing kisses, his low groan fueling your confidence as you let your hands drift lower.

You let your fingers slide down his torso, tracing every line and curve of his body with deliberate, teasing slowness. Your hand finally ventured to the waistband of his boxers, and you pressed your palm against him, feeling the unmistakable hardness through the fabric. His breath hitched, a deep, guttural sound escaping his throat as he instinctively pushed into your touch, his fingers digging into your waist.

“God, you feel incredible,” you murmured, palming him gently, feeling his arousal grow beneath your hand, hardening with each brush of your fingers. “I’ve wanted this for so long, Daniel… wanted to know how you’d feel like this,” you admitted, voice a mix of admiration and desire.

“Shit… you’re… you’re killing me here,” he managed, his voice a strained whisper as he looked down at you, his eyes dark and filled with unrestrained want. His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer, his breathing growing heavier as he lost himself in every touch, every word you murmured against him.

You continued your slow, deliberate movements, letting your fingers trace along his length through the fabric, a satisfied smile crossing your face as he groaned in response, his hips pressing into your hand. “God, you look so good like this,” you breathed, meeting his gaze for a moment, taking in the way his face was flushed, his expression filled with raw, unfiltered desire.

“Keep talking like that, and… fuck, you’re gonna drive me insane,” he rasped, his voice low, rough with need, his hands gripping your hips with more intensity, clearly unable to resist the effect you were having on him.

Emboldened by his reaction, you slipped a hand inside the waistband of his boxers, your fingers wrapping around him, and his entire body tensed, a shuddered moan escaping his lips as he exhaled sharply. As you started running your thumb along his length, savoring the way he twitched in your hand, his face contorted with pleasure as he bit his lip.

“God… that feels so good,” he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked down at you, his expression a mixture of awe and arousal. His hands roamed up and down your back, and you could feel the effect of every touch, every word, as his breathing grew heavier.

Between breaths, you whispered softly in his ear, “I want you, Daniel. All of you.” The words tumbled out, filled with a raw honesty that made him draw back just enough to meet your gaze.

In one swift, effortless motion, he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to his bed. He laid you gently onto the soft sheets, hovering over you as his lips met yours once more, igniting the same passion that had brought you here. Each kiss was heated and lingering, hands tracing and memorizing every line, every curve, savoring every moment that had led to this.

As his lips left a trail of kisses along your collarbone, your breaths came faster, and the anticipation tightened around you. But then when Daniel started removing your panties, you felt a familiar wave of nerves rise, and your voice trembled slightly as you spoke.

“I… uh…” you began, hesitating, feeling vulnerable but needing him to know. “I’ve never done this before.” The words left you in a shy, almost apologetic murmur, your cheeks heating as you admitted it. You lowered your gaze, fidgeting slightly under his gaze, before adding, “I mean, I’ve done… other things. Just… never got to, well, this part.”

He paused, taking in your words, his expression softening instantly. Cupping your face gently, his thumb brushed along your cheek, his gaze reassuring and kind. “Hey, there’s no pressure here. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he whispered, his voice steady, genuine. “We can take it slow. Or… we can keep things just like this.”

You bit your lip, the vulnerability still lingering as you met his gaze. “You’re not… disgusted, or something?” you asked, feeling a wave of self-consciousness bubble up. “I mean, I probably won’t be… any good. You’re… you know…” You trailed off, your face warming as the words left you.

He let out a soft chuckle, leaning forward to kiss you gently, his lips reassuring as he lingered for a moment before pulling back to look you in the eyes. “Disgusted? Not even close,” he murmured, a faint smile on his lips. “And I promise you, that thought never even crossed my mind.” His thumb brushed along your cheek again, his gaze warm and encouraging. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter to me. Not at all.”

You took a steadying breath, feeling his words soothe the nerves that had crept in. A smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him, heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and newfound confidence. “I don’t want to take it slow,” you admitted softly, voice barely above a whisper, but the words full of determination. “I want it to be with you, Daniel. I’ve… I’ve thought about this more times than I dare to admit,” you confessed, the warmth of your cheeks betraying the shyness that lingered, but you held his gaze.

His eyes softened at your words, a slow smile spreading across his face as he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Then I'm all yours,” he whispered, his voice filled with affection.

Without another word, Daniel leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was deeper, hungrier, every ounce of restraint between you both slipping away. His hands roamed up your back, pressing you firmly against him as your bodies melded together, the heat between you palpable. His lips moved over yours with an urgency that matched the rhythm of his heartbeat, each kiss filled with the passion that had built up over all this time, all the unspoken moments leading up to this.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer as you felt his quiet groan against your mouth, his own hands exploring your curves, fingers tracing your waist and pulling you flush against him. His body hovered over yours as his gaze met yours, filled with both desire and a lingering tenderness that made your heart race.

His lips found yours again, and you welcomed him with a fervor that matched his own, your mouths moving in perfect sync as the kiss grew deeper, more intense. You could feel his body pressing into yours, the weight of him grounding you, making the moment feel all the more real. His hand traveled down your thigh, lifting your leg to wrap around his waist as he settled between your legs, his hips pressing against yours in a way that made your entire body ache with anticipation, before slowly but surely entering you inch by inch.

Between kisses, his hands caressed every inch of your body, learning and savoring every curve, every response he drew from you. His mouth left a trail of kisses along your jaw, down your neck, lingering on the sensitive spots that made you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he continued his slow, intoxicating descent. Each kiss, each touch seemed to stir something deeper within you, the desire building to a crescendo with every shared breath.

“Fuck…” you whispered, your voice soft and laced with longing, and he looked up at you, a question in his gaze, waiting for any hint of hesitation.

But you only pulled him closer, guiding him to you as your hands roamed his back, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch. He leaned down again, his lips finding yours as the kiss deepened, turning into something that went beyond words—a culmination of everything you’d both been holding back.

In that moment, every barrier fell away, and you lost yourselves in each other, the moment filled with soft murmurs, quiet laughter, and the tender, passionate intimacy you’d both waited far too long to share.

masterlist

[dead-girl-tells-stories]

DP x DC prompt:

Daniel was seething. It's been a year since he left the league and they've already found him. Well, it was his mother who found him. Not that that was any better but at least it wasn't Grandfather.

It also shouldn't have taken him so long to dispose of those soldiers. They weren't even that capable. Far below his level and yet he struggled. He needed to resume his training soon or else he would become rusty.

He cursed himself for getting too comfortable with civilian life. Not that his life was comfortable, far from actually.

He had been adopted by a pair of mad scientist with no concept of lab safety; and for all the intelligence they had, they couldn't fathom how to properly take care of a child, leaving their daughter to take care of herself and now her newly adopted sibling!

He sighed. He was starting to get angry. He couldn't afford to get angry. Especially not at Jazz. She was only two years older than him and was doing her best. She's also the only good thing in his life right now meaning that he had to cherish her, not break her. (He wouldn't be like his brother)

His mind stayed on Jazz for a while before immediately increasing his speed. He really needed to resume his training. How could he be so slack to forget such a possibility! Daniel desperately hoped that his sister Jazz was okay and that they wouldn't dare.

Entering through his bedroom window he rushed straight to Jazz's bedroom. It was open. She wasn't there.

Daniel started to panic when he heard a muffed scream coming from downstairs. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he rushed down the stairs and into the kitchen.

In all honesty Daniel expected the worse. To see his sister Jazz dead on the floor, thick red gushing from her neck, the scent of blood in the air. And there was blood, it just wasn't her's.

Daniel always prided himself on having a vivid imagination. It was a great way to escape after an especially hard training session with his brother. But he would have never imagined this.

In the small, laughably suburban kitchen of the Fenton household was a sight to behold. In the air were two mangled bodies, unidentifiable if not for the league's emblem still visible on one of them. And on the wall was a splatter, a rather big one. It wasn't blood. It was too dark to be. But whatever it was was very unlucky.

In the center of the kitchen was Jazz. Her arms were outstretched, burning sigils rotating at the end of each palm. Her eyes glowed a bright icy blue.

Upon noticing him everything stopped. She looked fearful. Tears threatening to come forth.

"Wait I can explain, just don't tell mom or dad! Please!"

Daniel, still a bit shocked but not as much, simply walked into the kitchen towards the cupboard. Taking out a clean towel he unsheathed he sword and began to clean it.

He looked over his shoulder towards Jazz. She didn't look as scared but her eyes still held some fear. So he spoke, making sure the still bloody sword was in veiw.

"I won't tell if you don't." He flashed a grin his tiny fangs peaking out.

Jazz sighed as in the weight of the world was lifted off of her. She looked at him and smiled.

"Mom and Dad aren't going to be back for a while. Wanna help me clean up?"

[rafestyles]

should've known it was a matter of time || rafe cameron

requested? No, I just need to write something!!!!!!

prompt: After getting caught by Singh’s men, you find yourself face-to-face with none other than Rafe Cameron.

For the sake of the story & so I don’t have to write it out - you are JJ’s sister. You and Rafe had been dating in secret before the incident on the tarmac occurred. Even though you had tried so hard to hide your relationship from JJ and the other pogues, it was all worthless when Rafe made you choose between him or helping out John B & Sarah (who is also your best friend). You obviously chose the latter and he declared your relationship over. You have mostly avoided him until this point. Or: You are Kie in episodes 1 & 2 of season 3, except you’re Rafe’s ex. 

warnings/content: toxic!rafe, pogue!reader, maybank!reader, fem!reader, violence (g*ns & k*ives)

word count: 3.9k

The sound of your shallow, anxious breathing was the only noise filling your ears as you ascended the staircase. With the guard’s heavy footfalls echoing close behind, you had little time to scan the room for any possible escape routes. When you hesitate for a second too long, his voice cuts through the silence, annoyed: “Up.” 

Reaching the top step, he jerks your body towards the first closed door, swinging it open, “Inside.” Although futile, you keep your feet planted in their position in the hallway. With an irritated exhale, he shoves you into the room. You whirl towards him, fury lighting your eyes. “Why am I here? Who are you working for?” you demand, a hint of anger & fear weaving through your tone. 

“Dinner at eight. I’d clean up.” he mutters harshly as his eyes trail over your figure with barely concealed disdain. Begging, you glance at him desperately, “Just tell me what they want.” He doesn’t spare you another glance before slamming the door and clicking the lock into place.

Though hopeless, you pull at the handle a few times praying it may give. When it doesn’t, you admit defeat and turn your body to fully face the room. Taking a step towards the windows you pull the curtains open seeking an escape route but instead, you're met with a few guards standing right outside. Huffing out a frustrated breath, you keep scanning your eyes over the room. 

Your gaze catches on a wardrobe and you make your way over. A row of identical red dresses hang on the rack inside, a note attached to the first one. Your fingers tremble as you reach for it, reading over the messy scrawl: “Pick your size.” 

Your face contorts in confusion before it dawns on you  - this is what they expect you to wear at the dinner they have planned for the night. Realizing that leaving this room is your only hope in formulating a plan of escape, you admit defeat and reluctantly pull out your size. 

–

A few hours later finds you dressed and laying back against the bed. Your fingers twist anxiously as you wait for the dinner to begin, thoughts of your brother & friends racing through your mind. A brief knock taps against the door, alerting you for only a moment before the door swings open to a woman standing in the hallway. “He’s ready.” She speaks softly, gesturing you to follow her with a slight tilt to her head. 

Exhaling a nervous breath, you hesitantly follow behind. When you reach the main level, she points towards a room where your ears pick up the unmistakable sound of a drink being poured. You step towards the open doors, your gaze instinctively landing on a man who’s standing with his back towards you. He lifts the glass to his lips, taking small sips of the dark liquid.

“Uh... excuse me?” you call out, your voice coming out shakier than you’d intended.

The man stiffens before slowly turning to face you. Time seems to slow as your eyes lock and your heart skips a beat. This is the last thing you were prepared for - standing face-to-face with your ex, Rafe Cameron. “No, no. There’s no way you and your dad are behind this shit.” You hiss, anger dripping from every word. 

He seems to snap out of his daze, his eyes flaring in disbelief, “What are you talking about?” he snaps,  “Are you and your pogue friends trying to weasel in on my deal right now? Is that what’s going on?” 

“What are you talking about?” you retort, angrily. Your body seems to still be in shock as you try to wrap your mind around the sight of him standing before you.

“I wondered if your little reunion would cause sparks, you know.” a voice chuckles from another corner of the room. You and Rafe exchange one last, charged look at one another before fully turning to face the man. Panic surges through you as you hear Rafe mutter, “Who are you?” 

A smirk spreads across the man's face as he points at his chest, “Me?” he asks, his tone mocking. Your eyes glance towards Rafe, nerves tightening, watching as he almost instinctively shuffles his body closer towards yours. “My name is Carlos Singh.” he says smoothly, shaking his finger at Rafe.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cameron.” His gaze shifts to you, condescension in his eyes,  “And Ms. y/l/n, I do apologize for the rough tactics in bringing you here.” 

Rafe’s body tightens, his eyes sweeping over you. The tension between the three of you hangs thick as Singh lets the silence linger before speaking again, the tone of his voice taking on a false politeness.

“But please, come. Sit down.” he gestures to the table behind him. When neither you or Rafe make a move, he adds with exaggerated patience, “Come now, I don’t bite.” 

Rafe sweeps his gaze over you once more, his eyes intense as they scan every inch of your body. Concern tightens his features and you realize with a start that he’s checking for any sign of injury. The realization sends something soft and unexpected through your body as his eyes reach yours again.

You offer a small, reassuring nod - enough for him to see that you’re okay. He seems to accept your unspoken message and you watch as the tension in his shoulders eases slightly, his expression softening at your response. With a subtle gesture, he finally moves towards the table, still glancing back to watch you closely. You notice the apprehension floating through his posture, but there’s an undertone of something else - weariness. You follow after him, realizing that although you hate to admit it, you and Rafe need to be on each other’s side right now.

“Rough tactics. What about me?” Rafe grumbles, his voice laced with frustration as he paces around the back of the room. “Yes, Mr. Cameron. False pretenses,” Singh says, pouring a drink into the glasses in front of him, “But the ends justify the means I’m afraid.” 

He takes a few sips of one of the glasses, “Sit down.” You hear Rafe’s sigh of frustration before you both pull chairs out and finally take your seats. Singh watches you both, unphased by Rafe’s frustration as he sets a drink in front of you and another one in front of Rafe. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“Why are we here?” Your voice steady despite the tension suffocating the room. 

Singh leans back, his expression unreadable. “Well Ms. y/l/n, Mr. Cameron. We share certain interests… objectives.” he says in a tone that’s almost too casual for the situation at hand.

Rafe’s body leans forward, his forearms resting on his thighs, “Is this not about the cross?” 

Your gaze snaps towards Rafe as Singh’s finger points sharply in his direction, “It is. Tangentially, it is about the cross.” he pauses as his gaze shifts towards a painting on one of the far walls, his expression distant. “But it’s also about something much, much bigger than the cross by orders of magnitude,” 

He exhales slowly, “The completion of a grand quest.” With his back towards you, Rafe’s gaze finds yours, eyes locking for a brief moment. A sense of reassurance washes over you as you realize his expression matches your puzzled one. 

“You see,” Singh’s voice cuts through the silence, bringing your attention back to him. “The story goes that 450 years ago, a Spanish soldier came out of the Orinoco Basin with a few gold beads. And when they asked the Spanish soldier where the beads came from, the Spanish soldier replied he got them from a peaceful Indigenous tribe who lived in a city of gold.” he pauses, letting the weight of the words sink in, “El Dorado.” 

He eyes the both of you before continuing on, “And for the next 450 years, people tried to find that gold, you know.” He walks over to a table, picking a small dagger up as the blade catches the light.  “They tried… conquistadors, knights, captains of ships, tribes, entire nations.” 

He turns to face you and Rafe, his eyes growing intense. “All fighting each other in a race for the end of the rainbow.” He begins pacing in front of you, the dagger now resting loosely in his hands. “Thousands of lives laid on the pyre of gold fever.” 

Your glance at Rafe, noticing the subtle tension in his body as he grows irritated at Singh’s story. “And it falls to me, you know.” Singh stops pacing, his voice taking on a deeper tone. He leans forward, his gaze bouncing between the two of you with an intensity that borders on obsession, “It falls to me to complete the task.” 

He pauses a moment before continuing, “To bring full circle a quest that has gone on for almost 500 years. Perhaps… perhaps the greatest quest in the history of the western hemisphere.” 

Unease grows in your stomach as you realize the finality in his tone, the unmistakable certainty that he will stop at nothing to claim what he believes is his. You begin to panic and snap your gaze to study Rafe again. You find his eyes already on yours as his expression is tinged with annoyance, lips pursed in a tight line. He begins nodding slowly, as if he’s trying to process Singh’s words, but you know him - the tension in his shoulders speak volumes: he’s pissed. Before he can utter a word, Singh’s voice speaks up again.

“And you two,” he points the dagger between the two of you, chuckling softly, “you two are going to play a part in that.” 

Dread pools in your stomach as the walls of the room feel as if they’re closing in on you, an impending sense of danger sparking through the room. You glance at Rafe again, hoping to find even an ounce of reassurance painted on his features, but all you see is frustration. He pulls his lips into his mouth, a move you’re familiar with, as he tries to maintain his temper.

“What about you, Ms. y/l/n?” Singh speaks, your eyes catching his again. “Are you interested in history?” He pulls out a chair next to you, settling into it.

You hesitate before speaking, your voice calm but guarded,  “More of a future person.” 

Before he can respond, Rafe’s groan passes his lips. “Yeah I didn’t listen to a word you said, okay? How much are you gonna keep philosophizing?” 

Your skin prickles with unease at the sharp edge of Singh’s tone as he chuckles from beside you, “You are direct, aren’t you Mr. Cameron?” 

The two men lock eyes, in a silent stand-off. The tension rises another notch before you decide to speak again, “What do you need from me?” you whisper. 

Singh’s gaze refuses to waver from Rafe’s, his words slow and deliberate. “I’ve come to believe that you and your friends are in possession of something that can help me get what I want.” 

The accusation settles with a thud and you observe the surprise flash through Rafe’s gaze, even though he fights to keep his expression neutral. 

You swallow around the lump in your throat, “Which is?” 

Singh’s gaze finally breaks Rafe’s, his attention shifting towards you. “An old manuscript. A diary, actually.” From the corner of your eyes, you feel Rafe’s gaze slide over your features, his eyes lingering with curiosity. There’s a small shift in his expression - like he’s trying to read you, but you refuse to break your stare from Singh’s. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rafe says, his voice sharp,  causing both you and Singh to look at him. You exhale an anxious breath, trying to steady yourself.  “This is ridiculous. I don’t know anything about a diary.” You lie, forcing the words to sound natural as they leave your mouth. 

Singh's gaze sharpens, his eyes narrowing as if he can read right through your facade. “But how else could you have learned that the cross was on the Royal Merchant?” he presses. 

Your pulse quickens as you shake your head, trying to divert the conversation, “Look, I want to help you, but I can’t.” 

“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.” Singh’s tone rings with thinly veiled frustration.

You tense at his response, your fists clenching anxiously in your lap. Without warning, you feel a soft pressure against your leg. You freeze, your eyes darting downwards, catching Rafe’s leg pressed against your own. The unexpected contact brings a jolt of warmth through your body. When you glance back up at him, the tautness shows in his shoulders and his gaze is heavy on Singh. The tension in the air is palpable, but just for a moment, it feels as if you’re not facing this alone. 

The feeling quickly retreats as Singh’s voice echoes through the room, his tone laced with menace. “Because unfortunately, I don’t believe you.”  You swallow around the thickness of your throat, barely noticing the subtle motion of Rafe’s shoe tracing up and down your leg. The quiet gesture stirs something deep inside of you, a mix of comfort and tension, but you push it to the side. 

“You and your friend here couldn’t have found the cross without it.” Singh continues, assessing you both. 

“He’s not my friend.” You respond sharply, the words slipping out before you can stop them. A flicker of sorrow races through you as you feel the weight of Rafe’s leg leave your own, irritation flashing through his eyes. 

You glance over at him, the apology right on your lips, ready to break free before Singh speaks up again, “We can’t all be friends, you know.” 

The words hit hard and before you can process them, Rafe suddenly pushes back from his seat, “Look, this is ridiculous. Okay? I’m out.” he mutters, stepping back as if to walk out.  “I don’t know anything about a diary, okay? So-” 

But before he can finish, he’s shocked into silence as a gasp escapes your lips. You watch as a guard steps from the shadows, the barrel of his gun resting coldly against Rafe’s chest. 

“Do I look like a fool to you, Mr. Cameron?” Singh’s voice raises sharply although you can’t tear your gaze away from the sight of Rafe standing motionless, his chest still pressed against the barrel. 

Singh stands, his eyes a constant weight on Rafe.  “Do I look like a fool to you?” he repeats, enunciating each word.

For a moment, everything feels suspended in time. Your body relaxes slightly as Rafe finally steps away from the gun, shrugging his shoulders defiantly.

“You have the cross.” Singh sighs, his tone accusing. “She and her friends had the cross at one point. So one of you has the diary.”

Rafe’s eyes find yours, concern lingering in his expression as he catches the sight of your tears threatening to spill over. It’s gone in a split second as he braces himself for Singh’s next words, “And if you really don’t know,” he continues, “then I suggest you convince your friend to tell me.” 

Through your tears, your gaze remains locked on Rafe’s profile as you try to read the expression in his eyes. 

“Once I have the diary, you’ll be free to leave. I must warn you though,” Singh pauses meaningfully, “I’m not a man of infinite patience.” 

You stand, trembling slightly as he gestures with his hands to follow him back up the stairs and into the room you were in earlier. His words are a chilling promise: “You have one day.”

As you climb the stairs, you try to blink back the tears as the tension is taut through Rafe’s shoulders. When you reach the room, Singh’s smirk rings through his tone, “Go to the window for a little demonstration.” He pats Rafe on the shoulder aggressively before adding, “I think you’ll enjoy it, you know.”

He walks back down the hallway, the guards slamming the door shut on you both. 

“Hey,” Rafe growls, the anger finally boiling over.  “Hey!” he grunts as he pulls desperately at the handle, “You’re just done talking? Hey!” 

The sound of the lock clicking causes you to realize how trapped you are. “It’s locked.” you mumble, the weight of the situation falling heavily onto your shoulders. Rafe whips his head to look at you, frustration flashing in his eyes.

You stalk towards the window, Rafe following closely behind. Pulling open the curtains, you hear the sound of a man's voice filter through the window. “Hey. I didn’t do nothing man.”

“Who is that guy?” Rafe mutters, more to himself than to you. His voice is closer to you than you expected, his warmth pressing into you as you stand side by side.

 “I know him,” you answer, your voice tinged with confusion. “It’s Jimmy Portis.” 

Rafe snaps towards you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “He was trying to help me.” you whisper. 

Your body tenses as you spot Singh moving outside, his eyes locked on yours. The smirk on his face is evident as he pulls a gun from his waistband. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Rafe mutters, his body instinctively moving closer to yours as you both flinch.

The sound of a gunshot splinters harshly through the air. You and Rafe gasp in unison as the sound echoes throughout the room, your eyes widening in terror. “No…” the word escapes from your lips as the tears finally push over the edge. 

Rafe’s gaze is unwavering on your profile as he watches with intensity and a hint of desperation. “This diary,” Rafe whispers, his voice raw,  “No bullshit. Please don’t bullshit me, okay?” he pleads, “Do you have it?”

Your silence that follows is thick with tension as the weight of his question settles through the room, your heart hammers in your chest. The internal battle tears at you - the need to protect your brother, and the harsh realization that Rafe may be the only one that can help you now. 

“Baby?” Rafe’s voice cracks as the old nickname surges through your heart. The way he says it - pleading and full of concern, makes your decision that much harder. 

“No.” The lie is out before you can second-guess yourself. You say it with fake certainty, praying he believes you, even as betrayal sinks through your body.

One look at his face tells you he doesn’t. The guarded expression flashes back over his features, irritation in his eyes as he pulls away from you and the window, attempting to process the lie.

“You forget I used to know you, y/n.”

read part two here

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

WILL YOU PRAY FOR ME? ( House of the Dragon x Reader )

AUTHOR NOTE! Trying out writing Aegon some more for my fic, 'THE CONQUEROR REBORN'. <3 pairing: DARK! Aegon ii Targaryen x Fem! Hightower! Reader prompt: Aegon finds you praying in the Sept before the Battle of Rook's Rest. This is not a friendly encounter. word count: 1, 298+ words

You had been sent to King’s Landing as a means of assurance that House Hightower, Aegon’s Mother side of the family, was completely loyal to him and his cause. You dreaded it, wishing you had been born a man or married off to some Lord from far away. King’s Landing was in chaos, the common folk struggling to adapt to the changes due to the war. Whilst the Red Keep was a mix of chaotically trying to plan out the war and comforting a fragile minded Helaena. 

It did not help that the predatory eyes that were Aegon’s that followed you everywhere. From when you entered a room until you left, if the walls had eyes then they surely would have followed you there as well. In hopes of avoiding any conflict or attempts of any kind, the Sept became your safe haven. Aegon did not attend the daily mass, nor did he believe in the Faith of the Seven. 

So, those hours long masses were a good enough excuse to get out of the Red Keep and to keep your distance from Aegon. After the rumors of Aegon’s past in Silk Street floated towards your ear, no matter how hard Alicent tried to stop it, it gave you reason enough to keep far far far far away from him. Even if he was your distant cousin and King of the Seven Kingdoms. 

Kneeling in front of the large statue of the Mother, you did not pray for anything a girl of your age and high standing usually would have, not for the blessing of fertility and easy labor. No, you prayed for mercy and peace on behalf of your sweet distant cousin and Queen consort Helaena. The poor girl did not deserve the fate given to her, to marry her older brother and to watch her innocent son be slaughtered in front of her. Helaena deserved peace and mercy. 

Grabbing a match from benches in front of the statue, you light an unlit candle, watching the flames crackle and pop for a second. Weakly smiling at the alluring glow of candlelight, you blow out the match, shifting on the velvet stool in front of the statue of the Mother. Letting out a gentle sigh, you clasps your hands together in a prayer motion, ready to begin your prayers for your sweet cousin. 

“So this is where you run off to.” Aegon states, his loud footsteps filling the once quiet Sept.

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

“I had hoped for something more interesting or scandalous.” Aegon comments amused, “But, considering how much of a prude Oldtown is, I am not surprised you're here.” 

“Your grace, I was not expecting you here.” You weakly get out, dreading turning around. 

“I can tell. You're tense.” 

Tensing up even more as he points it out, you turn around to look at him, your eyes looking him over. His hair was unruly as ever, only making it more obvious that he lacked the knowledge of a hairbrush of any kind. Though you were sure that he never combed it in his entire life as it was very fit for his character. 

Narrowing your eyes at what he was wearing, the steel chest plate clearly did not fit him, the leather straps holding the chest plate together looking seconds away from bursting. You’d never comment on it, but he would have better luck squeezing himself into a corset than trying to wear that armor.  

“I was taken by surprise by you. Do forgive me for it, your grace.” You mumble weakly, now praying that he would go away.

“I see you are admiring me. I do not blame you. I do look rather dashing, had nearly all of the whores in Silk Street throw themselves at me.” He jests, though it only makes your lips curled up into a disgusted look. 

A poet. No, a drunk. No, no, a whore. Anyone could have come up with a better conversation starter than that. 

“I am sure you enjoyed that, your grace.” You nod, “You look like the true epitome of a King.”

Shifting your eyes away from him, you tense up as he stands beside your stool, dangerously close to touching you. Aegon had always given you an odd feeling, not quite hatred but not quiet enjoyment, more like a neutral contentment. From the cordial conversations at dinner with the rest of the family, he was decent enough. Of course, before he gorged himself on Arbor red and food. 

“Will you pray for me?” He asks, his hand brushing against the side of your cleavage.

“What?” You blurt out, tensing up at the ‘accidental’ touch. 

“I said, will you pray for me, sweet cousin?” He asks, a dark glint in his eyes. “Pray for your King to return from battle unmarred?”

“I will, if you ask me to.” You mumble, feeling forced to comply. 

Cowering backwards as he leans in dangerously close, every part of your body told you that you were not safe this close to him. He was a Targaryen, the King, your distant cousin, and a married man nonetheless. An unmarried woman such as yourself should not be this close to him. Pushing down the fear that bubbled up inside of you, he tenderly touches your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze better. Your lips dangerously close to touching if either of you leaned in. 

Carefully looking over his features, you would never say it aloud, but in another life he would be considered ethereal. Those stunning amethyst eyes and white curls that all Targaryen’s had. Those sharp features that were framed with a soft pudginess from his recent gain of weight. The soft pink under his eyes and on the tip of his nose from restless nights. Remembering where you were, you instantly pull back from him, keeping a distance from him. 

“When I return from Rook’s Rest, victorious, like I know that I will. I will take you as my second wife, I need an heir and you are fit for that.” He states, an almost sinister glimmer in his eyes. 

“But, it is forbidden. In the eyes of the Seven and of the common law. No man should take two wives.” You argue, praying it would be enough to spook him off.  

“I am King, my word is law. Not to mention, twas’ my ancestor who took two wives. Who am I to deny tradition?” He counters, the tone of his voice leaving no room to argue.

No. No. No. Now he cares of tradition? Of duty?

Realizing that there truly was no way to sway his mind on the matter, you sink in the velvet stool, a twindle of defeat filling you. You would be his second wife, his bride. Just a broodmare, someone to warm his bed whenever he called for you like a dog. No one would be able to protest this, to argue on your behalf because he was right, he was King. His word held more power than anyone in the Seven Kingdoms. Your fate was sealed, it seemingly was when you were shipped to King’s Landing. 

"But-" You try, but he cuts you off.

“Now, I will expect you to await my return with eagerness, my little bride-to-be.” He whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

You don’t speak, your tongue feeling as if it was made of lead.  Even if you could, you could not promise that you would not lash out on him. 

“Oh, and when I do come back, wait for me in my chambers dressed in that pretty little chemise of yours. I liked the one with the pink ribbon.” He whispers, the last part of his words sending a cold shiver down your spine. 

He had been watching you whilst you were in your chambers. For gods knows how long.

----

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@danytar

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

hiiii!! absolutely love your crosshair stuff (i’ve been on a crosshair binge since season three started lol) anyways i was hoping you could write something that’s like post-omega and crosshair escaping tantiss and reuniting with hunter and wrecker (end ep 4) with the prompts

11. I promised to love you forever, and that is a promise I intend to keep.

and

16. No matter how much time we’ve spent apart, I never stopped loving you.

like i was thinking crosshair and the reader are married but canon happened so the reader stayed with the bad batch and this would be the first time her and crosshair are seeing each other again since the end of season one at kamino

no rush for any of this btw. thankssss

Hello, hi! Thank you so much for this request. I had something similar going through my mind after the episode aired so was excited to see this drop in!! I hope you enjoy 😊

Never Stopped

When Omega's cryptic message leads to a heartfelt reunion on Ryloth's nearest moon, you didn't expect her to be accompanied by the one man you never thought you'd get to see again.

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: spoilers for S3E04, we love a good reunion, inner turmoil, fluff, comfort, pet names.

“I had help.” Omega’s statement hangs in the air until the light sound of footsteps on metal reaches your ears, and you turn alongside Wrecker to watch as someone steps out of the stolen transport.

No. Not someone.

Him.

For a second, you forget how to breathe, unable to tear your eyes away from the man you never dared hope you’d see again. The last time you’d seen him had been after the fall of Kamino, on that blasted platform in the middle of the ocean. You’d pleaded with him to come with you - to leave the Empire’s clutches - but he’d declined. Your stubborn, infuriating husband.

Maker, you’d missed him.

Before you even know what you’re doing, you’re running, crossing the inky darkness between the two ships, closing the distance between you as Crosshair takes the final step down onto the planet’s surface. He doesn’t have time to protest before your arms are around his neck, hauling him into a crushing embrace. His brothers might be wary, but you aren’t.

Crosshair freezes, caught off guard by your affection. In the short time it had taken you to reach him, he’d braced himself for a slap or to be chewed out. This was…unexpected. You’re warm against him, the softness of your body so familiar, as is the scent of your shampoo. Tentatively, he slides his arms around you in return, pulling you close to suffocate all space between you both, soaking up the feeling of having you back in his arms. “Kitten...”

The whispered term of endearment is all it takes, and a heaving sob leaves you before you can stop it.

Everything since the order was given crashes down on you – the shots he’d fired as you scrambled to escape Kamino, how relentlessly he’d chased you across the galaxy, Kamino falling, the distress message he’d sent to your old comms channel…it had felt never-ending.

But it was over now. 

As you bury your face against his chest, the torrent of emotions overwhelms you. There’s a sense of catharsis, a release from the pent-up anguish that had threatened to suffocate you. The weight of his presence feels like a balm to your wounded soul, and with each sob that racks your body, it’s as if a burden is lifted, allowing you to finally exhale the turmoil that had gripped you for far too long.

He’s here. In one piece. Free from the Empire’s clutches, with Omega in tow.

Hunter and Wrecker’s tension eases slightly as they witness the reunion between you and Crosshair, but they’re not ready to let their guard down just yet. They exchange knowing glances before Hunter clears his throat. “We need to go.” He shouts across the distance, feeling guilty for breaking the moment but knowing that the Empire won’t be far behind.

You pull back slightly, hands still clutching desperately at Crosshair as he meets your gaze. He’s never been one to cry, but unshed tears line those sharp eyes you’ve missed so much. Silently, you swipe away your tears with one hand, the other finding his to guide him towards the Marauder. A blur of motion whips past you, and you startle, but with a click of his tongue, Crosshair stills the creature responsible, and a hound falls into step beside him as you lead him back towards the ship.

It feels too good to be true, too easy. The nervousness Crosshair had felt rolling through him as he’d forced himself down the steps of the transport returns. Fingers interlaced with yours, he can feel the skin-warmed metal of your ring. It’s still there after everything.

He feels nauseous as you cross the darkness towards the ship that had once been his home. He glances at Wrecker as you both pass him and the apprehension on his big brother’s face wavers for just a second before Crosshair looks away, unable to stand it.

Hunter has already ushered Omega inside, the young girl saying hello to Gonky, who beeps happily at her return. Crosshair lets you situate him in one of the back seats in the cockpit as Wrecker comes up the ramp, smacking the button to shut it as Hunter takes Tech’s seat and fires up the engines. 

Tech.

Crosshair swallows, bile rising in his throat. His twin is gone. Omega had brokenly told him what had happened during one of her many visits to his cell. Guilt curls through him - his brother had insisted on the mission to Eriadu and had been keen to find him, which ultimately led to his sacrifice.

Crosshair barely registers the ship setting off or the jump to hyperspace.

A soft squeeze of his hand draws his focus, and his head tilts to look across at you. Your wide eyes, which he adores, look at him with concern and something else he can’t quite put his finger on. Hunter and Wrecker are in the pilot and copilot seats, Omega curled in Hunter’s lap as they catch up while Wrecker pets Batcher.

You can practically see Crosshair’s discomfort, so you lead him out into the belly of the ship, closing the cockpit doors behind you to give the pair of you some privacy. “I thought I’d lost you.” You whisper, your voice barely above a breath as you sit side by side on one of the bunks, bodies tilted towards each other.

“Have to try harder than that.” Crosshair’s answer is quick, and the vice-like grip of dread that had encircled his heart slackens as he hears you laugh - it’s a short and sharp sound, nothing like the melodic giggles he’d grown accustomed to during the war, but it’s something. And Maker, does it feel good.

You’d almost forgotten what it was like to be on the receiving end of his quips, and for a moment, it’s like nothing has changed. But you spot something missing as you turn his hand over in yours. 

His wedding ring is gone.

“They took it from me.” He’s quick to reassure you, seeing the pained expression on your pretty face. He hadn’t even been able to fight to keep it, having woken up on Tantiss without it. The troopers had quickly silenced him whenever he’d asked about its whereabouts.

Silence settles between you both for a moment, your gaze fixed on this hand - on the vacant spot. “We’ll get you a new one,” you state quietly, lifting your eyes to finally meet his.

Crosshair’s brows furrow in disbelief at your words. After everything he’s done and the pain and betrayal, he can’t fathom why you still want to be married to him. Guilt and shame churn in his gut, threatening to overwhelm him. “Why?” he asks, his voice low and raspy, his gaze searching yours for some semblance of an answer.

You reach out and gently cup his cheek, your touch sending shivers down his spine. “I promised to love you forever, and that’s a promise I intend to keep,” you say simply, your eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that Crosshair can’t comprehend. “Despite everything, I still believe in us - in you. No matter how much time we’ve spent apart, I never stopped loving you.”

A lump forms in Crosshair’s throat as he struggles to process your words. He’d spent so long convincing himself that he was better off paying for his sins in that cell. But here you are, offering forgiveness and understanding. He searches your eyes for any sign of deceit or resentment but finds unwavering sincerity and love.

Crosshair reaches out, hand shaking as his fingers brush your cheek. “Maybe you’ve hit your head too many times, kitten.” Crosshair quips, a hint of his trademark sarcasm slipping through. Despite the gravity of the moment, he can’t resist teasing you. But deep down, he’s grateful for your forgiveness and unwavering love, even if he doesn’t understand it.

You roll your eyes at his remark, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Maybe you just need a few more hits to knock some sense into that thick skull of yours.” You retort, your tone teasing yet filled with affection.

As the playful banter lingers in the air, a moment of quiet settles between you both, the reality of the situation sinking in. Crosshair’s gaze softens, his hand lingering on your cheek as he soaks in your closeness. “I love you too.” He whispers, his voice barely audible above the hum of the ship’s engines. “I never stopped either.”

Your heart swells with relief and happiness, and with a soft smile, you press a gentle kiss to the back of his hand, feeling the slight tremble beneath your lips. “What happened, my heart?” You ask, your voice soft and concerned, brows drawn down as you watch how he shakes.

Crosshair hesitates for a moment. “They did…things. Some I remember. Some I don’t.” He answers vaguely.

You’re familiar with this game. He doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t want to talk about it. And while you know he'll need to one day, today’s not that day. Respecting his unspoken plea not to delve deeper into the horrors he endured, you gently squeeze his hand, offering him a reassuring smile. “We don’t have to talk about it now.” You murmur softly. “But we need to get you out of those awful clothes.” You change the subject, wrinkling your nose. “Handsome you may be, but this is not working.” You make a vague gesture at his outfit.

Crosshair chuckles softly at your remark, the memories chased away for the time being by your attempt to lighten the mood. “I’ll have you know; I make anything look good,” he retorts with a smirk. “But I suppose some fresh clothes wouldn’t hurt.”

You nod in agreement, grateful for the ease with which the two of you fall back into rhythm. “Exactly, and I’m sure I can find something more comfortable for you.” You reply, standing up and glancing around the small quarters of the ship.

As you start to pull crates out from the nearby storage racks, Crosshair watches you with a slight smile, admiring the familiar sight of you in motion. “You always know just how to take care of me,” he remarks, his voice low and warm, a tone saved just for you.

You shoot him a playful smile over your shoulder. “Someone has to.” You quip back, pulling out the crate you’d been looking for.

His kit crate. You still had his kit crate, with all your doodles on the outside – his name in Aurebesh, the squad’s symbol, a copy of his tattoo, and ever so slightly wonky hearts that he’d made a show of grumbling about but secretly loved.

Crosshair’s surprise is evident as he watches you retrieve a clean undersuit from the crate. He’d assumed its contents would be long gone - tossed aside, sold, or scrapped. The fact that you kept all his armour, along with his bucket, fills him with a strange mix of emotions. “Didn’t think you’d keep it,” Crosshair finally manages to say.

Before you can respond, footsteps interrupt the moment, drawing your attention towards the source. Hunter steps out from the cockpit – even with the door shut, he can still hear everything. His eyes meet Crosshair’s, and while he knows there’s a lot for them to talk about and work through, and he’s still not entirely sure he fully trusts his baby brother, he wants to offer him some reassurance. It’s the least he can do. “We were never going to get rid of it,” Hunter says, his voice firm yet gentle. “You’re still one of us.”

Crosshair finds himself at a loss for words. Emotions swirl within him, a tumultuous mix of gratitude and guilt. As Hunter’s words sink in, his gaze flickers back to you. Despite the doubts and fears that linger in his mind, one thing is certain: he’s home.

With a small smile, you offer the clean undersuit to your husband. “Here,” you say softly, your voice laced with affection. “Let’s get you changed.”

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @starrylothcat @cw80831 @issa-me-bry-blog @leftealeaf @isaidonyourknees @padawancat97 @dangraccoon @jedi-hawkins @dreamie411 @sverdgeir

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[readychilledwine]

Azriel Masterlist

Azriel x Lyria Vanserra

After a mission leaves Az sore, Madja and Rhys suggest he sees Lyria, a healer who specializes in massage therapy

Bound By Fate Series Masterlist

When Kaylee Archeron meets Azriel, her world turns upside down. Between balancing her trauma, new powers, a mating bond, and war looming over her new home, Kaylee learns that everything is not as little as it once seemed.

Beauty in Pain - Request - A failed mission leads to our reader losing her wings (Azriel x Illyrian Reader)

Pt 2

Surprises ** - Azriel has wanted to touch his high lady for a long time (Azriel x Tamlin's Sister OC x Rhysand)

Part 2

Devotion - Request - Based on the quote prompt "I can hold the world in my two hands" (Azriel x Reader)

Replacement - Based *loosely* on a Request - After Azriel's son calls his mate, "mommy", reader is out in a situation where all three of them are healing from trauma

Losing Forever - Request - After his mate heads home to care for her sick father and brother, Azriel is faced with the consequences.

Whispers in The Dark ** - Request - Azriel is ever the opportunist when it comes to using a recently discovered fetish against you.

Cat and Mouse

Request - After reports of Illyrian males torturing females and children hit Rhysand's desk, he, Cassian, and Azriel bring you to the camps for the first time in search of answers.

Lollipop ** After being silenced during the High Lord's meeting with her favorite candy. Seraphina finds herself the center of a certain shadowsingers attention

Part 2 **

For Science ** Request - Azriel and Eris finally agree on one thing, your bratty behavior can't continue to go unpunished

Small World Mini Series

20 years away from the Inner Circle was exactly what Azriel needed to heal. It was exactly what he needed to bring him to you, but the world has a funny way of bringing everything full circle.

The Breakfast Club - After missing breakfast unexpectedly, a hidden relationship is revealed to Azriel's family, who can't tell if they're more surprised by you or his cat.

Oath - Y/n was taken in by Feyre as a small child, and now lives with her in the Night Court, but her favorite person is and will always be Azriel

When I'm Gone - You always had the perfect answer, even when you weren't there to give it anymore

Odd One Out - After 500 years of friendship, the last thing you ever expected was the Inner circle to miss one of your symphonies. But you know what they say, time changes people.

Part 1

Part 2

AZRIEL WEEK -2023

Infatuation - requested - After Nyx thinks he's met his mate, Azriel comes along to ruin his plans (Azriel x teacher!Reader)

Like A Boy - After putting up with Azriel's behavior for far too long, you begin to match his energy

Lose You to Love Me **- You had wanted him for years, loved him for centuries, and waited for him to notice you and see you. But all books have to close, even if we don't like the ending.

Pt 2

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Tall Tales | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (Eventual ;) )

Warnings: mentions of smut, canon gore, canon violence

Word Count: 3986

A/N: This episode was a challenge to write, but so much effing fun. I hope y’all enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it!

(he's so sexy in this gif i'm nutting goodbye goodnight i'm gone)

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Dean refused to let you hunt for the next two weeks following your concussion. You were pissed off, but you knew it was for the best. When the brothers settled on a case, they stuck you in a motel room and would occasionally come check on you between hunting. They found something at a college in Tennessee, and that was about all they told you before putting you to bed for the next week. 

When Sam would come check on you early on, it was to make sure you had enough water or food in your mini fridge. He’d always bring a book with him to sit with you while you rested. When you could finally tolerate the sound of other people’s voices again without going cross-eyed, you got him to read it to you. 

He snorted. “You want me to read you a bedtime story?” 

You deadpanned at him. “Yes, asshole. Please?”

“Okay,” he laughed. The book was called The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt, and you were completely fascinated. Sam’s voice would often soothe you to sleep as he recounted bits of Egypt’s history to you.

Between Sam’s visits and hours spent staring at the ceiling or pacing, Dean would visit. Most often, he’d come to your room at night. Not for any sexual purposes; in fact, when you suggested you have sex, he was fervently against it.

“Why?” you’d asked. 

“ ‘Cause you’re still hurt,” he replied simply, wrapping you in his arms and pulling you to his chest. “And…”

“And?” you prompted, tilting your head up at him.

“I just wanna be with you right now,” he admitted quietly. 

You smiled against Dean’s neck, nuzzling into him.

***

Sam was clearly pissed off with Dean the next time he came to visit you. 

“What’s goin’ on?” you’d asked.

He sighed, “Just Dean being… Dean. “ He sat at the foot of your bed as you pushed yourself into a sitting position. “How’s your head?”

“Haven’t had any complaints yet,” you smirked. 

Sam made a bitch face at you. “Really? Elvira?”

“Of course. I love her,” you giggled.

“Seriously. How is it?” 

You shrugged. “Same ol’ same ol’. I’ll live. How’s your, uh, mental state?”

“I knew you were gonna ask that.” Sam shook his head. 

“C’mon, you can tell me anything. What’s goin’ on?” you questioned, scooching closer to him. 

The brunet seemed thoughtful for a minute. “I, uh, don’t really know.” He chuckled awkwardly. “I’m really gettin’ worried, (Y/N). After Wandall and what I did to Jo—”

You cut him off. “Sam, that wasn’t you. We’ve been over this—”

“Yeah, but still. It’s been really bothering me.” You replied, “Well, yeah, that’s to be expected. Meg took you for a hell of a ride.” You thought for a second about your words. “Gross.”

Sam laughed before becoming serious again. He seemed to be thinking deeply about how to talk to you. “I’m really worried about what’s happening to me. Especially since…”

“Since what?” you prompted.

“Since you wouldn’t shoot.” You dropped your head back, sighing. “Sam, we’ve been over this. If you really go dark side, I’ll do it. But it seemed like your conscious mind wasn’t doing those things. It seemed like psychosis, almost. I’m not gonna kill you over that.”

“Well, then, when does it end?” he argued. “Conscious or not, I killed someone. And you saw it happen. And you still wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, because I care about you, Sam. You’re my best friend. It’s gonna take a lot for me to gank you,” you scoffed.

He softened a bit and sighed. “I get it,” the brunet muttered. “I just… I feel like I’m getting closer and closer to it every day. And I don’t know how to stop it. And Dean’s freaked, but he won’t talk to me about it. I’m sick of him pretending that everything’s fine.”

“Well, you know how he is,” you reminded him. 

“Yeah,” he replied. “Still.”

“I hate to tell you this,” you began, fiddling with the hem of the quilt on your lap, “but the more freaked out you are, the more susceptible you are to—” “To demonic possession,” he finished. “Yeah, I know.” “And if that’s what this ‘dark side’ thing is supposed to be, we gotta get you back under control,” you continued. 

Sam nodded pensively. A mischievous look crossed his face suddenly. “So, uh, how’s things with you and—?”

“Oh, god,” you groaned, flopping back on your head. “Do we have to talk about this?”

“I mean, yeah, I’ve seen the two of you. I’m not completely blind,” he chortled. “So, talk.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know, honestly. I don’t— I just— with everything going on, I don’t wanna… go there, y’know?”

He made a face at you.

You chucked a pillow at him. “I’m not talking about our sex life, dipshit. I don’t wanna make him commit to me with everything happening. But, then again, we’re hunters. We’re never not gonna have tons of shit goin’ on.”

“I mean, do you want a relationship with him?” Sam asked.

“Eh, I don’t know,” you shrugged unconvincingly.

“Don’t lie.”

“Fine, I do.” Sam laughed.

“But I don’t want to want that, y’know?” You cringed at yourself. “God, I sound like a sixth grader with a crush.”

“Yeah, you do,” Sam snorted. “But I’m happy for you guys. I want you guys to be happy.”

***

The next time Dean came to visit, he was carrying a case of beer. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be hunting?” you asked, throwing your journal aside.

“Alright, fine, I’ll leave,” he smirked, turning back to the door.

“No, no!” you said, bounding over to him. You spun him around and kissed him gently. “Stay.”

“Always,” he said against your lips.

***

Something you were beginning to learn about Dean was his love languages. You were big on psychology. Though you knew he wasn’t and would never let you pick his brain aloud, it was fun to do in your head. Given the way he redressed your head wound in the earlier days of your admittedly severe concussion, made you dinner, and did your laundry, you deduced he liked to give love through acts of service. 

However, he seemed to be hellbent on not receiving it in that way. He refused to let you redress the wound on his shoulder until the dressings Jo put on it were saturated in seeping fluid. 

“Dean, you’re gonna start growing a science experiment in there. Let me help you,” you’d said, more stating it than begging. 

“I’m fine, (Y/N). Seriously.”

You got your first aid box out of your duffel and threw over your shoulder, “This is not up for debate. Come here.” 

With a reluctant sigh, he did eventually listen to you. Given the beers he brought you, the crappy movies, the card games, and hours spent just in each other’s company, you figured his receiving love language was quality time. And you were more than happy to give that to him.

***

On day twelve, you were insistent you could spar with Dean again. He was insistent, however, that he wouldn't do it.

"Dean! C'mon, man! It doesn't even hurt anymore," you protested, putting your hair up in a ponytail.

"(Y/N), I'm not gonna risk hurting you—"

"Dean!" you warned. "I'm rusty. If I'm gonna help you guys with this hunt in two days, please, dude, I'm begging you."

"Fine," he grumbled. "Don't say I didn't warn you, though."

You smirked, preparing your fighting stance. He eyed you challengingly, his smirk encouraging you to rush him. You did so, and he easily dodged you. However, you had prepared for that scenario, and whipped your back leg around to hit him in the stomach while he dodged you.

Dean grunted, and you jumped back from him. You aimed a punch toward his jaw, which he blocked easily. Several more punches were thrown between the two of you before you got fed up.

"Stop holding back!" you pushed.

"I"m not," he argued unconvincingly, throwing a sloppy left hook at you.

"Your form is shit, you're barely out of breath, and you're mostly on the defensive," you replied. "Stop holding back. You won't break me."

"(Y/N)—"

"Dean," you cut him off. "Vamps aren't gonna hold back. Whatever we're dealing with isn't gonna hold back. I'm healed enough. Quit it."

He finally did listen, making you incredibly happy. Beating Dean Winchester in hand-to-hand combat was nearly impossible given the size and muscular advantage he had against you. However, your father had trained you well on how to use speed and endurance to your advantage.

You fought with Dean for quite a few rounds before he knocked you back into the dresser in your motel room, and you hit the back of your head on the corner.

"See? I told you that was gonna happen," he said angrily. Although, you knew he was more angry with himself than he was with you.

"I'm fine," you replied, standing and rubbing the back of your head. "Again."

"No," Dean asserted, turning away from you. He shrugged his jacket back on.

"Wha— Where are you going?" you questioned, becoming aggravated with his stubbornness. "I said I'm fine, Dean. Again."

"We're done for today, (Y/N)," he stated firmly, leaving no room for argument.

You scoffed. "I hate it when you do this."

"Yeah, well," Dean said gruffly, "I hate it when you act like a stubborn brat. Why is it so wrong that I don't wanna hurt you?"

"Because I'm asking you to!" you argued. "Hurt me! Don't fucking go easy on me! I already gave you my reasons why you shouldn't! I'd rather you hurt me than whatever we're up against!"

"I get that, (Y/N), but you can't ask me to fucking do that," he responded, turning to face you. "I won't hurt you."

You sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow, Dean."

"Yeah. See you," he grumbled. Then, you heard the door slam shut behind him.

***

You knew your fight had been stupid. You sat by the door all day, anxiously awaiting Dean's return. Just when you were beginning to lose hope that he'd show, you heard a knock on the door.

"Hey," you said awkwardly, opening the door for him to come in.

"Hey," he replied.

"I'm sorry. I was being stupid. I wouldn't do that to you if you asked me," you told him, sitting on the edge of your bed.

"I'm sorry, too. I didn't wanna shut you out," he said, unable to meet your eyes.

You grabbed his hand, making him look up at you. "Hey, you know the only reason I asked you to do that was because I trust you so much, right?"

Dean nodded. "How's your head? I didn't hurt ya too bad, did I?"

You shook your head. "Can't even feel it," you smiled.

***

By day fourteen of concussion recovery, you were clawing at the walls; ready to hunt again. You strolled back into their room at nine in the morning that day to get a run-down of the case so you could get back to your job.

“Thank god you're here,” Dean exhaled, getting off the bed he was lounging on when you walked in.

You snorted. “What, two weeks without me and you can’t function?”

Dean scoffed. “No.” He paused. “Well, kinda.”

“What’s been happening? And… why couldn’t you tell me anything about the case before this moment?” you asked.

“I, uh, I wasn’t sure if you’d believe us,” Sam told you.

You sat in the chair across from him, crossing your arms. “Why not?”

“It's just, we've never seen anything like it—”

“Not even close,” Dean chimed in.

“Oh-kay, well, why don’t you start from the beginning?” You leaned back in your chair and crossed your slender legs, knowing this was going to be a long conversation.

Sam huffed, gearing up for his story. “So, a professor took a nosedive from a fourth story window, only there's a campus legend that the building's haunted. So we pretexted as reporters from the local paper—”

“Pretexted?” you cut Sam off. “Okay, professor.”

He made a bitchface at you. “Would ya let me talk?”

“Fine, fine. Keep going.”

“I found these two kids at a bar who had the professor for Ethics and Morality. Both of ‘em said there was nothing about this guy that would’ve suggested he’d jump— I mean, wife, kids, tenured— everything. And the girl— her name was Jen— said she didn’t think it was suicide,” Sam explained. “Apparently, there’s this urban legend from about thirty years ago about a girl having an affair with a professor. He broke it off, and she jumped out the window of room 669. Anybody who sees her dies.” Sam shot a look at Dean. “Dean was supposed to be talkin’ to other locals, figuring out if the urban legend was even real, but, he, uh, got distracted.”

You straightened in your seat, shooting a look at Dean. “Distracted how?”

“He was too busy slamming purple nurples to even string together a coherent sentence,” Sam scoffed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I was not!” Dean protested. 

“What, so you never drank a purple nurple?”

“Yeah, maybe that, but I wasn’t wasted,” the older brother argued. “I just took a few shots with this classy chick. She was a grad student, anthropology and folklore. We were talking about local ghost stories.”

You quirked a brow at Dean, jealousy beginning to burn in your chest.

“She was, uh, more interested in me than talking about ghost stories, but I cut her loose before the poor girl embarrassed herself,” Dean said.

“Ah, what a saint,” you cooed sarcastically.

Dean shot you a look. “And then Sam came over like, ‘Dean! What do you think you’re doing?’ He thought I was chattin’ her up instead of focusing on the case. Which, I wasn’t— thank you, Sam— everything was just blah, blah, blah, lecture, lecture, lecture,” Dean continued.

“Right! And that's how it really happened,” Sam scoffed.

Dean shrugged.

“Sam, did he make out with the chick or not?” you questioned.

Sam seemed taken aback. “Seriously? That’s what you’re worried about? But no, he didn’t.”

The tension in your body released.

“And I don’t sound like that, Dean!” Sam turned back to his brother.

“That's what you sound like to me,” the older brother shrugged.

You flicked your gaze between the two of them. “What’s going on with you guys?”

“Nothing. No— it's nothing,” Sam sighed.

“No, come on. You're bickering like an old married couple,” you snickered.

Dean got up and moved over to the kitchenette behind you. “No, see, married couples can get divorced. Me and him, we're like, uh, Siamese twins.”

“It’s conjoined twins!” Sam immediately corrected him.

“See what I mean?” Dean kept his gaze on you and gestured to his brother.

“Look, it—” the brunet sighed again, “—we've just been on the road for too long. Tight quarters, all that. Don't worry about it.”

You nodded.

“So, anyway. We figured it might be a haunting, so we went to check out the scene of the crime,” Sam continued. “We went and talked to the janitor, pretexting as electricians. He said he’d been workin’ there for six years, let us into the professors’ office, and told us he was the one who found the guy. He said the professor brought somebody up with him, and that was the thing to distract Dean from the nuts he was stuffing his face with.”

“Come on! I ate one, maybe two!” Dean protested.

“Just let me tell it, okay?” Sam shot back. “Anyway, janitor says the cops never found the girl the professor was with, and he didn’t even see her leave the room. But apparently, the professor brought girls up a lot. Maybe you missed that, Dean, since you were too busy snacking to focus on anything else.”

Dean glared at his brother.

“And get this?” Sam told you. “There is no room 669. And the professor’s office was clean of EMF. Next, we thought we should probably check the history of the building. Of course, I couldn’t do that, because my computer was frozen on bustyasianbeauties.com.” The younger brother spoke pointedly at Dean, who seemed dumbfounded, honestly. 

“Dude, I told you, I wasn’t on your laptop,” Dean grunted.

“Well, did you dig up anything about the building? Or on the suicidal chick?” you asked.

“No. History's clean,” Sam replied.

“Then it's not a haunting,” you stated.

“Maybe not. Tell you the truth, we're not really sure,” Dean replied.

“What do you mean, you're not sure?”

Sam spoke up again. “Well… it’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” You asked, feeling like you were pulling teeth.

“This next part, we, uh, we didn't see it happen ourselves exactly, but it's pretty fucking weird. Even for us,” Dean chuckled in disbelief. “Apparently, this guy got beamed up on his walk home. Right outside of Crawford Hall.”

“ ‘Beamed up’?” you questioned. “Like… Star Trek? Aliens?!”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded.

“Aliens,” you deadpanned.

“Yeah.”

“Look, even if they are real, they're sure as hell not coming to earth and swiping people,” you said.

“Hey, believe me. We know,” the older brother replied.

“I’ve been hunting my whole life and never found any evidence of real alien abduction,” you shook your head. “It’s all bullshit.”

“Yeah, that's what we thought. But… we figured we'd at least talk to the guy,” Sam said.

Dean picked up the story then. “Found the guy drinkin’ himself into oblivion. He thought we wouldn’t believe him. Honestly, I still don’t know if I do.”

Sam cut his older brother off. “He said he blacked out, and when he woke up, he was, um—”

“He got probed,” Dean chuckled. “Some alien made him their bitch. And apparently, they did it a lot.”

Sam snickered. “He said… He said they made him slow dance, too. I mean, what the hell?”

You scoffed. “You guys are exaggerating again, right?”

“No, not at all,” Sam responded.

“Then this kid’s just nuts,” you stated.

“We're not so sure,” Dean argued. “There was a— a scorch mark in the ground outside Crawford Hall. Perfect circle.”

“Had to have been made by some kinda jet engine,” Sam cut in. “There’s nothing else it could’ve been. Given the timing alone, I figured, there’s gotta be some kind of connection.”

“I still wasn’t completely convinced,” Dean added. “I mean, between the angry spirit and sexed-up ET? What the hell. But what could we do? So we just kept on digging. We talked to this guy in probe-guy’s frat. Sammy did his whole 'I’m here for you, you brave little soldier’ speech, gave the guy a hug— the whole thing made me nauseous—”

“I never said that!” Sam argued.

“You're always saying pansy stuff like that,” Dean rebutted. “Would you let me talk?”

Sam quieted down, still upset.

“Anyway, the guy tells us that probe-guy was a huge dick. Apparently, he was going probe-level-stuff to his pledges this semester. And that was the one connection I could make out— both the victims are dicks. Think about it. A philandering professor gets a dead girl. A pledge master gets hazed. And that was when Sam started flippin’ out about his laptop— which I didn’t touch, by the way!— and started insulting my food—”

��It's not food anymore, Dean!” Sam cut in. “It's Darwinism.”

“I like it!” Dean scoffed.

Sam kept going. “All I ask from you, the one thing, is that you don't mess with my stuff!”

“And then he threatened my car, (Y/N),” Dean said. You knew he was serious, but his dramatics drew a laugh from you.

“Did you take his computer?” you questioned.

“Serves him right, but, no,” Dean replied.

Sam glared at Dean. “Well, I didn't lose it. 'Cause I don't lose things.”

“Oh, that's right, yeah, 'cause he's Mr. Perfect.”

You talked over them. “Okay, okay. Why don't you just tell me what happened next?”

Dean huffed. “There was one more victim.”

“Right. Now, we- we didn't see this one ourselves, either,” Sam began hesitantly. “We kind of put it together from the evidence. But this guy— He was, uh, he was a research scientist. Animal testing.”

“Yeah, you know, a dick,” Dean added. “Which fits the pattern. Cops didn't release the cause of death 'cause they had no clue what the cause was.”

“So, we checked it ourselves,” Sam chimed in.

“Yeah,” the older Winchester confirmed. “I’m tellin’ you, (Y/N), those remains were gnarly. Looked like somethin’ was chompin’ on him. Again, happened right outside Crawford Hall. Then, Sam found a belly scale. From an alligator.”

“Classic urban legend,” Sam broke in. “A kid flushes a baby gator down the toilet, and it grows huge in the tunnels.”

“This can’t get any weirder,” you shook your head.

“Then we tried callin’ Bobby—” Sam said, “since you were still down for the count. He was caught up in another case, though. So, we decided to search the sewer. We split up, each taking one end of campus.”

“Did you find anything?” you asked.

“Yeah, I found something, just not in the sewer,” Dean began, getting frustrated. “Sam fucked up my car. He let all the air out my tires. He’s gonna bend the rims!”

“Why would he do that?” you questioned.

“I don’t know! ‘Cause he thinks I screwed with his computer or something!” Dean responded angrily. 

“I told you, Dean, I didn’t go near your car,” Sam said. 

“And how do you even know it was him?” you asked.

“ ‘Cause I found his money clip by my car. I’m keepin’ it for reparations. For, uh, emotional trauma,” Dean snarked. “Then, he full-on tackles me trying to get it back.”

“Oh, come on, I did not tackle you—”

Dean cut Sam off. “Oh yeah? Then how’d we end up on the floor?”

“ ‘Cause you’re an idiot, that’s why!”

“Okay, I think I’ve heard enough,” you broke in. 

The two boys stared at you.

“You showed up about an hour after that,” Dean finished.

“I'm surprised at you two. I really am,” you sighed. “Sam, first off, Dean did not steal your computer.”

“But I—” Sam argued.

“Shh! Shh,” you scolded. “And, Dean, Sam did not touch your car.”

“Yeah!” the younger brother petulantly cried, staring at Dean.

“Sam,” you warned. “And if you two would’ve pulled your heads out of your asses for a second, you probably would’ve figured out what we’re dealin’ with.”

Sam looked confused and looked over at Dean.

The older Winchester shrugged. “I got nothin’.”

“Me neither.” Sam looked back at you.

“A trickster,” you announced.

Dean snapped his fingers triumphantly. “That's what I thought.”

“What?! No, you didn't,” Sam argued.

You snickered. “You guys were the biggest clue.”

“What do you mean?” The brunet quirked his head at you.

“These things create chaos and mischief as easy as breathing, and it's got you so turned around and at each other's throats, you can't even think straight,” you explained.

“The laptop,” Sam realized.

“The tires,” Dean immediately added.

“It knows you're onto him, and it's been playing you as a result,” you nodded.

“So, what is it, what- what, spirit, demon, what?” Dean asked.

“Well, more like demigods, really. There's Loki in Scandinavia, Anansi in West Africa; dozens of them. They're immortal, and they can create things out of thin air. Make ‘em vanish just as quick,” you continued. “The victims fit the M.O., too. Tricksters target pricks, knock them down a peg, usually with a sense of humor— deadly pranks, things like that.”

“(Y/N), what do these things look like?” Dean said, and you could tell he was realizing something.

“Lots of things, but human, mostly,” you shrugged.

Dean looked over at Sam. “And what human do we know who's been at ground zero this whole time?”

It took Sam a moment, and he frowned, but finally caught on. “The janitor.”

***

Sam and Dean decided they would stage a huge fight right where the trickster could see them discussing whether or not the janitor was your guy or not. As night began to fall, you were supposed to meet Sam outside Crawford Hall to help Dean confront the trickster because you knew he’d be looking for Dean after the two brothers separated.

You and Sam followed the slow, sexy eighties music down the hall to the auditorium, and you flanked both doors leading down into it. You stood at the top of the stairs, waiting to catch the trickster off-guard. You clutched your stake tightly as you took in the two women on a bed on the stage dressed in lingerie, looking at Dean like they were going to eat him alive. Anger bubbled in your chest at the thought.

“Look, man, I— I got to tell you, I dig your style, alright?” Dean told the trickster, who was seated in the audience with his back to you. Dean chuckled. “I do. I mean, the slow-dancing alien—”

“One of my personal favorites. Yeah,” the trickster said. You could hear the grin in his voice.

“But, uh, I can't let you go,” Dean told him.

“Too bad. Like I said, I like you. Sam was right. You shouldn't've come alone,” the trickster replied.

“Well, I'll agree with you there,” Dean said darkly.

You slammed the door shut behind you, as did Sam. 

“That fight you guys had outside— that was a trick?” the trickster asked.

Dean grinned.

The trickster hummed. “Hm. Not bad. But you want to see a real trick?”

A masked man with a chainsaw suddenly appeared near Sam and attacked him. You immediately ran to his aid, jumping on the back of the man and grabbing his arm.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Sam asked you over the roaring of the chainsaw.

“Probably, yeah!” you yelled. You wrapped your arms around the masked man’s neck, trying to close his airway. “Does this thing even have a windpipe? Can it even suffocate?”

Suddenly, you were flying down the steps of the auditorium.

“Ooh, that’s gotta hurt,” the janitor commented, chewing on a sandwich he was suddenly holding.

“Oh, fuck you!” you said, getting up to charge him. 

One of the girls from the stage appeared before you suddenly, throwing you back down to the floor.

“Nice toss, gorgeous!” you heard the trickster cheer.

You reared back and kicked the woman squarely in the stomach, sending her stumbling back. You wrestled with her continuously, until suddenly, she disappeared from underneath you. You looked up to see Dean stabbing the trickster through the chest. 

“That’s my boy,” you smiled under your breath.

The trickster fell back into the seat behind him, dead.

Sam approached you and helped you off the ground. “You didn’t hit your head again, did you?”

“No, no,” you laughed. “I think I’m okay.”

Dean walked over to you and Sam. “You guys okay?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Sam nodded.

“Well, I gotta say... he had style,” the older brother chuckled. You helped Dean up the steps, bearing the brunt of his weight given the many injuries he sustained.

“Alright, let's just get the hell out of dodge before somebody finds that body,” you said, putting Dean in the backseat of the car.

Sam ducked down into the front seat beside you, and you started the Impala.

“Look, Dean, um... I just want to say that I'm, uh— Um…” Sam couldn’t seem to muster an “I’m sorry.”

“Hey. Me too,” Dean nodded.

You snickered. “You guys are breaking my heart.”

“Shut up, (Y/N),” the boys groaned in unison. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[stealingyourbones]

Submitted Prompts #99

Jazz went to Gotham to finish her degree away from her parents, as their obsession with Ghosts started becoming dangerous to everyone. So, of course, she brought Danny with her, so he's also far away from them and the GIW.

Danny held out a whole year without going out on patrol, just establishing his haunt in the new city. Lady Gotham was very happy to be able to show them to their new place, almost giddy that the little King and his Queen Mother have come to live in her beloved city.

Of course, the first time Phantom floats out of his window and into the night, he has a new suit, made of padded black leather, and a fluffy white cape with a hood (imagine the Lightkin Cloak from Destiny2, but snow white, rather than black and grey), along with a facemask engraved with a fanged design. New haunt, new look, and the new look fit right in with the viciousness of Gotham City.

And, as luck would have it, his first Gotham Rogue was Poison Ivy. Thinking back to his fight against Undergrowth, Pantom opened with his ice, forming a double-sided axe to better cleave her vines apart, and locking Ivy herself down with ice.

To further distance himself from his identity as Phantom, in case the GIW somehow became smart at some point, instead of blasting ice like most ghosts fire ectoblasts, Danny asked Pandora for lessons on fighting with weapons, and Frosbite taught his how to channel his element as an aura, or a freezing breath. He even sat down to listen to Nocturne speak as they wove spells and ectoplasm, and the Personification of Dreams softly taught him how to use his powers through objects acting as catalysts, or as manifestations of his will, rather than throwing his affinities around by brute force.

With his new abilities and look, rather than fight like a feral raccoon, Danny took to fighting more like a spellblade, slinging around ice shard and spells to enhance his physical strikes, controlling the pace of a fight to get the upper hand on his enemies.

Suffice to say, Poison Ivy hadn't expected the Avatar of Icy Vengeance to lock her in a pillar of ice up to her neck while her vines withered into frosty sculptures.

Gotham's newest hero got awarded a new name by the news the next day: Ymir, Frozen Progenitor.

Danny thinks it's too pretentious for a random ghost, or random halfa, like him. Joke's on him, the perception of Gotham's people slowly starts empowering him, slowly enough that the only reason he notices his oncoming Ascension to myth as a Protector Spirit is when a terrified kid begs for his help, and he hears them loud and clear out of nowhere.

The Bats are confused by this Entity. Constantine stepped one foot in Gotham, felt it's cleaner air, the sharp bite of ice in his nose and lungs, and the overwhelming pressure of the new Godling training under Gotham herself to control his new powers, and ran out screaming about not getting paid enough to deal with divine beings. Zatanna is trying to contact Ymir to ask them to join the Justice League Dark.

Jason is vibing with the tall redhead Amazon he's met at Babs' library, and her feral little brother who cured his Pit Rage by biting his arm when they first met. One time Jason is in a pinch after a stakeout gone wrong, Bellona (Ancient Roman Goddess of War) takes the fight to his captors to free him, dressed in golden armor and wielding a spear Pandora and Firght Knight made for her. Nocturne and her brother worked together to imbue a spell into her back to give her wings she can use to fly or fight with. The fact it left a badass tattoo on her back, is just another way Jazz rebels against her parents. It also has Jason weak in the knees when he first sees it.

[orobaxis]

I loved your Ominis fic so much! It felt like I was there with him 🤭 for prompts I couldn’t decide between “You need to know that I have grown to care for you. Deeply." and "I can't fathom the idea of my life without you in it." It could be angsty or not I don’t mind 😊

“deeply”

ominis gaunt x f!reader (hogwarts legacy)

ominis starts to avoid you.

word count: 2849

warning: some pureblood purity nonsense, f!reader may be muggleborn or a half-blood

beware of spoilers in the comments/tags/reblogs!

“what's wrong with you and ominis?”

you frown, eyes not leaving your plate as you give anne a shrug. you don’t know, really, what’s going on between you and ominis. he just suddenly became so distant to you.

at first, you thought it was just you. you thought you were going a bit paranoid, or that you were overthinking it. because ominis always sits with you, that was his place, that was where people expected to find him in the great hall. wherever y/n was, ominis wasn’t far behind.

it started when he raced anne to sit beside sebastian for lunch. you don’t think they noticed, and anne was just all too happy to sit beside you and chat, but you did. he was supposed to sit beside you, so why didn’t he? you chalked it up to him wanting to talk (argue) with seb, and thought nothing of it.

next was when you arrived to the library shortly after your potions class. you always go to the library after potions to try to work on your homework, you had a dedicated nook and ominis would join you and you would both nag the twins to start their homework (and not copy yours). but one day, he just…wasn’t there. you were beginning to get worried, then, wondering if he wasn’t feeling well, or if you did something to upset him. so that night, you try to catch him in the common room.

he didn’t show up. you four would usually sit by the large windows overlooking the lake, waiting for the giant squid to greet you while pranking other students. but when sebastian told you that “he said he wanted to rest”, your heart formed a little crack in it. and every day he started to avoid you, the crack just grew a little bit bigger.

“i think…he’s avoiding me,” you tell anne. despite being close to ominis, you and anne share a sisterly bond that was forged early in your lives and stronger than the very foundations of magic. there are things you simply cannot talk to seb or ominis about (for one, your…budding feelings towards the latter), and it’s always anne who you turn to in times like these. “he hasn’t talked to me for days now.”

anne scrunches her face in displeasure. “that isn’t like ominis at all, he’s not ignoring me, and certainly not my brother,” she turns to you warily, “do you think it was something you did? something you said?”

“i’m trying to remember, but i’m certain i haven’t said or done anything that could have upset ominis,” the tone of your voice is sadder now, disparaging, “that i know of.”

anne, ever the optimist, reaches for your hand and squeezes it, “well, whatever it is, i’m sure ominis will come around. he can’t stay away forever, you know?”

feeling somewhat comforted, you give her a terse smile. do you know that?

-

it might be best to stay away. ignoring the thumping of his heart and the fluttering in his stomach, ominis flicks his wand, and the howler is engulfed in flames before it can disintegrate. he is thankful for the privacy of the undercroft at this moment, although he knows that any one of his friends can pop in, the message in the howler was not something he wanted them to hear.

son,

we have heard rumours about you associating with some…unsavoury folk—

is that really what they think of her? of y/n? because she wasn’t born from a prominent pureblood family, because she associates herself with muggleborn professor garlick, because she loves all things that grow and not fascinated in the dark arts?

does his family really think less of her because of her birth?

ominis made a hard and rash decision, and it has been going well. however, he’s certain that you are starting to get suspicious by now. you are a smart witch, you know that he’s been avoiding you. but ominis thinks there is no other option. in order to keep you away from his family’s sharp and piercing gaze, it is better to distant himself from you. it is for your own safety. he cannot have them sink their infected claws into the only comfort he has away from home. no matter how hard it is, ominis has to keep away.

which is becoming hard, seeing your history together. having barely separated, you have all the same classes together. herbology, for one, is your favourite class, and you had paired with him to care for a pot of chinese chomping cabbage. this is going to be a lot harder than he thought, seeing as you had rooted yourself deep into his routine, his life, and his heart.

-

feeling emboldened by your conversation with anne, you are hopeful that ominis will finally break his silence in herbology. you are partners, and you have to discuss how to properly care for this rather…biting…flora.

your anxious smile drops a bit when ominis says nothing when you greet him, only standing away from the potting station, seemingly indifferent.

“so…i thought we should start trimming our cabbage and feed it some carrots,” you suggest slowly, trying to gauge any reaction. “and maybe water it before we leave. what do you say, ominis?”

the smile is replaced by a frown when you see him looking away from you, something he hasn’t done since you two started being friends. he is attentive like that, whenever you talk to him, he would turn to your general direction, making sure you know that he was listening to you. now, you aren’t so sure that he’s not let your words pass through one ear and out the other.

ominis only shrugs, “do whatever you think is right,” and turns away from your completely.

disheartened, you turn to the potting station, trying to ignore the tightening of your throat and the sharp sting of tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. you silently tend to your plant for the rest of the class.

-

“why are you ignoring y/n?”

sebastian finds him sulking close to the defense against the dark arts classroom. this is also one of your favourite hauntings, enjoying the tea the biscuits when you have a free period.

ominis sighs, knowing that he cannot really avoid the question forever. he also knows how persistent sebastian can be, and it would be no use to hide it from him. despite this, he tries to play dumb at first, “what makes you say that?”

“well, for one, you haven’t been sitting next to her or talking to her for a couple of days now. and in herbology, you’d think someone made her watch a niffler getting tortured with how sad she looked.” sebastian’s tone is accusatory.

the gaunt boy frowns as he imagines how much his actions hurt you, only giving you one sentence answers whenever you ask questions in class and avoiding you as much as he can. he hates that he’s the reason you were so down in herbology earlier.

“and anne has been pestering me to ask you,” sebastian adds, “which means you better tell me now before she comes here and beats it out of you.”

ominis scoffs, “like she’d eve—”

“ominis, the only reason she hasn’t hexed you is because she’s busy comforting y/n right now. as soon as she’s done, you best believe we’ll both be on the receiving end of a mean stinging hex.”

well, ominis couldn’t argue with that.

“it’s my parents,” he tells sebastian, “they owled me, wrote to me that i shouldn’t be associating with ‘unsavoury folk’ and those who are ‘lesser’. that i am slytherin’s heir and should not be seen with someone who has muggle parentage and friends with muggleborns.”

sebastian blanches at that. “how dare they!”

“you might think that’s that, but it’s also a threat. they are telling me to stop now, or else they will find her.”

“and this…this is why you’re staying away?”

ominis nods, “i don’t want my family to even think of her. to look at her or touch her. i cannot have them taint her.”

he waits as sebastian goes silent, trying to process what he just said. he is not hoping for a solution, nor comfort.

“but…you’re hurting her. and yourself.”

ominis says nothing. he doesn’t need to. what more can he say?

-

you want to believe that you’re getting used to the silence. but you really can’t. it’s so different without ominis’ presence, without his (overly) doting nature, or his commentary whenever seb does anything stupid. while you still wonder what it is you did to make him ice you out, you also start to muster the courage to talk to him alone and ask him about it.

relaying this to anne, you two try to find the right “opportunity” to catch ominis off guard so that you can confront him. he seemingly catches on to it though, now sticking beside sebastian at any cost. sebastian is also a bit subdued, and that is something you should ask about in a while as well.

it’s so strange to find ominis across the table from you in the great hall, face turned away from you like he is deliberately letting you know he doesn’t want to acknowledge your presence. anne has been helpful, sitting beside you and initiating conversation, but it’s not the same.

it’s not the same without him.

so when the owls started arriving and delivering packages, you consider it a welcome surprise to receive one.

“oh, a package!” anne exclaims excitedly, “who is it from?”

you turn over the package, the smile on your face replaced by a frown, “i don’t know. it’s unmarked.”

at that, ominis can feel the hair on the back of his neck standing, and he sits up straighter. “don’t open it.”

you look up to ominis, surprised that he not only was listening to you (and ignoring you on purpose), but that he talked to you. even if it was just to tell you not to open a package.

sebastian purses his lips and nods, “he’s right, y/n. it could be some prank from someone.”

or something related to the dark arts that is meant to curse you, he and ominis think.

ominis has a gnawing feeling of anxiety, wondering if it was his family who sent you this mysterious package. do they really think he wouldn’t know about it? why would they send something potentially dangerous in such a conspicuous way?

“alright,” you acquiesce, now thinking that it couldn’t hurt to be on the safe side. it would be terrible if the package turned out to be a prank, wondering if it would explode when you open it or splash you with something pungent. “i’ll open it outside.”

“i will open it,” ominis states, and it sounds final. you stare at him, contemplating on whether this would be the right time to ask him, if he has decided he’s had enough of ignoring you and you can go back to the way it was. the finality in his words seem to suggest that he does not tryst whatever is in that package. his arms extend across the table to you, “i’ll keep it in the undercroft for now.”

blinking in surprise, you raise your eyebrow, “you want to hide it there?”

he nods tersely, “just to make sure it doesn’t explode on you. after classes we will go to the beach and open it.”

resigned, you hand the package over to him, taking the moment to bask in the feeling of his fingers brushing against your own. as quickly as it happened, ominis’ hands are gone, and he stands up, wand blinking red in front of him. he doesn’t say anything as he leaves for the undercroft.

sebastian says nothing when he hears your sigh of defeat.

-

the four of you find yourselves at the beach after class, eyeing the suspicious package tucked under ominis’ arm.

“i didn’t find any traces of dark arts in the package,” he says, “but we can never be too careful. i will place it on the ground and i need you all to back away as far as you can.”

“will you be safe?” you blurt out, your worry for him trumping the other confusing feelings you have bubbling up your chest, “if this is some kind of…dark arts artifact…i think it would be best if we get a teacher involved.”

ominis thought about that, of course. “if it’s dark arts, then i might be able to find a way to control it. and then you can go and fetch professor hecat.”

still wary, you voice your assent, grabbing anne’s hand for support.

you watch ominis take a deep breath, sebastian standing not too far from him, ready to catch him if anything happens as well as to guard you and anne.

ominis waves his hand in a flourish, and you all held your breaths as the packaging tears open to find…

a book.

thick, and well-used, it looks like…an ordinary textbook.

you shuffle towards ominis curiously, ignoring sebastian’s calls, and peeked to see what it is.

“oh, it’s a book,” you comment. you get close enough to read the title, even as ominis extends his arm to stop you from getting any closer. “it’s the herbology book i’ve been looking for!”

“what book?” ominis asks, still distrustful.

“i asked deek the house elf to help me find a book on herbology that professor garlick mentioned. he said he knew where that missing book may have been hidden. he must have sent it to me when he found it.”

you cautiously move away from ominis hold, reaching for the book. “see? it’s harmless. deek probably just didn’t put his name on it.”

“so, it’s not evil?” sebastian asks.

you raise the book and wave it, smiling, “nope!”

“merlin’s beard! that gave me quite the fright,” anne exclaims, hands on her chest, “this was all just a big misunderstanding!”

you smile, before subtly turning your gaze to ominis. he is quiet, once again icing you out. he nods stiffly before raising his wand, proceeding to walk away.

“ominis, wait!” you call out.

you see him hesitate, stopping his tracks for a moment. he clears his throat, “i’m glad you’re safe.”

-

he finds out by the large windows in the common room, one of your favourite spots.

you were learning your forehead against the window, listening to the sound of water behind the thick glass.

“the giant squid isn’t here,” ominis remarks, “i couldn’t hear it.”

he cannot see the sad smile on your face. “thank you for letting me know, i think it’s better knowing that instead of waiting for nothing.”

oh.

he doesn’t like the sound of your voice when it’s sad.

before he can process it, he is standing in front of you, hands clenched at his sides. “i’m sorry y/n. i know i hurt you…but…”

your voice is small and muffled against the window, “i don’t know what i did for you to push me away like this.”

“my family has threatened to hurt you if i don’t stay away,” he blurts out, and you sit up in surprise.

“what?” you are shocked, to say the least.

“that’s why i was so worried about the package. i was afraid that they had sent you a cursed object because you…because you associate yourself with me.

but y/n, you need to know that i have grown to care for you. deeply,” ominis doesn’t want to admit how much he’s shaking, how it is obvious from the way he sounds that his shaky voice is about to crack and his throat tight as he struggles to keep his emotions at bay, “you are the last thing i want my family to touch. i couldn’t let them hurt you. not you.”

you exhale, tears now flowing down your cheeks. you stand in front of him and grasp his hands, which are cold, clammy, and shaking.

“oh ominis,” you squeeze his hands, slowly making your way closer until your forehead rests against his. feelings that you thought are yours to keep, buried deep and untouched in your heart, are starting to rise. “i cannot fathom the idea of my life without you in it. i don’t care what your family thinks. i will be fine as long as i’m with you. with seb and anne. with our family.”

ominis starts to break, exhaling as he feels your skin touch his, your smell invading his senses and your warmth soothing his tormented soul. “i cannot lose you, y/n. not to them.”

smiling through your tears, you raise your arms to pull him into a hug. “you won’t lose me, ominis. i promise you.”

there may be a lot of work to be done, more talks to be had, with regards to your feelings and his, on how to navigate these feelings and desires while also making sure that his family never touches you, but for now, ominis basks in your presence and in the love you have for him. and for now, that is enough.

-

aaaahhh sped write this minutes before a class presentation. i hope it’s fine. thank you for your patience with my writing styles/formatting as i try to find the best style/layout to write. thank you for the overwhelming love!!!

[daycourtofficial]

The uncertainty of Spring

Pairing: Eris x OC | WC: 1.7k | Warnings: Eris is a bit bitchy

Summary: a son of Autumn makes a deal with the daughter of Spring in hopes for a watchful eye over Lucien

Author’s note: happy Eris week @erisweekofficial 🥳🥳 this is for the ‘bargains’ prompt of day one. Wanted to try something a bit different and use an OC for the first time.

The stars shown above Iris, the air unseasonably warm around her. She held the piece of wood in her hand as she scraped her knife against the bark, letting the shavings fall at her feet.

Iris’s eyes scanned the area every few minutes, searching the darkness for signs of life, returning to her whittling when her eyes came up empty.

“Is that not blasphemy? A child of spring hurting a precious plant?”

Iris couldn’t control the scowl she sent in the direction of the voice, the sound grating on her nerves. She searched the woods for signs of him, not seeing him anywhere in the moonlight.

“What do you want, Eris? If you linger too long surely Tamlin will catch your scent on the wind and come to dispose of you like he did with Asher.”

He waved a hand as if the thought of his brother’s death was nothing more than the wrong shade of fabric, the action the only way she could make out where he was. “Any fate my brothers find themselves beholden to is none of my concern.”

She arched a brow, her movements against the wood halting. “And does that attitude extend to baby Lucien?”

Eris looked at her, a darkness to his gaze she had never seen before. He straightened his jacket, the brown coloring much less ornate than the greens and reds she was accustomed to seeing him in, but the neutral color suited him quite well.

He truly resembled an oak tree in the middle of losing its leaves.

Iris smiled, “so this is about Lucien.”

He breathed deeply, a slow exhale from his nose. “And if it were?”

“I would consider listening.”

He stepped closer to her, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body from several feet away. His eyes raked over her, taking in her appearance. ‘The seed of Spring’ they had called her, long blonde waves trailing down to her hips, flowers entwined with small intermittent brands. A long, pale green dress reached to mid-calf, allowing brown boats slightly caked in mud to be seen.

Her green eyes glowed unnaturally in the moonlight, resembling the way morning dew clings to grass and gives it a glassy appearance.

“I can’t linger here long. I do not have time to repeat myself.”

Iris nodded, Eris’s cryptic way of speaking leaving her uneasy.

She had known Eris for a long time, running into him mostly at High Lord meetings, or whenever the families of their respective courts would visit each other. Centuries of knowing him in the peripheral and she hardly knew anything about him. No one had a read on him or knew anything about him.

The juiciest piece of information was his failed engagement to Morrigan, Night Court nobility who slept with a lesser fae during her engagement, either in a bid to end it or because she couldn’t help herself, no one knew.

Rumor was neither her father nor Beron responded well to her actions. Rumors swirled of the failed engagement’s end - Morrigan was shipped to the continent until the war when she would be useful, Eris stabbed her out of jealousy,

Most rumors held some version of truth to them, but any and all gossip around the Vanserras felt too exaggerated to be real. Iris’s favorite rumor was that the manor they resided in had a secret tunnel system connecting to the far reaches of Autumn, so Beron could pop up anywhere in the Court with no one knowing.

The rumors were either grandiose ideas (that Eris was a shapeshifter and frequently shifted to run around the land with his hounds) or unsurprising tidbits about a family of seven sons (a Vanserra sleeping around, each of them supposedly incredible lovers).

Then again, rumors only grow.

“I need a bargain.”

That she was not expecting.

“My mother needs assurance that Lucien will be taken care of here.”

Iris stalked around him, her skirts moving in the darkness, the green chiffon swishing with each step.

“And how is your grieving mother? Three sons in one day, that’s half the family.”

“You’d be wise to bite your tongue, flowers are easily crumpled, as Rhysand knows first hand.”

Iris put her hands up in mock surrender, wondering just how much Eris truly cared for his fallen brothers.

Wondered if his feelings mimicked the ones inside her chest about the demise of her own brothers.

“Pray tell, Eris, why would I tether my soul to yours?”

Surely Eris had lost his wits to visit her about this.

“I know you wish to leave Spring.”

She halted, breath catching in her throat, eyes assessing him as he continued. “I know you have been sniffing about the Autumn borders for some time. I know you spend considerable time in my court. No one in Spring able to catch your eye?”

She scoffed, the male before her unseeing of the real truth to her visits.

“I don’t think safe passage in Autumn is good enough. If I’m going to be sticking my neck out for little Lu, I need something to sweeten the deal.”

His gaze felt burning as his attention focused on her, the longest time she had spent conversing with him prior to this was filled with insults and barbed snipes. This conversation had almost an air of vulnerability to it, something she didn’t know Eris could be.

“When I am High Lord, I will ensure you will live a comfortable life in Autumn, if you wish to leave the neverending life of Spring.”

Iris looked at him, an amusing grin on her face.

“And when do you plan on being High Lord? What if the magic skips you?”

He didn’t bother answering either of her questions, they already both knew the answer to the second one: it wouldn’t. His gaze was penetrating as he looked at her, his features sharp in what little light they had.

She stretched out her fingers, looking at her nails to get away from his gaze. “I want something else.”

“I’m not in the interest of ruining other males for you. I won’t be warming your bed as part of the deal.”

Iris gritted her teeth at the smugness in his tone.

“I want a secret from you. Not now, but whenever I call on you. I want you to tell me a delicious secret that no one else knows.”

“You always were nothing more than a bored gossip.”

Her smile was lupine, “and your family has always been a most interesting topic. Seven sons all interested more in getting their dicks wet than being competent rulers. There must be an overabundance of bastards in Autumn.”

The smell of blood was in the air, a slight tang as her words hit their mark. His demeanor doesn’t falter, though.

“I will agree, if this bargain remains between the two of us.”

He stretched his arm out, long fingers adorned with rings presented to her.

She had an out.

She could say no.

But having Eris Vanserra indebted to her was worth the risk.

She slid her hand into his, taking in the freckles dotting the outside of his hand, the gold ring on his middle finger with a bright orange gemstone set in it.

“Fine, I will see that your precious Lucien is attended to. However I cannot protect him from any trouble he goes out searching for on his own.”

“And I will take over Autumn, making it a better court for you to live in, should you wish.”

Her brow rose before he added, “and a secret for you to collect, however anything I tell you is not to be spoken of to another soul.”

Their hands glowed slightly, and she could feel the magic spreading up her arms and through her body. It felt like a wave in the ocean - strong but quick, gone before she could do anything. The ground in between both of them shook just before a young tree sprouted from the ground, the two of them stepping back and away from it. Pink petals exploded from the tree, bursting over the pair, several getting caught in her hair as they fell to the ground.

Eris looked at the plant, dusting the petals from his jacket. “Flowers, for spring. How original.”

He held up a petal, watching it catch in the moonlight. The action drew her attention to his hands, deep brown gloves adorning his fingers.

She wasn’t sure she had ever seen him wear gloves before, keeping his hands bare even at the most formal of gatherings.

“Does Autumn have any traditions around bonds?”

He shot her a look of exasperation before answering. “You get a burn mark. Its size is relative to the severity of the bargain.” He continued twisting the petal between his fingers, bored of the conversation already.

At his words, she began rotating her arms, searching for any new scarring. “Should I be concerned?”

“Shouldn’t you have asked questions beforehand?”

She tucked her hair behind her ear, not wanting to admit that he had a valid point with that.

“No matter. It will ache on occasion if you go too long without thinking of it.”

The Autumn Court truly was a whole new style of warfare. Iris looked at him, uncertain of what kind of creature could survive in such conditions for so long, wondering how long looking into the darkness it took to have the darkness etch itself into your bones.

“What should I tell Tamlin about this scar? Surely he’ll see it?”

Iris looked back, a sharp pain now shooting from her right wrist. She looked down, watching as a burn mark etched itself into her skin.

Eris shrugged, gazing at the tree between the two of them before he turned, long legs carrying him into the trees. The wind blew around him, as if they too tried to get answers from him. “It is no matter to me what the beast thinks. Perhaps you could convince him the monsters of the night dared to be near his darling sister.”

She looked at the burn mark on her skin, the texture catching the light. The scar was roughly the size of a gold mark, and she wondered if this was meant to be a small bargain. As she rotated her wrist, the scar seemed to disappear in the light. Iris looked back up to where Eris had last stood to find him gone, her wrist aching in remembrance.

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Eris taglist: @magicstrengthandcourage @panther-girl-124

[es46]

Submas Prompt: Not even Hours - 2

- "Are you okay?" Ingo's been hearing that a lot lately. He knows they mean well. After all, he doesn't look as well as he should for a man who, so far as everyone knew, had never been plucked from his time by the Creator and thrown into the distant past. How could he explain that? Yes I am very well, I'm only struggling with the psychological ramifications of realizing my years in Hisui mean nothing because, from your perspective, I never left Ingo has tried his best. He's pretending to suffer from a low-level sickness, and he's been exploring every avenue of improving his image. Hair salons, spas, anywhere that could make his skin look less worn, his hair less greyed. And Ingo does have comfort knowing none of his family and friends had to mourn his absence. But it's difficult. "Are you okay?" Elesa, honing her skills in the Battle Subway. She's seeking to join the Elite Four, so when time allows, she trains. Having just won, Elesa fixes Ingo with a piercing gaze. She's noticed the way his posture drooped, a shadow of dread flickering in his eyes. Ingo tries his best to stave off the worst memories of Hisui, the aura of the shadow atop the mountain, but sometimes it crawls in his soul. He smiles uneasily, feigns stomach ache. He's been eating a lot to compensate for his time in the past, conveniently, and it's not necessarily a lie. Elesa doesn't seem to buy it, but Ingo distracts her with talk on her hopeful proposal to Skyla. As expected, Elesa flushes and starts babbling on what to do for Skyla, what ring to buy, - Ingo tunes her out, brings himself under control. He's okay. "Are you okay?" Skyla herself. She's in Nimbasa more often these days, running collaborations with Elesa, and there she found Ingo sat on a bench, staring blankly out across the park. Ingo hadn't expected her and jolts when spoken to. His mind is pulled from Hisui, a dreadful cold and great cliffs, to Nimbasa's brightness. The concern in Skyla's eyes is close to palpable; she's never known Ingo to jolt. He smiles uneasily, feigns a dizzy spell. Too much time on the Ferris Wheel. Skyla relaxes, smiles and nods, and chatters cheerfully about her own experiences on amusement rides, like the rollercoaster- Ingo tunes her out, brings himself under control. He's okay. "Are you okay?" His own brother. In their home, Emmet sets down a dinner platter on the coffee table, eyeing his brother with an odd expression. Concern, kindness, disappointment? It pains Ingo to look at a face that shouldn't be three years younger and realize he can't read Emmet like he used to. Hisui was too much. This is starting to be too much. Ingo averts his eyes, looking back to the TV. The volume helps to keep Ingo focussed on the now, away from Hisui's howls. He mumbles some excuse- headaches, leg cramps- but this time Emmet isn't dissuaded. "This has gone on for a while, Ingo. Surely you have spoken to a doctor by now?" "I have, Emmet. They think it merely a persistent bug. I'll be fine if I eat well and rest often." Ingo doesn't like the way Emmet's eyes narrow. Of course his brother can still read him well, even if deep down he may doubt the lines on Ingo's face, the darkness behind his eyes. Surely Emmet is suspecting there is something worse here. But what could Ingo say? You are right, brother, I am not fine. In the span of three hours from your perspective, I was seized by Arceus and stricken by a brutal time for three years. Ingo can't say that. Emmet is talking again, wanting to arrange another visit to the doctor, wanting to accompany him this time. Ingo can't tune him out, so instead he blocks. "I am okay, Emmet. I just need time." The words come out harsher than intended. Emmet falters, briefly hurt. Regret stings, but Ingo excuses himself and rushes to his room. In time, this had to get easier. Arceus owed him that much. But for now, Ingo will sit on the edge of his bed, hold his head, and repeat. I am okay. I am okay.

[atoltia]

What his eyes can see, part 2

In which March was annoyed when he hasn't seen a certain farmer in a while. this installment was inspired by @fieldsofwriting 's headcanons about the farmer always stopping by to chat

Original prompt for What his eyes can see is by @itsabea found here

-0-

He noticed it almost immediately.

It wasn't like he was watching for her in particular, no, no, definitely not. No matter what other people said, no matter how much his brother pestered him during their downtimes, he did not dedicate any time or brain space on her at any given time of the day.

And yet there was a subtle weight at the back of his head, a buzzing that he couldn't quiet down even in the night. It was as if he omitted something from his day to day life that his body was reacting negatively to the lack of that particular stimulus.

He knew what it was, of course.

Ever since the day she arrived, March already had the sense that she would be the cause of many headaches to come.

Like this one.

March refused to count the days that he didn't see her. Refused to even acknowledge that he's missed Sandra's daily chitchat for three days in a row, absolutely disregarded the worried chatter from the other villagers that said they haven't seen her in a while.

Ryis kept him up to date, seeing as he was one of the people helping her fix that goddamned bridge by the beach (why wasn't it him, he wondered? Why couldn't it be him, instead?)

She wasn't looking too good, his friend told him one Friday night over a big stein of beer. He could tell that she wasn't getting much sleep, with the way she would just zone out for a few beats and the dark shadows beneath her eyes.

Ryis said he tried to ask what was wrong, and if she needed any help, but she just smiled and waved him off. Just some weird noises at night, no big deal.

Both March and Ryis knew it was bullshit.

So here he was, trudging towards south of town to the farm she occupied in the annoying morning chill, hands in his pockets as he grumbled all the way.

-0-

She was exhausted.

It was one of the things that she expected when she moved to Mistria many months ago. From her time in the capital, it wasn't the first time she'd witnessed towns and villages needing to be rebuilt after a disaster, natural or man-made.

She needed the work, she admitted. Not for any monetary gains, no. Sandra already had enough of that to live comfortably for a long time. She didn't need much of anything anymore - or at least, that's what she believed. Just get busy, just get focused elsewhere.

Just forget.

And still, the heavy clang of steel against steel still resounded in her mind. The rancid stench of iron in the air suffocating, suffocating, clouding the rivers in red. They couldn't hear her amidst the shouts, couldn't hear her orders to fall back, fall back, regroup.

She lost eleven of her soldiers that night. That grueling night of holding the last bastion at the north from enemy forces alone, surrounded, without aid, without so much as acknowledgement from the Capital on the loss of her eleven valiant warriors. But they persevered and held the line.

It infuriated her when the Capital didn't care, when they were dismissed. To protect and serve. For the good of Aldaria. That was what they believed in. And yet the country that they laid their lives on the line for turned their backs against her, against her people, the moment they were needed the most.

She sucked in a breath when a wide and sloppy tongue lapped at her hand, knuckles bone white from gripping the fence gate too tightly. Sandra looked up, sighed when the large eyes of Peanut gazed up at her, breaking her from her nightmare.

"I know," she whispered as those lean fingers of hers ruffled the cow's fluffy head. She knew she had to rest, take some time for herself.

But still she had work to finish before autumn hit.

The crunching of boots alerted her, the rake she had in her other hand whirled along with her as she turned around.

"March?"

She sputtered a soft laugh as she leaned against her fence, Peanut now nuzzling into her side as both regarded the redhead. "This is a surprise visit."

"Hn." Ryis wasn't exaggerating when he said she didn't look well. There was a translucency to her skin that he didn't like, a slight tremble to her frame even when she's supported by the wooden fences. Her usual alert eyes were switching from being focused to not. At this state, a strong gust of wind would be enough to topple her over.

But then he remembered when she pinned him to the wall some months ago. She didn't look all too good back then, either. Half-dead and bleeding, if Valen asked him.

He remembered how strong she was when she had him against that wall and he wasn't sure he'd like a repeat of that.

"You look like shit."

Mirth twinkled in those exhausted eyes. It pissed him off.

"Not exactly something I'd like to hear from an attractive man so early in the morning, but thanks."

He felt the heat creep us his neck as he grumbled to her before shoving a paper bag at her. "Eat."

She raised a brow as she took the bag, tilted her head. "What's this?"

"Soup."

"Ah."

But they stood there for a number of moments, with Peanut nudging at the bag in her hands. March growled and, against his better judgement, took her arm and dragged her towards the stone bench right next to her house.

If it were another person, he wouldn't be as worried. But the way she stumbled into him, her body colliding into his back, alarmed him.

"Hey, hey." He quickly got the bag and set it down on a rock by the fence while one arm held on to her before stabilizing her into a better standing position against his body. "Oi."

Her eyes blinked rapidly before she snapped back, her brows furrowing as she lightly pushed a hand against his chest in an attempt for distance. "Shit," she breathed. "Sorry."

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Last night."

"Bullshit." Images of that time she slept over when he was sick flashed in his mind, images of her struggling to fight against a nightmare while she slept on his armchair. He swore.

Steeling his mind, he muscled her up and carried her on his shoulders as his other hand grabbed the bag before the cows decided it was their breakfast instead.

"March," she breathed, accepting her fate as she got fireman-carried towards her bench. "Warn a girl."

"If I do, you'll kick my ass."

"You don't know that."

"I do, in fact, know that."

"Hmph."

So he set her down, rather ungracefully to her chagrin, and had her eat. It wasn't often that she got to eat any breakfast so having Reina's cooking this early in the morning was a welcome treat.

"So, besides manhandling me, why'd you come here?"

March shrugged as he took the piece of bread in her hand. "You didn't say hi to me yesterday."

She sighed. "March, I was busy."

"But it's routine, damn it."

She chuckled at that, shook her head. "Well, if our local blacksmith missed me that much, then I'll make sure to add him to the schedule."

"Damn right." And he'll damn well make sure of it.

Next step: figure out how to get her to sleep for a full eight hours, damn it.

-0-

Not my best work but mmm the brain bunnies weren't working so well yesterday lol also some Sandra lore, finally

Masterlist

[tearsaura]

I love you // Liam Mairi x Tavis!reader

A/N: Based on the prompts by @northspiritstorm under this Post. I am so sorry that you had to wait so long for this one.

I do hope that you enjoy it. :)

Word count: 0.9k

warnings: none? Spoilers for fourth wing and iron flame (messed around with the timeline a little bit)

Picture is from Pinterest: bgtm9d

‘Again.’

‘I-’ she began, but paused, trying to catch her breath. Her heart was already racing, and it felt like it was going to jump out of her chest at any moment. She rested her hands on her knees. Varrish had dragged her up here hours ago.

Stop it, Cuan admonished her. Stop it before something happens to you.

‘I- I can't anymore,’ she groaned, looking down.

‘You're not leaving until it starts raining here. If you want to go, pull yourself together.’ Varrish grabbed her by her hair and pulled her up.

‘Again.’

It was already dark when she was finally released and went back to school. There was no one else in the courtyard when she reached it with trembling legs. Her hair was sticking to her face, covered in sweat, her cheeks were burning and every breath she took felt like being stabbed. Her eyes landed on the large oak tree that stood in front of the entrance and with a relieved smile she walked towards it. She slid down the trunk of the tree and closed her eyes. Her thoughts wandered to blue eyes and soft blonde hair. Rough, calloused hands wrapped around hers, the scent of sandalwood...

Empathic one!

Cuan's human is unconscious in the yard under the oak tree Liam jerked out of his sleep so hard he almost hit his head on the wooden post of his bed. Without hesitation, or even thinking about putting on shoes, he ran down the corridor out of his room.

There was hardly anyone else in the corridors, except for a few couples here and there enjoying their time. As he walked past the third year's corridor, one of the doors opened and her brother ran out of his room. Garrick almost bumped into the younger rider, the two looked at each other for a moment, one more worried than the other, and ran out into the darkness together.

‘Did you see her today?’ Garrick asked, his usually confident voice trembling slightly. ‘Only at breakfast,’ Liam replied as the two of them walked towards the oak tree.

In the moonlight, a motionless body could be seen next to the tree trunk. Before Garrick could even react, Liam approached and dropped to his knees beside her. With careful hands, he pulled her body towards him and placed his fingers on her neck.

‘Her pulse is weak. We should take her to the healers quadrant.’ Garrick nodded wordlessly and helped him carry his sister in.

---

The sun slowly dawned and both riders sat wordlessly side by side outside the quadrant. Winifred had told them hours ago that they should come back in the morning, that the young Tavis sister was fine and just needed some rest to regain her strength.

Liam and Garrick, being the stubborn riders they were, ignored her words and didn't move.

Garrick kept looking at his friend. He wasn't stupid: he had noticed that there was a spark between Liam and Y/N. And as he looked at him, his eyebrows drawn together in concern, the way he cracked his fingers and how dishevelled his hair was, he knew that it probably wouldn't be too long before the couple finally admitted it to each other.

‘Gare, I like your sister.’ Well, that was faster than expected

‘I know, you guys are best friends,’ he replied, trying to hold in his grin.

‘I mean that I like her, like her. More than a friend. Are you- are you getting what I’m trying to say?’ he asked, turning to face him. Garrick raised his eyebrows.

‘No,’ Liam sighed and leaned back in his chair.

‘I have feelings for her, I really like her, and I wish she was my girlfriend.’

‘Ohhhh’ it took a lot for him not to laugh. ‘Have you talked to her about it?’

‘I don't think she feels the same way...’ There was a silence at first before Garrick bursted and laughed out loud.

‘Really? Don't be so loud before Winifred chases us away.’

‘I'm sorry. But are you listening to yourself? Everyone knows you're into each other except for you,’ he brought out between laughter, wiping the tears that threatened to fall out of his eye corners.

‘So you... wouldn't mind?’ Garrick finally managed to stop laughing and, in a more serious matter, put a hand on Liam's shoulder.

‘I couldn't wish for a better boyfriend for my sister…. and I couldn't wish for a better brother-in-law for me either,’ Liam grinned at him.

‘Dude, that was probably the corniest thing you have ever said’ ‘Yeah, I immediately regretted it. The second part at least.’ Garrick gave him another encouraging pat on the shoulder and stood up.

‘Well, I'm off then, she's in good hands with you-’ “Hey, hey wait a minute, you have to help me come up with an idea on how I can confess my feelings to her!” Liam interrupted him and Garrick groaned. ‘No, believe me, I'm the wrong person for this kind of stuff. Ask... Imogen or Quinn, or even better ask Xaden. He's on cloud nine right now anyway and he's unbearable. ‘Violence this’ ‘Violence that’... I even caught him picking flowers.’

‘Flowers?’ ‘Yes! He's gone soft. He's certainly got enough ideas to help ever single rider here with a love confession.’ ‘Okay then, I'll look for Xaden later.’ Liam said slowly. Garrick nodded and left the waiting area with a last encouraging smile.

A few minutes later, Winifried stuck her head out the door to the healer’s quadrant. As her eyes fell on Liam, she started smiling.

‘Hi. She just woke up; do you want to see her?’ Liam nodded immediately and jumped up. With shaking legs, he followed Winifred in and over to her bed. Y/N was sitting up, leaned against the pillows and smiled tiredly at him.

‘Hi Liam, how are you?’ she asked.

‘I love you’

[waywardxrhea]

Tuna-Tober Day 6 - George Weasley

pairing: Geroge Weasley x fem!reader

prompt: "Shh...I've got you now. I'm here."

word count: 2,051

content: Unforgivable Curse use, blood, choking, binding to chair

tuna-tober masterlist / main masterlist

dividers by: @firefly-graphics

You were attending your now mandatory seventh year of school at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and it was going about as well as you expected with everything going on with the war against You-Know-Who. Hogwarts of course wasn’t spared from the infestation of his followers, and with Dumbledore dead, the place had all gone to pot. 

Snape was in charge, and as if that wasn’t bad enough by itself, there were two new professors who were known followers of You-Know-Who… The Carrows. The brother taught what was now just called Dark Arts and the sister taught the required class of Muggle Studies. Instead of the class focusing on Muggle artefacts and how they functioned though, she taught how inferior the Muggles were compared to Wizards and how You-Know-Who would restore the “proper order” of things. You thought it was all total rubbish and you had made it clear to them from day one that you weren’t falling for their propaganda. 

By the end of the first month, you were getting stir crazy with not knowing how things were going outside of the castle and knowing that no one knew what was going on inside. The Profit wasn’t publishing anything useful, so you attempted to get an owl out to your long time boyfriend, George Weasley, to ask what he knew. It was a calculated risk, and the reward was not worth it. The Carrows had intercepted your letter before it even left the school grounds and you were subjected to corporal punishment at their hand. 

Needless to say, it was hard getting mail in and out of the school by the usual means, so after some thinking, you had resorted to using the secret passages hidden throughout the school grounds. You knew of these only because George had shown you some of them before he and his twin brother departed the school in grand fashion when Delores Umbridge took over the school. As bad as it was nowadays, sometimes you wished that Umbridge was still in charge. At least with her, seventh year students weren’t instructed to torture first years…

Even with getting owls out through a secret passage that took you to the Hogshead Inn, there was always the potential for mail to be intercepted and read though, so when things started getting rough, you and George had come up with a code system that you would use in your letters. The cipher was sent in multiple pieces over weeks, but once it was established, communication between Hogwarts and the outside world was a go. Because of this, you were the main source of information about the happenings of the school for Potterwatch listeners and freedom fighters throughout the wizarding world. Not that they could do anything about it…

Some weeks, there was nothing but bad news at the school, and your letters simply served as proof of life, and George’s replies did the same. You usually wrote of what the new rules were for the school, how punishment had changed, and just the daily happenings around the castle. One day though, George received a very different letter and the handwriting wasn’t yours. It was asking him to come to the school immediately. 

Hours before…

You were irritably bouncing your leg as you sat in your seat for Dark Arts class. Professor Carrow had once more brought a group of first years to be punished for trivial rubbish. Up until now, you had never been called upon to dole out their punishment, but still, you hated to have to watch the poor young kids suffer at the hands of other students. Some days you had worked with your fellow DA members and got word out that there was trouble in your class. They would cause a distraction outside so you could sneak the young students out to avoid punishment. This of course caused you to get in trouble instead, but you were okay with that. You were more capable of enduring the Carrows. 

Things were different today. The Carrows had been particularly harsh throughout the week, and were getting people in trouble for the littlest of things. Someone’s robe was slightly wrinkled? Detention. They wore their tie slightly off centre? Detention. A student flipped the pages of their textbook too loudly? Detention. Needless to say, you were fed up. After months of enduring their terror, you felt like you were at your breaking point. And it only got worse when you were called up to the front of the room by Professor Carrow. 

“It has been brought to my attention that you’ve never been called up for your practice with the Cruciatus Curse. I think it’s time we change that,” he said, a small smirk on his lips as you stood before him. You refused to look in his eye and instead glared over his shoulder. “I’ve seen your talent with it when we’ve practised on rodents. You’ve got a lot of anger inside of you, child. Now you just need to take it out on these weak children.”

You turned and looked at the tired and terrified faces in front of you. Some you knew had gotten in trouble before and were just wanting to get this over with, but some were brand new faces. Likely subject to detention because of a minor infraction. Their terrified eyes pleaded with you, begging without words for you to not hurt them. It broke your heart. 

“I won’t,” you stated defiantly, still not turning to give Carrow your respect. 

“You will,” he snarled as he pressed the tip of his wand into the side of your neck. His voice suddenly got closer and his breath was hot on your skin as he said, “If you don’t, I will. And I won’t relent until they’ve learned their lesson.”

This statement had you seeing red and your chest began to heave with anger. The grip you had on your wand tightened, and before he could make another move, you snapped around and pointed your wand at him, shouting, “Crucio!” when he was in your sights. 

“Go, now!” shouted Sheamus before standing up with a few other DA members who began clearing the room. Before he left, Sheamus turned back and called out your name for you to follow, but was met with a horrifying sight. 

Once you stopped concentrating on the curse and Carrow recovered from the pain you subjected him to, he was furious. Before you could even turn tail and run out of the classroom, Carrow had bellowed, “Diffindo!” and large gashes ripped through your robes and skin, causing blood to start seeping into your clothes. Your screams pierced the air before Carrow was grabbing you by the throat and shouting, “You think you can turn your wand on me?! You think you can get away with that unscathed?! You’re in for a world of torture, girl!” 

“Sheamus, go!” you managed to choke out when you realised that he was still in the room. 

“No!” Carrow shouted, flicking his wand and causing the heavy classroom door to slam shut. “You, boy, as punishment for aiding the other children, are going to help me deal with this brat! The two of you are close, so with what I have in mind, it’ll be punishment enough. If you don’t, you’ll be subject to the same.” After he finished his statement, he tightened his grip on your throat the slightest bit while waiting for an answer. 

“I won’t!” Sheamus countered. 

“Just…just do it!” you choked out, your voice quiet even to your own ears as you began to get dizzy. 

You didn’t hear your friend say anything, but assumed that he agreed when Carrow’s hold on you released and you crumbled to the ground, gasping for air. The relief was momentary though, because within seconds you were being forced up and into a chair before being bound to it. 

As you slumped forward, you heard Sheamus mumble, “Forgive me…” before your body was wracked with the most excruciating pain you had ever experienced. 

What followed was more wounds being inflicted into your skin and the chair with you in it being blasted into the wall. You lost count of how many times the Cruciatus Curse was cast on you, but even through your scrambled thoughts, you could tell which ones Carrow cast - they were more painful. More evil. 

By the time black was threatening to take over your vision, you finally heard, “I think she’s learned her lesson.” The chair magically sat upright as Carrow snarled, “Next time you know not to disobey me. This is going to be child’s play compared to what you’ll endure if you dare turn your wand on me again. Now get out of my classroom.”

Sheamus waved his wand and your bindings were released, causing you to collapse out of the chair and onto the floor in a heap. You were in and out of it as he practically dragged you in the direction of the Room of Requirement. When the two of you arrived, Sheamus was calling, “Neville! Hannah! I need some help!” 

“What happened?” Hannah asked, her eyes wide as she took in your bloodied form. 

“She refused to cast the Cruciatus Curse on the first-years. Cast it on Carrow instead,” he told her with a shake of his head. A grim look crossed his features and he scowled as he added, “He made me cast it on her too. Five times. I had half a mind to turn my wand on him too…”

“Good thing you didn’t. This is awful…” Hannah whispered as she started helping Sheamus get you to a secluded area to tend to your wounds. Before they got to the area, she turned to Neville and said, “Write to George. He needs to know what’s happened.”

“On it,” Neville agreed before rushing off to get a letter written. 

“Where is she?” George asked urgently as he ducked through the portrait that hid the passage from the Hogshead Inn. 

“They’re still trying to heal her, mate, just give-” Neville said as he stood up from his desk. 

“I need to see her!” George snapped, the terror and fury in his eyes obvious to Neville who nodded and took George to where Hannah and Sheamus were still healing the many gashes Carrow had inflicted on you. 

“We’ve gotten most of it, there shouldn’t be any visible scars,” Hannah said, giving George a small smile as she wrapped a blanket around you. 

She and Sheamus stood, and the latter clasped George’s hand in his before going in for a quick hug with a pat on the back, telling him, “She’s been asking for you. Good to see you, mate.”

George simply nodded before making his way to your side. He settled down into the heap of pillows before pulling you gently into his arms. When he did, you finally let go of the tears you had been holding back since Carrow got his hands on you. “Shh…I’ve got you now. I’m here,” George whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled you closer and nuzzled into your hair, kissing your head gently as he did. 

It took a while, but you finally calmed down enough to whisper, “Thank you…”

“For what?” George asked, placing a kiss on your temple. 

“For coming. You…you didn’t have to. It’s dangerous,” you replied, shifting so you could wrap your arms around him and snuggle into his chest. 

“For you I’d risk anything,” he told you. Soon enough, your exhaustion took over and you fell asleep in George’s arms. The sleep itself was heavy, but your mind was filled with nightmares that you were sure you wouldn’t escape for years to come. 

From then on, George would make trips to the school to check in on you as well as deliver things the DA and rebelling students needed. The first trip back was to bring a surplus of supplies to make potion for dreamless sleep. After that was prank supplies to boost morale. Then it was defensive products to protect yourselves. Some days it was simply him, and those days you were especially grateful for. George was your safe place and you were his. And in these times of war, that was something you both needed. 

I always think it's interesting to see stories written from the year that the Trio wasn't there, so that's what inspired this lil story for the prompt. I once again am showing off how much I love writing George Weasley's protective side!

likes and comments are always appreciated! xo, brooke <3

[boyfridged]

thank you, @tasonpjodd for your generous donations to spotlighted campaigns! if anyone would like to help out, please check my list. i am currently taking prompts for ficlets in exchange for proof of support of palestinians' fundraisers. details here. below -- the requested ficlet: dick and jason reconnecting after jason's return. once again -- thank you, dear! enjoy.

&you need a shovel (1435 words, sketch*)

When Bruce told him, months before: “I’m sure. The body wasn’t there,” Dick thought: bullshit. That was bullshit, and Bruce probably dug up his little brother’s grave for nothing, and… And perhaps it was reasonable. The only way to know for sure. 

“You’re not going to do it,” Donna told him, her voice muffled. 

And he was not going to. 

A flock of birds passed somewhere above, their caws so loud he could hear the cry with the doors closed, through the glass. 

“Where even are you?” Her voice cracked on the line again. 

“In a car,” he replied, impassive. A car. Nothing like the nice models he used to drive and show off. Not even a license plate permanently attached.

“Going to?” 

He looked out of the window, at the empty road, emptier, blackened acres surrounding it, and finally, at the distant city skyline. Then, he looked at the map plastered on his windshield and the pastel blue notes attached to it, thinking.

“Dick. Where are you staying? I thought you were with Bruce.”

Not far. The dots and connecting them lines sketched with a dark marker concentrated in the heart of Ocean County, New Jersey. Whatever they say about Rome.

“Or are you still looking for him?”

“No.” Because about that, she was right. Jason would come, if he wanted. He had to know he could, so– “It’s just a murder case.” Or five. 

She stayed silent for a split second, but with Blüdhaven razed to the ground, he could easily predict where the conversation was going. Everyone asked the same questions, wearing the same sympathetic face of grief. No one knew his.

“I have to go.”

“Dick–”

He hung up. There was nothing to say about Blüdhaven.

***

And then there is Gotham. With his childhood and family that can be traced back there like a murder trail. 

The case he’s been studying is colourless, no spandex in sight, but if it turns out to be more, he will not be surprised. Still, for now, he finds himself enjoying the bare bones detective work, something he also liked in his time- his time undercover with BPD. 

The victims do not exactly fit one profile. Four of them are rich, yes, the old money kind. That got the local cops working. The timeline Dick has written down, leaning over the console, reviews that in detail. They were first declared missing, with speed that only cash of their families could buy. Then, body parts appeared in Gotham dumpsters, as if strategically. A stomach and a hand. A loose head and a pair of lungs. 

Weeks of prodding lead to the next piece of jigsaw as if it was destined to fall into a missing spot in a finite formula, still loose but undoubtedly in place. The man; the crime; the date, aligning flawlessly. 

So Dick arrives at the driveway of Lehman’s off-city property, west of Bristol, not entirely sure what he’s expecting, a scenario after scenario pushing at him like a headache. There was already a suspicion growing at the back of his mind, or his heart, a hope, a wrong word given the circumstances– 

So perhaps the image that haunted both his dreams and waking hours. A boy, still just a boy, his frame unsteady, flickering on a rattling train, a boy on a trapeze, a boy calling him from the other side of the road only to disappear after a blink, a boy at his kitchen table, a boy in the coffin, more charcoal ash than a boy, or still a flame that goes out too quickly. A boy falling, cascades of dazzling colours and fingers slipping out of his own. 

He presses the brakes at the open gate. The tyres stagger on the cobblestone. 

This is not a watercolour of Dick’s grieving mind,  but a young man, shielding his bare eyes from the lights of the car, his hand fixated on a gun. 

For a second, Dick forgets how to breathe. His knuckles turn unnaturally pale on the wheel. He has to meet his own, bloodshot eyes in the rearview to confirm that they are open at all; that what he is seeing is real.

He gets out, willing himself to check the surroundings, and there it is, a shape of a victim on the ground, a red mess of limbs, right behind Jay. Jay, no mask on his face and posture so rigid that Dick takes his next step almost in slow motion, as if approaching a startled animal. 

“That’s– you,” Jay says and the initial shock in his voice, raspy, with a single odd note of youth, slips into chagrin that Dick would rather pretend to be the sustained surprise. 

“That’s me,” He confirms, and he too sounds almost foreign to himself. The casualness of it all is  inappropriate. 

He sticks his hands in his pockets. 

Jason’s hand remains close to the gun, the only visible weapon on him. Other than that- nothing. He’s wearing a black sweater, out of all things, a bit rough, a striped scarf, no gloves, jeans. He is not dressed for the weather, and definitely not for the activity. 

There is last hoarfrost on the already greening grass. Maybe this is why Jason pulls the sleeves over his hands, ignoring the newly acquired stains. 

“Where’s your–”

“I’m in the middle of something, so unless–” Jason begins at the same time. It’s acidic, or an attempt at. A challenge. 

“Unless what?” He questions, still standing there like a directionless pole. Unless he is there to stop him, maybe? 

Mere months ago, Dick stood and watched a man get shot, static. 

It is too late to stop anything. 

Lehman is very much dead. Not only is he dead, but in an interrupted process of being dismembered. Blood is soaking into the ground where a leg lies, and it is grotesquely bright, the type of brightness only a bone on display can seem to emit. 

And Jason’s expression is indescribable, just for a moment, carefully blank. Then he kneels next to the body, takes a loud breath in and closes his eyes. As if looking at Dick causes him great pain. Or– he could be praying, Dick thinks, hysterically, but there’s a frown building at Jason’s forehead to disprove this theory. His eyelids snap back open quickly enough too, and he reaches for the saw. He finds the slit of the injury on the body’s arm and pushes through with ferocious expertise that should not be so impressive. 

There is a bit of an uncomfortable slide to it under pressure. Dick does not think. He comes up and stomps on the loosely opened hand to stabilise the corpse. It’s firm under his boot. 

“This is a mess.” Dick says, like this is a thing to focus on- But his little brother has never liked messes. 

Jason’s eyes flicker to the side, at a gasoline tank he must have brought with, like it’s an ever-reliable answer. 

“I don’t… I don’t get what you’re doing,” Dick adds, despite the understanding dawning on him. 

“You don’t even know what you’re doing.” 

“Excuse me— I’ll let you know,” He replies, his voice still distant, just a hint of humour ringing out excruciatingly, too close to conscience, “I have worked plenty cases like this.” Usually arresting the offender, not helping them. The irony is not lost on him. “And it will be hard to smoulder it enough. Better bury him.” 

The grit of the saw comes to a momentary stop, the idea taken into consideration.

“Why? You got a shovel?” Jason mocks.

“I do.” 

There is a moment of silence. Dick would be too ashamed to admit that momentarily, he feels something like a shadow of satisfaction– or confidence, reinstilled. Yet, the tick of vanity cannot last in the face of vulnerability embodied. 

Jason’s wide grey eyes look up at him, properly for the first time, a trace of apprehension not disguised. 

“Where’s your… Car? Bike?” Dick asks, which earns him no response but another dubious look.

The thought that Jason walked eighty minutes on foot, just to slaughter this guy– It is becoming realistic. 

“Right.”

There’s a crumpled pile of black trash bags on the curb. Dick opens one, and gestures around.

“How about we- pack it up. And drive up into the forest.” 

Everything in Jay’s pose – the stubborn silence, how he bites at his lips, the tension of his jaw and arms, promises rejection. 

But when Dick extends a hand, he takes it at once. 

His brother’s- Dick’s now too, their hands, slide, sticky and red. And Dick helps Jason up.

*this ficlet will see a full-length version sometime this year, under the same title. for now -- thank you for reading. support gaza.