-Mir’osik- @high-five0 - Tumblr Blog

•FIC MASTERLIST•

So this is basically every fic I’ve reblogged so I can access them and see them organized! (Also kind of a fic recommendation post) If there’s any recommendations of what I should read please let me know!

Most of these fics will be platonic!

#star wars #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #the clone wars #f1 imagine #across the spiderverse #the bad batch #lando norris #top gun #top gun x female reader #top gun x reader #the last of us x reader #joel miller x you #Star Wars x reader

witchthewriter

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐱'𝐬 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: writing about Sheepstealer & Vermax in honour of episode one!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

witchthewriter

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐄𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 | Pt 1.

a/n: Dragons are an intelligent species, autonomous is their nature, they choose their riders. So, this is based on the personality of a person and therefore which dragon would be the best bond.

witchthewriter

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟…

iydiamartinx

THE LION AND THE WOLF

Pairing: Robb Stark x Baratheon! Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune & @finnegancosmos & @anitalerina word count: 15.5k synopsis: In the cold of Winterfell, a southern princess learns that duty is not always a cage—and that sometimes, the heart’s desires align with the good of the realm. a/n: I definitely went a little overboard with this one—this might be the longest one-shot I’ve written to date. Also, yes, I refer to reader as a lioness and imply her to be more Lannister than Baratheon, even though she is technically a Baratheon by name. We’re just rolling with it because thematically it fit much better for this story. warnings: Arranged Marriage, Joffrey being Joffrey, Cersei.

sidneyshmidney

Ugh i loved edge work. Fantastic 10/10. I was the one who said you gotta knock him out. Put that man in more perilous situations NOW 🫵🏼 (take however long you need)

-🍎

Bell Ringer - Sidney Crosby x Rookie Reader

Sidney Crosby x Male Rookie Reader (platonic) Summary: You take a crosscheck to the back and end up on the ice. But you don't remember any of it. Warnings: injury, blacking out, hospitals, concussions a/n: absolutely, i love whump, i love being evil Word Count: 2,727 requests open :)

nevereclipse

father figure

Pairing: Platonic!Tim Bradford x femme!rookie!reader

Requested Y/N: no this came from my own brain !!

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Use of y/n, yelling (standard TO Bradford style), domestic violence from a police perspective, light verbal sexual harrassment, mentioned vomitting, mentioned anxiety/nervousness, panic attacks, referenced/discussed past child abuse (emotional, with vague mentions of physical). Tim being a big ole softie (eventually).

Words: 5k+

Summary: How you went from being Tim Bradfords boot, to his unofficial kid.

this one got away from me a lot and has not been proofread!😭 enjoy! feedback is fuel.

zerosbubble

Stay here.

Tim Bradford x Rookie!Reader [PLATONIC] — ONGOING SERIES: Like Father, Like Rookie.

Summary: After responding to a particularly gut-wrenching call, you find yourself struggling to shake it off. Tim doesn’t do hand holding or pep talks, but the way he subtly keeps you grounded reminds you that maybe he does care—just in his own way.

Warnings: Reader & Tim take a domestic call gone wrong, mentions of blood, derealisation.

You weren’t sure why this one stuck with you.

You’d seen worse. At least, that’s what you told yourself. You’d handled chaotic crime scenes, violent arrests, situations where adrenaline took over and left no room for emotions to settle in. But tonight—tonight was different.

#the rookie #tim bradford x reader #platonic #angst #found family #oneshot

willoweclipsepirate

Pairing: Aonung x sully!reader

Warnings: Jake as a father, kissing, flirting disguised as arguing, injury, + chaos at the end

Summary: Tuk almost died because they weren't paying attention. Now Y/N and Aonung have to deal with the consequences. The guilt? Manageable. Admitting they're in love? Significantly harder. Well that's when the storm comes in the play.

The day had been going well, too well, really, which should have been the first warning.

Y/N Sully balanced effortlessly on the rocky outcrop, her bowstring taut between her fingers as she tracked the school of fish darting through the shallows below. The water was clear, the sun warm against her shoulders, and Tuk's excited giggles from where she crouched nearby were a constant, comforting hum beneath the sound of the waves.

Aonung, of course, ruined it.

"Your stance is off," he muttered just as she loosed her spear. It struck the water a second too late, and the fish scattered in a silver flash.

She clenched her jaw. "My stance is fine."

"Your spear arm wobbles like a newborn's," Aonung added, leaning against a nearby rock with that insufferable half-smirk. His own catch, three fat fish already strung on a vine, swung lazily from his hip while Y/N's fingers twitched at her sides, already preparing for a punch.

"Maybe if you shut your mouth for once, I wouldn't miss," Y/N snapped, whirling on him so quickly that her braids lashed against her shoulders.

His smirk didn't falter. If anything, it widened, infuriatingly unbothered.

Tuk giggled again, crouched far too close to the water's edge, her tiny fingers skimming the surface as she tried to catch minnows.

"You’re blaming me for your bad aim now?" Aonung drawled, rolling his shoulders as though he were settling in for a proper argument. The tide licked lazily at the rocks beneath them, but beyond the cove the sky had already begun to bruise purple along the horizon, the familiar warning of a storm gathering out at sea. Y/N barely noticed. She was too busy imagining how satisfying it would be to wipe that smirk off his face with her fist.

Tuk's delighted squeal twisted suddenly into a sharp gasp, then a scream, high and panicked, cutting through the salt-heavy air like a knife.

Y/N spun toward the sound just in time to see her little sister's small hands clawing at the surface, fingers spread wide before she was dragged beneath the water with a violent splash. The sea churned where she vanished, bubbles bursting upward in frantic streams.

Y/N didn't think as she lunged forward, her forgotten spear clattering against the rocks as her knees slammed into wet stone and both arms plunged into the shallows. Her fingers brushed nothing but froth and the slick pull of retreating waves.

"Tuk!"

The name tore from her throat, raw and desperate.

Aonung's mocking smirk vanished instantly.

He was moving before Y/N could shout again, diving into the water in a clean arc, his body cutting through the waves with the effortless precision of someone born to the sea.

Dark shapes writhed beneath the surface.

It’s not a fish. It’s something larger and alive.

Y/N's pulse hammered against her ribs as she waded in after him, icy water climbing her shins while panic tightened around her chest like a vice. She couldn't see clearly through the churned-up water. Couldn't reach far enough. Couldn't do anything except watch.

Then Aonung surfaced.

He broke through the waves with a gasp, Tuk clutched tightly against his chest.

The creature, some eel-like monstrosity streaked with faint bioluminescent markings, still clung to her ankle, its jaws locked in a vicious grip.

Aonung snarled something low and wordless.

One arm remained wrapped around Tuk while the other drove his hunting knife downward.

Once.

Twice.

The water darkened around them.

The creature convulsed violently before going limp, its grip finally loosening as it slipped beneath the surface and disappeared into the depths.

Tuk trembled uncontrollably when Y/N gathered her into her arms.

Her sobs were muffled against Y/N's collarbone, her fingers digging into her sister's arms as though she feared she might vanish if she let go.

Y/N held her tighter.

"I've got you," she whispered, pressing her lips against Tuk's damp curls while her own breath came in ragged gulps. "I've got you, Tuk-Tuk."

Aonung waded toward them, his expression unreadable, his usual arrogance replaced by something strained and quiet.

For a moment his hands hovered uncertainly near Tuk's back, as though he wasn't entirely sure he had the right to comfort her now.

"She okay?" he asked, his voice rough.

Y/N swallowed hard before nodding. "Just scared."

She adjusted Tuk in her arms, trying to ignore the way her own legs shook from the rush of adrenaline.

"We need to get her home."

Tuk tightened her grip immediately.

"Don't wanna go in the water again."

The words twisted painfully in Y/N's chest.

She couldn't blame her.

Before she could reply, Aonung stepped forward, his jaw set with quiet resolve. “I’ll carry her,” he declared, his words carrying the weight of an order rather than an offer.

"You keep watch."

Something hot and defensive flared in Y/N's chest, but before she could argue, Tuk lifted her tear-streaked face and reached toward him.

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice so soothing it silenced every protest Y/N could muster.

Aonung took her carefully, settling her against his side with surprising gentleness, one hand resting lightly against her back.

Within moments Tuk sagged against him, exhausted, her small frame finally surrendering to the aftermath of fear.

Y/N clenched her fists, feeling a surge of frustration. She should have been the one carrying Tuk, the one to pull her from the water. Yet, it was Aonung who had moved faster, who had saved her. The realisation left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Let's go," she muttered quietly.

Behind them, the first drops of rain began to fall.

The wind whipped the waves into frothing peaks behind them, and the first crack of thunder split the sky just as they reached the woven pathway leading to the Sully family's marui.

Jake Sully was already standing in the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the glow of the hearth.

His expression darkened as he observed Tuk’s limp form in Aonung’s arms, the trembling of Y/N’s hands at her sides, and the unnatural pallor that had settled over both their faces. Rain slashed sideways through the open doorway, soaking the woven floor mats and bringing the storm’s scent inside.

“What happened?” Jake’s voice was low and dangerous, a tone that could make even the reef’s boldest predators retreat.

"It was a tsurak," Aonung said, his voice flat and his shoulders squared as though he were bracing for a blow.

Tsurak.

The creature slithered through Metkayina legends like venom through a wound, whispered about in hushed tones around dying cookfires. Elders spoke of bioluminescent streaks pulsing through the blackest depths and jaws capable of swallowing a child whole.

Jake's eyes flicked immediately to Tuk's ankle, where dark bruises were already beginning to bloom beneath the skin.

Something in his face went still.

Neytiri appeared behind him, her fingers curling around the doorframe until her knuckles whitened. Her gaze locked onto Tuk’s tear-streaked face before sharply shifting toward Y/N.

“Explain.” It wasn’t a request.

Y/N opened her mouth, but the confession lodged in her throat before it could form.

We weren't paying attention. I let her get too close. I was too busy arguing with him.

The truth tasted like failure.

Beside her, Aonung shifted Tuk's weight in his arms, his jaw tightening.

"She wandered too deep," he said more quietly. "The tsurak was hunting near the reef. It..."

"You were supposed to be watching her."

Jake stepped forward, rainwater dripping from his braids, his voice dropping into a low snarl.

The accusation wasn’t against Aonung; it was directed at Y/N.

She felt it land like a slap. She flinched to which Aonung stiffened immediately.

Behind Jake, Neytiri's tail lashed once, sharp enough to crack through the silence.

"It wasn't just her," he said, his voice rough. "I was there too. I didn't see..."

"Enough."

Neytiri stepped forward and took Tuk from his arms before he could finish.

Tuk whimpered but didn't resist, curling into her mother's chest like a frightened hatchling seeking shelter. Neytiri's fingers traced the bruises around her ankle, her nostrils flaring as she examined the injury.

The silence that followed settled heavily over the room, thick enough that it felt almost physical, pressing into Y/N’s ribs with every breath she took.

Neytiri did not speak at first. Her arms remained firm around Tuk, who had begun to quiet in her grasp, the earlier terror slowly giving way to exhaustion, her small fingers still curled tightly into the fabric of her mother’s chest as if she feared the world might take her again if she let go. Neytiri’s eyes, however, had not softened. They moved between Y/N and Aonung with a steady, unyielding focus, taking in every detail, every tremor of guilt, every drop of rain still clinging to their skin.

"You both failed," she said at last, her voice low and absolute, cutting cleanly through the lingering storm outside.

The words landed with a finality that made Y/N’s throat tighten painfully, because there was no anger left in them anymore, no heat to argue against or defend herself from, only truth, heavy and undeniable.

Tuk could have died.

The thought pressed into her chest until it hurt to breathe.

Jake exhaled through his nose, turning slightly away as though even looking at them a moment longer was difficult, his shoulders tightening beneath the weight of exhaustion and something deeper, something closer to disappointment than fury.

Y/N clenched her hands at her sides, nails biting into her palms as she tried not to let the pressure behind her eyes spill over, because crying would not fix anything and it would not undo what had already happened, and she knew, even without being told, that neither of them would accept excuses.

Aonung stood rigid beside her, rain still dripping from the ends of his braids onto the woven floor, his usual confidence nowhere to be found beneath the silence that wrapped itself around him. His jaw was tight, but he did not speak, and the absence of his voice felt almost unfamiliar in a way that made everything worse.

For a long moment, no one moved.

The storm outside filled the gap between them instead, wind pressing against the walls of the marui and rain striking the woven structure in uneven, restless rhythms that mirrored the tension inside.

It was Tuk’s small sound that finally broke it, a soft, tired sniffle as she shifted in Neytiri’s arms, her grip loosening just slightly now that she was safe again, though not entirely willing to let go. Neytiri immediately adjusted her hold, brushing damp hair back from Tuk’s face with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the severity in her expression.

Jake finally turned back toward them, his gaze lingering on Y/N for a moment longer than Aonung, something unreadable passing through his eyes before he spoke again, quieter now, controlled but firm.

“We take her to Ronal,” he said.

After that, there was no discussion, only movement and the lingering weight of everything that had already been said. There was an unspoken understanding that nothing about this would be forgotten easily, not by any of them.

Tsahik's hut sat farther back from the shore, where the reef’s constant roar dulled into something steadier, like a deep breath held beneath the surface of the world. The path there was walked in near silence, broken only by the soft sound of Tuk’s occasional whimper as she shifted in Neytiri’s arms, and the steady rhythm of rainwater dripping from Aonung’s braids onto the packed sand beneath their feet.

Jake led the way without looking back, his shoulders set in a rigid line that made it clear this was not a walk, but a decision already made and being carried out. Neytiri followed closely behind, her grip on Tuk never loosening, as if holding her was the only thing preventing the moment from breaking further. Y/N walked slightly behind them, each step weighed down by the presence of Aonung beside her, though she did not look at him yet, not while her thoughts remained too raw to safely confront.

When they arrived, Ronal was already waiting.

She did not ask what happened at first, because whatever urgency had brought them here was already written across their bodies in salt, bruises, and exhaustion. Instead, she stepped forward with calm precision and took Tuk from Neytiri’s arms without hesitation, lowering the child onto a woven mat near the hearth where the light was warm and steady, untouched by the storm still raging outside.

"It was tsurak," Aonung said before anyone else could speak, his voice rough and immediate, as though the words had been sitting too long in his throat.

Ronal pressed her palm flat against Tuk’s ankle, her fingers spreading carefully over the bruised skin as she examined the injury with quiet precision, her touch steady in a way that made it clear she was reading far more than just what could be seen on the surface.

“Tsurak,” she murmured, her voice low and deliberate as she kept working, “do not hunt near the reef.”

Her golden eyes lifted then, sharp and unflinching, settling on Y/N and Aonung in a way that made the air feel suddenly thinner, as though the space inside the hut itself had tightened around them.

“They live in the deep waters. Far from here.”

Aonung shifted slightly beside Y/N, his tail giving a small, restrained flick against the floor, a rare sign of discomfort he did not try to hide but also did not explain.

“Then why—”

“They are drawn to noise,” Ronal interrupted without looking away from Tuk for long, her fingers pressing lightly again against the child’s ankle as though following something invisible beneath the skin, something only she could interpret.

“Loud sounds. Disturbances.”

Her gaze lifted again, slower this time, and lingered on Aonung before moving to Y/N’s hands, still clenched tightly at her sides as if she could hold the moment from falling apart by force alone.

“The tsurak hear it. They follow.”

Y/N felt it in her chest first, a pressure that made the memory come back too clearly, the raised voices, the heat of anger, the sharpness of every word exchanged too close to the water.

Aonung’s tail flicked again, the motion smaller this time, almost involuntary, and the tip brushed lightly against Y/N’s calf before he seemed to register it, both of them stiffening at the contact as if it had been far more deliberate than it actually was. He did not move away, but he also did not acknowledge it, only tightening his jaw and fixing his gaze somewhere beyond the far wall where the storm still beat against the woven sides of the hut.

Jake finally turned fully from the doorway, the shift slow but decisive, and his eyes, dark and unreadable, locked directly onto Y/N.

“You were fighting.”

Y/N’s throat tightened at Jake’s words.

“Yes,” she admitted, the word coming out rough, like it had to be pulled free. Aonung didn’t speak beside her, but his silence carried just as much weight, sharp and unavoidable in the small space between them.

Jake exhaled slowly through his nose. “You realize,” he said, voice low, “that one day, you’ll both be leading your people.”

Oh, believe us, we both know that.

Aonung’s jaw tightened slightly, his fingers twitching once at his sides before he forced them still.

“That’s why we train,” he muttered, the defensiveness quick to surface even if it didn’t fully hold. “To learn.”

Jake’s gaze shifted to him immediately. “Learn what?”

Aonung swallowed, his throat working as he tried to answer and didn’t quite manage to find one. Whatever confidence he usually wore wasn’t there anymore, stripped down to something tighter and less certain.

Jake’s hand flexed once against his thigh, then again before he let out a slow, controlled breath and turned away from them.

“We’ll talk in the marui,” he said, his voice low enough that it almost disappeared under the storm. It wasn’t offered as a choice, and the set of his shoulders made it clear there wouldn’t be space for disagreement.

Y/N swallowed, her throat dry despite the rain cascading down her skin and soaking through her clothes. She didn’t need to look at Aonung to know he was beside her, completely still, as if even the slightest breath might worsen the situation.

Then Jake added, quieter but sharper “Alone.”

Something shifted in Aonung at that, seeing that his posture tightened, though he still said nothing.

The walk back carried that silence with it.

Only the storm filled the space between them, wind pushing through the trees and rain hitting the ground hard enough to blur the path beneath their feet. Their footsteps sank into the mud in steady rhythm, but no one spoke to break it.

Halfway back, movement broke through the rain ahead of them, and Lo’ak and Neteyam emerged from the downpour.

“What happened?” Neteyam demanded immediately, his attention snapping straight to Y/N as he reached for her arm. “We heard—”

“Later,” Jake cut in without slowing, stepping between them and continuing forward as if the interruption had never fully existed. His hand came down on Lo’ak’s shoulder, firm and guiding, redirecting him without force but with no room to resist.

“I need to speak with your sister alone.”

Lo’ak opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but Neteyam caught his wrist before he could, holding him back with a quiet look that said enough without words. The protest died before it could fully form, swallowed by the weight in Jake’s voice and the tension in his posture.

Y/N kept walking, with her chest tightening, because even without turning around, she could feel all of them watching her go.

Kiri was waiting in the marui when they arrived, perched on a woven mat. She took one look at Jake's face and rose without a word. As she passed Y/N, she gave her elbow a brief squeeze, equal parts comfort and warning. The woven door flap fell shut behind her with a soft rustle, leaving Y/N alone with her father.

Jake stood by the centre of marui, his hands bracing against its edge and shoulders bowed beneath an invisible weight. Firelight cast shadows across his back, revealing old scars from battles Y/N had only ever heard about in stories.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough.

"You know better."

The words hit harder than any shout. Y/N dug her nails into her palms and replied, “I do.”

"Then why?" Jake turned to face her, his eyes reflecting the firelight. There was no warmth in them, only something sharper. "Why let it get that far?"

He remained still, rainwater trickling from his braids onto the marui floor, and spoke words that pierced deeper than any blade, without raising his voice or pacing.

"I'm disappointed in you, daughter."

Her stomach dropped. My own father says he is disappointed in me. I should have been better, I am supposed to be better.

Y/N's fingers twitched at her sides. Her throat tightened around a sudden, desperate urge to explain, but what could she possibly say?

That Aonung had provoked her?

That she'd lost control?

That none of it would have happened if he had just kept his mouth shut?

The excuses sounded pathetic the moment they formed. Childish.

"Your job is to protect her with your life," he said quietly.

Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound nearly swallowed by the storm rumbling outside, before he turned away. The line of his shoulders remained rigid beneath the dark ink of his tattoos.

"Dismissed."

Y/N swallowed against the bitter taste of failure coating her tongue.

"I'm sorry, sir," she managed, the honorific scraping against her throat like sand.

It wasn't enough. It could never be enough. I will never be enough.

Still, the apology escaped anyway, small and desperate in the silence stretching between them.

Jake remained silent and unmoving. His broad back faced her, silhouetted against the firelight like a statue carved from disappointment and storm.

The rejection stung more than any punishment he could have given.

Unable to bear it any longer, she turned...and ran.

The woven door flap slapped against her shoulder as she pushed through it. Wind-driven rain lashed her cheeks like tiny knives, but she didn't stop.

Her bare feet pounded across the slick pathways, the storm's roar swallowing the strangled sound that escaped through her clenched teeth. Behind her, the warm glow of the Sully marui grew smaller with every stride, swallowed by darkness, rain, and the hollow ache spreading through her chest. Somewhere between the marui and the shoreline, her vision blurred.

Saltwater streaked down her face. Whether it came from the storm or her own tears, she couldn't tell.

It didn't matter.

The sea churned violently beneath the storm’s fury, black waves crashing against each other as the wind tore their crests into frothy white foam. Y/N barely slowed before diving into the churning water.

The cold hit like a punch to the chest, knocking the breath from her lungs.

Good.

Let it hurt.

Let it drown out the echo of dad's words.

Let it smother the memory of Tuk trembling in my arms.

Let it erase the image of Aonung carrying my sister to safety with steady, capable hands when I couldn't.

Y/N kicked harder, driving herself deeper beneath the surface. Salt burned her eyes as she angled toward a submerged cove she had discovered months earlier during one of her reckless solo dives.

She needed to escape everyone and the disappointment reflected in her father’s eyes. I want to run away from myself.

The cove wasn't marked on any clan maps.

A jagged fissure hidden within the reef wall, barely wide enough to squeeze through, opened into a secluded cavern where bioluminescent algae painted the ceiling in swirling shades of blue. Y/N had never shown it to anyone. Not even Lo'ak, with whom she is closest.

Especially not Lo'ak, who would have told Neteyam within the hour.

Now, with her ribs aching and her father's disappointment clinging to her like wet kelp, this small cove was the only place she wanted to be.

Y/N broke the surface with a sharp gasp. Her lungs burned as she wiped saltwater from her stinging eyes.

In that moment, she found herself utterly still, unable to move even a muscle. The cavern around her was bathed in a gentle, ethereal blue light, with delicate ripples of bioluminescence gracefully weaving their way across the surface of the water and casting shimmering patterns on the rugged, jagged stone walls that surrounded her. High above the tranquil pool, perched confidently on a rocky ledge, was a figure whose presence was immediately familiar to her, a sight that stirred a flood of recognition within her mind.

Aonung.

He froze, his hand halfway to a discarded knife beside him. His tail stiffened, and his eyes widened in surprise as they locked onto hers.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sounds were the distant drip of water echoing through the cavern and the ragged rhythm of Y/N’s breathing.

“You…” Aonung’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat and lowered his hand slightly, though his fingers remained hovering near the knife. “You followed me?”

Y/N let out a breathless laugh that sounded more like a wheeze.

"Into your secret hideout?" she shot back, hauling herself onto a ledge opposite him. Water streamed from her clothes and pooled beneath her feet. "Don't flatter yourself."

His brows furrowed as the blue glow cast shifting patterns across his face. The tension in his jaw and deepening scowl were illuminated. “Then why are you…”

"Because my father hates me," she snapped, wringing out her braids with more force than necessary.

The words tasted bitter and raw on her tongue. She hadn't meant to say them aloud, especially not to him.

Aonung’s tail flicked, creating ripples across the pool. Uncharacteristically, he had no retort. He simply observed her with that infuriatingly unreadable expression. The algae on the cavern walls pulsed softly, casting shifting shadows that made his features appear older and sharper.

"You come here often?"

Aonung's fingers twitched toward the knife resting beside him, the movement seeming more like habit than caution.

“Often enough,” he muttered, glancing upwards at the algae-streaked ceiling as if it held some hidden wisdom. His usual smirk was gone replaced by a more subdued expression. “When I need to think.”

Y/N snorted, shaking water from her ears.

"Must be exhausting for you."

She slumped against the damp stone drawing her knees to her chest. The cavern’s salty, faintly metallic smell, reminiscent of churned seawater, filled the air. The surprisingly comfortable silence was soon broken by Aonung’s expression.

He leaned forward with his gaze sharpened and his nostrils flared.

"You're bleeding," he said, his voice stripped of its usual teasing edge, that he has in their usual conversations.

Y/N followed his gaze to the shallow cut along her calf.

Blood, diluted, trickled down her skin and vanished into the pool below.

"From the rocks," she muttered, glancing away. "When I lunged for Tuk."

He crossed the small distance between them and crouched beside her, his attention fixed on the wound. His fingers hovered over her calf for a moment, as though weighing whether she would shove him away, before he pressed a damp strip of woven seaweed against the cut. The sudden sting made her hiss through her teeth.

"Hold still," he said, his voice lower than usual.

With remark behind her teeth, Y/N tensed instinctively, her fingers digging into the damp stone beneath her. Aonung's hands were rough from years of spear training and reef hunting, the skin calloused and worn, yet his touch was surprisingly careful as he adjusted the seaweed wrap and pressed it firmly against the wound.

Overhead, the bioluminescent algae pulsed softly, casting shifting patterns of blue light across the cavern walls. The glow illuminated the concentration etched across Aonung's face, highlighting the furrow between his brows as he worked.

There was something strangely unsettling about seeing him like this; not smirking, provoking or looking for a fight. He is simply focused and quiet. He looks wiser.

Without a word, he tore a narrow strip of woven kelp from the wrist wrap he wore and secured the seaweed bandage in place with practiced efficiency. The movement was so natural that it was obvious he had done this many times before.

He finally leaned back to inspect his work.

“There," he said. "It should stop bleeding now."

The silence between them felt heavier than the storm raging beyond the cavern walls.

Y/N found herself watching the way Aonung's hands moved as he secured the final knot in the bandage, his fingers quick and precise in a way that felt completely at odds with the lazy arrogance he usually carried around like a second skin. When he finished, he sat back on his heels, his tail flicking once behind him.

"It'll hold," he said gruffly. "Unless you plan on falling onto another rock."

Y/N flexed her leg, testing the bandage. The sting had dulled considerably, muted by whatever medicinal properties the seaweed possessed.

"Thanks."

I’d never thanked him before, not when he’d rescued me from a riptide during training or saved Tuk.

The realisation settled heavily in her stomach.

Aonung snorted and shifted back to his side of the ledge. "Don't get sentimental."

Then he picked up a loose pebble and tossed it into the pool, with a gesture that felt more absent-minded than mocking. Ripples spread across the glowing water, distorting their reflections beneath the bioluminescent light.

Silence settled between them once more. Y/N stared down at her reflection as the water stretched and warped her features with every passing ripple. Her braids hung loose and tangled from the storm, and there was still dried salt clinging to her skin.

I look awful.

"I should thank you."

Her voice barely carried beyond the steady drip of water echoing through the cavern. Aonung went completely still.

His fingers paused around another pebble.

"...What?"

Y/N swallowed.

"For saving Tuk."

She added, “If you hadn’t been there…”

The memory was still too fresh.

Too vivid.

Tuk disappearing beneath the surface.

The water closing overhead.

Panic.

Aonung looked away first, his grip tightening around the pebble as he stared into the glowing pool below them.

"If I hadn't been there," he said slowly, "the tsurak wouldn't have come at all."

The pebble left his hand with more force than necessary, striking the water and sending ripples racing across the cavern.

"My mother said it herself. Tsurak follow disturbances. Noise. Fighting. We were arguing like children, making enough commotion for every predator in the reef to hear us."

His jaw clenched. “We were behaving like fools.”

Aonung rested his forearms on his knees and continued staring into the water.

"I was pushing because I was angry, and you kept pushing back because you were angry too, and neither of us cared what was happening around us until it was too late."

Y/N exhaled slowly. “Yeah.” The agreement tasted bitter. “We were.”

She traced a finger along the edge of her bandage.

Aonung’s head jerked up in surprise but he quickly schooled it back into neutrality. He studied her for a long moment his gaze tracing the exhaustion in her slumped shoulders and the slight tremor in her fingers against the stone. The cave’s blue glow softened his usual sharp features making him appear younger and almost vulnerable.

"You're admitting fault?" he asked finally, his voice carefully neutral. "That's new."

Y/N scowled, picking at a loose thread in her makeshift bandage. "Don't make it weird." The words came out half-hearted, lacking their usual bite. "She could've died because of us."

The pebble in Aonung's hand cracked against the far wall with sudden violence, the sharp sound echoing through the cavern. "I know." His voice was raw, stripped bare of its usual arrogance. When Y/N looked up, his fingers were clenched so tight around another stone that his knuckles gleamed white in the bioluminescent light. "She trusted us. Both of us. And we—" He exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound jagged. "We failed her."

Y/N swallowed against the lump in her throat. Outside, the storm howled against the cave mouth, waves slamming into the reef with enough force to send tremors through the rock beneath them. Inside, the silence between them felt heavier than the ocean's weight.

Aonung shifted abruptly, his tail flicking droplets of water across the ledge.

"Your father was right."

His jaw tightened as he added, “We’re supposed to be leaders, future leaders, anyway.” He let out a humourless laugh and shook his head. “And today we were just stupid kids.”

Y/N didn't argue.

Staring into the rippling water below, she gazed at her reflection. Salt had left her braids tangled and uneven, while dark shadows lingered beneath her eyes.

"I didn't even see it happen," she admitted quietly. "I was so busy being angry at you that I didn't notice Tuk wandering deeper until..."

“Until she screamed.” Aonung’s voice was flat and weary as he finished his sentence. He picked up another pebble rolling it between his fingers before dropping it into the water. “Same.”

Y/N glanced at him. Perhaps for the first time since they’d met, Aonung seemed completely stripped of his usual confidence. His shoulders curved inward and the rigid line of his spine held a tension no amount of posturing could disguise.

He looked exhausted too.

Aonung exhaled and rubbed his palms against his thighs as though trying to scrub away the memory itself.

"My father won't say it."

His gaze remained fixed on the water. "But he's disappointed too."

Y/N's eyes drifted to his hands as his fingers found the necklace resting against his chest. He traced the intricate weave absentmindedly, following its familiar pattern.

The same necklace Tuk had clung to while he carried her back to shore.

Aonung swallowed. "Not just because of Tuk." His voice dropped lower. "Because of everything."

Y/N frowned slightly. She'd never considered that Tonowari might look at his son and see the same failures her dad saw in her. That beneath Aonung's arrogance, there might be the same crushing weight of expectation.

"I guess we're both disappointments, then," Y/N said, watching a droplet of water slide down the cave wall.

Aonung's tail struck the stone ledge with enough force to send a spray of water into the pool below. The algae's glow caught the sudden tightness around his eyes before he turned his face away. "You were never a disappointment to me," he said, so softly the words almost drowned in the cave's echoes.

Y/N wondered for a moment if she had misheard him. Surely I had.

"What?"

Aonung didn't repeat himself. Just stared at the cave wall as if it held the answers to some unspoken question, his fingers tracing the edge of his knife sheath like a nervous habit she'd never noticed before. The bioluminescent algae pulsed slower now, their light dimming as the storm outside reached its peak, wrapping the cavern in an eerie, flickering twilight.

Y/N suddenly realised her heartbeat was too fast. Far too fast

"Then why—" She swallowed, the words sticking. "Why do you act like you hate me?"

His shoulders tensed. "I don't—" He drew in a sharp breath and dragged a hand across the back of his neck. When he spoke again, his voice was rougher, scraped raw. "It's easier."

"That can't be true," she said, her voice scraping low. "You definitely were disappointed when I kept falling off my ilu the first year we came here."

Aonung's tail flicked sharply against the ledge, scattering droplets. "That was different." His jaw worked around the words as if chewing through tough meat. "You were—" He exhaled sharply through his nose. "You kept getting back on, no matter how many times you fell. Even when the whole clan laughed." His ocean eyes flicked to hers, unguarded for once. "I wasn't disappointed...I was astonished."

Y/N's fingers stilled against her damp bandage. She remembered those early days; her knees bruised purple from ilu saddles, Aonung's mocking laughter ringing across the waves as she surfaced sputtering for the dozenth time.

"You laughed loudest," she pointed out, voice flat.

Aonung's shoulders hunched. "Because it was safer than telling you—" He cut himself off, tossing another pebble into the pool where it sank like a stone between them. "Doesn't matter now."

"It does." Y/N lunged forward, her bandaged calf scraping against rough stone as she grabbed his wrist. The bioluminescent algae pulsed overhead, painting their tangled fingers in eerie blue. "Tell me now" Her voice cracked like breaking ice.

Aonung's pulse jumped beneath her grip. For three heartbeats, the only sound was the distant roar of the storm and the slow drip of water down the cave walls. Then he exhaled like he'd been holding the breath for years.

"It was safer than telling you..." he whispered, the words barely audible above the cave's echoes, "how starstruck I was by you."

The words landed like a spear to the chest. Y/N’s grip slackened around Aonung’s wrist. The cave’s bioluminescent algae pulsed slower now, their dimming glow stretching the silence between them into something taut and fragile.

"Starstruck," she repeated, the word tasting foreign on her tongue.

Aonung’s throat worked as he swallowed, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the rippling pool between them. "By your... personality," he muttered, as if reciting a memorized list. "Courage. Ambition." A muscle twitched in his jaw. "And beauty too, I guess."

Y/N's jaw went slack. The cave’s bioluminescence flickered across Aonung’s face, illuminating the way his ears twitched backward. Her fingers, still loosely curled around his wrist, felt the rapid flutter of his pulse against her fingertips.

"Beauty," she echoed, voice hollow with disbelief.

Aonung’s tail lashed once, sending droplets skittering across the ledge. "Forget I said that." He tried to pull his wrist free, but her grip tightened reflexively.

"You were starstruck?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them, half-choked on something between incredulity and the dawning realization that this was the missing piece. All those years of barbed comments, of him pushing her into the water during training, of lingering stares she’d written off as contempt.

His ears turned deeper blue. "I said forget it."

The cave’s algae pulsed dimly, painting the sharp planes of his face in bruised blues. Y/N exhaled shakily, her fingers loosening around his wrist but not letting go. "I... I looked up to you when we first came here," she admitted, the confession scraping raw against her throat. "You knew the ocean like it was part of you. I thought—" Her voice hitched. "I hoped I would have been able to learn from you. But you didn't even see me."

Aonung's fingers twitched beneath hers, his pulse jumping like a startled fish against her grip. The cave's bioluminescent glow flickered across his face as he exhaled sharply through his nose. "From the moment you stepped off that ikran," he muttered, his voice rough with something Y/N couldn't name, "I couldn't look away."

The cave’s bioluminescence pulsed slower now, the algae dimming as if holding its breath alongside them.

“You left me in the middle of that first spear-throwing lesson. Walked off like I was nothing.” The cave’s algae pulsed dimly, casting his flinch in bruised blue light.

Aonung’s throat worked. He didn’t pull away. “I panicked,” he admitted, voice gravel-rough. “My hands shook so badly I thought I’d drop the spear. Blushed like a hatchling seeing their first eclipse.”

"You... blushed." The words came out half-strangled. She remembered that day with crystalline clarity; Aonung tossing his spear aside mid-lesson, his retreating back rigid with something she'd mistaken for disdain. Not once had she imagined his ears burning beneath the surface or his palms slick against the harpoon's grip.

Aonung's fingers twitched beneath hers. The cave's algae pulsed weakly, illuminating the way his throat moved as he swallowed. "You were standing too close," he muttered, staring resolutely at the water between them. "Kept leaning over my shoulder to see the grip. Your braid kept brushing my arm." His tail lashed once, sending droplets skittering across the ledge. "It was... distracting." The algae suddenly lost their glow and they were met with darkness.

"You ran away," Y/N breathed, the realization dawning like sunrise over open water, "because you got a boner."

Aonung’s tail smacked the ledge with a wet thwap, his ears flattening against his skull. "I panicked," he hissed, yanking his wrist free with enough force to send droplets flying. The darkness hid his expression, but the sudden rigidity of his spine was unmistakable. "You—your braid smelled like—" His fingers flexed violently. "It doesn’t matter."

Y/N’s lips parted. "You panicked," she repeated, voice climbing an octave. "Because I smelled nice?"

Aonung exhaled sharply through his nose with a sound caught between frustration and something embarrassingly close to a whimper. The cave's algae flickered weakly back to life, casting his grimace in fleeting blue light. "Not just nice," he muttered, fingers digging into the ledge beneath them. "Like that stupid oil you rub on your spears and the yellow fruits you seem to never leave alone. Like—" His throat clicked as he swallowed. "Like you."

She remembered that day and the way Aonung had stiffened when she leaned in, which she had mistaken for disgust. "All this time," she whispered, "I thought you hated me."

Aonung's tail lashed once, violently, sending ripples across the pool. "I tried to." The admission came out raw, scraped from somewhere deep. "It would've been easier."

She looked at Aonung’s face; his jaw clenched tight, his blue eyes fixed stubbornly on the cave wall. Y/N’s fingers hovered between them, still tingling from the heat of his wrist.

"Easier," she echoed. The word tasted bitter. "Because hating me meant you wouldn’t have to admit—"

"—that I’m an skxwang," Aonung finished flatly. His fingers dug into the stone ledge, knuckles whitening. The algae’s flickering glow caught the tightness around his eyes. "My father told me to train you. Not to—" His tail lashed once. "Not whatever that was."

Y/N exhaled sharply through her nose. The cave’s damp air smelled suddenly of salt and something like ozone before lightning strikes. Her fingers twitched against the ledge. "So instead of teaching me," she said slowly, "you spent years being insufferable."

Aonung’s ears flattened. "Worked, didn’t it?" His voice lacked its usual bite. "You got good. Better than good. You surpassed me." The admission came out grudging, but not insincere. "Even if it wasn’t by my hand."

Y/N’s fingers traced the damp edge of the seaweed bandage still wrapped around her calf. The cave’s bioluminescent algae pulsed faintly, casting shifting shadows across Aonung’s face as she studied him—really studied him—for the first time. "I watched you," she admitted, voice barely above the cave’s echoes. "After you left me that first lesson." Her thumb pressed against the kelp weave, remembering. "Every spear throw, every dive, every time you adjusted your grip on the harpoon. I memorized it."

Aonung’s breath caught in his throat. His fingers remained pressed against the ledge, water trickling from his braids onto the stone between them.

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. "I practiced until my hands bled. Until I could outswim Rotxo, outmaneuver Tsireya." A pause. "Until I matched you."

Aonung’s throat worked. The algae’s glow caught the way his pupils dilated—black swallowing turquoise. "You watched me," he echoed, voice rough.

Y/N’s pulse thundered in her ears. "Every time." The confession hung between them, fragile as sea foam. She remembered those stolen moments; Aonung’s effortless grace in the water, the flex of his shoulders when he hauled himself onto the docks, the way his laughter carried across the waves when he thought no one was listening.

Aonung exhaled sharply, his tail lashing once. "Eywa," he muttered. His fingers uncurled slowly, brushing against her wrist where it rested on the stone between them. His touch burned hotter than the wound on her calf.

"You watched me," Aonung repeated, voice dropping to something low and rough. His thumb traced the raised veins along her wrist, following the path of her racing pulse. "All this time?"

She remembered moonlit nights spent mimicking his spear-throwing stance behind empty maruis, dawn patrols timed to coincide with his fishing routes. "Yes," she whispered.

The cave’s algae pulsed weakly, illuminating the way his gaze traced the line of her throat—like a hunter tracking prey, or a diver memorizing currents. "Why?" The word rasped out, raw.

"Because—" Her voice cracked. The truth clawed up her throat, sharp as coral. "I wanted you to look back. Even if only once."

Aonung went utterly still. His thumb froze mid-stroke against her pulse point, his turquoise eyes widening as the admission sank in.

"Look back," Aonung repeated, voice hoarse. His fingers tightened reflexively around hers—not painful, just present, anchoring them both. His thumb traced the ridge of her knuckles with a roughness that sent sparks up her arm. "All those times I turned away..." His breath hitched. "You were waiting."

Y/N swallowed hard. "Yes and you never did," she murmured. "Look back, I mean."

Aonung’s fingers twitched against hers. The algae’s flickering glow caught the sudden tightness around his eyes. "I did," he said, voice scraping low. "Every time."

"Don't lie to make me feel better," she whispered. To which Aonung’s fingers tightened around hers, pressing her palm flat against the damp stone ledge between them. "I counted your braids," he admitted, voice low, rough. The algae’s glow flickered across his face, illuminating the way his jaw worked around the confession. "Every time you turned away—fifty four. The way the light caught the beads when you moved."

Y/N’s breath caught. She remembered the weight of his gaze during training and how she’d assumed it was scrutiny, not this.

"I memorized the scar on your shoulder," Aonung continued, thumb brushing the inside of her wrist where her veins throbbed. "From the tawtute attack when you were twelve. The way it paled when you were cold." His exhale shuddered. "I watched the way you tied your hair back before diving—always three twists of the cord, never four."

"I saw the way you smiled when your siblings were happy," he admitted, voice rough as reef rock. His fingers flexed around hers, hesitant. "Always wondered what I'd have to do for you to give me that smile."

She remembered those moments; Tuk giggling as she braided flowers into Neteyam's hair, Lo'ak splashing Kiri with a well-aimed wave and her own laughter bubbling up unbidden. She'd never noticed Aonung watching.

Y/N's lips curled upwards at that and she ducked her face away, pressing her forehead against the damp cave wall to hide the flush creeping up her neck. The bioluminescent algae pulsed weakly, casting flickering blue light across the water behind them. She heard Aonung shift beside her, his tail lashing once against the stone ledge, droplets scattering like startled fish.

"You're laughing at me," he muttered emberresed, voice rougher than the cave's walls.

"I'm not," Y/N lied, the words muffled against the cool stone. Her shoulders shook once, betraying her. The mental image of Aonung—proud, infuriating Aonung—counting her braids like some lovestruck hatchling was too absurd not to laugh at. Or maybe it was the sudden, dizzying realization that all those years of mutual hostility had been... what? A badly played game of catch?

Aonung's fingers tapped impatiently against the ledge. "Your shoulders are shaking."

Y/N pressed her lips together, shoulders still trembling as she fought to compose herself. The algae pulsed faintly, casting flickering blue light across Aonung's scowling face when his ears were practically glowing with embarrassment. "It's just—" she hiccuped, wiping at her eyes with the back of her wrist. "All this time, we could've been friends instead of—" Her breath hitched on another suppressed laugh. "Instead of whatever we were."

Aonung's tail smacked the ledge with enough force to send droplets flying. "Friends," he repeated flatly, as if the word tasted foul. His fingers twitched toward her before curling into fists against his thighs. "Is that what you want?"

The question landed between them with unexpected weight. Y/N's laughter died in her throat. She studied his profile in the dim light—the tension along his shoulders, the way his fingers dug into his own thighs. This close, she could see the faint scar bisecting his left eyebrow, the one he'd gotten during their first ill-fated sparring match.

"No," she admitted softly. "No, not just friends."

Aonung went very still. The cave’s algae pulsed weakly, illuminating the way his throat moved as he swallowed. His fingers uncurled slowly from his thighs, hovering just above the damp stone between them. "Then what?" The question came out rough, scraped raw.

Y/N exhaled shakily, as if the very air around her was heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. She remembered those moonlit patrols, where she had matched his stride with deliberate care, just to feel the gentle brush of his tail against hers, a silent communication that spoke volumes. "You know..." she murmured.

The algae’s flickering glow caught the way his pupils dilated. "Say it." Aonung’s voice dropped low, a challenge and a plea woven together. "After all this time, you owe me that much."

The storm outside reached a sudden crescendo, waves slamming against the reef with enough force to send tremors through the cave walls. Y/N’s breath hitched as the vibration skittered up her spine. She lifted her chin. "I wanted you to look at me the way you do when you think no one’s watching," she said, "like I was something worth catching."

His fingers hovered above hers, trembling slightly before curling into fists against the ledge. "I did," he whispered. The words sounded scraped raw. "Every damn day."

The only sound was the gentle falling of water droplets from their bodies.

"It only took a tsurak attack," Y/N muttered, shaking her head as the absurdity of it settled between them like sea foam. "A near-death experience for Tuk. A storm. An accidental metting in a cave." Her fingers traced the damp edge of her seaweed bandage. "For us to admit that."

"I’m glad we did," Aonung murmured, voice rough as the cave walls around them.

The algae pulsed weakly overhead, casting flickering shadows across his face as he turned toward her, ocean blue eyes unguarded for once. His tail curled around the ledge, the tip brushing her thigh.

"Glad we almost got Tuk killed?" she asked, but the bite was gone from her voice. Her fingers flexed against the stone, her pinky overlapping his where they rested between them.

Aonung exhaled sharply through his nose. "No." His thumb traced the ridge of her knuckle, calluses catching on her skin. "Glad it forced us here. To this." His gesture encompassed the cave, the storm outside, the space between them where unsaid things hovered like bioluminescence in dark water.

Y/N ducked her chin, hiding the way her lips twitched upward. Aonung’s fingers twitched against hers. Then suddenly, decisively, he reached up, cupping her jaw with surprising gentleness. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, coaxing her face upward until the cave’s dim glow caught her expression.

"Don’t hide it," he murmured. His thumb lingered at the edge of her smile. "After all this time, let me see."

Her pulse hammered against her ribs as his palm cradled her jaw with unexpected reverence. Years of harpoon grips had made his fingers rough but they were impossibly tender against her cheekbone. The weakly pulsing algae illuminated the flecks of blue in his eyes – close enough now to count.

Her smile widened as his thumb traced the curve of her lower lip.

Then his fingers curled into her braids with sudden certainty, pulling her forward until their foreheads touched.

Before closing the distance.

The kiss was sweet at first, but then Y/N's fingers found the woven edge of Aonung's loincloth before her mind could catch up. She fisted the damp fabric and yanked him closer, hard enough for their foreheads to bump together.

Aonung grunted, his free hand slamming against the cave wall to steady himself while the other remained tangled in her braids. Around them, the bioluminescent algae pulsed with a faint glow, casting their intertwined shadows across the rippling water.

"Eywa's teeth," Aonung hissed, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he adjusted his grip on her hair, tilting her face upward as his thumb brushed the corner of her mouth once more. "Warn a man next time."

"Next time?" Y/N breathed, the words ghosting across his lips as her grip tightened on his loincloth. The coarse fibers dug into her palm, grounding her just as much as they held him in place.

Aonung's tail lashed once, before curling possessively around her thigh.

"Don't pretend you won't do this again," he muttered. Then his mouth was on hers again, hot and insistent.

By the time dawn crept across the horizon, the storm had softened, leaving behind only the hiss of retreating waves at the cave's entrance. Aonung's fingers lingered in Y/N's braids, as though afraid she would dissolve like sea foam if he let go. His thumb brushed the shell bead at the end of one braid, the gesture absentminded yet intimate.

"They'll be searching by now," Y/N murmured against his collarbone, her words vibrating through his skin. She could already hear the distant calls; Neteyam's voice cutting through the mist, Tsireya's higher pitch threading between the waves.

Aonung exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening momentarily before releasing her. "Dad will have the entire eastern reef combed," he admitted, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for battle.

The water hit Y/N's calves first—cold enough to make her toes curl against the slick cave floor. Aonung didn't hesitate, plunging in up to his waist before turning, his outstretched hand catching the dawn light filtering through the cave's mouth. His fingers dripped saltwater onto her wrist where their skin touched.

"You first," he said, voice rougher than the reef's edge.

Y/N sucked in a breath as the water climbed past her thighs, the chill tightening her muscles. Aonung's fingers flexed around hers, his grip firm enough to anchor but loose enough she could pull away. She didn't. His tail flickered beneath the surface, stirring up bioluminescent plankton that clung to their legs like scattered stars. And then they dunked.

The first breach of daylight stung Y/N’s eyes as they surfaced beyond the cave’s mouth. Saltwater sluiced down her face, mingling with the lingering heat of Aonung’s touch where his fingers had gripped hers moments before. He surfaced beside her with a sharp exhale, shaking water from his braids like an ilu shedding rain.

"Stay close," Aonung muttered, his free hand brushing the small of her back as a swell lifted them. His fingers lingered, just enough to steady her against the current, before he struck out toward the distant shore, his tail cutting through the water with practiced efficiency. Y/N followed, her muscles protesting the cold after hours in the cave’s stagnant warmth.

The reef passed beneath them in a blur of color—crimson fan corals recoiling as their shadows darted overhead, jewel-bright fish scattering from their path. Aonung adjusted his stroke to match hers when she faltered, his shoulder bumping against hers whenever the current threatened to pull them apart. It was nothing like their usual races; no taunting, no reckless dives to prove superiority. Just the steady push toward shore, his presence a constant against her flank.

The shore materialized through the morning mist like a dream half-remembered—first as a dark smudge against the horizon, then resolving into distinct shapes: the hulking silhouettes of warriors stationed along the tide line, the flicker of torches despite the dawn light. Y/N's stomach plummeted when she recognized the tallest figure. Her father's broad shoulders rigid with tension, his tail lashing violently against the wet sand. Beside him, Tonowari stood statue-still, his trident planted deep in the shoreline like a standard of war.

Aonung's hand found her wrist underwater, his fingers tightening briefly before letting go. "Brace yourself," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the waves.

They were twenty strokes from shore when the shouting started. Neytiri's voice cut through the mist first, quivering with something between fury and raw relief. "Skxawng!" The insult carried across the water, but the way her hands trembled as she waded into the surf betrayed her rage as fear in disguise. Behind her, Ronal gripped Tuk's shoulder with white-knuckled intensity, her healing kit strapped conspicuously across her chest like she'd expected to retrieve corpses.

The water turned shallow enough for Y/N’s feet to scrape sand just as Jake’s bellow rolled across the surf: "Get over here!" His voice cracked mid-command which she’d never heard before. Aonung’s fingers brushed her wrist underwater, fleeting but firm, before he straightened his shoulders and strode forward, water sluicing off his thighs with each step.

Y/N braced for impact as Neytiri reached them first. Her mother’s hands seized her face with terrifying gentleness, thumbs brushing salt-crusted cheeks as dark eyes scanned every inch of her for injury. The anger drained from Neytiri’s frame in a visible wave when she found only exhaustion and Aonung’s clumsily tied seaweed bandage. "Stupid child," she whispered when her forehead pressed against Y/N’s with bone-deep relief.

The weight of Jake's glare hit Aonung before the tide could fully recede from their legs. Tonowari hadn't moved but his gaze tracked his son with terrifying stillness. "Explain," he said. Just one word, flatter than stillwater.

Aonung's throat clicked audibly when he swallowed. "The storm drove us into the caves near Three Brothers Reef," he began, voice steadier than his clenched jaw suggested. His fingers twitched at his sides, still damp from their grip on hers underwater. "We waited it out."

Jake's nostrils flared. He looked between them; Y/N's seaweed bandage, Aonung's salt-crusted braids and the space between their bodies that had been nonexistent moments before. His frown deepened. "Waited it out," he repeated, voice dangerously low. His tail lashed once. "That's all?"

Y/N opened her mouth, but Neytiri's grip tightened fractionally on her shoulders. Behind them, Tsireya fidgeted with her armband, her eyes darting between Aonung and the fresh bruise purpling along Y/N's ribcage.

Jake took a step forward, his tail lashing hard enough to kick up sand. "You two—" His voice roughened, fingers flexing like he wanted to throttle something. "You nearly got Tuk killed with your—"

Aonung moved before the accusation fully landed. Three strides. He was positioned slightly in front of Y/N, not quite blocking her but angling his body to absorb Jake's glare. His shoulder brushed hers, warm despite the morning chill.

The entire beach stilled. Tsireya's hands flew to her mouth. Even Tonowari's fingers paused mid-air where they'd been gesturing for calm.

Jake's tirade cut off mid-word. His gaze flicked between them—Aonung's protective stance, the way Y/N's fingers had instinctively curled into the small of Aonung's back without realizing it. Neytiri's grip on Y/N's shoulders loosened slightly, her thumbs brushing the tension from her daughter's collarbones.

Ronal was the first to speak. "Well," she said dryly. "This is new."

Aonung's ears flattened. Jake's nostrils flared as he took another step forward, close enough that Y/N could see the way his braids trembled with suppressed fury. "You have exactly three seconds," he ground out, "to explain why—"

Aonung's fingers twitched at his sides. "It was my fault too," he admitted, the words rough like he'd dragged them over coral. "Our fighting—" He swallowed hard. "It drew the tsurak. I know that."

The confession hung between them like mist over the reef. His gaze flicked to Aonung's shoulder, still pressed against hers, then to Tonowari's impassive face.

Neytiri's fingers tightened briefly on Y/N's arms before releasing. "You admit this," she said slowly, eyes narrowing at Aonung. "Yet you stand together now?"

Y/N stepped around Aonung. "He saved Tuk," she said, voice clear despite the salt crusting her lips. "Tsurak would have taken her if he hadn't acted."

Jake's tail lashed once. Behind him, Tuk buried her face in Tsireya's side, small hands clutching the older girl's armband.

Ronal made a low noise in her throat as she nudged Tonowari's trident with her foot. "Told you," she murmured, too quiet for most to hear.

Aonung's tail twitched against the wet sand. "We talked." The words came out gruff, but his fingers brushed Y/N's wrist underwater.

Jake exhaled sharply through his nose. He looked at Tonowari, who hadn't moved from his trident's shadow. "You hearing this?"

Tonowari's fingers flexed around his trident's shaft, his knuckles whitening against the polished bone. "I hear," he said, voice low enough to make the warriors behind him lean forward. His gaze flicked to Aonung—lingering on the way his son's shoulder still pressed against Y/N's, the way his fingers twitched like he was resisting the urge to reach for her again. "Do you believe it?" he asked Jake, not unkindly.

Jake's nostrils flared as he studied them: Aonung's seaweed-stained hip wrap, Y/N's salt-crusted braids, the space between their bodies that kept shrinking despite the tension thickening the air. "I want to," he admitted gruffly. "But after years of—" He gestured sharply between them. "This—you expect me to buy that one storm fixed it?"

Y/N's fingers brushed against Aonung's wrist under the water—not quite holding, just anchoring herself against the current of Jake's disbelief. The sand shifted beneath her feet as she straightened, meeting her father's glare head-on. "It wasn't the storm, dad," she said, voice steadier than she felt. "It was realizing we'd been idiots."

Aonung's shoulder bumped hers; half solidarity, half warning. His fingers curled around hers underwater, hidden from view but undeniable in their grip. "We needed a push," he admitted, jaw tight. "To see we're not..." His voice trailed off as his thumb traced the inside of Y/N's wrist down the same path he'd followed in the cave. "Not as different as we pretended."

Jake's eyebrows shot up, his gaze darting between their concealed hands and Aonung's suddenly vulnerable expression.

Jake's hand scrubbed down his face hard enough to scrape salt from his cheeks. "No," he growled, the word landing like a harpoon strike. "Absolutely not. It's too early for this." His tail lashed sideways, kicking up sand that pattered against Tonowari's trident and stomps away.

Neytiri's fingers tightened momentarily on Y/N's shoulders before releasing. She leaned close, her breath warm against her daughter's ear as she murmured in Na'vi too rapid for the others to catch: "Your father did not sleep. He paced the shore all night." Her lips twitched upward despite herself. "His tail wore a path in the sand."

Before Y/N could respond, a commotion erupted from the tree line, the distinctive thud of someone tripping over their own tail.

"He was worried you killed him! Now he is worried about different type of activities you two could have done!" Lo'ak's voice carried across the beach as he barreled through the shallows, arms pinwheeling for balance. He skidded to a halt in front of Aonung, dripping seawater onto the sand as he pantomimed a dramatic double-take at their proximity. "Oh eywa—are you two holding hands underwater right now?"

The moment splintered; Lo'ak's grin widening as Aonung's grip on Y/N's wrist tightened reflexively, his tail smacking the water's surface with enough force to splash Tsireya's knees. Tuk giggled into her hands from where she clung to Tsireya's side, her earlier terror forgotten in favor of this new, fascinating drama.

Y/N yanked her hand free with a splash that caught Lo'ak square in the chest. "Shut up," she hissed. Aonung's knuckles brushed her hip underwater.

Jake's groan carried across the beach as he came closer to them again, scrubbing both hands down his face. "For the love of—no, from now on there needs to be at least 15 feet between you two." His tail lashed once as he huffed.

Tonowari's trident creaked in his grip as he studied his son. He watched Aonung's shoulders square beneath the scrutiny and the stubborn set of his jaw before releasing a slow breath.

"I agree. I have no desire to become a grandfather yet. Son, if you are serious about this, you will follow the proper courting customs."

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Aonung nodded. “Of course.”

Jake went utterly still.

Neytiri blinked.

Lo'ak made a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a choke.

"Wait." Jake lifted a hand. "No. No, you don't answer that that fast."

Aonung frowned. "Why?"

"Because that's the answer of somebody who's already thought about it."

Another pause.

"I have."

Lo'ak doubled over so abruptly he nearly face-planted into the shallows. "OH, EYWA, HE'S SERIOUS!"

Y/N wished the ocean would open beneath her feet and swallow her whole.

Lo'ak then straightened so fast he nearly lost his balance again, eyes wide with delighted horror.

"Neteyam is still asleep."

Nobody liked the look that appeared on his face.

"Lo'ak—" Y/N warned.

"Neteyam is still asleep," he repeated, backing away through the shallows. "He doesn't know any of this."

"Lo'ak."

"I have to go tell him."

"LO'AK."

"This is the best day of my life."

He spun on his heel and took off toward the village.

"LO'AK!"

His laughter echoed across the beach as he disappeared over the dunes while Jake stared after his retreating son for a long moment.

"I liked him better when he was lost." Neytiri smacked his arm.

Tonowari cleared his throat, attempting to drag the conversation back under control.

"Then there will be supervision."

Jake's head snapped around immediately.

"Good."

"Strict supervision."

"Very good."

"No disappearing alone into the reef."

"Excellent."

Tonowari considered for a moment, tapping the butt of his trident into the sand.

"Three months."

Jake stared at him.

"Three months?"

"That is the customary courting period."

"Can we make it a year?"

Y/N groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Dad."

"A year?" Aonung echoed, genuinely offended.

"Two years," Jake countered immediately.

"DAD!"

Even Neytiri was beginning to lose her battle with a smile. Tonowari's expression remained admirably composed, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

"Perhaps six months."

"Done."

“Dad!” y/n exclaimed as Aonung opened his mouth.

"Do not negotiate," Jake and Tonowari said in unison.

The two men blinked at each other.

A beat passed.

Then Tonowari sighed.

For the first time in their time knowing eachother, he looked at Jake not as another clan leader, but as a father enduring a uniquely terrible trial.

From somewhere deep in the village came Lo'ak's triumphant bellow.

"NETEYAM!"

The shout echoed across the shoreline.

"THEY WERE HOLDING HANDS, NETEYAM! HANDS!"

A startled yelp then rang out from somewhere among the marui pods. Followed immediately by a heavy thud.

Tsireya winced.

"Did he just fall out of his hammock?" Tuk asked.

Another crash answered her question.

Lo'ak's cackling carried all the way back to the beach.

Jake closed his eyes.

"I should've stayed on Earth."

#awow #afaa #avatar x reader #imagine #fluff #neteyam sully #loak sully #y/n #sully reader #aonung x female reader

pucksandpower

Buffering

Luke Hughes x teammate!Reader

Summary: you’re the first woman drafted to the NHL, and Luke can’t stop staring at you like you just solved quantum physics while scoring a hat trick. (Featuring: Mario Lemieux as your intimidating hockey godfather, a truly catastrophic painkiller confession, and the mortifying ordeal of being perceived by your teammate who thinks defensive zone coverage is foreplay.)

The air in the arena is thick with the ghosts of games past. It smells of stale popcorn, Zamboni exhaust, and the sharp, metallic bite of cold. It’s a cathedral of echoes, where the slap of a puck and the roar of a crowd can linger for decades. Today, the stands are sparsely populated with parents, scouts who look impossibly bored, and one man who is decidedly not.

Mario Lemieux sits in a plastic blue seat, a paper cup of lukewarm coffee held loosely in one hand. He’s here as a favor, a celebrity guest for the Lemieux Foundation Youth Invitational. He’s shaken a hundred small, sweaty hands, posed for twice as many pictures, and is now dutifully watching the Bantam championship game. The Northwood Knights versus the Allegheny Badgers.

He’s seen this game a thousand times. A handful of kids with real potential, a dozen more who are just having fun, and a few who were pushed here by fathers living out vicarious dreams. He watches with a polite, professional detachment.

Until he sees you.

#nhl imagine #hockey imagine #nhl #hockey #nhl fic #hockey fic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfiction #nhl x reader

dollyzdaydreamz

dean winchester x guardian angel! reader

Vigil

description: Dean Winchester’s always been your charge, your duty, your tether to earth. you’ve fought beside him, watched over him on his most restless nights, and told yourself the pull you feel is nothing more than your vessels influence. But between diners, late-night rides, and the way his laugh settles under your skin, you’re starting to wonder if you’re guarding his soul…or giving him yours.

no nsfw ๑ fluff ๑ unspoken feelings ๑ spiritual but no particular religion ๑ 2.5k words

fic is based off responses from this poll :)

You’d been ignoring the call.

Not the phone call, you never carried one of those, but the pull.

Dean Winchester’s voice in prayer, low and annoyed, that he and Sam could use “a little angelic backup,” if you weren’t too busy “polishing your halo.”

He did have quite a way with words.

You weren’t ignoring him out of spite, you didn’t think you were capable of it, at least not the human kind, but because the last time you’d been near Dean Winchester, something had shifted in your vessel’s chest.

It was warm and unfamiliar, heavy in a way that wasn’t unpleasant but…nice.

Dean made the world feel off-kilter, made you stutter over your words, and care about what clothing you had on your vessel.

So, you concluded that seeing Dean Winchester again was…unwise.

Technically you couldn’t just abandon your duty, it wasn’t in you to disobey heaven's commands, but you figured you could just…delay it.

In the meantime, just until the soft and mushy feelings that came with humans and life on earth wore off.

When his gruff voice found you again later, a little frayed at the edges, demanding you “get your feathery little ass down here,” you could practically see his eyes rolling to the back of his big stubborn head.

You told yourself you wouldn’t go just yet, you needed to get your thoughts sorted.

But it was your job.

So there you stood, beside his bedframe. The only light came from a muted TV glow across the bed. He was asleep, boots still on, mouth parted slightly, long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones.

The dark circles under his eyes let up a bit, that crease between his brows gone for once. You let out a breath of amusement, he was finally fast asleep.

You should’ve just left.

Instead, you pulled a chair close to the bed and sat, folding your hands loosely in your lap. The steady rhythm of his breathing made something in your chest swell, like your vessel’s heart was leaning toward him.

You felt it, felt your heart squeeze at the realization that he’s never truly had a proper night's rest, how he buries his pain behind whiskey and coffee, frisky women and zeppelin tapes, sarcastic remarks and cocky winks.

Maybe it was just the protectiveness built into you, a safeguard to keep you focused on your charge;

Protect Dean Winchester.

Keep his troubled soul whole and safe.

You studied the lines of his face, softer in sleep, the faint scruff along his jaw. The low light glinted off the silver ring on his finger, hand resting on the edge of the bed like he’d fallen asleep mid-guard.

You wondered, for a moment, about what it might be like to hold it in yours, his hand.

Not to heal or to fight.

Just to feel.

Though you were considered a ‘young’ angel, you’d been there at the fall of Babylon, Sodom and Gomorrah, the parting of the Red of Sea.

You’d heard the greatest speeches in history, Pericles' funeral Oration, Moses’ ten commandments, Muhammad’s farewell sermon, Churchill’s ‘We Shall Fight on the Beaches.’

All of which left you equally as incited as you were dumbstruck.

Yet, here you were, at a dingy motel room in some boondock town, stupidly excited to hear what Dean Winchester had to say to you when he awoke.

Would it be a sarcastic remark or a soft acknowledgement?

No, it would be a tired groan. Then he’d stuff his face into the pillow and tell you to screw off for ignoring him.

You were brought out of your thoughts when you heard the sheets ruffle.

You watched earnestly as he stirred, green irises revealing themselves as his eyes blinked open, squinting toward you.

Then he jerked upright.

“Crap!—” he swore, dragging a hand down his face.

You smile softly.

“Hello, Dean.”

“You ever think about knocking?” He rasped, “Or is creepy little stalker-angel your thing now?”

Perhaps you did want him to shut up and stay asleep.

“I was making sure you were okay,” you retort, leaning back in your seat. You squinted, examining him like a psychologist might.

“...You don’t sleep much. For a human.”

He could try and mix whiskey and coffee all he wanted, but the human mind and body had limits.

And it seemed Dean Winchester forgot that he was, in fact, just a human.

Then again, sometimes you forgot that you weren’t.

He shot you a half hearted glare. “Yeah, well, for a human, I like not waking up to someone looming over me.”

Your posture straightened. “I wasn’t looming.”

“Oh, really?” He huffed, before pausing abruptly, tired eyes widening and dilating slightly as they drifted down your figure.

You shifted, crossing your arms over your chest and avoiding his gaze.

“That’ a new dress?-”

Thankfully, the door opened, and Sam stepped in with a bright yellow plastic bag of what you assumed was food.

His eyebrows raised at the rare sight of you,

“Hello, Sam,” You gave him a polite nod of the head.

“Huh, didn’t think you’d actually show.”

You frown, “Why is that?”

Sam smirked, you didn’t know if he was annoyed or amused, or both? Sam was a complicated human, maybe even more so than his brother.

“You’ve got a pattern.”

“Pattern?” You inquire.

“I call for you, you don’t pick up,” He scoffs, giving you a knowing look, “But when Dean calls? You’re usually here in a heartbeat.”

Heat crawled up your neck before you could stop it.

You looked down, smoothing a small wrinkle on your dress…one you definitely hadn’t popped off a mannequin just because you’d noticed Dean liked the cut.

“I’ve been busy.”

“What, too busy shopping at the Mall of Eden to answer my calls?” Dean asked, motioning toward the white sun dress under your cardigan.

You rolled your eyes.

“Well I’m here now, you should be grateful I even showed up.”

“Who said I wasn’t grateful?” Dean grinned.

“I’m an angel's favorite Winchester.” Dean mused theatrically, clapping his brother on the shoulder as he moved to grab his jacket.

“Whatever.” Sam rolled his eyes and dropped the bag on the table. “We could use your help. Hunt’s getting messy and we need to be there by nightfall.”

You nodded, already preparing to take them where they needed after Sam gave you the run down, but Dean held up a hand.

“Ah-ah.”

“What?” You pause, looking over at him, “Is something wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine E.T,” He rolled his eyes, “Why don’t you just hit the road with us? Make it easier.”

“Whose?–nevermind,” You falter.

God, him and these ‘pop culture’ references. It was harder than deciphering the Voynich.

“Hit the road…like in a car?”

“Yeah?” He shrugs, already starting toward the door.

“But that’s slower, I can just–.”

“Last time you zapped me somewhere, I couldn’t crap for a week,” Dean interrupted flatly.

Oh.

“We’re driving.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already standing and tugging you toward the door with that easy, unthinking grip on your hand that made your vessel’s heart stutter.

“Front seat’s yours,” he drawled, tossing you a quick wink.

The Impala roared to life, the smell of leather and motor oil surrounding you.

Dean shot you a sidelong glance as you fumbled with the seatbelt with furrowed brows.

What kind of mechanism was this? The buckle wouldn’t latch and the belt folded oddly.

“Need help?” You heard his smooth voice cut in.

“I can do it,” you muttered stubbornly.

“You sure? Cause it looks like you're struggling, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine.” You click the buckle into place with an angry shove.

“So, travelling across the universe is a piece of cake, but a belt buckle…” He crooned as he shifted the gear.

You shot him a glare.

The Impala ate up the miles in long, steady stretches, the road unspooling into the horizon.

Dean drove like he always did, one hand loose on the wheel, the other ready to switch the music or gesture for emphasis when he talked.

“Alright, Angel,” Dean started, nodding toward the glovebox, “first lesson in road life, badges at the top, snacks in the middle, weapons in the trunk. If I reach for a candy bar and pull out a loaded .45, that’s just bad luck.”

You raised an eyebrow, opening the glovebox to peek inside.

“There’s half a sandwich in here.”

“Yeah, that’s Sam’s. Don’t eat it.”

“I don’t eat.”

“Good,” Dean’s mouth curved into that smug half-smile. “Cause he’s the guy who’ll remember exactly how many bites were left.”

“Shut up, Dean.”

You shut the glovebox, shaking your head and looking out the window.

“Human food habits are… strange.”

“They’re called needs, Feathers,” he teased, giving you a quick glance before looking back at the road.

The nickname caught you off guard, and you felt your cheeks warm before you forced your gaze out the window. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” you bristle, “That’s like me calling you…Meat Sack.”

Sam snorted in the backseat, hunched over a map.

“Meat sack, huh?” He shot you a playful glare.

“Yes,” you look out the window, watching trees whir past as you suppress a smile.

“It’s suitable, given that you're a human bound by flesh and blood…not to mention your affinity to meals with grease and red meat.”

Dean chuckled, warm and unguarded, the sound spilling into the space between you.

The sound made your stomach flutter oddly. Something inside your vessel tipped toward him, a mystical pull you had no control over.

You turned back to the window before he could see it on your face.

Eventually, Dean’s undying appetite had the three of you pulling into a diner just off the side of the highway. It was quiet in that small-town way, the smell of coffee and fryer oil lingering in the air.

The two of you had taken a booth against the wall while Sam disappeared toward the bathroom, muttering something about bad gas station coffee catching up to him.

A waiter approached the two of you mid-twenties, bright smile, a little bounce in her step.

Dean’s entire posture shifted, and his grin turned easy, his voice smoother.

“Afternoon,” he said, glancing at her name tag. “Linda.”

You watched her blush, scribbling something on her pad as he ordered. It was so… natural. Like he’d been born knowing how to make people melt with a few words.

And for reasons you didn’t immediately care to examine, you felt odd. Like you’d been standing in the sunlight, and someone had pulled you into the shade.

But humans were…like this.

Dean was like this.

And it was not your place to mind.

Just then, Sam emerged, taking a seat beside you.

Linda lingered a moment too long, clearly enjoying the attention. “Can I get you folks anything else?

Dean smiled up at her again, charming as ever, “Coffee for me. And maybe a slice of that apple pie. Looks almost as good as it smells.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

You had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the pie.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, the words slipped free, your tone perfectly mild.

“I thought you said you weren’t into women who ‘drown themselves in old lady perfume’,” you recall, eyes fixed on the menu despite the fact that you weren’t capable of appetite.

Dean nearly choked on his drink.

The smile slipped from Linda’s face, her pen faltering.

Sam’s head turned slowly toward you, brows drawing together.

She mumbled something about getting the coffee and backed away toward the counter.

“Okay, what the hell was that?” Dean looked at you, bewildered.

You finally glanced at him, keeping your expression as innocent as, well, an angel.

“What?” You shrugged, “I was…making conversation, like you taught me.”

You ignored the way Sam huffed, studying you for another beat, like he was trying to put his finger on something but didn’t know what.

Damn him for being so observant.

“You angels,” Dean chuckled, shaking his head with an incredulous smile. “Zero filter.”

You hummed, flipping a page in the menu you didn’t actually need to read. But as you scanned the breakfast section, you couldn’t stop the small curl of satisfaction tugging at your mouth.

By the time the three of you were back on the road, the moon and stars were strung up.

Every so often, he’d point something out, a rundown diner “the best pancakes this side of the Mississippi” or a dive bar that “used to have a jukebox worth breaking into.”

Even when the information seemed trivial, you listened earnestly.

Listened as he pointed out constellations through the windshield and told you which ones were best to navigate by when your phone, or your angelic compass, failed.

You asked follow up questions, some laced with genuine curiosity, some with painfully obvious answers that you feigned ignorance to.

Just to hear his low rambling, to hear him explain things to you like you hadn’t been around centuries before he existed.

It wasn’t just about learning human norms, it was learning Dean.

Dean yawned, cracking his neck. The moonlight caught in his hair, a faint cast of luminous white at the edges. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and you found yourself just…watching.

Not the hunter, not the man who could kill a monster without flinching, but the way the light of the stars caught in the flecks of green in his eyes, the content but tired smile adorning his lips, the way the crease between his brows softened because he wasn’t thinking about the next hunt.

He caught you.

Of course he caught you.

“What?” he asked, eyes narrowing at you with a little flicker of amusement.

You blinked, “I-nothing.”

“Then why’re you staring like I’ve got the plague?”

“I don’t—” you paused, realizing anything you said would sound suspiciously defensive. “Never mind.”

Dean smirked, eyes glimmering like he’d won something.

You looked away. “Just… making sure you’re okay. You didn’t sleep. Again.”

“Alright,” He said, voice high like he didn’t really believe you.

“I’m fine though, see?” he clarified, turning to you and blinking his tired eyes open wider as proof. “Seriously, no threats here except Sam’s snoring.”

That drew a small huff of laughter from you. His smirk softened, brows raising like he was surprised, but proud of himself for drawing a laugh out of you.

“But...thanks,” he murmured after a long pause.

You furrowed your brows, “For what?”

“For lookin’ after me.” He said, more certain this time.

You falter, unsure of how to respond. Yet another effect Dean had on you.

“…It’s my job.” You murmur.

There was a long, but comforting pause

“You know, my mom…” He started, voice softer than usual, “She used to put this thing above my bed every night to watch over me—said it’d protect me—this little figurine.”

Your brows raise, shocked he felt comfortable enough with you to speak of his mother.

“Few years ago I looked back and thought that was all bullshit, just something she’d say to me so I wouldn’t be scared” he huffed. “I mean, after all the bad that’s happened y’know?”

You nod solemnly, empty promises hurt the most.

“But…I guess I changed my mind,” He added, surprisingly.

That peaked your interest. What was it that could’ve changed his ever so cynical perspective?

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

“What kind of figurine was it?”

He paused, eyes warm but distant like he was reliving the memory.

“An angel.”

You looked at him, wanting to say something, but it was something you weren’t entirely sure of yet.

Maybe someday you’d figure it out, what you were feeling, what you wanted to say.

So you kept quiet until then.

And you realized, somewhere between one meandering moonlit road and the next, that you didn’t want this trip to end.

end of part I

aaa im so excited for this fic idc if it flops.

nonetheless, likes and reposts are appreciated, it’s hard out here lmfaoo

this fic will have a part 2 (which is the final part)!

high-five0

Ugh I loved this

#dean winchester fluff #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfic #spnfandom #spn

hottpinkpenguin

Hii, could you do a matthias x reader with the promp "Did I miss the part where you suddenly turned likeable?" where the reader is Grisha and her and matthias HATE, eachother. Like literally loath eachothers existence and they end up jeprodising missions because off it

A/n: loved this idea!!! who doesn't love a good enemies-to-(maybe?) friends story! let me know what you think anon :)

Matthias X Inferni Fem!Reader Word Count: 2,490 Warnings: mentions of disfigurement, burning, cursing, not proofread

The force of the explosion collided with Matthias’ back, throwing him forward like a ragdoll. Heat singed the back of his neck as small shards of rock and glass bit into his skin. He slammed down against the rocky ground, knocking the breath from his chest. Pain and shock kept him immobilized for a few moments as he tried to gasp air into his lungs. His ears rung with a high pitched keening, the world disappearing in a blaze of bright white light for an instant.

When he finally felt his lungs expand with a greedy breath, he opened his eyes to see a pair of leather boots standing in front of him. He looked up at you, your lip curled slightly in a half-snarl, half-smirk.

“Get up, druskelle. I’m not carrying you.” You stood above him, your arms crossed, a look of smug contentment on your face as you watched him struggle to regain his breath and clamber to his hands and knees.

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone requests #shadow and bone imagine #calahan skogman #matthias helvar #matthias helvar x reader

musubi05

╰┈➤ Idiots From Texas

Dean Winchester x older sister!reader

Sam Winchester x older sister!reader

Feat. Ghostfacers (just Harry and Ed)

Summary: You and the boys caught sight of an easy hunt but so have Harry and Ed.

Notes: I got my roommates hooked on Supernatural and we passed the Hell House episode. I missed Harry and Ed so much.

The morning sun filtered through the grimy windows of the roadside diner as you nursed your third cup of coffee, scanning local news reports on your laptop. Dean was working his way through what could generously be called a "heart attack special" while Sam picked at a salad that looked like it had seen better days.

"Anything?" Sam asked, glancing up from his salad.

"Maybe." You turned the laptop screen toward your brothers. "Three deaths in Riverside, Iowa in the past two weeks. All in the same apartment building, all ruled accidental despite some... interesting circumstances."

Dean leaned over to read, syrup still dripping from his fork. "Jennifer Walsh, 34, fell down the stairs and broke her neck. Marcus Torres, 28, electrocuted in the shower. And..." He squinted. "Angela Kim, 25, choked to death on her dinner while eating alone."

"Here's the kicker," you continued, scrolling down. "All three lived in the Riverside Gardens apartments, and all three had recently signed complaints about long-term tenants to get them evicted."

"Vengeful spirit?" Sam suggested.

"That's what I'm thinking. But get this—the building's only forty years old, and according to records, nothing traumatic happened during construction." You closed the laptop and reached for your jacket. "Looks like we need to do some good old-fashioned interviewing."

Dean grinned as he stood up. "Road trip to Iowa it is. Shotgun!"

"Dean, you're driving," Sam pointed out.

"Damn right I am."

Three hours later, you found yourself standing outside Riverside Gardens, a bland brick building that screamed "budget housing" from every angle. The October wind whipped through your hair as you adjusted your FBI jacket and checked your fake badge one more time.

"Remember," you said to your brothers, "we're looking for connections between the victims and any potential spirits tied to this place. Sam, you take the first floor. Dean, second floor. I'll handle third and talk to the landlord."

"Why do you get the landlord?" Dean complained.

"Because unlike you two, I won't threaten to punch him in the face if he says something stupid."

"That was one time," Dean muttered.

"It was three times. Last month."

Before Dean could respond, the building's front door burst open and two familiar figures stumbled out, laden with camera equipment and arguing loudly.

"I'm telling you, Ed, the EMF readings were off the charts in 3B!"

"Harry, for the last time, that was your phone! You left it on vibrate!"

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. "No. No, no, no."

"What?" Sam looked confused until he followed your gaze. "Oh. Oh no."

"These idiots," Dean said flatly. "Of course they're here."

Ed Zeddmore looked up from his equipment and immediately broke into what he probably thought was a charming smile. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the Winchester family. And the lovely Winchester sister." He attempted to lean casually against his van and nearly dropped his camera. "Fancy meeting you here, gorgeous."

"Ed." You nodded curtly. "Harry."

Harry Spengler waved enthusiastically. "Hey guys! Are you here about the ghost too? Because we've got dibs. We were here first."

"There are no dibs on ghosts, Harry," Sam said patiently.

"Actually," Ed interrupted, stepping closer to you, "we'd be willing to collaborate. Especially with someone of your... expertise." His eyes traveled up and down your form in what he clearly thought was a subtle way.

You felt Dean tense beside you. "Ed, I swear to—"

"It's fine, Dean." You placed a hand on your younger brother's arm. "Ed, what exactly have you found?"

Ed's face lit up like Christmas morning. "Well, since you asked so nicely..." He pulled out a notebook covered in coffee stains and illegible scrawling. "Three deaths, all connected to apartment 4B. That's where the EMF readings are strongest."

"4B?" You frowned. "But that apartment's been vacant for two years according to the rental records."

"Exactly!" Harry chimed in. "That's where Martha Henderson died. Landlord found her three days after she passed. Natural causes, but..."

"But she'd been fighting eviction for months," you finished, the pieces clicking together. "She died alone, angry, and determined not to leave."

Ed moved closer, supposedly to show you his notes but really just to invade your personal space. "You're not just beautiful, you're brilliant. I love a woman who appreciates good investigative work."

Dean made a sound like a growling dog. Sam quickly stepped between them.

"So what's the plan?" Sam asked loudly.

You pulled out your own notebook, pointedly stepping away from Ed. "We need to interview the remaining tenants, find out what they know about Martha Henderson, and figure out why she's targeting people who complained about the landlord."

"Great!" Ed clapped his hands together. "We can work together. Like a supernatural investigation dream team. You and me especially," he added with a wink.

Dean's jaw clenched. "I think we can handle—"

"Actually," you interrupted, "that's not a terrible idea. You two can interview tenants and get their reactions on camera. Might catch something we miss. But," you added firmly as Ed started to look smug, "you follow our lead. No cowboy stuff."

"Whatever you say, boss," Ed said, somehow managing to make the word 'boss' sound like a come-on.

An hour later, you were regretting your decision to work with the Ghostfacers. While Harry actually proved useful—getting genuine reactions from tenants who seemed more comfortable talking to the bumbling paranormal investigators than FBI agents—Ed spent most of his time trying to impress you with increasingly ridiculous theories.

"You see," Ed said, gesturing wildly as he followed you up the stairs to the fourth floor, "Martha Henderson isn't just any ghost. She's what I like to call a 'Territorial Phantom'—a spirit so attached to their living space that they become violent toward anyone they perceive as a threat to their domain."

"Ed, you just made that up," Harry called from behind his camera.

"I did not! It's a real classification. I should know, I have a certificate in—"

"You have a certificate from a weekend seminar that cost forty dollars," you interrupted, stopping outside apartment 4B. "And Martha Henderson isn't territorial. She's targeting people who tried to get other tenants evicted. It's about justice, not territory."

Ed blinked, clearly not having considered this angle. "Right. Yes. That's... that's obviously what I meant. Justice. I love justice almost as much as I love—"

"Ed." Your voice carried a warning tone.

"Justice," he finished lamely.

You pulled out your lock pick set and went to work on the door. "Martha died fighting to keep her home. She probably sees the other tenants who complained about other people as betrayers—people who were willing to throw their neighbors out for their own comfort."

The lock clicked open. The apartment beyond was small, dusty, and filled with the lingering scent of lavender and old books. Furniture sat covered in sheets, and mail was piled up by the door—two years' worth of catalogs and bills addressed to Martha Henderson.

"Whoa," Harry whispered, panning his camera across the room. "It's like a time capsule."

Dean appeared in the doorway, making you jump. "Find anything interesting downstairs?"

"Landlord's a piece of work," Sam reported, joining the group. "Confirmed Martha fought the eviction right up until she died. Also said the three victims had been the most vocal about wanting 'undesirable tenants' removed."

"Meaning poor people," you said grimly, examining a stack of eviction notices on Martha's kitchen table. "Martha was behind on rent because she was on a fixed income. Social security and a small pension."

Ed moved to stand uncomfortably close to you as you read through the papers. "You know, there's something really attractive about a woman who fights for the underdog. Very heroic. I like that in a—"

"Ed," Dean's voice was dangerously quiet, "if you don't back up right now, I'm going to throw you out that window."

"Dean," you said without looking up from the papers. "Ed," you continued, finally turning to face him, "personal space. Learn it, love it, live it."

"Right. Of course. I was just—"

A sudden crash from the bedroom cut him off. You all froze.

"What was that?" Harry whispered, camera shaking in his hands.

Another crash, followed by the sound of shattering glass. The temperature in the room plummeted.

"Martha?" you called out. "We're not here to hurt you. We know about the eviction. We know about the complaints."

The bedroom door slammed shut.

"Okay," Sam said, pulling out his EMF detector. "She's definitely here."

The lights flickered, and a low moan echoed through the apartment. Ed immediately grabbed your arm.

"Don't worry," he said, puffing out his chest. "I'll protect you."

You stared down at his hand on your arm until he let go. "Ed, I've been hunting things that could eat you as a light snack since before you hit puberty. I think I'll manage."

Dean snorted with laughter. "Burned."

The temperature dropped another ten degrees, and frost began forming on the windows. Martha Henderson's spirit materialized in the center of the room—a small, elderly woman in a faded floral dress, her eyes black with rage.

"GET OUT!" she screamed, her voice echoing unnaturally. "GET OUT OF MY HOME!"

Ed squeaked and dove behind the couch. Harry kept filming but backpedaled toward the door. You stood your ground.

"Martha, we're not here to evict you," you said calmly. "We're here about Jennifer, Marcus, and Angela. The people who died."

"TRAITORS!" Martha shrieked. "They wanted to throw me out! Throw us all out for more money!"

The spirit lunged forward, but you were ready with a handful of salt. Martha's form dispersed with a hiss, but you knew it was only temporary.

"We need to find her remains," you said, helping Ed up from behind the couch. "She's too angry to reason with."

"Her remains?" Ed dusted off his jacket, trying to look dignified. "Well, obviously they'd be in the cemetery. Basic ghost hunting 101."

"Martha wasn't buried in a cemetery," Sam said, reading from his phone. "Says here that she was laid down to rest in the community garden behind the building. That garden the landlord is planning to pave over for more parking."

"Why the hell wouldn't they bury her in a cemetery?" you groaned. "Nothing's ever simple."

Back at the motel, you spread out everything you'd gathered about Martha Henderson across one of the beds. Ed had insisted the Ghostfacers needed to be involved in the research phase, which mostly meant Harry actually helped while Ed found increasingly creative ways to try to impress you.

"According to the obituary," Sam said, reading from his laptop, "Martha lived in that apartment for fifteen years. She was a retired teacher, active in community organizing, and had no surviving family."

"Fifteen years," you mused, studying a photo of Martha from the local paper. "Long enough to really consider it home."

"She also organized the tenants' union that fought the first round of rent increases three years ago," Dean added, reading over Sam's shoulder. "Looks like our landlord, Robert Gaines, has been trying to modernize that building for a while."

Ed cleared his throat loudly. "You know, I've done extensive research on spirits tied to specific locations. There's actually a fascinating case study from Salem where—"

"Ed," you interrupted, "did you find anything useful about the garden?"

His face fell. "Well... no. But I could! I mean, if you wanted to maybe grab dinner later and discuss research techniques—"

"Ed," Harry said from across the room, "she's clearly not interested."

"How do you know?" Ed demanded. "Maybe she's just playing hard to get. Women love confidence."

Dean looked up from his research with murder in his eyes. "Ed, I'm going to give you one piece of free advice. Stop. Talking."

"Actually," you said, closing the file you'd been reading, "I have a better idea. Ed, since you're so eager to help, why don't you and Harry go check out the garden? Look for any signs of where Martha's body might have been put specifically."

Ed's face brightened. "Great idea! And maybe afterward we could—"

"Sam and Dean and I will interview more tenants," you continued as if he hadn't spoken. "We'll meet back here at eight."

"But I thought—"

"Eight o'clock, Ed."

After the Ghostfacers left, Dean shook his head. "That guy has less game than a broken Xbox."

"He's harmless," you said, though you were grateful for the break from his constant attempts at flirtation.

"He's annoying," Dean corrected. "And if he touches you again, I'm going to break his camera over his head."

"Easy there. You forget who's supposed to be the older one. I can handle Ed Zeddmore."

Sam looked up from his laptop. "Speaking of handling things, I think I found something. Martha wasn't buried randomly in the garden. According to this interview with the funeral director, they were buried under a specific rose bush that Martha had planted and maintained for years."

"Let me guess," you said, "the rose bush that's right where Gaines wants to put the new parking lot."

"Bingo."

Dean cracked his knuckles. "So we dig up some bones, salt and burn them, and Martha moves on to whatever comes next."

"It should be that simple," you agreed. "But something tells me it won't be."

At 10 PM, you found yourself crouched behind a dumpster in the alley behind Riverside Gardens, watching Ed try to flirt with you while holding a shovel.

"You know," Ed said, apparently oblivious to the fact that you were on a supernatural stakeout, "there's something really attractive about a woman who isn't afraid to get her hands dirty. Very... earthy."

"Ed," you said through gritted teeth, "we are literally about to dig up a ghost's remains so we can burn them and send her spirit to its final rest. This is not the time."

"Right, of course. Very serious business. I respect that about you."

Dean, who was keeping watch by the garden gate, made a sound like a strangled cat. Sam shot him a warning look.

"Okay," you said, pulling out your EMF detector. "Harry, you and your camera stay back by the fence. Sam, you're with me on dig duty. Dean, keep watch. Ed..." You paused, trying to think of something to keep him busy and away from you. "You're on salt duty. Make a circle around the rose bush."

"I can do that," Ed said eagerly. "You can count on me. I won't let anything happen to you."

"I'm not worried about me," you muttered under your breath.

The community garden was small but well-maintained, filled with vegetable plots and flower beds that the tenants had lovingly cultivated over the years. Martha's rose bush sat in the center, a magnificent climbing rose that was still blooming despite the late season.

"Kind of sad, isn't it?" Sam said as you both started digging. "All of this will be gone in a month when they pave it over."

"That's probably why Martha's so pissed," you replied, your shovel hitting something solid. "This represented everything she was fighting for. Community, beauty, home."

"Got something," Dean called softly from his position. "Someone's coming."

You all froze. Footsteps echoed from the alley, accompanied by the jingle of keys.

"Shit," you whispered. "Gaines."

The landlord's voice carried through the night air as he talked on his phone. "No, I told you, the garden comes down next week. I don't care what the tenants say... Yes, I know about the deaths, but the police ruled them accidental... Look, I need this parking lot finished before winter."

"What do we do?" Harry whispered, his camera shaking.

You looked down at the half-dug hole, then at your brothers. "Keep digging. Quietly."

For ten agonizing minutes, you and Sam carefully excavated around Martha's remains while Dean kept watch and Ed tried to be helpful by offering whispered commentary on your technique. Finally, your shovel clinked against something wood-like.

"Got it," Sam breathed, brushing off the dirt on the coffin.

That's when the temperature plummeted.

Martha Henderson materialized directly in front of Robert Gaines, who had just entered the garden. His scream of terror cut through the night like a knife.

"YOU!" Martha shrieked, pointing at the landlord. "YOU DID THIS! YOU KILLED THEM!"

"I didn't—I never—" Gaines stumbled backward, his phone clattering to the ground.

"Shit," you started to realize why she's more mad. "She thinks Gaines killed them."

Martha's spirit grew larger, more terrible, her form shifting and warping with rage. "MURDERER! DESTROYER! YOU TAKE EVERYTHING!"

Ed, in a moment of either bravery or stupidity, jumped up from behind the rose bush. "Hey! Ugly! Over here!"

Martha spun toward him, her black eyes fixed on the terrified paranormal investigator. "YOU HELP HIM! YOU ALL HELP HIM!"

"Ed, get down!" you shouted, but it was too late.

Martha lunged toward Ed with supernatural speed. You reacted on instinct, tackling him to the ground just as the spirit's form passed through the space where he'd been standing. The cold was so intense it felt like being stabbed with icicles.

"Thanks," Ed gasped from beneath you. "That was—"

"Don't," you cut him off, rolling away. "Sam, the bones!"

Sam was already pouring salt and lighter fluid over Martha's remains. The spirit whirled toward him with a shriek of rage, but Dean was ready with a shotgun loaded with rock salt.

"Eat this, granny!"

The blast dispersed Martha's form, giving Sam the seconds he needed to light the match.

Martha Henderson's remains went up in flames with a sound like wind chimes in a hurricane. Her spirit appeared one last time, but the rage was gone from her eyes. She looked tired, sad, and somehow smaller.

"I just... wanted to go home," she whispered.

"You are home," you said gently. "You always were."

Martha smiled—a real smile this time, not the terrible grimace of her fury. "Thank you."

She faded away like morning mist, and the oppressive cold lifted from the garden.

Robert Gaines spent the rest of the night giving a statement to local police about a "gas leak" that caused hallucinations. You were pretty sure he'd be finding new ways to make his tenants' lives miserable, but at least they wouldn't be dying from supernatural causes.

The Ghostfacers packed up their equipment as the sun rose over Riverside Gardens. Harry seemed genuinely pleased with the footage he'd captured, but Ed looked dejected.

"So," he said, approaching you one last time as you loaded your duffel bag into the Impala, "this was fun. Maybe next time we run into each other..."

"Ed," you said, not unkindly, "you're a good guy. Really. But you deserve someone who's actually interested in you, not someone who's just being polite."

His face fell. "Right. Of course. I knew that."

"Besides," Dean added, appearing at your shoulder, "she could kick your ass."

"Dean," you warned.

"What? You could. Remember that time with those assholes at—"

"Dean."

Ed straightened his shoulders and managed a genuine smile. "Well, if you ever change your mind about that dinner..."

"I'll let you know," you said diplomatically.

Harry honked the horn of their van. "Come on, Ed! We've got editing to do!"

As the Ghostfacers drove away, Sam shook his head. "Poor Ed."

"Poor Ed nothing," Dean said, climbing into the driver's seat. "Guy needs to learn when to quit."

"Like you're one to talk," you said, sliding into the passenger seat. "Remember that waitress in Colorado who had to threaten you with a restraining order?"

"That was different. She was playing hard to get."

"She liked girls, Dean."

Sam laughed from the back seat as Dean started the engine. "So, where to next?"

You pulled out your laptop and started scanning for cases. "Well, there's a series of cattle mutilations in Nebraska that look promising. Or we could check out those disappearances in Montana..."

"Montana it is," Dean said, pulling out of the parking lot. "Road trip!"

As the Impala roared onto the highway, you couldn't help but smile. Another hunt finished, another spirit at rest, and you'd managed to keep Ed Zeddmore from getting himself killed in the process.

Just another day in the life of a Winchester.

Though you had to admit, his theories about territorial phantoms weren't entirely wrong. Martha had been defending her territory, in a way. Just not the way Ed thought.

You made a mental note to maybe send him an email later with some actual research on protective spirits. The guy meant well, even if his timing was terrible.

Your phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: "Thanks for saving my life. And for the advice. - Ed PS: If you ever want to collaborate on a research paper about protective spirits, I know a guy with a certificate ;)"

Despite yourself, you smiled.

"What?" Dean asked, glancing over.

"Nothing," you said, deleting the message. "Just Ed being Ed."

"Please tell me he's not still trying to ask you out via text message."

"He's not," you said honestly. "I think he finally got the message."

Your phone buzzed again. This time the message read: "Seriously though, dinner offer stands. Just saying. - Ed"

You sighed and put your phone away. "Mostly."

Dean groaned. "I swear to God, if we run into those two again..."

"We will," Sam said philosophically. "We always do."

You couldn't help but think Sam was probably right. The supernatural world was smaller than most people realized, and paths had a way of crossing when you least expected them.

But that was a problem for another day. For now, you were content to watch the road roll by, listening to Dean's classic rock and Sam's gentle snoring from the back seat, knowing that somewhere behind you, Martha Henderson was finally at peace.

#spn #supernatural #supernatural x reader #winchester sister #supernatural x sister #dean x sister!reader #winchesters x sibling #dean winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x sister!reader #sam x sister!reader

shadowsndaisies

death, who?

a/n: staying true to the resolution! the largest folder in my wips is probably the crossovers. way too many possibilities for someone entrenched in too many fandoms. but, nonetheless, here we are. also big shock! i still write for other fandoms, not just dc.

main masterlist

prompt: A; hold on you died?! ... B; yeah, well, it didn't stick.

synopsis: what if a hunt brought you and your older half-brothers and guardians, Sam and Dean Winchester, to Beacon Hills, and what if, you get in a spot of trouble with your new friends, and need to call for a ride.

wc: 2.7k

Black.

Everything is black.

You feel your body being torn apart, excruciatingly slow, and suddenly it all snaps back together, muscles, veins, tendons reconnecting and attaching, skin growing back.

Flashes of light, bright, discombobulating.

And then your eyes open.

#winchester!reader #sam winchester #dean winchester #winchester sister #supernatural imagine #supernatural x teen wolf #supernatural x teen wolf imagine #teen wolf imagine #stiles stillinski #scott mccall

storiesbyshadow

As Luck Would Have It...

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Rating: Mature

Tags: Banter, Mentions of Blood, Ghouls, Mentions of Weapons, Sexual Tension, Kissing, Cuddling, Only One Bed, Maybe a curse word or two

Word Count: Around 1000

Written For: @fluffyjuly

Squares/Prompts Filled: Day 16 - Only One Bed

Dividers By: @saradika-graphics

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🫢

#fluffy july 2025 #fluffy july day 16 #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x you #dean #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural

wendichester

hiiiii i love ur writing sm!! i just read your older!sister reader drabble (not on my watch) and im obsessed, i cant stop thinking about it. i love that it makes Dean a middle child it honestly really works. I was wondering if you'd be open to continuing it, maybe flipping it and older sister!reader gets hurt this time, or maybe she and the boys make fun of each other when they flirt or get flirted with on the job? or literally any other ideas you have about older sister!reader. thank you ily <3

⋆.˚ not on my watch²,

summary.your boys are always looking for trouble and you always come to the rescue.

pairing. sam + dean winchester x older sis!reader genre.fluff

wordcount. 888

notes / warnings. injury mention, blood, protective sibling dynamics, language, emotional vulnerability, banter, stitching up wounds, angst with softness, big sister energy

ᯓᡣ𐭩 read part 1

You don’t knock this time either.

But you stumble.

The door creaks open slower than usual. Dean barely looks up from where he’s eating out of a takeout box with one hand and flipping through some lore book with the other. Sam’s at the table with a laptop, half a sandwich untouched beside him. The second they see your face, though—everything stops.

You’re clutching your side. There’s blood. A lot of it. And you’re white as a sheet.

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🥹🥹🥹🥹

#dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #sam winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #sam winchester fic #supernatural #spn

hottpinkpenguin

A/n: loved this idea!!! who doesn't love a good enemies-to-(maybe?) friends story! let me know what you think anon :)

Matthias X Inferni Fem!Reader Word Count: 2,490 Warnings: mentions of disfigurement, burning, cursing, not proofread

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone requests #shadow and bone imagine #calahan skogman #the hunger games

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