#I just live to see him take his next breath

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Part One + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ mdni, sexual content, dacryphilia, daddy kink. Reader is neurodivergent.

Simon Riley is a simple man. 

Now. 

Cobwebs cleared, shattered shards of glass painstakingly swept away, lacerations stitched and glued back together. He's climbed the mountain of his mind and descended down the other side. Hurdles jumped, skeletons dragged into the light and then cut down. 

Guess that's what happens when you finally decide you want to live, instead of exist. 

At least he figured it out before he died. 

He's old now, older, signature sore back and creaky knees worse then they were ten years ago, sciatica pain when it rains, headaches whenever he's spent too long looking at paperwork (should be wearing his glasses, but can only bring himself to do it at home.) He's even soft around the middle a bit. 

Still, there are some things that never change, some things that are amplified by time. Skill, focus, dedication. Thirst. 

The thirst is what keeps everyone in line, keeps everyone's head down after a salute, eyes shifty and hands clenched. He still strikes fear. He doesn't mind. 

It's how he got here. How he ended up standing in front of a team, his team, tackling a debrief. It's only given him more of what he know nows he craves, the aspect of control that was so long missing from his life, taken from him by others, by their actions, their decisions. Now he has it in spades. He learned to indulge it, practice it, hone it, and when it reared its head in other aspects of his life, he didn't shy away. He embraced it, experimented with it, figured out what he liked, what he didn't, what he truly needed. Chewed on it, for a while. 

A casual fuck here and there, fine, but not enough, not nearly. 

He's built a house after all. 

It's all spilled over though. Run away from him and out of the base, infiltrated his home, crawled across town- 

and set it's sights on something it can sink it's teeth into. Something it won't let go of. 

Daddy's girl. 

"C-captain Riley." Your hands press to your stomach, anxiously wiping away smatterings of batter and flour, and he tries to screw his mouth into a flat line to hide his smile at the hitch in your breath. 

"Hi sweetheart." 

"What can I... what can I get for you?" He sweeps over the case, eyeing the piled high pastries and bagels, muffins and quiches still warm. 

"Just a coffee today." You nod, lip tugged between your teeth, hand practically shaking as you reach for the stack of cups. When he was a younger man, he wouldn't have patience for this, or you. Wouldn't see the bright side to this, these moments he shares with his girl at the bakery, his nervous little fawn he's finally coaxed to look him in the eye for more than ten seconds at a time. Being in your forties will do that to you, he guesses. 

Time heals more than he ever thought possible. 

"Black?" 

"That's right." He indulges himself as you turn around, tracing your curves, the swell of your ass in your leggings. You wear an apron at your waist religiously, cinching it tight, hips and thighs and everything else perfectly framed. He loves those leggings, and hates them every time he catches an overzealous prick leering at you over the counter. 

"Do you um, do you want room for cream?"  The answer is always the same, but you still ask, and he doesn't mind. 

"No, I'll just take it as is." He eyes the pan of raspberry sweet rolls sitting on the counter, cream cheese icing slowly melting across the top. They're his favorite, but he's putting on too much weight, and with the next mission around the corner, he can't afford to be too soft. You look up at him shyly, gesturing to the giant buns. 

"I made your favorite." Fuck. He can't. He shouldn't... but he can't stomach the idea of dimming your glow, killing you excitement, the eager look on your face as you wait for his approval. 

"Y'know what... the boys are always complaining I never bring them anything. I'll take the whole pan." Your eyes turn to saucers. 

"The wh-whole pan? Really?" You brighten into a sun, glowing with pride, and he rewards you with a smile. 

"Is that okay?" 

"Of course!" You blurt, half panicked, "of course I just... okay. Let me-" You go to put the coffee cup down in front of him, but the bottom nicks the edge of the counter and like everything has turned to slow motion, he watches as steaming hot liquid comes flying from the top, half splashing, half spilling all over his uniform. He catches it before it rolls off the end, but the damage has been done, and tears line your lashes. 

The woman waiting in line a few feet behind him snorts. His vision turns red and he whirls on her with a glare, satisfied when the color drains from her face and she runs off. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so s-so-sorry,” you’ve come around the corner with paper towels, trembling like a leaf as you stare at the stain on his jacket, wide eyed and frantic. 

“It’s okay, it was an accident.” 

“N-no, your uniform,” you croak horrified, “I ruined it, I’m so sorry.” You hiccup a little, trying to suck in some air while you succumb to panic, and he takes your hands in his, squeezing gently, trying to ground you. 

“It’s alright baby, it’s okay,” you don’t even notice when he calls you baby, too preoccupied by your rapidly dissipating oxygen. “Hey, look at me,” he soothes, ducking into your line of sight, grabbing your attention. “Good girl, you’re alright.” 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, shrinking in on yourself, curling your shoulders forward. More tears, and the sight of them sends blood rushing through his body, uncomfortable pressure starting to build in his cock. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” The shop is mostly empty, the woman behind him gone, and he takes the opportunity to usher you past the counter and into the kitchen where there’s a stool waiting just inside the door. He guides you up and holds steady. “Everything’s okay, I promise.” The paper towels come free from your tension filled grip, and instead of using them on the stain, he presses them to your wet cheeks, blotting away your tears. You lean into the touch, so trusting, so easily his, and he wonders what else you’d let him do. He’s hard against the teeth of his zipper as he thinks about hoisting you onto the table, spreading your legs to find what you’ve been keeping safe for him there. 

He doesn’t have many things to care for these days, outside the team, his ultimate responsibility. Keeping a special ops unit alive, planning and executing, cutting through political bullshit is more than enough, but it’s all rough and heavy handed. 

He needs something to nurture. 

You blink at him as he finishes and tips your chin back, ignoring the way your lips part in awe. “That’s better.” 

“Thank you.” The two of you breathe in tandem, silenced and walking a tightrope until you cough. “I should uh… I should go, get those rolls packaged?” He nods, and you manage a very small smile before dipping your gaze to the ground and running off to the front. 

“When did you know?” He rolls the cigar smoke around in his mouth and John cocks his head. 

“When did I know what?” 

“That you were ready,” he gestures to the house, where John’s wife Grace sleeps soundly, “for this? For her?” There’s a glint in his Captain’s blue eyes, a knowing smirk on his face. 

“I just did. At some point, life becomes more than the job, but the mission stays the same. Lead, decide, control. Keep them safe, complete your objective, give what’s needed, get it for yourself. It’s no different.” The idea is tar, sticking to every surface in his mind, gumming up his synapses and creating hallucinations so intoxicating they’re hard to believe. 

You, curled up in bed asleep with nothing but a pair of panties, or cradled between his knees in the bath as he works a chunk of batter free from your hair. You with your legs spread, knees pushed towards your ears, pussy ripe and waiting for him, only him, for the rest of his life. Hands and ankles tied together like a pretty little present. You, sitting on the couch with your thighs slung over his lap, nose creased with a little wrinkle as you thumb through a book. 

John chuckles. “Found one then?” 

Simon only nods. 

He slips through the door just before closing, little bell at the top announcing his arrival to an almost empty space. There’s someone at the register, counting cash, and she smiles at him with all her teeth. 

“We’re about to close but there are a few things left, or I could make you a tea?” The case is pretty barren, a few bear claws and croissants, a muffin or two. Stragglers. 

Next to it, a bouquet sits in a vase. They’re fresh, healthy, and the hair on the back of his neck stands. 

If someone is buying you flowers, he’ll kill them. Dump their corpse in a pit and piss on it. 

The girl clears her throat, and he shakes his head. “No, but thanks. ‘M here to see…” you push through the kitchen doors with two metal sheet trays in your hands, and freeze.

He knew you’d be surprised, caught off guard. It’s like catching a feral cat. Trying to earn a street dog’s trust. Like he’s crouched on the sidewalk, hand extended, food waiting in his fingertips. 

A fisherman, with bait on the line, patiently waiting to hook his prize. 

The incident last week has thoroughly spooked you, pushed you back inside your shell, eroded a lot of the groundwork he painstakingly laid, the foundation he’s been building, and the only time he’s been in since then, you ran into the kitchen as soon as he crossed the threshold. 

The clock has turned back to the time when you were so gun shy, you’d turn to stone at the first sight of him, hands clasped together so tight he knew they hurt. 

It’s no matter. He’s a patient man now, a far cry from who he used to be, and he’s willing to wait for the things worth it, willing to put in the work to fix it.

His body disagrees. A river of need runs consistently runs through him, wild and turbulent current thrashing in his blood, white water rapids trying to flood his lungs. His cock is heavy at night as he imagines you bent over the butcher’s block, leggings ripped open, gooseflesh cascading from the small of your back down, empty little hole clenching on nothing, begging for a fullness only he can give. He dreams about your tears, salty sweet drops soaking your cheeks as the crown of his cock bulges in your throat, as he takes your air and gives it back, over and over again. 

Ruin you, rearrange you, remold you until you only ever fit him. 

He’ll give you what you need, he’ll take away what you don’t. 

He’ll decide. 

The girl at the counter looks at you, then him, small smile pulling on her lips. “I’m going to get this deposit ready,” she announces to no one since you’re not paying her any attention, barely registering she’s disappeared as you stare at him. 

“Hi… u-um hi, Captain Riley.” You put the pans down onto the counter but miscalculate the distance, and they clatter with a resounding smack, one that makes you wince. Your chest expands with a long, deep breath, and you look away from him to the floor. “Can I get you something?” 

“No, I’m jus’ here to see you.” You jerk, gaze snapping from the floor to his face. 

“Is th-this about your uniform? Did you get it dry-cleaned? I can pay you back for-” You rush out, half panicked and cut off when his hand fits to the space between your shoulder blades with just enough pressure to move you forward. He leads, steering you to one of the little tables by the window, urging you down into the chair before taking his place on the other side. 

“You’re not paying my bloody dry cleaning bill. I’m here to see you, sweetheart.” You’re vibrating, practically rattling in your skin and he wants so badly to soothe you, tuck you into his chest and push the outside world away, but it would be too much, too soon. You’re not ready. 

“See me?” He nods. 

“Why did you run from me the other day?” 

“I didn’t I was just… I was busy.” He didn't expect the truth, not right away. You're always trying to hide your vulnerable spots. 

“Try again. No lying this time.” There’s about one eighth of his usual authority in his voice, the captain’s edge he’s honed over the years, and your lips part with a sharp, small intake of breath. 

“I thought maybe… I thought you might be upset or something and I didn’t want…” you trail off with a shrug, and he’s not surprised. He knows his reassurances from last week weren’t enough. His sweet girl is afraid of her own shadow, you need more than just a few words and your tears wiped. 

“I’m not upset.” He leans back against the rickety wood. There are a million things he could say, do. A million different pieces he could pick apart right here, right now, peel your layers back and put you on your knees with your cheek on his thigh, his hand patting the top of your head. 

“Daddy’s not mad, sweetheart.” 

You’re watching him, waiting, looking for him to give more, heal this wound, but he’s cautious. A gas pedal to the floor will only get him the kind of chase he doesn’t want. Not yet. “You understand me?” 

“Yes,” you whisper. You’re hesitating on something, holding back, but he doesn’t try to drag it out, choosing to wait, to give you the time you need, the space he knows the rest of the world doesn’t allow. “Did um… did they like them?” He cocks his head. 

“The team?” 

“Mhm,” your leg bounces under the table. You’re so fucking cute he could smother you. 

“Yeah baby, they loved them.” You beam, blooming into a pretty, perfect flower, vibrant and colorful, rare as they come. 

“That’s good, I’m so happy.” You wiggle a little bit in the chair, and he bites the inside of his cheek. Fucking hell. He wants you on his lap instead, wiggling around as he slowly sinks you down onto his cock, fingernails biting into his chest as he stretches your pussy, toes curling as you struggle to take him. “D-do you want to take some home?” 

“You have some left over?” You shrug sheepishly. 

“I’ve uh, been making them every day. I thought if you were mad at me, maybe they would… make it better.” Oh baby.

“No. You never have to appease me like that. You never have to appease anyone like that, sweetheart.” 

“Right. Okay.” You look relieved, a little bit of heaviness lifted from your shoulders, and then you give him a small smile. “But do you want to maybe have one… now? W-with me?” His sweet little fawn, navigating the world on new trembling legs, taking chances when she feels brave. 

He pulls your hand into his and strokes his thumb back and forth across your knuckles, setting up a slow, soothing rhythm. “Of course.” 

[harrysfolklore]

i see your face in every crowd - op81

summary: the asutralian grand prix is right around the corner and oscar's face is everywhere in melbourne, his ex girlfriend can't help but miss him (he misses her too)

folkie radio: if you know me you know i'm a sucker for an exes to lovers trope, and honestly this one is one of my faves i've ever done. ENJOY AND LEAVE FEEDBACK

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by oliviarodrigo, lando and 2,107,399 others

yourinstagram back home for a bit... needed some time to reset & breathe. been writing loads lately - the songs are just pouring out 🌊 feeling more inspired than ever tbh. can't wait to share what i've been working on with u all soon. huge thank u for all the love lately, means more than u know xx

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username1 BABYYYY

username2 i'm happy she's home and surrounded by love

sabrinacarpenter miss ur face already 😭 these songs are about to end lives fr

chappellroan THEYRE NOT READY FOR WHAT'S COMING!!! also pls come back to LA soon i'm dying without u

username3 chappellynbrina is a forever thing

username4 the way melbourne gp is gonna be so awkward next month...

└ username1 why does everyone have to make everything about that 🙄 let them live

└ username2 no fr like can we focus on the music instead

username5 oscar ain't shit anyway, ur so much better without him queen

└ username3 y'all don't even know what happened, stop being toxic

└ username6 they literally both asked for privacy can u respect that maybe

alexandrasaintmleux being home suits u sm! can't wait for the new era

└ username2 once a wag always a wag

username7 THE BREAKUP ALBUM IS COMING AND IM HERE FOR IT

username8 take all the time u need but also pls drop a song soon we're starving 😩

lando yooo text me when you get the chance !

└ username1 THEIR FRIENDSHIP LIVES

└username2 oscar piastri you can't break this one

username9 some of y'all are being so mean for no reason, they were cute together and now they're not, it happens

username10 manifesting a collab with sabrina on this album 🕯️

liked by lando, alex_albon and 467,958 others

oscarpiastri Last few days of prep before heading home for the season opener. Ready 💪

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username1 THATS MY BABY GOAT

username2 we're so taking that wdc this year

lando looking a bit weak mate might need another few months of training

└ oscarpiastri stick to gaming mate

└ carlossainz55 Children, behave 😂

└ username1 THIS INTERACTION

username3 we're so back. man's entering his thirst trap era and we love to see it

└ username1 healing through gym pics, real

username4 the transformation from rookie to absolute unit we love to see it

username5 melbourne's gonna go crazy for him

└ username2 the city will be pretty much covered with his face

username7 the post-breakup glow >>>>>>

username8 bro said watch me get faster AND hotter

username9 yn is stronger than me bc i definitely would've given him another chance

georgerussell63 Looking strong 💪🏼

└ lando but still slower than me

└ oscarpiastri We'll see about that mate

└ username3 WHAT IS LANDO'S PROBLEM

aussiegp Our hometown hero getting ready to give us a show 🇦🇺

username10 YN GET BACK WITH HIM I BEGGG

liked by shortandbrina, livbedumb and 119 others

definitelynotyn not me stalking his instagram at 2am with a glass of rosé in hand... why he gotta post gym pics looking like THAT 😭 someone take my phone away fr because what if i do something stupid like text him rn???? also why does he have to look so good while training I HATE HIM

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shortandbrina girl DELETE instagram rn i'm not joking!! calling u in 2 mins

└ definitelynotyn too late i already watched his story 3 times help

midwestprincess this is why we don't drink wine alone bestie... coming over with ice cream and we're watching mean girls

└ definitelynotyn pls hurry before i do something stupid like listen to our playlist

livbedumb first rule of breakups: BLOCK THE GYM PROGRESS POSTS!!!! trust me on this one

└ definitelynotyn but what if i just want to check if he's doing okay 🥲

└ gracieeeeee she's lost it completely someone intervene

arithegood not me literally writing a song about this exact situation last week 💀 wine drunk stalking is universal bestie

└ definitelynotyn pls send me the song i just know it'll hurt so good

phoebenotbuffay okay but like... we've all been there 😭 remember when i almost texted #him after he decided to walk around in those short shorts

└ definitelynotyn at least urs wasn't wearing race suits that make his arms look like THAT

whostaylorswiftanyway time to write a song about it bestie x

└ definitelynotyn already got three verses and a bridge done ngl

liked by username1, username2 and 6,974 others

f1updates Melbourne is getting ready for the Australian GP! The city is covered in @/oscarpiastri billboards and posters as they prepare to welcome their home hero

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username1 imagine being yn trying to get coffee and boom there's your ex's face on a 50ft billboard 💀

username2 the way you literally can't escape his face anywhere in the cbd this week

username3 the way this gp would've been so different if they were still together... remember last year?

└ username1 they were the cutest in the paddock

└ username2 pls she probably won't even be in melbourne this year

username4 our boy is everywhere and we love to see it!!

username5 the promotional team really said oscar piastri world domination

username6 the billboards are giving everything they need to give tbh

username7 maybe she should drop the breakup album during race week for maximum chaos

└ username1 now that would be iconic behavior

└ username3 the way the charts and the podium would be fighting for his attention

username8 MELBOURNE IS OSCARLAND

username9 imagine not being an oscar fan rn… or worse, being his ex

username10 CAN SOMEBODY THINK OF OUR GIRL YN

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liked by lando, charles_leclerc and 597,388 others

oscarpiastri Seems like there's a few of me around Melbourne at the moment... has anyone noticed? 😅

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username1 OSCAR FUCKING PIASTRI

username2 HE DID NOT

lando bit of an upgrade for the city tbh └ oscarpiastri Better than your face mate

username3 OH HE'S MESSY FOR THIS ONE

└ username1 posting this RIGHT after her story i'm screaming

username4 he chose violence today and i'm here for it

mclaren Our guy's everywhere! Can't wait for the weekend 🧡

└ username2 admin pretending they don't see what's happening here

username5 THE TIMING OF THIS POST??? someone's feeling petty

username6 he really said "oh you can't escape me? let me show you why" 💀

georgerussell63 Just ran into your face in the airport

username7 the way he probably had these pics ready and WAITED

username8 bro saw her story and chose chaos

danielricciardo looking good mate! although i remember when it was my face everywhere 👴 └ oscarpiastri Times change old man

username9 it's giving "oh you miss seeing me? here's more" energy actually

username10 focusing on the important stuff: he looks good in every single billboard

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liked by harrystyles, sabrinacarpenter and 1,389,647 others

yourinstagram missing tour life so much today! can't wait to get back on the road and see all your beautiful faces again 💕 thankful for the memories we've made together x

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username1 MY GIRL I MISS HER

username2 the way she posted this exactly after THAT story... we see you

└ username3 damage control era

troyesivan SUPERSTAR 🤩🤩

username4 girl we know what (who) you're really missing

└ username2 not her trying to distract us 😭

username5 we're not fooled bestie but we support you

sabrinacarpenter miss you too angel!! ❤️

└ yourinstagram love you sabs 🥺

username6 NOT THE DAMAGE CONTROL POST

username7 WE NEED A TOUR ASAP

gracieabrams I miss being on the road with you 🥹🥹

username8 EVERYONE TALKIG ABOUT OSCAR HELP

username9 can we talk about how good she looked on tour though??

username10 the way she's probably sitting with sabrina rn planning damage control posts

└ username11 the group chat must be WILD right now

liked by midwestprincess, livbedumb and 109 others

definitelynotyn well. something just came in the mail and i think i might actually throw up. universe really said "you thought that instagram story wasn't enough embarrassment for one day?"

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shortnbrina GIRL CHECK YOUR TEXTS RN

└ definitelynotyn I'M HAVING A CRISIS

midwestprincess the way i SPRINTED here when you texted

└ definitelynotyn help what do i do

└ midwestprincess BREATHE FIRST

gracieeee wait is that what i think it is? 🏁

└ definitelynotyn 🙃🙃🙃

└ gracieeee OH MY GOD????

livbedumb the timing… someone's been plotting

└ definitelynotyn don't. i can't think about that.

maddiebeer okay but like… are you going?

└ definitelynotyn MADS PLS I'M ALREADY SPIRALING

└ maddiebeer that's not a no 👀

arithegood manifesting a rain delay so you have to stay longer

└ definitelynotyn I HAVEN'T EVEN DECIDED IF I'M GOING

└ arithegood sure jan

phoebenotbuffay imagine if you'd actually posted this on main too

└ definitelynotyn DON'T EVEN JOKE ABOUT THAT

└ phoebenotbuffay too soon? 😂

dulapeep at least you have time to plan outfits

└ definitelynotyn NOT HELPING

└ dulapeep the green dress. trust me.

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liked by lando, charles_leclerc and 665,583 others

oscarpiastri Close. Bring on tomorrow

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username1 THATS MY BABY GOAT

username2 oscar piastri man of few words

username3 pole position if he was still with yn

mclaren Our home champ 🧡

username4 OKAY CHAT DO WE THINK YN WILL ATTEND THE RACE??

└ username1 maybe focus on racing?? this isn't about his ex

lando sorry about that

└ oscarpiastri Should've just let me keep it

username5 can't help but think about yn in parc fermé for his win tomorrow but they're not together anymore

username6 HES WINNING TOMORROW THERE'S NOTHING THAT CAN CHANGE THAT

charles_leclerc An existential crisis later

└ carlossainz55 Let him breathe

└ username1 HUUUH WHAT ARE THEY TALKING ABOUT

username7 brb listening to yn's songs about him.. specially lover

liked by midwestprincess, shortandbrina and 107 others

definitelynotyn watching from my couch because apparently i'm the biggest coward in the universe. the pass is literally staring at me from my coffee table. i hate myself.

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shortnbrina GET IN YOUR CAR RIGHT NOW

└ definitelynotyn I CAN'T

└ shortnbrina YES YOU CAN I'M CALLING YOU AN UBER

midwestprincess GIRL THERE'S STILL 40 LAPS YOU CAN LITERALLY MAKE IT

└ definitelynotyn and then what?? walk in mid-race??

└ midwestprincess YES EXACTLY LIKE A MAIN CHARACTER WOULD

livbedumb not you watching his every move on tv when you could be there

└ definitelynotyn this is less scary ok

└ livbedumb is it though??

maddiebeer remember when you said you'd never be that girl who's too scared to face her feelings?

└ definitelynotyn low blow mads

whostaylorswiftanyway THE PASS IS RIGHT THERE GO GET YOUR MAN

└ definitelynotyn STOP YELLING AT ME

└ whostaylorswiftanyway NO

gracieeee remember when you said his note was the sweetest thing ever? remember crying about how much you missed him? but sure stay on your couch

└ definitelynotyn this is emotional manipulation

definitelynotyn FINE YALL WIN. CALLING A CAR RN

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liked by shortnbrina, landitooooo and 113 others

definitelynotyn we did some talking. then we did some kissing. then we did some more talking. then we did some more kissing. might have cried a bit (him too). wearing his sweatshirt again. life's funny sometimes.

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midwestprincess OH GOD FINALLY

gracieeee I'M SOBBING

leclercccccc FINALLY you accepted the follow request

└ definitelynotyn oh my god

└ leclercccccc i helped with the speech you know

└ notoscarpiastri mate.

└ leclercccccc you're welcome btw

landitooooo took you both long enough bloody hell

└ notoscarpiastri says you

└ landitooooo oi what's that supposed to mean

└ shortnbrina no idea really

└ definitelynotyn lando norris and sabrina carpenter... there's stuff you need to explain

arithegood THE TIMELINE HAS BEEN RESTORED

└ definitelynotyn dramatic much

└ arithegood says the girl who showed up mid-race

whostaylorswiftanyway I expect a full debrief tomorrow but I'm happy for you my girl

notoscarpiastri Can we go back to the kissing?

└ definitelynotyn please

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popbuzz YN AND OSCAR PIASTRI SPOTTED TOGETHER IN MELBOURNE

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username1 THE SWEATSHIRT THE SWEATSHIRT THE SWEATSHIRT

└ username2 SHE'S WEARING HIS CLOTHES AGAIN

username3 FROM SPINNING OUT TO BREAKFAST DATES IN 24 HOURS

└ username2 character development at its finest

username4 IM GOING TO CRY THEY'RE BACK TOGETHER

username5 Sources say he went to her place last night...

└ username1 and didn't leave 👀

username6 I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY REALLY GOT BACK TOGETHER

username7 this is proof that crying over your ex on main actually works

username8 YN IS A WAG AGAIN OMFG

username9 everybody say thank you australia gp billboards with oscar's face

username10 OSCAR LOVE SONGS ARE SO BACK

username11 WE WON SO HARD

liked by yourinstagram, lando and 876,494 others

oscarpiastri Home race took some unexpected turns both on and off track. P9 wasn't the result we wanted, but somehow still ended up winning this weekend.

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username1 HE'S SOOOO

username2 LOST THE RACE BUT GOT THE GIRL??

lando mate that's actually smooth

└ oscarpiastri Learned from the best

mclaren We'll take this kind of victory too 🧡

username3 THE THIRD PICTURE IM SOBBING

username4 mans really said forget p9 i got the girl

username5 HE'S SO BOYFRIEND WE'RE SO BACK

nicolepiastri ❤️

username6 OSCAR PIASTRI THE MAN THAT YOU ARE

username7 oscar's guide to get back with your ex with just ten simple steps

sabrinacarpenter FINALLY !!! OUR GIRL CAN STOP MOPING AROUND

└ chappellroan now we need oscar's friend to grow some balls too

└ oscarpiastri @/lando

└ lando well...

└ username1 OMFG LANDO AND SABRINA??

└ username2 WHAT JUST HAPPENED

username8 I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL LIFE

yourinstagram 🥺🥺 i love you

[xazse]

please can i request hybrid kitten reader being taken in by snow leopard Satoru and panther Suguru. could be something like they both assimilated into regular society while living together and they found reader fending for themselves on the street after being abandoned and kicked out by their owner for misbehaving and being mischievous (she's just playful and needs company it was the owner's fault for leaving her alone at home all the time). could you include brat taming and a threesome between them?

its my first time requesting i love your hybrid works sm 🫶🏻 it scratches an itch i didnt know i had and i even read the ones im not into

Warnings: Hybrids + BratTaming + threesome + smut + manhandling + pussy-spanking + crying + orgasm denial + cumming inside + mentions of pregnancy + SatoSugu are a bit mean in this one. + hybrids

Pairings: CatHybrid!Reader x SnowLeopard!Satoru x PantherHybrid!Suguru

Notes: I hope you enjoy! I apologize for this taking so long! I had fun writing this 😈 I’m so happy to be your first request I really do hope you see this! Please give me a message or something if you do!!

You didn’t expect to be picked up one day, showered, clothed and fed till it looked like your stomach could pop out but it had happened. You went from trudging down the street in dirty garments garnering dirty looks from humans who didn’t understand your predicament, you hated the way they looked at you like you were gum on their shoe. A disgusting spec on the world.

It wasn’t until you met Suguru who found you digging through a trash can in some random alleyway, it was like an angel extending its hand, A very beautiful one, one who probably knew the hardships you had suffered though.

He had listened to your story in that alleyway, spared you his ear and eyes with not a hint of malice or some ulterior motive.

He also shared his story of being a “predator” in this unfair unbalanced world, Suguru held himself in such a way that you couldn’t believe people had even thought he was anything but the kindest man to grace this earth.

Satoru you learn, has his ups and downs but besides he also treated with the utmost respect and care, taking care of you in his own funny ways. Satoru being a Leopard made things easier for you they’re usually upbeat in some way so it wasn’t hard for you to get comfortable in their warm home.

You adjusted very well to the both of them, adapted to their lives and sunk into their company. They think it worked a little too well.

Suguru had asked you to do something very simple, something small, he never really asks you to do much around the house so he doesn’t think anything of it, what he doesn’t expect is you huffing under your breath and waving him off, simply telling him to “get Satoru to do it.” He’s stunned where he stands in the kitchen.

The next issue arises when you’re playing with Satoru, something you do on the regular because you know how much he loves the chase. When he pins you down you take the opportunity to bite him, you’ve already had Suguru and Satoru talk to you about your biting habits, so you know you’re not meant to do that, Satoru is the one left staring at the glaring mark on his arm and when he tries to scold you, you’re already walking into your shared bedroom and plopping on that game. Not even bothering with an apology.

You destroy expensive vases, plates all in the name of fun, scolding you and telling you to stop doesn’t work anymore. It just seems to make your behavior even more annoying.

Suguru is the more calmer one between him and Satoru, he had let the biting incident go rather easily, but Suguru hadn’t, he thinks he’s the calm and level headed one but apparently not. He comes home from a stressful exhausting day he wants to do nothing more than cuddle up with you and Satoru in bed.

When hes a few steps into the apartment, he’s greeted by his couches, his expensive personally manufactured couches scratched up, not light scratches either those were made there with a bad intent, and he sees you laying on that same couch, facing the ceiling, sleeping without a care in the world, he’s fucking livid.

He drops his office gear and beelines straight for the couch, straight for you, he yanks you off of his couch and a sleepy you is extremely confused.

He doesn’t spare you any words, all you see is his broad back dragging you to your shared bedroom, he throws you down in the middle of the bed with a thud and now do you get to see his angry expression, there’s not an ounce of forgiveness in there, it burns red. You know what you’ve done and yet all you want to do is push him further.

You tiptoe over that already small line and innocently ask him what’s got him so worked up.

Satoru unlocks the door and is greeted by noises, noises he can’t quite makeout yet but stepping his clothed foot further into the home he senses it’s you, he makes his way to the bedroom and slowly opens the door.

It’s like it’s straight from a porno, you’re spread out on the bed in all your glory: naked and covered in a light sheen of sweat. Suguru is sat leaned against the headboard as he abuses your poor cunt with a dildo, you’re holding onto his thick arm begging him to slow down just a little, your eyes are filled to the brim with tears and tears that are already dried up on your face.

“s’too much guru… ple-“ you can’t even finish your plead for release because Suguru is slamming the dildo right against your spot directly. Satoru can see bite marks decorating Suguru’s arms, you’ve been uselessly doing that to no avail. Still acting so bratty even during your punishment.

You see Satoru and try to call out for him in the sweetest voice you can muster, you know the leopard has a soft spot for you but in this moment it goes in one ear and out the other. Suguru spanks your swollen clit and scolds you for even thinking Satoru could help you.

Suguru doesn’t notice but Satoru sees the way your cute hole clenches, oh?

You’ve clearly been waiting for one of them to break and Suguru was the first to fold.

Satoru can no longer stare, he’s been grabbing and pawing with his cock ever since he’d seen the way your pussy swallows the dildo with not much fight. The way your wet cunt is practically soaking and dripping onto the bed.

He makes his way towards the bed, discarding his clothes on the way till he’s only in his boxers, his ears stand at full attention, listening to every squelch and nasty noise you and your pussy make.

He knows in the end you probably want cock but looking at an ever so serious Suguru he knows that’s not what you will be getting tonight, so Satoru latches onto your nipples, swirling the buds in his mouth, popping off of them just to slurp them right back into his mouth.

He swirls his long fingers around your clit, furthering your torture.

It’s not until about three hours later, you cockdrunk on the two cocks that sit nicely in your pussy, it wasn’t easy but you’d find it, you’d expected to be praised for such an achievement but nothing from either man had come out, their poor kitty left mewling in pleasure but no release just yet.

You beg to just cum once, just once but they ignore you, they chase their orgasms multiple times that night, filling your already full cunt with more of them, potentially even their little babies, that should settle you down for a while.

[mcyt-n-stuff]

in wilbur’s imagination…

wilbur stood stiffly, unkindly—across from dream, staring into his smile—the smile that was ever present when he hurt his tommy under that mask.

“hello, dream.” he said, smiling.

dream sat upright almost immediately and pulled himself up, “wilbur? how’d you get in here?” he asked, his voice faltering for a moment as he exclaimed wilbur’s name, but he quickly recovered.

wilbur could only imagine the utter shock etched on dreams face under that smile. that mask.

“oh-i- you know, i have my ways,” wilbur took a moment to chuckle, merely at the audacity of dream. his audacity to breathe—his audacity to talk—his audacity to live after hurting his tommy.

“i- i was just-…it’s so-so good to see you again, man. i- i- thank you, for everything you did. for reviving me, giving me this new lease on life…” wilbur said softly, idly twirling the redstone torch in his hand.

a bead of sweat ran down dreams face.

“a-and you’ve come to repay the favor.” right? dream said asked.

“yeah…,” wilbur took a step closer, “you could say that. i-i just- i actually just got away from talking with them,”

a cold shiver ran through dream.

as cold as the caldron that held the very water he drank.

as cold as the death glare wilbur started giving him at the very moment he walked in the room.

“with tommy.”

“I-i mean, you remember- you remember tommy. you haven’t been in here long enough to forget tommy,”

wilbur would have knocked dream out if he had forgotten tommy among the other things he did, but he held back, his grip tighting on the torch in his hand.

he held back only because he knew the next few minutes would be worth it.

so, so worth it.

“have you?” wilbur mused. “i mean-”

“oh, no. i remember tommy.” dream took a careful step back, making the mistake of daring to speak spitefully to wilbur.

“yeah? you remember everything?” wilbur stepped closer.

“oh yeah, I remember everything,” dream said, the smile on his mask seeming more and more sadistic and taunting to wilbur by the second.

“he told me about the exile.” wilbur said somberly.

wilbur said angrily.

wilbur said bitterly.

he paced around the small, desolate, tension-filled box that encaged dream.

it was pitiful.

but wilbur was not the kind who pitied.

he was not the kind to show mercy.

the kind who pitied was ghostbur.

but it would seem ghostbur wasn’t around anymore.

“he told me…about logstedshire. about- about the party…and, most importantly,”

wilbur stoped pacing, holding up the torch in his hands, staring at it fondly.

“about that tower, dream. and the pit-”

“fond memories.” dream muttered. dream interrupted.“fond memories.”

those words were one of dream’s worst that could ever possibly come out of his mouth- specifically the first,

wilbur’s head snapped up.

“what did you say?”

dream chuckled. “those were some fond memories, wilbur.”

and those words were dreams second worst.

wilbur merely laughed, taking a single tnt out of the many he had in his inventory, and placing the block onto the counter that separated this monster from wilbur.

“okay,”

“that’s what i thought you said.”

he paused savoring the scene of dream backing up fearfully, then placed his torch.

“DREAM.”

“wha-what are you doing-” dream exclaimed dreadfully.

“I only have a few moments-”

the tnt exploded with a hiss, blinding both of them for a moment, and leaving dream’s mask chipped, one frightful eye of dream’s now exposed- a green eye the color of acid that held fear instead of his usually malice.

for the first time in a long while, dream felt fear.

wilbur felt alive.

he pushed himself up from where he had been knocked back by the explosion, immediately connecting his fist, his calloused hard fist- into dreams face.

“SO PLEASE, GRANT ME THIS RESPITE-”

wilbur pushed and punched dream as hard as he could, knocking him into the water.

“STOP WILBUR-” dream pleaded, barely audible, desperately trying to push wilbur away and swim to the surface.

“DREAM. THIS IS THE END FOR YOU!” wilbur roared.

several minutes later, dream was dead, his body surrounded by his own blood.

wilbur hadn’t bothered to clear up the mess dream had made.

wilbur’s words that he had said as Dream clung onto him for dear life echoed just as he left the room, slathered in blood and water dripping down from his boots,

“YOU ARE SCUM,” wilbur kicked dream’s hand off of him, his eyes burning with resentment that he didn’t know he had until afterward.

“YOU ARE SCUM BENEATH MY FOOT!”

wilbur killed him again.

and again.

and again.

and the fire in his eyes dimmed.

the burning resentment left, the fire from it released from that tnt block, both physically and mentally.

he had killed dream, though not forever, he knew.

what wilbur didn’t know, though, was that he, too, had become scum.

when it dawned on you

[keelt9]

RED VALENTINE

Part II // Masterlist

A/N: Kind of excited to write this, it's been a while since I wrote about Max, but yeah…RB is out of my mind, my tolerance and all. 🙄 (Proceeds taking a long breath) 

However I believe I'm finding a space to write about him, so let's see how it works.🤫

Max loves the adrenaline, everyone knows that. Every time the season ends, he's back in a car, whatever the type is; with a suit race driving fast as hell, as his blood runs all over his body and his heartbeats increase.

Or he's in a mountain covered in snow as he goes down feeling the cold air all over his face and his legs tighten for the effort he does for being stable in his snowboard.

Maybe in the middle of the sea in his fancy yacht with the strong waves moving it one side to the other, as he keeps lying on the prow letting the soft waves touch his fingers.

In his SIM, hours and hours, playing all types of games, losing his mind from time to time as he grips the wheel or the keys almost turning in part of his fingers, typing fast as he can, even when in the stream are laughing about his T-Rex typing, screaming out loud, letting more than one F word come out of his mouth.

He simply loves it.

But when he met her, he felt terrified to even think about it.

Arriving at her home after a long season as all the lights are off and the visible gold dust line is on the floor only means one thing, she's probably working covered in sand as she's smiling from side to side of her face.

"I told you!" Max hears her screaming as a varied sound at different volumes gets through the door too. "I...Fuck."

A loud thud probably her head against a wall of the wardrobe makes him wait.

"Ok, I'll do that, see you tomorrow morning ok?" She giggles as Max perks over the door of her bedroom.

She's fighting with her boots, her cellphone between her shoulder and her cheek, jumping around to take out the last one of them; instead of sitting and doing it calmly.

She let her phone fall over the bed leaving the last boot next to the other, as her hands went to her knees, a sign that she's tired but at the top of her emotions. 

Max scoffs. "The bed isn't lava, you know?"

Y/N lifts her head, hearing the voice of Max, with bright eyes and her heart beating faster.

"Max!" She runs jumping as Max catches her in the air. "God! What day is it?"

She watches her calendar in her door, the number 13 is the one that follows the other circle ones; 13 crossed with an orange line with a tiny heart in the corner…He is supposed to come on this day.

She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Sorry! I totally forgot."

Max smirks. "How excited are you?”

Y/N thinks before a wide smile appears in her face, almost that big as the one she has everytime they are together. "There were a couple of mummies next to the camera!" She tightens her legs around his torso. "I suspect that but Jesus! Seeing it is... Mind-blowing!"

Max giggles, taking out a big trace of sand and sweat in her forehead.

"Oh sorry, I was about to take a shower." She tries to go down but Max grips his hold around her.

"Good! I was thinking about it too." Max stops in the frame of the door from the bathroom. "Hey! I wouldn't mind a kiss."

Y/N leans capturing his lips in a demanding kiss that makes Max press her between him and the door. That's how she’s been held every time he goes to her, wanting to consume her in every possible way.

She splits seeing Max with his mind cloud but a smirk on his face.

"I really need a shower." Max swings with her right to the bath after a conclusive nod.

He needs one too...with her.

Still, mornings don't change, by the time Max gets down she is already moving around packing her things as she is having her breakfast, just sitting when she feels dizzy from spinning and spinning to pick up things.

"Max!" She met him in the living room, and a half of a banana in her left hand.

His hair tossed in all directions rubbing his left eye, half asleep half awake. Y/N give him a kiss on his lips, yes, she tastes apple juice and a banana.

"I'm about to leave, but I'll be back for dinner." She packs her laptop. "So, rest, sleep and make sure to find a nice place to have dinner, ok?"

Max smirks, here or in another part of the world, is her special key; making him feel love with small acts. This time she hugs him tight as she takes out her bag and a polaroid.

Where Max can notice her sitting with the sun right to her face and IPad on her legs, observing one race. In the background a clear sky with nothing in front. 

She must be in some place so fucking high from the ground.

"I'll miss you, you know that?" Max wants to play around a little bit before letting her go.

"I miss you like a crazy lifje but I think you miss those mummies more." She smacks his chest, he deserves that.

The horn of the car pointed her time to go.

"I got to go." She kisses Max one more time. "Love you babe."

Max pulls her for a second kiss, whispering to her lips. "I love you too, take care please."

Y/N nods, grabbing her backpack and hat, waving her hand before closing the door.

He perks through the curtains, and she knows that as every time she leaves first; taking her time to turn around and wink at him leaving him with a buzz in his heart. In the kitchen, Max feels his heart beat like crazy, a full breakfast and a love card.

 >Love you.

And the shade of lipstick in the corner.

It was a random event for a fancy sponsor in Egypt 3 years ago. Max was driving along one of the historic zones when he found her sitting covered in a grey dust next to the road. He was scared of something happening to her, he parked or he tried to; break dry leaving half of his wheels on the concrete running to see if she's fine.

What he never expects is her smile bright as she shakes her head.

"Fine? I'm over the clouds!" She raises her hands for layback on the sand, sighing before starting to giggle. "A altar to Mut, a fucking altar."

That day he found an archeologist, who found what was an altar in almost perfect state, one of the goodness of Egypt. She was sitting next to the road because she was so excited that the only thing she could feel makes her calm down was walking until her legs couldn't take another step, obliging her to sit and wait for her team to pick her up, but they didn't or they couldn't reach her. Instead a cute Dutch guy offered to take her whatever she needed, turning a small conversation next to a road in a 2 year relationship.

Yes, Max loves the adrenaline until he isn't the one who's walking around in an ancient zone probably meters down the ground, with things unknown that could break, fall or be a trap: fun fact that person it's the girl who loves like no one in the world. 

In that moment Max hates the adrenaline that runs all over his body.

Both of them knew it, he could fake trying to try to sleep and rest but after a 5 hours of waiting, walking side to side of the house, in a lame attempt to play, he parked in the reserve area where all the archaeologists and people who worked there did.

"Max, hey, congratulations!" Y/N boss said as Max walks putting all the things he needs, helmet, flashlight and his neon vest.

Max's smile accepted the high five and the quick hug. "Thanks, I'm sorry if I..."

Her boss shook his head. "Come on Max, it's kind of freak me out knowing you here, still anywhere around." 

Everyone knows who Y/N’s boyfriend is, the first time they met him more than one let the helmets fall from their hands with time Max turned into a VIP guest, moving around wherever they worked. 

Not only because he's curious but also because he's such a worry-slash-protector boyfriend of his girl.

"You know I can't be calm when I'm with her." He shakes his head.

"Don't worry Max." He takes out his cigarette and lights it. "All straight, in 40 meters, you can start to see the movement of people.”

Max nods, high five with him before walking among monumental "building" flanks for massive figures.

Her boss is right; a couple of meters inside he could start to see people covered in dust and sand with the same outfit as him, walking around with papers, cameras, bottles of water and tools.

One by one they take their time to greet the world wide champion as he asks where he could find Y/N; all giggling making his smile drops and answers.

"Somewhere under the ground."

Yes, he hates that type of answer.

Rilion laughs the moment he turns around finding a breathless F1 driver running inside of a dark room, where lights and multiple computers are carefully placed. 

"Well, it takes you..." Rilion sees his watch. "Almost 4 hours to come, that's a new record for you." Max rolls his eyes as he greets Rilion 

Rilion is the best friend of Y/N, they met in the last semester of collage, by a gift of destiny they get working together and after a jealousy session the first time he met him; a roasting but nice friendship born between them too.

"Where..." Rilion interrupts his question pointing to the screen in front of him and the life line knot around a solid structure.

Max feels his heart drops, a life line means she's so, so, under the ground.

"Rilion, omg! Can you see it?" Her voice through the radio makes Rilion and Max looks at the screen.

Max simply couldn't decipher what is, but Rilion does for the way he claps and people watching the other screens to high five with each other.

"What am I seeing?" Max asks, narrowing his eyes as Rilion bluffs.

"That..." He points to what seems like a strange box cover in dust. "Means Y/N, she's right, our mummified friend is an important general."

He gets it, it's the grave of such an important general of some time in history.

"Simply lovely Y/N, be careful, ok? You and Rahul have another..." He sees time they have been under the ground. "Another hour and you must come out, got it?"

The oxygen is not a problem, what is a problem it's the pressure of being under the ground in a place that has been closed for millions of years.

"Ok." Y/N scoffs. "Say Max stop pressing his face between his fingers." Y/N just need to hear the "Simply lovely " phrase to be aware Max is somewhere around.

When Rilion turns he can see Max Verstappen's face pressed between his thumb and his pointing finger.

Max scoffs, letting go of his hand, he is terrified and that's a sign. 

"Tell her to take care." Rilon laughs, who in the world would tell, a guy who drives at more than 200 km per hour is terrified about his girlfriend doing one of the safest activities, nowadays.

"He said to take care." Y/N camera of her helmet and chests show she's making a heart sing.

Yes, she can hear him, but if he knows, he will keep talking and hissing every step she takes.

"Fuck! She's so..."  Rilion raises his finger, moving the chair to the other screen.

"Careful Verstappen, careful. More than one wants to be there." He raises a long stick from a lollipop. "She won for taking out the shortest." 

Max smirks, she's a clever girl.

"Unbelievable, she's so unbelievably." Max patted his shoulder taking a seat in a chair in the corner.

Rilion gives him a heart shaped lollipop. "Sorry you have to spend the day here." 

Max takes it by clicking his tongue. "In her defence, we expected to find our friend in a couple of days, but we took the right paths."

"I can't believe the dead guy is the lucky one." Max takes the wrapping from the candy. "He's with my girlfriend on Valentine's Day."

Rilion laughs hard, Max is such a hilarious guy, and playing with him is funnier.

“If you're unlucky, she probably would come out before going back one more time.” Max bites the lollipop. “Have you ever been dumped on Valentine's Day?”

[pythonmoth]

cw: suicidal and homicidal thoughts. johnny is jealous and inconsistent. brief infantilization by tf141. reader is angry and pissed. author is projecting their own likes, sorry. pretty chill update. johnny is a simp loser.

primary simon x f!reader. poly tf141.

First | Last | Next

He wants the world to eat him alive, to swallow him and to forever keep him down underground so he never makes a single mistake in front of you ever again. To see you running away in panic because of him is something he will probably never recover from. He barely has the time to grimace when he hears you rushing away, someone right behind you; he just assumes it's Simon.

Johnny decides to just take a moment to clean up before going after you as well, when he hears someone getting into the kitchen. He looks up, expecting the Capt'n to be here to scold him, but when he sees Simon instead, he raises an eyebrow.

"Ah, it's you. I tripped" Johnny grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You hurt yourself".

"Just a tiny cut, 's nothing. Where did she go?" Johnny questions, bringing his thumb to his mouth, licking the drop of blood clean.

"I don't know. Practically bolted when you dropped the plate".

Johnny stares at him with slowly growing irritation. "And what are you doing here? I must've scared her" he sighs, standing up. "Where to?"

"Garrick already went after her".

"So?"

"They're getting along. A lot".

Johnny blinks again.

Smack.

"What the fuck? What was that for now?" Simon growls out, rubbing his head. Johnny shakes his head, still expecting an answer. Simon sighs. "Over there. Come on".

Simon guides him, their feet barely making any noise, used to being quiet and, also, because they don't want to spook you any longer. When Johnny sees, however, you're… being taken care of, he curses quietly. Gaz is cupping your cheeks, kissing you. And he feels like he just died inside a little bit.

When the Lieutenant doesn't move, seemingly not breathing, he grips his arm, whispering to him to move. They can't just invade your privacy like this, especially not when it's clear they aren't needed.

At least, Johnny knows so now.

He can't manage to take Simon with him so he walks away alone, his eye twitching in annoyance. Really, he doesn't mind you're with Gaz; they all know what's happening between the whole team, and it's not a secret they've very little boundaries. It was gonna happen one way or another, so that's really not the problem. Sure, he's pissed and a little jealous, but the problem is that he is not there.

He can't hold you in his arms and protect you from the panic if he's the reason for it, if Simon is the reason for it. He's aware of that, he's just fucking pissed. Pissed at himself, pissed at the Capt'n, pissed at the bastard who framed you and fucking pissed at the higher ups. If he could, if he's given a single opportunity, he won't hesitate to grab his rifle and smack them with the heel so hard that their noses cave in so he can watch them choke in their own blood.

For now, though, he goes sit in the living room, watching as the Capt'n snores, the movie still rolling in the back, his mind a goddamn mess. He can't stop his mind from going back to you crying in Gaz arms and him kissing you like that. Again, he's jealous for so many reasons. It's just… odd.

You've never been interested in Gaz, as far as he knows, and Simon looked so surprised that it's obvious you didn't tell him anything either. You're supposed to talk about those things! He can't blame you, he obviously understands why this connection is happening right now, but—

He barely registers Simon's grabbing his shoulder and pushing him out of your house until he's inside of the car, his mind locking away his own fear of scaring you now that he's out of your space, and allows himself to be pissed at the whole situation with Gaz.

Hell, if you talked to Simon about him, why couldn't you do the same thing with them?

Simon drives them away, clearly needing a moment. Johnny's hand is shaking over his knee, and only when Simon stops the car in a random parking lot, does he say anything.

"I'm gonna kill him" he says, not really meaning it. He does want to punch him, though.

"No, you won't".

"So what? We say nothing? We can't even fucking look at her and she's—"

"That's none of our business now" Simon snaps, getting out of the car. Johnny follows right away, both of the doors snapping shut harshly enough to echo in the parking lot.

"You can't possibly be okay with that" Johnny groans, tugging on his hair as he starts pacing next to the car. "Fuck that!"

Simon sighs, lifting his mask just enough to rub on his face. "Like hell I am, Johnny. We don't have the face to call them out on it. We've no right to be jealous".

"And why the hell not? She's ours, not his. Like hell I'm sitting here doing nothing".

That makes Simon's eye twitch, but he fights hard to ignore it. "She's not, Johnny" he reminds him, crossing his arms. "Not anymore. She was clear about it".

His heart pounding in his chest, denial burning deep in his core, Johnny marches up in front of Simon with a snarl, gripping the Lieutenant’s collar. "We made a huge mistake, aye. But I thought we were okay now. We've been talking, she's been great. Why she suddenly freaked out is what I just can't understand".

He remembers, just like Simon, falling asleep to your breathing, to your snoring, to your shuffling in the bed. Even if it was through the phone, it had meant something. Why is it that now—

Simon smacks his hand away. "Stop that. Maybe it was easier on the phone. You saw how she reacted when you dropped the plate".

"Ah. So it's my fault then? It started ever since she saw your fucking mask" Johnny snaps. Immediately, he regrets it. He knows it's not fair. Not fair on him, not fair on Simon and definitely not fair on you. It's like he just can't think about what he's saying.

"Calm the fuck down, Johnny. It's our fault she's like that. We've enough shame and guilt to share so don't come and dump it all on me" Simon states, firm. His tone might shake a little, and Johnny wants to cry, but his mind is spinning with so much guilt that he can't focus. "We went through this with Price. We knew it'd take time".

"Aye! I know that! But why him? And why are you so awfully calm about this?" Johnny snaps at him, gripping his collar again. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're giving up on it. On us".

Simon's shoulders slump, looking at him in a terrible, heavy silence. There's no need for words. Simon doesn't stop him as Johnny grips his tshirt and pins him against the car, looking like he's only bracing himself for an angry punch or a beat up.

"You can't be serious" Johnny snaps again, his hands shaking where he's holding Simon, his own eyes burning with unshed tears, his throat closing up. "Where does that leave us?"

"That leaves us wherever she wants us to be" Simon mumbles, a hand coming up to rest on his nape, gripping him tight, seemingly uncaring of how aggressive Johnny feels. "You get that, don't you? We hurt her, Johnny. We're lucky she wants to talk to us at all".

That does it for him.

Unable to control it, he lets the regret, the pain, and his heartbreak take over, and finally bursts into tears, head falling against Simon's chest as his body breaks, sobbing. He knows he's being unfair, he knows he should be just wanting you to be happy and to enjoy yourself, even if it isn't with them. He knows. He's just… so hurt. He feels like he's being thrown away like an unfitting piece in the puzzle you're slowly building again, along with Simon. He's scared they won't be accepted back, afraid they’ll no longer be necessary in your life.

He doesn't want to be the only one, at all, he just wants to be there for you, too.

A while later, his body finally goes slack after crying so much, and Johnny wipes his face clean, looking up at Simon. Wordlessly, the Lieutenant presses a comforting, deep kiss to his lips before he slips his mask on again, sighing. "Well. Let's take a little drive before going back".

"This fucking sucks" Johnny mumbles, absolutely defeated. He can't keep on denying the situation, and he just… has to accept that this is what it is.

"Very much so".

"I still wanna punch him".

"I know".

Johnny hesitates, but he doesn't hold it back. "I'm also kinda jealous".

"I know" Simon grumbles quietly, his eye twitching behind the mask. Johnny can truly understand the feeling.

"We should drive off a cliff and die".

"Noted".

In the end, they just sit inside of the car for a while, both of them silently going through the whole situation. Johnny's mind is silent for once, as if he had needed a good sobbing session to ease himself into no longer denying the consequences.

The drive back to your home is quiet, but it feels... peaceful. Johnny's shoulders are relaxed, even if he feels himself snarling slightly as he thinks of Gaz. It's just great, but… he's got no right to question you.

So when they're back, Gaz’ lips split in a bright grin as you place gummy bears all over Price's face, they both can't help but smile at them, hearts full.

You seem happy.

You look up at them, your eyes wide. This time, however, you're not afraid. You raise a hand and motion them to be quiet and come over, Gaz handing them the whipped cream.

This is enough, Johnny thinks. He gets to see you smile, enjoy yourself, even if he isn't allowed to be there with you like Gaz is.

Deep down, he can't be upset.

After the Capt'n uses you as his personal napkin for being a brat, your high pitched screeches of delight making his heart pound, you invite them to sleep over. And you're really serious about it. He doesn't even mind it when you hand them those stupid pink pajamas you bought them for your 5th anniversary with the team; they “forgot” about them every time they came over, so they've never truly left your house. Now, however, Johnny will personally skin alive anyone who dares denying you this little thing. Fortunately, they just sigh and change.

Blankets over the carpet, over the couch, bodies a lot closer than before, the pink of the pajamas actually look pretty good when illuminated only by the movie. Johnny doesn't even know why you chose them. They're… ponies. One has wings. Why do they have such crazy blowouts and why does the rainbow one look like a lesbian?

Of course, they want you to feel comfortable, so when it comes down to choosing the movie, they all turn to you, but Johnny isn't sure he likes that grin.

Sure enough, more ponies.

“That's a mustang, and he's a great horse so mind your manners” you scold him when he complains, handing him the popcorn. He wouldn't mind watching ten hours of paint drying if you're willing to talk to him, even if it's to call him an idiot.

As the movie slowly comes to the end, Johnny sees the Capt'n wiping his tears in silence, even Simon's eyes are a little shiny, and cheeky, annoying-as-hell Gaz? He's sobbing, muffling his mouth with a hand. You're no better, your bottom lip trembling as fat tears stream down your cheeks.

“It's just a movie” Johnny sighs, crossing his arms.

The rest do not hold back their retorts at all, calling him hypocritical and heartless. Even Simon doesn't back him up, pointing at his face.

“We can see the tear streaks. You ain't fooling anybody”.

“It's the allergies!” Johnny yells over their loud voices, shamelessly reaching up to wipe his face.

That gets a loud laugh from you, and that's enough for him. Johnny doesn't mind being the target of their teasing, as long as you're part of it.

As they slowly settle down, munching on crisps and some baking goods you made a few days ago, the Capt'n asks what everyone's been dreading to mention. The Question.

Johnny almost throws a pillow his way, but he swallows thickly and discreetly places a hand over Simon's tense thigh, all of them waiting.

“Will you be changing teams?” the Capt'n questions, his shoulders forcefully relaxed, his mouth stuffed with a creamy tart. Johnny can see how hard he's trying to be calm, not wanting to force an answer out of you. “I can… well, recommend a few other teams. Or I can show you a few options, I just need a few days to go over the files”.

You wave a dismissive hand, shaking your head. Everyone's heads whip in your direction, eyes widening slightly in surprise. “Listen, I know… I know what I said, but I already know how we all work, and I'm already comfortable with you. Starting over, with the weight of the reason why I would be changing teams… I don't want that”.

“What did your therapist say?” Simon asks directly, his eyes firm on yours. “Did you discuss it with them?”

“I did. She advised me against it, but… I think I can handle it. Maybe it's gonna take a little while, but—”

“What if it's too much? Trust is very important, and we… we can't blame you for not trusting us. Look, maybe you should reconsider it” Johnny interrupts you, his chest tight. He doesn't want you to leave, but if you get hurt because you can't trust them and accidentally do something to put you in danger… he'd rather avoid that. “It's an important decision”.

“I understand that” you insist, your left eye twitching a little. “I'm aware it could be difficult if I panic again. That's why I'm in therapy, after all, so I can–”

“Therapy can only help so much, anyway. We can train together, and then see if you're feeling up for it. If not, I can always check the files” the Capt'n interrupts you, mostly talking to himself, his lips pursed in thought.

“Besides, the higher ups probably won't want anybody talking about this. Maybe they won't even let you change teams at all” Gaz adds, rubbing his cheek.

“That's why I'm trying to–”

“If they don't let her change teams, we could always call them out on their bullshit” Simon huffs, crossing his arms, now focused on the rest of the men. “What are they gonna do? Kill us, send us away? People will talk”.

“Aye. We can always do it ourselves after all”.

"Good idea. We could—"

“Enough!” you snap, making them all turn to you at your outburst. "I've been with you idiots for nine years! Do you seriously want me to leave?”

“No!” Johnny shrieks, alarmed. The rest shake their heads, Simon's hand halfway to rest on your arm, as if wanting to sooth you, but you pull your arm away.

“Then stop questioning me, goddamn it! I'm not a child, alright?” your voice raises, your eye still twitching. "And I'm not dumb, you big, stupid idiots".

For a moment, everyone's silent.

"You're right" the Capt'n says first, his cheeks a little bright for being yelled at. He's probably not used to that, not by those who aren't his superiors. Right now, he's not just the Capt'n, but also John, anyway. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to question your decisions, I'm just... worried".

"And I appreciate that" you grunt, rubbing your forehead roughly. "I just... stop trying to make this decision for me".

With your words now deep in their hearts, they all go quiet for a long moment, awkwardly looking anywhere but in your direction.

Johnny is incredibly happy about it.

He knows it's selfish and awful of him to be happy you want to stay with them, but he also knows it will probably be difficult at first, especially when you see them with their uniforms again. He wants to help, to be there.

Eventually, they all fall in a comfortable conversation again, Johnny pressed against the armrest of the couch, you squeezed between him and Simon —much to his surprise and contentment—. Gaz and the Capt'n are bickering over something Johnny doesn't really catch as they sit on the blankets in front of them. He's just so aware of you being next to him, willingly, that nothing else matters for now.

At some point, he sees you yawning.

It doesn't take long for you to excuse yourself, leaving them to get comfortable in the guest room. Johnny decides not to focus on Gaz and you being in this room just a few hours ago. With a little look in Gaz’ direction, you give them your goodnights and walk up the stairs.

They're sharing the bed, since it's easier and better than to sleep on the floor. Still wearing those ridiculous pink pajamas —they are very comfortable, if you ask him—, they set their bags filled with clean clothes on the side and start getting ready to sleep. Of course, that doesn't happen right away.

The Capt'n scrolls down his phone, resting against the headboard, and when Johnny and Simon get lost in their conversation, they both notice Gaz discreetly leaves the room. Simon throws a little look his way, and Johnny can only nod slightly. Reaching out to grab the man's hand, he just keeps on talking, distracting both of them.

Despite looking fully focused on his phone, Johnny can tell the Capt'n is listening and very much alert, because everytime they both complain about anything, and everytime Simon hums instead of giving him a real answer, the Capt'n's lips curl in a very subtle smile.

The door to your room gently creaks open, two dark eyes staring at you. You grin from your bathroom, your face white and soapy as you wash it with your fingertips, foam up to your hairline and down your throat.

“Come on in. I’m almost done” you say, leaning down to rinse your face. With closed eyes, you hear as Gaz’ moves over to your bed, laying down on it with a low groan, his back cracking.

As you go on with your skincare, carefully massaging your skin, Gaz lays there, watching the video that’s playing on your tv, even if you know he doesn’t understand a single word. You take your time, content to just let him hang out with you. His eyes leave the screen when you get closer, opening his arms for you, like all those months back in the clinic.

With a mischievous grin, you drop all your body weight on him with the intention of making him groan, but he only wraps his arms around you and nuzzles into your neck, nearly flipping you onto your back, mumbling something about how nice you smell. Gaz pulls back just enough to cup your cheeks, smelling the watermelon lip balm on your lips, studying how the creams you used just now make your face look shiny. He doesn’t tell you, but your eyebrows are also a little funny looking, brushed in many directions, but Gaz does reach up and uses his thumb to brush them back in place.

With no need for words, he just curls around you, his nose buried deep in your neck as he stretches, an arm comfortably sneaking under the pillow. That’s when he pulls back and raises an eyebrow at you, lifting the pillow under his head.

“What—” he grunts, incredibly amused, as he looks down at the knife that’s not-so-safely hidden.

With a grin, you shift and reach down between the headboard and the mattress, showing him another big knife that’s hidden there. You aren’t allowed guns until the psychologist says it is okay, so knives it is. Gaz only rolls his eyes and wraps his arm around you again. “Fair, I suppose” he mumbles, burying himself in your neck again.

You just let him, caressing his arms and enjoying the closeness until he falls asleep. He looks peaceful and content, and you really, really want to sleep next to him, but your mind is working a little too much, so you slowly get up the bed, quietly walking around the room, hoping it will tire you again.

It’s something that often happens to you. You’re tired and sleepy, until you’re in bed and then you can’t sleep for hours and hours on end.

You stare at the paintings you’ve gotten, the ones you painted yourself. Looking a little to the left, you can see the music albums you got when you were in your early twenties, now mostly a good memory, and something nice to listen to when you’re feeling low. As you get closer to your bookshelf, you pick a random book, vaguely remembering how many times you’ve read it in the past.

Lost in thoughts you can’t even begin to understand and organize, you turn to the guitar in the corner of the room. It’s been there for over ten years, and you never learned how to play it. With a soft huff of amusement, you walk over to your desk, looking down at the pictures you have there. Your parents, your siblings, the team, and the girls… you didn’t even say goodbye. You hope they aren’t so mad they weren’t invited today. You make a mental note to contact them after the guys leave.

Besides, Simon, Johnny and Gaz aren’t your friends. Not really, at least. And Price is basically like your dad when you’re around him, even if he’s fun to talk to, and reliable.

You reach out to take one of the pictures in your hands. A simple black frame, Johnny and Simon on either side of you, all of you wearing your uniforms, Simon’s mask in place. The sight of the mask makes your eye twitch, but it’s nothing too bad.

Setting the frame down, your thoughts become a little more overwhelming, memories of the whole team chatting by the mess hall, munching down on stale bread and days-old tea that made Simon scowl. You grin as you remember Johnny sprinting after you when you took his clothes from the showers a couple years ago, giving the soldiers a whole show by running entirely naked, only to slip and end face first against a wall. He had thrown you into the showers with your uniform, messing with your already rusty hair. Really, you had it coming. You couldn’t even be mad.

Your shoulders slumping, you turn to Gaz.

Your feelings for him have been changing for a while now. The first kiss was innocent, calm, and now, you couldn’t lie to yourself. It isn’t in your plans to deny yourself a true connection, but you had been a little hesitant, because of Johnny, because of… Simon.

You miss him. Dearly. Sometimes it feels like your heart can’t take it, like you’re dying every time you aren’t in his arms, but the panic hasn’t left. The fear is small, less… destructive and loud, but still there, regardless. You’re aware they will never hurt you again, not like that, not after everything, not with the knowledge that they were manipulated once. You know they will forever doubt the higher ups, even Price. That doesn’t mean your fear is irrational.

That doesn’t mean it makes them less guilty.

For months, you’ve wished it’s all over. It wasn’t entirely difficult for you to understand and, in your heart, you’ve already forgiven them, but… forget? That will never be possible, and you’re aware. Perhaps hugging Simon will never feel the same, but you also haven’t given yourself the time to savour it again.

Lost in thought, who knows for how long, you accidentally hit the chair with your toes, hissing loud enough that it startles Gaz awake. He sits up in alarm, but when he realizes you’re physically okay, he stretches and calmly walks over to you, smiling when you give him an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry I woke you up” you hum quietly, placing your hands on his shoulders when he wraps his arms around your waist.

“Hm, ‘s alright. Shouldn’t have fallen asleep. I’ll get going” he mumbles, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It makes your heart tremble with contentment.

After he leaves, the exhaustion hits you like a truck, as if your mind was no longer in alert. You barely manage to turn the lights off, before you curl into your bed, body melting into your bedsheets, Gaz’ scent all over the pillow.

Just a little while after Gaz comes back, Simon turns onto his side, his back using his arm as support, and starts snoring pretty quickly.

Johnny always teases him about it. He falls asleep like a dad. He’s out not even two minutes in.

He wasn’t sleepy yet, and fortunately Gaz wasn’t either. They talk in low mumbles so they don’t wake Simon nor the Capt’n up.

Gaz is still pretty flustered because he was called out on dating the Capt’n, but Johnny doesn’t understand why. Did he really think nobody knew? Everyone with eyes —and, much unfortunate, good hearing—, could tell.

“She was in a pretty bad shape” Gaz mumbles quietly, his breath brushing over Johnny’s lips. “I think she snapped out of the panic because I hugged her. Dunno, maybe compression helps?”

Johnny makes a mental note to get you a weighted blanket. He would take his phone out to do it right now, but Gaz is still talking, and doesn’t want to interrupt.

“I kinda fell asleep on her bed, so we didn’t really talk” Gaz admits, scrunching his nose up. Johnny’s eyes are immediately fixed on the movement. “But she looked a little better”.

“I’m happy she can rely on you, Gaz. You can actually help right now, and she… she needs that” Johnny hums lowly, his lips pursing slightly as his eyes burn. He’s too embarrassed to reach up to wipe the single tear away, but Gaz beats him to it.

“C’mere” he huffs.

A little surprised, but fully willing, Johnny accepts the hug. He holds Gaz’ head against his chest, both of them groaning quietly at the instant warmth between them. Johnny is hyper aware of Gaz’ heartbeat against his own, but they remain in silence, comforting each other. It’s not the first time they’ve cuddled to sleep, but… to Johnny, it feels different. He can only hope it isn’t in his mind only.

Next to Gaz’, Price’s shoulders relax very subtly, lips curling up as he also lets himself fall asleep.

The next morning, Johnny wakes up earlier than everyone else, feeling energized and content. Who knew he actually needed a good cuddling session with Gaz to fix his problems.

Wearing only those pink pajama pants, he makes his way to the kitchen, carrying one of his backpacks to take his headphones out, not wanting to disturb anybody. As silently as possible, he brews coffee and some tea, washing his hands as he starts preparing a few ingredients to cook breakfast. Head in the fridge, music echoing in his brain, he has no idea someone is sneaking up behind him.

He jumps off his skin when he feels a cold hand on his bare back. Johnny hisses as he hits his head with the fridge, rubbing it as he straightens up, turning so he can snarl at whoever startled him.

All he sees is a messy head, pillow-marked cheeks, and a bright smile. Your eyes are twinkling as you look up at him.

Johnny forgets it all about being embarrassed.

You join him so easily, stealing some of the coffee as you help him cook. It is your kitchen, after all. He lets you take his headphones, watching as you shake your shoulders to his music, his eyes filled with hope as he tries not to end up cutting his finger off because he can’t stop staring. It’s more than enough for him to see you humming the song very quietly, sipping your coffee.

It’s domestic. Warm. It feels like he’s finally home. He doesn’t even care if you haven’t really said a word, because the way you trust your back to him tells him enough.

At some point, he catches Gaz getting out of the guest room, his eyes still very misty with sleep. You’re facing somewhere else so you don’t see him, but Gaz realizes it’s just the two of you and grins at Johnny, quietly shuffling back into the room, leaving them alone. He’s very thankful for that, because right away, you turn to him, taking your headphones off.

“It’s done. Let’s eat!”

Much to his contentment, you two end up having breakfast alone, even if it’s obvious to him the rest are already awake and starving, but he enjoys this little moment, your soft voice and your happy humming as you eat. Johnny tries not to be too creepy by staring at you so intently, but he loves the way you sip on the coffee he made, the way you munch on the salted veggies he made for you.

The door of the guest room quietly opens after half an hour, maybe, and Simon’s face stares at him from behind it. Johnny gives him a grin.

Not even twenty seconds later, they’re all filling your kitchen.

It’s so perfectly domestic that Johnny can only grin. He watches you talking to Gaz and the Capt'n while Simon is a little busy cooking for the rest. Sometimes you flinch when Simon moves a little too fast, but you relax almost instantly, even if your eyes follow his hands for a few seconds.

This is his family, he realizes —not for the first time—.

Maybe it’s a little complicated, but it is his.

And that's enough.

I had a lot of fun writing this and I'm glad bc it took me like eight days to finish the outline. it's been a tough week, you guys.

ANYWAY, so progress 😌 why did they have bags w clean clothes if they didn't know reader would invite them over? they were hopeful. little soap went skipping to the car to grab the bags btw

› buy me a coffee ♡

we've officially reached this part... I cannot add more people to the taglist in a single post. man, I love you guys sm ♡

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @kukavittu @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @rayrayyio @diseasedclitoris @alex1011sdzfgh @thebumbqueen @hyunjaebaby @jillvalentinesrealwife @sodavrr @kneelforloki @vioxsoo @l4vstrr @leon-thot-kennedy @t3a-bag @dotmistbird @littlezarp @eclipsedcherry @codeseven @babydoll-143 @viennakarma @exitingmusic @lockofspades

[potatoplace]

Yearly Traditions

Starfall Week: Colors (day 1) @starfallweek

Azriel x Rhys's-Sister!Reader

Starfall Week 2025 Masterlist | ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist | AO3 Link

Summary: You spend the first few minutes of every Starfall alone, waiting to see which color will dominate your life for the upcoming year.

Warnings: None!

Words: 781

Author's Note: I'm so glad I was able to get this out before work! I'll have it posted on AO3 later tonight. I hope you guys like this! Just cute fluffiness with baby Az with CURLY HAIR. CURLY HAIRED AZ SUPREMACY. Lemme know what you think!! 🫶

18+ only pls

🤍💙✨💙🤍

You were perched in a tree, eagerly watching the night sky above you.

It was a tradition that you had started for yourself, watching the first few minutes of Starfall alone.

It had started ten years ago, when the rest of your family, Rhys included, had attended Starfall in the Hewn City in order to appease the citizens there. You had been left behind at the Moonstone Palace, and as such had spent the evening staring at the cosmic event, soaking in your bathing pool.

The main color you had seen that year had been orange, beautiful streaks darting across the sky, one spirit even falling across your face as you watched.

That year, you had gained more freedom in your life, you father having finally allowed you to spend time at Windhaven while Rhys and your mother were living there.

The next year, the most common color streaking across the sky in your eyes was green - you had spent the year becoming in tune with nature, your powers of starlight having finally come into your body. You spent most of your nights embroidering in the moonlight, losing yourself in the beauty of the night.

The year after that? Red spirits had flown across the sky in droves. The color had brought you strength as you finally learned to fly without another having to be near you, allowing you to experience the way that your brother - and his new friends - had always flown.

Every year, the main color your eyes picked up had set the scene for your life.

This year was no different, and you were waiting with bated breath as the first bright spirits began to cross the sky.

You wanted - no, needed to know what your year would have in store for you.

Blues, purples, greens, and yellows shot across the sky as you watched with fascination, ears picking up on the cheers of Illyrians, closer to the center of camp.

You would join them soon, just as soon as you knew what color would dominate your life this year.

Tiny spirits shot down, coloring the tree branches around you, and few splatters streaking through your hair. You let out a giggle at the bright colors, holding out your hand for a pink spirit to glide across your skin before rejoining its brethren in the sky.

You turned your eyes back to the shimmering stars and spirits, eyes widening at the sudden influx of pink through the sky.

Pink?

You’d never seen so many pink spirits in the sky as you were now, a massive streak of them covering the other spirits flying through the sky, a sure sign of what was to come.

Now all you needed to know was what a pink Starfall meant for your life.

“Y/N, is that you?” a voice asked softly from below the tree you were in, and you looked down to meet hazel eyes.

“Hi, Azriel,” you said shyly from your perch, gathering your skirts closer to your legs. “Why aren’t you at the bonfire?”

He smiled up at you, a sight that always managed to take your breath away. “I thought a certain someone was missing, so I came to check on her. Can I come up?”

A blush dusted your cheeks as you nodded, and Azriel jumped high, using his wings to lift him the rest of the way to the large branch you were on.

“Why aren’t you at the bonfire?” he asked once he was seated next to you, your wings brushing together occasionally, eyes darting between you and the spirits streaking across the sky.

You stayed silent for a moment, debating on if you should tell him your tradition. He had never teased you before, unlike Cassian, who seemed to enjoy poking fun at you. “I like to watch the first few minutes of Starfall alone, it’s… Nice. Peaceful.”

Azriel nodded in understanding. “Did I interrupt your alone time?”

You looked over at him, heart stuttering when you noticed the pink that had streaked across his forehead and curly brown hair. “Not at all,” you replied quietly. “Sometimes it’s better to have someone to enjoy it with.”

Azriel smiled at you, a soft thing in the vibrant lighting of Starfall. “That’s very true, Y/N.” He wrapped an arm around you carefully, mindful to not brush against your wings.

Your head naturally tilted to rest against his shoulder, pink dusting your cheeks when you heard a satisfied huff leave him.

Maybe... Maybe pink means time with Azriel… Love?

Whatever it meant, if it meant more of this? You were excited for what the rest of the year had in store for you.

🤍💙✨💙🤍

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao @twismare @wrenisrad @icey--stars

[thinkinonsense]

- taking turns.

pairing: x trilogy!logan howlett x fem!reader x ironman 2!natasha romanoff

cw: p in v, spanking, slight voyerism, dirty talk, dom!nat, switch!logan, sub!reader, oral (fem receiving), slight jealousy, spitting, creampie, strap on sex, squirting, bickering

a/n: may or may not be working on a few different logan x f!reader x natasha fics based on their different variants. hope you all enjoy <3

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

no matter what it was, logan and natasha couldn't share if their lives depended on it. the three of you have been living together for a couple months now and it seems as if every day they are bickering over something stupid like the television remote, the last baked good that you made, and most importantly, you.

"lo..." you whimper against his lips. "we should wait for nat to come home."

the air was hot and heavy between the two of you. honestly, neither of you two know how it began. one moment you are both watching a movie then the next moment, he has you pinned down underneath him on the couch.

"she won't be back for hours, princess..." he mutters between little nips along your neck. "and i need you now."

ever since the three of you started this relationship, you've set some basic ground rules. one, both parties are solely interested in you; which was easy considering their distaste for each other. two, no one on one time. everyone gets treated the same. both of them liked to watch you crumble every chance they got, even if they weren't the ones doing it.

now, there were a few rare occasions were the rules have been broken. like that time where nat and you did a girls getaway for a weekend or that other time when logan bent you over in his office while nat went on a mission in d.c.

"i can smell how much you want me too." logan groans, grinding his covered crotch against yours. "c'mon, honey... natasha will forgive you."

one of his big hands snakes its way under your shirt to squeeze your breast, distracting you enough to give in. logan then picks you up in his arms and takes you into your guys bedroom. clothes are thrown all around the floor during the process until you're left in your bra and underwear and he's left in just his jeans and boxers. the moment logan lays you down on the bed, you flip the two of you over with a thud against the mattress.

"there's my needy girl." logan smirks, watching you kiss and bite down his neck and chest.

you don't respond in words, only a soft moan as you sink your teeth into his bicep. logan groans, tugging your hair a little to pull you off which only turn you on more.

"dirty little fuckin' thing." he chuckles as you watch your bite mark disappear in seconds. "you needed this more than me, huh?"

he sits up to kiss you but before he gets the chance, you shove him back down against the mattress.

"shut up." you giggle.

once you get his jeans off and he's left bare under you, you slip off your panties and line him up to your entrance. not even fully adjusted to his length yet before logan hears keys jiggling in the door.

"f-fuck, right there." you sigh, slowly moving your hips and finding the perfect rhythm.

down the hall, natasha kicks off her heels and follows the heavenly sound of your whimpers. logan sees nat in the doorway, watching you ride him on the bed.

"so tight for me, princess." he groans with his head thrown back. his thumb made its way down to your button, circling it as he thrusts up into you.

nat makes her way over to the bed, watching you like her prey. too caught up in your own pleasure to realize that it's her hands on your hips, moving you up and down on logan's cock.

"were you this fuckin' needy that you couldn't wait for me to get home?" she asks, breath ticking your neck.

"i-it... fuck, it was l-logan's idea." you pout.

"don't lie, дорогой." she tsked at you. "you'll only make your punishment worse."

without another word, she shoves you down until you are chest to chest with logan. unbeknownst to you, nat and him share a look before she nods; her finger tips trace up your spine until they grip your hair, pulling your head back as logan starts to fuck up into your tight wet heat.

"n-not fair." you pout with a whimper.

"and who said that we have to play fair?" natasha's palm strikes down on your ass.

your back arches at the mix of both pain and pleasure that they give you. her hand slides up your breast, squeezing and pinching your nipples while logan's thumb circles your clit.

"p-please, p-please let me come." you moan, feeling yourself near your high.

"nuh-uh." natasha hissed, slapping logan's hand away from your clit. "you know the rules when you misbehave."

no matter how mean natasha gets, she always makes sure that you're cared for. she is quick to sink her canine teeth into that sweet spot on your neck while rolling your nipples in between her fingers.

"she's so fuckin' pretty, tasha." logan grunts while thrusting harder into your weeping cunt. "should get a look at her."

she lifts up and over you, gripping your chin and pulling your head back to look at you.

"open up, дорогой." she smiles wickedly down at you.

with eyes rolled back, you blindly obey her order as she spits onto your tongue. just as that happens, logan twitches before spilling inside of you. his hands held your hips so tightly, sure to leave bruises tomorrow.

"alright, howlett..." nat glares down at the man. "it's my turn."

logan smirks, not upset in the slightest. if anything he enjoyed seeing this side of the two of you. nat gets up to finish stripping herself of her clothes while logan lifts you up carefully, placing a tender kiss on your lips. you attempt to keep him close, knowing only he can reel natasha in from whatever punishment she has in store for you.

"p-please, lo." your lip quivers as you plead to him with a fucked out gaze.

"sorry, princess." he chuckles. "can't save ya' from her now."

as he gets up, he grabs a cigar off the nightstand and lights it as natasha walks back over to you. the familiar feeling of silicone slaps your puffy clit, making you wince.

"natty, i'm so close..." you whimper, wrapping your legs around her waist. this motion allows the silicone to slip past your opening with ease thanks to logan's release still dripping out of you.

"what makes you think i should let you?" she smiles down at you before beginning her erratic thrusts, almost as brutal as logan's were.

"b-been good, p-promise." you pout, scrunching your nose and trying not to cum without her permission.

"you really think that fuckin' howlett was a good thing?" she asks.

"don't get jealous, tasha." he grins, teasing her.

"she wasn't moaning this loud when you were inside of her." she quips back in response.

"no fighting." you struggled to say, too fucked out at this point.

the sound of your moans broke up their bickering. nat's right hand slides up and around your throat, squeezing just the way you adore.

"g-gonna..." you warn, distracted by a vision of stars as natasha's other hand rubs your clit. never have you felt such an intense wave of euphoria wash over you.

by the time you could even open your eyes again, natasha's abs are covered in your slick and so were logan's thighs from inches over. both of them stare at you with lustful dark blown out eyes. with two fingers running up her abdomen, natasha collects your slick and pushed them past her smeared red lipstick.

"my turn, tasha." logan is quick to say, taking her place.

well, at least they were learning to share.

[paucubarsisimp]

Can you write another dad!Jude where Jude tells off his toddler daughter after she did something. He never shouts at her, usually, it’s you. You’re the firm parent and he is the fun parent. She comes running up to you crying and telling you “daddy is a meanie!” You find it funny but of course comfort her. Later on, Jude tries talking to her, but she completely ignores him. This is so unlike her because she is obsessed with him—both you and Jude are stunned. She pretends he is not there and only talks to you. Later on that night, when she’s fast asleep, Jude is expressing to you about how he is worried that she’ll never talk to him again and that he shouldn’t have shouted at her because that’s “his little princess.” You’re telling him “baby, you’re too soft. She’ll talk to you, don’t worry.” The next day, Jude goes out and buys her the doll she has been wanting and telling him about it. He can’t wait any longer, she is elated, and of course gives her daddy.

mean daddy

pairing: jude bellingham x reader

summary: in which jude is a “mean daddy”

warnings: none

tagged: @barcapix, @universefcb, lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

a/n: i can’t with the black and white filter anymore 😭

it all started with a broken vase.

jude had always been the fun parent. the one who threw your little girl high into the air, the one who’d spend hours making up games with her, letting her have a little more freedom than she should. he was the one who made everything an adventure, the one who let her splash around in puddles and eat that extra cookie when you weren’t looking. he could always make her giggle, and he loved every moment of it.

you, on the other hand, were the one who kept the house running. the one who knew when it was time to set boundaries, the one who made sure bedtime was on time and that things didn’t get too out of hand. you loved her just as much, of course, but when it came to discipline, you were the firm one.

jude didn’t mind; it was just the way you balanced each other out. he loved how she looked at you with a mix of awe and affection, and how, when she wanted to get away with something, she’d always run to him with a cheeky grin.

but today was different.

it started innocently enough. jude and your daughter were in the living room, playing their usual “dinosaur stomp” game. he was roaring and stomping around, and she was following suit with all the enthusiasm her tiny legs could manage, her giggles filling the room. jude, in the midst of it all, was laughing so hard he could barely catch his breath.

“rawr!” he said, making a big dramatic stomp as she copied him, her little feet clattering on the wooden floor.

but in her excitement, she reached up to grab onto the shelf for balance, and in doing so, her hand knocked a delicate vase to the ground. the porcelain shattered with a sharp crack, sending pieces scattering across the floor.

jude froze. his heart dropped. he knew how much that vase meant to you, and now it was nothing more than shards of broken china. his little girl stood frozen, eyes wide, her hands trembling slightly as she looked down at the mess she’d made.

“daddy… i didn’t mean to,” she said, her voice so small, so full of worry.

jude swallowed, his heart aching at the sight of her. she wasn’t upset at the vase, she was upset at herself. he could see the panic in her eyes. he dropped down to his knees, taking her small hands in his. “hey, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he said softly, rubbing her hands gently with his thumb. “it was an accident. accidents happen.”

but then, without thinking, he did something he never usually did. he gave her a firm, quiet look. “we don’t touch things we’re not supposed to, okay? that vase was really fragile.”

her eyes filled with tears, and before he could say another word, she turned and ran straight to you, her little legs carrying her at full speed. “mama! daddy’s a meanie!” she wailed, throwing herself into your arms with full dramatic flair.

you, surprised but amused, caught her and hugged her close. “hey, hey, what happened?” you asked, brushing the hair out of her face, trying to hold back a laugh at her over-the-top reaction.

“daddy’s a meanie! he told me i broke the vase! he’s mad at me!” she cried, burying her face in your neck, her small body shaking with the intensity of her tears.

you stifled a smile, kissing the top of her head. “baby, he’s not mad at you. you know how much daddy loves you, right?”

she nodded, still hiccupping with sobs. “but he said i broke it. i didn’t mean to! i just wanted to play.”

“i know, sweetheart. accidents happen. i’ll talk to daddy, okay? he’s just worried about the vase. it’s all okay.”

after a few more minutes of comforting, you managed to calm her down, but she clung to you like she was afraid to let go. meanwhile, jude was standing in the doorway, looking guilty and a little confused. he hadn’t meant to make her cry. it wasn’t like him to be so firm. it was just that moment—he didn’t know how to react.

that evening, when you were both tucking your daughter into bed, jude sat on the edge of her bed, his face creased in worry. she was curled up in her blankets, barely glancing at him as you kissed her goodnight.

“baby, can i talk to you for a second?” jude whispered, his voice full of concern.

she didn’t answer him. instead, she turned her head slightly, keeping her eyes firmly on you.

jude looked at you, eyes wide. “why is she ignoring me? she never does this.”

you frowned, a little confused too. “it’s not like her. she’s always been so attached to you.”

“i shouldn’t have shouted at her,” jude said quietly, running a hand through his hair. “i just… i don’t want her to think i’m mad at her.”

you sat down beside him, rubbing his back reassuringly. “jude, you didn’t shout at her. you were firm. she’s not used to that from you, that’s all. she’s probably just confused.”

he sighed deeply, still staring at his daughter. “i’m her daddy. i should’ve handled it better. she’s my little princess… i don’t want her to be upset with me.”

you smiled softly at his worry. “babe, you’re too soft. trust me, she’ll be fine. she knows you love her.”

later that night, when she was asleep, jude slipped into the living room, quietly moving around the room. you watched him from the doorway as he looked through a catalog on his phone, muttering to himself.

“what are you doing?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips.

he didn’t look up, his finger scrolling. “i’m getting her the doll she’s been talking about for weeks,” he said, his tone resolute. “she loves it, and i just… i can’t wait any longer.”

you chuckled softly. “jude, you’re ridiculous. she’ll be fine.”

“i don’t care. i’m gonna make it right.” he stood, a proud look on his face as he grabbed his jacket. “i’ll be back soon.”

the next day, your daughter’s eyes lit up when she saw the doll in jude’s hands. her face broke into a wide grin. “daddy!” she squealed, her arms outstretched.

jude smiled, holding it out to her with a flourish. “for you, princess.”

she hugged him tightly, giggling as she squeezed the doll to her chest. “thank you, daddy! i love you!” she beamed up at him, her earlier silence completely forgotten.

jude kissed her forehead, relief washing over him. “i love you too, sweetheart.”

and just like that, the tension was gone, replaced by the familiar warmth of their bond. you watched the scene, your heart melting at the sight of your two favorite people, knowing that no matter how many times they had moments like this, they’d always find their way back to each other.

jude was sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, half-watching the game, when he heard a small, excited voice calling from the kitchen.

“daddy! daddy! come play with me!”

jude sat up, slightly startled. “what’s going on in there, sweetheart?”

“it’s time for the tea party!” she called out, practically bouncing with excitement. “come, daddy!”

jude chuckled, dropping his phone on the couch. “well, i guess i have no choice now, do i?” he said with a playful grin, already knowing that no matter what he was doing, his daughter’s tea parties were always more important.

you appeared in the doorway just as he was about to leave, your arms crossed and an amused smile on your face. “getting roped into another tea party, huh?”

jude rolled his eyes, but the warmth in his voice was unmistakable. “yep. i’m the guest of honor, apparently.”

“just wait,” you teased, “you’ll be served pretend tea and cold imaginary sandwiches in no time.”

jude smirked, crossing the room and walking toward the kitchen. “sounds perfect.”

when he walked into the kitchen, he found your daughter already seated at her little table, lined with dolls and stuffed animals, all carefully arranged for the tea party. she was sitting in her usual spot, her favorite doll beside her, and a tiny chair pulled out for him.

“daddy!” she called, giving him a dramatic, scolding look. “you’re late! sit down!”

jude raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “oh no, i’m sorry, princess. i didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“hurry up! the tea is getting cold!” she urged, her tiny hands waving in the air as she pointed to the empty chair across from her.

jude smiled and slid into the chair, trying not to laugh at how seriously she took her tea parties. “what kind of tea are we having today, then?”

she grinned from ear to ear, her little hands already grabbing a pretend teapot. “your favorite!” she said proudly, pouring an invisible stream of tea into his cup.

jude took the tiny cup from her and held it up, pretending to sip. “wow, this is amazing,” he said, exaggerating the taste with a satisfied hum. “the best chamomile tea i’ve ever had.”

she beamed, clearly pleased with her work. “you’re welcome, daddy! i make the best tea!”

but then, she furrowed her brow, looking at the teapot in deep concentration. “uh… cham… cham… cham…,” she stammered, trying to say the word she’d been practicing all week. “cham—chammi… no, no… chamomil… chamomile! that’s it!” she announced proudly, though it was more of a jumble than anything recognizable.

jude couldn’t help it. he burst out laughing, barely holding back the chuckles as he watched her squint with determination at the teapot. you, leaning against the doorframe, couldn’t suppress your giggles either.

“sweetheart, you almost had it,” jude said, still chuckling softly. “you’re getting closer, i swear.”

your daughter looked at him, confused but still so proud of herself, and then tried again with even more enthusiasm, “it’s chamomai—no, chamowill—no! it’s chami… you know what i mean, daddy!”

you and jude exchanged a glance, both of you giggling lightly at her attempt. she was so serious about it, yet her version of “chamomile” was a cute, endearing mess of sounds. jude couldn’t hold it in anymore and let out a soft laugh.

“it’s okay, princess,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “i think you make the best chamomile tea, no matter how you say it.”

she grinned, oblivious to the fact she’d completely butchered the word, and proudly held up the cup again. “i knew you’d like it!” she said, as if she’d just served the most perfect tea in the world.

jude smiled warmly, taking another pretend sip from his tiny cup. “yep, the best tea i’ve ever had.”

as you watched the scene unfold, you couldn’t help but laugh softly, feeling the warmth in your chest as jude continued to play along with her. despite the jumbled words and the imaginary food, it was moments like these that made everything worthwhile.

“she’s too cute,” you whispered, walking over to join them at the table.

“i know,” jude said, glancing over at you with a soft smile, his eyes filled with affection as he looked back at your daughter. “she’s definitely got a way of making everything feel so… perfect.”

you nodded, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face. “even if she can’t quite say ‘chamomile’ yet?”

jude chuckled and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms out. “even then.”

don’t forget to leave a request!

[psycheetamore]

Scarring Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen into matrimony

Summary: After securing a coerced marriage to Khalida, a formidable Fremen leader, Feyd-Rautha awakens, covered in scars. Wounds she inflicted as proof that their union is not just political but a showcase of survival and hardship. Bound by Fremen customs, Khalida forces him through a rite of passage: a fortnight of endurance where pain and pleasure determine his worth. Feyd-Rautha, believing he can control her, quickly realizes she is playing him instead, drawing him into a battle of strength where suffering is the price of acceptance. In surrendering to the pain, he loses himself, only to be saved by his new wife. 

Tags: MDNI, Feyd-Rautha is his own trigger warning, manipulative little shit Feyd, manipulative wife of Feyd, power-struggles, love is a battle field, giving Feyd, dominated Feyd, Feyd asking permission, Feyd losing control, severe blood loss, cat nails (the kink toy), scarification (do I even need to say macabre?), smut (oral – Feyd giving to all his might, and explorations of other forms of engagement), non-con (because everything is non-con if Feyd is being manipulative) 

Word count: 6.3k 

Masterlist of one shots - a contribution for @dailydoseofaustinbutler (topic: tattoos...) - dedicated to @faegoddessog for blood related reasons, @shamrockqueen who appreciates a classical reference here and there, and @peageetibbs-ab - bc she also gets to salvage him

+++ 

The na-Baron woke up in a comfortable bed in his cool chambers in the Arrakeen. As he tried to get up, a beautiful woman rushed to him, placed her warm hand on his shoulder and hushed him down: “don't get up Feyd. You lost much blood and still need to recover” placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.  

He looked up at her as he felt the pain coil through his body. Removing the thin blanket that was covering his frame, he saw he was covered in scars. 

And then he recalled. 

This was his wife. 

She did this to him. She carved him. She made him hers, as violently as he had made her his.  

She was proud of it.  

Her face, her pretty smirk, how she bit her lip. He could read her and see everything. She was recalling all the pleasures he had brought to her. Better even: he had made her proud.  

His precious lips curled in delight, as he started to recall past events. How he had achieved his goal, survived and was embraced by these people as their leader. The fact that she was sitting next to him, taking his head to rest on her soft lap and slowly caressing the sensitive skin on his neck, fuelled that recollection. Applying just enough pressure to let him know she knew she pushed him through hell and back. That he survived, because she allowed him to. She touched his sensitive painful parts, as he had pressed on hers. 

He complied, came at ease and closed his eyes to remember how his new na-Baronness and ruler over the Fremen, Khalida, was waiting for him in their desert stay weeks ago.

For a fortnight they would stay secluded in an ancient sietch dedicated to ruler matrimony.

At that moment he was void of any idea on what was about to happen. He thought he would be dictating events. How he was wrong, and how he would come to love it. 

The air inside the sietch was thick with heat and the scent of spices, yet it was strangely cold where they stood. Almost an unnatural stillness had filled the space between them. Khalida’s breath was shallow, and the faintest tremor ran through her body as she stood before him, caught almost as prey. 

It had taken him over a year to coax her into this embrace. It had taken a while before he figured she was the one who had been leading the Fremen into battle, who was responsible for the attacks to his spice production and for the range of uprisings ever since he got into imposed power. He had tried to take her out, but her people were loyal to her, willing to give their lives to protect her. But, this cunning manipulative man had managed to get her out of her hiding, eventually. Slaughtering her people did not do the trick, neither did catching some of the Fremen frequenting the higher echelons. He had decided to make an offer, a very public offer. One fight against him, to decide if he would leave or get her hand. If she would not answer this suggestion, he would attack and destroy every sietch until none was left standing. 

The young lord's eyes lingered on her for a moment too long, the urge to break her composure gnawing at him. But beneath the surface of her indifference, he sensed a fire he couldn't quite extinguish. It frustrated him, yet it excited him in equal measure. He wanted to break her, make her succumb. But how could he, when she barely acknowledged the power he wielded over her? 

The purpose of their fortnight alone was to see if they could survive. Survive each other, survive the elements, survive the way back to the civilised world. The Fremen had no need for incompetent leaders.  

He could feel the weight of her gaze. She was watching him, studying him, perhaps even waiting for him to slip up. This game they played was delicate, fragile, and important. He never played, he always won.  

He had of course ensured that all supplies needed were brought in, as he would not take a chance of dying from thirst or starvation. He had also made sure the sietch was completely emptied of any rats. Despite her – reluctant – agreement to his proposal, he did not trust her. She had not obtained and maintained this position without strength, wit and political ruthlessness.  

As his hand hovered just above hers, the space between them electric, he forced himself to remain distant. But the tension between them, thick and undeniable, had him questioning his own composure. 

As for their little battle; he had been prepared for any turn of events. He knew she was a force to reckon with, so he took his precautions. Fortunately, these turned out to be unnecessary. His brute force granted him success. A better basis than if Khalida knew she would have been misled. It was good enough for him. The public display he created out of this was sufficient to have the Fremen stand down.

The dowry he paid her consisted of freedom for enslaved Fremen, the promise that she would continue to rule Arrakis as she saw fit as long as it did not impair spice production, and that their firstborn would take over that rule. 

They were brought to the sietch clad in traditional Harkonnen clothing. Through negotiations they had come to a combination of customs. Not that he cared too much, but he needed to show her she would be on a tight leash.

The na-Baron did not trust his wife, not just yet. 

His back leaned against a pile of cushions, his frame comfortably relaxing on a soft basis, as she walked in. Clearly uncomfortable in the bridal attire. Exactly the purpose. She needed to be on edge. A long dark grey form-fitting shroud, bound in the middle through 44 buttons and a tightly wound corset. Arms covered in long sleeves that extended beyond the fingertips. A tight collar that forced his bride's head up high. Unpleasantly high. Everything in this outfit was meant to limit her movements, until he decided to take her out of it. The dress was manufactured in such a way that keeping her in these constraints, while consuming the marriage, was also an option.  

He liked having options.  

This could not have been any different from what he was wearing. A pair of pants and a shirt, flowing around his frame, connected with strings. Deliberate or not; the top part of his chiselled chest was on full display as she walked in. Even if this was her planet, her familiar surroundings, she needed to know he was in control. 

She walked in, step by step. Small steps, feet in dainty little shoes with high heels. Footwear she was not accustomed to. 

Step by step she walked towards him. Knowing that he would be the one to free her. 

Step by step, until she stood right in front of him.

The ever-considerate man that he was, he tilted his head and just looked at her.

“Wife” left his mouth. Cold. Distant. She wasn't allowed to know how much he was looking forward to this. He hadn't met many warriors that had nearly taken him down, let alone any he found to be attractive. 

“Husband” she replied, solemnly, without emotion. 

He looked at her, and she stared back. Her eyes were empty. 

If this continued like this, this would not be any fun. He needed to have her more strung up. More emotional. More unbalanced. He thought whether he should throw her off. She would expect him to try to dominate her. Force her into submission. She would have been prepared for that, he considered. So, he needed to do the opposite: lure her in with kindness. And once she was accustomed to that, opening up, lowering her defences, he would strike.  

“Do you think I won’t break you?” he murmured, his voice soft, almost teasing. He had stood up. Taller than her, his hand brushing her chin lightly, as though testing the limits of her willpower. Khalida’s eyes narrowed in challenge, but something in her gaze softened, just for a fraction of a second. But enough for him to see it. He knew he had her, if only he could be patient enough to wait for the moment she would let go. 

“Come, my dear” he said, now with a voice laced with life, taking her hand and guiding her to a sparsely fitted yet comfortable sleeping area set up in another part of this cavernous place. Another luxury she would not be familiar with, showing how he was able to dictate their world.

His hand lingered on hers, the softness of her skin betraying her resistance. He could feel her muscles tighten, as though she were preparing for a fight, but she followed him anyway. 

She did not reply, but merely complied.  

Every step she took, every click of her heels, fuelled his desire.  

But he would take his time.  

Arriving deeper into the cave, void of natural light, the temperature was comfortable. The sietch had been equipped with fire places, which he had gotten employed before he arrived. 

With only the little clicks of her shoes and the crackling of the coals breaking the silence, it would have been romantic in any other situation. 

A mere step from the bed he turned around, without letting go of her hand, and looked her in the eyes: “wife.” 

“Husband” she replied, with a soft voice. 

He hummed. She followed his lead. He was quite pleased. She had submitted into accepting this union. That too pleased him. She was in pain, he knew that, as he had ordered his servants to string her into that corset as tightly as possible. He also knew she knew that he had done that deliberately. Yet, she was not complaining nor fighting against it. She had succumbed.  

Or so he thought. 

He hesitated, wondering if this was truly submission, or merely the calm before the storm. 

He pursed his lips, the sides twitching up and down, his jaws clenching, as he deliberated within himself. And suddenly he decided to speak about the conflict he was facing: “wife” repeating the weakest of her roles, a role she was reduced to, “I am torn between two options.” 

She nodded as to say: ‘tell me. Consult me.’ 

“I can unwrap you, get you out of this painful predicament you found yourself in. A predicament I caused”, with a silken voice, as he waited for her response, any twitch in her face, anything – but nothing was given as she cast her gaze down. 

“Or I can fuck you while you continue to be constrained within these restrictive clothes” he added, with menace lacing his voice. 

He observed her, but still saw nothing. No emotion. She kept everything under control. Perhaps the pain did not bother her that much. ‘Good’ he thought. ‘A good breeding place for my seed.’ 

Placing his finger under her chin, he pushed her face up to gaze into her eyes again: “you must speak, or I will decide for you.” 

She responded with a soft yet low voice: “it is our custom that the husband is allowed to make such decisions when consuming the marriage. He needs to proof what type of man he will be. And I am just here to observe and witness, for the tribe to know.” 

“For the tribe to know" he repeated, "what do you mean” adding after a pause “Khalida?” as he knew her words had meaning. 

“Exactly what I say, my lord.” Licking her lips, transforming her face from meek to daring: “Feyd-Rautha.” 

How he loved his name roll of her tongue. He would make her do that for many times to come, this fortnight.  

“Hmm, I see” he hummed. “I will get you to speak.” 

He took a small step back, hitting the bed with this lower legs, and looked at her. He would unrobe her. She did not feel vulnerable in this outfit, so he would find something else. But he would take his time.  

Button by button, he released the tension from her body. He knew she wasn't wearing anything underneath. First, he allowed her neck to be able to move freely, followed by removing the corset that had flattened her chest. Each tiny click of the buttons echoed like a little promise. Her skin, exposed in patches, was almost like an offering to his greatness, until her bosoms presented themselves to him. The tension between them became palpable, a struggle for control and power. Golden skin, supple, adorned with nicely rounded breasts and topped with two little dots for him to suck, bite and pinch. His hands moved to feel how they weighed in his hands. A first startle escaped her. Before he could ask or look up, she had already clarified: “cold. Your hands are cold.” 

He hummed. He wanted her to be startled, but not for reasons like this.  

As his hands explored his new plaything, his sensitive fingertips found anomalies where his eyes could not reach. His fingers paused for a moment, an almost impossible to perceive tension forming in his hand, making its way through his body. 

‘This should not be there’ he thought. He had been promised she was untainted. ‘She had been of perfect stock’ he was promised, 'good enough to receive his seed'.

She saw how anger started to cloud his face. However much she tried, she could not hide her sigh from his observant features.   

Her sigh was a signal, a quiet admission of something he hadn’t expected. 

‘So, she knew about this. She knew she was deceiving me’ he thought, as he looked at her to see defeat slipping into her aura.  

Her eyes met his, but her lips remained firmly pressed together. She had no words to offer now. She knew she had been caught. 

He was on to something, he knew it. Within a split second the atmosphere had changed. There was not time for pleasantries anymore. He needed to know. It would determine his next steps. Whether she would ever see the day light again.

He grabbed the sides of her robe, where he had already opened the buttons, and in fury tore the remaining part open. Tearing precious fabric, buttons flying around, all until the entire half part of this piece of clothing was parted from the other half, and silence returned again.

The fabric gave way easily under his forceful grip, and a cold sense of fate washed over him as the robe fell open. 

He saw her breathing heavily. He did so too.

He looked.  

He was astonished. 

For a moment, his gaze softened, the anger flickering as his eyes studied her body with a mix of surprise and curiosity. 

Perhaps he was not lied to, and a smile started to form. His hands left the fabric, as he moved down to sit on the edge of the bed. His long fingers started to touch her skin. From her breasts down to her mons pubis, she was covered in ridges. Delicately, purposefully and perhaps even beautifully carved marks. Geometrical scars adorning her lower body.  

The scars were intricate, as though each one told a story. Almost a history of victory through suffering etched into her flesh. Traits he liked in his men and women. It made them equipped to deal with him. His fingers traced them like he was reading a map of her past.  

Khalida looked at him and saw his demeanour shift, yet again: “Husband?” 

He looked up at her, and with the smile still on, responded: “yes?” 

“You like them?” she spoke, even softer than before. For a first time he felt she showed some weakness. Her voice was almost a whisper now, the vulnerability creeping into her tone. 

“I see some of them are fresh” he said, as his fingers followed the lines that were made onto her body. “And some of them are healed already. Explain.” 

“This is part of my tradition. To be regarded as a warrior, one needs to show they can handle pain. To rise in the ranks, one must proof they can handle more pain...” her voice was steady, but the underlying tension was undeniable. She knew he was dissecting her words. 

“And to enter into a marriage of significance, one must show they are willing to bleed for their partner” he added. “I thought this was just a myth” and he hummed with pleasure. “These are for me” while pressing on a few of the fresh injuries, causing her muscles to tense up.

“Yes, Feyd. Without one is not respected by the people.” 

He hummed again. 

“Do you like them?” 

“Hmm” he looked up to her. “You went through much pain for this.” He looked down again: “hmm. It is almost as if you already received your punishment for your defeat.” He saw his notions hit their goal, the acknowledgment of her sacrifice and failure adding weight to the atmosphere. 

He did not expect her to respond, but she did: “yes.”

“It pleases me. Greatly. For ever you will carry the signs of your own defeat. How precious” as he grabbed her hips. “I do not even need to mark you myself. It has already been done for me. You will forever know your place.” He chuckled: “perhaps, I may just come to like your people.” 

Her gaze sharpened, a flicker of something dangerous passing behind her eyes. Something he failed to see. But she said nothing, her body remaining rigid under his hands. 

He looked up again, and no longer saw anything of defeat or humbleness on her voice. Her eyes had opened, her teeth were slightly showing, a smile had formed around her mouth; it was almost as if mischief had taken over.  

Her expression had shifted, and for the first time, Feyd-Rautha felt a challenge rise within her. 

“What a delight. Come here, wife. Come, and allow me to show you what a husband is capable of” as he grabbed the sides of her sleeves and tugged.  

The robe flowed down and pooled around her feet.  As the robe hit the floor, she seemed to stand taller, her confidence growing by the second. His eyes were drawn into her.

But he was a trained warrior. He never let his guard down.  

She would not deceive him. Yet, she tried.

Within a flash of a second he has seen the knifes covering her hands, that had remained hidden by the long sleeves until this very moment. Automatically he drew a dagger he had hidden on his body, flung backwards and distanced himself from her. 

“What? What is this, woman?” he growled from the top of the bed. 

“This?” she lifted a hand, turning it in the dim light, letting the claws catch the flickering glow like sharpened moons. “This is the makhlab alqati. Surely... you are familiar with this?” Her voice was a breath of silk trying to hide steel that could kill, deceptively soft, laced with challenge. 

Each finger was adorned with what appeared to be a claw of a catlike animal, made of the bones of the shai hulud, she would later come to explain, similar to the sacred kris Fremen have. The curves of the claws were almost organic, as though the beast they were taken from still whispered through them, yearning for flesh. For blood. For offerings. 

The claws gleamed in the dim light, sharp and deadly. Their edges caught the firelight like fangs wet with hunger. Feyd’s eyes narrowed as he regarded them, uncertain of her intentions. 

“I am not, woman. Explain,” he ordered. 

“It is part of our tradition that a wife is carved before a wedding. A man is carved during the first fourteen days and nights they spent together. Our names are passed on through the female lineage. We must prove our prowess before being allowed to wed. A man must prove his during the coming days. Otherwise his seed will not fetch.”  

She looked at her hands again. Her nails traced the edges of her claws, as though she were considering using them even now.  

“But..." her voice rising an octave, "I believe I made a mistake. I thought you were up for it. I thought my lord truly wanted to be adopted and respected by my people. I clearly thought wrong. Please, excuse me for this... misalignment, my dearest husband,” she said, her voice an intoxicating blend of mockery and innocence, her lashes lowering in a feigned demureness meant to lure. 

Her words were deliberate, a carefully crafted balance between submission and deflection. Yet, the young lord could see through the facade. He wasn’t fooled easily. 

“I see what you are doing. I am no fool,” Feyd-Rautha responded. “Never believe you can manipulate me,” he growled, as he moved back towards his new spouse. 

“I would never,” she responded chastely, while standing bare before him, her body a work of war and devotion, a temple of scars and soft curves, of challenge and promise. 

Her posture was one of innocence, but her eyes held a glint of something much more dangerous. Something that could strip him bare, demolish him, without ever touching his skin. 

“Explain,” he commanded, as he took one of her hands to study the weaponized adornment. 

“Scars reflect respect. More scars mean you can carry more pain, and therefore carry a heavier burden in our society. A true man will leave these two weeks with scratches. He will not cry, he will not scream. He will accept the pain and live with the pain. The climate is hot and dry enough that he will survive with ease.” 

Her voice was steady, and for the first time, Feyd-Rautha could see that she truly believed in the power of these marks. They were not just decoration. They were scripture, carved through the offering of blood. The most precious of liquids. 

“And how does a man get these... scratches?” he continued to ask, his voice lower now, a careful balance between intrigue and the heat curling in his gut. 

“By giving pleasure, my lord. A man cannot demand this form of respect. He can only earn it,” she said, her voice like smoke curling around his thoughts, wrapping them in something heady and dark. 

His plump lips curled slightly as he considered her words. His tongue flicked over them absentmindedly, as though already imagining the taste of her submission. Or, hidden in the depths of his own mind, his own submission. He slowly started to come at grips with reality. Perhaps it was not she who was prey.

He started to realise that she was dangerous. More dangerous than any man he had fought. More dangerous than poison being slipped into a cup, unnoticed. Perhaps even more dangerous than he was. 

He started to consider she may had lost that fight on purpose. The fight that sealed she would marry him. Perhaps, all of this was her doing.

“I see,” he responded with a smoky voice. “Well... giving pleasure and handling pain are two of my strong suits, I dare to claim,” he said, as he licked his lips. His mind raced. He had thought power came from fear, from domination. But this was something else entirely. 

“Perhaps,” he guided one of her weaponized fingers to his lips, dragging the tip along their curve, testing its bite, testing her resolve, testing himself, “you may even become happy with your pick.” 

A contented huff left her. Her lips curled, as though she were already imagining the art she would carve into his flesh. 

“That, my lord, would be a dream alike,” she purred, and took his face in her hands, pressing him into her, a lover’s touch disguised as a conqueror’s claim. 

His eyes shut, and he started to recall the strange markings he had seen on the most respected men. Now, he understood. Now, he started to envy them. 

Everything in life was a battle. And this, strangly, was a war he wanted to lose. 

The planet started to grow on him. Its harshness, its cruelty, its unforgiving nature. He felt it seeping into his bones, reshaping him, reforging him. For him too, all in life was a battle. 

What she had failed to tell him was that Fremen women were goddesses of fate, the gatekeepers of bloodlines. A man did not claim a wife; he was chosen. Only the strongest would survive to seed the next generation, to breed with the women who had proved their worthiness through pain and endurance. That was how the Fremen shaped their people: through suffering, through fire, through the unrelenting trials of existence. He was not one of them; not yet. He was not worthy; not yet. 

A couple was not truly wed until the moment he set foot inside a major sietch, or in this case, the Arrakeen palace. If he emerged without the markings of his trial, without proof that she claimed him, he would be cast out, shunned, his existence reduced to nothing but a forgotten whisper on the sands.  

It was a delicate balance. A battle of survival, of dominance, of submission. 

Her touch was gentle, but beneath it lay the potential of something more. Possession, control, the weight of a predator toying with its prey. And he could not shed the feeling that she saw him as her prey, despite all his efforts to the contrary. 

He would come out of this sietch. He had to. He knew he would have to dig deep, to become more than he had ever been. If this was what was required to bring these people to their knees, this is what he would do. 

The husband softly guided his new wife to take a step back, allowing him room to kneel before her. The symbolism of act did not escape him, it was its entire purpose. Kneeling before her, the knowledge of submission claiming the back of his mind. But she had already won that battle. He had already surrendered. 

He lifted one foot at a time to remove the dainty shoes she had been equipped in, as her hands rested on his still unmarked shoulders. For now. Soon, they would bear the proof of his devotion. He had his fun. From this moment forward, his body was hers to shape. There was no room for manipulation anymore. No more games. No more feigned control. 

He looked up, his ice-blue eyes reflecting something new. Acceptance, a raw and aching anticipation. He had succumbed to reality. 

She looked at him and smiled. A slow, knowing smile, the kind that spoke of fates already sealed. She knew he knew. The battle had already been fought, and she had won. Perhaps, maybe, she would let him survive. 

At first, she had set her aim at slaughtering him here, beneath the deceitful cover of traditions carried too far. She had not yet embraced the notion of marriage. But now? Now she saw something else. Potential. 

But perhaps—perhaps—if he played his cards right, if he understood his place, she would grant him the privilege of life. A life by her side.

And if he was to live, he would need to thrive. Because she would accept nothing less. Her arm would not be adorned by a failure. 

Everything from this moment forward would be dictated by his prowess, his ability to withstand the agony she would carve into his flesh, the pleasure he would offer in return for her mercy. 

As he knelt in front of her, his hands began to roam her legs. Tracing the scarred maps of her victories and fights, the unmarked flesh that remained, waiting for new stories to be written. 

His warm breath caressed her skin, an unspoken question lingering between them. Would she allow him this? Would she grant him the privilege of suffering for her? 

Despite his earlier instincts to control, to dominate, he hesitated. For the first time in his life, he waited for permission. 

Without conscious thought, the realisation took root. This was not about power. Not his. Not anymore. She held the key. To his survival. To his acceptance. To his fate. 

And, perhaps, even more dangerous than that: to his pleasure. 

Khalida’s fingers, adorned with the deadly makhlab alqati, traced along his scalp. Soft, deceptive, the goddess of violence waiting to descend. Every delicate touch sent jolts through his body, igniting something he had not known could exist inside him. 

Her index finger found his jaw. The blade at the edge of her touch lifted his chin, forcing his gaze upon her. 

“Husband?” 

“Yes, wife.” 

“Do you... fear me?” A whisper. A caress of darkness. Charon staring back at him. 

The na-Baron started to breathe deeper, his pulse quickening. The electric charge between them a live wire, snapping at the edges of his control. 

“Yes... no. No, my darling. You will not kill me, because you need me. But you have something I want. Something I need,” he said, his voice hoarse, raw with desire and excruciating hunger. “And you know I will give you everything you need in exchange.” 

Her lips curled, a dark amusement sparking behind her eyes. “So cocky. So full of yourself,” she murmured. Her hand flexed, her claws skimming his throat. Not quite pressing. Not yet. “I could slash your neck with a single movement. I have not forgotten how you thought you forced yourself into my bed. How you wanted to begin our marital journey. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.” 

Her claws traced lower. His pulse leapt beneath them, defiance and desire crawling beneath his skin. “I will use this fortnight to teach you your place. It is by my side, at my disposal, devoted to my pleasure. Understand that, my dearest, and you will live. No. You will not just live.” 

She wet her lips, only to draw the bottom one in between her teeth. She let him watch, let him ache. 

“I will allow you to thrive.” 

A dark promise. A dangerous invitation. A prophecy.  

His hands surrounded her legs, his fingers digging into the hardened muscle of her thighs. He wanted to disappear into her, be swallowed whole by her command. 

He had never been subjected like this. Not by a woman. Not by anyone.

He had never wanted to be dominated more. 

He had never wanted to take a woman more than now. 

He looked up at her in reverence. A goddess of war, fate and pleasure. His goddess. His Athena, Aphrodite and Moirai combined.

“Now,” she breathed, leaning over him, her voice a velvet noose tightening around his throat. 

“Show me, Feyd-Rautha. Show me why you deserve to live.” 

And he would. He would prove it, with his body, with his pleasure, with his pain. 

He could feel her heartbeat, ever so slightly, through the limbs he held tightly. A faint, rhythmic drum beneath his fingertips, something primal and intoxicating. Her warmth radiated against him, a slow-burning fire, a scent thick with heat and spice, curling around his senses. 

Pheromones unfurled, unknowingly pulling him deeper. She was becoming ready to receive him. 

Mere centimetres away from her core, he could do nothing else then nudge her to stand a little wider, allowing his mouth to seek her source of delight. His hands still surrounding her legs as if grounding himself in the gravity of her presence, her hand finding balance on his naked head, his tongue started to venture. It explored the outside folds, the place where thigh became vulva. He could feel her growing excitement as he heard her breath becoming less and less steady, her grip on his head becoming tighter. He kneeled a bit deeper, to allow him to move his face even more under her pussy. The flicking light coming from the furnace provided beautiful light.  

He knelt deeper, let himself become lost in her. The flickering firelight cast them in molten shadows, illuminating glimpses of his devotion, his surrender, his worship. 

Fully placed under her, he could drag his tongue from the back end of her lips all to the front. Softly, ever so softly. She needed to be ready, absolutely dripping, before he would even consider entering her. He wanted her to come from the first moment the tip of his cock entered her, so she needed to beg him for it. She needed to associate his cock with pleasure. Unprecedented pleasure. So, his tongue did the preparatory work. 

As he massaged her buttocks, he continued to gently map her labia. Just on the outside. Almost teasing. Again and again and again. Tiny drops of moisture started to form and escape. He could taste it as this tongue was pushed against her outer folds. He could smell it.  

But he would not succumb. This was a battle of power. He knew that. She knew that. 

He continued to track her lips, ever so softly finding a path from the outside to the inside. It allowed him to taste her nectar, tenderly.  

So soft, he was being so soft. It drove her crazy. He felt her legs twitching. “Is my lady a little impatient? I thought we had fourteen days and fourteen nights to get to know each other” he taunted, with an ever so innocent voice, as he graced his tongue just ever so slightly deeper between her outer lips, spreading them, finding a path towards her succulent inner folds. She deserved patience, deserved to unravel in waves, she deserved worship - he would not rush. 

She looked down on him, working so hard. Trying to control himself. She knew he wanted to do nothing rather than to throw her on this frivolously comfortable bed. And perhaps, that is what she also wanted. She saw him holding himself back. And it pleased her: ‘let him fight himself. Let him prove he was worthy’ she thought. 

He wanted to earn her respect, and that of her people, even more than he wanted to fulfil his carnal desires. Which was exactly what she needed him to long for. These 14 days she would spend, moulding him into a man that had one purpose and one purpose only in life: pleasure her. She would carve her pleasure into his skin, and he would learn to beg for it. 

So, she would reward him. As he digged deeper and deeper between her trenches, as he overextended his tongue, her fingers would grab his head and push him towards her, the tips of her claws started finding their way into his skin. Upon her touch, he shivered. She could only imagine how hard he was at this very moment.  

He felt drops of liquid slowly succumbing to gravity. The ever so familiar metallic smell hitting his nostrils, could only mean one thing: he was on the right path. It drove him to push forward and dig deeper, plunge his tongue inside of her, in and out, in and out. His mouth covering her pussy, his lips spreading hers, his tongue could do what it was required to do. Bring her pleasure, bring him pain. As he thrusted into her, allowing her to find the heights she so desperately craved, he felt his shoulders getting wetter and his cock getting harder. The pain was muted by the amber hitting his tastebuds. He would not give up until she excused him.  

He started to lose track of time. His tongue lapping her, entering her, roaming around, going in deep, going in shallow, exploring the insides of her walls. Every part of her pussy would be covered in his saliva, as every part of his mouth would be covered in her moisture.  

She started to lose track of the number of peaks she had climbed. Or was it just one, long-lasting one? She could not recall, as he kept on trashing inside her. Her new husband, who had pursued her so aggressively, was on his knees in front of her, soldiering through the anguish she pushed him through. Every time she slashed into his soft skin, he moaned. A moan that transferred into her deepest parts. It enticed her. His pain became a synonym for her pleasure. His suffering fuel for her satisfaction.  

Blood started to evict her head. He had intoxicated her. She could no longer stand without his support. She needed him. She needed him to help her. To keep her up. To prevent her from falling.  

As he felt her grasp onto his head wavering, he knew that she had succumbed. Before she could hit the ground, he had collected her in his stalwart arms. Lifting her as if she was weightless to what would become their marital battle ground for the days to come.  

Flashes is what he remembered of those days, as he lay there on his wife's soft lap, who had treated his wounds so patiently.

Nothing more. He had lost much blood, as his wife just told him. It still impaired his brain.

Flashes came back of what he recalled. How she had whispered silently to him, almost as a prayer: “bleed, my lord. Bleed, like I have bled for you” directly into his ear as he was driving himself into her, her ceremonial nails carving his muscular back. 

How she had straddled him, graciously welcoming him inside of her, ending with his sculpted chest becoming unrecognisable as they continued to fuck in the bed drenched in his blood.

How he had even begged her for more scars, more pain – so far as that she decided to refuse: “I do not want to kill you, Feyd. I am starting to like you” she had explained, ever so kindly. Those words, they had sent him into a spiral of hurt; nobody had ever stopped him from harming himself, yet, here she was. His protector. The woman he had manipulated into this union. The woman who had all right to seek his neck. She, she protected him. 

How the pain, physical and mentally, had even caused him to have visions of the future. Visions he could not recall at the moment.

He looked up from her soft lap, to see her hum and be pleased with this domestic scene.  

As he looked down to see the damage to his body, his healing wounds, in the soft light in this palace of Arrakeen, he was pleasantly surprised his nipples remained unshattered. In a flash his mind flashed back to her saying: ‘I like these little perky nipples, and they like me. I will keep them’ as she nearly bit them off. 

The sole memory of what had happened, mere days ago, made his cock twitch again. She had marked him, claimed him, reshaped him. She had shown him pain, and kindness. He desired lore, almost disappointed she caressed him with her soft fingers and not her harsh nails.

He looked down at his chest, at the wounds she had left, the story she had carved into his flesh. He traced the remnants of her possession, a dark smile curving his lips. 

In the dim light of Arrakeen’s palace, he realized one undeniable truth: she had broken him. And he had never felt more whole. 

Masterlist of one shots

[the-offside-rule]

Sam Winchester (Supernatural) - Deal with a Demon

Requested: yes

Prompt: Sam meets a cross road demon to make a deal and is given the opportunity of a lifetime

Warnings: mentions of blood, demon

The moon hung low in the sky, painting the abandoned crossroads in pale light. Sam Winchester paced, his boots crunching the gravel beneath his feet. Finally, he stopped, drew a deep breath, and opened the small tin in his hand. The contents? A mix of graveyard dirt, bone ash, and blood, all emptied into the center of the crossroads. As he finished the ritual, he took a step back, waiting.

And then she appeared.

She stepped out of the shadows with a sway in her hips, her gaze sharp and predatory as she looked Sam up and down. She was striking—dark eyes glinting with amusement, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Well, well." She purred, folding her arms over her chest. "I’ve never met a Winchester before. I’ve only heard of you." Sam shrugged, trying to keep his tone nonchalant despite the nerves crawling up his spine. "I hope I can live up to what you’ve heard."

The demon’s lips curled into a wider grin as she tilted her head. "Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage. Now-" She took a step closer, her heels clicking against the gravel. "What does one of the infamous Winchesters need from little old me?"

Sam exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening. "I want to make a deal." Her brow arched with genuine curiosity. "A deal? You don’t strike me as the type to go handing over your soul so easily. I would’ve thought I would meet your brother first."

"It's not for me." He clarified, his tone earnest. "There’s a demon on the loose, one that’s too powerful for anyone to stop it, the colt is out of bullets, and-" He hesitated, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I’m out of options."

At this, the demon barked out a laugh, an almost musical sound that sent a chill up Sam’s spine. "I'm sorry. Sam Winchester, the anti-Christ prodigy, needs me to deal with a demon?" She grinned wickedly, leaning toward him. "What’s wrong, Sam? All out of miracles?" Sam rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched. "I’m not the anti-Christ. I’m only human."

"See-" She teased, wagging her finger playfully. "There’s your problem. You Winchesters forget that little detail sometimes." Sam’s expression darkened, frustration etched into his features. "Are you going to help me or not?" She tapped her chin in mock consideration, her eyes dancing with mischief. "You’re lucky I’m in a generous mood tonight, Sam. I’ll help you." Sam blinked, surprise flickering across his face. "Just like that?"

"Well." She purred. "It’s not like you’re offering me much of a challenge here." She took a step closer, invading his space as her voice dropped into something silkier. "But… I’m curious. What do you think I should get in return?" Sam frowned, cautious. "Whatever you want." The demon’s grin widened as she pretended to think, her finger trailing absently over her bottom lip. Finally, her eyes locked on his, and she smiled sweetly, too sweetly. "I want to see you again, Sam. On better terms. Maybe next time, you’ll be asking me for something more useful."

Sam blinked, visibly caught off guard. "Wait… that’s it?" She shrugged nonchalantly, though her tone was firm. "Unless you want something else?" He looked at her in disbelief. "You're name for one. I'd like to know who I am dealing with."

"Well, that changes things then." She leaned in, her face just inches from his, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "If I tell you my name, you obviously need to kiss me to seal the deal, but instead of your soul, I would like you to make a promise to me that we’ll meet again—one way or another." Sam’s brows furrowed, clearly torn between confusion and suspicion. "You’re not asking for my soul?"

The demon chuckled, shaking her head. "Not today, Sammy. Take the deal, or don’t. Your call." Sam sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked her in the eye, the weight of his decision hanging between them. "Name first." She smiled. "Well, who am I to deny a pretty boy such as yourself." She held her hand out, a smile on her face as he eyed her hand. "Y/n." He sighed, lifting his hand to take hers. "You have your deal, Y/n."

She grinned victoriously, slipping her hand into his. The handshake sent a jolt through Sam, cold and electric, before she pulled him closer. Her hand rested on his cheek as she leaned in, pressing her lips softly to his. It was a fleeting kiss, but enough to make Sam’s heart skip uncomfortably. She stepped back with a smug smile. "Well, nice to see the rumours are true." She said, wiping her thumb against her lower lip. "And what's that?" He asked. "You just kiss so well." A blade appeared in her hand, its dark surface glinting in the moonlight. She held it out to him, her eyes glinting with something unreadable. "This blade will kill anything, archangel, demon, you name it."

Sam took it carefully, staring at the weapon in awe. "Thanks. Thank you, so much." Y/n's expression softened slightly, though her smirk lingered. "I should be thanking you. But until next time, Sam Winchester." And with that, she disappeared into the night, leaving behind nothing but the faint scent of sulfur.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Sam walked into the motel room, the blade tucked safely under his jacket. Dean was sprawled on one of the beds, cleaning his gun when he looked up, immediately narrowing his eyes. "Where’d you get that?" Dean asked, nodding to the weapon. "Don’t worry about it." Sam muttered, setting the blade down on the table. Dean’s brow furrowed, a knowing look crossing his face. "You didn’t—" He sat up straighter, pointing a finger at his brother. "You didn’t summon a crossroad demon, did you?"

Sam sighed, rubbing his temple. “Dean—”

"Come on, man! You said you were going to grab some food!" Dean cut him off, his voice firm. "How long did they give you?" Sam hesitated before shaking his head. "It wasn’t like that. She didn’t ask for my soul." Dean stared at him incredulously. "What, was it her first day or something? She forget that part?"

"She didn’t want my soul." Sam repeated, his voice quieter. "She just…wanted to see me again." For a beat, Dean just stared at him, processing. Then, slowly, a grin crept onto his face. "Hold on; are you dating demons again, Sammy?" Sam groaned, dropping into the chair across from Dean and scowling. "I’m not dating her." Dean laughed, shaking his head as he leaned back against the headboard. "That’s a new one, man. Next thing I know, you’re gonna be bringing her home for dinner."

Sam shot him a glare, but Dean just chuckled again, clearly amused. "Well, you always had weird taste." Sam sighed, staring down at the blade on the table. "Let’s just focus on killing this demon first, okay?" Dean smirked, grabbing a beer from the nightstand. "Whatever you say, lover boy."

Sam groaned again, but he couldn’t help the faint tug of a smile as he thought about the crossroads demon and her parting words. Something told him this wouldn’t be the last time he saw her.

[callalillywrites]

Happy Birthday, Bucky

It took a bit to get through my writer's block, but here's the next square I promised for Bucky's Birthday Bingo (hosted by @avengers-assemble-bingo). We're finally getting Childhood Best Friends to Lovers with a side of Firefighter!Bucky Barnes from my Station #107 AU.

A little over a week late for Bucky's actual birthday, but better late than never, right?

Pairing: Firefighter!Bucky Barnes x Childhood Best Friend!Reader

Other characters: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, and Tony Stark

Summary: Only one person seems to have remembered it's Bucky's birthday, and that's you. Bucky would give anything to have you there with him. Lucky for him, his wish might just come true in more ways than one.

Word Count: ~2000

Warnings: some slight brooding on Bucky's part; lots of pining (Bucky); some thoughts of birthday being forgotten; Bucky POV; some teasing; lots of fluff

A/N: Well, here's the debut for Firefighter!Bucky within my Station #107 AU. While I wrote this in Bucky's POV, I'd love to revisit this one day and give us a glimpse of Reader's POV. If there's enough interest, that is.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist / Main Masterlist

I do not give permission to have my works copied, translated, reposted, or fed into an AI machine.

****

The tiny smile refused to leave Bucky's face as he read your message again.

It might've been a simple wish for him to have a happy birthday, but he couldn't help how his heart raced at the fact you remembered. Not that he was truly surprised you did remember. You've never forgotten in all the years you'd known each other, but this year, it seemed like everyone else had forgotten.

Even Steve.

To be fair, Steve had run off earlier that morning to take care of some unexpected errands, already planning to make up his hours with the other shift.

But still, his best friend (well, other best friend because he had you, too) could've said something before he'd left.

Maybe that's the reason why your message meant so much to him.

He couldn't for the life of him understand why all his friends and co-workers seemed hell-bent on not remembering. Sure, it was just another day on the job, but that didn't mean he didn't want to be remembered in some way. Hell, they even had a calendar with everyone's birthdays written on it.

Though, he had to admit he couldn't explain why his name had been erased from the day. He could've sworn he'd written it down. And in ink, to boot. Yet, here he was without anyone acknowledging the day, and their shift would be ending soon.

Before he could stop himself, he typed, When are we seeing you again? Miss ya.

Soon, you typed back almost immediately.

Not exactly satisfied with your answer, Bucky also recognized you had a busy schedule. Not only were you working towards your master's in actuarial science, but you also had a full-time job. This didn't include your other friends and whatever social life you managed to find in the spare minutes of your day. For reasons he refused to analyze, he shut that train of thought down immediately. It wasn't his business if you dated others though his heart had other ideas on that matter.

"Hey, Buck, we gotta go. Another call to the Tower," Nat called out, her steps rushing towards their gear station. "Supposed to be a big one this time."

"Not again," he mumbled under his breath.

The calls to Stark Tower weren't uncommon for their station. In fact, it's one of the reasons why a lot of the firefighters who worked at Station #107 lived in Stark Tower at a steep discount. It's the only way they could guarantee fast arrival to handle any of the many disasters that one billionaire genius could possibly pull off.

Thankfully, these routine calls to the Tower had become so ingrained. It didn't take them no time at all to get everyone geared and onboard their truck.

"Steve's meeting us there," Nat said, taking the seat next to Bucky. Clint had already claimed shotgun that morning after Steve ducked out, daring anyone to try and take it from him.

Sam grinned from behind the wheel. "Can't wait to see what that man has done this time."

"Only you would be excited about that, Samuel," Nat shot back before sending Bucky a wink. Her typical smirk disappeared after a moment as she leaned in with a slight frown on her features. "You okay? You're not your typical cheerful self."

His tongue burned with the desire to unleash his disappointment, but he bit it back in the end. Instead, he settled for a small shake of his head. "Just tired, I guess. Hard to sleep with these loud mouth-breathers at night."

"Excuse you," both Sam and Clint exclaimed together though Clint added, "I'm a delight to sleep with. Just ask my wife."

"Ah yes, her ear plugs really help keep that love alive," Nat said which earned her another glare for her efforts.

Their playful banter continued, but Bucky had since tuned it out. His gaze settled on the passing storefronts along the few blocks they had to travel to reach the Tower. It never failed to soothe him as they traversed the same streets he grew up playing on, even if he did spend most of his time in Brooklyn in his younger years.

Him, Steve, and you.

The hours you three would spend getting into and out of trouble. Those were probably some of the best times of his life, and he wished the three of you could go back to those days. Before university. Before the Army. Before life had gotten a bit more complicated. Before birthdays became another ordinary day.

"Hey, Buckaroo, you good?" Sam nudged Bucky's arm, nodding toward the building beside them. "You really zoned out there."

Bucky nodded. "Let's get this over with."

Taking his cue, the others fell in line around him as they made their way inside.

The receptionist smiled warmly, spying them. Her hand waved almost frantically despite her professionalism. "We're so glad you're here. The incident happened in his personal suite this time. He refuses to tell us how bad it is, but Ms. Potts isn't happy. She hasn't stopped calling to check on your progress. Security's already cleared the elevators, so you can go right up."

They thanked her and headed toward the bank of elevators near the back of the lobby.

"Why would they clear the elevators without us okaying that?" Bucky asked, the thought suddenly occurring.

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Who cares? At least we're not climbing hundreds of flights of stairs."

Not one to argue with that, Bucky didn't bother to say anything, opting to step into the first elevator to arrive. If he pressed the button to the penthouse a little harder than necessary, no one bothered to mention it.

The ride up to the penthouse for once was relatively quiet. No one bothered to take bets on what Tony Stark could've possibly done this time compared to last. No discussion on what they could be facing or what they'd need to handle this latest situation.

In hind sight, Bucky should've known something was up, but his mind continued to brood. A stray thought kept coming up about possibly calling you later. If anything could lift his mood, an hour talking to you would do it. He'd settle for a couple minutes if you were too busy. He really hoped you wouldn't be.

The elevator dinged, then swished open to a loud chorus of "Surprise".

Streamers and confetti shot towards them.

Steve stood next to Tony, beaming. "Happy birthday, Buck."

"Oh, man, look at his face," Sam crowed as he clapped Bucky on the shoulder, moving past him into the penthouse towards the large buffet table resided. "Dude's been moping all day, thinking we forgot all about him."

That pulled a frown across Steve's features. "Clint, didn't you get my text?"

"No," Clint pulled out his phone and tapped on the screen. After a moment, a sheepish expression washed over his features. His gaze met Steve's, then Bucky's. "That's totally my fault."

Nothing Clint said made any sense, so Bucky turned toward Steve who didn't disappoint as he offered, "We all signed a card that you were supposed to get this morning. I, uh, had a last-minute thing come up, which is why I texted Clint to be sure he got it from my desk. That's on me for not following up. I guess I got a little preoccupied. I'm sorry, Buck."

"It's fine," came his automatic reply.

"Now, now, even I know that's a lie," you said from behind him, "What happened? You used to lie so well. How else did we get ourselves out of trouble so often?"

Bucky spun around and pulled you into a tight enough embrace. He didn't think he'd ever get over how well you fit within the expanse of his arms or the sweet scent you favored. While he remained mindful of the scruff lining his face, he couldn't exactly help but nuzzle against the sensitive spot just below your jaw, only pulling back when you squirmed against him.

By then, you were tapping him to let you out, but that didn't stop him from holding on another full second or two. If he could have his way, he'd never let you go again. Instead, he settled for whispering, "Really missed ya, Sugar."

"I never would've guessed," you said so cheekily that his smile spread easily across his lips. After a moment, you softened. "I missed you, too. Happy birthday, Bucky."

If you were surprised he kept you at his side throughout his party, you never said anything about it. No, you rolled with it like you'd always done with him and Steve in your younger years. Already familiar with most of his co-workers, you quickly fell into your natural teasing personality with most of them, giving Sam and even Clint a run for their money.

It was only when you two moved toward the main host of Bucky's birthday bash that you surprised him.

"So, you're the one I'm supposed to keep my eye on with my new role," you said as you eyed Tony with a skeptical analysis that had the genius billionaire speechless for once. "Pepper warned me about you, and I've seen the montage your A.I. created for me of all your mishaps. Gonna make me earn my nice, fat paycheck, aren't you?"

Bucky spun you until you faced him, not Tony. He knew his face had to be comical, but he didn't care as he asked, "You're moving back here, Sugar?"

Your smile widened while you nodded.

"I thought you liked living in Boston. It was your dream to work there."

"Boston's nice," you shrugged, "but it doesn't hold a candle to our city. I got my fancy master's degree from my ridiculously fancy school. Decided to come back here and work. Plus, I had a little birdie who kept talking me up to Pepper about how I'd be a good fit at Stark Industries."

You nodded over his shoulder which Bucky obliged, only to find Steve raising his glass with a smirk that belied just how proud he was of himself. The punk.

It took Bucky a moment to come back to the conversation, hearing you say, "You're looking at Stark Industries' new Chief Risk Officer with the specialized priority of keeping Tony from upsetting their insurance companies more than he already has. I've already started work on some new protocols within J.A.R.V.I.S's programming to help override some of Tony's dumber decisions."

"Excuse you," Tony hollered.

Most of Bucky's fellow firefighters lounging close by overheard what you said and burst out laughing. Not one of them hadn't been grousing at one point or another when it came to the rather unique calls they'd answered because of Tony and his 'innovations' that initially went terribly wrong.

Neither Bucky nor you acknowledged Tony, who'd finally come out of his speechless state. While both of you were certain he had plenty to say, neither of you cared in that moment as you finally asked, "You're fine with me coming back, aren't you? I'm staying with Steve tonight in his quarters while Pepper finishes fixing mine up. So, I won't be in your way should you find some lucky lady to finish your birthday with."

"Oh, Sugar, you're the only lady I want to spend my birthday with." He pulled you into another tight embrace, still unsure if you're really a dream or not. If you were, he never wanted to wake up. As it stood, he couldn't wait to prove you were the only lady he wanted in his life permanently. As long as you wanted to be anyway.

That could wait another day though.

Right then, he had something worth celebrating that birthday, and he planned to embrace it all.

After all, he had what he wanted most standing in that room and at his side.

[goodolddumbbanana]

For you my eternity au [Sun and Nexus fic]

(This is based on my theory that Nexus and Sun get linked because Sun can feel Nexus power and Nexus keeps getting attracted back at Sun and Moon. More than that, he revived near Sun house.)

Imagine Nexus being back, and getting killed again and again, by Sun. Like he refused to do anything else, and he is too dangerous to be alive.

But like, while his hatred for Sun is getting bigger and bigger, it gets to the point when Nexus doesn't remember what exactly make he hates Sun so much in the first time.

Sun is just his obsession, and the person he wants to destroy utterly and completely.

And Sun, the first time he killed Nexus has destroyed half of his soul.(Sun becomes colder and more aggressive. Dude straight up to violent options a lot these days, and some of his actions might make people mistake him for Moon.)

The second time, he just cried in silence and accepted, that Nexus was never meant to be alive. And the third, the fourth, again and again, and the most tragically that only Sun can put the final hit on Nexus.

So it definitely gives Sun really seriously mentally damaged. Like dude definitely not okay if he has to kill his brother again and again. Imagine if Sun gets more twisted or creative on killing Nexus and it really concerns Moon. Like Sun still tries giving Nexus a chance to be better but it is now just a statement, like he already knows Nexus wouldn't give up on making his life suffer. He treats Nexus like a common event now.

Believe me it's hilarious. It will be a big spiral for Sun, lol, anyway here are some of my scraps. For you my silly clown, I know you love angst @sillyzone1209

Anyway, I can imagine one of Nexus's death, when Sun just straight up crippled his legs ripped out Nexus's core, (the one giving Nexus power, his battery)

And then he just hugged Nexus and stayed with Nexus until his dying breath.

-----

They still hadn't stopped. Their curses and oil-choked sounds echoed in his ears, almost making Sun regret leaving their voice box this time.

He didn't want his daughter to wake up this early when the dawn had not yet broken.

"Can you stop, Nexus? We have over it so many times. Yes I know you hate me, yes, you will make my life a living hell next time. Yes, I'm the one who killed you and ruined your life. I hate myself too."

Sun signs, his hand gently supported Nexus's back, bringing them into a more comfortable position.

The ash-colored cloth that rolled up to his knees, stained with oil and dirt, made Sun silently think about taking Nexus's clothes home to wash before killing them off again, before shaking his head because he already put Nexus out of their misery, or in process.

He doesn't know if he does that, would their clothes disappear or would they have new clothes?

Sun was so lost in thought that he didn't realize he was too close, close enough for Nexus's other arm to swing out.

The pain was almost burning, like being dipped in a molten fire, like the time when the Creator was still alive to torture him.

"It hurts, Nexus." Sun grumbled, covering his face with annoyance and tiredness.

His hands were wet with oil, dripping down onto the soft, baby-gold wool coat that Dazzle and Earth had knitted for him. This is his favourite coat and just like everything he loves, it gets ruined, all because Sun does things too late.

The metal plated reflected his reflection, a long, ugly gash right in the middle of his eye. He sighed, knowing Moon would be furious with worry when he returned, especially with a wound this large.

"Served you right." Nexus chuckled, his face satisfied at seeing Sun's discomfort. Sun wondered with the amount of hatred he had for him, if Nexus even remembered who he was, who they were? Was the broken animatronic gasping for breath before him still the same person or just an empty shell he had created.

Is he creating another monster by repeating this process, and turning an innocent soul into a Frankenstein by continuing this cycle of violence?

Is there any solution other than stopping Nexus permanently like this before the man who used to be his brother pulls another William Afton and comes back?

He is tired and he knows Nexus is tired too.

"Do you remember me?" Sun asked softly, he sat down, leaning against the wall near Nexus, doesn't mind the damage and also he doesn't think they couldn't do much, not when Sun had already cut off both of their arms after the stunt they pulled.

"Do you still remember why you hate me?" The question falls into deaf air, only to respond with more vicious swearing.

"I miss you." Sun didn't understand why that sentence still made him startled until now. He grabbed the ribbon around his wrist and pulled, feeling his claws punch holes in the fabric, neither pain nor worry aches as the fan grew louder and louder inside his chest.

The air smells like fire and smoke, and he is the one holding the lighter. The words were difficult to come out of Sun's mouth, like a hamster was having all its teeth knocked out of his throat.

"I still miss you. I still love you." And the voice was louder and louder until all of Sun heard was his own voice and all Sun felt was the bitterness of reality. And it was pathetic how Sun almost wished Nexus' silence was because they felt sorry for him or that there was still some trace of love in their souls for Sun rather than just simply a simple fact that they were dead.

Not that the battery can last long. And not that he expects anything from Nexus. For the person who says he hates Sun, they couldn't leave him alone.

And some ugly parts of Sun are really happy because he can still see Nexus ,even if the condition of them was so twisted like that.

Their hands are still warm, and Sun wishes they could hug him like they used to, that the thing in his hand was not a dead piece of scrap metal.

It seems like I still can't forget the person you used to be, and your revive has always been my curse and blessing.

For the next time I meet you... Brother.

[vbecker10]

Hi Neighbor

Part 2 (in progress)

Pairing: Bucky x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: Bucky decides he wants to try living on his own for the first time, moving out of the Avengers Tower and into your apartment complex. You can't believe your eyes as you watch the super soldier move into the apartment above you.

A/N: This is going to be a multi-part series with a bit of a slow burn between you and your hot new neighbor. I'm not sure how many parts yet but I already have the ending all figured out 💚 I hope you all like it!

You take a sip of your coffee then place the mug next to you, turning the page of your book. This is the perfect weather for reading outside on the stoop you share with the empty apartment above you. It has nothing to do with the fact that your new neighbor is moving in today because that would be weird.

You finish your coffee just as a small moving van pulls up in front of your apartment, idling for a moment before parking in the spot that belongs to your new neighbor.

This is it, you think then take a deep breath. Calm down, it's not like the love of my life is going to move in upstairs. I've been reading too many romance books, that kind of thing doesn't happen in real life. With my luck, it'll be someone who barely even says hi when they see me like that last guy who lived there.

You sigh then look back down at your book, pretending to focus on the pages but you've lost your place. The sound of a motorcycle driving down the quiet street makes you lift your head again quickly.

Oh my god, he's got a motorcycle! your mind screams excitedly as he pulls in front of the van and turns off the bike. Okay, okay, that doesn't necessarily mean he's hot, you remind yourself. Although technically all guys with bikes are at least a little bit hot, it's like a law or something.

The doors on the van open and from where you are sitting you can only see the driver as he gets out. You close your book slowly as you stare at the tall, muscular blonde. Is that Captain Rogers? Your mouth falls open as he walks over to the man on the motorcycle who you realize is Sargent Barnes. What are the two of them doing here, you wonder as their brief conversation ends with Rogers patting his friend on the back.

The sound of the van doors opening again brings your attention to a third man. That's the God of Thunder! What is happening right now?

"You're sure you want to do this Buck? You don't have to move out," you overhear the tall, blonde super soldier say as they meet Thor at the back of the van.

"It's not forever," he replies as he reaches into the back of the van and grabs a box, putting it on the sidewalk. "I just need a little space to be on my own."

"Don't listen to him. He's just upset cause he's going to miss you," Thor laughs heartily as he grabs three boxes at once and takes a step onto the sidewalk in front of your apartment. "Where am I going with these?"

"That one," he points over his shoulder in your direction. When he turns to face his new temporary home, he smiles at you. "Hi neighbor," he waves, holding the large box easily with one hand.

You blush and awkwardly catch the book that nearly falls off your lap when you wave back. "Hi," you giggle nervously when the three of them come closer.

"Hello there," the large Asgardian greets you warmly. "I'm Thor, this is Steve and Bucky," he puts the boxes down to gesture at both men then takes another step towards you.

"Yeah, I know who you guys are," you laugh and get up when you realize he wants to shake hands. Wow, he's massive, you think when he takes your hand in his, shaking it vigorously.

"Okay big guy, try not to break her," your new neighbor laughs.

"No worries, I'm all good," you reassure them then realize you should introduce yourself, "I'm Y/N."

"Nice to meet you Y/N," Bucky smiles as he walks up the steps and unlocks his front door.

"Umm... do you guys need any help?" you ask him. Thor picks up his three boxes again and you realize Steve is holding two large ones as well.

"I think we've got it," Bucky answers. "I don't have very much and I think Thor could probably do it all in one trip if I wasn't worried about him breaking everything."

"It was one lamp," Thor mumbles as he walks past you both into the apartment.

You laugh at his reaction, "Well I'm here if you need anything."

"Be careful, I might take you up on that," he smirks as he holds the door open for Steve.

You open your book and force yourself to pretend to read again, hoping to hide the blush that creeps into your cheeks. You hear him chuckle as he disappears into his apartment.

You remain on the stoop becoming lost in your book when a deep voice startles you, causing you to jump and drop it.

"I'm sorry," Bucky laughs lightly as he bends down to pick up the hardcover. "I didn't mean to scare you."

You laugh, embarrassed by your reaction, "I get a little focused when I read."

"Good book then?" he turns the book over in his metal hand and reads the cover.

You get up quickly to take the dark mafia romance novel from him. "A friend gave it to me," you lie.

"Shame," he smirks. "Guess I can't borrow it from you then."

You stare at him trying to decide if he's joking or not but before the conversation can continue his friends come outside again. As soon as he is distracted by Thor and Steve, you take the opportunity to vanish into your apartment.

(The next morning)

You stare up at him, unable to move from where you are kneeling on the stoop. The aptly named super soldier is wearing a pair of light gray sweat pants hung dangerously low on his hips and absolutely nothing else. His damp hair drips down onto his bare chest and it takes you way too long to notice the smirk on his face.

Making him a little welcome gift isn't weird, it's the neighborly thing to do, you try to convince yourself for the fifth time since you first had the idea. It doesn't matter that people don't actually do this in real life. You sigh then pick up the small gift bag. Okay, fine, I'm going to do it.

You open your front door, standing at the threshold while your internal debate continues. He's going to think I'm insane, you turn back around. Maybe I am, do people argue with themselves this much? You rub your face with your free hand, then mumble, "Okay, here goes."

You walk the few steps to his front door and bend down to place the small bag against it. The bag falls over so you kneel down the readjust it, making sure everything stays inside. Before you can make an escape, his door opens and for the first time in your life you have not a single thought in your brain.

You giggle nervously and blush a deep red, trying to keep your eyes on your own feet and not his muscular chest or the way his sweatpants hug his body. "Thanks," you mumble when he lets you go.

You quickly stand up straight and take a step backwards, nearly slipping off the narrow stoop. His expression changes to concern in an instant and he reaches out for your wrist with his metal hand, keeping you from losing your footing.

He chuckles, "You okay?"

"Yeah," you nod but you have no idea if you are. You're heart pounds in your chest as you watch him bend to pick up your gift bag. This was a stupid idea.

"Oh, is this yours?" he asks, holding it towards you curiously.

"No... It's for you," you shrug.

"Alpine, go back inside," he orders gently but the cat ignores him, rubbing against your ankle until you bend down to scratch behind his ears.

A smile spreads across his face as he pulls out a stack of takeout menus. He shuffles through them, examining each briefly then he looks up at you.

"When I first moved here, I ordered a lot of takeout cause I was super busy with work and it was easier than learning how to cook," you try to explain the idea behind the random stack of flyers. "There are some really great places around here and some absolutely awful ones."

He laughs, "These are all the absolutely awful ones I assume?"

You giggle, "Of course, all the places that are super gross."

"I honestly have no idea how to cook so this is going to be really helpful," he says genuinely and you smile as your anxiety over the gift fades.

"I'm still not a great cook but I could show you the basics if you ever wanted," you offer.

"I'd actually really like that, thank you Y/N," he says then his attention shifts to a small ball of white fluff that squeezes out of the partially open door.

"Cute cat," you both look down and smile as his pet comes slowly towards you.

"Alpine?" you ask. "That's an interesting name."

"Thats what they called him at the shelter," he answers. The moment Bucky takes his eyes off his cat to look at you, Alpine takes off down the steps towards the sidewalk.

"Alpine!" Bucky calls as he runs barefoot down the sidewalk after him.

"Oh shit," you swear, following Bucky to see if you can help.

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did ❤️❤️ Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

@soubi001 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @multyunervisesuperfan @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @lulubelle814 @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal @ash-muses @loz-3 @firedrakegirl @wolfsmom1 @sabspoetic @peaches1958 @catsladen @michellewgrt @crimson25 @jaidenhawke @mochie85 @itscomplicatedx @motherofmischief

[acourtofthought]

Sorry but saying Nesta had been ignoring Elain is a wild take because as far as the story goes, both Elain and Nesta just drifted apart since they coped differently. second there’s this take from the E/riel side that absolutely loathes the idea of Nyx calling Emerie and Gwyn "aunt" which ykw?fair, even though that whole "aunt Emerie and aunt Gwyn" thing is probably just a silly post from 2-3 people or because they might end up with IC members. And this feels like that.

I don’t think we’ll get much of Gwyn and Nyx interacting in a meaningful way in a Gwynriel book, but if we do it should be fine. If gwynriel is canon Gwyn will be his aunt too right? And I dont even like Gwyn but why are we even gatekeeping a fictional baby’s interactions in this fandom? For all we know Elain has changed Nyx’s diapers daily and has already bonded with him in her garden.I keep seeing you everywhere defending Elain just because people don’t see her the way you want them to even when it’s not even an anti post. Can Elain stans everywhere chill? You all really need to take a deep breath sometimes. don’t worry I’ll block you after this shouldve done it earlier.

Canon disagrees with you.

“She said she didn’t want to come to anything. Ever.”

“She just said … She said that we have our lives, and she has hers.”

Feyre’s eyes gleamed. “You think I don’t know why you’ve pushed even Elain away?”

The last time she’d seen Elain—a week before she’d come to the House. She’d passed her sister in the bustling market square they called the Palace of Bone and Salt, and though Elain had halted, no doubt intending to speak to her, Nesta had kept walking. Hadn’t looked back before vanishing into the throng.

Also, I'm allowed to have an opinion of my own without being told I need to chill or being accused of e/riel behavior. There are many e/riels who claim Gwyn can't have a book because she's just a side character which Gwynriels hate but then many Gwynriels will claim Elain isn't developed enough to be a main character. And now as an Elucien I'm saying I think Elain's story happening before Gwyn's makes the most sense to me while acknowledging Sarah might think differently yet that's a problem? It sounds like you can't handle a difference in opinion and only permit e/riel behavior so long as it happens within your preferred ship.

I'm not gatekeeping a baby, I'm simply pointing out that it would make more sense to me to get the next book from Elain's pov because of her relationship to Feyre and her nephew. It would make more sense for me to see the sisters overcome their issues before there's a new person introduced into the IC and the focus is on that newly formed relationship instead of Elain because Gwyn will become important to Az's friends and family if she's going to be his mate. Feyre focusing on Nesta then just ignoring Elain for another book after she acknowledged she was still struggling would seem out of character for her.

I know so many respectful Gwynriels so this is not pointing fingers at any of them but there are a few takes in the fandom that have been extremely disrespectful to Elucien's. "Gwyn is way more developed than Elain.""Gwyn is way more interesting than Elain will ever be.""Gwyn is ready for a book but Elain isn't". Because there are some Gwynriels who are also Elucien's but hate Elain and it's not hard to tell and if you like Gwynriel but love Elucien, it's difficult to avoid seeing those posts. But the second an Elucien makes a post that suggests maybe Elain's story makes a little more sense (to them) before Gwyn's, the pitchforks come out and we're accused of babying Elain 😂. We are allowed to love the characters in our ship and see the setup for the possibility of them being next just like many Gwynriels and e/riels do every day. We are allowed to have ideas on why they're next, just like others.

It's a double standard as Elucien's who love Elain often have to sit and watch Elain slander or those who downplay Elain's character and growth from some even though Elain went from where she was in the cabin to kicking the hounds and saving Briar, stabbing the king, going out on her own in Velaris, offering to help with the Trove when Nesta didn't want to, saying she'd try to figure out her own powers, and heading to the Hewn City (a place that bothers her) to show her willingness to be part of things.

But god forbid I say I'd like to see Elain's pov and her feelings on her sister / nephew after the events of SF before Gwyn's and that makes me deserving of an anon. God forbid I write a post on why Elain having the next pov makes sense to me though that's all Elucien's have seen from many other ships over the past few years (that someone else should / will have a book first), while some also use the Elucien tag for it. Literally the post will be "Az is getting the next book" and Elucien is used in the tags. Elucien's are allowed to have their reasons for hoping Elucien is next, same as everyone else but we don't go out of our way to tag Gwynriel while doing it because we respect that our Gwynriel friends do not agree therefore we keep their tag clean.

It's weird that you're accusing me of defending Elain against those who don't see her the way I do while you're in my anons hiding all because someone had a different take on Nesta and Gwyn than you do. While I only used Elain and Lucien tags.

And you're not an airplane, you don't need to announce your departure. The block button does not require spoken words.

[avonne-writes]

Re: my superpowers au idea

@butternuggets-blog

If you have to live with the kind of condition Gale has been blessed - or cursed - with, you either learn how to shut the world out and focus inward, or you go mad. Needless to say, even as a kid, Gale wasn’t going to let all the strange voices he kept hearing take over his mind. He was determined to control it better, and, over time, he developed techniques that now allow him to only listen in on others' thoughts when he wants to.

With some exceptions.

See, there are many things he can ignore and let fade into the background murmurs of the world, but it's significantly harder not to let the sound of his own name capture his attention. It’s something he just learned to live with, something he accepted. Besides, not many people tend to think of him by name when he's in the vicinity anyway. Except for, apparently, John Egan.

It always gets Gale, no matter how he tries to keep it out. He could be eating his breakfast in the mess hall, shaving at the sink in their quarters, listening to the Colonel's briefing or reading before bed, and Bucky's loud thoughts would hit him out of nowhere, pushing their way past his defences and demanding his attention even though Bucky still doesn’t know anything about Gale's secret. Which is probably for the better. Gale isn’t ready to talk about the things he has overheard Bucky thinking.

Sometimes, the idea of telling him everything tempts Gale though. Like today, when all the excitement of arriving at Thorpe Abbotts made the men's loud thoughts battle each other in overwhelming cacophony. Gale gritted his teeth through it and locked it out as much as he could, but he still ended up with a horrible headache. A splitting pain at his temples that has him tossing and turning in misery in his newly assigned bed.

Thankfully, most of the others are still at the Officers' Club, celebrating their arrival, and the rest are sound asleep. To hear a dream, Gale would have to focus on entering the dreamer's mind consciously, and he has no desire to do that. It’s blessedly quiet in his mind. He closes his eyes and tries to let his thoughts sink into oblivion, the way his head sinks into the softness of his pillow.

But just as he starts feeling the pull of sleep, he hears it: Gale.

Bucky.

"Damn it." He mutters under his breath, but he doesn’t open his eyes. He’s determined to pretend he's asleep in the hope that not having a partner to talk with will prompt Bucky to fall asleep faster too.

"...I gotta tell Gale. He needs to know. I'll tell him."

The thoughts reach Gale sooner than the sound of the door opening, and suddenly, the loud, nervous beat of his own heart joins the noise in his ears. Oh God. Does Bucky mean he wants to confess his feelings tonight? Despite all his efforts not to listen in on thoughts not shared with him willingly, Gale knows that Bucky has been sweet on him for quite a while now. Hell, with the way Bucky looks at him sometimes, he thinks he might have known even without the frequent litany of adoring thoughts pushing into his mind.

It's been difficult to handle that. No one has ever felt like this about Gale, and that's a fact. Gale knows for sure. And he wants to reciprocate - he does reciprocate, but he can’t help but fear that if he gives himself over to it fully, with his whole heart, he’s going to lose it all the first time Bucky thinks he’s falling out of love with him. And he won't even have the luxury of denial.

"There you are, Gale." Bucky's thoughts continue as he approaches Gale's bed. "Oh, he’s asleep."

For a moment, there's silence and it gives Gale hope that perhaps Bucky will keep his thoughts quiet tonight, but no such luck. A moment later, Bucky breaks through Gale’s usual mental shields by thinking of his name again.

"You’re so beautiful, Gale. Wish I could tell you, you know. My angel."

Even while faking sleep, Gale feels his cheeks heat up. He hears Bucky sigh, then the bed next to his creak under a weight sinking down on it. At this point, his mind is fully focused on Bucky, he can’t help it - he wants to know, he wants to hear it all.

"I missed you so much." Bucky thinks, wistful even though Gale's right there in front of him. "Missed your smile. Your eyes, your hair, your smell..."

For the next few seconds, Bucky's thoughts are a jumble of memories of him trying to breathe Gale's smell in and the intensity of his joy whenever he got to do it. Gale's face burns with it, knowing that he shouldn't have ever heard these thoughts, but he keeps listening. The warmth of Bucky's love is addictive.

"God, you have the prettiest lips. Lips of an angel, I swear. I wanna kiss them so bad."

Here, Bucky's thoughts wander again, going through all the moments he came close to kissing Gale, and Gale shivers as he remembers them with him. Finally, Bucky stops. For a disorienting moment, his thoughts become fantasy, and Gale sees himself the way he is right now, curled up on his side, his face smooth and relaxed. In Bucky's mind, he seems to glow like an actual angel, purer than Gale has ever been in reality. Bucky thinks about leaning down and imagines the softness of a kiss so vividly that Gale feels it burning on his lips.

He almost frowns when he hears a soft, smacking sound, but it clicks a second later, when clothing rustles and Bucky's thoughts become a deep, resonating please - Bucky has just kissed one of his rosaries.

"I love you." Bucky sighs again.

"I really shouldn't tell you, should I?" The flash of a B-17, then the memory of fear follows, but Bucky banishes the thought before Gale could make sense of it.

"I know. I won’t tell you. Let you have your peace until you see it for yourself." There’s more rustling, then the warmth of a hand comes to hover above Gale's face before it withdraws without ever closing the distance. "Sweet dreams, Buck. Sweet dreams."

Bucky moves away, getting ready for bed. He keeps thinking about Gale, a fantasy of him in a world where Gale loves him openly. Where he gets to climb into Gale's bed and wrap his arms around him. Under his thin blanket, Gale shivers again, then shuts his mind off to the outside world as much as he can. He tries not to wonder if there’s anything else Bucky's trying to keep from him besides his feelings.

With the quiet rumble of Bucky's mind just beyond his comprehension, he falls asleep.