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bi-writes · 4 months ago

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the new baby you take care of is the cutest baby you've ever met. (a lil dubcon, baby trapping, 18+)

he has a big head with a tuff of little blond waves, and he has the brightest brown eyes in the entire world. he smiles at every face you make at him, and he takes a bottle like a champ and will nap for hours as long as you're quiet.

his father has a strict schedule set for him. when you met that big man for the very first time, you were speechless. your teeth had clacked together with how fast you tried to close your gawking mouth, but it was impossible not to with how much he towered over you, nearly touching the top of the doorway.

he is methodical, down to every minute. tacked onto the fridge, he had shown you his son's current schedule, which he emphasized with a dead glare must be followed to a T.

two feedings in the morning followed by a nap. another feeding. a longer nap. another feeding. another nap. all separated in increments of 45 minutes, with instructions on how to use the bottle warmer and how to measure the formula.

his son does not cry. his father had told you, if he cries, y'r doin' somethin' wrong. and he was right. the baby only cried when he was hungry, and he would fall into a dead sleep as soon as you gave him a bottle.

it's odd, to take care of someone else's baby. especially this man's. there's no woman in the house, as far as you can tell. the whole house is decorated very minimally, cozy and in shades of warm greens and cool blues and browns. there are no heeled boots by the door or pretty fur coats, and whenever you pass by his bedroom, only one side of his bed ever looks lived-in. there are no pictures on the walls, no makeup in the bathroom drawers, and no pads or tampons under the sink.

just a big, unfeeling man and his big, adorable baby.

but you think that your actions to get this big, unfeeling man to like you are starting to have the wrong kind of implications.

it starts with dinner. you start to make it, using the ingredients from his fridge to make stews and buttery mashed potatoes and roasted veggies. the image of you stirring a pot with his baby on your hip has not left him, and whenever you don't have some kind of meal cooking when he gets home, you answer to someone curt, annoyed, and cold, even to the touch.

then it's the decorating. you thought his couch was a little bare, so now there's a few throw blankets laying across the back of it. there's a vase of pretty tulips on the coffee table. you're growing herbs on the windowsill, little pots of thyme and rosemary and basil. you leave house shoes by the door now, and even when you're not there, he sees those fuzzy pink slippers in the foyer, and he can't help the way he chubs up just seeing them when you're not around.

you start to bring some extra changes of clothes. after the baby spit up on you more than once in a day, you bring a duffel bag with you once a week with extra changes of clothes. he snarls when he sees your clothes in one of his drawers; pretty black panties and matching bras, all laid out under your lounge wear right next to his fucking socks.

the toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. the multi-colored chapsticks in the drawers. tampons and pads organized in the cabinet, your moisturizer next to his shaving cream. he smacks his fist against the wall when he sees the finished package of your birth control in the trash because wot the fuck are y'doing taking those things when y'know i want another--

he can see you in the baby monitor. swaying in the dark of his son's room, the baby's head on your chest as you rock him softly. you're singing a little, a gentle hum to soothe him enough that his eyes start closing. he groans a little when he sees your eyes shut as you kiss his son on the forehead, cooing at him as you pat his little back and tell him to have sweet dreams.

you're making brownies when he comes home that night. his son is seated in his high chair, clapping his hands, and you're smiling at him and cooing in that baby voice you do as you take the warm brownies out of the oven. when you see him emerge from the darkness of his living room, you smile at him, taking off the oven mitts.

"hi, simon," you say softly, and his pupils dilate when you slip a hand over his son's head to soothe him. "i made some dessert, hope that's okay. thought you might wanna try my new recipe."

simon comes into the kitchen as you take his baby out of his high chair. you hoist him up against your hip, and when simon comes closer, you giggle as tilts his head to the side and stares down at you both. you tilt your head back a little, blinking up at him, and the flutter of your lashes is enough to have him rock hard in his cargos as his hands curl into frustrated fists at his sides.

"i'm gonna put him down for bed, it's a little late," you tell him. you hoist his son up a little higher on your hip, picking up his little chubby arm and waving up at simon. "say goodnight, daddy."

simon grins under his mask at the soft lilt of your voice. you try not to squeak when one of his big hands slides around your waist to hold you at your back, and he bends down to kiss his son's forehead through his mask.

"goodnight, my boy."

you try not to linger on the idea that he may have grabbed your ass as you walked away. no, his arms are just so long, they grazed you while you passed by him.

the baby always goes down nice and easy. one bottle later, with a full stomach, he's rubbing his little eyes and fussing in your arms as he tries to fall asleep. he's a mover, simon's little one--always grasping around with his arms and flopping onto his side in the bed. oftentimes, after a nap, he's facing the opposite direction and on the other end of the crib when you come to get him.

so you shouldn't be surprised when as he's falling asleep, his little grubby hands reach for you and pull.

your eyes widen when you hear the pop of buttons. you look down, gasping, when you see his son has grabbed onto the front of your blouse and pulled the first few buttons out. they clatter onto the floor in a mess, and you're not able to see where they go with it so dark in his room.

"oh, god!"

you try to be gentle as you set the baby down in his crib. he immediately sticks his thumb in his mouth with his head lolling to the side, and you try to pick up anything you step on as you hurry out of the room, trying to hold your shirt together.

it's useless. you're standing there in the hallway, hastily shutting the baby's room closed, tits out at eight in the evening.

"tha' why he so good ta ya, mama?"

your eyes bug out of your head when you see simon there. he's standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes are focused on your poor open blouse. the bra you're wearing leaves nothing to the imagination--just mesh with underwire, and when simon comes closer, there's virtually nothing separating you when he reaches up with that gloved hand and cups one breast, thumb smoothing over your nipple before he tugs on it gently.

"wha--simon--"

"thinks y'r his mum, pretty tits out like tha'," simon hisses. "'f ya wanted it so bad, why didn't ya just say?"

"simon--"

he tsks, using both hands this time to grip your blouse by the edges and tug it down your arms. it falls around your elbows, and he takes the straps of your bra with it, until it's pooled around your waist and your tits fall free.

"fuckin' hell," he breathes, and your lips part gently as he hikes up his mask and spits on your nipples before sucking them into his mouth. "mmmph..."

you arch your back as he rips the rest of the buttons off with one smooth tug. your blouse falls, and your bra follows it, until you're in nothing but your skirt, backing up into the darkness of his bedroom as he kicks the door shut. you scramble to get him back on top of you when your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you're laying down--grabbing around his shoulders as you try to guide his mouth back to your breasts where he can suckle on them with that filthy mouth of his.

"knew it--" he rasps. "fuck, i knew it--"

your eyes squeeze shut when he ruts his hips against yours. your panties are ruined, slick wet and digging uncomfortably into your folds, but the scratch of simon's jeans have your back bowing at a hard angle, your fingers sliding between your bodies as you reach for his zipper. you gasp when you feel him under your hand, straining against denim, the girth of him tying your stomach in hard knots as you think about what it'll take to get you open enough for him to slip in.

"keepin' me fat," simon murmurs. "holdin' my baby like tha', wot did ya think was goin' ta happen, eh?"

"h-huh?"

"'m gonna make you fat, too, swee'eart," he says, smoothing his hand over your tummy. "saw those little pills in y'r bag. it won't take today, but we'll try again tomorrow, yeah?"

you're drooling as he fucks you. your hips are hiked up, your skirt flipped up as his thighs smack against your ass. you're not privy to the way the fat of you shakes every time he's buried to the hilt, but simon appreciates it, tongue out as he watches you push back against him to try and get yourself filled quicker. he traces your spine with his fingers, leaning over you as he watches your fingers dig into his dark sheets and grip for dear life as he gives it to you fast and deep. it's a mess of wet between you, and you know the bed underneath you will be soaked by the time he's done with you, but you can't think about that when the very thing you've been wanting since the day you met him is so close, so within reach.

you haven't taken a single one of those pills since the first week you met that fat, beautiful baby. maybe simon didn't take too close a look at the dated little pills in your bag and in the bin, the little calendar you used to mark rotting away in a forgotten pocket, gathering dust.

when simon comes, your mouth is filled with saliva, and you gurgle between barely-lucid giggles as your hips sink into the mattress. he's saying something, but you don't hear it. instead you reach down with your fingers and stuff them inside, trying to gather as much of his cum and keep it. when simon tries to cum in your mouth later, you nearly bite his dick off.

how dare he try and waste it?

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gallusrostromegalus · 2 years ago

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The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

youtube

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

#Family Lore #Dogs #It's Halloween babey #friday the 13th #blood mention #I hope that kid had a good night and at least one of his friends believed him #Long post #Video

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mind-empty-just-fictional-people · 2 months ago

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Fingerprints

main masterlist | marvel masterlist

summary: bucky remembers every time your fingers graze his skin

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of torture, bucky is touch starved

timeline: set in an au after civil war

author’s note: touch starved!bucky barnes is so heartbreaking </3. (picture this bucky during the story, but he has the vibranium arm)

Bucky remembered every bad thing he did as the Winter Soldier. Like scars on his soul, he remembered watching the life drain from their eyes. He remembered every grueling torture session Hydra subjected him to.

He hated how well he remembered his past, and it haunted him nightly. The only thing that was keeping him sane was… you.

He had met you several months ago during the mess with the Sokovia Accords, but he’d only really known you a couple of weeks now. The moment he re-met you, your kind nature swept him off his feet. Up until then, he’d only received kindness from the Wakandans and Steve. But here you were, a stranger who only knew his worst sides, yet you were so gentle with him, so soft-spoken.

“Morning sunshine,” you chirped from the compound’s kitchen, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. “How’d you sleep?” you asked Bucky as he sat down at the kitchen island, facing where you stood.

“Slept fine,” he replied. His eyes were tired, burdened with the memories of the nightmares last night had taunted him with. He kept his focus on you. He watched as you stirred creamer into your coffee and as you blew on it through pursed lips to cool it down.

“You okay?” you asked, noticing how intensely he was watching you.

“I’m fine,” he repeated the word.

“Uh huh, sure hun.” You nodded your head. “Want some coffee?”

“Yes please.”

“Coming right up.”

You grabbed a Stark Industries mug from the cabinet and poured him some coffee. After asking if he wanted any you poured in some creamer as well. You slid the cup across the counter and your fingers brushed his knuckles as he took it.

“Thanks, doll,” he said. He wasn’t just thanking you for the drink, he was thanking you for the fingerprints you left on his right hand, the hand that now held the warm cup of coffee. “How’d you sleep?” he asked, wanting to keep the conversation going but unable to think of a topic change.

“I slept fine,” you replied in a lowered voice, mimicking his. The impression worked because he let out a short laugh.

Bucky thought about this short interaction all day. He thought about it as he trained in the gym and as he took a quick shower afterward. He thought about it as he fell asleep that night; he thought about your soft hand brushing his calloused one. He tried to focus on the thought of you as he drifted off the sleep, yet his dreams were still plagued with ghosts of his past.

The next few mornings went about the same.

“How’d you sleep?” you’d ask.

“Fine,” he would respond.

You would ask him if he wanted coffee and he always did. You’d give him the cup and each time lightly brush his hand with the tips of your fingers.

It was barely an interaction. But to Bucky? He looked forward to it. He looked forward to the soft touch of your hand, he looked forward to the smile lines that would deepen when he made you laugh, and he looked forward to the brief conversation the two of you shared each morning.

One morning was different for Bucky, though. He could barely get himself out of bed; images of his dreams still swirling in his mind. He all but collapsed onto the kitchen chair as he sat to speak with you.

“Whoa, you don’t look so good, Bucky. You alright?” you asked, your voice laced with concern and kindness.

“Just didn’t sleep great, that’s all,” he grumbled, slightly slurring his words.

You shrugged it off and began making his coffee just how he liked it. When you handed it to him, your fingers brushed against him like they had done mornings prior. He savored the moment of skin-to-skin contact before it was broken again.

He thanked you and began sipping the coffee. You watched him intently as he did so.

“What’s wrong, Bucky?” you asked him after a beat of silence.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he protested.

“Are you sick?” you asked. You walked around the island table and stood closer to him. “Can I touch you?” you asked as you brought your hand up to cup his cheek.

He couldn’t believe his ears. You’d just asked for his consent to do something to him; something as gentle as touching his cheek.

He couldn’t get the word out fast enough; “Y-Yes.”

You quickly put your hand on his cheek and furrowed your brows with concentration. You then put the back of your hand against his forehead.

“You don’t seem to have a fever,” you commented.

It was official; Bucky was in heaven. He was relishing in the feeling of your touch. Your left hand on his forehead, your right hand resting on his shoulder. He felt like he had been in darkness for ages and had only now begun to see pure light.

It was over too soon when you pulled back.

“Maybe you need some more sleep, Bucky,” you suggested.

It’d been two weeks since Bucky’s favorite moment with you. Since then he’d barely gotten alone time with you; it was always interrupted by Sam or Steve coming into the kitchen for breakfast.

He cursed the timing; he’d sit down just as Sam and Steve entered the kitchen, completely disrupting the routine he had going.

Today was no different.

“Morning gorgeous,” Sam exclaimed when he walked into the kitchen. “You make me those pancakes again?”

“You know it, stud.”

Bucky hated the “will they, won’t they” tension you two seemed to have going. He didn’t know you both swore up and down it was platonic flirting.

“You’re too good to me, baby.” Sam smiled widely.

Bucky stared daggers at him, wishing the earth would swallow himself or Sam up whole, anything to put an end to this torment.

But then you glanced his way and suddenly all his annoyance dissipated. The color of your eyes, hair, and lips under the harsh kitchen lighting made him feel like the luckiest man in the world just to be in your presence.

“Bucky, you want some?” you offered him a plate with two pancakes. He happily accepted yet your fingers didn’t brush his hand when you gave it to him. Stupid plate, being big enough for two people to hold onto at the same time.

He began eating the pancakes along with Steve and Sam.

“Goddamn these are good,” Sam practically moaned dramatically. “You are an angel, woman.”

“Oh stop it,” you laughed off his comment. Bucky hated feeling so jealous of Sam.

The next time Bucky touched you was during a sparring session in the gym. Several trainees along with Sam, Steve, Wanda, and Nat were paired up and fighting each other. You were partnered with Bucky, Steve was partnered with Wanda, and Sam was partnered with Nat.

You threw a punch and he blocked it just as you expected, you kicked at him and again he blocked it.

After a while, Steve yelled “Switch,” which meant it was Bucky’s turn to play offense.

As he was punching you missed a block and he punched you square in the cheek with his vibranium hand.

“Fuck,” you gasped, covering your right cheek with both hands. “Oh fuck, that hurts!”

Bucky hadn’t felt such pure, immediate guilt in so long.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly. “Shit, fuck, I’m so, so sorry!”

“It’s okay, not your fault,” you said between pained gasps. While you were a trained fighter and Avenger, you weren’t a super soldier. And without powers, a vibranium punch hurts like hell.

Bucky wanted to punch himself in return for hurting you. He wished to take the bruise forming on your cheekbone and give it to himself instead.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, sounding defeated.

He had been so excited to be partnered with you for training, he had been looking forward to it for days (Steve put the pair schedules up early) but now he wished you had been paired up with Sam instead.

“Let me kiss it better,” he could imagine Sam saying if he had made the same mistake. The bruise wouldn’t be half as big if it had been Sam’s left hand instead of his own. He could imagine Sam would pull you into a hug to express his apologetic sorrow, yet Bucky assumed you’d rather not get a hug from himself.

“Not your fault,” you told him again. You could tell by the expression on his face what he was putting himself through. “Make it up to me by walking me to the freezer for some ice?”

He was shocked by your words. You wanted him to accompany you to the gym’s kitchen? You weren’t going to immediately run to Sam and ask him for help instead?

“Of course,” he said. “Anything you need.”

“Ice that wound, Y/n,” Steve said from a few yards away.

“Already on it, Cap,” you replied.

You sat on a bench inside the gender-neutral lockers with Bucky on your left. You held the ice up to your cheek as you both stayed silent for a while.

“I’m really sorry, doll,” Bucky whispered, wanting to break what he felt was an uncomfortable silence.

“I forgive you, Bucky,” you said. You wished he could understand it wasn't his fault, but at the very least you wanted him to know you forgave him. “Besides, it was kinda my fault for not blocking that punch, I should’ve seen it coming a mile away.”

“I thought I went too quickly,” he admitted.

Truthfully, he hadn’t in fact thrown too quick of a punch. In reality, you had been distracted by the color of his eyes under the gym’s harsh lighting. The way they shone such a beautiful, bright blue had you so mesmerized you failed to block the (fairly slow because Bucky was going easy on you) punch.

“Not at all, hun,” you assured him.

Again you both sat in silence. You didn’t mind it, you didn’t mind Bucky’s company. Bucky, however, felt awful about the silence and thought it was a sign you didn't want to talk to him.

“Can you do me a favor?” you asked. “It’s kinda a big one so feel free to say no.”

“Sure,” he replied. “Anything for you, Y/n,” he wanted to say.

“My hands are getting really numb, would you mind holding the ice pack for a bit?”

“Okay,” he said. You turned to face him, moving your left leg so you were straddling the bench as Bucky did the same with his right leg. The two of you now faced each other as Bucky asked; “Can I touch you?”

That warmed your heart and you nodded.

He reached out his vibranium arm and cupped the ice pack against your cheek as you let go of it. You smiled warmly and put your hand overtop his.

“B-Better?” he asked, his nerves running wild.

“So much.”

The punch had sent your relationship with Bucky back lightyears. Every time you talked with him he couldn’t help but stare at the swollen bruise he’d caused.

It bothered you how guilty he still felt even after you willingly took the blame. You could tell he was losing sleep over it so one night you decided to confront him while he stayed up past three AM.

“Bucky, what’re you doing up so late?” you asked, walking into one of the living rooms and seeing him sitting in the corner reading a book. “Is everything okay?”

You took a seat near him on the couch, your brows furrowed with worry.

“Could ask you the same thing, doll,” he retorted.

“I’m serious, Bucky, I’m worried about you.”

“You’re worried about me? Why?”

“Cause I’ve noticed how tired you are when you talk to me each morning, and I notice how you strain yourself trying to focus when you look at me.”

“You don’t have to worry ‘bout me, I’m fine.”

“I know I don’t have to, Bucky,” you said softly. “I worry about you because I care about you.”

“You… care about me?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

“Of course,” you replied quickly and reached out your hand. “Can I touch you?” He nodded and you rested it on his knee. “You matter, Bucky. Your health matters. And if you wanna talk about whatever’s keeping you up, I’m here for you.”

Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off your hand.

“Thank you,” was all he could choke out.

He eventually began to open up to you. Bit by bit, night by night, you were truly getting to know the great Lieutenant James Barnes.

The more you got to know him the deeper in love with him you fell. You felt selfish for wanting to kiss the pain away, but you couldn’t help it. All you wanted to do was hold him tight till he fell asleep in your arms. But that’s not what he wanted, you assumed. He seemed to be barely okay with the brief touches up till this point.

Whenever you could, whenever you weren’t too exhausted, you would stay up with him. A couple of times you both ended up sleeping on the couch because you fell asleep and Bucky didn’t feel right moving you without your permission. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep next to you, but it happened anyway.

One night you went to speak with him like you had done before but this time was different.

You stood in front of where he sat and when he looked up at you the light caught the glint in his eyes and made you aware of his tear-stained face.

“Can I touch you?” you asked, just as you had done time and time again.

“Always,” he replied. You cupped his face with your hands.

“Is this okay?” you asked, hands moving to tangle with his hair.

“It’s more than okay,” he replied, leaning on your stomach as he brought his hands to rest on your hips. “Thank you.”

He wasn’t merely thanking you for staying up with him, but for the fingerprints you were leaving on his very soul. The lingering feeling of your soft touch on his trauma-filled skin.

He didn’t dare tell you about his most recent dream — a dream in which the Winter Soldier took your life.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes comfort #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #sebastian stan #by mind empty just fictional people #by astrid #marvel x you #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #userastrid #usermindempty

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dumb-ster-fire · 6 days ago

Text

His Unholy Voice

Azriel x mate!reader

Summary: Cassian dares Azriel to call Y/N a “good girl,” and the River House descends into chaos.

a/n: Y/N has shadows and starlight powers because why not?🤭 This tid-bit of info will make sense as you read.

Masterlist

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The late afternoon sun slanted lazily through the windows of the River House, bathing the living room in golden light. The air hummed with quiet conversation and the soft clinking of glasses, the occasional flutter of faelight drifting near the ceiling like drowsy stars. Velaris stretched peacefully outside the tall windows, but inside, the Inner Circle was gathered in their usual chaotic harmony.

Cassian was draped across one of the oversized couches like a lounging mountain, one foot on the coffee table, sipping from a glass of something amber. Nesta was curled beside him, her legs tucked under her as she read, pretending to ignore him—but everyone could see the slight curve to her lips at whatever nonsense he’d just said.

Rhys was stretched on another couch, Feyre leaning against his side as they shared a blanket, her sketchpad resting on her knees. She was absently doodling swirls of starlight and wings, her free hand curled around Rhysand’s fingers. Mor sat on the floor nearby, polishing her nails with a spell that shimmered gold and green with every flick of her hand. Elain, quiet but present, was perched in a window seat with a tray of tea, and Lucien lounged beside her, one arm slung lazily over the backrest as they chatted in low tones.

Amren reclined in a dark armchair, looking like a cat in the sun, sipping a goblet of something no one dared ask about, eyes half-lidded but sharp as ever.

Azriel sat in an armchair near the fireplace, shadows curling lazily around his shoulders like smoke. He had a book in his lap, unopened, because his attention kept flickering toward the open doorway leading to the kitchen.

That was where Y/N was.

They could hear her moving, her bare feet padding softly across the tile, cabinet doors opening and shutting, and an unmistakably muttered, “Where the fuck are the cheesy things?” drifting into the room.

Azriel’s lips quirked at that—barely—but the others noticed.

Cassian saw it first. And grinned like a predator spotting prey.

“Hey, Az,” Cassian said loudly, his voice a low drawl. “I dare you to call Y/N a good girl when she walks back in.”

The room went still for a beat.

Azriel’s shadows recoiled, like startled birds.

Feyre choked on her tea. Mor burst out laughing. Nesta looked up sharply, her brows lifting. Even Amren cracked one glowing eye open, clearly intrigued.

Elain blinked in quiet horror. Lucien looked like someone had lit a match under his chair.

Azriel didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe for a second.

“That’s low,” he muttered, but his voice betrayed the flicker of interest. Mischief.

Cassian leaned in, devilish. “Come on, brother. She melts when you say it. Like a dying star. She forgets her name. For science.”

“You’re an idiot,” Azriel replied, but he was already shifting, the barest smile tugging at his lips.

Cassian’s eyes glinted with glee. “For the record, I dare you.”

From the kitchen came the crinkling sound of a bag being triumphantly torn open. And a triumphant, “Aha!”

Y/N stepped into the doorway, holding a bag of some cheesy snack triumphantly, her hair catching the sunlight, shadows trailing behind her like a cloak, starlight dancing in her eyes.

And Azriel, cool as ever, looked up at her from his chair and said—soft and low, like a forbidden promise, the kind of voice that could make anyone forget the world—

“Good girl.”

Y/N froze.

The snack bag slipped slightly in her fingers.

The world—no, the entire house—held its breath.

Her pupils dilated. Her chest rose sharply with a breath. Knees buckled just a little. A flush crept up her cheeks, slow and deep. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Cassian exploded into laughter. “CAUGHT!”

Nesta threw a pillow at him.

Mor squealed. “She’s literally blushing! Az, do it again—do it again!”

Feyre nearly dropped her sketchpad as she laughed. Rhysand looked vaguely scandalized. Amren smirked over the rim of her goblet.

Azriel… was already on his feet, stalking toward Y/N like a shadow come to life, all dark promise and slow steps, his smirk lazy, knowing.

Y/N stood there like someone had unplugged her brain, cheesy snack bag clutched in one limp hand, completely undone by two words.

“Stars,” she muttered, barely audible. “That’s not fair.”

He stopped just in front of her, dipped his head until their mouths almost touched, and whispered once more, like a gift and a curse—

“Good girl.”

The snack bag hit the floor.

Chaos erupted in the living room behind them.

But Y/N only had eyes for Azriel, and he for her.

Cassian, somewhere behind them, crowed: “Best. Dare. Ever.”

Y/N didn’t stand a chance.

Not with that voice in her ear. Not when his hand slid around her waist with the barest pressure, fingers splaying possessively over her hip. Not when his shadows curled around her ankles and calves like warm silk, winding upward in slow, teasing spirals. Her knees gave a telltale wobble, and she might’ve leaned into him more than she meant to.

Azriel tilted his head, studying her with that impossibly focused gaze, the one that said he saw everything—every blush, every flicker of breath, every tremble she couldn’t quite hide.

“You dropped your snack,” he murmured, his lips brushing her cheek, but there was laughter in his tone now. Teasing. Dangerous.

Y/N’s voice was a whisper, scandalized and aroused and helpless all at once. “You’re evil.”

Cassian, from the couch: “Confirmed. Absolute menace. But we love him anyway.”

Rhys groaned into Feyre’s hair. “We need to start setting rules for these gatherings. Like no weaponized mating rituals in the living room.”

Mor was wiping tears from her eyes, still giggling. “Can’t believe how fast her soul left her body. Az, what did you do to her?”

“I said two words,” Azriel said innocently, though his hands hadn’t left Y/N’s waist.

“That you said them,” Feyre pointed out, grinning. “Big difference. If Cassian said it, she’d punch him.”

“True,” Y/N muttered, finding her voice again as she blinked up at her mate, trying to gather her strength. “You’re the only one allowed to say that.”

Azriel’s smirk deepened, pure male satisfaction.

“Say it again and I swear I will melt into the floor,” she whispered, half a warning, half a dare.

He leaned closer, and it was ridiculous—how even his breath on her skin made her insides twist.

But he didn’t say it again. No, instead he brushed a kiss just beneath her ear and murmured something else, something private, only for her—

And whatever he said made her clutch his shirt and mutter something in a language none of them understood. Her accent had thickened, her cheeks were flaming, and her shadows were writhing like they didn’t know what to do with themselves.

Azriel just smiled.

Lucien raised a brow from his seat. “I think we just witnessed the mating equivalent of a death blow.”

Elain looked down into her teacup, face burning.

Cassian was howling with laughter. “She short-circuited! You broke her! Y/N, you good?”

Y/N slowly turned her head over Azriel’s shoulder and leveled Cassian with a look of pure venom—except her lips were twitching upward at the corners.

“I’m going to shove cheesy snacks into your mouth until you shut up.”

“Promising me snacks? That’s not the threat you think it is.”

Azriel sighed, then bent down and retrieved the snack bag from the floor, brushing it off before pressing it into her hands. “Here. For your trouble.”

She squinted at him. “If you say it again in that voice, I will not survive the night.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“Azriel.”

But she was laughing now, flushed and glowing in that way she always got around him—like starlight blooming just beneath her skin. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple and led her back toward the couch, one hand still at her waist, and she let him.

The others watched them settle onto the floor near the hearth, Y/N leaning into Azriel’s side with the snack bag in her lap, still looking vaguely dazed. Azriel passed her one of the cheesy crisps like she was the queen of Prythian and this was some sacred offering.

Cassian, watching them with exaggerated horror: “We just enabled something truly terrible.”

Nesta: “Good. Now shut up.”

And as laughter filled the room once again, Y/N whispered, only loud enough for Azriel to hear, “I like being your good girl.”

Azriel didn’t say a word.

But his shadows swirled with contentment, and his smile—slow and secret—could’ve set the whole house on fire.

Cassian leaned back against the couch like a smug, overgrown cat, swirling the remains of his drink in his glass. He was watching Y/N and Azriel with that all-too-familiar gleam in his hazel eyes—the one that usually meant trouble was brewing.

Y/N was still nestled beside Azriel near the hearth, curled into his side, her legs tucked beneath her, munching on a cheesy crisp like it was the last edible thing in Prythian. Her cheeks were finally losing some of their deep blush, her breathing mostly even again.

Cassian clearly decided that peace had lasted too long.

With a slow, sly grin, he said to the room—loudly enough that everyone could hear, especially the couple in question—

“Now I’m just curious what her reaction would be if Az said, ‘on your knees.’”

Silence.

Actual, stunned silence.

Rhys choked on air.

Feyre gasped, her eyes wide as dinner plates.

Mor made a noise that was half-squeal, half-scream. “CASSIAN!”

Elain made a soft, scandalized squeak and buried her face in her hands. Lucien immediately reached for his drink, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

Nesta didn’t look up from her book, but her lips twitched as if she were biting back a laugh. “Gods, you’re such a shit-stirrer.”

Azriel didn’t even blink.

Y/N?

Y/N went completely still.

The kind of still that said every system in her body had shut down and restarted in a blaze of chaotic what the fuck.

Her hand froze halfway to her mouth, cheesy crisp inches from her lips. Her pupils dilated so fast it was like someone flipped a switch. She made a small, choked sound and looked at Azriel like he’d somehow already said it.

And Azriel… gods-damned Azriel…

The corner of his mouth lifted. Just slightly. Slowly. Like he was very aware of her reaction—and storing it for later use.

He said nothing.

But his shadows purred.

Y/N slowly turned her head toward Cassian, blinking like someone had just slapped her with a lightning bolt.

“Do you want to die?” she asked sweetly.

Cassian threw his head back and cackled. “Stars, it’s even worse than I thought! You didn’t even say it and she nearly melted into the floor!”

“Cass,” Azriel said, voice low and dangerous—not angry, but possessive, like a quiet warning growl. “Keep talking, and I’ll give her that command right here.”

Y/N made another helpless noise, turning red from her collarbones up.

Mor was dying, absolutely shrieking. “I can’t! I can’t—Az, if you say it I swear I’ll combust!”

Rhys, rubbing his temples like a father who’s lost control of his children: “Someone—anyone—please stop this. Elain looks like she might faint.”

Lucien reached over and gently moved Elain’s teacup away from her lap before something catastrophic could happen.

Meanwhile, Y/N was clutching Azriel’s shirt now, her head buried against his shoulder like she could hide from the conversation—but her body betrayed her. The way her legs shifted, the arch in her back, the way her shadows curled tight around her thighs—

Azriel bent his head close, and whispered something only she could hear. Her gasp was audible.

Cassian, watching the whole thing unfold like a delighted villain, grinned ear to ear. “Yup. That’s going in the record book.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “You have a record book?”

He waggled his brows. “I do now.”

Y/N finally peeked up from Azriel’s shoulder, her voice hoarse but steady. “I hope you know that when I recover from this, I’m kicking your ass.”

Cassian smirked. “Fair. But worth it.”

Azriel ran his hand slowly down her spine, a look of dark promise in his eyes.

And he murmured—not loud enough for anyone else to hear, but enough to make her shiver—

“Later.”

Y/N didn’t make a sound.

She just melted. Again.

And Cassian lost his mind.

“YOU GUYS! YOU’RE GONNA KILL HER! STOP!”

Azriel just smiled. And this time… even Rhys looked a little afraid.

But, of course, he was not done.

Because Azriel never let go of an advantage once he had it—and right now, Y/N was flushed, breathless, barely hanging on to the frayed remains of her composure. Cassian’s comment had been the match, but Azriel? Azriel was the flame.

The Shadowsinger reached lazily into the snack bag still resting in Y/N’s lap, pulled out one of the crisps—one of those curled, golden cheesy ones—and held it between his fingers.

Completely casual. Like he hadn’t just whispered promises into her ear. Like he wasn’t still the reason her entire nervous system was currently short-circuiting.

Then, ever so innocently, he turned to her and murmured—

“Open your mouth for me.”

The room went dead silent.

Again.

Feyre’s jaw dropped.

Mor screamed.

Cassian made a wheezing sound and nearly fell off the couch.

Lucien covered his face with his hands and muttered something like, “Oh, for the love of—”

Even Amren, lounging in a chair like some ancient, unimpressed cat, raised a single dark brow.

Y/N?

Y/N made a sound that could only be described as a high-pitched whimper.

Her spine straightened like she’d just been electrocuted, and her hands flew up as if she didn’t know whether to push him away or drag him closer. Her mouth opened—and then promptly snapped shut again, eyes wide in horror at her own reaction.

Azriel blinked at her, all innocence. “What? It’s a snack.”

Liar.

Y/N was staring at the chip like it was the One Ring and she was about to fall to her doom.

“Y-you…” she tried. “You know what you’re doing.”

Azriel tilted his head. “I’m feeding you.”

Cassian, clutching his stomach, howled. “Oh my gods, she doesn’t know whether to eat it or beg.”

Nesta muttered, “I swear if he keeps this up, she’s going to ascend to another plane.”

Mor flung a pillow at Azriel. “Stop corrupting her!”

“Too late,” Y/N whispered, eyes still locked on her mate.

She was vibrating. Her shadows were wrapped tight around her legs again, her starlight flickering faintly along her fingers like her powers couldn’t figure out how to help her.

Azriel leaned in, his voice velvet and low, and added with that damn smirk—

“Be a good girl and open up.”

Y/N made a strangled sound and obeyed before she could think. Mouth open, eyes dazed, spine arching slightly like every cell in her body had been commanded.

He placed the chip on her tongue with gentle, devastating precision.

She didn’t even taste it.

Cassian died.

Dropped off the couch entirely.

Nesta didn’t bother catching him.

Rhys buried his face in Feyre’s lap and moaned. “Make it stop, please, make it stop—”

Elain looked like she was experiencing a crisis. Lucien had gone utterly still beside her, wide-eyed. Mor was wheezing through her laughter.

Y/N, eyes fluttering closed around the cheesy crisp, finally swallowed, then slumped back against Azriel’s shoulder, absolutely done.

“I hate you,” she mumbled.

Azriel just brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, utterly unrepentant.

“No, you don’t.”

And stars help her—

He was right.

Azriel, the insufferable, beautiful bastard, glanced down at his fingers—now dusted with that unmistakable cheesy orange powder from the crisp he’d just fed her. He inspected them with a faint smirk, clearly considering his next move.

Y/N, still recovering, was half-sprawled against his side, her mind mush, her pride in shambles. Her heart was racing, her skin still flushed. One little command and she’d folded like wet parchment.

So, of course, of course he wasn’t done.

Without a word, he lifted his hand—the one with the cheesy dust—and held two fingers in front of her lips, tilting them slightly in offering.

And then, in that dark, low murmur that somehow sounded like a kiss laced with sin—

“Clean my fingers for me, sweetheart.”

Cassian let out an actual scream. Mor shrieked with laughter and nearly fell off the couch.

Feyre smacked Rhys on the arm to stop his uncontrollable snorting. Elain made a noise that may have been a gasp—or a gasped prayer. Lucien had gone completely still again, one eye twitching.

Nesta was watching now, intrigued. “I want to see if she combusts.”

Y/N stared at Azriel’s fingers like they were the gates to Hel. Her lips parted—reflex—and then she slapped a hand over her own mouth.

“Azriel!” she squeaked behind her fingers, eyes wide with shock, heat flooding her cheeks again. “You can’t just—in front of everyone—”

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just kept his hand out, that smug little tilt to his mouth.

“I’m just asking for help,” he said, utterly innocent. “You made me touch those chips. Now I’m all messy.”

Cassian, choking on laughter: “This is torture. I didn’t know watching someone descend into horny chaos could be this entertaining.”

Mor couldn’t breathe. “She’s gonna spontaneously ascend. Like full fae goddess mode, just out of sheer flustered thirst.”

Y/N, trembling with internal conflict, very slowly lowered her hand from her mouth. Her eyes were locked on Azriel’s, pupils dilated, lips parted, and her voice came out as a whisper:

“…You’re going to pay for this.”

Azriel’s voice dropped even lower. “Gladly.”

And gods help her—

She leaned forward.

Just the barest brush of her tongue over his fingertips, her eyes fluttering shut like she hated herself for it—and also maybe wanted to crawl into his lap and never leave again.

The moment her tongue touched his skin, his shadows shuddered.

Azriel inhaled through his nose like he’d just been handed every fantasy he’d never dared admit aloud.

Cassian actually collapsed, face-down on the floor, sob-laughing.

Rhys sat up and pointed a warning finger. “No one is allowed to say another word for the rest of the evening.”

Mor was crying. “It’s too late! They’ve corrupted this space forever!”

Y/N leaned back again, cheeks aflame, and buried her face in Azriel’s shoulder with a muffled groan.

“You’re evil,” she muttered.

Azriel wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head, his voice velvet and pure satisfaction.

“You love it.”

Cassian was still on the floor, pounding the hardwood with his fist like this was the greatest entertainment Velaris had ever known. “I take it back—this is better than sparring. Someone bring popcorn. No—cheesy crisps. Give me the cheesy crisps. I want to see what happens if I hold out my fingers.”

Azriel didn’t even look at him. “Try it and lose them.”

Y/N was vibrating in place, her face buried in Azriel’s neck, clearly trying to become one with his shadows to escape the utter humiliation and arousal that had consumed her.

Feyre had thrown a pillow at Rhys. “You’re the High Lord, do something!”

Rhys looked entirely too amused for someone supposedly in control. “This is divine punishment. For all of us.”

Lucien muttered, “I feel like I’m intruding on some very private mating ritual.”

Elain was pink, sipping her tea with trembling hands, her eyes so wide they looked like they’d never close again.

Amren hadn’t moved. “Honestly, I want to see how far this goes. My money’s on Y/N throwing Azriel through the wall before the hour’s done.”

Nesta, still cool and unreadable, just said, “I’ll help patch the wall when it happens.”

Azriel turned to Y/N, still cradling her like she was precious—and absolutely wrecked.

He tilted her chin up just enough to see her eyes, voice low and wicked.

“Still hungry, love?”

Y/N blinked up at him, her voice a whisper. “You are cruel.”

Cassian, from the floor: “He is! Isn’t it amazing? It’s like watching a temple girl be corrupted by the darkest male in existence—”

He paused. “Wait. That’s kinda what’s happening.”

Mor was crying again. “Y/N’s going to explode, and I’m not missing it.”

Y/N—desperate for payback—finally pushed herself upright. Her shadows flickered, starlight trailing her fingertips as she glared at Cassian.

“Oh, you think you’re safe?” she said, voice still breathy but gaining strength. “You want chaos? Fine.”

She pointed a single glowing finger at him. “If you don’t shut your mouth, I will say something to Nesta that will leave you begging.”

Cassian’s smugness vanished instantly.

His head snapped toward Nesta. “She’s bluffing.”

Nesta looked up slowly, like a lioness stirring in the sun. “She’s not.”

Cassian’s eyes went wide. “Y/N. Y/N. We’re friends. Friends.”

Y/N, voice sweet and laced with vengeance: “Then be quiet, General.”

Everyone howled.

Cassian threw a pillow at her. She caught it mid-air, shadows snatching it and gently setting it down beside her.

Azriel was beaming. Actually smiling, proud and delighted.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured in her ear.

Y/N melted. Again. “Gods-dammit—Azriel—!”

“Language,” he whispered, far too amused.

Feyre buried her face in her hands. “We’re never having a normal night again.”

Rhys sighed dramatically. “There’s no such thing as ‘normal’ when your brother’s sex voice ruins the entire living room.”

Azriel looked entirely unbothered. “Not my fault she’s obedient.”

Y/N shrieked.

Lucien spit out his wine.

Cassian groaned. “I will never get that image out of my mind.”

Amren sipped her bloodwine and muttered, “Good. Maybe next time you’ll think before daring the Shadowsinger to speak.”

Y/N launched a pillow at Azriel’s face.

He caught it one-handed, grinning. “You missed.”

Her voice came out in a growl, low and breathy.

“I never miss.”

Everyone froze.

Cassian: “Oh, she’s fighting back now.”

Nesta closed her book. “Let her.”

Azriel leaned in again, a challenge in his eyes, his voice practically dripping shadow and seduction.

“Then prove it, little star.”

And just like that—

That was it.

Y/N snapped.

With a strangled sound—something between a shriek and a gasp of pure exasperated sexual frustration—she launched herself fully into Azriel’s lap.

Azriel barely had time to blink before—

WHUMP.

A pillow hit him square in the face.

Then again.

WHUMP. WHUMP. WHUMP.

“Y/N—” he choked, trying to grab her wrists. “Y/N—”

She straddled him, knees on either side of his thighs, hair wild and falling into her face, eyes blazing, and just kept hitting him with the pillow.

“You. Smug. Bastard. That. Voice. Is. A. Warcrime!”

WHUMP. WHUMP. WHUMP.

Azriel’s shadows scattered in shock, clearly not sure whether to defend him or help Y/N.

Cassian was on his back on the floor, kicking his legs in hysterical laughter. “She snapped, I told you! She SNAPPED!”

Nesta smirked, folding her arms. “I like her more every day.”

Feyre was howling now, clinging to Rhys who looked like he’d aged ten years in the last five minutes. “I don’t even know who I’m rooting for anymore!”

Lucien murmured to Elain, “Should we look away?”

Elain: “I want to…but I can’t.”

Mor had completely lost it, tears running down her cheeks. “This is the best night of my life. I’m going to commission Feyre to paint this.”

Azriel had given up trying to stop her. He just sat there, letting her rain down justice, biting back laughter—though his shadows were trembling, and his smile was only growing wider the more she attacked.

“Mercy,” he said finally, shielding his face with one hand, catching the pillow with the other. “I surrender.”

“You do not!” Y/N shouted, WHACKING him again. “You think you can just ruin my brain in front of everyone and get away with it?!”

“Technically, you climbed into my lap,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

WHACK.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

WHACK.

“You’re not allowed to be hot and smug at the same time!”

Azriel caught the pillow again and suddenly flipped them, faster than anyone could react. Y/N gasped as her back hit the cushions beneath him, the pillow pinned between them, his body covering hers. Shadows coiled around them like a barrier, separating them from the howling laughter around the room.

He leaned close, nose brushing hers.

His voice, damn him, dropped again—

“You like me best like this.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Her fingers fisted in the front of his shirt.

Cassian yelled from the floor, “STOP! I’M TOO YOUNG TO BE EXPOSED TO THIS MUCH TENSION!”

Amren stood and dusted off her pants. “Alright. That’s enough. If they start dry-humping on this couch, I’m burning the place down.”

Azriel looked at her without moving. “We’d at least move to the guest room.”

WHACK. The pillow hit him one more time.

Y/N, face flushed and breathless, just stared up at him and muttered:

“…You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Azriel’s grin was all teeth and shadows.

“We both know that’s a lie.”

And every single person in that living room just lost it.

Y/N made a noise—a sound that wasn’t even a word, more like the wail of someone at the very edge of sanity and desire. A feral, strangled growl of pure exasperated chaos.

Then—

Her hands flew up.

And she wrapped them around Azriel’s throat.

Not tight—just enough to shake him.

Azriel let it happen.

His head bobbed slightly as she rattled him like a goblet of wine she was about to shatter. “I hate you!” she half-snarled, half-whimpered, glaring into his stupidly beautiful, smug, night-kissed face.

Azriel didn’t fight back. Just sat there on top of her with that infuriating little smirk tugging at his lips, shadows dancing gleefully behind him like they lived for this exact brand of foreplay.

“You are insufferable,” she hissed, still shaking him, face flushed, heart pounding.

Azriel blinked at her, calm as ever, and asked in the softest, silkiest voice:

“Harder?”

Cassian screamed. “I’M GOING TO ASCEND. AZRIEL’S KINKY. I CALLED IT. I KNEW IT.”

Feyre launched a pillow at him. Rhys tackled him with another.

Lucien actually choked on air and wheezed, “Is this what mating bonds are supposed to be like? Is this…normal?!”

Mor fell off the couch this time, full-on cackling.

Elain had gone completely still, blinking very slowly like her brain was buffering.

Nesta looked like she’d just been handed her favorite wine and a front-row seat to the greatest soap opera in Prythian. “I’m learning things I can never unlearn.”

Y/N released his throat with a groan of utter despair and let her arms flop back down against the cushions.

Azriel, absolutely pleased with himself, leaned down again until his nose brushed hers, shadows still coiling like smug little bastards.

“Finished?” he asked, voice all dark silk.

Y/N stared up at him with narrowed eyes and a trembling lip.

“…No,” she said.

Then she pulled him down by the collar and bit his jaw.

Azriel groaned, low and sharp, the kind that made everyone in the room turn to stone.

Cassian’s voice, faint: “I don’t know if I’m scared or impressed or—actually, no, I’m just scared.”

Rhys looked like he wanted to bury himself in the floor. “Mother above. Take me now.”

Amren drained her glass and muttered, “I told you. We should’ve just let her kill him that day.”

Mor was wheezing, pointing at Azriel. “He’s not even pretending to be cool anymore!”

Azriel, who was now half-lost in Y/N’s hair, let out a satisfied sigh against her ear.

“Still sleeping on the couch?” he murmured.

Y/N’s voice came out breathless, dangerous.

“You’re lucky I don’t banish you to the Illyrian mountains.”

Azriel nuzzled her. “You’d miss me by sundown.”

And Y/N—poor, flustered, still-fuming Y/N—just groaned again and muttered:

“Mother help me, I would.”

The entire Inner Circle groaned in unison.

Cassian had dragged a blanket off the couch and was now dramatically wrapping himself in it, rocking back and forth on the floor like a war survivor. “They’re saying the cutest filth to each other. I can’t live like this. I can’t go on. I need therapy. I need a temple. I need to bathe in salt.”

Nesta kicked him lightly. “You’re the one who started this.”

“I didn’t know it would become a religious experience!” he shot back, clutching the blanket tighter. “He whispered ‘harder’ while being choked—I can never look him in the eyes again.”

Feyre had officially surrendered, head in Rhys’s lap as she weakly muttered, “This is our house. Our house. We have a child. A toddler. We had dinner here an hour ago.”

Rhys was staring blankly at the ceiling. “We should burn the furniture.”

Azriel had not moved.

Still straddling Y/N, his chest rising and falling a bit faster now, jaw still tingling from where she’d bitten him. His shadows rolled lazily over her hips, slipping under the hem of her shirt like they knew no shame, brushing her skin like they were claiming her all over again.

Y/N glared up at him, cheeks burning, breath coming fast.

“I will get revenge for this,” she hissed. “This humiliation. This entire performance.”

Azriel only smiled, infuriatingly calm. “Then I look forward to it.”

WHUMP.

She hit him in the chest with the pillow again.

WHUMP.

He caught it and held it there, pinning her hands beneath his, voice low.

“Or you could surrender now. I’ll go easy on you… maybe.”

Her eyes blazed.

“You want surrender?” she whispered.

And then—in front of everyone—she arched up and bit his collarbone.

Azriel made a sound that could only be described as a choked growl, his wings flaring just a bit, shadows suddenly swirling like a storm.

Mor shrieked. “OH MY GODS.”

Cassian threw the blanket over his entire head. “I’M DEAD. BURY ME WITH HONOR.”

Lucien stood up and announced, “I’m going to go walk into the Sidra and never come back.”

Elain, softly: “I didn’t even know Fae could blush that much.”

Amren just stood, hands on her hips, and said, “Someone bring the child. Let him see what he must never become.”

Azriel looked like he was this close to losing every last shred of composure. His fingers curled around Y/N’s hips, grip possessive, eyes glowing faintly gold in the low light.

Y/N’s voice was a purr now, dangerous and smug. “Still think I’m the one surrendering?”

Azriel blinked down at her—and then, in the most unbothered voice possible, purred back:

“I’m letting you win.”

Y/N howled in rage and launched the pillow at his head again.

Mor collapsed in screaming laughter.

Cassian rolled onto his side and yelled into the floor:

“WHEN THEY GET MARRIED WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE.”

Nesta, dry as bone, replied, “Good. Maybe then we’ll have peace.”

And Feyre just reached for the wine bottle with one trembling hand.

“…I need three glasses just to forget tonight even happened.”

Azriel was laughing now—an actual full-on laugh, rare and wicked and infuriatingly attractive, his head tilted back slightly as Y/N shoved at his chest again, huffing like a dragon about to breathe literal star fire.

“You’re not letting me win,” she snapped, trying to sit up—only for him to lean down again and trap her with his body, his smirk infuriatingly close.

“Oh, but I am,” he purred, his voice brushing over her skin like velvet wrapped in shadows. “Letting you think you have the upper hand… while I enjoy the view.”

Y/N’s eyes blazed. “You are unbelievable.”

“And yet…” Azriel hummed, brushing his nose lightly along her jaw, just enough to make her entire soul glitch, “you’re still under me.”

There was a pause.

And then—Y/N’s voice went low and dangerous, her accent cutting through like a blade of silk.

“Fine.”

She grinned slowly.

“Let me show you what I do to people who underestimate me.”

Everyone in the room simultaneously—

“OH MY GODS.”

Cassian, muffled under his blanket: “SHE’S GONNA DOM HIM I KNEW IT—”

Feyre was openly drinking from the wine bottle now. “Rhys, portal me to Hewn City. I’d rather deal with Keir.”

Rhys, wide-eyed, whispered, “They’re worse than us.”

Mor was gone, rolling off the couch, clutching her ribs. “I can’t. I can’t—this is the best mating bond I’ve ever witnessed—how are they not combusting?!”

Nesta gave a sharp nod. “I give them ten minutes before they disappear upstairs.”

“Five,” Amren said flatly. “Three if he says anything else in that voice.”

Lucien had left the room. Vanished. There was no trace of him. Smart man.

Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter around Y/N’s waist, amused and pleased, while she leaned up again and whispered something in his ear—inaudible to the others, but it made his breath hitch, his hands tighten around her hips, his wings flex like he was very suddenly and urgently remembering he had a mate, and that she was his.

Cassian peeked out from under his blanket. “Did she just—did she say something or—did his soul just exit his body?”

Azriel was still for a heartbeat. Two.

Then he stood.

Effortlessly. With Y/N still in his arms.

She let out a very pleased, smug hum, arms twining around his neck, chin perched on his shoulder.

“Don’t wait up,” she said sweetly over his shoulder.

Cassian dramatically fell back onto the rug. “THEY’RE LEAVING. THEY’RE DOING THE THING. ABANDON SHIP.”

Rhys, cradling a glass of wine now, muttered, “I am the High Lord. I should be able to kick people out of my house.”

“Should being the key word,” Feyre muttered, pouring herself another glass and handing one to Nesta.

Amren raised her empty glass. “May the walls stay standing.”

“Unlikely,” Mor replied, still giggling. “But we’ll have fun guessing what breaks first.”

And with that, Azriel and Y/N disappeared up the stairs, shadows curling behind them like curtains closing on a performance that had left the audience in awe, horror, and unholy amounts of secondhand arousal.

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helaintoloki · 8 months ago

Note

May I request a five x reader where they are living domestically and just being happy and lovey dovey especially experiencing everything they did together while being in the apocalypse, the time commission, stoping the other apocalypses etc (five x Lila doesn’t exist five x Lila doesn’t exist five x Lilia doesn’t-)

a/n: this piece is basically a big fuck you to s4 so enjoy five being happy and domestic with reader and not his own brother’s wife. also five and reader are mentally older adults but physically in their twenties

warnings: language, fluff, mentions of pregnancy

summary: now that the timeline has been fixed and the world is no longer in danger, five can enjoy a peaceful life with you

The sunlight that bleeds through the curtains is almost blinding as Five begins to stir himself awake. Stretching out his limbs until he hears a satisfying pop, he lets out a sigh and moves to reach out for someone that isn’t there. Your spot in bed is still warm which means you haven’t been gone for long, but Five still rises with a sense of urgency when greeted with your absence. Call it muscle memory from dealing with multiple kidnapping ploys against you or an old habit that just won’t die off after having to remain vigilant when protecting you from the enemy, but the poor boy’s heart always skips a beat when you go missing.

He finds you in the kitchen brewing a fresh pot of coffee, your back to him as you hum along to the radio that plays on the counter and search for Five’s favorite cup in the cabinet. He has to pause and take a breath to remind himself that you’re not in danger, your life of protecting timelines and ending apocalypses is over, and the fresh start you’ve made for yourselves isn’t in any jeopardy. You’re real, you’re alive, and you’re his.

“Morning,” Five softly calls with a careful smile as he rests a hand on the small of your back and presses a tender kiss to your lips.

“Good morning,” you great cheerfully before handing him his cup of coffee. “I didn’t hear you get up. Did I wake you?”

“Not at all,” he assures you before taking a hearty gulp of the hot liquid. After years of being together you know how to make Five’s coffee just the way he likes it and could probably do so in your sleep if asked. Your thoughtfulness is just one of the many traits of yours that have him wrapped around your finger always.

“We need to go grocery shopping,” you note dutifully as you peek your head into the fridge in search of breakfast. Frowning, you announce, “We’re out of eggs, so I guess it’s frozen waffles for breakfast.”

“Why don’t we go out for breakfast today?” Five suggests with an innocent shrug.

“Really? But you hate breakfast places. They can never make your coffee right.”

“I also hate seeing you eat frozen waffles three days in a row,” he reminds you with a wry chuckle. Maneuvering you out of the way, Five closes the fridge shut and gives you a gentle nudge in the direction of your shared bedroom. “Go on, get dressed. You can wear that new dress you bought the other day.”

“You’re right!” You exclaim with an excited gasp and rush off to your room before Five can change his mind. Not that he would, of course. Five would do anything to see you happy after all the shit he’s put you through in your time together. Sometimes he still wonders why you ever agreed to marry him, perhaps a slip of sanity or lack of care for your own wellbeing, but he wasn’t one to complain. He liked living the quiet life with you, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

~~~

The night air is cool against your bare shoulders as you sit comfortably upon the porch swing and listen to the cicadas sing their evening song. The sun has long since set, but the string of lights that hang above you are enough to allow you to see the pages of your color by numbers book. Beside you, Five sits with a book in one hand while the other rests atop of your legs strewn across his lap. He enjoys sitting in the silence of your company as you remain glued together despite partaking in your own hobbies separately.

“We’ve been married for thirty years,” you state simply, breaking the silence but never once breaking your focus from your coloring book.

“Sure have,” is Five’s thoughtful reply. Setting his book aside, your husband gives your calf a gentle squeeze and turns to look at your concentrated features.

“Not including your siblings, it’s always been just us. Together in the apocalypse, partners under the Commission, husband and wife.”

“Is that a bad thing?” He asks, not quite sure what point you’re trying to make. Are you rethinking the marriage? Are you finally starting to have regrets about marrying him? He watches with bated breath as you set your materials to the side and finally meet his anxious gaze.

“I want to start a family of our own,” you finally confess, nervously fidgeting with your wedding ring as you await his response with hopeful eyes. “I don’t want it to be just us anymore.”

Sighing, Five leans his head back and shuts his eyes as he processes your request. He can’t say he’s surprised by your question; he’s noticed the way you eye babies in public, how you linger just a little too long to admire the window display of the infant clothing store at the mall, how you’ll hold the twins for hours in your arms and refuse to give them back until Diego has to physically pry them from your grasp. It’s only natural for you to feel this way, but that’s not the problem. The problem is Five isn’t exactly sure how he feels about becoming a father.

“I don’t know,” he admits carefully, taking great caution when choosing his next words so as to not upset you. “Having a kid, becoming parents… it changes everything.”

“I know we couldn’t before because there was the Commission and then the multiple apocalypses, and that’s why I never asked. But Five,” you urge gently, shifting to sit yourself up on your knees so you can reach over and take both of his hands in your own, “all of that is done with. We fixed the timeline, and all that end of the world nonsense is over with for good. No one is coming after us anymore or trying to kill me to get to you. We can properly grow old now and have a simple life together, wasn’t that always the goal?”

The boy is silent as he mulls over your speech. You’re completely right; saving the world and resetting the timeline to its proper place in order to ensure you and his siblings could have the lives you deserved was always the end goal. But after spending his entire existence trying to complete that task, he finds it hard to adjust to his new life of normalcy. Perhaps he’s not exactly scared of becoming a parent, but scared of what a baby would mean in the grand scheme of things. It would be proof that his work is truly over now, that he can turn his survival mode off after having it set to fight for so many years, and that’s a big adjustment for someone like him.

But when he looks at your hopeful gaze and sees the way you anxiously worry your lip between your teeth, he realizes that he’ll do anything to give you the happy life you deserve. He brings one of your hands to his lips and holds it tight as he murmurs his answer into the skin of your palm.

“If you think we’re ready, then I’m in.”

“You mean it?” You gasp while doing your best to withhold your excitement. Your eyes are wide and full of hope as Five lets out a soft chuckle before giving you a reassuring kiss.

“We survived the end of the world several times, how scary could raising a baby really be?”

He isn’t given an answer to his hypothetical question as you fling yourself into his arms and assault his face with multiple kisses along his skin. It’s safe to say his answer has eased your anxieties, and the boy can only laugh as you express your gratitude.

“I’m so happy you agree!” You exclaim giddily, your hands coming to rest upon his chest to ground yourself as you then suggest to Five’s surprise, “Let’s start trying tonight!”

“What?”

~~~

“That has to be the tiniest Hargreeves I’ve ever seen,” Klaus gushes adoringly as he takes in the details of the ultrasound photo in front of him. “Look at the little peanut, isn’t it precious?”

“I can’t believe Five is actually going to be a dad,” Allison notes in astonishment as the three of you turn your gaze to see him arguing with Diego over the proper way to baby proof your home while Ben eggs them on and ruins Luther’s efforts at trying to keep the peace. You’re only two months along, but Five is anxious to ensure that everything is perfect for your child’s arrival.

“You know, you might just be the first 65 year-old woman to give birth,” Klaus points out cheekily. “You should be in a world records book or something.”

“Very funny,” you retort sarcastically before taking back the ultrasound photo to hang up on the fridge. You falter for a moment when your eyes remain stuck to photo and your brain works on overdrive to commit the image to memory as best as you can.

“Everything okay?” Viktor asks after noticing the sudden change in demeanor.

“I just can’t believe this is real,” you murmur quietly, blinking back tears that threaten to spill. “After everything we’ve been through and everything we’ve lost, I guess a part of me worries that one day I’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream.”

“I know how that feels,” Allison assures you with a comforting squeeze to your shoulder. “But I promise you this isn’t a dream, and whatever you need we’ll be there.”

“Because you’re family now,” Viktor adds on with a confident nod. “And we look out for family no matter what.”

“Even though at one point in our lives we’ve all thought about killing each other,” Klaus notes humorously before giving you a tight squeeze.

“Everything okay over here?” Five asks, appearing at your side and placing a comforting hand on your back as you all turn your gazes towards the fridge and admire the newest addition to the family.

“Everything is perfect.”

#request #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #number five #five #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #number five x reader #number five imagine #five x reader #five imagine #tua #tua x reader #tua imagine

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ddejavvu · 6 months ago

Note

Bat animagus!reader who has scared Poly!marauders by accidentally falling asleep hanging upside down in the cabinets

The last thing Sirius expects when he goes into the cupboard to make Remus some tea is a little furry blur falling towards his face, but that's exactly what he gets. With a window-shattering shriek he jumps backwards, dropping the teacup he'd grabbed and wincing as it shatters on the tiled floor. You're just as bewildered as Sirius is, leathery wings flapping about as you desperately try catching yourself. You manage to land on Sirius's shoulder, but that only makes things worse, and he desperately tries prying your little clawed fingers off of his sleep shirt.

"Bloody hell!" He gripes, finally relaxing as his fight-or-flight response cools off, "You- you can't sleep in the cupboards!"

You chitter angrily at him from where you're barely hanging onto his clothing, but he's finally stopped swatting at you, which is nice. Instead he glares at you, bending his arm at an awkward angle to do so.

"And if you're going to, don't fling yourself at whoever opens the door."

Sirius regards the shattered teacup at his feet, and it's the only reason you're not transforming back to yell at him properly. Instead you crawl your way up his shoulder, screeching in annoyance directly into his ear.

"Mm, and of course you're not gonna help me clean this up," Sirius grumbles, storming off through the clean part of the kitchen to fetch the broom and dustpan, "You're lucky James and Remus are so fond of you, otherwise I'd chuck you into a cavern in the middle of nowhere and apparate off before you could flap your wings."

You call his bluff by nipping sharply at the shell of his ear, and he lets out an indignant squawk at the feeling.

"Hey! Okay, okay, I won't fling you into a cave. But the next time you scare one of us shitless, you're cleaning up the mess."

The chuff you let out beside his ear sounds a lot like a laugh, and Sirius is going to have a bone to pick with you and your attitude as soon as you can respond without swatting him in the face with a wing.

#sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black scenario #sirius black oneshot #sirius black headcanon #sirius black headcanons #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black blurb #sirius black drabble #sirius black fluff #sirius black smut

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snail-day · 25 days ago

Text

Rahhh I feel like a broken record saying this, but I just, ugh. Satoru is just such a yearner. Masks himself with smiles, pretending there’s nothing behind those pretty eyes. But really, he craves love. Craves it so deeply that the very act of being loved repulses him. It’s too much. He simply doesn't know what to do with it.

I just think Satoru in love is a mess, not in the way people expect. He’s not stammering over his words, not showing up at your door with hundreds of roses. He doesn’t have time for grand gestures like that.

He’s the type to stare at his phone longer than he should, the screen time stacking up in seconds. Just scrolling through your Instagram, pausing on that photo you always say you’re going to delete. He really wishes you wouldn’t because while you see imperfection, he sees someone who might as well have hung up the stars.

He’s the type to hover over his keyboard, those slender fingers typing and deleting the same message five times, wondering what would be too much. Would a heart emoji scare you off? Do you actually care about what he ate today?

Kicking his feet under the blankets, a few roll-arounds, when you text him “Goodnight” or “Good morning.” He bites down on a smile when you call first, just to tell him about a report or how your students are doing.

The Satoru with a crush: waking up earlier than necessary, neglecting the sleep his body begs for just to see if you’re online. If that typing bubble will pop up. If maybe - just maybe - you’re retyping too. If you crave him, even a fraction of the way he yearns for you.

He’s brushing his teeth at 7 a.m., frustrated, because you still haven’t texted. It’s only been two hours but it feels like forever. A foamy grin takes over his face when he sees the typing bubble. He checks, read receipts off. Just in case. He can't be caught looking desperate. Can't break down that wall just yet. Using his ego as a barrier to the real him.

Then the chime. Your message. Choking on toothpaste. Satoru has to pace his apartment like an idiot to calm down. A little circle around the coffee table, just to burn off the nerves. The soft patter of his giddy footsteps. Then he finally types back, “Good morning :)", though what he wants to say is “Did you sleep well?” or “Did you dream of me?”

And then, his smile falters. Do you think of him as Satoru, or as Gojo Satoru? Because there’s a difference. To mask the loneliness, swallowing the negative thoughts, he imagines you still curled up in bed, cheek smooshed into your pillow. Wonders how warm you’d be. If he were there, would you two stay wrapped up for an extra hour? Would you press a sleepy kiss to his cheek? Would you peck his face as many times as he would to yours?

When the silly little crush turns into something more - when it becomes a relationship.

Your mug sits next to his in the cabinet now. You brush your teeth together in the mornings. A playful nudge here and there. Giggling when he tries (and fails) to perfect an omelet. He makes character bentos for you on his day off, baby-blues crinkling with every smile.

And still - Satoru tries to play it cool. He wants to love you like a dog loves its favorite person, unconditionally, shamelessly, wholly. He wants to claim you as his and forget the rest of the world.

But he’s scared.

Scared that if he reaches too far, you won’t be there in the morning. That he’ll lose the luxury of placing his toothbrush next to yours. That there won’t be any more grocery trips where you both pause in the sweets aisle for far too long.

Scared you’ll pull away the second he starts reaching for miles instead of inches.

So he smiles. He jokes. Keeps the Gojo Satoru mask on. Because love is terrifying. It’s carving out your heart and handing it to someone, hoping they don’t drop it.

The first argument starts over something stupid. Most do. But it spirals. You don’t understand why he’s distant. Why he won’t let you all the way in. And he doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s terrified.

Because loving you means showing you the sharpest parts of himself. The ones buried behind smug grins and careless jokes. And he’s not sure you’ll still love him once you see them.

So he says something awful.

“Let’s break up.”

The words leave him in shards, clawing their way out of his throat. Words he doesn’t mean. A defense mechanism that works too well.

You freeze. He sees it in your eyes, shock, then hurt, then that dreadful look like you’re already pulling away.

And maybe… maybe that’s what he wants.

Because if he ends it now, if he’s the one who walks away, then he doesn’t have to know what it feels like to lose you for real. Doesn’t have to picture your body in a morgue because he couldn’t save you. Doesn’t have to imagine the world moving on without you in it.

It’s easier this way. That’s what he keeps telling himself.

Even as he stares at that imperfect photo of you still sitting on your Instagram while all the imperfect ones of you together are long gone. Scrubbed clean, no more cheeky smiles. No more subtle photos of you both on dates. As if pretending you never happened will make it hurt less. But it doesn’t. He’s left behind with nothing but the silence. And the tears that fall quietly onto the screen, threatening to like that photo from ages ago.

You forgot your toothbrush. But you left your house key.

His bed is still cold.

And god, he wishes you’d just send one more text.

#monday angst #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojo angst #gojo x reader angst #RAHHH Get this man outta my head #:((( Poor baby #Just wanna give him a big ol smooch #craddle that stupid face

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fastandcarlos · 6 months ago

Text

A Decade Of Love : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: as you and charles celebrate ten years together, take a look at a snapshot of your social media for each one of those years

pairing: charles x childhood sweetheart!reader

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

2015

liked by georgerussell63, charles_leclerc and 4,859 others

ynusername: turns out dating a racing car driver doesn’t stop him being a sickeningly sweet boyfriend too 💕🥺

797 comments

username1: I can’t get over how much of a sweetheart charles is 😭

charles_leclerc: you’re not supposed to expose this side of me to the rest of the world ❤️

username2: the little note on the coffee cup, I can’t-

pierregasly: I refuse to believe that charles managed to make a meal that delicious 🙂‍↔️

username3: now that is a man who suits racing gear!!

georgerussell63: this screams like an apology for ignoring you for the entire weekend whilst racing 🤷🏻‍♂️

ynusername: @/georgerussell63 not a single damn text 😭

username4: why do I get the feeling we’re going to be seeing these two in many racing paddocks in the future??

arthur_leclerc: can you have a word please? he’s not this nice to me 💔

ynusername: @/arthur_leclerc isn’t that the job of a brother?? 😂

username5: officially decided that I need to find myself a charles leclerc to love me 😂

alex_albon: stop showing off how lovely your boyfriend is 🙄

username6: wishing I had a guy to bring me breakfast in bed too…

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

2016

liked by alex_albon, nyckdevries and 37,953 others

charles_leclerc: the most chaotic year…gp3 series 🏆 ferrari academy ✅ haas test driver 🏎️…so excited to see what the future holds now!

3,969 comments

username7: can’t believe the progress you’ve made this year charles, we’re so proud of you!!

alex_albon: now you’re just showing off with all these achievements 😂👏🏻

username8: a season that most could only dream of 👏🏻

ynusername: could not be prouder of you…only upwards from here 🥳

charles_leclerc: @/ynusername thank you for constantly dealing with me stressing this year 😂❤️

username9: ferrari are the luckiest team in the world to have you ❤️🏎️

nyckdevries: an honour to share the track with you this year ☺️

username10: counting down the days until we inevitably see you in f1 now… 🤞🏻

scuderiaferrari: we’re so excited to have you on board charles, congratulations on a brilliant season!

username11: I hope you’ve got a bigger trophy cabinet at home 😂

pierregasly: I’m so proud to see you achieving your dreams brother!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

2017

liked by landonorris, ynusername and 68,492 others

charles_leclerc: such an incredible season, so proud to be the formula 2 champion. thank you to the amazing team who have supported me this year and all my family and friends for making so many sacrifices for me too ❤️🏎️

15,942 comments

username12: speechless, so unbelievably proud of you charles ❤️

pierregasly: can’t wait to see you show them how it’s done next year 🥺

username13: shut up the face on the first photo melts me…

ynusername: you never fail to blow me away with how talented you are 💕💕

username14: such an insane driver, f1 has no idea what’s about to hit it 🏎️

arthur_leclerc: okay, I’ll admit it, it’s pretty cool being able to say that you’re my brother 🙄

charles_leclerc: @/arthur_leclerc I knew you loved me really

arthur_leclerc: @/charles_leclerc let’s not get ahead of ourselves here 😂

username15: one incredible season, enjoy your rest as you deserve it 😘

alex_albon: such a joy to share the track with you again this year, good luck for next year buddy 🏆

charles_leclerc: @/alex_albon ik you’ll be there to join me soon enough!

username16: will f2 ever see a more dominant champion in its existence than you?? (no is the answer btw)

landonorris: at least you’re going one of us might have a chance next year 😂

username17: still not over how amazing this season has been, I can’t stop crying 😭

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

2018

liked by arthur_leclerc, lancestroll and 13,960 others

ynusername: spend half my time lost around the paddock 😂 but I’m so proud to watch you achieve your dreams charles (even if I can only wave to you from the other side of the garage!!)

3,078 comments

username18: I can’t believe the guy I supported in go karts all those years ago is in f1 🥹

arthur_leclerc: we can be lost together soon enough 😂

username19: yn you must be so proud of your man!

maxverstappen1: it’s been so nice to see you again recently and catch up after all these years!!

username20: thank you for being by his side for all these years ❤️

charles_leclerc: I love having you here with me for so many races, thank you for always supporting me 💞

ynusername: @/charles_leclerc i wouldn’t have it any other way ☺️

username21: girl I feel you, I went to one f1 race and spent most of it staring at a map 😂

pierregasly: I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve found you lost this year 😝

ynusername: @/pierregasly no one prepares you for how much busier f1 is compared to f2…

username22: it must be amazing to get to see f1 up close and personal like this

landonorris: I won’t be coming to you for directions when I join next year then 😂

ynusername: @/landonorris got no idea where mclaren is half the time anyway 🙈

username23: I bet charles is just happy to have you there, we all know how much he adores you!!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

2019

liked by lewishamilton, scuderiaferrari and 289,694 others

charles_leclerc: dreamt of this moment for so long, officially an f1 winner, don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing that 🏎️🏆

59,491 comments

ynusername: I’ve just about managed to pull myself together 😂 so proud of you my love 💓

charles_leclerc: @/ynusername thank you for always cheering me on even when I’ve doubted myself ☺️

username24: we’re all so proud of you charles, we knew you could do it!!

maxverstappen1: good job my friend, we’ve talked about this for so long and now it’s finally come true 🏆

username25: fyi I will not get over this for a very long time 🎉

sebastianvettel: congratulations partner, the first of many for sure 🍻

username26: I’m not sorry for how emotional I’ve been all day about this win

alex_albon: knowing how hard you’ve worked, there’s no one more deserving of this 👏🏻

username27: is there a more deserving man in f1? no, I think not.

scuderiaferrari: we couldn’t be prouder to have you on our team charles 🏎️

charles_leclerc: @/scuderiaferrari thank you to the whole team here and at home for all their hard work ❤️

username28: your dad would be so proud of you today charles ❤️

username29: I’ll remind you that you’re an f1 race winner everyday forever 🫶🏻

landonorris: thank goodness there were no “inchidents” in the race to ruin things 😂

charles_leclerc: @/landonorris 🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

2020

liked by arthur_leclerc, pierregasly and 429,707 others

charles_leclerc: missing all the fam right now, and wishing I could get back behind the wheel - lucky for yn tho as she’s stuck with me 😂🫶🏻

69,402 comments

scuderiaferrari: we all can’t wait to be back and enjoying race weekends too ❤️🏎️

username30: how is it fair for a family to look as good as these guys??

ynusername: it’s cute that you think I’m lucky with your ass annoying me constantly 😂

charles_leclerc: @/ynusername I can expose your habits too if that’s a challenge???

ynusername: @/charles_leclerc I’m sorry I love living with you sweetie 🥺

username31: so pleased you and yn have each other during these uncertain times 🫶🏻

username32: can’t wait to see you hopefully back around the track once everything is safe again

arthur_leclerc: I miss you guys so much, hopefully not too much longer until we’re reunited ❤️

username33: please make sure you stay safe charles 🙏🏻

username34: I bet poor yn is being driven insane living with charles 24/7 😂

pierregasly: offended that I wasn’t included in this post…

charles_leclerc: @/pierregasly dedicated post just to you incoming…

username35: idk how much longer I can cope without f1 in my life 😭

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

2021

liked by carmenmmundt, sebastianvettel and 97,592 others

ynusername: drove me all the way out to the middle of nowhere to ask me to marry him, easiest yes of my life 🥺🥂

26,942 comments

carmenmmundt: stfu I’m so unbelievably happy for you both ❤️❤️❤️

username36: I cannot begin to tell you how happy this post makes me!!!

carlossainz55: might’ve just shed a tear when I saw this post 🥲

charles_leclerc: no one else I’d want to spend the rest of my life with, I love you darling 💞

username37: he finally did it my faves are engaged ahhhhh

username38: is it acceptable to cry over someone else’s engagement btw???

landonorris: wedding of the century pending…⏳

arthur_leclerc: couldn’t be happier to finally be welcoming a sister into the family 🫶🏻

ynusername: @/arthur_leclerc and just so you know you’re definitely in my top two when it comes to brothers in law 😂

alex_albon: congratulations you two, lily and I could not be happier for you ✨

username39: wish I was a fly on the wall during the conversations as to who best man is gonna be 😂

pierregasly: he’s talked about doing this for so long, glad he’s finally done it 😍

username40: all my manifesting has finally paid off 🙏🏻

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

2022

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 1,593,068 others

charles_leclerc: taking us back to the place a year ago when I asked my best friend to marry me, still the best decision of my life 💞🌊

104,856 comments

username41: charles is such an old school romantic I love it

ynusername: still just as special as it was the first time around 🤍

maxverstappen1: please tell me you didn’t actually let charles be the one in charge of that boat 🤦🏻‍♂️

ynusername: @/maxverstappen1 I promise it was somehow returned in one piece

username42: and he still looks as happy as he did a year ago too 🥺

pierregasly: offended that you somehow think you’re his best friend 🤯

arthur_leclerc: @/pierregasly me too, cause obviously that’s my role and not yours 😉

georgerussell63: he’s just a hopeless romantic isn’t he 😅

username43: not all the boys just rinsing charles for being in love lmao

landonorris: if anyone wants an example of a soft fiancé…here you go!

carlossainz55: I’m just here cause I’m enjoying watching charles get wrecked in the comments 😂

username34: 🍿🍿🍿

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

2023

liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and 294,608 others

ynusername: best day of my life 💍💒

48,492 comments

carmenmmundt: thank you for inviting george and I to be part of your special day 💕

username35: these photos are the definition of STUNNING ✨

danielricciardo: please tell me charles managed to make it home in one piece??

ynusername: @/danielricciardo he’s currently crying about how hungover he is 😂

alex_albon: couldn’t be happier for two of my favourite people in the entire world ❤️

username36: can we pause for a second cause charles has officially taken my breath away

sebastianvettel: congratulations, you look absolutely beautiful yn!!

charles_leclerc: I love you, can’t wait for forever with you 🥂

username37: I always knew charles would look good in a suit but damn I was not prepared for this

lewishamilton: arguably the best wedding I’ve ever been to, such a lovely day 🫶🏻

username38: I can’t wait to see the rest of the photos after seeing these!!

landonorris: I think I’ve just about stopped crying now 😭

kellypiquet: without shadow of a doubt the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen 🤍

username39: don’t think I’m gonna be over these for a long time…

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

2024

liked by carlossainz55, arthur_leclerc and 2,605,638 others

charles_leclerc: don’t think this will sink in for a while, thank you to everyone who supported me in monaco this weekend!! so proud to finally win my home race, now to celebrate in style 🎉🏎️

285,047 comments

username40: all the hard work has finally paid off…king of monaco ❤️

ynusername: don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of you in 10 years, lifelong dream accomplished 💞👑

charles_leclerc: @/ynusername you’re the best, couldn’t have got here without you ❤️

carlossainz55: couldn’t be happier for you, I know just how much this means to you!

username41: we’re all so proud of you charles, congratulations on an incredible win

arthur_leclerc: after so many near misses, it just makes this all the more sweeter brother 🏎️🏁

username42: no one prepares you for the emotion of charles winning monaco wtf 😭😭

pierregasly: the one you’ve always dreamt of, so glad it came true!!

maxverstappen1: enjoy the celebrations tonight, you so deserve this!

username43: my heart is still racing, feel like im in some sort of dream…

landonorris: don’t think that smile will be leaving your face for a while 😂

charles_leclerc: @/landonorris just me trying to fight back the tears 🥹

username44: no one can take this moment from you charles, soak it all in 🍾

scuederiaferrari: the whole team could not be prouder of you, congratulations charles ❤️🏎️

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

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