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eviesaurusrex · 6 months ago

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ᴄʜᴏꜱᴇɴ ᴡɪꜱᴇʟʏ | ʙ. ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱ

Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: 5 incidents in which Bucky gets proven how lucky he is to have found you.

word count: 6.7k

warnings: MDNI, fluff, mobster typical themes, illusions to violence, more fluff, cursing, talks of marriage, starting a family etc., pregnancy, phantom pain, allusions to smutty time, slight dirty talk, my Google Translator skills for all things Russian, children, not perfetly proof-read

author’s note: Am I in my mobster era now? (Please don't try to strangle me when I butchered the Russian parts. I had only Google Translator as my trusty helper ;_; Dividers are made by @enchanthings-a and @strangergraphics!

Russian translations:

малышка (malyshka)—baby

милая (milaya)—darling

“Every day I wake up next to you, I pray to the gods and thank them for the love you give me. Every day I spend with you is more than I deserve. Every day I call myself lucky that you love me back, my dear. I love you more than anything in the world, more than the world, more than life itself. You are my everything. Thank you for making me the happiest man on this planet.”

“Should I stop telling you how good you feel around me? How good you take me? How perfect you look, all filled up with my cock and already pregnant with my baby?”

Привет, папочка (Privet, papochka)—Hello daddy

Привет, солнышко (Privet, solnyshko)—Hello sunshine

The first incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was when James Buchanan Barnes—fearsome crime lord, bratva leader, king of New York City’s underworld—found himself in the aftermath of a crossfire after a deal gone south. His doctor had just arrived to check out the gunshot wounds littering his arm and shoulder, and in his opinion, everyone made too much of a fuss about it.

He was fine. He made it out with barely any scratches.

“Nine gunshots, only one bullet I have to remove. This is a new record, Mr. Barnes.”

… a few scratches; he had to give him that.

On the other hand, his entire left arm had been reduced to nothing but a pile of scrap metal, so perhaps Bucky had been hit rather badly if he took that into account. He wouldn’t because he had to be okay, invincible even. The world he was born into was a cruel one that reprimanded one’s weakness with downfall and despair, and he had to uphold the legacy that had been bestowed upon him the moment his father took his last dying breath in the same car crash that had taken his arm. He had people to protect—his associates, partners, workers, everyone that he considered friends or even family.

Topped by only one person, one woman, who sat above them all on a throne he had created for her right next to his. Not beneath him, not a step below—right fucking next to him.

Speaking of which… The commotion outside their bedroom sounded a lot like the whirlwind he deemed to be the love of his existence, and cursing above his breath, his eyes moved a second from the slightly opened door toward the doctor holding the single bullet between a pair of forceps.

“Don’t you dare step in my way.”

Her voice rushed like opium through his veins, making the mobster forget about the burning pain of holes inside his body.

“I can’t let you in there. Not now. The doctor is with him, you don’t want to see that,” Steve’s voice echoed through the hallway, probably stacked with high-towering security men. Just as high-towering as the blond was, and still, his girl did not show fear. No, not her. Never her.

A scoff was heard, and the physician beside him chuckled under his breath as he started to clean the wounds meticulously. Even Bucky showed a rare hint of emotion around other people than her when a grin parted his lips for a moment. “You’re his second. He is his doctor. I am his girlfriend. Think again if you want to continue standing in my way, Steve. I’m not above using brute force to get to him.”

Hearing that from a woman stopping not even close to all their eye levels would be laughable with any other person, but her? Everyone knew she would move heaven and hell in order to get wherever he was. He had learned this the hard way and would never dare leave her behind again, not when she demanded to tag along.

She really is a wonder.

Bucky wasn’t sure if he had spoken those words out loud, his mind starting to struggle with the blood loss and pain seeping deeper than necessary into him.

Shuffling before the door made the brunet open his eyes again. “Fucking hell, woman…” The hardwood door opened, and he could see the woman ruling his world without even starting to grasp the extent of her power over him, turning toward his second in command. “I hope you don’t kiss your mother with that mouth, Rogers,” she spoke sweetly before she finally turned, her eyes immediately finding him on their shared bed.

Worry creased her forehead, brows deeply furrowed, eyes jumping from his shoulder to his injured arm, then right to the one missing. Without another heartbeat, she rushed through the grand but still cozy room, showcasing her taste because Bucky had let her redecorate this entire fucking house as soon as she had agreed to move in with him—after much persuasion on his part. He wouldn’t have given a fuck if she would’ve decided to paint every single wall a screaming yellow if it would’ve made her happy.

“Hey, милая.” His raspy voice from all the shouting broke a bit at the signature endearment for her, and he wished to reach a hand out to her, but the lack of his arm was jarringly apparent. So all he could do was watch her carefully settling down onto her side of the bed, scooting over the mattress, a warm, soft hand cupping his cheek while the pad of her thumb started to caress his cheekbone. “Hey, love,” she returned the greeting with a smile, worried gaze flicking to Dr. Strange. “How bad is it? And don’t you dare try to sugarcoat me like Sam bloody tried on our way here. I do possess eyes, you see that, right?”

Dr. Strange nodded while preparing the stitching material. “I have removed one bullet from his shoulder. Nine shots in total. I’ve cleaned them and will stitch them as soon as the anesthetic takes effect.” Bucky could see her nodding at the doctor’s explanation and tried to nuzzle closer into the palm of her hand. “Milaya?” She finally looked down on him. “I’m okay, ‘promise. They busted m’arm, though.”

His words turned slurred, slowly but steadily, and he focused on her soft smile that was always entirely reserved for him and baby kittens. He could live with that sort of competition.

“We will talk later, but I promise I’ll take a look at your arm, and in case there isn’t anything left to save, I’ll make you a new one, James.” She pressed a gentle, loving kiss to his sweat-covered forehead. “Now relax, my love. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Her voice echoed in his ears when the drugs finally kicked in, clinging to the sound of her.

Yes, he had been smart enough to ignore his stupid rule of not letting anyone get closer than necessary. She proved him right every damn time.

The second incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was on a regular day in December. Snow fell softly outside the grand brownstone they had chosen to spend the holidays at rather than the house outside the city. His girl had wanted to finally spend Christmas in the buzzing city again, and he had ordered their things packed and moved within a blink of an eye.

Now, everyone enjoyed their little piece of heaven surrounded by their families. Yelena and Natasha had returned to Russia for the holidays, Steve spent time with his own wife, while Sam had decided to go south to see his parents and check in with a few associates while he was already there.

Meanwhile, the feared bratva mobster, leader of the darkest pits of New York’s underworld, watched his girlfriend-soon-to-be-fiancée add a few more pieces they had picked up at Tiffany’s today to their Christmas tree, humming to the soft tunes of an old record wafting through the living room. His blue eyes, usually so menacing and threatening, rested with a loving expression on the woman he had sworn to protect with his life, one arm thrown over the back of the comfy couch he had spent a fortune on—but his queen fell in love with it at first sight and couldn’t find anything better suiting. Not that she had to. The shining black Centurion Card had been pulled out of the inside pocket of his black suit jacket the second Bucky had seen that look on her face.

He would buy her anything in this world, spoiling her rotten until she’d drown in pretty things.

“I think we need more lights,” she stated in a mumble, almost to herself, before turning toward him. “Don’t we? We need more lights, yes.” And so it was decided, and he smiled at her turning back when she started to roam through the red holiday box to find the last remaining string of colorful fairy lights. “No, wait.” Lifting a dark brow, the man watched her reach for the small package he had eyed since they’ve returned instead, all wrapped prettily and neatly.

Scooting across the soft carpet toward where he sat, his girl smiled up at him, holding the small present out to him before folding her hands over his muscular thigh, waiting patiently. “It’s not your Christmas present, but I saw it and… and I needed to do this. To have something for our tree.”

Their first real tree as a couple. The past three years, they had been too busy during the holiday season, barely being at home, not to mention the little time they would’ve had to go out, find a tree, and decorate it, so it would be appreciated as it deserved. This year, however, Bucky craved the comforts of their home, and he wanted to start collecting memories like this.

He bent over to her, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, hand cupping her cheek tenderly, the little gift almost vanishing in the vastness of his hands. “Thank you, моя милая.” How in all the hells had he become so lucky in finding this woman who now grinned up at him with unabashed happiness? “Open it! Open it already!” And he obliged, feeling giddy himself as she almost bounced on her knees, unwrapping the small box and opening the lid to reveal a perfectly crafted snowflake ornament, a picture of them together in Central Park during the worst snowstorm the city had witnessed in over a decade placed inside the clear crystal. Their smiling faces, almost hidden behind scarves and beanies, angled to one another, her lips pressing a snow-filled kiss to the corner of his smiling lips.

It was perfect.

She was perfect.

Gods be damned, but in that moment, when his eyes found hers again, he felt the overwhelming urge to drop down on his knees and ask for a lifetime together. But he wouldn’t. He had it all planned out, and he used to stick to his plans. He was patient beyond compare, but not when it involved this woman before him. So instead of caving to this sensation, Bucky carefully placed the crystal snowflake onto the coffee table in front of him and pulled his girl up into his lap in one smooth motion, wrapping her in his strong arms, fingers—both flesh and metal—tangling in soft strands of hair or gripping the soft black fabric of the hoodie she wore which once belonged to him.

“Каждый день я просыпаюсь рядом с тобой, молюсь богам и благодарю их за любовь, которую ты мне даришь. Каждый день, который я провожу с тобой, больше, чем я заслуживаю. Каждый день я называю себя счастливчиком, что ты любишь меня в ответ, моя дорогая. Я люблю тебя больше всего на свете, больше мира, больше самой жизни. Ты — мое все. Спасибо, что сделал меня самым счастливым человеком на этой планете, малышка,” Bucky rasped in Russian with his forehead pressed to hers and eyes intimately locked, watching the shy smile he loved so dearly spreading on her lips and making her eyes twinkle.

“I don’t know if you have insulted me just now, proclaimed your undying love for humble me, or started the dirty talk earlier than usual, but either way, I don’t mind.” Her fingers wrapped around his chin to pull his face closer to hers, lips touching when she added in a breathless whisper, “It sounded hot, so keep talking dirty to me, love.”

Giggling, his girl accepted the tender kisses of chapped lips to her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her lips. He felt the uncomfortable pull on his skin again when Bucky smiled at her, his split lip still not entirely healed after a punch he couldn’t dodge in time. Under her care, it will have vanished until next week when the photographer planned to take a few pictures for their first Christmas postcards.

Bucky still struggled to grasp how his life had turned in that particular manner. He never thought he’d be one for domesticity and familiar bliss, but with her?

He was all in.

The third incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was when James Buchanan Barnes, invincible mob boss, returned home in the dead of night in a frantic temper, his entourage strolling behind him, accepting his orders with grave faces and solemn nods.

“Don’t let him out of your fucking sight. Track him as soon as he leaves his godforsaken home, track him inside his own walls, hell, track when he takes a piss. I don’t fucking care!” His booming voice echoed through the foyer, and with another deep growl, he handed his weapons to Sam; two remained in the holster, hugging his broad shoulders. He wouldn’t take them off, not until the threat was decimated under his foot. “We’ll do a 24/7 surveillance on him, boss. He won’t come near her,” Steve promised, knowing damn well what would happen to all of their heads if they couldn’t protect her.

Bucky bared his teeth in disgust. “You better not fuck this up, Steve.” This would be his first and only warning, and the blond knew that, so he nodded and retreated into his office, knowing damn well that sleep would be nothing but a pleasant memory for a while—he wouldn’t be alone, though. Everyone knew how their boss got when his queen was threatened by others. Those threats had already started to grow in numbers as soon as the underworld learned of their engagement, and outsiders trying everything to get in and on good graces with certain families smelled a quick victory.

How wrong they were in those foolish assumptions.

Sam watched his boss almost anxiously while he desperately tried to cool off, fists pressed against the pretty surface of a pretty sideboard she had most definitely chosen.

“I will kill him. I’ll kill them all if I have to.”

At Bucky’s deep rumble, Sam could only hum in agreement. He would be right at his back, killing all who wanted to harm anyone he cared for, especially those inside this building.

“I could reach out to our associates in Louisiana, get some more backup and gunpower. There’s this kid who’s a marvel with tech. Maybe he can come up with a discreet solution for the in-house surveillance,” Sam suggested, knowing damn well how excited Parker would be when he finally allowed him to tag along, currently bored out of his brilliant mind at college. Bucky looked up and over his shoulder, icy blue eyes resting on one of his best men—and friend. But the creaking above their heads let him pause in his answer, and both men stared up the stairs, knowing who eavesdropped at the railing.

Bucky sighed deeply. “We need to work on your stealth skills, малышка,” he spoke up and waited for her steps to pick up and for her to shuffle down the stairs. She did in a pair of cozy yoga pants, a large hoodie hanging on her form—the one he had worn before changing into his suit this morning—and fluffy socks with reindeer and candy canes printed all over them, her hair wrapped in a messy bun on the top of her head, strands framing her face. In her arms throned a king amongst pets, and white fur littered the soft fabric of his hoodie where she held Alpine close to her chest.

His heart ached at the sight of her in the best possible way.

Her eyes wide with worry—not for herself, but for him and all his men—jumped between Sam and himself as she reached the second to last step and waited there.

“I didn’t mean to, but… I heard voices and thought you’d come home, but then I heard everyone talking and it was kind of too late to go back to bed anyway, so I figured I could… learn a bit.” Bucky started softly shaking his head, his outgrowing hair tickling his cheeks. “You meant eavesdropping, малышка. That’s the word you’re looking for here,” he deadpanned, and one corner of his mouth slightly lifted at the sound of her quiet laugh, her fingers comfortingly petting the white fluff ball currently purring at the attention and headbutting her hand for more.

With another sigh, he stepped up to the stairs, raising his gaze to his all-ruling queen, and he felt the tension in his shoulders slightly disappear when her hand came up to his neck and rested there comfortingly, fingers playing with the soft strands of his dark hair. “I’ll be alright, James,” she whispered, and he wasn’t sure how she could say that with such certainty when not even he felt so sure. “We’ll be alright, I just know it. Nothing and no one will keep me from you, from becoming your wife and living a very happy life with the man I love more than anything in this world, giving him the cutest fur babies and children the world has ever seen.” Bucky sucked in a breath, and after gently putting down Alpine, he pulled his soon-to-be wife in a bone-crushing hug, wrapping her legs around his hips with ease. “We will live until we turn old and grey and can look back at all the memories we made along the way, annoying our children and grandkids with endless, embarrassing stories,” she continued to whisper against the soft, tattooed skin of his neck and yes, he could see all that and more, too.

It was easy with her to picture this picture-perfect life—and he would do anything to make it a reality. He wouldn’t stop at murder and anarchy, not when it came to her.

So when he slightly turned to Sam with his woman in his arms, ready to put her back to bed, he only needed to mouth the words, and it was done.

Do it.

The fourth incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was during one of those forsaken nights.

He woke with a startle and a groan escaping him involuntarily, the dark bedroom embracing him, a soft, warm body tucked into the expanse of his back, slow breathing fanning across his heated skin. His hand shot up with another groan leaving him, cupping the stump where once had been an arm, feeling the same agonizing pain he had felt in that car all those years ago, almost bleeding to death after a rivaling family had tried to kill them all off.

Unfortunately, he had survived—and the revenge had been brutal the moment he had recovered enough to go on a killing spree.

Trying to breathe through the crashing sensations, Bucky tried to move as quietly and carefully as possible, not wanting to wake the woman sleeping peacefully beside him because she needed all the rest she could humanely get. But the pain was blinding, the feeling of warm blood flowing down his skin so real, he could’ve sworn there was still an arm to lose, and his fucking legs were still tangled in the damn blanket!

With a frustrated huff, the mobster tried to just roll out of bed in a desperate attempt, not minding falling face-first to the floor, but the blanket didn’t budge, and suddenly, an arm snaked across his waist, and a warm hand rested on his muscular abdomen.

“D’not go…”

The sleepy mumble pierced through the agony, and usually, Bucky always obliged to his wife’s every demand, but not now. Not this time. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t crumble in front of her. She needed him to be strong and capable. He had to protect her and the little plum. He couldn’t show weakness, not even in the comforts of their own home. Word would get out, the pit of New York City would smell blood, they would come and kill her in front of his very eyes, make him watch when the life would vanish from her breathtaking eyes, taunting him, before they would end his life as well, releasing him into the bliss of afterlife where he would search for her, and—….

“Bucky? What’s wrong?”

Her voice, now sounding more awake and aware, startled and pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts, and he could feel the mattress dip and move when she sat up and scooted closer to him. “Hey…” A soothing hand started to rub over his back. “Talk to me, love. C’mon, handsome, I can only help when I know what’s bothering you to such an unholy hour.” Her teasing made him almost smile—almost. But the pain returned in full force, and his hand gripped his shoulder even tighter.

“Phantom pain. It’s nothing I can’t handle, malyshka. Go back to sleep, you need it,” he rumbled quietly, his legs finally escaping the trap that was their blanket, and the man sat up, feet hitting the floor. He attempted to get up in order to leave her to the quietness of their room, but his wife had nothing the like on her mind. She held him back and scooted off the bed. “Stay. I’ll be right back.” Blinking into the dim light of her bedside table, he reached for her and tried to get up. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Go back to—”

She shushed him gently and pressed a finger to his lips. “I said Stay. I mean it.” With that, his woman granted him a serious glance before she patted into the adjacent bathroom, one hand cradling her already quite prominent bump, and all Bucky could hear was rummaging sounds in their cabinets and a quiet mumbling.

“Your papa is a handful sometimes, little one. Prepare yourself because I need you in my corner, okay? Okay.”

Smiling through the irritating pain, the mobster waited for her to return and watched her closely when she finally left the bathroom and patted back to their bed, a bottle of lotion in her hand. “You think you need the mirror, love?” Bucky glanced at the full-length mirror in their walk-in closet shrouded in darkness and decided with a soft shake of his head. “Maybe later if it’s not getting any better,” he mumbled in defeat, accepting the loving kisses pressed to his right temple and lips. “Just let me know, yeah?” He nodded at her request, and blue eyes watched her like a hawk when she settled right next to him, on the side of his missing arm, a squirt of lotion already between her soft hands warming it up.

“I told you to wake me up if it’s happening again,” his wife scolded him quietly, her incredible hands massaging the hurting stump of his shoulder. At first, it hurt like hell, but the more she kneaded and caressed, the more bearable it got. “You need your rest, milaya,” he returned with a lingering glance down her form, eyes equally heavy with worry and love when they settled on the little bump he had grown to love so dearly, it almost hurt.

Bucky felt her eyes on him in return and opened his arm when she stopped what she was doing to climb into his inviting lap, straddling him comfortably. Taking his hand into hers, she pushed the warm skin of her husband under his shirt she wore to sleep and placed his palm right on top of the soft curve before continuing.

“Not more than you need it, too. You’re running the mob empire, not me.” Her voice reminded him softly, and he let his forehead fall onto her shoulder, eyes closed, thumb caressing the warm skin of her bump, hoping, praying, he would feel something, anything. But according to all the books he had read so far, it would take a few more weeks until he could feel the slight movements their child did inside his wife. “And you’re growing a whole fucking human,” Bucky returned and got shushed again. “Watch your language, Barnes. I don’t want their first word to be anything obscene.”

But she couldn’t fool him. He heard her smile in the scolding.

A comfortable silence settled between them, then, reminding Bucky yet again why he had felt so good around her the second she had walked into that room in the hospital, only raising a brow at the sight of six buffed men clad in black suits, armed with more guns than one human could possibly need, and him sitting in the middle of it all—disheveled, still hurting, ice cold. She had smiled, wearing those ridiculous blue scrubs, and he had spotted a splash of blood on her light grey sneakers when she had come closer, pointing it out in almost something resembling disgust. Still, she only had rolled her pretty eyes at the pitiful attempt of an insult.

She hadn’t given a single fuck about those intimidating men—including him—all towering multiple heads above her, tattooed, guns always visible, the rough Russian language floating through the room occasionally. And he had respected her for that, even though he didn’t bother to be nice at first. In hindsight, Bucky would’ve earned a beating from his mother if she had been still alive. She had raised him better than treating a beautiful, kind, intelligent, and compassionate woman like he had initially treated her. But after a while, Bucky had felt how she had snaked her way into his thoughts, catching himself repeatedly thinking about her over the course of his day, starting to anticipate the next appointment to get his prosthetic measured, built, and adjusted, always looking forward to seeing her face.

She hadn’t given a flying fuck either when he finally revealed who he was and what he did, only cocking her head to the side in question and asking him, “Will you or one of your guys kill me after our time is over?” And when he had shook his head, denying those thoughts, she had smiled brightly, before turning back to the prosthetic arm she had crafted for him. “Then we don’t have a problem. Everyone has to earn their money somehow, James.” That was also the first time anyone had called him by that name since his parents had died, and he had fallen for her right then and there, ready to kneel at her feet and surer as hell that he would make her his queen.

“Don’t count on that, malyshka. Everyone around here is using filthy language, and do I need to remind you of certain… situations where the little plum currently has to listen in? Or do you want me to stop? Мне перестать говорить тебе, как хорошо ты себя чувствуешь рядом со мной? Как хорошо ты меня принимаешь? Как идеально ты выглядишь, вся заполненная моим членом и уже беременная моим ребенком?” He felt the pain slowly but steadily subside under her knowing and well-versed hands, feeling them stop in their magic as the huskily whispered Russian words flowed effortlessly over his lips, feeling her squirm in his lap.

Leaning slightly back in order to have a better look at his face, his wife bit her lower lip, making now the feared bratva leader squirm underneath her, his hand protectively pressed into her lower back, not daring to let her fall off of him. “You are a very evil man, James Barnes,” she hummed with almost a purring edge to her voice, making him grin as cocky as possible. “You married the worst of the bunch, malyshka—and you like it. You can’t hide it, not from me, never from me. Not when I’m balls-deep it that deliciously tight…—” Her lips pressing against his made him moan deep in his throat and stop taking altogether. Forgotten was the pain of the past. It still bothered him, somewhere in the back of his mind, but her scent, her taste, the feeling of his wife against him made him forget about it.

The past was the past, and now, only the present and the future held importance to him.

Lifting her with one arm with ease, the mobster carefully moved her to the middle of their bed, hovering above her and watching her pretty face with a loving gaze. “You’re my everything,” he dared to whisper. “You both are.” He felt her hands cupping his face tenderly as if he wasn’t the killer everyone feared across the East Coast as if he was something precious even though he was broken beyond repair. “And you are ours, Bucky.” She kissed his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his lips, and his left shoulder without disgust, without apprehension, but with deeply felt love.

As if he was perfect the way he was.

The fifth incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was after a business trip to Sicily that had taken too long for his liking, even though the business was good and the newly knitted connections invaluable. But it had made him leave his family for far too long than humanly tolerable, not even the many FaceTime calls had eased the sting in his heart.

“Make sure Enzo receives the gift for his wife and put a little something for him inside as well. Perhaps the Yamazaki Single Malt?” The 55-year-old whisky sure would make a fine gift for the young leader of the Sicilian Mafia, remembering an evening here and there when both men had shared a glass of scotch.

Steve walked beside him as they left the car and made their way over the sidewalk and behind the gate of the old brownstone in the best area in New York City. The cherry trees along the road were in full bloom, and the spring breeze was pleasant enough that the Barnes considered taking them all out for a day in Central Park. Work could wait after two weeks away from them. “Sure thing, Buck. I’ll call Stark to get a bottle,” the blond nodded and opened the door for his boss after walking up the stairs before entering the family home as well, happy sounds wafting through the air already.

Bucky visibly relaxed when he heard his family without a phone between them and handed Steve the concealed guns. They had made a rule for the house, and everyone obliged happily because everyone had been wrapped around their little fingers since the day they were born.

And no one would dare to go against Mrs. Barnes.

“I don’t want to be disturbed for the next couple of weeks, so handle everything and only bother me with situations that need my explicit attention,” was the last order the mobster could get out before the sound of small feet erupted from the living room and barreling toward the foyer.

“Papa!”

“Dada! No, waits for meeee! Annie, pwease! Mommyyyy!”

Bucky laughed as his eldest rounded the corner in full sprint, her little legs carrying her as fast they could, and the tall brunet crouched down to catch her little body. The little girl, resembling so much his wife, looked at his face with bright eyes, hands pressing against his cheeks and squishing them with an adorable chuckle.

“Привет, папочка,” she greeted him shyly, stumbling over her sounds and pronunciations, but Bucky kissed her little cheeks with such enthusiasm that her insecurities vanished in an instant. “Привет, солнышко,” the father returned with a kiss to her forehead and watched the questioning expression morphing onto his daughter’s face. Her tongue poked out between her lips, eyes wandering to the ceiling, brows drawn together in concentration—just like his wife. But then, she looked at him again, leaning closer as if she wanted to conspire with him. “What does that mean, papa? Yelena didn’t teach me that word yet,” she whispered, and Bucky laughed again, feeling almost crushed by the happiness he felt at that moment. “It means sunshine, my sunshine.” It made her smile as brightly as the sun outside the windows before she waved at Steve. “Hi, Uncle Stevie. You can go now. Papa is mine; you can have him back in… a long time.”

Nodding to underline her case, the almost six-year-old looked expectantly at his second in command, and Bucky turned with her still in his arms, looking just as expectantly as her. “You heard the little lady, Steve. Off you go,” he teased, and the blond shook his head with a smile, bowing before them. “As you wish, Princess Anastasia.” The girl huffed and showed the blond giant her tongue. “It’s Anya, Uncle Stevie! You always forget!” Chuckling, Steve took her hand and shook it apologetically. “You are right; my apologies, princess. Enjoy your time with your father.”

And with that, he left for his office, leaving the two in the foyer when they heard another set of steps.

“Anya, next time, wait for your brother, please,” Mrs. Barnes scolded the little girl gently, a smile on her lips and the little boy on her arm. His son nodded, holding his stuffed bunny at its long ears. “Yesh, waits for me, Annie! Dada!” More excitement echoed through the home as the small boy started to wiggle in her arms, and Bucky rushed over to her, catching Elijah before he could plop out of her embrace. “Careful, little troublemaker,” he laughed and held him with his other arm, hearing Anya scoff quietly. He threw his wife a questioning look, and in return, she only rolled her eyes at their children, softly shaking her head and taking Anya to her.

“They had a… falling out earlier.” Anya scoffed again as if her mother understated the entire ordeal, wanting to be put back on her feet, and hugged her mother’s hips closely. Elijah leaned his head against Bucky’s shoulder, bunny pressed tightly into his chest, watching his sister. “He ruined my homework! Miss Pepper said she’s suuuuuper excited for my solar system model, and then, papa, Eli just banged his stupid bunny on it!” Angry tears gathered in her eyes, almost rolling down her pretty face. His youngest looked positively undisturbed as he watched his sister unraveling over her homework, and Bucky sighed.

“Bunny s’not shtupid. Annie’s plant-… plants-… planets! Annie’s planets looks ugly, dada. Not pretty like mommy,” Elijah stated with confidence, making the tears finally spill over Anya’s cheeks. “I hate you! You’re not my little brother anymore!” And with that, the little girl pulled away from the soothing hands of her mother, almost tumbling over the stairs as she ran upstairs, a loud bang echoing through the house when she closed her door with force.

Another sigh escaped Bucky and his wife alike, both parents looking down at their little boy who started to chew on his bunny’s ear. “Honey, that wasn’t very nice to say,” she reprimanded her son and took him from Bucky when he stretched his little chubby arms toward his mother, keeping a hand on his little back. “Annie is sads?” She nodded and kissed the dark mob of hair her son had inherited from his father, just like the blue of his eyes. “She’s upset, baby, yes. We will give her a moment to calm down before we’re going upstairs to apologize, yes?”

Elijah nodded with tears in his eyes, and the father couldn’t hold back, so he gently cupped his youngest head and pressed a lingering kiss onto the wild dark curls. “Can me and bunny asks Miss Melina fors cookies?” Smiling, she pressed a kiss to his cheek before putting him onto his small feet. “But only one, baby!” He was already on his way, chanting for cookies.

In an instant, Bucky pulled his wife into his arms, capturing her lips with his, a rumbling moan escaping him at the taste and feel of her. “Two fucking weeks are too long, malyshka,” he stated with another lingering kiss, fingers tangled in her hair. “Tell me about it. Try to manage two kids who switch between being the bestes of friends and each other’s enemy number one multiple times a day.” Taking her in more closely, Bucky could see the dark circles under her eyes and the tight muscles around her lips. His thumb swept across the dark circles, and his lips followed to kiss them better. “I’m so sorry, milaya,” he murmured with another kiss to her forehead and felt her hand hitting him against the back of his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. You had to be there, and we had to stay here with school for Anya and Eli’s first day at kindergarten. We managed. I wouldn’t mind if you take over bedtime duty for a while, though.”

Bucky grinned happily at the prospect of spending time with his kids, feeling the love only a father could feel coursing through his body. “Of course, love. We’ll get you something nice on our stroll over Fifth and let the kids play in Central Park while you enjoy a book, alright? I’ll pick up a few new bedtime stories as well, so you will not even be remotely needed and can enjoy bath after bath. Would that make my wife happy?” Sighing, she leaned heavily against him, gathering strength through his strong body supporting the weight resting on her shoulders during the worst and most exhausting days—which they have had many in the past two weeks. “Sounds lovely. But don’t you dare spend a fortune on me again!” Her warning was unnecessary because Bucky would spend a fortune on his wonderful wife, and she knew that as well. “Please,” he chuckled and pressed another heated kiss to her lips, his fingers cupping her chin tenderly. “I’ll buy whatever you want, milaya. Perhaps we could even get something for us.”

He loved his wife in pretty clothes, but he loved her especially dearly in pretty lingerie he had no qualm of ripping off her gorgeous body the second she’d appear before him, reducing the masterfully crafted pieces to lacy shreds on their bedroom floor. The first time he did that, he hadn’t gotten the opportunity to pull her to bed, receiving a scolding he had gotten the last time, probably as a boy. She had been royally pissed at his antics, mourning the pretty set she had bought for their first night together. The next day, she received a delivery of all the pieces she had eyed at the shops and saved online, making her closet filled with more lingerie than a regular woman would need in her entire life.

Only that she wasn’t a regular woman with a regular man. He could buy her anything and in any quantity possible, so he wasn’t one to hold back when the urge to see this goddess of a woman naked made him growl and impatient—and even a tad jealous of the fabric touching her skin instead of his hands and lips.

“You are the worst of the bunch, Barnes. Seriously.” Exasperated, she looked up at him, her cheeks warming under his touch, and Bucky nodded with a serious expression. “I am insatiable when it comes to you, malyshka. And you thrive on the power you have over me.” Eye-rolling, she shook her head again, winding out of his arms and smacking his ass with a teasing smile. “Stop being a seventeen year old horndog and move your sexy backside up to your daughter. She’ll listen to you more than me after two weeks filled with my constant presence. I’ll see what I can save from her project, and stopping Elijah from munching on too many cookies…”

The last part was barely a mumble, already distracted by whatever thought wandered through her beautiful mind, and Bucky watched her retreating back with a smile before shrugging out of his suit jacket. Throwing it over the stair railing, he made his way to his eldest’s room, softly knocking at the door littered with pictures and posters of her favorite animals and characters—he could even see the remnants of a glitter pen—and knew how lucky he could count himself when he was allowed to enter his sunshine’s room.

He had the perfect wife, two healthy, wonderful children, and had found happiness despite the way his life had taken.

He had indeed chosen wisely.

author's note: Tysm for reading my silly little writing. As usual: likes, reblogs, and comments are so much appreciated! I love to read your thoughts <3

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fluff #mob boss!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #mob!bucky #mob bucky #mob au #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky fluff #mobster bucky

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invincibies · 2 months ago

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Hi , could you please do headcanons on mark grayson with an kryptonian partner reader . Like what they relationship is like between them and how they bond together through their struggles as heroes.

♡⠀⠀⠀ ⠀︵ ⑅ mark grayson x kryptonian!reader 𓏵𓏵 ㅤ

꒰ ︵ ﹒ author’s notes ! ﹕୧ . .

hi… ignore the new layout it’s temporary (i think maybe idk) i lost my laptop charger at school because it got STOLEN. so no gradient text for now guys my apolocheese… um anyway i think this is really stupid but i did not pay attention to the dc saga at all… or marvel. im usually not into super hero stuff so i had to google what kryptonian meant and i feel like an idiot 😭😭 tysm for your request though!! <3

im so sorry if this is awful, again, i never paid attention to dc that much, let alone super man and super girl… so if i get anything wrong, feel free to correct me! im just going off from what i remember from smallville LMAO

anyway im thinking of maybe doing smau’s on the side when im bored… what do we think of that gng?

⠀⠀ ¹³ 05 ⑅⠀♪ ‿ ׁ ֪

⠀◜ ͡ ֪ ⠀content warnings ; this has intent of mainstream!mark, if you interpret this as any other mark it WILL be considered ooc, mentions of the invincible war + conquest… and rex. big spoilers.

MAINSTREAM!mark ;

mark grayson who was suspicious of you as soon as you stepped foot onto earth — he was worried you were a Viltrumite who had the decency to not wear white clothing… before finding out that you were a completely different species with a brief conversation… before getting interrupted by a variant.

mark grayson who met you whilst he was trying to stop the world from going into complete ruins after the Invincible War with his 18 devil-like variants fucking up everything in their birds eye view… once that was under control, mark hadn’t even gotten to properly greet you before hearing “stand ready for my arrival, worm.”

mark grayson who had barely even begun to understand where he was once he woke up, saw you staring down at him, hovering over him really.

you didn’t know him that well — but you wanted to know him that well, so you waited in his hospital room for him to maybe comprehend a sentence without trying to slur out a response back due to the pain killers.

“Hi.”

“whhh…”

mark grayson who eventually got better from all of his broken bones as well as concussions and took you out after rex’s funeral as a thank you for helping him throughout the Invincible War and a little bit with conquest

his mood was sour, of course. he just had to go to his best friends funeral… but seeing you trying to get him through the guilt and sadness for not being there to help rex, he felt a little better. only a little.

mark grayson who quickly teaches you how to be more… “human” after realising how unaccustomed you were to earth’s environment and atmosphere. you were a quick learner.

mark grayson who eventually realises how much he’s been thinking about you and decides to find out more about you on a personal level, you told him how you were kryptonian and how your planet exploded a while ago, mark questions if it was the viltrumite — you tell him a completely different and fascinating story, he, of course, listens intently. he finds out that you have a weakness to kryptonite, he asks you more about the crystal.

you give him a weird look.

he raises his hands up in surrender.

although he is quick to find out what this crystal is after an enemy of yours comes to earth with a shit ton of it and you almost die. that wasn’t fun, especially after mark has gotten so close to you during this time. he begrudgingly brought you back to the GDA for you to get fixed up and regain your strength. you were fine within a day, surprisingly.

mark grayson who asks you out over your first slushy from 7/11. very romantic.

you and mark grayson who cuddle and talk over a bag of lollies and a comic book, talking about daily struggles of being superheroes and how you both are stupidly underpaid for what you guys do. mark comments that he is still being supported by his mother — you laugh.

to be edited when im not so tired… maybe.

im a lot more active on my character ai which is under the name “invincibles” pretty please go follow me i make ninjago bots and invincible bots, you can also follow “bakuras” which is where i upload yugioh bots once in a blue moon <3

#gn reader #invincible #mark grayson #invincible show #mark grayson x y/n #sfw mark grayson #where is omni man #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x reader #dick me down mark grayson #marry me #requests #touch me #touch me HARDER!

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weebsinstash · 3 months ago

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Kind of late to the wanna fuck the old government man from invincible party, but I wanna add that my personal taste is the mechanical diva machine head 😫 I need a rich whiney yandere who won’t let me be independent, who I thought I got away from only to be broken out of prison with a stronger than ever desire to have me

Godddd i was literally watching scene packs of him the other day and then immediately pivoted to writing a little draft where Reader develops powers but keeps it from their mom (because their mom fucking sucks) and you move to a new city and you/your mom are struggling to pay bills and you get approached by Machine Head who not only knows you have superpowers but managed to trap your mom into a predatory loan and he basically blackmails/coerces you into being his personal goon so he doesn't kill her

Like ngl when Titan smashed his desk in a rage and MH's basically all "see?! THAT'S why I can never let you go" that uh, that's the kind of possessive villain x hero shit that I live for. I even Googled if he was a cyborg or an android just because I wanted to hypothesize what his dick situation is. He has one as far as I'm concerned. He probably doesn't eat or drink which is a bit of a plot hole but I don't care. He's still organic from the waist down as far as I'm concerned

But then it's like :3 what's to stop him from expanding his demands? What's to stop him from saying "hey Reader, suck me off under the expensive desk I had to replace after you smashed it. Italian maple ain't cheap you know, so pay up". What's to stop him from bugging your home and seeing you in all of your private moments, including in the shower or when you're sleeping? What's to stop him from saying, "you know what, ride my dick or I'll just kill your mom and burn your apartment down, I literally own the building you guys are living in anyways". He'd burn the whole place down and leave you homeless if it meant he could wrap a tighter leash around you

Just the idea that he sends a summons for you and you're expecting to be told to kill a guy or fight someone or do something illegal and he's just outright, "soooo, anyways, I was thinking about it, aaaaaaaand I want you to take your clothes off" and you've just got ice in your veins as you weigh whether you want to listen to him or try to rush forward and kill him.

Of course, I also like the outcome of, just as you're about to start stripping down to do whatever he says, that's when Cecil and the GDA storm the building and here Stedman is, "we've got your mom in a secure location, come work for us instead" and you couldn't be more relieved to be offered a job as a government stooge. Of course that just leaves Machine Head all the more... hungry and vengeful that you slipped through his fingers before he got to indulge in any of his personal fantasies. Sucks for you that he becomes even more powerful and influential when he escapes :3

#yandere invincible #yandere x reader #sinprompts #yandere stuff

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delusionalalien · 1 month ago

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[Embrace You, Devour You] [Chapter 7] YANDERE!Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader x YANDERE!Variant!Invincibles

I HAVE WAY TOO MANY DRAFTS AND MISTAKES THAT I HAVE DONE WHILE MAKING THIS!!!! I accidentally published this TWICE, the app on my phone does not like me, no cap, it said 'save as draft' and the next thing i see is someone liking this shit when its only half way finish💀💀

Anyway, garbage as usual lmao. No Mark btw, you guys can skip this.

NOTE : I do NOT speak Russian, and I used google translate for the Russian bits, i'm so sorry for any Russian people reading this hot garbage of a fanfic.

prologue

previous chapter , ???

T.W / Tags: Slow-burn, Soft yandere, pining, mark is bat shit crazy but he good dw, baby-trapping, teen pregnancy, yandere variants, mark a lil pushy, breeding kink, jealous Mark Grayson, talks of abortion, misunderstandings, possessive Mark Grayson, murder, gore, child-murder(variant!readers), attempted suicide, murder-suicide(variant!readers), OOC, yandere!mom, prob need more tags

Weird ass dreams and you actually have family lore???

You felt the urge to mourn.

You had no recollections of what happened before you came here. All you knew this wasn't the earth you know, nature took over the planet, the sky a deep orange and a strange massive oak tree standing at the middle of it all.

a glowing green power shined inside it's body, dormant, angry, and isolated. Betrayed and stabbed by an axe which left imprints at the base, a scar, a reminder of what it went through.

There was an urge to comfort the alien plant, perhaps it was simply your mind playing tricks on you. There was no way a tree could feel human emotions.

You feel cold as you walk around it. You need to find home, but where is home exactly? This wasn't the earth you know of and you have no clue who or what brought you here in the first place.

You followed the roots of the first tree that protruded from the ground to another clearing where yet another oak tree stands, this time, normal for its height.

The last tree had vibrant colors, this one was dull in comparison to that green shine. You stopped for a brief moment to take in the sight before you.

Despite it's normal appearance and dull color, you can't help but touch the base of the tree and you flinched, stepping back when the shine swirled unnaturally when you touched it.

It seemed friendly, whatever these are they are definitely sentient to some degree.

You made distance with the oak, it didn't feel right to feel scared but you moved on your own feet, reminding yourself that you have to find a way back home and that sticking to one location is never a good idea- at least according to your mother's questionable survival guide she had passed down to you.

You pondered what your parents are doing, they probably filed a missing persons report on you and since you don't quite know how long you've been gone, you only hope its only been a day, and you started praying you weren't kidnapped by actual aliens from another planet.

Your train of thoughts also lingered further as you walk mindlessly through the dense forest. You think of Mark and how he was doing. You wished you cleared up the misunderstanding's about Todd before you came here, how you should have been honest with yourself and confessed.

Still, fear holds you back, you fear change, you are terrified of changing what you both have now. Knowing one day he's going to find someone and he looks at them like how you look at him all your life.

Mark is a friend, you know that, and you delude yourself that you're okay with just being friends, the next door childhood friend that will one day also find someone to love- someone who isn't Mark.

It repulsed you. The idea of someone else in your lives when you love him too much to give him away. Call it an obsession but you'd rather fight for the both of you to stay single for the rest of your life.

You tripped and fell on the grass when your foot caught itself on a stone, you hadn't realized you started crying in the middle of your crisis.

Stupid feelings.

Stupid lies.

Stupid you.

Why of all people has it have to be Mark?

Why does it feel like the world would tear itself apart when you aren't with him?

Why him?

Because he's Mark Grayson.

You're first love and possibly your last. The dork next door that would listen to you rant or ramble in the middle of the night with all the attention on you, the boy who would catch a lizard for you in recess just because you called them cool despite how scared he was touching one, the boy next door who shows up and glues himself on you with every chance he gets and spends most of your summers locked in your room dozing off or playing video games.

That was Mark Grayson, and to him?

You are nothing but a best friend. His ride or die, the girl next door who listens to him ramble about the new release of seance dog, the one who would put him in stupid situations, the girl who has a questionable love interest on Todd.

And who are you to make you change his mind?

You made your bed along ago, you just refused to lie still in it.

You leaned yourself onto a tree, small, insecure, but you felt the most safe within it's small dome, its little sanctuary in the middle of nowhere. It took you a minute to calm down and realized you hadn't gone that far at all from the second oak tree and from the distance you can still see the first tree towering above the head of the rest of the planets in this world.

The smaller oak you leaned to was still growing to maturity, the seconds tree's roots intertwined with the smaller one just like the first one did.

There was no green shine in its body not even a minuscule of it, just a normal tree with a parent tree root embracing its child.

You sat down and scoots further on the small tree where you feel safe. Where you can drown yourself in your own emotions without the feeling of being judged.

You want Mark to be here,

You want your mom to be here,

You want to hear your dad,

You want to hear Debbie giggle,

You want to see Nolan give you his best awkward comfort smiles,

You miss William and his loud comments,

You miss everyone back home, they're probably all worried sick about you,

How do you even go back home?

When did you fall asleep?

Soft fingers strokes your face, it wiped the salted tears away and she whispered soothing words into your ears, Russian was a language your mother didn't bother teaching you, as to why you don't know yourself, this woman is unmistakably speaking Russian to you, whispering soft words of encouragement.

"Вы должны проснуться!"

"Не заканчивай здесь свою жизнь!"

"Приди ко мне, дитя мое!"

"Вот и всё, иди сюда, дорогая."

Why was half your body inside the tree?

She held your hands and pry's you away from the plant in desperation, gathering her strength and she held you close when you are thrown out of the tree's hollow inside. You breathe heavily and watched the tree you we're resting on shamefully closed, the imprint of your body fading slowly as if it understood its irrational behavior of consuming you was wrong and selfish.

You could have died back there, and yet a stranger saved you.

"T-thank you saving me..."

She was massive, not as near as the same physique as your mother, but she was almost the same build. She has sharp features like your mother however, almost creepily identical and you flinched when she furrows her brows in anger.

"О чем ты думал! У тебя есть желание умереть? Что тебя так беспокоит, что ты хочешь покончить с собой?"

"I, I'm sorry? Miss i don't understand what you're saying."

There was a long pause before she sighed, her shoulders slump in defeat, you watch her stand up and motion for you to follow, despite everything, something tells you to obey without further questions. Perhaps because she was human in a nonhuman world, your instincts screams to survive.

You walked behind her, glancing back at the tree that almost consumed you and shuddered. You could have died, you got too comfortable and ended up almost giving up your life and the oddest thing is, you don't even hold any sort of resentment towards it.

Your body slams to a stop when the mystery woman stood still, she points towards a hole on the ground, her face unreadable but serious in the way she spoke.

"Home."

Home? You step a little closer to the hole, it was an endless abyss down there and you're beginning to doubt that she was even here to help you, looking back at the woman, she crossed her arms and waits for you to jump in.

"I'm sorry but this doesn't look safe."

Maybe she speaks and understand minimal English that would explain how she seems to understand you to a certain level. She shakes her head and comes up to you just to jab her finger right where you're heart is.

"Return."

"Return?" You repeat and she nods.

"Return, home." She points back at the hole once more then at you.

"Sorry, I don't understand how this hole is going to bring me back to earth."

A frustrated huff left her lips, she chew the inside of her cheeks thinking, finding words she could convince you to jump, and you wait for her to speak, the more the silence grew the more you think you have to be on your own to find your way back home.

A spaceship would be great about now.

"You, soul, home, body, return."

"wh-"

You didn't even get to ask before she actually shoved you. You flail your arms around trying to catch anything to stop your fall, screaming as the orange sky began to disappear and the silhouette of your murderer fades.

Fuck your life.

You jolt from slumber. Mouth opened to scream but no noise did come out. What the hell did you dream about? You're then hit with a throbbing sensation in every part of your body.

Everything hurts. The pain you feel was like being struck by a truck going pass the speed limit down the road to end you, the mattress felt thin and stiff making you squirm and groan once your entire senses came back at full force.

You can make out the faint smell medicine wavering in the air, the bed would creaked on occasion if you shifted, your face was numbed with something clings onto your cheeks like sticker, your arms are no better, needles inserted in your veins and supplying you whatever nutrients you needed..

You felt dizzy when you sat up, and you're careful not to accidentally push the needle to where it shouldn't be. You felt nauseous and scared.

How long have you been out? What happened? Why are you in the hospital with these bandages wrapped around you?

Like a second truck coming out of nowhere to finish the job, you're hit with the last memories before you went unconscious out, you were alone underneath the bench and in the mercy of your own company, begging death not to take you, recalling Rebecca and her goons walk away from your body submerged in your own vomit, the way they laughed and tortured you.

You cried. Sobbing in your bruised hands as you let it all out. The agony they made you feel, how you felt pathetic and small while in their mercy as you took on their assault, blow after blow begging and crying out for help and mercy.

You hear the door open, you didn't stop your tears, nor try to shame the emotions you felt before your father went inside.

He froze on that doorway, his eyes red and tired. You felt bad for everyone, the pain they must have gone through just to wait for you to wake up, to know what happened.

It wasn't long before Nicolas held you in his arms, holding your head against his chest as he feel you tremble in his arms, crying to him, for your mother to hold you, to surround you in their presence, and Nicolas hushes you and kissing your head in comfort.

"I'm here,"

"You're safe, nothing is going to harm you now,"

"Let it all out, (Name)."

You drowned in his comfort, his smell, his voice, the way he sooth you in a tight embrace. You believe him, you survived in what you felt was death guiding you to the afterlife, surviving what felt like an eternity of torture, and he lets you cry, again and again.

Because you're his little girl.

And nothing will ever change that.

Not in a hundred years, not even millions.

So Nicolas didn't speak, he didn't stop you from crying, acknowledging what you went through, understanding his grounds as a father.

And for you it was enough.

Note: when i got bullied my dad just stared at me from across the room. All my crying must have went to his head because he told me to shut up and do the chores (he also threw a notebook at me)💀💀💀💀💀💀 GOD GIVE ME A DAD LIKE NICOLAS!!1!11! #copium #developeddaddyissueswithme

#yandere mark grayson x reader #idk how to tag this #mark grayson x reader #variant mark grayson #idk what im doing #idk man #variant!mark x reader #invincible x you

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jzprncess · 6 months ago

Text

max’s hair, max’s way

pairing: max verstappen x reader

oneshot

word count: 2,489

summary : Y/N discovers an AI image of Max Verstappen with long hair and can’t stop imagining how amazing he’d look with it. After dropping subtle hints, Max finally catches on and humorously entertains the idea. What follows is a hilarious, over-the-top obsession with starting a fan club—Max’s hair revolution is coming, whether he’s ready or not.

note : this one was actually quite easy to write but then again im just in a mood to write so i finished it in a few hours. this was a request that was submitted on my google forms!

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N’s day had been nothing short of a mess. She'd woken up late for a Zoom call, spilled coffee on her favorite sweatshirt (the one she swore was invincible to stains), and had yet another online shopping cart full of things she definitely didn’t need, but had to have. It wasn’t even noon, and she was already on her third attempt at taking a nap that didn’t feel like an awkward lie-down.

But there was one thing that had the potential to make it all better: mindless scrolling.

Her thumb lazily flicked through TikTok, her mind barely engaged as she watched videos that made zero sense, but for some reason, her brain processed them like essential information. It was supposed to be a five-minute break—a little escape before diving back into her ocean of responsibilities. She figured she'd scroll, mindlessly and aimlessly, just to silence the chaos in her head.

But then... she saw it.

It wasn’t some cute puppy video or a cooking hack that would forever change her life. No, no. It was something far more dangerous, far more potent, and absolutely life-changing.

Max Verstappen.

But not just any Max. No, this was an alternate universe Max—a Max created by the magical, terrifying powers of AI. The Max on her screen had hair that cascaded in long, perfect waves, the kind you could only dream about, or maybe see on a runway model. His sharp jawline was even more defined than usual (which shouldn’t be possible, but here we are), and his eyes—those piercing blue eyes—looked even more mysterious, as though he were a brooding poet in an indie movie. He was staring at her, but also not staring at her, if you know what she meant.

And then she saw it.

The hair.

Max’s new look was a cascade of locks that would make any shampoo ad jealous. It was silky, voluminous, perfectly tousled like he’d just walked out of a windstorm of pure glamor. It was glorious. It was breathtaking.

Y/N stopped dead in her tracks. Her thumb froze mid-scroll. Her heart rate ticked up a few notches. Holy shit. She didn’t even care that she was in a coffee-stained hoodie and still hadn’t brushed her hair. Nothing mattered anymore, because here was Max Verstappen, looking like an absolute dreamboat in a way she never thought possible. This wasn’t the Max she’d seen on the racetrack—no, this was a Max that belonged in the front pages of a high fashion magazine, throwing a rebellious look over his shoulder like a 90s pop star.

She blinked, trying to process what she was seeing. Her fingers twitched, ready to swipe, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Max with long hair. Her mind couldn’t let go of the image. It was perfect. He was perfect.

She leaned closer to the screen, squinting to examine every glorious detail, every strand of hair that seemed to defy physics. Could he actually pull this off in real life? Her fingers hovered over the screenshot button for a moment before she snapped it without hesitation.

And then, she did what any sane person would do: she set the image as her phone wallpaper.

There was no going back now. She wasn’t just going to stare at this picture once and forget about it. No, Max Verstappen with long hair was going to become her new obsession. She’d stare at it every time she unlocked her phone, letting the image haunt her dreams. Maybe she’d make it her lock screen too, just to really solidify the insanity.

The idea of Max with long hair, that Max, consumed her. Every time she glanced at the picture, it felt like an out-of-body experience. Was this how people got obsessed with celebrity transformations? Because this was absolutely it. She wasn’t even mad about it. She was already thinking of all the ways she could drop this bombshell on Max—subtle, of course. It had to be subtle. But she had to let him know somehow.

“Maybe I could just send it to him,” she muttered aloud to no one. “No, no... way too obvious.”

A sly grin spread across her face. She wasn’t going to just send the picture. No, she had a better idea. Max wouldn’t even see it coming.

She looked at the time—still early afternoon. Plenty of time to start planning. Oh, this was going to be fun.

After setting the AI picture as her wallpaper for the seventh time that day, Y/N leaned back in her chair, the wheels in her mind turning at lightning speed.

She had the plan now. She wasn’t just going to sit back and hope Max would see the error of his short-haired ways. No, Y/N was going to subtly—so subtly—nudge him into realizing that long hair was, in fact, the future. She’d been around the block enough to know how to manipulate situations for her own personal benefit.

Okay, maybe "manipulate" was too harsh of a word, but it sounded cool.

“Step one,” she muttered to herself, “Casual comments.”

She scrolled through her texts, thinking about what would be the perfect, casual way to throw out the idea of hair transformation.

Max had no idea what was about to hit him.

Y/N had spent the better part of the evening staring at her phone, just waiting for Max to reply to her text. She had done it—sent the casual, completely not obvious message about how “some people” just looked so good with long hair. She leaned back in her chair, a deep sense of satisfaction settling in. There was no way Max could miss the hint. She had done it perfectly. It was subtle, yet not so subtle that it was too subtle. The emoji sealed the deal. 😏

Still, she couldn’t help herself. She had to check her phone again, just to make sure the message had landed.

The screen lit up with a notification from Max. Y/N’s heart did a little dance. Here we go. She clicked it open, already anticipating his response.

Max: "Haha, are you talking about me? I’m not sure I could pull off long hair..."

Y/N froze. The message was a lot more casual than she’d hoped for. She reread it, her eyes scanning for the tiniest hint of curiosity or intrigue, but all she found was... confusion?

What? She thought she’d laid it out perfectly. The whole mysterious vibe thing had been an obvious clue!

Still, she wasn’t going to give up. Not yet. The game had only just begun.

She sat there for a moment, staring at the screen like she was trying to solve an impossible puzzle. A plan. She needed a plan, and it needed to be more than just a text.

Her eyes darted around the room. The walls, the plants, the weirdly shaped lamp on her desk—all were silent witnesses to her genius, or lack thereof, depending on how things went. But then—a light bulb moment.

It was obvious. She wasn’t going to be able to hint at this through mere text alone. No, no. She needed to get creative. She needed to make him see it—to envision the hair that could change his life. This was the moment where her vision and Max’s reality collided.

A slow grin spread across Y/N’s face. She knew just what to do.

Step one: The Subtle Instagram Story.

It was genius. Max would never suspect it. After all, people posted memes, weird videos, and obscure thoughts all the time. But Y/N had something more—something that could convince him without even saying a word.

She snapped a picture of herself—looking effortlessly glamorous, of course—and started typing her story caption.

“Do you ever think about how long hair changes a whole vibe? Like, imagine you had long hair... just think about it... 🧐”

She paused, reading it over. Was this too much? Too obvious? Too ridiculous?

Nah. It was perfect.

She hit post and waited, staring at her phone screen as if it would reveal some deep, philosophical answer to the universe’s mysteries.

The next few minutes felt like an eternity. She could practically feel the electricity buzzing in the air. She didn’t even know if Max was online, but her brain couldn’t shut down. The message was out there now. The seed had been planted. She was too far gone to back out now.

And then, a notification buzzed. It was from Max. She checked it eagerly.

Max: “Is this about me too? Because now I’m starting to wonder if I’m missing out on some kind of hair revolution."

Y/N’s eyes went wide. Was he actually considering it? No, no. He had to be messing with her. She stared at the message for a second longer than she should have, trying to decide if this was a real response or if she had somehow misinterpreted the whole thing.

No. He had to be getting it. She wasn’t backing down now. She had created a monster out of her own wild, absurd imagination, and it was all going exactly as planned.

She quickly typed back, a little too eagerly, but who could blame her?

Y/N: “Imagine the vibe, Max. Imagine the wind in your hair as you race, that confidence flowing through you. Like a whole new level of fabulous.”

There. That was perfect. She leaned back in her chair and waited for a response.

But of course, Max—being Max—didn’t make things easy.

Minutes passed. No reply.

Was he thinking about it? Was he in deep contemplation about whether he’d look good with long hair? Y/N felt like she might explode. Come on, Max. You’ve got this. Just admit it.

She stared at her screen until the words blurred together.

And then, finally, a message came in.

Max: "Alright, alright, I’ll admit it. I’m curious now. But do you really think I’d look good with long hair? I mean, I can’t picture it."

Y/N stared at her phone in disbelief.

This was it. This was her moment. He was actually questioning it. She could already hear the victory music playing in her head.

She took a deep breath, trying not to sound too smug.

Y/N: “Max, I’m telling you, it’s a whole vibe. You might just become the most iconic man in Formula 1 with long hair. People would talk about you for centuries.”

She added a winking emoji for good measure.

Max: “Centuries? Okay, now you’re definitely messing with me.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Oh, she was so close now.

After Max’s message came through, Y/N could barely contain herself. She wanted to scream, to do a victory dance, but instead, she opted for something slightly more composed: a dramatic flailing of her arms in the air and a loud, victorious "YES!" that echoed through her apartment like an over-the-top, one-woman celebration.

Max was actually considering it. He was at least open to the idea of long hair in the future.

This was the moment. She had won.

But the funniest part? Max wasn’t even aware of the scale of Y/N’s obsession. He was just playing along with her ridiculous game, unaware that she was about to go into full, borderline obsessive mode.

She stared at the text again, eyes wide, her heart racing. He was going to do it. One day—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—but Max Verstappen would, in fact, grow out his hair. He was practically promising it.

Y/N’s mind whirled with a thousand thoughts, each one more absurd than the last. She could already picture it: Max, standing on the racetrack, hair flying dramatically behind him as he sped past everyone. She could already hear the cheers. It was happening.

She grabbed her phone with shaking hands, barely able to type a coherent message. It was one thing for her to joke about it. But the fact that Max had actually said he’d grow his hair out one day? She couldn’t be the only one who was excited about this.

Y/N: “Max... no joke, I’m going to lose it the day you show up with long hair. I’ll probably start a fan club or something. A whole movement. ‘Max’s Hair, Max’s Way.’ How does that sound?”

She hit send and then immediately regretted it. It sounded insane. What was wrong with her?

She stared at the message for a long moment, debating whether she should delete it or just let it be. But before she could decide, Max’s reply came in like a gift from the hair gods themselves.

Max: “I don’t know about a whole movement, but hey, if I ever grow it out, you can be the president of the fan club. Just... don’t make it too weird, alright?”

Y/N almost dropped her phone. President? He was serious about this. She had an actual title in the most bizarre, ridiculous movement of her life.

Wait. Make it too weird? Oh, Max. She had already made it weird.

She texted back, too quickly, as if he could see her grinning like a maniac.

Y/N: “Deal. I’ll make sure to have the first fan club meeting at your next race. You better be ready for it.”

Max: “I’ll be sure to bring my best hair flip to the race. It’s going to be legendary.”

Y/N clutched her phone to her chest like she had just received the greatest treasure in the world. This was happening. It was happening in the future. She couldn’t wait. The anticipation was going to drive her insane.

But right now? She was going to enjoy the chaos of it all. She leaned back in her chair, hands trembling as she stared at the screen, imagining all the memes, the fan art, the movement. And who knew? Maybe one day, Max Verstappen would really grow out his hair.

Until then, Y/N was going to spend the next few weeks plotting the perfect fan club logo.

And so, Y/N’s obsession grew, her fantasies becoming wilder by the day. Every time she heard a hair-related joke or saw a picture of someone with long hair, she’d start giggling to herself like a schoolgirl with a crush. It wasn’t about Max’s hair anymore; it was about the ridiculous movement she had created, a movement that only she truly understood.

As for Max? He was still blissfully unaware of the full extent of Y/N’s hair dreams, but every now and then, he’d shoot her a quick text.

Max: “So... I’ve been thinking about it. Maybe I’ll start growing it out... one day. You ready to lead the fan club?”

And Y/N would reply with a heart full of excitement and a mind full of absurd possibilities.

Max’s Hair, Max’s Way. It was only a matter of time before the world caught on to the movement.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

taglist : @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey @alex-wotton

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 x y/n #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 fluff #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x you #formula 1 imagine #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x reader #mv1 x y/n #mv1 x reader #mv1 fic #jzprncess

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slutoru1207 · 3 months ago

Text

Gonna Fill You Up, Baby

MDNI 18+

Edited 03.21.25

Warning: Breeding Kink, Rough, Filthy, Unhinged, Absolutely Possessive

You knew something was different the second he walked in.

His eyes? Dark. Hungry.

His jaw? Clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitch.

His chest? Still rising and falling hard, like he just got back from a fight.

Pupils fully blown.

And the second he sees you?

That smirk spreads across his face.

"C’mere, baby."

His voice is low, rough, dripping with something dark.

He’s already gripping your waist, already pulling you into him, already pressing you back against the wall.

"Been thinking about you all fucking day."

A deep, gravelly whisper, his breath hot against your ear.

"Need you."

His fingers tighten on your hips.

"Need to fill you up."

Oh.

Oh, he’s completely gone.

The second his hands grab your thighs—

It’s over.

He’s lifting you up, pressing you into the wall, his lips crashing against yours—

And he’s not kissing you.

He’s claiming you.

Hot. Messy. Desperate.

His teeth drag against your bottom lip, a rough groan vibrating in his throat when you tug his hair.

"Fuck—"

His grip tightens, nails digging in, holding you in place.

He pulls back, just enough to meet your eyes.

"You gonna take it, baby?"

His voice is wrecked, husky, full of dark promise.

"You gonna let me put a baby in you?"

Oh, you just felt that straight in your core.

The second you whimper, nod, anything—

Oh, he snaps.

He’s not gentle.

He’s not careful.

He’s desperate. Possessive. Completely unhinged.

His hands grip your hips, holding you still, his breath heavy against your skin.

"Gonna fuck you so full, baby—"

A rough, growled promise, his lips trailing down your neck, biting, marking.

"Make sure it takes."

And when you whimper, when you beg him for more—

"Please..."

Oh.

The noise he makes.

A deep, wrecked groan, his head tilting back, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

"Shit—"

He grins, feral, teasing.

"You want it that bad?"

And when you grind your pussy against him, breathless, desperate—

His grip tightens.

"Yeah, baby—"

"That’s what I fucking thought."

It’s too much.

Too hot. Too intense.

The way he slides in, so rough.

The tip of his dick slamming into your cervix.

pap pap pap pap

Skin slapping, his hands everywhere, claiming you.

And when he feels you getting close—when he feels your thighs trembling around him—

Oh.

Oh, he loses it.

"That’s it, baby—"

His voice is wrecked, desperate, completely gone.

"Gonna give me everything, huh?"

"Gonna milk this cock, won’t you?"

His lips press against your ear, his breath shaky, his hands gripping you tighter.

"Gonna let me fill you up? Gonna let me fucking breed you?"

And the second you fall apart in his arms—

All you see is white, your body trembling.

The moan he lets out.

A deep, broken sound, his jaw clenched, his entire body trembling as he follows right after you.

"Fuck—fuck—take it, baby—"

His hands press you down onto him, holding you still, making sure you feel every single drop.

And when it’s over?

When he finally catches his breath?

He doesn’t let you go.

"You think we’re done?"

His voice is hoarse, teasing, completely smug.

"Nah, sweetheart."

His fingers trail down your stomach, slow, possessive.

"I gotta make sure it takes."

And before you can even process it—

He’s gripping your hips, flipping you over.

"On your hands and knees, baby."

"Let’s try again."

Oh, you are so. Screwed.

#invincible comic #invincible season 3 #invincible smut #invincible fanfic #invincible x you #mark grayson invincible #invincible #mark x reader #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #no goggles mark x reader #no googles mark

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cosmic-crashout · 3 months ago

Note

Can I perhaps request no goggles mark/guardians of the globe invincible hugging a random reader super close? Just being a real weirdo and sniffing their hair lol

He’s such a freak and god do I love him

He’s my absolute favorite and definitely one that would need a super powered reader cause otherwise he might accidentally break his lover, that man is an absolute sadomasochist and nobody can tell me otherwise, he’s a total weirdo who’d cling and rub against you like a cat would before biting hard

Like I said he’s my favorite, though Mohawk Mark is now a surprising close second

#invincible #oc x canon #invincible x reader #mark grayson #y/n #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x y/n #mark grayson x you #alternate mark grayson #female reader #no googles mark #cosmic works

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couldeatthatgirlforlunch · 8 months ago

Text

Invincible | Masterlist

Mark Grayson:

I Can Feel It in My Bones — One-shot

Synopsis: Being Invincible’s pet is cruel, but you manage to find comfort in it.

Pairing: Yandere!Sinister!Mark Grayson X Gn!Reader

Extra content: Reader who likes baking

No nut november

No googles Invincible x high sex-drived!Reader

Rex Sloan:

No nut november

Nonsense — One-shot

Synopsis: While on the brink of death, you confess your greatest burden to Rex. He always had a crush on you, so he decides that at his final moments, he should grant both of your last wishes… Until Invincible saves you. You go on with your life, but Rex can't seem to forget what you did under that rock.

Pairing: Rex Sloan X Gn!Reader

Rex Sloan X Hypersexual!Gn!Reader

General masterlist

#masterlist

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awkwarddaryl · 9 days ago

Text

There is Only Now - Chapter 19

Daryl Dixon x FtM!Reader Pronoun used ➤ "You", same age as Daryl, about late thirties. Song AO3 ➤ here First Chapter - Previous Chapter

TW (general story) ➤ transphobia, homophobia, abuse, alcohol and drug abuse, mention of suicide, death.

Word count: 2k

You were highschool sweethearts, fled your abusive homes together, married. Then, Merle came back into Daryl's life and played a big role in your divorce. For the last three years, during Merle's death anniversary, you kept finding Daryl drinking in this bar. Today was Merle's fourth death anniversary, would you come for him this time? Or did you move on?

Last chapter!!! I hope you liked the story, don't hesitate to comment! Can't wait to write other things. :D Thank you everyone for your support!!!

And then… Finally, death. It got here when no one was in the room, during a brief moment when everybody was outside in the middle of the night. He took the opportunity to let go of everything, giving his last breath and his last heartbeat away.

It had disappointed you, in a way. You hadn’t managed to take his hand, and even your presence had seemed to prevent his departure. These were complicated feelings, questions that no one had answers to. It didn’t matter that much though, because you felt something especially light in your surviving heart. This word at the top of your lips that you ended up giving to Daryl like a hidden secret: freedom.

Never again you would ever have to worry about his existence. You would never have to fear the words that would harm you and the people you loved. His judgements, his mockeries. Never again you would be afraid for Dog, for Daryl, for your friends, for your family. You were free, and while tears still ran down your cheeks like a waterfall, you weren’t unhappy. You had your whole life in front of you, and you were excited to spend it with your people, without fear. You had spent a few days after his death to prepare about a thousand different plans, from summer holidays to little weekends, comparing your schedules in hopes of finding some time for a motorcycle trip. Daryl worried for you, but you tried to reassure him often. Of course, you were sad sometimes, especially at night, especially from the memories awoken by that time with your dying father. From the way your features facing the glass reminded you of the one you saw at the hospital. But during the day… During the day, you felt invincible.

When the day of his cremation finally came, you planned to eat at the restaurant with the entire group after, including Paul and Aaron. You had asked Daryl to accompany you, and he had asked you whether you truly wanted to participate in it. But you had things to tell for the burial of your father.

Dressed in all black, T-shirt and jeans, not bothering to dress neatly for once – your father didn’t deserve it – you entered the building to see your father one last time before he would burn away forever. It was a spacious room with creamy colored tiles, with a tall ceiling that reminded of a religious place without fundamentally being one. At the end of the room, a reading desk with a microphone, and the casket to pay their respect to your father. The room was filled with people you knew nothing of, and you stood apart from that: everyone had heard about you at some point in their lives, had seen your pictures on the hospital website, or during a google research filled with curiosity. Your stepmother was here too, she looked tense from your presence. She approached, slightly stumbling, her face serious, wrinkles digging deep into her skin from her expression. “What are you doing here?” She asked, visibly embarrassed by your presence. “It’s my father.”

You stared at the reading desk and the casket your dead father was in. Without listening for more, you walked there. Daryl stayed behind, probably to temper the widow’s annoyance, knowing it would only get worse with time. Once in front of your father’s lifeless body, you realized how much emptiness you felt in his regards. His face was painted to give him a livelier and healthier appearance, and he simply looked like he was sleeping profoundly. He had died in a sleep, without pain, and you could see it from his relaxed expression. You couldn’t help but think that he had it good, your father. When you had seen your mom inside her casket, it hadn’t been the same story: messed up make-up and contorted expression.

One more injustice.

You didn’t touch him, feeling the regret of not having been able to take his hand when he was living despite yourself. Now, it was way too late, and it didn’t matter anymore.

Looking towards the reading desk, you took a paper out of your jeans’ pocket. You placed it, flattening it, before tapping on the microphone to see if it was plugged in. It was. Public attention went towards you, and every pair of eyes showed you incomprehension, suspicion, even disgust. They knew who you were, what you were. It terrorized you.

“Herm… Good morning, everyone.” You politely began despite it all, voice barely trembling, your shoulder and face tensed by the pressure of those gazes on you. You watched Elise trying to come closer, probably to prevent you from speaking at all, but Daryl placed a hand on her shoulder to dissuade her. It got a tiny smile out of you, feeling less alone in this hell. “As you all know, the man lying there is my father. I’m his son, I used to be a girl, a long time ago. You might have known me back then. I think… I deserve to say a couple of words about my father.” You cleared your throat, uncomfortable silence in the room weighing on you. But Daryl supported you with his eyes. You watched each head in front of you, one by one. “You have known him, he was a colleague, a friend, an acquaintance, or even a husband. He was nice to everyone outside. He was someone who was very skilled to keep up appearances, and I think I inherited that from him, among other things.” Your face lowered before casting an eye to the casket, taking a break.

“To me, he wasn’t only my father, he was also my greatest fear. He berated me and pushed me to my limits. I asked myself so many times, as a teen after mom died, whether I would survive this, whether I would survive him. He made me feel like I was the issue, that I wasn’t sane enough, that I wasn’t strong enough, too this or too that, never good enough. He made me feel wrong for who I was every day, every minute, every second of my existence.” You felt your teeth clench, your voice trembling from memories, and heard the offended whispers of your audience. You saw Elise’s brows furrowing in anger, and Daryl’s hand around her forearm. She was probably afraid of him because your father had always portrayed him like a delinquent. You felt bad he behaved like some sort of bodyguard at this moment, but you also felt privileged to know him, and see him supporting you in this way. His loyalty made your heart burst with affection. And all the other ways he stayed by your side for all of this, for everything. It gave you more strength to continue.

“So today… Is a celebration for me. I survived him. I’m free. Today I’m not sad that I lost my father. I’m sad I never had one who deserved me. That’s what I’m mourning, that I will mourn forever, because I really believed…” You felt tears burning your eyes while you stifled a sob in the back of your throat. “… I really believed in him until the end.” You took a couple of seconds to calm down your feelings, placing a hand in front of your mouth and wiping the corner of your eyes. The room was entirely silent at that point.

“I don’t… I don’t hate him. But I think he’s pathetic.” You pointed to him with your finger. “All he needed to say to have a relationship with me was ‘I’m sorry’. Don’t you think it’s such a waste?” You stared back at the audience. “His life… Is a lesson. A lesson in forgiveness.” You looked at Daryl, feeling your heart warm. “A lesson in realizing our mistakes and do better before it’s too late. To reach out for one another, to love one another today while we can. No matter the past, no matter the weight on our heart, no matter the pain. I believe we can build a new future together if we want to.” You lowered your gaze to your piece of paper for an instant, before casting a new look towards your father. “I’m sad my father never chose that path with me, but I wish him peace wherever he is now. Thank you.”

You left the desk to get back to the casket, looking at the lying form in the bed one last time. “Good bye, dad.” You whispered.

You joined Daryl back, seeing Elise struggle away from his grip to free herself, looking furious. You approached her calmly. “Don’t worry, we’re leaving. I said my piece.” You saw her suddenly raising her hand in the air, but you caught her wrist before she could slap your face. “That’s neither the time nor the place, Elise.” You said, calmly enough to diffuse the situation, but serious too. Daryl standing next to you probably stared at her darkly enough to push the point further.

You saw Elise clenching her jaw, eyes red. “You ungrateful child… Get out.”

“To freedom!” You raised your glass with no alcohol in the air, looking at each and every one of your friends smile and raising theirs. Daryl in front of you offered you a little smile, and you drank all together before eating a delicious large pizza. The conversation went on, small talk, everything but the burial.

You felt so lighthearted, loved, and you spoke about more of your future projects: potentially living with Daryl again and therefore finding a new place to live. You thought you would potentially get away from the city to get a house close to the forest, so that you could roam around there more with Dog. You thought about taking vacation during the summer, maybe close to the sea, and there was an aquarium you really wanted to check out in a city close to the beach. You were excited about it. You thought about all the trips you could do on a motorcycle with a bit of free time, all those adventures that were waiting for you and excited you both like teenagers. Rick seemed to notice that you looked younger and energetic compared to the last several years he had known you.

At the end of the meal, you excused yourself to get to the bathroom. You found yourself in front of the mirror, cleaning your hand with soap. You watched your decrepit father, close to his death, in your reflection. It was without a doubt him: the shape of his face, his forehead and his eyes, even the lines on the corners. You didn’t know anymore whether it was him or you in the end, that looked at you in the mirror, with this sullen expression on the face.

The door of the bathroom opened, and someone else gazed into the mirror. And there, you saw something different as you took his hand in yours.

Two men, with their little wrinkles, their older face, thin hair, bags under their eyes. Divorced, but partners all the same. They even had a dog now. You saw them younger, with a different body, lost but determined to have a place in this world, to fight for it. They supported one another, they formed a team together, they even got married. Finally, you saw them even older, grey haired and balding, thinner skin. Maybe even chronically ill, bent forward because of their painful back, with a walking stick to move without falling.

With, as a constant, the way you looked at each other, this mix of tenderness and silent love. Those little attentions you gave one another. The way he caressed the back of your hand with his thumb. You saw yourself smile in the mirror.

It was unmistakably Daryl and you at this instant, and forever. Till death do you part.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon x male reader #ftm!reader #AU #Chapter #Angst #comfort

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