#you can only save the world using the methods that you know | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daycourtofficial · 6 months ago

Text

You two are dancing in a snow globe round and round

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 8.2k | warnings: needles/requiring stitches

Summary: four times a trope fails to bring you and Azriel together, one time it prevails. This is my submission for @sjmromanceweek day 5: favorite tropes (and yes these are all elite tropes, argue with the wall 😤)

Author’s note: this is for my You Are in Love by Taylor Swift girlies. Also on the fence about the ending but ya know it felt right and @ninthcircleofprythian loved it so her opinion is the correct one

Fake dating

The streets of Velaris are quiet. A sleepy morning after the holiday excitement of Starfall has died down. A week past it and the fae are still holed up in their homes, only going out when necessary. The cobblestone streets are mostly empty, you, Nyx, and Azriel passing the occasional fae as they move in the opposite direction. They would nod or wave at the three of you, but never linger to talk, eager to get on their way.

A light tugging on your scarf brings you out of your daze. Looking down to find Nyx’s blue eyes looking up at you, his tiny hands pulling on your scarf. “Az, can you help undo my scarf?”

The two of you stop, moving over to the side of the street to avoid being in anyone’s way. Azriel’s scarred fingers reach out, unwrapping the scarf from your neck, and rewrapping it to include Nyx. The babe has been doing this all week to anyone wearing a scarf - tugging incessantly until he was also tucked into the scarf. If he was after the scent or the warmth, nobody knew. Cassian had even bought him a scarf, a little thin knitted piece of black wool, thinking the boy would be delighted. Nyx cried and pulled on the scarf when Cassian wrapped it around his neck before spitting up on it.

The princeling is still holding a slight grudge against Cassian, in turn causing the general to try desperately to get Nyx’s affections back - holding him constantly, playing with him, trying to slip him some sweet treats. Cassian’s antics have led the three of you here, walking the streets of town instead of being in the River House.

You usually watched Nyx in the afternoons and after a week of Cassian’s antics you had quickly grown tired of his need to get back in the heir’s good graces. As soon as Azriel returned from training and bathed, you had rushed the two of them out of the house with you before Cassian could come looking for Nyx.

Nyx settles in your arms, enjoying the comfort the scarf brings him. His head rests against your shoulder, the slightest bit of drool permeating your jacket. You sigh, cursing yourself for wearing your favorite coat when you know just how messy Nyx is.

“He’s quite fond of you,” Azriel’s deep voice is laced with affection. You look down at Nyx, finding it difficult not to coo over how cute he looks snuggled up to you.

“He better be - I spend more time with him than anyone save for Rhys and Feyre. Hopefully he remembers that when I begin my plans to take over the world.”

Nyx’s little giggle comes from underneath the scarf, immediately bringing a smile to your face. One of Azriel’s hands lingers around the small of your back, gently helping guide you down the near empty street.

“When you take over, will you spare me? I hear a shadowsinger could be very useful in world domination.” He leans into your ear, his voice soft as to not disturb the silence of the road.

You start moving down the street again, Azriel just a half step behind you. His left wing was open around your back, offering protection to you and the princeling. You wanted to sink into it, let his wing envelop you fully.

“You'll have to submit an application, I already have quite a few offers.”

“I’d expect nothing less, but I am hoping some favoritism can move my application forward.”

“Mm, does favoritism come with perks?”

“I’ll buy your lunch and any pretty things you find on the way back to the house.”

“Oh, I like your methods of persuasion, shadowsinger.”

The two of you walk into the bakery, Azriel holding the door open for you and Nyx to walk through first.

“I’m just saying, but if Cassian really expects to keep disrupting my plans with Nyx, the least he could do is make me a smoothie.”

Nyx babbles in your arms, and you look into his violet eyes, the same color as Rhys’s, but they held the same twinkle to them as Feyre’s eyes, “yes, that’s right. I’m right.”

You all get in line, five fae in line ahead of you. Azriel unwraps the scarf from around Nyx, the warmth of the bakery causing him to want to be out of the confines of the fabric.

“But if you woke up a little earlier, you could make one yourself without Nyx there to watch over.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” You ask, your finger tickling Nyx’s side to get him to giggle with you.

Azriel rolls his eyes at your obvious tactics to get the toddler to agree with you, but he can’t help the soft smile he has as Nyx giggles at your poking and flaps his tiny wings.

The older female in front of the two of you turns and gasps at Nyx, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.

“Well, if this isn’t the cutest babe in all of Prythian.” Her face lights up as Nyx flaps his wings harder at the attention he’s getting, hiding his face in your shoulder, hiding his big grin.

“He’s just darling, you two must be thrilled to have such a sweet babe.”

“Oh we’re not-“ Before you can disagree with her, Nyx has made his own decision.

“Mama!” He calls to you, putting his chubby little hands on your face, squishing your cheeks together. You move one of your hands back towards Azriel’s stomach, stopping him from speaking further, deciding to just roll with it.

You crinkle your eyes, “He’s just darling, isn’t he?”

Nyx gives you a toothless grin, and you shoot him a look he mistakes for pure affection, preening under your withering gaze. It is nearly impossible to stay mad at him, his chubby cheeks the ultimate ‘I can do no wrong’.

“How old is he?” You pale, having a hard time keeping track of Nyx’s age. You dig through your mind, trying to remember when Nyx was born. Azriel answers much quicker than your brain could. “He’s fourteen months old.” The female squeals at Azriel’s words, the shadowsinger slightly wincing.

“Wow, what a great age! My boys were little monsters by then, each of them would love walking around at night, they’d always manage to escape their cribs somehow. I can’t imagine how I’d deal with one of them with wings!” She continues, her eyes lit up talking about her kids when they were young. You find it incredibly sweet, until she continues on and on until it’s her turn to order.

Her back to you both, you turn toward Azriel, widening your eyes slightly and looking at her. He shrugs, a soft “what can you do” coming from him. After she orders, the two of you step up, ordering your sandwiches and something sweet for Nyx. The woman gets her sandwich right after you pay, telling you, “it was nice to speak to you - you and your family are beautiful.”

Nodding and smiling, the two of you find a table and sit, Nyx still in your arms. You lightly kick Azriel’s foot underneath the table. “Thanks for paying.”

He sips his coffee, rolling his eyes. “Didn’t want her to think I was a poor father.”

You laugh, the sound causing Nyx to laugh too. The light hit the pair of you, giving the two of you a sort of glow. If Azriel squinted, he could feel the edges of fantasy grasp hold of the image - you holding a winged babe, laughing at something he had said. He wished he had some way to capture this moment, knowing he would return to it over and over in his mind when he couldn’t sleep. He smiled, unable to keep your joy from infecting him.

One bed

“That’s not funny,” Cassian pouts, looking to you for support. You shrug, taking a sip of your wine to avoid speaking, opting to look towards the portraits on the wall rather than meet his gaze.

“You’re right - it’s hilarious,” Feyre responds, looking at her mate, seeing the comparison. “The last female you hooked up with looked just like Rhys.”

“She did not!” Cassian bellows, slamming his hand on the table. All of you howl in laughter, the revelation of Cassian’s recent hook up bearing quite the resemblance to his brother an endless source of amusement.

Cassian, Mor, Feyre, Rhys, Azriel, and yourself were all nestled into the dining room of the townhouse. The fae light in the room produces an incandescence that provides a stark contrast to the brutal snow storm outside.

You’re all trapped here, none of you brave enough to step far enough outside of the wards to winnow away. The six of you piled into the townhouse earlier in the evening, where you lovingly made a three course meal. It was a monthly tradition - you liked getting everyone together, you loved cooking for your friends, and they loved eating your food. It was a win all around.

Dinner was just starting to be served when the snowfall took a turn for the worst, coming down in massive heaps of white.

“Good thing we have a feast right here - I was starting to eye Azriel’s legs.”

Mor rolls her eyes at Cassian, “you were eyeing his legs because you can’t keep your eyes to yourself.”

Cassian smirks at her, a charming grin many females have fallen victim to. “You’re just upset it wasn’t your legs I was looking at.”

“Can we stop discussing my legs?” Azriel grumbles, passing the bowl of mixed vegetables to you. You nod in thanks, scooping a serving for yourself. “At least they’re being kind to you - last week Cassian was making fun of my arms.”

You pout your lip dramatically, but Azriel ignores it, his scowl still on his brother. “I wouldn’t call being the first to be eaten a kindness.”

“It’s not my fault you have short arms. How do you reach anything?” Cassian’s mouth was somehow already full of food, despite one of the platters just making its way to him.

“I believe she reaches things by scaling countertops and climbing shelves,” Rhys adds, plating himself some dumplings before serving some to Feyre’s plate.

“Hey! We were not talking about me, we were discussing Azriel’s delicious thighs!”

“He didn’t specify thigh.” Rhys points out, his fork pointing toward you.

“Oh, but I meant his thighs.” Cassian chimes in, his arm outstretched for another serving of potatoes.

“I’d start with his arms - he has a lot of meat on his bicep.” Mor doesn’t look up from her plate as she states it so casually.

“This conversation has taken a turn for the worse,” Azriel mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose in his fingers. You rub his arm soothingly, and he softens a bit at the feel of your touch.

Until you start squeezing the muscle beneath your hand. He immediately glances at you from the side of his eye, a stony and cold look.

“Flex for me, please.”

“I will not indulge this!” He starts trying to pull his arm away, but your fingers are surprisingly strong.

“Hmmm,” you hum, your hands still wrapped around his bicep, squeezing as you contemplate. “They’re a decent contender, but my vote is the thigh.”

“Not you too!”

You squeeze his arm lightly, “I’m sorry, this is a worst case scenario! I promise I’ll only eat you if you were already dead from like a freak accident.”

“What are our thoughts on someone being run through with my sword as a freak accident?” Cassian muses, licking his fingers dramatically. Azriel scowls at him as everyone around the table giggles.

Azriel turns back to you, “you only picked my legs because you wouldn’t be able to reach my arms.”

You drop your hands from his bicep, mock exasperation on your face. “How dare you! I was complimenting you. Being able to feed a family from your lifeless body is a compliment!”

“I can think of many families more deserving of my meat than you lot.”

He huffs, rotating his body to look at his brother before adding, “don’t you dare, Cassian.”

Cassian scoffs at the finger pointed in his direction. “You’re the one who said you can feed a village with your cock.”

“That is not what I said! And it was a family, not a village.”

“Whatever.”

The two keep bickering until Cassian throws a green bean at Azriel, who quickly moves his head. A shadow comes and quickly pushes the leftover food on Cassian’s plate into his lap in retaliation.

“Okay, that’s enough.”

Rhys looks equal parts amused and equal parts annoyed, likely at the mess that was made of his chair lining. He looks towards the window, the snow coming down even heavier than before. He sighs.

“I’m assuming we’ll all be staying here tonight?”

Everyone nods, no one wanting to brave the cold, wet snow. Not even Cassian or Azriel volunteer to leave, their bodies tailor made for this kind of weather.

“Right,” he nods, looking at Feyre. “Feyre and I will stay in the big room. You two,” he points to you and Azriel, “can stay in the room with the mirrors. You two,” now pointing to Cassian and Mor, “can stay in the room with some of Feyre’s paintings.”

Your heart picks up, its beat erratic and echoing through your ears. This would hardly be the first time you and Azriel shared a bed, but each time turned you into a bundle of nerves. You spent the entire night doubting each movement you made, uncertain if you were making Azriel uncomfortable until your brain eventually shut down, allowing for sleep to overtake you.

Every time your worry was for nothing - each night full of nerves brought forth a morning of tangled limbs and warm cuddling. Waking up in his arms did nothing but cause your feelings for Azriel to soar, spending several extra minutes in bed pretending to be asleep, trying to imprint the feel of his arm around your waist to memory.

“No,” Cassian bellows, “she has that painting of Bryaxis in there. Creeps me out. I won’t be able to sleep.”

Rhys breathes through his nose, uncertain when becoming High Lord meant delegating his friend’s fears. “Put it in the closet.”

“I’ll know it’s there.”

“Fine, we’ll take the painting out of there.”

“Maybe Cassian will be who we eat if a simple painting puts him on edge this much.” You whisper conspiratorially, Azriel making a soft hum in acknowledgment. If he can hear the loud beating of your heart, he doesn’t let on.

You look at him, his face not giving any apprehension away. It was hard not to fall further for Azriel with each look he gave you, each night you two shared a bed just sinking you deeper and deeper into your feelings.

He is beautiful, a detail impossible for anyone to ignore. You have heard countless fae mention it over the years. Most of them only see him from a distance - the cold, mysterious front Azriel wanted the world to see him as. But you have the privilege of seeing him up close, getting to take in every small detail about him.

The exact angle of his nose, how his jawline curves. How his shadows move languidly around his face, almost wanting you to pay attention to his eyes. You’re certain you could draw an exact replica of how his tattoos litter his chest, the design close to Cassian’s, but not quite the same. Azriel’s tattoos were looser, as if his shadows acted as stencils when the tattoos were made.

You can even tell when his hair gets to the length he finds too long, the black curls getting into his face, his shadows sweeping the hair off his forehead when he trains.

You treat knowing him as if you’re a scholar writing an encyclopedia of Azriel, needing to know every little thing about him.

The weather doesn’t leave much lingering, everyone turning in quickly, seeking solace under a warm comforter. You follow behind Azriel, making your way to the room allocated to the two of you.

‘Room with the mirrors’ was an understatement. Mirrors of all sizes surround the both of you - more with ornate frames, intricately carved figures and plants decorating each one. One mirror even had detailed Illyrian wings on the bottom. You could see yourself and Azriel from every angle, every movement meant for observation.

“Why do they have so many mirrors in here?”

Azriel’s eyes sweep across the room, counting at least two dozen mirrors. He knew exactly what Rhys used them for. It was impossible to know the High Lord for centuries and not know his bedroom preferences. “Do you really wish to know?”

Shivers go down your spine at his whispering voice. You have the whole room to yourselves, but his proximity is difficult to handle knowing exactly how Rhys and Feyre use this room.

“It’s obviously because Rhys tries out mirrors until one shows him a flaw.” You watch Azriel grimace through a reflection.

“They’re a bit unnerving.” Several of his shadows dance around the mirrors, almost watching themselves as they slither and writhe. They are putting on quite the show, causing you to nearly miss Azriel’s statement.

“I guess.” You shrug, not really caring too much. In truth, you like the mirrors. It meant there was nowhere for Azriel to hide from you in here.

A shiver ran up at the thought that you couldn’t hide either.

A room of truths and being seen.

“I could just winnow back home.” You startle from your thoughts, Azriel’s tight lips and tense shoulders giving away just how uncomfortable he is. Is it your shared company? Or is it the thought of staying in his brother’s spare sex room that’s putting him on such edge?

“But that’s not fun. Besides, you can’t leave me here with Cassian. He’s already disaster planning. I need someone to protect me.” You sit down on a settee, unlacing your shoes. A small part of you doesn’t want Azriel to leave, hoping if you get comfortable, it’ll help him relax.

An even smaller part doesn’t want to recognize how large that part actually is. You don’t want to be left alone tonight, and you certainly don’t want to have to explore exactly why his absence has such an effect on you.

“You were saying I’m dinner earlier and now I’m your protector. Which is it?” His wings are loosening their stiff hold and from the corner of your eye you see a few shadows nestle beneath the duvet.

“Whichever suits my needs. And tonight I need you to protect me from Cassian.”

Azriel shakes his head, unable to keep the smile off his face as he sits next to you, unlacing his own boots. He nearly takes up half the settee, but you don’t mind as his wing gently drapes around you. He places them neatly next to yours, the domesticity of it lingering in your mind.

Shoes at the end of the bed, getting ready for bed.

Romance in its simplest form: routine.

He’s gone much too quickly for your liking, his hands quick as he searches drawers for some kind of nightwear. A few shadows help him in his search, pulling out various folds of silk and lace.

“Would you prefer a shirt or one of Feyre’s nightgowns?”

You’d prefer a nightgown, but knowing Feyre’s taste in clothes you know it’d likely leave little to the imagination. Azriel’s already a bit hesitant to stay, and you don’t want to push him further away.

“Shirt, please.”

You thought he was offering you one of Rhys’s shirts from the drawers, but you’re pleasantly surprised when he unbuttons the front of his shirt, his shadows undoing the ties at the back, before the dark wisps carry the shirt over to you. He’s half turned away from you as he digs through the drawers, but you can still make out the contours of his body, the muscles in his arms moving with him.

You thank the shadows for their help, slipping away to the attached bathroom to change and get ready for bed. This isn’t the first time you’ve shared a bed, but it feels different. More serious somehow. You slip into Azriel’s shirt, the fabric practically melting onto your skin.

It smells divine. You want to just drown in the fabric here and now.

Instead you go back into the room, finding Azriel in comfortable sleep pants.

He turns his back to you, doing a sweep of the room to ensure every crevice is shut and locked. When he turns, you can’t help the squeal that leaves your lips at the sight of the words printed on the rear of the pants.

Azriel looks back around at you, only to find you pointing and giggling where his ass had been a few seconds before.

“Your pants say juicy!” Sure enough, the purple plush pants had the word ‘juicy’ in rhinestones and all capital letters. “No wonder Cassian wants to eat you, you’re practically advertising it!”

Your laughs are practically bouncing off the mirrors, Azriel’s body surrounded by your joy. He wants to be annoyed at these ridiculous pants Rhys clearly wears, but as your laughs continue, his annoyance is all an act. He tries his best to keep a neutral expression, but he’s certain some forlorn look of longing is in its place.

“Ha ha, very funny. Can we go to bed?” You’re still a ball of giggles as you make your way to the bed, awkwardly shuffling, a bit unsure. This part is always confusing and awkward - the two of you shuffling, waiting to see what the other would do.

Azriel is well-versed in loving from a distance. He was convinced for so long that if Mor only saw him, acknowledged him, it’d be enough. And then he met you. And Mor became nothing more than she had always been - his friend.

Tonight. Tonight he would not love you from a distance. His legs carried him to the bed, taking the initiative as his wings spread out against the mattress. He pulls back your side of the duvet, his hand patting the bed. An invitation.

Your cheeks turn a shade of red he wanted to paint the walls with. He could see himself in the mirror behind you, one of his wings twitching in delight that he found himself attractive.

Maybe just being in your gaze did that to him - opened him up to see who he could be. Maybe your gaze made him preen like a male bird, putting his best self on display. Or maybe it was the tattoos of his chest on full display, his sweatpants hidden beneath the duvet already.

“Are you going to hog the blankets?” Your words come out a bit shaky, trying to shift your focus from his warm body as you get in next to him. His wing curls back up, tucking in close to his body to make room for you. You shimmy into bed, pulling the duvet back over your body. For several minutes you lay there, practically stock still trying to avoid moving or disturbing Azriel, until he twitches lightly. You turn and notice his pinched brows, trying to hide the discomfort from his furled wings.

“I could- sleep on top of you? So you can spread out your wings? I just want you to be comfortable.” You add hastily, turning on your side to see him better. The bed was large enough for Illyrian wings, but you’re lying right in the middle of the bed, making it impossible for his wings to stretch out.

He’s silent, clearly thinking you’re question over. He’s taking longer than you expected, hesitance in your words as you speak again.

“Or I could sleep on the floor.” Your last word comes out as a gasp, his fingers quickly wrapping around your hips, pulling you on top of him. One of his hands moves around your head, tucking you into his chest. The other moves to your back, his fingers rubbing soothing strokes down your spine as he adjusts to be laying right in the middle of the bed.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” His fingers keep moving, not stopping their soothing patterns. His wings drop dramatically onto the bed, practically yelling at you to accept the space you gave away to them.

“Somehow, I think I’ll survive.” You let out a breath, finally letting yourself relax and breathe normally again. You burrow your face in his chest, the piney scent of him making your eyes droop. His fingers are soothing against your skin, each movement gently guiding you closer and closer to sleep.

“Now if Cassian comes looking for a midnight snack he’ll have to get through you first.” You pinch his side, a squeak hitting your ear as a shadow pulls your hand away.

Blind dates and nosey friends

Your hands tear the bread in half once again as you see the waitress heading straight toward you. An awkward smile is on her face as she approaches your table.

“Miss, are you ready to order?” You sigh through your nose, shredding the roll in your hands. She is just doing her job, you don’t have to take your frustrations on this male out on your server. You start to ask for a menu, when out of the corner of your eye you see large wings you would know anywhere. The shadow that branches off from him, heading in a direct path to you, is the confirmation it was him.

“One moment, please.” You don’t wait for her response before practically sprinting over, grabbing the shadowsinger’s arm before even thinking about it. He jerks his arm back, a scowl on his face before he realizes who it is.

Azriel’s defensive stance slackens as he takes you in, his eyes lingering long enough on your dress that heat creeps up your chest. A few shadows start curling around your bare legs.

“What are you doing here, Az?” His eyes finally look back up at your face, something hidden deep in his gaze.

“I was supposed to meet someone, but they never showed.” Your stomach falls at his words, the hypocrisy impossible to ignore. He was supposed to be on a date? But they didn’t show up?

You take the chance to look at him, his usual leathers exchanged for more formal wear. An all black tunic that shows a glimpse of his chest. It is a gorgeous fabric - a deep black with dark blue embroidery along the edges. His clothes are looser than his leathers, but they still show off his chiseled body.

You were a fool to not take in the back of the outfit when you had the chance earlier, certain he fills out the seat of his pants quite nicely.

Whoever didn’t show up for Azriel was a fool. Your jealousy at that fact is undeterred by remembering you are also supposed to be on a date right now.

“Same here.” Your date not showing up didn’t bother you too much. You were disappointed by how highly Feyre spoke of him, but you hadn’t been too thrilled to be going out anyway.

“Are you hungry?” Azriel gives you a bewildered look, and you cross your arms feeling so exposed before him. You gesture to the table behind you, hoping Azriel will pick up the hint.

He just continues looking at you blankly.

“Would you like to have dinner with me? I have a table, and the waitress certainly thinks I made up having a guest to eat with.”

He looks down at your outfit once again, goosebumps trailing where his eyes land. Just because you hadn’t been thrilled to come didn’t mean you took picking out your outfit lightly.

“It would be an honor.” He follows you to your table, long legs making it to your chair before you do. He pulls your chair out, helping you sit before he takes his own seat.

“Who were you meeting tonight?” His voice is low, nearly a growl as he asks the question. Before you can answer, your waitress comes back, two menus in her arms. You thank her as she hands them to you both.

“A nice merlot, please.” Az holds up two gloved fingers to her, wanting the same.

“Feyre wanted to set me up with some male from the Rainbow. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.” His eyebrows pinch together, a shadow curling his ear conspicuously before his face softens.

“And he didn’t show up?”

You shake your head, not wanting to voice the disappointment at being stood up. You weren’t giddy about the date, but it still stings of rejection.

“His loss.” Azriel is so sincere as he says it, his face opening in a way that only really happens when you’re alone with him. “Truly.”

You open your menu, unable to linger in his sincerity. “Maybe he was the great love of my life and now I’ll never have that.”

“I truly doubt that.”

The waitress comes back with two glasses of red wine and a fresh basket of breadsticks that she places between you two before heading off again.

“What are you doing here - who were you meeting?”

“Cassian’s been trying to get me to go out with him more. I got tired of waiting for him.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, he probably got caught up with Nesta and I’d rather not smell them in a public restaurant.” Azriel grimaces, and you remember him telling you last week about finding them on the training grounds and immediately turning around.

“So, did Feyre tell you anything about this guy?” You look up from your menu, a bit confused at him circling the conversation back to a male you’ve never met.

“Not really. Just said he’s good looking and a nice male.” You shrugged, reaching for a breadstick to tear apart, giving your hands something to do.

“She didn’t give you a name?”

You think for a moment, replaying the odd memory over again. How Feyre had come into the room, a crazed look about her as she asked if you had any plans this evening. Details of the restaurant reservation flying from her lips, getting a promise that you'd be there before she ran off again.

“No.” You pop some bread into your mouth, finally able to enjoy the softness of it now that you have Azriel looking at you instead of the waitress.

“Do you always go out with nameless males?”

You stop chewing and throw your balled up straw wrapper at him. A shadow catches it before it can hit his face, a smirk taking root, brightening his face. He looks so boyish, so smug.

It was one of your favorite faces he wore.

The shadow throws the wad at Azriel’s face anyway, leaving him speechless at the defiance. You try to stifle your giggles, your hand hardly stopping the sound as you watch the shadows around him also appear to be laughing.

“It’s not funny.” Azriel tries to slip his face back into the cool neutrality he wears so well, but it’s nearly impossible as your giggles grow. You have to look away, the absurdity of the evening making you want to laugh harder.

A few fae turn their heads to look at the pair of you, quickly averting their gaze once they see who you were seated with. Your laughter dies down, and you know Azriel won’t let the topic die until you give him all the answers he desires.

“No. I hardly ever go out with males.” Azriel stops his teasing, his whole body going still as if movement could impair his hearing. Even his shadows stay still, watching and waiting over his shoulder.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I’ve only been out a handful of times the past few years, none of them were right.” It’s the truth. Each date felt like a chore, ill-fitting shoes that never quite gave you what you needed. Mor had he annual attempt at setting you up, but you were quite happy to have a quiet love life for the time being. You’re much happier spending your free time with your friends, on your work, or with Nyx than with random males to learn their favorite colors and what they did for a living.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Have you been seeing anyone?”

“No.” His reply is curt, clearly not wanting to further the discussion. His eyes are cold, the gold not shining how they usually do when he speaks to you.

“Okay.” You’re at a bit of a loss for what to say. Conversation between the two of you is usually so easy.

But the two of you never discuss your love lives with each other. How could you talk about some male to Azriel without saying well he’s not as kind or as attentive as you?

“Come on, Az. Take a breadstick. It won’t kill you.”

You shake the basket at him, trying to get him to splurge a little. His rigorous diet is well known amongst your friends, teasing comments accompanied most meals about Azriel’s strict dietary choices.

That’s all it is when you say it - a deflection, a joke to ease the slight awkwardness that accompanies your question. To your utter delight, he picks one up, taking small bites, savoring each taste.

It’s nearly sinful how he eats it.

Once it’s gone, he pats around his chest, looking around the room.

“Look at that.”

“What?”

“I am still alive.”

“Oh shut up.”

“All these years, I thought bread would kill me.”

You roll your eyes at him, picking the menu up to finally look over what you want for dinner.

Who did this to you?

It’s easy to forget Mor is first and foremost a warrior. Her chosen wardrobe is curated to draw attention to her other assets, but her muscles still shine.

“Ow.” Mor’s hand is quick as she jostles your face, clutching your jaw tight. Her grip gives away her true strength - focusing all of it on your face.

You pity anyone who comes in her way on a battlefield.

“Hold still.”

“I’m trying, you’re hurting me.”

“Shush. You’re fine.”

A lone shadow creeps through the crack beneath the door, making its way over to you. It slinks through the shadows of the room, slithering from the shadow of the bed to the shadows beneath the dresser.

You notice it halfway through its journey, but Mor remains ignorant. It moves up your leg, gently swirling your hand in comfort. It works almost instantly, the cool touch of it enough to distract you from Mor’s ministrations.

For a moment you almost forgot where you were.

“Ow!” It comes out louder than you intend, scaring off the shadow. The disappointment of losing your shadow friend took your mind off the pain momentarily before scowling at your friend again.

“Are you sure you don’t want Madja?”

“Yes.”

“Then stop complaining.”

You groan, unable to stop yourself despite Mor’s withering look. You suck in a breath through your teeth, nearly biting your tongue as she continues stitching your face.

“What are you doing?” You didn’t hear Azriel come in, didn’t hear a sound from him. But now he’s impossible to ignore. His shadows swarm you, their soft caresses welcome and wanted. They brush against any open skin they can, a few tickling against the open wound on your face. A few find the bruises littering your legs and hips, their cool caress not stinging like pressure would.

Mor merely rolls her eyes at him, annoyance flickering in her brown eyes as she looks to him. “I’m playing healer because I thought it would be fun, what does it look like I’m doing?”

Several of the shadows leave you, circling around Azriel’s ears conspiratorially. His wings flare out, almost casting a wall between you and the rest of the world. One of the shadows tries to swat Mor away, a huff of annoyance leaving her.

Azriel has been different ever since your dinner together. The two of you are spending more time together than ever - now you see him at most meals, he gives you his weekly schedule and warns you whenever he’ll be gone, and the two of you always slink off and spend the evenings together.

It’s been strange lately.

Despite the shadows whispers, his scowl only deepens. His eyes assess your face, scanning for every injury. Hazel eyes go straight to the bruise covered by your shirt, as if he can see beneath the fabric to the purple skin beneath. Azriel’s face tightens, disapproval clearly evident.

“What happened? Who did this to you?” His voice is deeper, some deep anger taking over his face.

Mor is quick to step in, to calm the shadows that are swirling around you, making it difficult for her to continue her stitching.

“Calm down, she fell down the stairs.”

His breathing starts slowing again. Catching Mor’s eye, she tries not to laugh at the intense display. She even mouths his words back to you, an impish look on her face before she focuses again on your cheek, purposefully ignoring the Illyrian practically breathing down her neck.

You try to laugh but wince as she brings up the needle to your cheek, threading it through skin, slowly closing the wound. An intake of air gives away your true discomfort, no matter how hard you try to hide it.

“You’re being too harsh.” Mor groans at Azriel’s admonishment before reaching for his hand, gently handing over the needle to him before standing. She dusts off her dress before getting to her full height. Azriel bends down, trying to keep the needle from pulling too far, allowing Mor to slightly tower over him.

“If my stitching isn’t up to your standard, you may finish it.” She huffs, waiting for his response. Hands meet her hips waiting until he concedes, nodding silently. She’s quick to turn on her heel, muttering about overprotective males before shutting the door behind her.

“She should have taken you to Madja.” Azriel clicks his tongue as if Mor could hear his complaints through the wall. His shadows seem to nod in agreement poking out over his shoulder before making their way back to you.

“I didn’t want to go to Madja.”

“Why not?”

It took a moment to find the words, to vocalize it out loud. It was silly - your arms were full, trying to carry too much at once. Foolishly you thought the stairs were a few feet away, missing the top step and falling face down the stairs.

You had hit the walls with each tumble, causing a loud enough raucous to startle Mor, who immediately helped you up and fussed over you.

“I was embarrassed.” Your arms cross over your chest, trying to hide into yourself. Azriel gently cups your face in his hand, bringing the threaded needle back up. You wince, shutting your eyes tight to avoid seeing it.

Azriel was right - Mor had been a bit rough in her stitching, but not enough for you to say anything.

His thumb gently strokes your cheek, the delicacy enough to have you slowly crack open an eye only to find him looking right back at you.

“Why were you embarrassed?” His voice is softer now, less amusement as he holds your gaze. His gaze is strong, impossible to turn or hide away from.

Maybe that’s why you open up completely, the cowardly parts of you on full display.

“I didn’t want to bother Madja with something I got because I tripped over my own feet.” You watch his face, waiting for him to understand how silly this situation is and to drop it completely. To continue his stitching and leave you with a bruised ego.

That understanding never comes, his face nearly shriveling in confusion.

“I’ve watched Cassian go to Madja for paper cuts.”

“Yes, but-“

“Do you think Cassian’s pain is more deserving of healing?” Azriel is quick to cut you off, his words fast to stop the shame spiral you were gearing up to begin. His gaze is hard and unflinching, pinning you in place.

Truth-Teller isn’t a weapon, it’s a title you feel he deserves. One look from him unspooling all of your secrets.

“It’s different.” Your shoulders slump a bit, finding it hard to find the right words for how you feel. Embarrassing is the best one, but it still feels light.

“How?”

“I’m not… fighting the good fight. I’m not a warrior.” A few shadows wrap around your shoulders in a comforting embrace, almost as if they are holding you up. “Cassian deserves to be babied a bit when he’s constantly throwing himself into danger.”

A more cross look overcomes his features, a hint of agitation lingering.

“I didn’t realize civilians didn’t have healers.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then tell me what you mean.”

“Madja has more important things than tending to my falling down the stairs.”

“I think you’re right. She does have better things to do.” You blink. You’ve never heard Azriel concede in an argument so easily. You’ve watched him argue with Cassian until he was blue in the face just to win.

“But I don’t. So if you’re done…” he trails off, his hand that holds the needle going a bit higher to get into your eyeline. A reminder to both of you that he needs to finish the job Mor started.

You nod, accepting his kindness. The fight eases out of you, slowly leeching from your pores, unable to stand against the softness in his face. Your eyes close more gently this time, the weight of the shadows easing your nerves a bit.

“Just don’t tell me when you’re going to do it, please.”

“Okay, I won’t.” He rubs his thumb along the scar, not applying any pressure. You lean into his touch, unable to stop yourself. The stitch Mor made prickles a bit, but the two of you continue to sit there in a calming silence. Both of his hands now cradle your cheeks, his large palms so comforting you nearly muzzle into them.

“Azriel, are you ever going to stitch up my face?”

“I’m already done.”

Your eyes relax, blinking at him. You bring a hand up to your face, touching where the long gash was to find it stitched.

“I guess that tonic Mor gave me did stop the feeling. Thanks, Az.”

One of his hands gently grabs yours, pulling it from your cheek. He holds it delicately in his own, his thumb swiping across the back of it.

“Stop messing with it. You’ll undo my hard work.”

“It’s like picking at a scab.”

“Don’t do that either.”

Friends to lovers

A fire crackles in the library, casting a warm glow over the room. Of all the libraries in Night, none of them compare to the one nestled in the Townhouse. It’s smaller than the others, allowing for a more quaint and cozy feel.

The shelves are a bit haphazard, you and Azriel using it as a personal library most of the time. Most books continue notes in the margins from either or both of you - quick scrawl to dictate something for the other or something one of you enjoyed.

The Townhouse is where the two of you spend most of your time - the tighter quarters being enough space for the two of you.

The last few weeks were a blur of Azriel - spending most nights in each other’s beds,

A blanket’s folded behind your head. You’re tempted to cover your legs with it, but you lean a bit closer into Azriel instead. You are practically draped against his lap, your torso half over his body, a book perched in your hands. He’s using your back as a rest for his book, one hand woven in your hair, the other one making circles in your lower back.

His shadows flip his pages for him, allowing his hands to lazily wander on their own. It was so domestic and easy, each movement a thrill.

You’re trying to read your book, but if Azriel even asked what it was about you wouldn’t be able to answer. An earlier conversation with Cassian keeps replaying in your mind over and over again, each return to it an attempt to further your resolve.

“Going so soon?” Nesta had pouted, her gray eyes turning pitiful trying to get you to stay longer. “I’ve hardly seen you the past few weeks.”

You started to answer, telling her you hadn’t become that unavailable, when Cassian’s voice boomed through the living room.

“She has to get back to her boyfriend, Nes. He’ll be upset if she’s gone too long. He’ll get broody.”

You had scoffed, nearly jumping at his voice.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh yeah? How do you know who I’m talking about? I didn’t say a name.” Cassian came into the room now, amusement on his face as he wiped his hands with a dish rag.

“Shut up, Cass.”

“He’s not her boyfriend.” Nesta spoke up from the couch.

“Thank you!”

“You just spend every minute with him, you reek of his scent, and you’re always considering what to do next for him.”

Cassian rounded the couch, plopping down next to Nesta.

“You're his girlfriend without the title.”

“Am not.”

“You sleep in his bed.”

“Not every night.”

Nesta and Cassian looked at each other before turning back to you, almost in unison saying, “or he sleeps in your bed.”

Heat began creeping up your neck, your emotions feeling so violated. You knew the two of you had been close, but was it really so obvious to Cassian of all people?

“Fine, if you two aren’t dating, I’m sure you won’t mind in two years when Azriel’s dating someone else.”

The words clank through your mind like a dropped bell, the same notes hitting over and over again. Someone else.

“Az?” His name comes out as a whisper, your fear only half wanting him to hear you, the other half begging to be heard.

“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up, his attention still mostly on his book as he tries to finish the paragraph he’s reading.

“Are we dating?”

Azriel looks away from his book, looking down at you in his lap. Even his shadows drop the book onto your back, their attention moving toward their master’s response. He takes a moment, clearly thinking over your question, giving you his full attention. You turn slightly, angling your body to fully see him.

“I suppose we are.” He answers you so nonchalantly, as if this was a well known fact. You sit up now, taking the spot next to him, your book falling off the couch but you don’t care enough to even look at it. His book falls as well, a soft thump onto the carpet.

“Are you… happy about it?” A million questions race through your mind, but that’s what comes out first. His hands had followed you as you moved, one of them still resting on your hip, lazily dragging his thumb in languid strokes.

“Delighted.” You take the moment to really look at Azriel, his face mere inches from your own. You hadn’t noticed the gradual change over the weeks, but sitting here now, it is impossible to ignore. His face is brighter, eye bags having shrunk to a regular size. He’s been smiling more, a few laugh lines making their ways onto his cheeks.

Even his clothes are different - looser, more casual attire covered his body, his leathers getting worn only for training and official duties.

Azriel looks like Azriel. Not the spymaster, not the shadowsinger. Not a thing of legend.

But the male you love.

Your hand reaches out, softly cupping his jaw. Your other hand pushes some of his hair off his forehead, the soft curls bouncing back into place after the attempt to tame them. The smile on his face matches your own: full of possibility, love, and hope. A shadow glides across your lips before moving across your whole face, as if imprinting this moment to their memory.

“Are you going to kiss me?” Your mouth is splitting your face in two, too large to contain your smile to just your lips, it reaches the corners of your eyes.

“Once your questions end, I would like to.”

“Do you love me?”

“So much.” You feel how much he does in his gaze, in his hands, in his words. Everything about him - every interaction, every touch, every moment, it all led you here. You’re grateful for every moment of it as his hands gently pull your face to his, his lips warm and gentle as they meld into yours.

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

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#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #acotar writing #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel x y/n #azriel fluff #sjmromanceweek2025

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tmpestuous · 3 months ago

Text

the other side

summary: the avengers rescue their newest recruit from hydra: you.

pairing: bucky x (future)avenger!reader

warnings: canon level violence, mentions of torture by hydra all throughout, mentions of death/murder, nightmares, guilt, trauma, angst, but bucky is a sweetheart who the world doesn’t deserve

word count: 4.5k

a/n: going baaaack in time for this one with the start of phoenix’s journey with the avengers. i’ve had this unfinished for a while and have finally completed it (: there will be a second part to this, but this can definitely still be read as a standalone; i hope you enjoy <3

phoenix & the winter soldier masterlist

Fuck.

The pounding in your head could equate to being repeatedly hit with a hammer. Only your reality was much worse.

The man currently smashing your head into the pavement was one you’d rarely seen. He seemed to be in control of the entire organization currently holding you captive, immediately ordering around operatives and seeing the employees fall to his will.

He came once every other week. His name was unbeknownst to you, just like many things since the moment you’d stepped foot in this makeshift prison. The source of his anger was also a mystery, as you were dragged from your ‘room’ (if you could even call it that), shoved in that dreaded chair in front of dozens of people speaking in Russian, with an IV lodged in your arm and an irate man staring at you with disgust.

“Why have we not tried putting words in her brain yet?” The man spat at the operative to his left, seemingly a scientist.

“Unfortunately, none of our methods have worked. We do not have a record of how Dr. Zola managed to do so with our Soldat—”

“You mean to tell me we have no one as smart as a scientist from fucking 70 years ago?”

The scientist shook his head promptly. “I’m afraid not, sir.”

He grunted. “And the serum?”

“The enhancement serum was a success, but only on our current subject here. The others have not seemed to respond to it very well. She seems to be our strongest soldier. She is in top condition, save for an incident at the beginning of her treatment,” he rambled, the man looking at him as if he’d answered the question wrong. “The control serum is also effective, sir. We have currently extended its effectiveness to around seven hours, but we have not tested it in the field.”

“Why not?” The man spat once more, his tone filled with disgust.

“While attempting to suppress her memories, it seems that the serum wipes her memories almost entirely, which sometimes included our direct orders. We cannot send her out to the field if she cannot provide us with a mission report. She also resists when we attempt to subdue her—”

And that’s how you ended up snatched out of the chair, thrown on the floor, with your nose taking the brunt of the force from your head being smashed over and over.

“Not as fucking strong as they claim, hm?” The man snarled as he leaned over you, then swiftly stood up, ordering the men to get started on sending you on the field.

You met the chair yet again, your arm reintroduced to the IV, all while your head thumped like a heartbeat and blood rushed out of your nose.

A plea sat on your tongue, though it never came out. And soon enough, that moment joined all of the other memories you were forced to lose.

There was no way for you to tell how long you’d been here, a repetitive cycle every time you woke up that you were utterly unaware of. It left you drained, not knowing who you were, where you were, anything.

You counted your luck when you were left alone for over a week. Starving for sure and a broken nose to add to it, but you’d choose it over waking up with a lack of recollection.

After the thirteenth day of solitude, soldiers would come in and take you back to the chair every day for a little over another week. They argued with the scientists about injecting you with the serum, claiming they needed you for a mission.

“The феникс is needed for an operation,” they always said.

Somehow the scientists always convinced them otherwise, instead giving you hydration and vitamins to account for the lack of food in your system. One of them always looked at you with pain in his eyes, seemingly an apology for everything that’s happened. Not like you remembered much of it anyway.

Two days after that, you noticed that the same scientist was gone. Dead, you presumed.

Six days later, some of the scientists had come in and taken your vitals again, your questions falling on deaf ears as they’d never come into your ‘room’ before. Once they’d finished, they silently gestured to the guards and exited.

“On your feet,” one of them spat towards you, pulling you to stand by your wrists before tying them together. He and one other guard led you to a room with a group of girls, ages varying from teen to maybe middle-aged.

“Stay here, феникс,” a soldier said, untying the rope from your wrists, hearing that same nickname again. “We will come back for you. It’s a big day.”

A big day. Couldn’t mean anything positive for you.

“Phoenix,” a slightly older woman said to you after the soldier left.

“What?” You questioned, your voice a lot more hoarse than you thought it’d be.

“That is what they call you. Us. But you are their favorite.”

You nodded, not exactly having much to say. The word sounded similar to its English translation, but you never thought much of it. The reason for the name was unknown to you, but knowing what Hydra was capable of, it probably meant no good. They’d call you it so often, you didn’t even know if they knew your name. The one piece of identity you at least were able to hold on to. It seemed so miniscule, but it kept you from losing yourself entirely.

After what seemed to be a few hours, the soldiers started to gather all of the girls and women in the room. From what you could hear, they were being dragged down the hall. Almost every one of them begged to be left alone, promises of good behavior to avoid whatever fate they were about to meet. The pleas fell out of reach of your hearing, silent as a door slammed far away.

As the guards were finishing rounding everyone up, there was the sound of rapid gunfire from the opposite end of the floor.

“What the hell was that?” One of the guards asked, quickly turning around and aiming his rifle at the empty hallway.

“Doesn’t sound good,” another one muttered. “We need to hurry it up.”

You noticed they looked more than uncertain as you analyzed their expressions, both of them putting their guard up with their weapons. There were only two women left beside you, but the thought of taking all of you to wherever they needed to was now an afterthought.

They listened, and as you all heard a few more rounds of gunfire, they rushed out of the room. You quickly got up and grabbed the door before it could seal shut, looking out into the hallway as the guards turned the corner sharply.

“Do you think someone is here to save us?” One of the women behind you asked softly.

“I never get my hopes up,” the other woman responded. She was the one who translated for you earlier. “What do you think, феникс?”

You immediately turned back around to look at her, your foot in the doorway to keep the door open. “Don’t call me that,” you said, no clear tone of aggravation in your voice, but not a kind one either. Turning your attention back to the hallway, you listened for motion. “I can’t tell what’s going on, maybe we should move.”

“Are you crazy?” The first woman asked. You couldn’t see her expression, but something told you there was fear all over her face. “They’ll kill us. You’re the only one with any skill here.”

“I don’t know what skills I have to begin with.”

From what the scientists and guards had argued about, you knew they had trained you in combat. You weren’t confident about any moves you may have had in your repertoire without the help from the serum. It seemed as though it was second nature while under their control, but what good are you without it? There weren’t many signs telling you to take the risk of trying.

“What if it’s the Avengers?” The first woman spoke up again.

“The Avengers…” you said, the name sounding familiar.

“Earth’s mightiest heroes,” the second woman added. “Two or three of them have Hydra history.”

Racking your brain, you remembered the guards exclaiming about a mission with ‘the Avengers.’ A few pictures of people, but they were hyper focused on two. One with a shield, one with a metal arm. The one with the metal arm was the one they wanted—“needed” you to kill.

They called him all sorts of names, but the one that stood out to you was soldat. Soldier. The only one you could somewhat make out. They’d referred to you as a soldier a few times, though you couldn’t feel far from it. You’d wondered if he had made it out, escaped. Something you’ve been dreaming of, longer than your memory allowed you to recall.

Your thoughts were cut off as you heard one of the guards making his way back, swiftly closing the door and sitting back on the floor.

The two women next to you shrunk inwards in fear, prompting you to look around for anything useful to arm yourself with. You trusted that you weren’t entirely useless, and the less people they harmed, the better the world was. Seeing an old, rusty crowbar, you reached and grabbed it, hiding it behind you as the guard opened the door and looked directly at you.

“Ready for your first real mission, феникс?” He said, a distressed look on his face. “Get up and follow me.”

You did as told, still hiding the crowbar behind you. As he turned his back, you swung as hard as you could. After grimacing at the wound left in the man’s head as he dropped to the floor, you threw the crowbar aside, turning to the women still on the floor.

“Let’s go,” you ordered them softly, grabbing the guard’s rifle and handgun before exiting the room.

You handed the older woman the handgun before pointing the rifle, walking slowly to the intersection of the hallway. Peeking into the adjacent hallway, you saw nothing for a few heartbeats until a shield made its way down and back the hall parallel to your position.

Your hearing then picked up footsteps coming towards you from behind, the woman beside you turning and shooting a guard before he (or you) had the chance to retaliate.

“Holy shit,” the youngest woman said.

“Think we’ve got company,” you heard another woman say from down the hall. Was your hearing always this fucking detailed?

Looking back down the intersected hallway, you saw them. Captain America. Black Widow.The Avengers were actually here. Turning back quickly, you looked at the women again.

“Find the other girls,” you told them. “I’m gonna get us out of here.”

“And how should we find them? And how can we leave you by yourself?” The older woman asked, a concerned expression etched onto her face.

“I’m their favorite, you said it yourself,” you spoke softly rather than confidently. “Trust me on this one.”

They both nodded as they made their way down the corridor to your right, not before taking the fallen guard’s weapons as well.

There was a plan in the back of your mind, an escape. It was so close, but there was an inadmissible ache in your chest. Your freedom meant nothing if you left everyone else to suffer, to die. You couldn’t live with yourself if that were the case.

Once the women were gone, you moved to face them. Instinctively, you aimed your rifle, but neither of them moved into a defensive position. Their stares felt pitiful, but your grip on the rifle didn’t falter.

“We found her,” the redhead said, her hand on her ear. “Second floor, east wing.”

They were looking for you. Remaining somewhat unsure of their motives, you still didn’t drop your weapon, taking a step back each time they stepped toward you.

“We’re not gonna hurt you,” you heard the man say. Captain America. He looked a lot taller than in the pictures you were shown. “We’re here to help.”

“How are you gonna do that?” Your voice came out a lot shakier than intended.

“We’re gonna get you out of here,” the redhead spoke again, placing her hand on her chest. “I’m Natasha. This is Steve. Our friends Sam and Bucky are in the building too.”

They stepped toward you again, taking a few more when they realized you didn’t retreat. Lowering your rifle, you didn’t even realize you had tears in your eyes. “Just me?”

Their expressions turned into ones of confusion.

“You said you found me,” you elaborated. “To whoever you were talking to. I’m not the only one here.”

“Who else is here?” Steve asked. “Did they test on other people?”

“Y-yeah, other girls,” you wiped your eyes before the tears fell. “I sent two of them to go find the rest—you really thought it was only me in here? Aren’t you guys supposed to be the smart ones?”

Natasha chuckled. “She’s got a point.”

“Our intel was incomplete,” Steve retorted. “What’s your name?” After responding, Steve nodded. “Okay, Y/N, let’s find the girls and get you all out of here. Where are the girls now?”

You led them down the corridor where you’d sent the other two women. A couple of Hydra agents had found you, Natasha and Steve standing in front of you immediately as the chaos ensued.

Fighting was a lot easier than you anticipated it to be, feeling like muscle memory almost, even if your moves weren’t perfect. You used the butt of the rifle to hit most of the guards, not wanting to kill anyone. Even if they deserved it.

Your stamina was also clearly enhanced by whatever they injected into you. Steve and Natasha took note of it, sharing silent exchanges that they were unaware you had noticed. They still protected you by taking the brunt of the combat, your inexperience loud and clear from having your brain toyed with so often.

It had been roughly 45 minutes of fighting off guards and inspecting rooms before finally finding the girls, only there was no chance of saving them.

The two women from earlier had found you again, accompanied by a man you found out was Sam as Natasha mentioned earlier. Tear-filled eyes, drenched cheeks, and rapid breaths. Rambles of death and blood and fear for their own lives, apologizing profusely as if they’d failed to save everyone.

“They’re all gone?” Your voice barely above a whisper.

They nodded in shame, still crying with no signs of stopping. You looked toward the door as they said it was best not to see the destruction. Their hands gripped your shoulder in an attempt to stop you from going into the room, but you pushed through anyway. Bodies were scattered on the floor, some on top of each other. A single bullet hole in each of their heads, the crimson pool flooding beneath them making you feel sick.

“We have to go,” Sam said urgently to Natasha and Steve. “Got movement from out east, they called in backup. Bucky’s got the jet ready to go.”

Your feet felt like they were glued to the ground. You couldn’t look away from the massacre in front of you, studying it like an obligation. Thinking back to the guard telling you it was a ‘big day.’

They were going to kill all of them. All of them except you. They probably were gonna have you kill them yourself.

Steve pulled you out of your trance with a bit of force on his end, the tears falling down your face uncontrollably. The first memory you could keep that would haunt you forever.

Walking to the jet as one of three women left, you also couldn’t stop crying. The other women were as distraught as you, but the guilt wasn’t the same.

“But you are their favorite.”

You couldn’t get the words to stop repeating in your head, accompanied by the insolent migraine from tears mixed with dehydration. Their guilt came from surviving, and yours did, too. But you were always going to survive, while they got lucky. Hydra wanted you alive. Hydra wanted them dead with the rest of the girls. A shared survivor’s guilt separated by the politics of who was useful to their agenda.

Once you all made it to the jet, you saw him. He was unmistakable, leaving you to stop in your tracks while everyone continued. He made eye contact with you and sighed, almost like he knew of a possible conflict.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, making the rest of the team turn around.

“I know,” you said softly. You had no idea why you felt so small, but you also couldn’t bring yourself to move.

“You have nothing to worry about, Y/N,” Natasha said. “You’re safe. We’ll get the three of you back to our headquarters and find your families.”

After a nod and a deep breath, you boarded the jet. You could feel Bucky’s eyes on you before he took a seat next to Sam.

You didn’t have it in your heart to say you weren’t sure if you had a family to go back to, but something about the look in Natasha’s eyes when she said it told you she knew already.

Sitting back in your seat, you closed your eyes and counted your graces.

Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you woke up with a startle. Natasha looked down at you, a friendly smile on her face. You looked to see everyone leaving the jet, Bucky giving you a quick glance before heading out.

“We’re here,” Natasha pulled your attention back to her.

After you stood, you followed Natasha off the jet. You saw the big ‘A’ for Avengers outside of the building, workers scattered around the hangar. Doctors tried to assess you, but Natasha assured them you were okay as she led you inside.

Taking you to a conference room, you sat at the big table. Natasha sat next to you.

“You saved those women, you know,” she set a file on the table, one you didn’t realize she had in her hands. “We were able to track down their loved ones. Couldn’t have done that without you.”

You decided to play with your fingers instead of saying anything. You didn’t feel like a savior or a hero; it was hard to feel such a way when so many others got killed. Those women had saved themselves, they could have gotten killed any moment after you’d sent them off.

“We couldn’t find—”

“I know,” you cut her off, clearing your throat. “I don’t remember much of them but I know they’re gone.”

Looking down, Natasha nodded without a word, opening the folder in front of her. “We’re giving you a choice. We do need to deprogram you from Hydra’s training, however long that might take. But afterwards… You can stay here, train, and join our team. If you don’t want to do that, we can help you rejoin civilian life.”

“You don’t have to make that choice now,” Bucky said as he walked into the room, placing a glass of water in front of you. You immediately took a sip. “You just got out of a horrible place, and this job isn’t easy. Take your time.”

“You could’ve let me finish, Barnes,” Natasha glared at him before looking at you once more. “Until we get everything figured out, you can stay here in the residential wing. Tony’s set up a room for you.”

“Tony?”

“Iron Man,” Natasha corrected. “Sorry, I forgot you don’t know all of us by name yet. You’ll meet everyone soon enough, though. Bucky will show you to your room and we’ll reconvene tomorrow. Okay?”

You nodded once. “Thank you.”

Natasha left the room and you finished drinking your water, looking at Bucky as he grabbed the glass for you, a friendly half-smile on his face. You’d wondered if they sent him for a reason, seeing as he was the one with the most Hydra history. He didn’t seem like a big conversationalist, which was comforting. There wasn’t much for you to say after all. Questions still ran through your mind, however, with wonders of finding out more about the man you were now following down the hall and across to another building on the land.

After entering and making a left, Bucky walked to the final door on the left side of the hallway, turning to look back at you.

“You’ll have everything you need in here,” he said as opened the door to your bedroom, letting you inside though he didn’t enter himself. “Nat left a ton of clothes she thinks will fit. The kitchen and the common area are down the hall and to the left; the fridge is fully stocked. Sam usually likes to do all the cooking when Wanda doesn’t beat him to it.”

You let out a chuckle. Bucky wasn’t even trying to be funny, but he was glad you weren’t feeling uncomfortable.

“Thank you,” you turned back to him. He was still standing in the doorway. “I, um… I don’t know how to repay you guys for all of this.”

Bucky shook his head. “No payment needed. I know what you’re going through.”

“I know,” you fiddled with your fingers, thinking that your suspicions may have been correct. “I’m sorry about earlier. On the jet. They told me a lot about you. I think I didn’t know how to react to actually… seeing you.”

He shook his head once more, offering you another half-smile. “No hard feelings. I’m around if you need me. Make yourself comfortable.”

He closed the door behind him after you nodded in response, leaving you alone.

You finally took in the environment around you. This was the first time you were alone since this morning, but it was a complete 180 from the situation you had found yourself in at the start of the day.

A full bed, an en-suite bathroom, a TV, and a desk. You couldn’t remember a time you had your own room in this way. Where you were kept in Hydra couldn’t be considered a room at all after seeing this in front of you.

It was a lot, perhaps too overwhelming to process all that transpired in the last 14 hours. But you allowed yourself to.

You were safe. You escaped. You were free.

First, you decided to shower. You stayed in there so long that the water went cold, but you were so relieved about being clean that you felt like you needed to savor it. After the water was too cold to tolerate anymore, you got dressed, putting on a t-shirt and sweats. All the clothes smelled like they had just been washed and dried.

You avoided every mirror, not wanting to look at yourself and whatever state you were in. You thought it was best to sleep, carefully getting under the covers. It felt nice to have an actual bed, but the mattress was too soft and uncomfortable. You could feel some of your muscles cramping up. Sighing to yourself, you settled on lying on the floor. Your exhaustion caught up to you quickly, falling into your first deep slumber in forever.

Your body was adjusted to not eating for prolonged periods of time, so hunger cues weren’t in store for you. Bucky assumed as much, knocking on your door to bring you a bowl of Sam’s famous gumbo when he hadn’t seen you come out for a few hours. Listening intently through your door, he picked up on your breathing, which sounded more erratic than rhythmic. Opening the door, he saw you lying on the floor, understanding why right away. He also saw tears on your face as your face contorted in fear.

Knowing all the signs of a nightmare, Bucky anxiously knelt down after setting the bowl on the desk in your room, shaking you gently. “Hey, Y/N,” he spoke softly. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

He repeated the words he’d heard so many times. His own nightmares weren’t as bad as they used to be, but he still got them often. Bucky comforted you, releasing the tension from your shoulders until your eyes shot open, your fists immediately up in defense.

“Woah, it’s me, hey,” Bucky spoke softly, grabbing your wrists tightly enough to stop you, but softly enough not to hurt you. He rubbed them with his thumbs, still trying to soothe you. “You’re okay, you were just having a nightmare. You’re not in any danger anymore. You’re safe.”

You looked up at Bucky, your expression unreadable to him as you were still catching your breath. He let go of your wrists before you sat up, wiping the tears off your face.

“I’m sorry,” you said in the same small voice you gave him outside of the jet. It made Bucky’s chest ache.

He barely knew you, but what Hydra did to people was something even he was unaware he could come back from. It felt like something worse than traumatizing, if that were even possible. He may not know much about your time there, as the information was little to none. Steve and Tony were still working on that. However, he knew more than anything that none of this could have been easy for you.

“You’ll never have anything to apologize for while you’re here,” he said sincerely, telling you the words he would tell a younger version of himself. “You’ve been through a lot, both mentally and physically. I’ve been there, and it’s not easy. But you’ll get better, day by day.”

All you did was look at him, a hint of gratitude in your eyes that only he would be able to make out. Instead of pushing you into a conversation, he got up and grabbed the bowl of gumbo with a spoon.

“I’m not sure if you’ll eat all of it, but I’m assuming you need to eat something,” he spoke lightly, his tone one of comfort as he passed you the bowl.

Immediately digging in, it was like you had forgotten what it was like to eat. Bucky knew that feeling. He stayed with you until you ate about two-thirds of it, looking at him as he sat next to you on the floor, passing him the bowl with a look of guilt on your face.

“Sorry,” you shook your head. “It’s really good, I’m just kinda full.”

“Nothing to be ashamed about, I’m just glad you got something in your system. I’m sure everyone else will be too,” Bucky smiled at you, taking the bowl and standing. “Get some rest. Nat will probably wanna talk in the morning. My room’s right across the hall if you need me.”

“Will you be there?” You asked so softly, Bucky almost missed it.

“Tomorrow? Do you want me to be?” He asked, not wanting to assume. You nodded twice. “Okay, alright. I’ll be there.”

“Thank you,” you said, pulling your knees to your chest. “For everything.”

“Anytime,” he gave you one last smile before leaving the room.

Bucky knew you would be okay.

part two of this should come in the next few days… i’ve been obsessed with developing lore lately. i hope you enjoyed!

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #winter soldier #the winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #bucky

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sharieb · 4 days ago

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The New Father's Self-Reflection

Setup: It’s quiet in the nursery tonight. His daughter is a little over a month old now, and though the days are often a blur of bottles, lullabies, and half-asleep kisses, each of the boys finds himself drawn to the nursery when the world is asleep, cradling his daughter in his arms, and realizing that this life is unlike anything he has ever known

Pairing: Dad! LADs x mom! Non-MC

Genre: Fluff Writer's note: Woke up at 4 am with a thought in my head. It was so cute that I had to get out of my bed to type it up. All the boys in this drabble headcannon, know and can recall their past lives.

The nightlight paints the nursery in a soft lavender hue, casting gentle shadows across the pale stars on the walls. Xavier doesn’t move from the armchair in the corner. His eyes are fixed on the crib, where the smallest, most precious part of his universe sleeps. Or rather, used to sleep. A tiny whimper cuts through the silence, followed by a brief scrunch of her soft face. Xavier leans forward instinctively, already rising before the first real cry can form. But then— Her big eyes flutter open. She blinks up at him, and then, like the world itself has slowed for just this second, she smiles, and then she coos happily at the sight of her father, a sound that bubbles out of her like it was made just for him. Like the world itself has slowed for just this second as she smiles. Something in his chest pulls painfully and tenderly all at once. "...Hey there," he whispers, scooping her up into his arms with the care of someone holding a galaxy. "I’m here." Her fingers curl near his collar as her eyelids flutter, fighting sleep again. He doesn't mind. He gently sways with her in his arms, pressing the softest kiss to the crown of her head. And then, in the quiet that follows, his thoughts begin to spiral—not chaotically, but in that slow, deliberate way only he could manage. That same methodical way he used to trace every path back in those lifetimes long gone. He had loved someone before. Always the same person. Always MC. But she always died too young. Or he did. Or the world came between them before anything real could take root. There was never time. Never peace. Never more. But now... He looks down at the little bundle in his arms—her sleepy nose, her soft cheeks, her barely-there eyebrows that furrow just like yours when she dreams—and then past her to the ring glinting faintly on his finger. Now there is more. He had made a different choice. Chosen a different love. A softer one. One that had never existed in any other lifetime. One that wasn't written by fate, but by decision. And because of that choice, he’s here. Married. A father. Awake at three in the morning, holding his daughter who smells like baby lotion and warm milk, and who stops crying just because she saw him. Xavier closes his eyes and rests his cheek on her head, exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding since the day she was born. "Thank you," he whispers. It's not clear if he’s thanking her, you, or the stars for letting this life be different. But maybe it doesn’t matter. Because this—this is something none of his other lives ever had. And he’s never been more grateful for the change.

The nursery is silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of the little cloud-shaped clock above the door. Zayne is standing by the window, back straight, arms folded. The kind of stance he always takes when he's deep in thought. But when he hears the faintest sound from the crib, the practiced stoicism melts instantly. He kneels beside the crib, gentle and slow. His daughter stirs, a frown tugging at her face, the corners of her mouth trembling with the threat of tears. And then she sees him. One blink. Two. And then, the tiniest smile stretches across her lips. She coos happily at the sight of her father, a soft, melodic sound like the first notes of a lullaby, and he swears it’s the most beautiful music he’s ever heard. Zayne reaches for her instinctively. His fingers shake only a little. He had been so hesitant at first—to hold something so fragile. To feel something so terrifying. But now? Now he knows how to cradle her so she fits perfectly against his chest. Her little cheek rests right where his heart is. She listens to its steady beat, and he listens to the way her breathing slows. He never thought he would live this long. Not in any lifetime. He never thought he'd be here. He remembers MC. Her touch. Her voice. Her last breath in his arms, in every past life they shared. And yet, here he is. Not at a grave. Not at a battle. But here. With his daughter. Because he made a different choice. He said yes to a different love. To the one who challenged him to live. To stay. To hope. And now there's this little heartbeat against his own. Zayne presses his lips to her temple. "You're the proof," he murmurs. "That it doesn't have to end in sorrow." The past doesn't disappear. But this? This is new. And he's grateful beyond words.

Rafayel sits cross-legged on the floor of the nursery, a stuffed unicorn in one hand and a pacifier in the other. He’s been trying to "clean up" the scattered toys, but truthfully, he's been staring at her crib more than anything else. When she lets out a tiny sound, he freezes. Not because he doesn’t know what to do. But because every time she stirs, he gets this overwhelming ache in his chest. She peeks up at him. Sleepy. Confused. Teetering on the edge of a cry. Then he leans forward with a dramatic gasp. "Is that a smile I see? For your papa?" She kicks her chubby legs nd lets out a giggly coo, like she already knows he’s her favourite person in the room, then offers him a sleepy grin. And just like that, he folds. He scoops her into his arms and spins once, gently, like they’re dancing. Her tiny fist latches onto his shirt. He sways. He hums. He remembers tragedy. The silence after a lover’s last breath. The way MC’s eyes closed before they ever saw anything beyond the battlefield. He thought that was all he was meant to know. But then you happened. And everything started changing. He married you. He painted nurseries. He bought pacifiers. And now he's here. A daddy. A mess. A masterpiece. "You changed everything," he tells her. "You and your mama." She yawns and tucks herself against his chest. And Rafayel, for once, doesn't feel like he’s missing anything. Because this? This life? This is a brand new canvas. And he's grateful for every stroke.

The nursery is too quiet. Sylus leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. There's always been tension curled in his spine, like he's waiting for something to go wrong. But then his daughter shifts in her crib. He watches, breath caught, as she stirs. Her nose wrinkles. Her lips tremble. And then she sees him. The almost-cry dies on her tongue. A gurgling little coo bubbles out of her, like she’s greeting him after hours apart. Her eyes widen. A smile tugs at her cheeks. He crosses the room and picks her up without a word, settling her against his chest. Her warmth bleeds into him instantly. "Little gremlin... just like your mama," he mutters, voice low and almost reverent. He thinks of the blood on his hands in past lives. The choices he made for power. For control. The way love always ended with MC in dust or flame. But now? Now, he rocks a baby girl who smiles just because he exists. Who clings to his shirt and babbles nonsense like it matters. Because he chose differently. Because you didn't flinch at his shadows. You saw the worst of him and stayed. And now he gets to see this. This beautiful, terrifying, healing thing called family. "You’re going to grow up with everything I never had," he promises softly.

She coos again, and he closes his eyes. Not a leader. Not a weapon. Not tonight. Just a father who never thought he'd get this far. And a father who is so glad he did.

The nursery is dimly lit. Caleb stands beside the crib, one hand braced on the railing, the other running tiredly through his hair. He's been standing here for a while now. Just watching. When she starts to whimper, he reacts on instinct. Before she can fully cry, he's already lifting her. Her eyes meet his. Recognition. Relief. And then she lets out a squeaky, excited coo—like she'd been waiting for him all along. Her tears die away before they begin, replaced with a gurgling smile. His throat tightens. He holds her like she's everything. Because she is. He remembers MC. The vows they never got to speak. The lives they never finished. But now there's a wedding band on his hand. A nursery filled with books and stuffed toys. A soft little girl who looks just like him, but behaves like her mommy, while holding his gaze like she already knows him. He rocks her gently, a hand smoothing her hair. "I didn’t think I was allowed to have this," he admits quietly. Not just happiness. Peace. Longevity. Love that lasts past the prologue. He looks down and meets her sleepy eyes. "But you and your mommy showed me I could choose differently." Her fingers grasp his collar. And Caleb smiles, exhausted but full. Because this? This isn’t the fate he was given. It’s the life he chose. And he would never trade it for anything else.

In the morning, you find him like that, still in the nursery, your daughter tucked safely in his arms, both of them wrapped in a bubble of soft, sleepy quiet. He’s half-asleep, but his body remains protectively curved around her, like even in his dreams, he’s guarding what matters most. hen he hears the faint creak of the doorway, he lifts his eyes to meet yours. There’s no startle. No rush to explain. Just a warm, drowsy smile that breaks across his face, soft and real. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and the way he says it, like he means for everything, makes your chest ache with love.

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bloomzone · 7 months ago

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2025: #13 The Wake-Up Call: stop wasting time and own ur education

⚠️ : harsh motivation

『Let me cut the bullshit and get straight to the point: you’re wasting your life. I said it. u sit there, complaining about school, whining about how “hard” it is, scrolling through your phone like the world owes u something Cuz it doesn’t. No one is coming to save your lazy ass.』

✒️..Cuz a big number of ppl think education is a joke !? You think skipping class, half-assing assignments, and coasting through life on autopilot is cute? Hell nah pookie. It’s fucking pathetic. While you’re sitting there making excuses—“I’m too tired,” “This subject is boring,” “I don’t see the point”—there’s someone out there grinding, pushing, sacrificing everything for the life you’re too scared to fight for.Do you know what it feels like to be stuck? To have doors slammed in your face because you didn’t put in the work? That’s the life you’re signing up for every time u choose to be lazy. Every time you say, “Fuck it, I’ll do it tomorrow,” you’re digging your own grave. You’re giving up on the one shot you have to make something of yourself.

But you’re not completely fucked yet.

Yeah, school sucks sometimes. I get it. Waking up early, dealing with uninspiring teachers, and subjects that feel pointless—it can feel like a waste. But here’s the truth: life doesn’t care. The world is cutthroat, and if you don’t show up, it’ll eat you alive. You either hustle, or you get crushed. That’s it.

So, what do you do? You fucking start. No more excuses, no more procrastinating. Here’s how to get your shit together:

1. Set a Fucking Goal

Stop floating around like a goddamn leaf in the wind. What do you want? What’s the dream? You can’t hit a target you don’t aim for. Write it down. Visualize it. Make it so real in your mind that you can taste it. Whether it’s becoming a doctor, starting a business, or simply getting out of your current situation—know your “why.”

2. Get Ruthless About Your Time

Stop wasting hours scrolling through TikTok, bingeing Netflix, or playing dumbass mobile games. Track your time. Every second you waste is a second you’re giving to someone who’s working harder than you. Use a planner, set alarms, make a schedule—whatever it takes to get shit done.

3. Start Small, Stay Consistent

You don’t have to study for eight hours on day one. Start with 30 minutes of focused work. Use the Pomodoro method: 25 minutes of pure focus, 5-minute break. Do that four times, and you’ve already put in two solid hours. Consistency beats motivation every damn time.

4. Stop Waiting for Motivation

Motivation is bullshit. It’s flaky, unreliable, and temporary. What you need is discipline. Discipline is doing what needs to be done, even when you don’t feel like it. Hate studying? Too bad. Set a timer and do it anyway. No one said this would be fun .l talked abt this click here !

5. Surround Yourself with Hungry People

If your friends are lazy, you’ll be lazy too. Cut out anyone who’s dragging you down. Find people who are grinding, who push you to be better, who make you uncomfortable in your mediocrity. If you can’t find those people, be that person. Lead the fucking way.

6. Own Your Failures

Stop blaming teachers, parents, or the system. If you failed, it’s on you. Take responsibility and learn from it. Failure isn’t the end—it’s feedback. It’s the world telling you where you need to improve. Use it.

7. Reward Yourself, But Only After You Earn It

Studied for two hours? Cool. Take a 15-minute break. Finished your assignment? Great. Watch an episode of your favorite show. But don’t let rewards come before the work. Earn your dopamine hits—they’ll feel a hell of a lot better.

8. Stop Romanticizing “Easy”

Nothing worth having comes easy. You’re not entitled to success; you have to fight for it. The grind is what separates the winners from the losers. Fall in love with the process, even when it sucks. Because that’s where growth happens.

9. Remember Who the Fuck You Are

You’re not some weak, helpless victim. You have the power to change ur life, but only if you stop feeling sorry for yourself. The world doesn’t owe you shit. You owe it to yourself to rise up, to push harder, to become the person you know you can be.

10. Think Long-Term

When you’re tempted to slack off, think about your future self. Five years from now, do you want to look back and say, “I gave it my all,” or do you want to drown in regret, wishing you could go back and do things differently? The choice is yours—every single day.

Stop Fucking Around

You’re not a kid anymore. This is your life. Every decision you make is shaping your future, whether you like it or not. You have one shot at this. Stop wasting it. Get off your ass, open your books, and start fighting for the life you want.

the pain of hard work is temporary, but the pain of regret lasts forever. So choose wisely. Do the work. Stay hungry. And when you’ve finally made it—when you’re living the life you once dreamed of—you’ll look back and thank yourself for not giving up.

@bloomzone 📇

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d-z20 · 7 months ago

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Resistance is Futile (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Agatha and Rio have claimed you as their pet but you're not going down without a fight and are defiant to their advances. The two witches are undeterred and keep trying, knowing they'll break you eventually

- OR -

They've finally grown tired of your reluctance, they fuck you with their magic strap-ons until you can't think (or walk)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Top Agatha, Top Rio, Pet Reader, dub-conish, reader refered to with she/her pronouns, magic straps, magically enhanced orgasms, voyeurism, breeding, marking, degradation, praise, magical restraints, Agatha and Rio are dark in this universe, kind of stockholm syndrome, overstimulation, possession/ownership, throat fucking, cum as lube, maybe more who knows

Words: 4.4k

A/N: So in my head the magic straps in this are like similar vibes to Celestial Agatha in What If so you know: gay and powerful. It's easy to see how Rio got Agatha pregnant. Fic req

AO3 | Masterlist

You were not going to make this easy for them. That much was clear. The long, shadowed corridors of Agatha’s lair feel like a prison, but you don’t care. No, your defiance is all you have left—the only thing that gives you any semblance of control in a world where you are nothing more than their possession, their thing, their pet.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself to survive.

Agatha’s eyes follow you as you pace, her gaze calculating and predatory. Rio sits at the table, arms crossed, her sharp smile never wavering. Their attention feels like a weight pressing against your skin, heavy and suffocating, like predators waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“You think you can defy us forever?” Agatha asks, her voice low and honeyed, sliding under your skin like a blade. “You think you can stay strong in this cage of your own making?”

You stop in your tracks, meeting her gaze with fiery resolve. “I’m not your pet,” you spit, defiance simmering in your voice.

Agatha chuckles, rich and dark, the sound curling through the air like smoke. “I’ve seen stronger wills break under pressure. Yours will too. Just wait.”

Her words are a subtle threat that lingers in the air, but you refuse to let her see the sting. “We’ll see,” you mutter, arms crossing over your chest as if to shield yourself from the weight of her gaze.

Rio’s grin widens as she leans forward, her sharp eyes studying you like a puzzle she’s dying to solve. “You know,” she muses, her voice smooth as silk, “you make this so much more fun than it needs to be. But I think you’re wrong about one thing. You are ours.”

—

Days bleed into weeks, and every moment feels like a war. They test you constantly. Punishments come as sharp reminders of your place—subtle and precise—but they’re always followed by praise that’s just as cutting. Agatha’s actions are cruel and calculated, leaving you trembling with exhaustion but too stubborn to yield. Rio’s methods are softer, more insidious, sinking under your skin like an itch you can’t scratch.

“I’ve seen stronger witches than you fall apart,” Agatha muses one evening, her fingers tracing the sigil that glows faintly on your wrist. The magic embedded in it burns, sparking through your veins like electricity, and you barely manage to suppress the flinch. “What makes you so special?”

You refuse to scream; you won’t give them the satisfaction.

“This supposed to break me?” You sneer, voice shaky but defiant. “Because it’s not working.”

Her lips curl, amusement dancing in her sharp eyes. “You think you’re strong? Maybe. But strength is nothing without control.”

Rio stands in the doorway, her dark eyes gleaming with curiosity. “She’s right,” she says, her voice velvet and steel. “Strength alone won’t save you when you’re as lost as you are. But you could find control... with us.”

You scoff, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “I don’t need either of you.”

But the look they exchange, the promise and challenge flickering between them, makes your chest tighten.

—

A week later, they come to you together. Agatha’s magic is constant, clinging to you like smoke, pervasive, and invasive. Rio’s touch is gentle yet commanding; her movements slow and deliberate, as though she’s teaching your body how to respond to her. You hate how easily it works.

It begins with something small. Agatha’s fingers brush over the curve of your neck, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “So defiant,” she purrs, her voice a dark promise. “But I see cracks in your armour.”

Your breath catches, and you hate yourself for it. The pressure of their presence is overwhelming, making your head swim. Rio steps closer, her hand lightly brushing against yours, her grin dangerous and knowing. “Maybe we’re getting somewhere after all.”

—

The next night, they return. Agatha’s magic binds your movements, a reminder of the power she wields over you. Rio removes the physical restraints, her hands steady and deliberate, as though she’s peeling away the layers of your resistance. You fight, struggling against the invisible force that holds you still, but it doesn’t stop them.

And for the first time, you start to wonder if you even want them to.

It’s late when the breaking point comes. You stand in front of them, all your defences stripped bare, the cracks in your resolve widening by the second. Agatha’s gaze is unwavering, sharp enough to pierce through every wall you’ve built.

“You can’t keep hiding from us,” she snarls, her voice low and commanding, threading through you like a spell. “You’re ours. The sooner you accept it, the sooner we can turn pain into pleasure.”

Your head shakes, but there’s a tremor in your voice you can’t mask. “I’m not yours.”

“You are.” Her words are a whisper, a command, and they press down on you like a weight you can’t escape. Your knees weaken, and you gasp, overwhelmed by the sheer power of her presence.

Rio steps closer, her hand curling around your arm in a grip that’s both firm and comforting. Her touch sends a shiver racing through you as she tilts her head, her voice a soft murmur. “Stop fighting it. Stop pretending this isn’t what you need.”

Their proximity is suffocating. Your body trembles with desire, with the ache of something deep inside you finally breaking free. The walls you’ve spent weeks fortifying come crumbling down in a single moment.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of surrender.

Agatha’s lips curve into a slow, knowing smile. She steps forward, her hand settling at the back of your neck, her fingers cool against your skin as she pulls you toward her. Her kiss is slow and deliberate, a claim that leaves you breathless. The taste of her is intoxicating, and it leaves you reeling.

Rio’s laughter is soft and low as she moves behind you, her hands settling on your hips. “There she is,” she muses, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. Her teeth graze the sensitive skin, sending a jolt through your body that makes you curse under your breath.

“Fuck you both,” you manage to hiss, but the heat in your voice betrays you.

Agatha pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Such a sharp tongue,” she says, almost to herself, as if considering how best to silence it. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

With a flick of her fingers, magic courses through you, curling around your wrists and pulling them above your head. The force isn’t rough, but it’s unyielding, holding you firmly as glowing tendrils bind you in place. Your pulse pounds as Agatha steps back, her eyes raking over you like she’s admiring a masterpiece.

Rio’s hands slide to the hem of your shirt, and with a whispered word, the fabric disappears, leaving your skin bare and exposed. Her palms are cold as they trail over your stomach, her nails scraping lightly against your ribs.

“Is this supposed to impress me?” You snap, though your voice is breathless and uneven.

Rio laughs again, the sound rich and dark. “No, sweetheart,” she purrs. “This is supposed to ruin you.”

Agatha’s magic shifts again, a tangible wave of heat brushing against your skin, making you arch involuntarily as it settles low in your abdomen. Her fingers move through the air, weaving invisible patterns, and you feel it—a phantom touch tracing up your thighs, teasing, testing. Your breath hitches, and you tug against the restraints, hating the way your body reacts to the sensation.

“You’re trembling,” Agatha observes, her voice silk and steel. “Tell me, pet—are you afraid? Or just desperate?”

“Go to hell,” you snap, but the words sound weaker now, edged with something you don’t want to acknowledge.

Rio’s hands move lower, her touch firm as her fingers hook into your waistband. Another muttered spell, and your clothing vanishes completely, leaving you bare under their gaze. Her nails rake lightly against your inner thigh, drawing a shudder from you that you can’t suppress.

“Look at her,” Rio murmurs to Agatha, her voice heavy with satisfaction. “So defiant, but her body knows better.”

Agatha steps closer, her hand ghosting over your chest, her magic lacing every movement with electricity. When her fingers brush your skin, it’s as if she’s leaving a trail of heat in her wake, her touch deliberate and possessive. “Let’s see how long you can keep up this act,” she says, her voice low and commanding.

You’re trembling now, every nerve alight as their magic weaves through your senses, blurring the line between pain and pleasure, control and surrender. Every touch feels amplified, every breath stolen, until all you can do is cling to the last threads of resistance—and even those are slipping through your fingers.

Agatha’s magic pulses, a living thing coiling around your body, dragging sensations across your skin that feel like whispers and lightning all at once. Her lips are back on yours, devouring, commanding, and pulling you deeper into her orbit. The taste of her is heady, and it leaves you reeling, your legs trembling as if the floor beneath you has given way.

Behind you, Rio’s hands continue their slow, maddening exploration. Her fingers dig into your hips, grounding you just enough to keep you teetering on the edge. Her mouth is at your neck now, lips pressing hot kisses against your skin, teeth grazing the sensitive spot that makes you gasp.

"Such pretty sounds," Rio mumbles, her voice dripping with amusement as her hands slide down, teasing at the edges of where you want her most. "And you’re trying so hard to hold back. It’s adorable, really."

Your jaw tightens, but your body betrays you, hips twitching under her touch. “I hate you,” you breathe, though the words lack conviction, each syllable faltering as Agatha tilts your chin up to meet her sharp, knowing gaze.

“Hate?” Agatha repeats, her tone mocking as her thumb traces along your jaw. "No, pet, what you hate is how much you want this. How much you need it."

Her words settle over you like a weight, and the truth burns. You jerk against the glowing binds holding your wrists above your head, but the magic only tightens, pulling you taut and vulnerable between them. The heat of Agatha’s magic licks over your skin, and your breath hitches as the phantom touch returns—this time teasing higher, brushing against your inner thighs in a way that makes you bite back a whimper.

“Such a stubborn little thing,” Agatha muses, her fingers brushing over your chest, her nails scraping lightly. "But look at you now—shaking like a leaf, your body begging for more even while you try so hard to keep that sharp tongue of yours.”

Rio’s hands press against your thighs, urging them apart, her touch firm and deliberate. "Let’s see if we can help her find her manners,” she says with a smirk. “Think we should ruin her properly this time?”

Agatha hums in agreement, her magic shifting in intensity, winding tighter around you. The phantom sensation becomes sharper, more precise, brushing against your sensitive clit, drawing a cry from your lips that you can’t suppress. Agatha’s smile widens. “Oh, darling. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Let’s hear more.”

You stutter out a curse, but it dissolves into a gasp as Rio’s mouth finds the curve of your shoulder, her teeth leaving marks that send heat racing through your veins. Her hands, firm and demanding, leave no part of you untouched, tracing patterns down your sides, across your stomach, and lower still.

“Such a mess,” Rio murmurs, her voice heavy with satisfaction as her nails rake over your thighs, making you jerk. “You’re dripping, sweetheart. Just admit it—you like being our plaything.”

“Fuck—fuck you,” you stammer, though the heat in your voice betrays you, every word trembling with desperation.

Agatha laughs softly, the sound rich and dangerous, her magic surging in response. The phantom touch turns relentless, teasing, and tormenting, and you arch involuntarily, a broken moan spilling from your lips. Your knees buckle, but Rio’s hands are there, steadying you, holding you exactly where they want you.

“That’s it,” Agatha purrs, leaning in to press her lips against the corner of your mouth. “Let go, pet. Let us take you apart.”

Rio’s fingers find you again, slipping between your thighs with devastating precision, and your head falls back against her shoulder as your body betrays you completely. “There she is,” Rio murmurs, her voice a low growl in your ear. “Knew you couldn’t hold out forever.”

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, the world spinning as Agatha steps closer, her hands cupping your face to make you meet her gaze. “Look at me, Y/N,” she commands, her voice leaving no room for disobedience. “I want to see the moment you break.”

You can’t fight it anymore. The sensations are too much—the heat of their touch, the pull of Agatha’s magic, the way Rio’s fingers work you with merciless expertise. Your body trembles violently, and you cry out, shattering under their combined efforts.

But they don’t stop.

Agatha’s magic shifts again, coaxing another wave of pleasure from you before you’ve even recovered from the first. Rio’s hands are unrelenting, her touch alternating between rough and gentle, keeping you on edge, leaving you helpless against the onslaught.

“Pathetic,” Rio says, her tone gleeful as she watches your body twitch and tremble. “Completely undone. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You try to respond, but all that escapes is a broken moan, your voice cracking as your knees finally give out. Only the magical binds and Rio’s grip keep you upright as Agatha’s lips brush against your ear. “You’re ours, Y/N,” she whispers, the words sinking into your very core.

With a flick of her fingers, Agatha adjusts the magic holding you in place. The binds shift, no longer just keeping you upright but suspending you in midair, as if resting on an invisible bed. The sensation is strange but oddly comforting, the magic cradling your weight effortlessly. Your arms remain bound above you, leaving you completely exposed.

Rio moves to stand by your head, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your damp forehead as she smirks down at you. Meanwhile, Agatha positions herself at your feet, her glowing eyes raking over you as though admiring her handiwork.

Agatha’s smirk grows as she steps closer, her fingers glowing faintly with her signature purple magic. “We’ll start slow,” her voice a soft caress, though the wicked glint in her eyes promises anything but gentleness. Her hand slides between your legs, her touch precise and knowing, and you can’t stop the sharp inhale as her fingers begin to work you open.

“Relax, pet,” she whispers, her voice low and commanding, as her other hand moves to your thigh, holding you steady even as the magic does most of the work.

At the same time, Rio hooks her fingers under your chin, tilting your face up to meet her gaze. “Open,” she orders, her tone leaving no room for disobedience. You hesitate for the briefest moment, but the commanding heat in her eyes makes resistance futile. Slowly, you part your lips.

“Good girl,” Rio purrs, her magic flaring as A glowing, dark strap materializes at her hips. Without hesitation, she guides herself into your mouth, her grip firm as she sets a punishing pace. The sensation is overwhelming, the stretch and weight of her filling you completely as Agatha’s fingers curl inside you, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body.

“You’re taking us so well,” Agatha coos, her tone mocking yet almost affectionate. Her thumb brushes over your sensitive bundle of nerves, her movements deliberate as she stretches you open. “See, Rio? She’s learning her place.”

Rio hums in agreement, her hips rocking forward, forcing you to take her deeper. “She’s a quick learner,” she mutters, her tone dripping with amusement. “But I think she can do better.” Her hand tangles in your hair, holding you steady as she thrusts into your throat, her breath hitching with each movement. The magic allows her to feel everything, and her low moans of pleasure send heat pooling low in your stomach.

Tears prick your eyes, and your throat protests, but you push through, the weight of their control pressing down on you until you’re trembling under their combined attention. Agatha’s fingers curl, hitting a spot inside you that makes you cry out around Rio, your body jerking in response. Rio groans, the sound rough and needy as her hips stutter, the magic amplifying every sensation as she pushes herself closer to the edge.

Her breath hitches, and a deep, guttural moan escapes her throat as she pulls back abruptly. “Fuck,” she rasps, her voice breaking with raw need as her strap pulses in your mouth, just shy of her release. She withdraws with a deliberate slowness, her eyes dark with satisfaction as she grips the base of her strap.

Rio circles you with slow, measured steps, her predatory gaze dragging over your trembling form as she moves to stand by Agatha. “Switching places for a moment, darling,” she smirks as she traces her fingers along your calf. Agatha just chuckles, her magic flaring as her own glowing strap begins to materialise at her hips, its sleek, enchanted form matching the dangerous glint in her eyes.

With a shuddering exhale, Rio begins to jerk herself off, her movements slow at first but growing more desperate as her climax quickly builds again. The room fills with the sound of her ragged breaths and low, throaty groans, the raw need in her voice making your own pulse race. As her release finally hits, a long, drawn-out groan tears from her throat. Her body trembling with the intensity of her orgasm as she cums all over your pussy. “A little something to make things easier for you, darling.” Rio says after a moment, her voice husky as she steps back, her satisfaction evident in the smug grin curling her lips.

“How thoughtful of you,” Agatha chuckles, her hand aligning the tip of her strap against your entrance, which was now dripping with a mix of your arousal and Rio’s cum. “Let’s see how well our little pet takes it.”

The stretch is slow and deliberate as Agatha pushes into you, the slickness making it easier, though no less overwhelming. She fills you completely, her hips moving in slow, devastating thrusts that leave you gasping and trembling. “That’s it,” she whispers, her hands gripping your thighs as her rhythm builds. “Take it all. Good pet.”

Rio’s eyes glint with hunger as she watches, arms crossed and shoulders relaxed as though she isn’t buzzing with anticipation. Her lips curl into a sly smile as Agatha sets the pace, each thrust precise and devastating. "Look at her,” Rio remarks, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Already such a mess. She’s perfect like this. Just for us."

Agatha’s answering laugh is low and sultry, her grip on your thighs tightening as she drives into you with more force. Each movement sends jolts of pleasure tearing through your body, amplified by the hum of her magic. She leans down, her breath warm against your neck, and you feel the sharp graze of her teeth. A shiver runs through you as she bites down, hard enough to leave her mark.

“She needs more,” Agatha purrs, her voice laced with wicked amusement. “Doesn’t she, Rio?”

Rio hums in agreement, stepping behind you. Her hands glide over your trembling form, possessive and firm as she tilts your head back, exposing your throat. "Let’s make sure she doesn’t forget who she belongs to," she hums, her lips brushing your ear before sinking her teeth into the sensitive skin just above your collarbone. The sharp sting pulls a broken moan from your lips, and you feel the curve of her smile against your skin.

“Tell us who owns you,” Agatha demands, her voice sharp and commanding as she drives into you with unrelenting force. Her magic courses through you, burning in all the right ways, overwhelming your senses until you’re teetering on the edge of another orgasm.

“Y-you,” you stammer, the word barely a whisper as your body trembles under her onslaught.

“And?” Her pace quickens, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.

“Rio,” you gasp, tears streaking your cheeks as your release builds, unbearable and all-consuming.

Agatha hums in satisfaction, her movements growing rougher as her own breath hitches. The magic connects her to every sensation—the friction and heat dragging a deep, guttural moan from her throat. “Good girl,” she groans, her voice strained with pleasure. With a particularly deep thrust, she sends you tumbling over the edge. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum tonight, as a fresh climax hits with an intensity that leaves you sobbing, the pleasure tearing through you until you’re left trembling, every muscle quivering with aftershocks.

But Agatha doesn’t stop. She presses deeper, drawing out every last spark of sensation, her own shuddering release building as she feels you clenching around her. An almost feral growl escapes her as her hips snap forward in one final thrust, her movements stilling as you feel her twitching inside you, magic amplifying the waves of her release. Her grip tightens on your thighs, her nails digging into your skin as her body shudders against yours.

When she finally pulls back, her breath comes in ragged gasps, her chest heaving as she stands tall, a smug, satisfied smirk curling her lips. “Mine,” she murmurs, her voice heavy with possession, as her fingers trail over the fresh marks she’s left on your skin, her touch lingering like a brand. A slick, warm sensation follows as her release drips out of you, a vivid reminder of the claim she’s just staked.

Rio steps forward then, her hands sliding up and down your trembling thighs, her touch deliberate as if savouring every inch of you. She hums softly, her lips quirking in amusement as she watches Agatha’s cum trickle down. “Messy,” she remarks with a low chuckle, her tone almost mocking.

Leaning in, Rio gathers it on her fingers and pushes it back inside you, her grin widening as you gasp at the intrusion. “Can’t let that go to waste,” she purrs, her tone thick with satisfaction.

Only then does she line herself up fully, her hands gripping your hips tightly as she thrusts into you with brutal precision. The pace is relentless from the start, her hips slamming against yours in a rhythm that leaves no room for reprieve.

“Fuck, you take my cock so well,” Rio growls, her head tipping back as she buries herself in deeper. Her pace is relentless, each movement sending fresh waves of pleasure crashing through you. Her nails dig into your hips, and she drags you back against her, forcing you to take her deeper still, making you cry out in pleasure. “I thought you were defiant,” she mocks, her voice dripping with dark amusement. “And yet, now you’re practically begging for it.”

All you can manage is a broken moan, your body arching into her as the pleasure blurs the edges of your thoughts. Every thrust leaves you gasping, every scrape of her nails and bite of her teeth reducing you further. Rio leans down, her teeth grazing your shoulder before biting hard enough to make you cry out. "That’s right," she murmurs, her voice low and rough. “You’re ours to ruin.”

Her movements become erratic, her breaths ragged as she slams her hips into you, every twitch of your already overstimulated cunt pushing her closer to the edge. “Fuck,” Rio hisses, her voice breaking as her hips snap forward, her own release tearing through her with a force that leaves her trembling. She holds you tight, her head dropped back in pure ecstasy, a rough groan escaping her throat as the magic amplifies every pulse and throb of your body around her.

Rio doesn’t pull out immediately, instead grinding her hips against you, dragging out the sensations until both of your bodies finally stop twitching. Her chest rises and falls heavily, and she leans forward, pressing a possessive kiss to the curve of your shoulder before straightening and calling over her wife. “Come here, my love.”

She adjusts her position, kneeling between your legs, her hands firm on your thighs as she spreads them wider to give Agatha a clear view. “Look at this,” she says, her tone dripping with amusement as she watches their combined release trickling from your thoroughly used body. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Agatha’s sharp eyes gleam with approval as she steps closer, her lips curving into a satisfied smirk. “Absolutely perfect,” she purrs, crossing her arms as she leans in slightly, watching intently as Rio moves between your legs.

Rio’s tongue flicks out, her movements slow and deliberate as she begins to ‘clean you up,’ her warm, wet strokes collecting every drop of their cum. The sensation is unbearable, the overstimulation pushing your body past its limits as each pass of her tongue sends sharp jolts of pleasure and pain coursing through you.

“P-please,” you stutter, your voice cracking, but your plea only earns a low chuckle from Rio as her hands tighten on your thighs, holding you in place.

“Shhh, pet,” Rio whispers against your skin, her breath warm as she continues her slow, torturous movements. “We’re not done until we say we’re done.”

Your body jerks under her attention, the overstimulation finally cresting into another peak that crashes through you with devastating force. Your release hits like a thunderclap, leaving you sobbing and trembling as Rio licks you clean, her tongue never missing a single drop.

By the time Rio is finished having her fun, you’re a trembling, stuttering mess, every shred of resistance melted away. They’ve undone you completely, your body and mind utterly spent. As Agatha waves a hand, the magical restraints dissolve, and you slump forward, only for Rio to catch your limp form.

“Good girl,” Agatha affirms, her voice soft yet laced with smug satisfaction as she strokes your hair.

Rio hums her agreement, her arms tightening around you as she presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re ours now,” she whispers, her voice filled with possessive pride.

And in the haze of pleasure and surrender, you don’t argue.

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I told myself I'd get the next chapter of Neighbourly Care out before New Years but then this fic possessed me. Oh well, if I managed to get my degrees by writing everything the night before I can certainly do the same for my fics 😤😤

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Taglist: @danveration @aceday @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @sunshine-makes-flowers-grow @gbab09 @vigilante24ish @marvelwomenarehot0

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yourcutelittlegayfriend · 10 days ago

Text

To Love or Be Loved

Yandere BatFamily x GN Reader x Yandere Darling

Summary: Family is weird, but even weirder when they bring in someone out of nowhere. What the hell am I supposed to do?.

Note: More funny and wholesome batfam fic; YN is family-oriented, and the fam loves them. Darling is also GN with no mentioned name; YN is the oldest and also the first biological kid, Non-Vigilante YN, but she knows and helps with superhero work, YN needs Advil regularly from these many migraines.

MASTERLIST

[PT 2] [PT 3]

Pt. 1 Another One?

In every family, there are unexplainable quirks in each of its members, from the parents down to the youngest.

Some have annoying traditions.

A few have questionable family drama.

Others have toxic relationships.

And some are just the normal boring ones; mind you, these are the most suspicious, given that I live in Gotham and people have at least 1 criminal charge, an abusive past, or just the typical weirdness that almost everyone has.

At least mine is somewhat tame if you don't count that they have saved the world a few times, they're vigilantes that have superhero friends, they've died and been revived a few times, and/or they belong to a 'wacky' bloodline.

Okay, maybe my family is weird, but it's what makes them, Them.

It's just there's this one habit that most must have caught on to, and I believe it all started from my father, Bruce Wayne, aka Batman.

Heavily on Batman, by the way.

He collects stuff from his hero work, from that famous large US penny, memorabilia of his other cases and adventures, evidence, even that large T-Rex, and lots and lots of confiscated villain weapons in the Batcave.

He said it's just a collection like a museum when I asked him as a child, and seeing that most of them were so cool in my younger eyes, I didn't question why there were so many, but when he put Jason's old Robin costume there, THAT pissed me off until I moved past my anger and guilt to ask him to move it away from somewhere private instead to exactly where we hid Grandmother's pearl necklace.

Then came Dick, my first adopted sibling. Both of us are near the same age, with me being a few years older, so when some people ask who's the eldest, it's mostly the two of us that other people list off first, like we're the same age or something.

And then he too started to collect stuff and started bringing it back to the manor. The early stuff was circus things and anything related to his parents, from posters and souvenirs, then it started spreading to different things from his ex-partners to current or close friends and teammates, deeming them as keepsakes, which was really wholesome until I opened his closet to put new clothes in, and I saw a weird shrine inside.

That was a large nope, and now I just put his clean clothes in his bed until he started to live in Bludhaven.

Next was Jason, the 2nd adopted kid. Dad brought him in when he found Jason stealing the Batmobile's wheel, and thank god that was the only time he ever did that, and the rest was just comic books, toys, or superhero merch that turned into novels as he started to become a bookworm. Then after he came back from the dead, he started to branch out to weapons too, and those damn crowbars in his hideout's shelves—seeing a few that he used to beat thugs with—and I actually hit his head when he used his dark humor to joke about his death, saying, 'What's better than using my trauma as a blunt force trauma?'.

I said, 'Trauma my ass,' and pinched his ear till it was red and burning while I scolded him while crying my eyes out.

Next was Tim, who came into our family just after Jason died, and I'll admit it took me a long time to get close to him before I actually bothered to get to know him, and this kid just smiled and said, 'sorry,' instead of me, which made me feel like a monster, but after that I made sure he settled in nicely, and now I'm tormented by a teen who practices the 'sleep wherever you can, when you can' method and then consumes unhealthy amounts of energy drinks, famous gamer powdered energy drinks, and occasionally my own coffee instead of his to stay awake, which I'm slowly getting concerned about, but the boy literally hissed at me when I tried to take it away until I threatened him with no cases for a week.

His collecting habits include files of old cases and other reports from both Batman missions to the Justice League and Titans missions, which was the normal thing I could label for him. That was until I saw stacks of terabyte hard drives filled with pictures of people and possibly 'illegally' borrowed files from the police and government.

Don't even get me started on when I found out he made his own unlimited cloud storage space.

After the 3 boys, the others had their own stuff and version of collecting.

Barbara's was under anything useful or practical from records of surveillance all around Gotham and almost half of the world with her skills in practically hacking any tech she could put her eyes and hands on; most of them are public security cams, and then there are private ones where they're more or less crossing the boundaries of 'I think it's okay if it's for evidence' to 'Yep, that is very much illegal and creepy.'

Stephanie's collection is practically public domain if it's in plain sight, like anything that interests a teen girl, which is usually anything with purple or a similar shade, and then some are more personal that are safely hidden, like the old evidence clues from Cluemaster that Dad hasn't gotten his hands on tucked in on top of the upper shelves of her room, and then a few knitted cotton baby clothes inside small boxes underneath her bed that she lets me handwash during laundry day, saying she only trusts me to wash them.

Cassandra's was harder to figure out, but after cleaning her room and spending some time helping her get ready for her first day of normal school, from her recitals to her ballet events, hers was mostly anything sentimental and a few things like a weapon or two that lean into or are directly about martial arts on her walls displayed behind glass, then one old B&W young picture of Lady Shiva inside a folded and unused t-shirt in the lower drawer when I reorganized her clothes to put in her new ones, and then a piece of clothing from the others, like my old missing hoody that was too small for me.

Duke, when he moved in, already had a growing collection from the old gifts his parents gave him and anything he could bring from his old home. Some things he can look at and remember old memories if he ever feels homesick, and some are new ones that caught his attention, which he can now afford thanks to the allowance from Bruce and me or the occasional gift we give him, although I feel like he's starting to hoard, which I believe was an old habit that I have to help him out with a few times to take any clutter out of his room every cleaning day available.

Last was Damian, Originally Al-Ghul but now officially with -Wayne, The habit was non-existent when he was just getting used to stuff around us and being a little menace from all those years under Ra whom I will not be calling Grandfather, Then it started small and harmful, like swords to knives that he says are the exact replica if not the actual ones Ra or Talia gifted to him.

Which concerned me alot when a black wooden polished box pop in one morning with a samurai sword nestled inside and I have to stare at the 10 apples tall child from the kitchen window as he proceeds to practice his swings on Alfred's newly cut shrubs to just stubs but now it started with finding Animals and other 'wordly' creatures that he keeps either under the Batcave (The bats don't count they've been there even before Bruce was born so we told him, 'No Dami we can't consider them as pets'), on the barn that he help made along with Jon when we can't keep batcow inside and a few smaller ones in his room as long as he keeps every critters taken care of and kept everything sanitary inside with no help, there's also ones where it's more heartwarming when he started to practice art and keep many portraits of the family in his ever growing piles of sketchbooks on his desk and pinned on the corkboard we made when we tried out woodworking.

Safe to say this family has collecting habits that, I'm glad to say, can be fixed with Wayne's unending funds and large storage provided by the manor and even more if we want to renovate the attic into some storage unit that I wish some of them could use to put their 'totally not dangerous and display only' collection so they can put more personal trinkets in their bedroom.

I could handle a sword or another godly entity pet, but bringing in a civi? , an unrelated and actually normal person? This might be the weirdest and most headache-inducing thing I have ever encountered in this family, and now I'm going to deal with their suspiciously obsessive and stalkerish methods as I look at the civi clinging behind my back while carefully putting down my steaming coffee as I watch my whole family scramble up from their seats from the dining table as their faces drain as I look frazzled and already imagine the familiar aching pain of an incoming migraine, and it's arriving fast.

With a raise of one of my eyebrows, I look at each of them before moving my sight to the first suspect, Dad.

"Another one?”

I'm just spamming my keyboard atp.

#To Love or Be loved #x reader #batfam x reader #yandere batfam #yandere x reader #platonic batfamily #yandere family x reader #yandere platonic family

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bunny-jpeg · 10 months ago

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hii little bunny <3

i like make an order of banana bread, jos louis and english muffin, with a expresso shot and tonic water served by Lewis Hamilton, please

bakery menu!

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! i love to hear what you'd want to order! thank you for anything you send! i hope you have a lovely day/night! thank you to this anon for your order, enjoy!

banana bread ("i'm going to fuck that sweet pussy of yours until the only word your little brain can form is my name.") + jos louis ("does someone need a daddy?") + english muffin ("aw, is someone crying?") + espresso shot (dirty talking) + tonic water (age gap) served by lewis hamilton (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, dirty talk/degrading language, age gap (20s/late-30s), slight daddy kink, dom/sub, sugar daddy au

lewis hamilton was on top of the world. the billion dollar man, nothing could top him. not even the pretty thing on his arm. you have tried to top him, even tried being on top of in a cow girl position. but lewis loved when you were underneath him, his cock dragging in and out of you while you clawed at whatever you could get your hands on.

"does someone need a daddy?"

it was after singapore, the start of a small break in the season. which left you confused because wasn't there just the summer break? regardless, lewis invited you to stay a few days before you headed back to his home in monaco.

you didn't know what your relationship to lewis was. he paid for almost everything in exchange for your time and attention. when you tried to use methods to save money, it only made the man shove more money into your bank account. however, the words 'i love you' never came up, but you called him daddy when he fucked you. there were promises, he'd never leave you out to dry. which meant that even if this arrangement ended, he wouldn't do it suddenly. and would make sure that you were taken care of. but something often nibbled at your core, that lewis would die before he cut off the relationship you had.

but lewis also liked to make you cry in the bedroom. not heavy, sad tears. but rather the euphoria of his cock being buried into your sweet cunt night after night. you were a stress toy that lewis could have deep conversations with. the doll he could bite at, but also gift the world to.

you tried not to think about it too much. not when he had you pressed chest first against the door of the hotel room. his chest up against your back and his hands up the skirt of your dress.

"lewis." you said with your breasts up against the door, your back arched to let him press into your further. you sniffled a little as you felt the pain in your chest from being pressed so hard into the door.

he licked his lips and rubbed against you further, his hand found the waistband on your panties. the panties he bought for you specifically. he asked, "aw, is someone crying?" there were times where lewis treated you like a slut.

he was older, domineering in a sense. the world at his finger tips. there was a power to him that called you in like a siren's song. so even when he teased you, it excited you. maybe you were a slut after all.

he continued to feel you up and you loved it. his strong grip, the grip that kept his hands on the steering wheel, were all over your body. and it made you hot all over. you could feel the excited in your chest as he continued to touch you. your core throbbed with a need for him. even without the money, you had a deep urge to let him fuck you like he did every other time.

you moaned a little and he kissed your neck roughly. his grip got harder which made your back arch further. you were always so responsive to him, it made your heart race. you knew he wouldn't fuck you up against the door.

"i'm going to fuck that sweet pussy of yours until the only word your little brain can form is my name." he said almost softly, with tenderness as if he wasn't pushing your panties down to your ankles, "i want to see your squirm, sweetheart."

"please, daddy." you whimpered before you were pulled away from the door. you ended up in bed with him soon after, his hands in your hair as he pulled you in for a softer kiss.

you whined against his lips as he laid you out on the bed under him. he admired your beauty. you softness, your figure. you drove him crazy. the bed felt soft under you, it felt even softer when lewis got you undressed. you could feel his gaze on you, as he looked at your face once more and smiled.

"you're making me warm." you said.

"good." he said as he got his shirt off, "i want to make you hot." he kicked off his socks and soon his pants. his toned, tattooed body made you swallow.

"daddy."

"i know, sweetheart. fuck, you're beautiful." you knew he was being serious with his words. the sight of you enticed him as you were both eventually naked. he splayed his hand out across your stomach and leaned in for a soft kiss. his lips then trailed down your jaw and neck and he watched you squirm.

you wanted to cover your face from shyness, but he'd tie you up on the bed before he let that happen. and you could still feel the familiar ache of rope against your skin. he was between your legs once more and licked his lips.

"and what do we say to daddy before he fucks you?" he flashed you a smile.

you swallowed, feeling more embarrassed, "please and thank you." he beamed at you and you yelped as you were pulled closer to him with your hips raised to his cock.

"always the good girl, aren't you?" he rubbed his hard cock up against your achy cunt. he could practically see the embarrassment on your face. he loomed over you as he was painfully close to slotting himself inside of your pussy, "don't be shy, sweetheart. you know i adore every inch of you. it calls to me, you know. when we're apart." he was closer into your space as he slipped his cock into you slowly.

a moment of tenderness.

he held onto your hips, not hard enough to bruise you. but, enough to keep you under him. his lips were soon close to your ear, "so good for me. most would've been long gone by now. but you like when i fuck you, don't you? you like when i make a mess of you and throw some money at you." he pressed down further on you and you whined, "like a proper whore."

you shuddered, your pussy tightened around his cock and he chuckled as he started to move against you. his pace was quick and rough, he loved his sex rough and fast. he loved watching you squirm and try to hold onto his shoulders.

"such a good girl for me. your pussy can take anything i can throw at it." he chuckled, his voice in your head. which left your thoughts cloudy with hot want.

you could feel your heartbeat quickening and you felt hot all over. it was painfully hot for you. you could feel the thrum of pleasure in the back of your mind while he worked your body. lewis was good that way, he knew exactly how to make you squirm.

as if he didn't spend a season break examining and figuring out what made your back arch and your toes curl. he tried everything and you took it all. now lewis knew what you liked and how to make his sweetheart fully melt under him.

he believed he was a gentleman that way. as if he weren't roughly thrusting against you and it made your head spin. he kissed you deeply, to keep the moans down to a minimum. you tasted sweet like sugar and were softer than velvet. you drove him crazy, so much so that those three little words seemed to bubble up in his brain.

instead he pulled away and looked at you with his dark eyes, "you like being using like this. you love how i feel against you. it's cute when you try to squirm out of my touch. because you know you never will. i like you too much and i'd be an idiot to let another man touch your pussy."

he dragged against the right spot and there were stars behind your eyes. you kicked your feet out a little bit and he pressed you further into the bed. his thrusts became quicker and your noises got louder. his kisses became hotter as they dragged across your chest.

"please, lewis. fuck." you squirmed a little more as you felt the pleasure bubble in your chest. he continued to move against you and everything in you burned like an out of control flame.

the kisses on your lips once more were heavy and it made you pant heavily. you felt like a dream to him, you felt like heaven. and he felt like heaven to you. the kisses deepened while you held onto him tightly.

you came with his lips on yours. nails dug into his shoulders as he moved against you. you felt the rush of pleasure through you as he continued to move against you.

you tensed up then relaxed against him before he continued to make out with you while he fucked you. the bed squeaked under you and he felt the same thrum of pleasure you did.

with a few more heavy thrusts of his hips, he pushed himself deep inside of you and finished. he held onto your hips and felt the heat course through his body. when he relaxed after the height of pleasure, he slowed his rapid thrusts to a stop and kept his cock inside of your pussy for a moment.

he went in for a kiss, with a bit of heat to it. you groaned against him and held onto his shoulders tighter. eventually he pulled out and laid next to you on the bed.

his arms were loosely around you and he occasionally pressed kisses against your heated skin. he said, "anything you want. it's yours." he said like a promise.

you turned to look at him and softly smiled, still basking in the post-orgasm bliss. you replied, "would it be cheesy to say i want you?"

he smiled, "a little bit. but, i did promise anything." he pressed against you, his arm draped over your hip. he smiled, "so i guess you can have me." something made you heart skip, you kissed him deeply.

"then, i guess i have you." you simply replied before he took you by the head and kissed you deeply. he may fuck you to the point of tears, but you knew that lewis cared deeply for you. as you cared for him. <3

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bobbiereynolds · 2 months ago

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Thunderbolts Preference: Being The Youngest Teammate

A/N: *Comes back to life after watching a new MCU movie pretending that everything is fine and I did not disappear and that I'm not the worst writer, but maybe second or third worst, when really I am deeply so very sorry for leaving, again* Enjoy my loves! Thunderbolts requests are open, I'm making a big post asap! 🖤

Bucky is used to being the oldest person in every room, but you age him another thirty, if not forty years. You're experienced, and methodical, and you do things like he would have, like he has, and it makes him queasy. When he sees just how young your face is, he regrets trying to blow up the limousine. None of them know who you are and they all definitely talk about you behind your back: who is this kid? Where did they come from? Should we let them go? As the mission continues, they're all hit with the reality that Valentina wanted to hire you for a reason. That you weren't just lucky in aim or thoughtful about how to kill, you were one of the most skilled they had ever seen. Bucky tries to take you under his wing a little. Not as fatherly as Alexei tries to be, but he does want you to know you've got someone in your corner with such a scrappy set of teammates. He confides in you about being the Winter Soldier and, in return, you share bite size pieces about your past. Your childhood spent learning to kill, to become an expert in the craft. All those years you spent along, in dangerous places, with some sort of faceless boss ordering you around. He knows you have a dark side, you all do, but you were so eager to step across the void. He doesn't want you to think that's an option when you really do have so much to live for.

Alexei immediately sees you as his child, or at least part of his responsibility. Because they only know bits and pieces of your past, Alexei assumes (rightfully so) that you missed out on normal young adult things like a first date and prom and graduating from a traditional school. Though those things can get to you, you put up a front that you'd rather be killing world leaders and cleaning up Valentina's messes. Still, he catches you doing things a younger version of yourself couldn't do, like watching cartoons on the weekends with a bowl of extremely sugary cereal or sleeping in until past noon when you know you all have somewhere to be, becoming a gremlin to wake up in the morning. Because he sees you as so small, he is jarred when reality hits that you can out drink almost all of them or that the shame room you had was you as a very young child being trained to kill. he asks if there are any normal memories of a family, siblings, of soccer games or stuffed animals, but you can't remember anything. He takes it up on himself to protect you, or at least thinking he can, when in reality you're the one saving his ass. because he lost so much with his daughters, he tries to do better by you, whether you like it or not.

Yelena and you actually become pretty close. You remind her of herself, of Tasha, and she can't help but gravitate towards you. Similar to Ava, she doesn't want to be seen as a paternal figure. You have enough of those with this team, you don't need someone else lecturing you about swearing when that's the least of your worries. You speak Russian together, along with Alexei, when you want to talk shit about the others in front of them, teaching Bob at the same time so he can be in on all the jokes. When you shut down, disappearing for hours on end, unreachable, she isn't met with worry or hostility. She knows, like a stray, you'll always come back, you just need your space. Yelena pays more attention to the little things than the others do, like when she surprises you with something sweet, a muffin or a scone and a coffee, you prefer fruits to something sweeter. Or, when you wander between 1am and 4am, she can find you re-watching old interviews and documentaries of your teammates. Part of it is gaining information, sizing them up, but mostly you just like knowing things about people. She'll sit beside you and watch, every so often watching you like she used to watch her sister.

Ava, unlike the rest of the team, doesn't see you as being so much younger than them. You're young, yes, and your baby face doesn't help, but she's not going to talk down to you or pretend you need a paternal figure when you've clearly been handling yourself well. Maybe behind closed doors or with the rest of the group, she'll be caught off guard when you make a reference to just how young you were or make a joke that doesn't sit well with her, she'd never do any of that to your face. You have just as much a right to be in this team as any of them. She adores how much you and John don't get along, which makes your bond stronger. Things aren't always sunshine and rainbows: not with any of them, but especially not you. You go days without sleeping after a night of nightmares and you lash out, trying to push everyone away because you're too damaged. Bob is the one you go to when you're feeling low, really low, but she hopes one day she'd have the honor of being confided in. You were all kids once. Some of you were relatively normal, but most of you were not. She's not going to act like because you're younger, you must want normalcy. None of you know what that's really like and she doesn't believe it's right to push that on you.

John does not like you. When you met, he thought you were some scrappy kid who snuck in and got yourself in a bad situation. That you had no idea the real danger you were in and that he had to save your ass from getting killed by Yelena, Ava, Bob, or Antonia. He tells you to get behind him and his shield and when you start a fight, he can't believe what he's hearing. Once you got to know one another, you liked him even less. He calls you Baby Assassin and questions how many kills you have given your age. You roll your eyes, eventually going into detail of some of your worst, and most famous, kills. It makes him sick thinking you were nine, ten, eleven years old doing those sorts of things. John likes to get in your face about things and you have no trouble bringing up that his wife left him, something the others might cringe at knowing how much it must hurt. You don't care. You will not be patronized by him. You're told to keep your distance and when you do unfortunately have to interact, you stick to commands without name calling. You still laugh at the fact that Bob made his shield into a taco, something that wasn't funny in the moment, but now can bring you to tears. John thinks, foolishly, because of your younger age, that you're inexperienced and impulsive, but you know that could not be further from the truth.

Bob doesn't see you as being so much younger, mostly because you're closer in age vs. 100+ year old Bucky. It does, secretly, make him feel sick that you were so eager to step into the void. That, like Yelena, you were forced to relive some of your worst and shameful memories. But, like always, you brush it off like it's nothing, like you don't really have feelings. Bob quickly becomes a confidant. You never knew anyone who felt the way you did, so low it scared you to be alone with yourself. You guys spend a lot of quiet time together. He's sure, though he'd never say, he knows the most about you, your history. You don't know why it comes out, why you say it, but he's never judged anything you've had to say. He doesn't mind when you sleep in past noon or lose important things like a gun or a grenade. He doesn't mind when you want the windows down in the car or the music you play that everyone else can't stand. He has a lot of patience with you because no one had the patience for him. It's the least he can do. You're methodical and always planning for the worst: what is everyone leaves you? What if they're all killed? Etc. If he can offer whatever comfort he will. You're not just a teammate, you're a friend.

#preference #thunderbolts #thunderbolts preference #bucky barnes #bucky barnes preference #alexei shostakov #alexei shostakov preference #yelena belova #yelena belova preference #ava starr #ava starr preference #john walker #john walker preference #bob reynolds #bob reynolds preference #mcu #mcu preference

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alwayscorvus · 4 months ago

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Hello! I like your headcanons and I would like to suggest an idea. Can I request Jiyan from Wuthering Waves with a reader who was a slave in childhood and still has a barcode on his/her neck? I'm sorry if there are mistakes. English is not my native language 💕

Barcode on my neck

malereader x Jiyan, fluff;

warning! some heavy topics mentioned but no drastic details and no sexual aspects about reader

Brooo thats such a good idea. Like I would want to read something similar myself, I just don't know why exactly I got this request when I don't have enough telent to use this potential :”) Still thx and here it is:

And don't worry about your english, i'm not a native speaker either

Officially no more Jiyan request, I ran out of screenshots to make graphics [*] nah jk jk but this profile is really changing from wuwa profile to jiyan profile while im better with other characters…

You were never ashamed of your “mark,” as you used to call it. You also never hid your past. Yes, it may not have been bright and you would have given up a lot to be able to avoid it. But it also made you who you are right now. It turned you into a tough person. True, you could have grown up that way under less tragic circumstances. But at least you tried to take comfort in the fact that maybe thanks to your sacrifice someone else didn't have to suffer. That maybe you took someone else's place. Place of someone who wouldn't have had the will to fight to survive. Persistence that would allow them to free themself from this chains. Besides, ever since you regained your freedom you have been doing your best to crack down the idea of slavery for good.

You gained strength and attitude while still being young. Since childhood you served under corrupt nobility. Cleaning, running with tea, feeding farm animals. Year after year carrying heavier and heavier goods. From behind the curtains, watching your master, negotiating more and more deals.

This gave you the foundation for starting your own organization. Sure, at first you worked alone. But over time, others joined in. People with the same ideas, those you saved, or those who lost their siblings in similar circumstances.

At first you had to dispense justice by force. As infamous as it may sound. With tricks, you snatched victims from the hands of their oppressors. With fights you made them understand to never make the same mistake again. Back then, it was the only solution. When army couldn't help. And even refused to, bribed with money stained by suffering of innocents. When law changed, people got more aware, and slavery finally became a fact, not just a taboo topic swept under the rug, it was easier for you. Since society began to exterminate what you were fighting against, you could move on to less drastic methods.

You pretended to be important figures, gathered evidence, brought anonymously to the court. You traveled around and saved more and more. Even though you could never get enough, you were proud of what you had accomplished.

For some time. Until you met him.

Jiyan. He was the sweetest and most caring person on world. Always looking out for others. Put other people's well-being above his own. Never forgot to send his subordinates on much-deserved vacation. While he himself stayed up all night in the base. He rushed them to lunch and dinner while he forgot to eat. Moved to the front line, taking the most damage and rescuing his close ones. He was just so kind. So generous, thoughtful. And what's more, so intelligent, hardworking, resourceful. You were totally head over heels for him. And no, you would never in your life suspect him of supporting slavery or showing no sympathy for those who went through it. But you were still afraid of his reaction. Suddenly you felt dirty. After all, conditions in which you “worked” were awful. Especially when they sent you to the animals. You didn't maintain basic hygiene. You weren't worth wasting water on it. Except the time of guests visits, you walked around the residence in sacks. Until they tore to the rest. Your master didn't even bother to look at you. Would it have been the same with Jiyan? Would he feel disgusted? Start keeping you at distance? Or would he take you at his mercy? Start looking at you only through the prism of your past? Stop using your full potential?

Your heart would probably break at this sight that would accompany it. You wouldn't be able to stand it.

For the first time since childhood, you began to feel ashamed of the black ink adorning your neck.

When visiting Huanglong for the first time and meeting Jiyan, you put your organization on hold and covered your neck with thick turtlenecks.

You joined the army as a volunteer. Served under Jiyan's command. You spent more and more time together, and your friendship grew. You matched each other perfectly and both of you caught each other's eye. Your relationship moved smoothly to a higher level.

General never picked too much interest your unusual tastes. But one particularly hot summer he began to look suspiciously at your closet. Worried about your health, looking for potential disorders in your sense of temperature that could later threaten your well-being. He began to ask if you weren't feeling too hot. Whether everything was alright. After all, he covered himself up pretty well, but his clothes were made of a special, highly breathable fabric. To ease the situation you followed his footsteps and provided your closet with similar outfits. Though in a different color theme. Jiyan was satisfied, but only for a moment. It was really starting to get suspicious. Especially when you started sharing a bedroom with each other. He could understand sleeping wrapped up in the winter. But during the vacations? Were you ashamed of him? Jiyan began to feel insecure. He started to blame himself.

You saw this and couldn't forgive yourself.

Yet you were still afraid.

In the end, Jiyan couldn't stand it. At one evening, he pulled you onto a bed for a talk. You avoided his gaze while he looked at you hopefully.

You both held hands. Jiyan gently massaged your palm with his thumb, trying to give you some encouragement. And you squeezed him to the point when it started to feel unbearable.

Finally, you let him go. A shudder of anxiety went through Jiyan. Had he overstepped the boundaries? Did he make you feel uncomfortable? Did he just ruin everything that you two had built together? Do you want nothing to do with him anymore?

But you just closed your eyes, took a deep breath and reached for the hem of your clothing. You pulled it upward. Slowly exposing your body. You tossed the material aside and waited.

Jiyan looked at you surprised. Concerned, he began to scan your body. Too worried to be carried away by feelings that caused him to blush slightly at the sight of your sculpted stomach.

General was searching for something. Some kind of mark. A scar or a birthmark. Something that could “taint” your chest. He furrowed his brow unable to see anything.

You waited and waited. But after no response, you sighed again. You leaned your neck to expose it better. A row of numbers and a barcode made with some crappy ink appeared in front of Jiyan's eyes.

He froze. You could only hear him gasping for air in shock and when a pile of thoughts rushed through his head. He involuntarily lifted his hand up and you shuddered slightly.

-Can I?

You nodded. It's not like you could take it back anymore.

You felt a touch on your neck. Gentle, warm fingertips caused a pleasant tingling sensation. Forgetting the meaning of your mark, you earned a flush similar to that adorning your partner.

-Is that-…?

He wanted to confirm but words got caught in his throat. He was devastated. And at the same time so bloody sorrowful.

-Yes. It's a barcode. Exactly like the ones worn by slaves. Same ones to which I also belonged.

You explained briefly not wanting to prolong the moment. It was hard for you anyway. Not exactly because you were going back to the past but rather because you were worried about the future.

Jiyan didn't know how to respond. He never showed his emotions too boldly. He didn't have any special communication skills. Oh how damn sorry he was when he couldn't pour out all his feelings onto you. This sympathy and love that was once taken from you.

He clenched his fists tightly and ground his teeth.

You knew him well enough to know that he didn't know how to deal with this. This information had to be too overwhelming for him. Exactly as you expected. His well-being was the most important thing for you. So you had to reassure him as soon as possible.

-It happened when I was still a kid. I got sold at young age. I was mainly a helper, bottle washer. I got hit a few times, but as you can see not often enough or-... hard enough- to leave any scars. I didn't live in the best conditions, but for the men it wasn't the worst. You don't have to worry about that. My owners have never crossed the line.

You stuttered out quickly. As you got older, you talked about your feelings unmoved. Trying to take away any impact from these events. Not wanting to burden Jiyan more and really get over it.

You were afraid of rejection.

But it never came.

Not from Jiyan. Your Jiyan.

-Oh, [M/N]-

General let out a concerned voice, which you heard from his mouth for the first time in your life. After a moment, you got locked in a tight hug.

-I can't undo what you had to go through, but I can promise that I will try to make each of your future days the best ones in your life. To me, you will always be my [M/N]. And nothing will change that.

He assured, and your eyes filled with tears. You could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

After a night full of thrills, a new day had come. With a fresh approach to life, you borrowed some looser black shirt from Jiyan. Revealing your barcode, you felt yourself radiating a powerful and intimidating vibe once again. A confident smirk appeared on your face.

As you passed by the soldiers on your way through the camp, you could feel their stares. Familiar whispers, exchanged remarks. An experience so well-known to you. Once again, you felt comfortable in front of others, making them aware that such things really did happen.

But this too had to end. As you sat in your office chair, looking through a pile of documents, with your feet carelessly thrown over a table. You heard someone gasp. One of the recruits, by coincidence one of those you helped to train recently. He stared in fear with his eyes wide open and mouth gaping. Almost burning a hole in your barcode.

Again, an unpleasant shiver went through you. You didn't know why it set you off so much, after all, he reacted just like dozens other people you've passed today, maybe just a little more abruptly. Or... maybe you knew. What made this situation different from previous ones was Jiyan's presence. You were used to these reactions, he was not. Again, you were afraid of how this would affect him. Again, unnecessarily so.

General stood by a wall with a large screen displaying Huanglong's territories under threat of attack. He was analyzing next moves till he got startled by a sudden silence. The way you stopped looking through papers and clanking with a mug of hot coffee.

He turned around in a hurry and situation that he found definitely didn't please him.

He cleared his throat.

-If you have nothing to say rookie, I would advise you to return to your work immediately - Jiyan replied coldly.

Without considering any questions from the soldier.

Young boy panicked slightly, while you smiled triumphantly at that.

This possessive, fierce side of Jiyan that you hadn't known before, especially towards his subordinates... You liked it damn well.

#tmr #x male reader #x reader #x top male reader #fanfic #scenarios #fanfiction #male reader #top male reader #mxm #wuwa jiyan #wuthering waves #jiyan wuthering waves #jiyan #jiyan x reader #wuthering waves x male reader #wuthering waves imagines #jiyan x top male reader #wuthering waves x reader

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