How To Make Friends

Daddy Makeover

Pairing: Father!Bucky Barnes x Daughter!Reader

Word Count:1030

Summary: Bucky has a five year old daughter who wants to give him a makeover.

Request:  omg will you write one where bucky is the readers dad and the reader is still pretty young (like 5-7 ish?) and they like to give bucky makeovers and steve walks in when buckys hair is all done up and stuff?

Note: I honestly love writing this kind of stuff, like please send me more of these kind of scenaros with Marvel Parents

“Uncle Tony!” Your, oh so, small legs carried you into the lab of one of the ‘Uncles’ you lived with. “Uncle Tony, have you seen Daddy anywhere!?” You yelled once more before standing in front of him.

Tony grabbed you from the waist and set you on his lap. “Sorry squirt, haven’t seen the old man today.”

“Awn…” You pouted lightly. You jumped off his lap before saying “Alright. Bye Uncle Stank!”

“Halt bugger brain!” He got onto his feet, walked towards you and turned you around to face him. He crouched down to your height. “Where did you here that name?”

“Uncle Rhodes told me.” You giggled a bit. “He told me if I called you that he would give me candy… Which he did.”

He sighed before shaking his head. “Alright, fine. You can run off to find your dad now. Bye squirt.” He gave you a light pat on the head, sending you off. When leaving the lab, you heard your Uncle yelling “Rhodey!”

-

You made your way to the living room, since that’s where most of your ‘family’ would be. In your five years of living, you lived with your dad, Bucky, and the rest of the Avengers in the Tower. You never really knew your mother since no one will tell you what happened to her so you didn’t bother asking until they wanted too.

“Auntie Tash! Uncle Clint!” You ran towards the pair that were sitting on the couch and sat in-between them.

“Hey, bub. What do you need.” Natasha asked you while petting your long hair.

“Have any of you seen Daddy?” You asked them, looking at them with hopeful eyes.

“Sorry, [Y/N], we haven’t seen him today.” Clint told you which made you sigh. “Why don’t you go ask Uncle Steve, he usually knows where he is.”

Your eyes beamed because it was true, Steve always knew where he was. “Thank you Auntie Tash and Uncle Clint!” You gave them both a quick peck on the cheek before you short legs carried you towards where you thought your Uncle Steve was.

“Uncle Steve, where are you?!” You called out, frantically looking for him.

“I’m in the dining room.” You heard his voice and you ran faster, well as fast as your legs could.

When you ran into the dining room, you saw him talking with Wanda. “Uncle Steve, there you are!” You hugged his long leg before he bent down to pick you up which you wrapped your arm around his neck and your legs around his waist. “Hi Auntie Wanda.” You smiled at her and waved.

“Hello, [Y/N].” She came closer and poked your side lightly which made you laugh a bit.

“Hey, munchkin.” Steve gave you a small peck on the cheek. “What can I do for you, shorty?” Steve was your favorite uncle, everyone knew that. He was there with you since birth and after your mother died, he watched over you when Bucky couldn’t or when he needed it because it got hard for him to do it all alone.

“Do you know where Daddy is?” You asked what felt like the millionth time. “Uncle Clint said you would know where he is and it’s really important.”

He cocked an eyebrow at you. “What is so important that you have to look for your dad?”

You shook your head. “You’ll see later, Uncle Steve. So can you please tell me where he is?”

He mimicked your action with a light chuckle. “He’s in his room watching some Television.”

“Thank you, Uncle Steve.” You waited a second but you were still in his arms. “You can let me down now, Uncle Steve.” Yo gave him a serious look.

“Sassy, aren’t we?” He asked you but you didn’t bother answering, you just giggled and nodded. “I’ll see you later, munchkin.” He set you down on the ground where you were once again short.

“Bye, Uncle Steve and Auntie Wanda!”

-

You entered you fathers room with a big smile. “Daddy!” You exclaimed when you saw him sitting on the couch in his room.

He turned his head at the sound of your voice. A smile formed on his lips when you came running towards him, so he grabbed you and sat you on his lap. “Well, hello princess.” He gave you a small kiss on the cheek which you giggled at because his stubble tickled when it rubbed against your cheek.

“I have a very important question too ask you, Daddy.” You gave him the same serious look you gave Steve.

“And, what would that be?” He cocked his eyebrow, such as Steve did.

“I want to give you a makeover.” You gave him a pleading look, a look that he couldn’t resist.

“Why do I need a makeover, don’t you think I’m pretty enough? Do you think I’m… Ugly?“ He played the fake offended. He started to tickle you which put you into a fit of giggles.

“D-Daddy, s-stop it!” You giggled at, it was a sound he could never get tired of.

He stopped once you asked him because, like him, you get mad when you have too ask twice. “Only because I love you.” He told you while giving you another kiss.

“So, about that makeover Daddy…”

-

An hour later and whatever makeover items you had, later, your dad was all dolled up. He had a bunch of braids in his shoulder length hair, red lipstick and blue eye shadow and he still doesn’t know what he looked like.

You heard the door open and Steve’s voice was heard “Hey Buck-” He stopped when he saw the view. “Wow, you never looked any better, Bucky.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Punk.” You father muttered.

You gasped and lightly tapped your dads shoulder. “Daddy! Language…” You scolded your father on his 'dirty’ language.

“Steve, you corrupted my daughter!” Your father exclaimed.

“At least we know she won’t swear…” You heard your uncle whisper to no one. You saw him take at his cell phone. “The internet will love this. Smile!” You complied and smiled for the picture while your father looked back at you, with a small smile playing on his lips.

You could hear his crying as you passed his room. Another nightmare. Both Steve and Tony had told you to keep your distance, that it was best to leave him whenever he had his nightmares.

You hated it.

Bucky raised his voice again, causing you to tense and almost tremble. Inside you were having a constant battle, deciding whether to ignore your friends and disregard your safety or to ignore the screams of pain, yet again.

“…No! Stop… Please…” You closed your eyes briefly, ignoring the warnings that had been sent your way so many times. Using your pyrokinesis, you quickly melted the lock, opening the door a crack. Bucky was huddled on the bed, as he shook back and forth. He was audibly crying out, still locked in the dream. His shirtless body was covered in sweat and his breathing was heavy and ragged.

A few seconds passed as you stood frozen in the doorway, undecided about whether to enter the room or not. Slowly you approached him, halting a few feet from his bed. “…Bucky?”

His eyes shot open, the tortured cries lapsing into an unverving silence. The man didn’t move as you sat beside him, trying not to look too sympathetic. “Another one?”

Bucky lifted his head and looked over to you, the answer residing in his eyes. Yes. He leant into you suddenly, shuddering brokenly which was something that made your heart stop. Murmuring assurances, you combed your fingers through his hair pulling him against you.

His arms snaked round your waist as he buried his face in your shirt, trying to hide himself from whatever terrors haunted him. You wondered what dream he had this time, and as you went to examine him you saw him looking back at you. Seeming more broken that ever.

“Why are you here?” His voice hoarse as he broke the silence that had fallen around the room.

“Because you need someone,” You shrugged, leaning back so you could see him better in the dark room. His metal arm was reflecting in the light, and reminded you all too much of the first meeting you had with the Winter Soldier.

He looked away from you. “…You’re not scared of me?”

“Why would I be scared of you?” You glanced linking your fingers with his in a gentle grip.

“Everyone else is,”

“Well everyone else are idiots,” You commented, “You’re not someone to be scared of. I trust you,” He stared, with wide eyes, at you as if he never expected those words to be aimed at him after all that he’d done.

Bucky stared at your interlocked hands, refusing to meet your eyes, “Why do you trust me, of all people?”

“I know the real you,” You smiled gently.

After a few moments you shifted your body, resting your head on his chest, the beat of his heart echoing in the silence. At first you felt him tense, but slowly he unclenched, resting his head back on the bed.

Relaxing into his body, you glanced up at his now peaceful features. His eyes fluttered closed, a hand falling onto your waist and tugging you into him.

The two of you fell asleep quickly, the only noise being your gentle breathing. You wished you could say that the morning was as peaceful, but you were awoken to Tony shouting about how you had melted yet another door in Stark Tower.

not my gifs, if they’re yours tell me and i’ll put credit or take them off

Are We Still Friends?

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: Worried about how his new relationship seems to be changing him, you talk to Azriel about your concerns. Things take a turn when he refuses to listen.

Warnings: some wine sipping, gossiping, angst, miscommunication, friend fighting, jealousy (but no one realizes), az being defensive and blind

Word Count: 5k

(Completed) Series Masterlist | Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

“It’s not that I don’t like her.”

The words tasted as false as they were, and you grimaced the moment they slipped out, already bracing for the look Mor would throw your way. True to form, she didn’t disappoint, her expression halfway between amusement and exasperation.

A defeated sigh escaped as you accepted the glass of wine she offered, watching as she filled her own nearly to the brim.

“You’re better than me, then,” she hummed, settling back onto the couch across from you. “Because I don’t like her.”

You raised a brow. “You don’t like many people nowadays.”

She shrugged, casual as ever, though a smirk tugged at her lips. “True. I’m not exactly lining up for any peace medals, am I?”

You chuckled softly, leaning back in your chair. “I just… have this odd feeling about her, you know?”

Mor tilted her head, letting out a noncommittal hum. “Oh, I know. She drags Az around on a leash.”

You were tempted to say something about the irony in her words—remind her, in a loving manner, that she might've been guilty of that once upon a time, too. But you decided against it. She wasn't wrong.

You swirled the wine in your glass, watching the dark liquid move in slow, mesmerizing circles. The feeling wasn’t new; it had been there since the first time you’d met her. Azriel’s new girlfriend Selene was perfectly fine—charming, even. But there was something else, something you couldn’t quite name. Like a faint hum in the background of a quiet room, just irritating enough to notice but not enough to prove anything was wrong.

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

You glanced up, finding Mor’s bright brown eyes sharp and focused on you, the lazy humor of a moment ago gone.

“I doubt he’ll listen,” you admitted, resting the bottom of your glass on your thigh. “He didn’t listen to you.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s really not.”

Mor raised a brow like she wanted to argue, but she only sighed in response. “He’s been so weird about his love life. Gwyn didn’t work out. Elain’s probably the happiest out of all of us. Maybe he’s treading lightly.”

“Maybe,” you murmured, though you weren’t convinced.

Azriel had changed in small, almost imperceptible ways since everything had settled—since everyone had paired off and fallen in love. Everyone except you. And him.

You were fine with your situation, content in the quiet steadiness of your life. Azriel wasn’t. You knew it. He knew it, though he’d never admit it. So much of his self-worth was tangled up in whether he believed himself worthy of love. And the absence of it—of a solid, undeniable love in his life, of a partner, of a potential bond—seemed to weigh on him. To him, it wasn’t just an empty space; it was a failure.

You’d almost go as far as to say he’d become desperate, living in the shadows and watching his brothers experience loves so profound they might as well have been plucked from stories meant to inspire poets and dreamers.

Mating bonds were rare. You reminded yourself of that often. Your family was just an anomaly, their luck skewed impossibly high. But logic wasn’t enough to soothe Azriel, and it certainly wouldn’t stop him from chasing it. He was obsessive. Stubborn.

Nothing you said or did could change his perspective.

Mor’s voice pulled you out of your head again. “Speak of the devil,” she sang out. “Hi, Elain.”

Your gaze snapped up to the doorway, finding Elain standing just beyond the archway. She looked like a spooked deer, frozen in place with that polite smile you’d come to recognize as her default around company she hadn’t fully warmed up to yet.

“We were just talking about Azriel’s unfortunate romantic history,” Mor said smoothly. You glanced at Elain for her reaction.

It had taken time for that particular history to fade. Maybe it was appropriate to joke about now, but you personally would’ve waited a few more years before bringing it up so flippantly. Mor, however, had little patience for such niceties.

Elain’s expression didn’t shift beyond a faint flicker in her eyes, and you realized how much her composure had improved over the years. Then again, it had been a while since she and Lucien had found each other for good—long enough for their bond to solidify and for them to leave for the Day Court after their mating ceremony.

A twinge of jealousy sparked in you before you brushed it aside.

“We’re just gossiping in general. Want to join us?” you asked, gesturing to the chair beside you. Plush and inviting, it mirrored the one you sat on. “Unless Lucien is waiting for you upstairs?”

Elain’s cheeks flushed crimson. 

“Lucien’s still with Feyre, catching up,” she said, stepping further into the room. “What are you drinking?”

Mor reached for the bottle on the table, plucking it up and turning it in her hand to read the label.

“Something good and expensive,” she replied, with a half-hearted air of indulgence, before tilting her head at Elain with a faint grin.

“It’s from Rhys’s rather gluttonous collection,” you said, sensing Elain’s hesitation. “It won’t be missed at all.”

She smiled at that. “I’d love some.”

“There are a lot of glasses in that cabinet,” you said, pointing to the wood door with ornate carvings. “Grab whichever one you’d like.”

Mor sat up straighter, scooting herself back into the pillows behind her. You hummed, impressed, at her ability to hold both her full wine glass and the bottle without so much as a wobble.

You hadn’t spent much time with Elain one-on-one. Emissary duties had kept you busy during the years the Archeron sisters had adjusted to their new lives. But you liked Elain, from what you’d seen. She had a kind heart. She also had a sharp humor that surfaced at the oddest moments, usually when she and Lucien were whispering in corners, conspiratorial before seamlessly rejoining whatever social event they were at like they’d never left.

Elain returned and sat down with her chosen glass—a delicate crystal piece that gleamed in the soft light. Mor went to fill it instantly. 

“Can I ask why you were discussing Azriel’s romantic life?” Elain asked. Her voice was smooth, certain. No hesitation.

It didn’t faze her anymore, you realized—being such a strange, pivotal turning point in Azriel’s past experiences. She’d made peace with it, the way immortality seemed to demand. Time softened the edges of even the messiest situations, turning them into stories you could recount with startling detachment. Almost humorous, really.

Because how else could you explain being casual about the fact that your best friend had almost allowed his pride—and arrogance—and, somehow simultaneously, his insecurity—to lead him into a blood duel over Elain’s affections? A blood duel.

But now, it was just… something to write off. A distant memory, softened by the years and Lucien’s easy confidence. Lucien was better than you. You would’ve held that grudge against Azriel for many more years—long enough to make it a point of pride. But then again, Lucien had won everything he wanted in the end. He had the girl, the bond, the certainty that whatever lingering rivalry Azriel might feel was entirely one-sided.

It wasn’t important enough for Lucien to waste any more energy on.

You exchanged a glance with Mor, who arched a brow, clearly just as amused by Elain’s openness.

“Y/n doesn’t like his new girlfriend,” Mor said.

Your mouth fell open. “You don’t either.”

“True,” Mor agreed easily. She looked to Elain. “We don’t like her.”

“For clarification,” you said firmly, “I never said I didn’t like her.”

Mor laughed, sipping her wine with an amused grin.

Your face fell flat. “What?”

“Nothing,” she replied breezily. “But if you get a bad feeling about someone, that’s usually dislike.”

You resisted the urge to scowl, already turning over the guilt in your mind. You didn’t want to be that person—the kind who dismissed another female off the bat. Maybe your gut was wrong this time. Maybe her smile had reached her eyes, and you’d been too preoccupied to notice. Maybe her tone hadn’t been as assessing as you remembered, and you were projecting. You wanted to like her. You wanted to be happy for Azriel.

But he didn’t seem happy. He seemed distracted. Busy. Not himself.

And not the kind of busy you’d seen before—the methodical, obsessive focus he funneled into work or training. This was different, scattered in a way you couldn’t quite pin down. It had made sense in the beginning, when things were new and exciting, but now it was starting to feel uncomfortable. He’d started missing things—small things at first, like sparring sessions or those late-night conversations you, Mor, and him would have when you couldn’t sleep. Then came the bigger things. He’d stopped being able to review external court updates with you, even when those meetings were critical for your diplomatic roles.

Azriel had always been the one you could count on. Out of everyone, you considered him your closest friend—even more than Mor, though you’d never admit it out loud. But now it seemed like every time you made plans, Selene needed him more.

And then there was how fast it was all moving. Too fast. At a recent family dinner, she’d casually mentioned that she and Azriel could move in together—offhand, like it was the most obvious next step. Something about leaving the townhouse behind, creating a space with décor that matched her aesthetic. Azriel had just stayed quiet, looked at her like she’d just proposed the most brilliant idea in existence.

You noticed he did that. The way he looked at her. The way he’d looked at Elain and Gwyn back when they were seeing each other. It weirded you out—that tendency to put the people he saw as romantic interests on a pedestal, as though they were flawless. As though they were something he didn’t deserve.

You knew where it came from. That deep-rooted insecurity that even centuries hadn’t managed to erase. He didn’t see it, the way he wore himself down trying to prove his worth to people who, for the most part, had already accepted him. But you saw it. You always had.

And it made it harder to like Selene. To trust her intentions. Maybe that was unfair, but you couldn’t help but feel like she was just taking—taking all the parts of Azriel that used to be all of yours to share, and twisting them into something else. Something that didn’t include his family.

Still, you wanted to try. To let go of the gnawing irritation in your chest and convince yourself it didn’t matter. If she made him happy—truly happy—then none of it should matter. You were adamant on ensuring that you didn’t turn into the stereotypical overbearing female best friend.

Elain tapped her glass lightly. “Lucien doesn’t like her.”

You blinked back into reality. “Really?”

She nodded, a beat passing before she added, “To be honest, I’m not sure I do either.”

Mor leaned forward, grinning like she’d been handed a stack of gold. You almost wished Amren was here to bask in the moment. Amren didn’t like Azriel’s girlfriend, either. Maybe your family really was as unwelcoming as people claimed. Or maybe Selene simply brought out another level of scrutiny. The thought of either option made you feel bad— gross. 

“Why?” Mor asked.

“She was dismissive toward Lucien. And,” Elain hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly, “She seemed… entitled, I suppose. Especially with Azriel. Like she expected him to accommodate her every whim.”

You frowned, turning over her words. “I’m sure she was just nervous. We can be an intimidating group. Maybe she just needs time to settle in. We just want Az to be happy, right? So, if she makes him happy, then I’m absolutely fine with her.”

The silence that followed was thick. For a moment, you wondered if you’d said something wrong. Something weird.

“Are you?” Elain asked, her tone sincere.

“Are you?” Mor echoed at the same time, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You shot Mor a glare, but she only raised her brows and sipped her wine again, infuriatingly unbothered. Exhaling, you willed yourself to meet Elain’s gaze.

“I am,” you said, trying for conviction. “Really.”

Elain pursed her lips. Her gaze shifted to Mor, lingering longer than you liked, and then back to you.

“Alright,” she hummed. “I guess I was wrong.”

You stilled. Elain reclined deeper into her seat, accepting a refill from Mor. Her wine glass remained only half-full compared to yours and Mor’s.

Curiosity burned. You leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

Elain furrowed her brows. “What do I mean about what?”

“You said you guess you were wrong. What does that mean?”

Mor’s gaze bored into the side of your face. Any second now, you were sure she’d make some quip about how bothered you were. But you weren’t bothered. Just curious.

Elain swirled her wine, watching the light catch the liquid. “I’m not sure. Things feel off. Like something’s coming. Az needs help with it, I think.”

You froze. “Off? Like—how?”

She hesitated, thoughtful. “It’s hard to explain,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. “But I feel it. In my chest. My visions sometimes do that. That’s why I asked.”

Well, that unsettled you. You glanced at Mor, whose amused grin had fallen into something more contemplative.

It seemed you might need to have a conversation with Azriel after all.

“I don’t like that,” you admitted, your nose crinkling. 

“I think I heard him get back earlier. Go talk to him,” Mor said, her tone gentler now, though a hint of mischief lingered in her eyes. You didn’t read too much into that. Mor’s eyes tended to be expressive. She also tended to be mischievous when her blood was primarily red wine. 

“Okay,” you said. “Maybe just to check in.”

Elain nodded. “Just to check in,” she echoed, almost reassuring.

“Have fun,” Mor added, her grin returning just enough to be annoying, but not enough to distract you from the unease curling in your chest.

You didn’t respond, instead taking another slow sip of your drink. The glass clinked softly as you set it down on the table before you made your way upstairs.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Mor turned to Elain. “Did you really feel something that unsettling?”

Elain let out a laugh. “No,” she said lightly. “I completely made that up. But she doesn’t need to know that.”

Mor’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. Seconds later, her head tilted back in a laugh just as vibrant as it was unapologetic.

“Genius,” she declared, raising her glass in mock salute.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The walk upstairs was quiet.

The townhome, in general, was quieter nowadays. Aside from the times others came to visit—like Lucien and Elain—only you and Azriel lived here full time.

When you reached Azriel’s bedroom door, your steps faltered for a moment. There was a hesitation in you that hadn't existed before. You raised your hand to knock, but the action felt more awkward than usual. It made you sad, momentarily, that you hesitated. You never second-guessed yourself with Azriel. You wanted to tread carefully in this new era of his life, though. You didn’t want to overstep, to become a nuisance. But whatever this was—whatever had unsettled Elain enough to mention it—you needed to know. Azriel had always been a constant for you, and if something felt “off,” you wanted to understand why.

Your knuckles rapped lightly on the door. “Az?” 

Inside, you heard the shuffle of movement, followed by his low, familiar voice. “Come in.”

You didn’t see Azriel immediately, but the smell of soap and the damp air told you that he recently showered. Shadows slithered across the floor, comfortable and excited, exploring the familiar confines of his room.

You greeted the tendrils as you usually did, letting them brush against your legs as you flopped onto his bed. The bed, like everything else in his room, was simple: plain black sheets, no extravagant pillows, just the bare necessities. It used to drive you mad, the emptiness of it all.  But what was in his room spoke volumes—— bare walls except for a dagger mount on one side, a small uncluttered desk with a well-worn sharpening stone. 

Azriel exiting the bathroom pulled your attention, your eyes settling on him as he rubbed his wet hair thoroughly with a towel. He shook his head slightly, wet curls bouncing onto his forehead, and met your gaze. His eyes flicked to where you lay, scanning your body. He nodded toward your feet.

“C’mon,” he almost whined. “No shoes on the bed.”

You looked down at yourself, grimacing as you realized that your shoes were, indeed, on his clean comforter. A simple set of house slippers, so nothing entirely too dirty, but it had completely slipped your mind. Very comfortable shoes, you noted, maybe you’d get Feyre a pair as a solstice gift.

“Oh whoops,” you said with an apologetic smile. “My bad, clean freak.”

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the quirk of his lips anyways.

For a moment, the old sense of comfort settled over you. But then, a thought crept in—the thought that maybe you shouldn’t lie on his bed like this anymore. It had been fine before, but now… now it felt different. He had someone else in his life. It wasn’t weird, exactly, but it was a little inappropriate.

You sat up straighter.

“Did you and Mor grow tired of rehashing the same centuries old gossip?” He teased.

You snorted, watching as his shadows flitted above his shoulders. They were amused, laughing in their own way. “Never,” you responded, pushing yourself off his bed. You were drawn to the otherside of his room, to the simple dresser against the wall. “Elain joined us this time.”

Your back was to him, but you had a feeling that the momentary silence, the stillness that you felt, was a knee-jerk reaction from Azriel—something reminiscent of embarrassment, shame, or guilt at her name. But all he responded was, “Oh?”

“I like her,” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I kinda wish I spent more time with her…”

You paused, your words trailing off quietly as you took in the small details before you. 

Azriel’s dresser had always been the one surface he decorated, not because he cared for decoration, but because it was the only surface large enough to hold anything. Over the years, it had become a quiet testament to the things that mattered to him: a mix of Solstice and birthday gifts, trinkets you’d both collected on missions and trips. You liked seeing what had changed, what had been added. It gave you a glimpse into where Azriel had been, who had been with him. 

Lately, there had been more—more trinkets, more oddities that stood in stark contrast to the weapons displayed elsewhere, the ones mostly hidden away in his closet. A macaroni necklace from Nyx. A horribly made clay version of him you’d created during a drunken pottery night with Feyre, Mor, and Amren.

But now, the dresser was foreign. The once familiar surface had been wiped clean, replaced by delicate perfume bottles, jewelry that looked too fine to be his, and a candle that smelled—oddly—like the puke of a flower faerie. Some of it was new. Most of it was hers.

Azriel’s presence had vanished from his own furniture entirely.

“Huh.”

“What?” Azriel asked.

You glanced over your shoulder. “I see you’ve decorated more.”

Azriel tilted his head, and a few of his shadows slithered down his body, crossing the room to pool around your ankles. “I guess,” he said. “Selene said my room needed more life.”

You leaned forward, brushing your fingers along the ceramic jewelry dish, the cool surface sending a strange chill through your skin. The shadows flickered over your hand, almost as if they were inspecting it too. They moved with purpose, then slowly obscured it, hiding it from view.

You frowned, confused.

Azriel, still silent, was rifling through his closet. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you as he moved, but he said nothing. The shadows returned to his side as you turned to look at him.

"Are you going somewhere?" you asked, trying to break the silence.

Now, Azriel barely spared you a glance.

“Yeah. Meeting Selene,” he replied simply.

After a few seconds of silence, Azriel turned his head and properly held your gaze. “Why? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you responded with a casual wave of your hand, but Elain’s words echoed in your mind. You cleared your throat. “Well, actually, no. I was hoping I could talk to you.”

He frowned, standing up straighter, his wings flexing with the motion. “Is it something serious?”

You paused, carefully filtering through your words. “No, just something that’s been on my mind.”

Azriel studied you, doubt flickering in his hazel eyes. It was the kind of look that always made you feel like he was reading you too easily. He probably didn’t believe you, not entirely—but he nodded anyway. His lips curved into a small, apologetic smile. “Raincheck then?”

You mirrored his smile, though it felt thin. “Yeah, sure. We can talk tomorrow, once we’re back from the Hewn City.”

Azriel stilled. The way his gaze dropped to the floor and lingered felt like a guilty dog, an animal caught in an act forbidden. “Shit,” he said, his tone cautious. “I can’t go.”

You blinked, the words taking a moment to settle. “Seriously? Az, Rhys is expecting an update.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere enough. It didn’t matter. “But you can handle it on your own, you know this.” 

“Are you serious?” you said, the hurt slipping out before you could stop it. “I don’t want to deal with Keir alone.”

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk to Rhys, but Selene’s been wanting to—”

“Never mind,” you cut him off, shaking your head. You forced a smile. “Have fun tonight. And tomorrow.”

Azriel scanned your face. After another moment of silence, he sighed.

“Okay, what is it?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You clearly have something on your mind. Tell me.”

You hesitated, holding his gaze. “I actually wanted to talk to you about Selene.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened instantly. He looked away, his tongue running across his teeth as he shook his head. “Not you too. Don’t be like this.”

Your frown deepened, offended by the immediate shift in tone. “Be like what? I haven’t even said anything yet.”

He met your eyes again, his stare almost challenging. “We both know what you’re going to say.”

“Do we?”

“First Mor, then Nesta, and now you.” His voice was sharp, but not loud. “Should I be concerned that the females in my life are so quick to rally against my girlfriend?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms to mirror his pose. “Well, yeah, Az. Maybe you should be.”

He rolled his eyes, the shadows at his feet flickering with the motion. “Fine. What do you want to tell me, then?”

For a moment, you hesitated, the words lingering on the edge of your tongue. Azriel had always been good at looking through you, unraveling thoughts you hadn’t fully formed yet. And now, under the weight of his sharp gaze, you felt exposed.

“I just want to make sure you’re happy.”

Something flickered in his expression, quick and fleeting—too fast for you to decipher. For the first time in a long while, Azriel felt unreadable, like he’d drawn a curtain between himself and you. “Really?” he asked, his tone tight, almost incredulous.

You faltered, a small thread of doubt weaving its way through your resolve. Was he happy? Would he even tell you if he wasn’t?

“Yes, really,” you replied, a defensive edge creeping into your voice. “You’ve been distant lately. Running around at her beck and call. None of us know her. I want to understand what’s going on with you. I want to understand her.”

Azriel’s wings shifted again, his gaze hardening.

“I want to make sure this is the kind of relationship you want,” you finished, quieter now.

The room fell into silence, heavy and still. Azriel watched you as if he was turning your words over and over in his mind. You waited, unsure of what to expect—if anything at all.

“I wouldn’t be in a relationship I didn’t want. Can we drop it, please.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. What a strange, dismissive answer. It bothered you— bothered you more than anything he’d ever told you before. 

“Az, I just don’t want you to change who you are for someone. You don’t need to cater to her every whim.”

His expression darkened, shadows curling tighter around his boots. “I’m her boyfriend. I do what she asks.”

You raised an eyebrow, unable to stop the scoff that slipped out. Azriel had never been so clipped with you. “That’s not the definition of a boyfriend. That’s the definition of a bitch.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his wings flaring in irritation. “Excuse me?”  His voice cut through the room. “Do you really think I’m some incompetent love-sick loser?”

“I think you stop seeing flaws in the people you love.”

The words hung between you, heavier than you’d anticipated. A small part of you wondered if “love” was the word Azriel would use to describe his feelings for her. Another part worried that he didn’t correct you.

“That’s not true.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” he snapped. “I can clearly see that you’re being unfair. Quick to judge, much like Mor. That’s a flaw.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, “You know what I meant. The people you’re infatuated with—”

“Where is this sudden concern coming from?” he interrupted, his shadows now beginning to curl between you like restless mediators, unsure where to settle. “Are you trying to cause issues?”

Something ran hot through your body.

“Seriously? I’m talking to you about this because I care. Because Elain had some cryptic feeling about you—”

“Elain is involved in this conversation, too?” His voice dripped with frustration now. “Gods, Y/n, should I send word for Gwyn while we’re at it? Get her opinion?”

“What the hell has gotten into you?” You took an authoritative step forward.  “I’ve never judged you. I’ve always tried to support you and your messy love life, no matter how complicated. Don’t you trust me, Azriel? As a friend?”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his shadows flickering uncertainly, still deciding whether to retreat or rise.

You gestured around the room. “Look at this place. You’ve erased all traces of your family—of you, of us. Where did you even put—”

“Oh, gods.” Azriel’s voice broke through, and for a moment, you thought he might crumble. His wings folded, and his hand dragged across his face, the weight of his exhaustion sinking in. “She was right.”

You froze. “What?”

Azriel met your gaze, his eyes hesitant for a heartbeat before turning sharp. “About you. Selene said you were jealous. That you had feelings for me.”

The words hit like a slap, and your world tilted on its axis. “What?” you asked again, your voice breaking on the word. Maybe you had misheard him. Maybe he had misspoken.

“I told her she was wrong. But now…” He let the sentence hang in the air, searching your face for something that maybe wasn’t even there.

“Now, what?” Your voice rose, tinged with anger. “You think I’m here because I’m jealous? Because I have some… crush on you?”

His wings flared slightly at your tone, but he didn’t back down. “I don’t know. It’s just—why else would you care so much about this?”

Your stomach twisted, a deep, cold ache settling there. “Why else?” you repeated, the words bitter on your tongue. “Because I care about you, Azriel. Because you’ve been my friend for centuries. Are you seriously confused about this?” 

For a moment, Azriel’s expression faltered, but he didn’t apologize. Instead, he said, “I didn’t ask you to care about my love life.”

“You didn’t have to,” you snapped, stepping closer. “That’s what friends do. But you’re standing there, letting her perception of me—someone who doesn’t even know me—warp your judgment. You’ve known me longer than that. Or at least, I thought you did. And the fact that you’d entertain this—” You stopped, shaking your head. “It’s insulting.”

Azriel said nothing. He just stood there, shadows now curling tighter around him. 

You had no idea how this conversation had gotten away from you, no idea how it turned into this—where this defensiveness, this anger, had come from. This wasn’t Azriel. Loyal, overly so. Impulsive. Protective. 

Or maybe it was. Maybe that loyalty was directed at someone else now—someone who clearly saw you as something threatening. You’d never been on the other side of Azriel before. Never thought you’d see the day. The realization hit like a slap to the face, leaving you shocked, stunned, a pit opening in your stomach that felt too deep to climb out of.

“You know what? Forget it.” You stepped back, the fight draining out of you all at once.

Azriel’s brows furrowed. “Really? That’s it?”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your lips curving into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t so bitter. “Yeah,” you said, your voice flat. “That’s it.”

You turned for the door, hand on the handle, but paused. The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, sharp and pointed, a petty jab that felt equal parts satisfying and hollow. “Make sure to lock this door when you leave—I’d hate to accidentally stumble back in and throw myself at you.”

Azriel stiffened, his wings snapping taut behind him. For a brief second, you thought he might say something, anything. But he didn’t.

You closed the door behind you with a heavy thud.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: no one tell them they probs have feelings for each other bc they’ll probably fight you (also elains moment is so self indulgent bc i would totally be making shit up based off my powers. like yeah actually you can’t be mean to be :/ powers are saying you’ll die if you are)

Part Two

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters 

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound

@melissat1254

@secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos @acoazlove @paradisebabey @inkedinshadows

azriel tag list 🫶🏻:@thisiskaylin @serrendiipty @acourtofsteelandthunder  @mortqlprojections @ushijima-stits @honethatty12

Imagine waking up to Bucky after your first night together.

You stirred awake to a comforting warmth surrounding you. As your eyes fluttered open, the memories of the previous night came back to you and you smiled as you recognized the chest that you were nuzzling into. A metal arm tightened around your waist and you leaned forward to press a kiss to the skin that met the vibranium.

Bucky made a small noise at the sensation, his lips upturning in a gentle smile. “Good morning, princess.”

“It is indeed a good morning,” you muttered, your mouth traveling across his broad shoulder. 

Bucky moaned in contentment as you kissed his chin, his hand weaving itself through your hair, pulling you closer until he had you firmly pressed against him. You could feel him hard against your lower stomach. 

“Last night…” he murmured. 

“I know.”

Bucky beamed before he flipped you to lie on your back, crawling down to the crux of your thighs.

Doing this to prove a point to my mum

Reblog if you think you can have a fulfilling relationship without sex.

A fallen merman taking his last breaths, for some, the stuff of nightmares, for others, the stuff of dreams. Hauntingly beautiful scupture ‘And then I saw Colby on the Street and my fantasy died’ by  Cameron Stalheim.

Definitely the stuff of dreams for me. And I know who I’ll be dreaming of…

NEW THOR TRAILER IS :O

New Thor trailer is amazing! Hela is badass! This will be awesome! dkldkldkdfwoksdokdsmkcl’svc;kmskvdc’sav;lsal;,sl;,sd

Freaks

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x reader

Summary: Your abilities as a half Frost Giant terrify you, but you soon find out you’re not the only freak on Asgard.

A/N: I’ll hopefully get a couple more fics posted today, one will possibly be a second part to I Think We’re Gonna Like It Here. Also, thank you to @slutamores for requesting this, hope you like it :)

(Not my gif)

You stared down at your shaking hands, trying to stop the tears splashing into your open palms. You were a freak, a monster. Those were the only thoughts going through your distraught mind as you glared at your icy blue skin, willing it to fade back to its usual colour. Curiously, you reached out and touched a flower growing nearby. You gasped in horror as it froze and wilted before your eyes. This garden had always been a safe haven for you; when you couldn’t control your powers, you could hide away from the rest of Asgard until you were in control again. Your mother had never seen fit to tell you that you were half Frost Giant, apparently “it didn’t change who you were”. You snorted in disbelief as you recalled her words; in your opinion, if it turned your skin blue and your eyes fiery red, it definitely changed who you were. You froze in fear as you heard the gate to the garden creak open. You prayed that it was just the wind, but there was no wind. You made to pull the sleeves of your dress over your hands to hide your frosty blue complexion, but you were relieved to see that it had faded away. “(Y/N)?” came a familiar voice from round the corner. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you got to your feet and walked slowly to where you’d heard the voice calling from. “Loki,” you greeted your friend. “I didn’t know you were coming here.” The raven haired prince’s thin lips formed a frown as he studied your face. “I saw you running from the great hall. I was worried about you.” You twisted your fingers together nervously. “As you can see, I’m fine.” He chuckled quietly. “(Y/N), you can’t lie to me. You can’t beat me at my own game.” He reached out slowly and took your hand in his. You watched in horror, expecting your touch to hurt and freeze his pale skin. He tilted his head to the side curiously. “(Y/N), please tell me what troubles you,” he whispered. “I hate seeing you upset.” At his words, your mask crumbled. Tears welled in your eyes, and you snatched your hand from his grasp. “I’m a freak, a monster,” you whispered. “Look.” You held your palm up to face him, and concentrated with all your power to change your skin. You felt the familiar icy burn as your skin became rough and cold, your eyes stinging with tears as they turned blood red. You couldn’t bear to look at his face and see the fear, the disgust, in his eyes. Your eyes snapped up to lock on your hand as Loki placed his palm flat against yours. Your mouth hung half open in disbelief as you took in the blue swirls and ridges adorning his previously deathly pale skin. Slowly, your eyes moved up to look into his eyes. His ruby red eyes. “You’re not the only freak around here,” he said quietly. You watched, unable to from words, as he linked his fingers with yours carefully, still holding them up for you to see. “See? We’re the same.” You frowned slightly. “But if you’re a Frost Giant, that must mean-,” “I am not a son of Odin,” he finished, smiling sadly. “Unfortunate, isn’t it?” “How do you hide it?” you asked shyly. “I can’t control it, it feels like it controls me.” Pity flickered across his face, and you watched as his skin faded back to ivory. His clear blue eyes never left yours, which were still a glassy red. You felt hot tears welling in them; you didn’t feel so confident when it was just you looking like a monster. “It takes time,” he told you, squeezing your icy hand in his. You expected him to flinch, but his expression didn’t change. “I will help you as best I can.” You nodded, letting out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding. “I thought you would hate me,” you half-laughed. You couldn’t help it; you’d spent weeks terrified that he would turn his back on you. “I could never hate you,” Loki said gently. “How could I hate you, when you’ve made me realise I’m not alone?” As he said that, you felt your skin warming, and you nearly cried out in relief as it faded back to its normal tone. You were suddenly aware of the fact that Loki was still holding your hand, and you felt your cheeks burning red. It was just one extreme to the other with you today. “Next time this happens, call for me and I will help you,” he told you as you both moved to sit on a nearby marble bench. You smiled gratefully, running your thumb across his knuckles gently. “Thank you, Loki. For everything,” you said quietly. He lifted his free hand to cup your cheek carefully, turning your face gently to look into his eyes. “You are so beautiful. You are not, and never will be, a freak to me,” he whispered. You chuckled quietly. “Try saying that when my eyes look like blood, and my skin turns to ice.” Loki shook his head. “Your eyes are not blood to me, they are rubies. And do not forget that my skin is just as icy as yours, and you still find no fault in it.” You smiled softly. “I could never find fault in you.” He leaned in slowly, pressing his lips ever so gently to yours. You barely moved your lips against his, letting him lead. As quickly as it had begun, it was over. “You are no freak to me,” Loki whispered again, resting his forehead against yours.

Something Else

So I said I was on a hiatus buuuut I had the UNREAL opportunity to see Civil War a week early and I’ve been waiting to write this idea since. I couldn’t resist so I broke hiatus bc I lack self-control…like c’mon Also I wrote all of it within an hour long study break so I apologize for any errors lol Title: Something Else Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader Summary: Being Tony’s child (bc Stark children are way too fun to write) and having to get Peter acclimated to Stark Tower after Tony recruits him. Word Count: 1,265 Warnings: food mention, CA:CW spoilers (not really but kinda)            "Y/N, I’m home!“ hollered Tony as you heard the door open.

           You roll your eyes, knowing it’s just your dad wanting your attention. You were his only kid after all, and he wasn’t going to be disrespected by his own blood. He’d disown you in an instant.

           And so, to please your tyrannical father, you turn the corner to greet him, only to be caught by a surprise.

           "Who’s that?” you asked, pointing at the teenager standing next to your father. “Did you adopt him? Is he my brother now? I swear…”

           "Yes, you’ve been dethroned as the Stark heir,“ your father sassed, rolling his eyes. “No, I did not adopt him. This is Peter Parker.”

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