#and he's always at his side ready to protect him and never strays far from him if he can help it

[angelfic]

— IF I CAN’T HAVE YOU BABY

pairing: mattheo riddle x nott!reader

summary: you weren't quite used to the attention of other boys, and it seems your brother's best friend isn't too fond of it either

warnings: brother's best friend trope!! swearing, kissing, not much else, very much unedited

author’s note: i don't tend to stray outside of the marauders era characters buuuut i've been a bit obsessed with mattheo and theo recently so this was for my own selfish needs lol as always let me know what you think!!

He had barely looked away from you all evening.

You knew the only reason Mattheo’s eyes had been fixed on you for the entirety of dinner was because of a certain type of attention you had unconsciously garnered on your first day back at school. Particularly male attention. It wasn’t any less disconcerting, however, knowing that your brother’s best friend was prepared to fist fight any potential romantic advances towards you because he was just as protective as your actual older sibling.

Your brother Theodore is no better, a displeased frown appearing every five minutes when he looks over to where you sit at the Gryffindor table.

“Merlin, boys are pathetic,” Ginny mutters, spearing a potato with her fork. “You go away for one summer and come back slightly prettier and they flock to you like bees to honey!” You’re about to weakly protest that she’s exaggerating, but at that exact moment you’re interrupted by a tap on your shoulder.

You slowly turn on the bench, reluctantly lowering your goblet of pumpkin juice to face Michael Corner, a Ravenclaw boy who you’d only ever spoken to when he was going out with Ginny.

“Hi, Michael,” you sigh, offering him a bland smile.

“Hello, Nott,” Michael replies, with what he probably thinks is a winning smile. “Had a good summer? I was just going to ask if you wanted to go on the first Hogsmeade visit of the term with me.”

You stare at him, unblinking. “Er- well, as… nice as that sounds,” you say slowly, not meaning a word. You glance at Ginny as pointedly as you can manage and raise an eyebrow. “I don’t quite relish the idea of going out with my best friend’s ex.”

“Oh! I, erm, I didn’t actually see you there, Ginny,” he stammers, laughing sheepishly. “My mistake.”

“Quite,” Ginny says drily, turning back to her plate of food.

“Well, er, see you later then,” Michael mumbles, nearly tripping over himself as he rushes back to the Ravenclaw table.

You bite your lip to stifle your giggles but it’s not long before you catch Ginny’s eye and the both of you erupt into fits of laughter.

“I can’t believe I ever went out with him,” Ginny groans, wiping her eyes.

“Was he always such a tosser or is that new?” you ask, snorting at the way Ginny scrunches up her face in embarrassment.

You’re still laughing when your eyes happen to pass over the Slytherin table just to focus on Mattheo.

You notice with a jolt that he’s looking at you again. This time, his eyes flick over to the Ravenclaw table for a second where Michael has settled back onto, then back to you and he quirks a brow quizzically.

Frowning, you mouth at him to stop in hopes that he ceases his scrutiny, just for him to roll his eyes and return to whatever one-sided conversation Blaise Zabini was attempting to engage him in. You hope you don’t look as flustered as you feel after realising Mattheo has just witnessed such an embarrassing encounter, but you’ve found over the years that you’re not the best at hiding the effects he has on you. Theo has never mentioned it in front of Mattheo as far as you’re aware, but he definitely hasn’t shied away from teasing you about the childhood crush you have on your brother’s closest friend. Not that you’ve ever admitted it to him anyway, and you’ve gotten a lot better at hiding it since nothing could ever come of it.

“Your brother and Riddle have been looking like they’re ready to halve the male population of Hogwarts since we got on the bloody train,” Ginny says, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Tell me about it,” you sigh, cutting into your carrot a little more viciously than needed. “They keep looking over at our table. I feel like I’m on one of those Muggle reality television programmes Hermione was telling your dad about the other week.”

Arthur Weasley was absolutely transfixed when he was learning about reality television from Hermione during breakfast the week you both stayed at The Burrow, and although you zoned out after his sixteenth question about a singular programme, you feel as though you caught the gist of it.

“Hm,” Ginny agrees, grimacing at the memory. She had nodded off at the table during that conversation and fallen asleep on her slice of toast. “In fairness, that’s not really a new thing.”

“What, being watched by my two guard dogs?” you ask in a mock-serious voice.

“Yeah, but…” Ginny chews thoughtfully for a second before answering. “I’m not just talking about today, or even recently. Your brother mostly minds his own business. I’m talking about Riddle. He’s always looking at you, I noticed it last year. Wherever we are, kind of like he’s checking up on you,” she says like it’s common knowledge, shrugging. “It’s sweet, I guess.”

You blink at her, a little speechless.

“What?” Ginny frowns after a few seconds of your silence. You look at her with raised eyebrows, not really taking her seriously. In your first few years at Hogwarts, you had confided in Ginny regarding your silly, little girl feelings for Mattheo and she would read into every action he took towards you in an attempt to prove he liked you too. Obviously, he saw you as nothing but a younger sister figure and once you grew up a bit, Ginny had let it go too.

Ginny reads your dubious expression now and sets down her knife and fork to cross her arms. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’m serious! I’m not just saying it because you were helplessly in love with him until you were, like, fourteen.”

“Shush!” you hiss, thwacking her arm. “Why don’t you just get up on stage with Dumbledore and ask him to include that titbit of information for the entire school to hear in his speech!”

“Good idea,” she says, nodding seriously and starting to get up. You know she’s just teasing, but you start spluttering and frantically grab at her sleeve to sit her back down, causing her to topple onto you slightly. This sets you both off laughing again and you find it hard to stop for the rest of dinner and desert, thankfully staying far away from the topic of Mattheo. You also pointedly avoid looking at him again.

Once dinner is over, you head to the Gryffindor common room with the rest of your house and catch up with everyone for a while. After a couple hours of socialising and fifteen minutes of helping Neville Longbottom search for his pet toad, you head up to your dorm with Ginny and Lena, one of your other dormmates, to unpack.

As soon as you open your luggage, you search for your pyjamas and immediately change out of your robes and into a t-shirt and baggy shorts for comfort. You’re in the middle of unpacking some textbooks when you hear Lena whistle from behind you.

“I do not remember those pyjamas looking like that,” Lena comments, grinning at you. Rolling your eyes, you comply with her request to do a little spin and you can’t help feeling pleased when Lena and Ginny start whooping and hollering. “You’ve always been gorgeous, but you really grew up this summer, huh? Look at those legs!”

“Tell me about it,” Ginny pipes in, flopping down on her bed and abandoning her unpacked suitcase. “She came to stay for a week and Mum looked like she was going to cry every time she saw us. Something about ‘blossoming into young ladies’ or whatever bollocks.”

“You ‘blossomed’ last year,” you point out, and Lena hums in agreement. “I haven’t forgotten how Zacharias Smith fell off his broom trying to wave at you during Quidditch practice.”

Ginny groans and starts ranting about teenage boys again. Lena joins in and starts teasing her about how Harry Potter is the only boy she hasn’t complained about and you’re about to set down your belongings to help Lena dodge the pillows Ginny is throwing at her when a flash of green and silver in your suitcase catches your eye.

“Shite, I have Theo’s uniform,” you huff, grabbing the clothes out of your suitcase and sliding your slippers on. “That means he has mine and I am not dealing with this at seven in the morning. I’m gonna go drop this off, be back in a minute.”

Ginny says goodbye before resuming her pillow attack on Lena as you make your way out of the room and down into the common room. It’s nearly empty, with most people having gone to their rooms to pack and a quick glance at the clock tells you its past curfew. You decide to take the risk since you have a reasonable excuse, but you hope that if you do get caught, it isn’t by Filch or Snape.

By the time you’ve reached the dungeons, you thank Merlin that Theo had the sense to tell you the password for the Slytherin common room before dinner in case of emergency.

“Pureblood,” you mutter, fighting the urge to scoff when the door swings open. You enter the common room and brighten up when you see that the only students still hanging around are Theo and his friends. Your brother seems to have already started unpacking since he’s standing and holding your uniform, presumably about to come and find you. His friends all mumble polite ‘hello’s and he walks up to you with a smile.

“Oh, hey, I was just-” Theo cuts himself off when he properly looks at you and frowns. “Wha- Why are you wearing pyjamas out and about?”

“You’re wearing pyjamas too!” you exclaim, slightly embarrassed that your brother is doing this in front of your friends. They all turn to look at you again, hearing the indignation in Theo’s voice and you notice Mattheo suddenly sits up straighter. Suddenly aware of your bare legs, you tug down the material of your shorts, despite the fact they aren’t even very short to begin with.

“Oi. Stop looking at my sister!”” Theo snaps, glaring at Blaise, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle. You know the only reason they glanced at you in the first place is out of curiosity regarding Theo’s question, but Theo and Mattheo scowl at them all the same and they all start sputtering, Draco in particular when Pansy narrows her eyes at him. Theo sighs at you, quickly exchanging your uniforms. “Just- at least take something to cover up back to your room.”

“I’ll walk her back,” Mattheo says, out of nowhere. He stands up and makes his way over to you, face carefully blank. Theo nods, agreeing quickly before he ruffles your hair goodbye to go and finish packing. You’re too surprised by Mattheo’s offer to protest until you’re already out of the Slytherin common room.

“I don’t need someone to walk me back, you know,” you mumble after a minute of charged silence.

“It was either me or Theo,” he shrugs, completely unapologetic when his mouth quirks up in a smug smile. “And I know you prefer me.”

“You’re both equally annoying,” you say, rolling your eyes, happy that he’s talking to you like normal again. You hated it whenever Mattheo was serious – it was rarely ever towards you and you much preferred when his whole face lit up with a smile. He begins to tease you about your bunny rabbit slippers and you’re in the middle of pretending to be irked when you both run into Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff prefect doing patrol duties.

“Hey,” Ernie offers you a friendly smile and gives Mattheo a brief, slightly nervous glance. While you prefer not to get into trouble for breaking curfew, Mattheo clearly couldn’t care less and his relaxed, yet intimidating stance must be off-putting to Ernie. Thankfully, you’re on friendly terms with the Hufflepuff and you give him an even brighter smile to make up for it, to which he beams at. “How was your summer?”

“Good, yeah! Erm, listen Ernie. We didn’t mean to be out at this time, it’s just that I accidentally had my brother’s uniform and needed to-”

“Oh, forget it. Don’t worry, I won’t dock you any points,” Ernie reassures you, waving off your excuses and you instantly relax. Ernie gives Mattheo another unsure glance before leaning in the tiniest bit closer to you. You try not to pay attention to how Ernie has been glancing at your legs and how Mattheo tenses up when Ernie starts speaking again. “I was actually wondering if you were available next weekend…?”

Ernie trails off when you don’t show any indication of replying straight away and you snap out of your surprise to say something, but Mattheo beats you to it.

“She’s busy then,” he says coldly, working his jaw. “Now, if you don’t mind, it’s late. Kindly get lost.”

“Wha- Matt!” you hiss, smacking his chest to which he barely flinches, nor does he look at all apologetic. “Ernie, I-”

“Never mind,” he says quickly, seemingly eager to just leave. “I’ll, er, see you later.”

You stand frozen in shock while Ernie rushes down the corridor and turns the corner, leaving you and Mattheo alone. Turning slowly, you look at him with barely contained anger.

“Why the hell did you do that?” you demand, voice sharp as nails. If it weren’t past curfew and you weren’t in the middle of a school corridor, you would most definitely be yelling. Mattheo stands with his hands in his pockets, clenching his jaw and his silence makes you even angrier. You accepted long ago that you’d never have a chance with him, but now he was getting in the way of you having a chance with anyone. It was completely unfair. “What if I actually wanted to go out with him?!”

Mattheo scowls at this, but his impossibly dark brown eyes flash with a hint of uncertainty. “Did you?”

“What?” you ask, impatient.

“Did you want to go out with him?” he says, voice low and dangerous. He walks forward, towering over you and you refuse to be intimidated so you start walking backward until your back is against the wall. Despite having cornered you, he maintains a fair amount of distance between you, leaving plenty of space if you want to move away. You don’t.

“That’s none of your business,” you say stubbornly, raising your chin and trying your best to keep your voice steady. Mattheo narrows his eyes and reduces the distance between you ever so slightly with another small step. You nervously keep talking. “I can go out with whoever I want.” Another step. “And you can’t just-” One more step. “Matt.” His shoes are flush with your slippers.

“What?” he whispers, tilting his head and looking at you calmly, while you feeling anything but calm. “I can’t just… what?”

The previously respectable distance has gone out the window and instead you barely have space to breathe with the way Mattheo is leaning in, head dipped toward you but never touching, hands resting on the wall either side of you. He leans in, eyes dropping to your lips and your heart leaps in your chest with anticipation, but he ghosts his lips over your jaw instead and the barely-there contact has you breathing unevenly.

“You can’t…” you exhale, trying to finish your sentence with some dignity and failing miserably. “You can’t just scare people off like an overprotective older brother.”

Mattheo stills, lifting his head enough to meet your eyes, but making no move to distance himself any further. He scoffs quietly. “Brother,” he says the word with a mildly disgusted scowl. “Is that what you think I want to be?”

“I- I don’t…”

“You don’t know,” Mattheo finishes for you, the corners of his mouth turning up, yet his expression is devoid of humour. “No, you don’t know how badly I wanted to hex Macmillan just now. How badly I wanted to try out some new, experimental spells on that fucking Ravenclaw earlier. But none of that had anything to do with brotherly feelings.”

“They were just being nice,” you say stupidly, with not a clue in the world as to why you’re defending them right now. If anything, you’re just confused.

Mattheo quirks a brow, tongue pressing against his cheek as he considers your words. “That Ravenclaw from earlier was talking about you on the train. He said he was going to ask you out at dinner because you’d ‘gotten hot’ over summer,” Mattheo sneers, like he’s suddenly regretting not hexing Michael Corner in the Great Hall. “They weren’t being nice.”

All of a sudden, you feel irritated because you have no idea why Mattheo is telling you any of this. “What’s wrong with a boy finding me attractive? Is that such a crazy idea?” you demand, part of you not wanting him to answer.

“Merlin, do I seriously have to say it?” he groans, sighing when you glare at him. Mattheo takes a breath, meeting your eyes and you marvel at the sincerity you see when he speaks. “You didn’t ‘get hot’ over the summer. You’ve always been beautiful and they’re idiots for not paying attention then.”

Your breath catches in your throat, whether it’s from emotion or from the close proximity with Mattheo, you aren’t sure. “You think I’m beautiful?”

Mattheo nods, leaning back in to brush his nose against your own, his breath mingling with yours. “Always have.”

You take this as a cue to grab the collar of his shirt and pull him in and the next thing you know, his mouth is firm against yours, and his hands are finally touching you, grabbing you by the waist and sliding up your back to hold you closer. You’ve thought about kissing Mattheo before, but the thoughts feel utterly stupid compared to the real thing. Mattheo kisses you fiercely, mouth sliding hot and wet against your own making you come alive and weakening you at the same time. He nips at your bottom lip and you gasp, causing him to smile into the kiss. Your hands are sliding up his chest to snake around his neck when a thought suddenly occurs to you and you pull away abruptly.

“Oh my God, Theodore,” you hiss, covering your mouth with your hand. Mattheo furrows his brows, looking a little dazed and confused. “What are we going to tell him?”

 “He knows I’ve loved you since we were kids,” Mattheo says flippantly, waving you off and impatiently starting to lean in again, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. “What?”

“You’ve loved me since we were kids?” The words hardly register, but before you can feel any sort of elation, you mostly feel pissed off that your brother has clearly had his fun with the situation for years. “And Theo knows?”

“Yes,” Mattheo says slowly, as if he were talking to a child. He brushes the hair out of your face and his gaze turns a little uncertain when he speaks. “Er, this is hopefully the part where you say you feel the same way.”

“Well, of course I feel the same way,” you huff, still thoroughly annoyed at Theo. “He knew I was crazily in love with you too and the bastard was so irritating about it!”

You’re about three quarters of the way down a list of ways you want to get back at your brother when Mattheo gently turns your face by the chin to look at him. “As much as I’d love for you to plot against your brother right now, it’s kind of a mood killer thinking about him when I’m kissing you.”

“Sorry, sorry. Continue with the kissing.”

“How romantic,” he says drily. His smirk turns smug, however, when he processes your previous statement. “So… you were in love with me too. What was the word you used, again? Crazily? Crazily in love…”

“Don’t make me take it back, ‘cause I swear I will.”

© angelfic 2023.

#mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x fem reader #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle fanfiction #mattheo riddle scenarios #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle imagines #mattheo riddle ff #mattheo x reader #mattheo x you #mattheo x y/n

[astrid-sorensen]

Did I hurt you? Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 1,115

Genre: Hurt + comfort, angst, some smut

Warnings: sex, injury detail caused by a human, no use of y/n, rushed ending

MASTERLIST

When you and Joel spend the night secluded on patrol, Joel is in for a surprise when he finds out just how rough he can be.

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ⋆｡°✩･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

Snow littered across the hillside, you and Joel were saddled at the ready as you left the lookout. An vacation cabin now old and forlorn. Brisk dawn had cracked along the clouds, your journey back to the commune just beginning after a short stay there on patrol.

You and Joel had been partnered up for a year or so now, exchanges growing more and more, little by little. Companionship cultivated naturally until you both began to feel something more between the lines. Something tender. Something innocent. It was measured initially, quick 'how are yous?' And 'don't walk too far.'s.

But soon enough it evolved, lengthy nights camping up in the former main lounge. Talking about anything and everything. Secrets you'd never even admit to yourself, coming to the surface and pooling into the cold idle air.

Your body would be wrapped tightly in your sleeping bag as rum you'd shared earlier, the embers still crackling at your insides.

Except, last night was unlike anything you've done before. Lust overpowered your sweet conversation. A quick run in to some desolate clickers, made you see Joel unlike anything else before.

Quick, get behind me now.

The words still echoed through your mind. His muscular limbs shoving you behind him whilst he aimed and fired. Two swift bullets in each.

Joel had a protective nature, not just in his size and strength, but in his biology too. Although he had never been this demanding, never this assertive when it came to keeping you safe. You were conscious something had metamorphosed.

After setting up for the night and shotting a few gulps of the harsh, firey liquor, Joel was on you. His frame trapped you beneath him his fingertips holding your hips still as he grinded passionately against you. He was needy, desperate and completely love-drunk. His cold lips dragging across your own, to your jaw, neck and then breasts. There was no question in what he was after. Frantic, wet thrusts of his hips down into you, the only thing separating you from the icy cold air that filled the room all the way to the high ceilings was Joel's searing body. Your hands locked into the messy ash strands that covered his head, begging for more.

After your long trek back to base, you and Joel rolled in for the night. Choosing to go back to his for some hot food and a quick shower. Ellie now fast asleep in her room across the hall. Your routine was always the same, you washed first then Joel. You now lay spread across Joel's chest, with the body Joel had grew to know the past few weeks. Joel's hand washed over your side, a sharp intake of air shot through the gaps in your teeth as you winced. Joel's face hardened, his lines deepening. Before you could say anything else, he lifted your old cotton shirt to expose the flesh.

Blotches of purple and blue littered the wounded skin of your hips. A few stray ones covered your arms and waist. Handles for Joel last night as he ploughed his hips into yours. Not leaving room to breathe as his wet trusts became sloppier. The clap of your flesh on each other echoing out through the Jackson lookout.

Joel eyes stopped at the scores and impressions he had left.

"Fuck,"

You shook you head with a smile smile, no. His hands still pulled off you, as if he had touched something boiling hot.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" He searched you face for something, anything. But you just looked back indifferent, offering a small curl on the corner of your lips.

"No, no, it was amazing. I mean for my first time, I can't imagine it being any better."

"Y-Your?" Joel got up, pulling on his jacket that he'd thrown across the floor after coming in the warm Jackson home. Silence graced the house, nothing except the short huffs of the 50 year old.

"Where are you going?"

"For a walk."

"Okay lemme come with you." You interjected but the sentiment was not returned.

"No." Joel shot back. “I wanna go alone."

"Are you mad at me?"

"It's not you." His footsteps didn’t halt, sifting through the garments left on the floor for the ones he had on earlier.

"Joel, c'mon."

"Are you serious right now?" His icy stare froze you to your core, you’d seen him furious before, but never directed towards you. His southern accent laced with malice.

"Joel," you tried, tone soft as if it would somehow calm him down. His deep scowl not wavering.

"Why didn't you tell me?” He quizzed, gingerly.

"I just, "

"You told me we didn't have any secrets." His deep chocolate irises looking at you delicately as they bore into your own, leaden ones.

“I was embarrassed. Joel, I'm sorry. Please don’t go.”

His head tipped back, a deep sigh leaving his nostrils. You knew his was just building the courage to leave. He hated when you would beg him. Almost never able to not comply to your request.

"Settle down, Baby." Joel shifted to face you.

“I'll sleep on the couch. I'll give you space. Anything." The words tumbled off your tongue like a spell.

"I'm not go gonna go anywhere. M'sorry I woulda never let it happen like that if I knew it was your first time." Joel sat beside you on the bed, pulling your bare legs over his lap. The rough pads of his fingers, slid back and forth along your leg.

“I shoulda taken my time, got you really comfortable. Woulda been on a bed for a start, not on some fucking floor in the middle of nowhere." Joel turned his head, shaking it in disbelief.

"Joel, it's okay. It's what I wanted."

"You don't know what you wanted. You ain't never done it before then.” His words sharp and annoyed.

"I know. But I know I wanted you." Your hand moved to hold his bicep, the muscle naturally flexing beneath you light grip.

“No more goddamn secrets. Got it?" He appearance was stern, but his big loving eyes were otherwise. There was alway warmth in those golden orbs.

"Yes Joel." 

You grabbed a pillow hopping off the bed.

"Mmm, mmm." The male hummed, grabbing you by your wrist and halting your movements. You turned back eyes wide with surprise. "You think I'm gonna take a girls virginity and then make her sleep on the couch?" He inquired, amazed. “What kinda man do you take me for?" He smiled out softly. He moved you over to the bed, turning off the bedside lamp before getting under the covers, the other side.

#joel miller angst #joel miller imagine #joel miller oneshot #joel miller fluff #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fluff #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #joel the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #tlou joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us smut #joel miller hurt/comfort #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal #pedro x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal x you #pedrohub #pedro pascal x reader

[cottoncandyafterdark]

Parenting Heacanons - Chuuya, Atsushi

Character(s): Chuuya Nakahara; Atsushi Nakajima (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Tags: SFW, fluff, familial, headcanons

Warnings: Mention of pregnancy

Notes: AFAB reader; originally posted on ao3 here; this is old and I'm not caught up with the manga now so sorry if anything seems strange

Chuuya

I'm not going to lie, Chuuya's initial response to finding out his partner is pregnant is not going to be very positive. He's not angry or anything, but he didn't really want kids and doesn't feel the slightest bit ready to be a father. He isn't going to run away, though; he knows it's sorta his fault you're in this situation to begin with so he's going to swallow his pride and stick around for your sake.

He spends the whole pregnancy low-key dreading having to take care of a baby. Mostly because he's got no clue how to do that. That's not to say he isn't trying to find out how; if you check his browser history at this point, it'll probably be a lot of parenting articles.

He'll say he wants to leave naming the baby to you but if you come up with name ideas and ask him for his thoughts on them Oh Boy will he have some opinions for you.

As soon as the baby is born and he gets to hold it, it's like all his apprehension just vanishes into thin air, he is immediately in love. Like, he looks this tiny, helpless human he helped make in the eyes and immediately knows he would kill and die for them.

I think that it would be a more interesting dynamic if he had a daughter; he'd still be a good father to a son, but with a daughter, he would truly be wrapped around her little finger. That little girl will be SO spoiled, she'll be the one all her classmates want to be friends with because she has all the newest video games and the best dolls.

Lord have mercy on anyone who tries to bully his daughter, not just because he'll be more than willing to beat them up but if she's inherited any of her dad's personality, so will she. If she gets in trouble at school for fighting back against a bully, she will get high fives and ice cream from Chuuya.

When she's old enough, he'll teach her to fight for real. He knows he won't always be there to protect her, so he wants her to be able to keep herself safe.

Once she's old enough to start dating, Chuuya will do the entire protective dad routine to any boys she might bring home. He will all but do a full interrogation about what they're planning, make it known that he knows how to hide a body, and if they bring her home even a minute late he is going to lose it.

Word will get around about this. It is not going to be easy for Chuuya's daughter to find a prom date.

Atsushi

In the early stages of pregnancy Atsushi is going to feel sicker than you.

This poor boy is straight-up terrified to be a parent at first because of what his own childhood was like. It isn't that he doesn't want to have children, exactly, he just doesn't want to end up continuing the cycle of abuse. Of course, the fact that he's worried about that at all is enough to tell you that he'll be a fine father, but good luck convincing him of that.

Once his child is born, all his worries are going to lead him to go so far in the opposite direction, he's probably never going to so much as raise his voice at the kid. He is a major pushover of a parent, Atsushi's child could get away with murder.

He's also going to have a hard time denying them anything they want. This is going to be another spoiled child for sure. The kid's probably going to end up as a bit of a brat because of this, and Atsushi can't even get mad because he knows it's no one's fault but his own.

On the positive side of things he's going to be such a supportive dad as well. He'll be in the front row of any recitals, plays, spelling bees, anything like that his child participates in and he is going to clap the loudest because he's so proud of them!!!

He'll try to help them with their math homework at some point, but quickly realize that he doesn't really know how to do math either. Much frantic googling will ensue as Atsushi tries to quickly learn long division for his child's sake.

When they get old enough to start hanging out with friends on their own, Atsushi is going to be so worried if they stay out later than they said they would, even if it's just by a few minutes. He'll also want to know exactly who they're with and where they're going. He isn't trying to be overbearing, he just has anxiety.

Voted most likely to cry when his child moves out. Empty nest syndrome is gonna hit him so hard. His child is probably going to get daily texts from their honorary aunts and uncles at the Agency reminding them to call their dad.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungou stray dogs x reader #atsushi nakajima #bsd chuuya #bsd atsushi #bsd headcanons #old fic

[yandere--stuck]

Could you write a few Yandere headcanons for Ragnvaldr? I'm interested in your interpretation of him

🍖 Born with the Soul of The Tormented, Ragnvaldr always knew his life would be forever marred with struggle. Even from his youngest years, nearly dead by his own father's hands during a famine. The thing he had to do to survive… Best not to think too hard about it. As he grew, though, he became optimistic. Comfortable. Happy with the family he had made and the community he had grown into. For once, things were looking wholly up for the Outlander. But, of course, he should have known better. He should have expected tragedy to strike at some point. His family. His people. His home. All gone. All gone, by the command of a fair-haired captain who slaughtered and stole from his people. Consumed by bloodlust and revenge, Ragnvaldr promised to himself and those he lost that he'd get revenge. That he would kill that man with his own hands…

🏹 The Outlander certainly hadn't planned on making friends during his journey into the dungeons, but after coming across you in the courtyards, he found himself drawn to you. Years of experience and tragedy behind him left him with a certain amount of distrust toward others, but something about you lowered those walls, made him want to be by your side. And he had to agree with you - there was strength in numbers. It certainly made the trek deeper into the dark a lot less lonely and just a bit more comforting. It also helped that you were easy to talk to. When you had moments of reprieve, you'd talk about your life on the outside, what brought you both here, what your interests were… Ragnvaldr wasn't exactly ready to spill his soul and bloody past to you (not to mention the exact reason he was there), but… He was able to be himself around you. He talked about things he'd never had the chance to utter in so long. Hell, it'd been ages since he last really conversed with someone, and… Talking to you was both a comfort and a relief.

🍖 The deeper you delved and the closer you grew to one another, the harder and more desperate Ragnvaldr began to fight. This was no longer about just the Knight captain, this was also about protecting his newfound comrade. No matter how strong, skilled, or adept in magic you are, Ragnvaldr will encourage - or, all but force - you to stay behind him or hide to keep you out of the way of danger. It came to the point where he nearly killed the stray wolf down in the catacombs, if it hadn't been for your offering of rotten meat to quell the beast. All the more reason why you made such a great team! Ragnvaldr was a man of action, and someone who was able to step back and attack trouble from a different angle was refreshing and, much as Ragnvaldr loathed to admit, good for him. Good for the both of you, even.

🏹 The closer you grow, the more desperate Ragnvaldr's behavior becomes. He even goes so far as to begin devouring the bodies of enemies so as to allow most of the food to go to you, designating the rotten food to Moonless. He fights with even more determination and fury, not even daring to allow a chance for an enemy to get a hit on you. If you give any signs of wanting to part from him, Ragnvaldr will at first try to subtly redirect your or change your mind, but it won't be long until the Outlander will be begging for you to stay, threatening to harm himself or any allies you've met on your journey. He may even begin to align himself with Sylvian in an attempt to successfully become a marriage with you, if he really believes you'll leave him.

🍖 Whether Le'garde is alive or dead, it doesn't change the outcome. You knew full well by this point why Ragnvaldr is here, and whether you agreed with his methods or not didn't matter… He… He was your friend. He deserved closure. He'd beat Le'garde to death, until his fists were bloody and he was shaking with effort and spent rage. He'd keep going until Le'garde is unrecognizable. The floors, walls, Ragnvaldr himself… All covered with blood. Even if Le'garde was already gone, he'd brutalized the man's body until he's satisfied. Afterward, he'd acknowledge that the captain was good for something, at least - meeting you.

🏹 You are what soothes Ragnvaldr's tortured soul. You're all he had left now. You and Moonless. He couldn't just let you leave! Without you, there was nothing. No reason to go on. You couldn't part now! Meeting each other had to be fate. He could take care of you. Please? You don't think you could really just say no to him, do you? When he was strong enough to break all your limbs or saw them off, leaving you dependent on him forever. Please, just make this easy on yourself. On him. He's been through so, so much. He just wanted to have you. Love you. And he would do whatever it takes to make you realize you and he were meant to be. He'd been through too much to start taking the easy route now…

#yandere x reader #yandere fear & hunger #yandere fear and hunger #fear & hunger x reader #fear and hunger x reader #yandere ragnvaldr #ragnvaldr x reader #yandere #x reader #body horror #blood #blood cw #blood tw #body horror cw #body horror tw #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons

[anjelicawrites]

Keep reading

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Synopsis: Aemond is being a little shit, his lady wife is done with him. Fill for the prompt “Ugh,baby, I cant- please…” from this prompt list. 

Warnings: blowjob. Wife is older than Aemond but her age is not stated. If you are a minor kindly fuck off. Smut is still going to be here for you to read, but I will not go to prison. Thanks! :)

Aemond is usually extremely mature, most of the time he acts too old for his age; in comparison you, who are older than him, but have always had a bubbly and cheerful disposition, appear to be younger. 

Even behind closed doors your husband acts older than the twenty years old lad that he is. During the first period of your wedding, which had been obviously orchestrated by your two families, he was shy and aloof while you tried your best to make him feel welcomed, even though you didn't know if you would be able to manage a life with him since your engagement had been short and you had met him only once without a real chance to speak with him.

Aemond had been nothing but a gentleman during the whole marriage ceremony and made love to you slowly and gently, a bit clumsily as well, since neither of you had an idea of what you were doing. Even then, when your noses were a hindrance during your kisses, elbows flying everywhere and what? you get cramps during sex?  he didn't laugh. He managed to keep a stern face, while you tried not to giggle and ruin whatever mood you two had managed to create. 

After weeks of painfully slow acquaintance (Aemond’s stiffness didn’t help), you had reached the conclusion that Aemond was a young man with a cunning intelligence, a big heart and a thick wall between himself and the world around him to protect himself from the courtly life of King's Landing. But you liked him and understood that he needed time to show his true colors and decided to give him the space and time. 

He thought your brain worked in mysterious ways, not in the chauvinist sense that women are too different from men to understand, but meaning that he couldn’t always get the twists and turns your mind did to get to a conclusion. That kept him on his toes, but fascinated him at the same time. Your sharp tongue and painfully bright mind made him think his mother had wisely chosen him a good match. Your interest in history gave him something to talk about: he had been afraid you two had nothing in common and was paralyzed by the idea of having to endure a life made of social events and no communication behind closed doors.

He had quickly realized you were trustworthy and loyal, ready to put an united front when in court, all qualities not so easy to find in any daughter of the houses of the Seven Kingdoms. 

You would randomly tell him things about yourself, facts that any other lady would never confess, even under duress but you, in your frank and honest ways, didn’t mind sharing with him, like the fact you had almost ran away with the circus when you were a wee lass and your parents had kept you under strict lock and key up until your wedding day. 

"Would you still go, given the chance?" He had asked you, not surprised by your confession

You told him the truth, that you are too old to pull that kind of stunt, but who knows, if you’ll ever get bored of being a princess, you might just decide to try again. His response was an amused “Hmm” and the request not to do such a thing, or he’d have to send an army after yours truly. You promised you’ll leave him clues, little crumbs for Vhagar to follow. Aemond laughed briefly, surprising you. It is after conversations like this one, that he had let his guard down for you, slowly slowly and gently gently, letting you in, permitting you to discover sides of him he had thought long dead.  

Are you straying from your line of thought? Probably. What were you saying? Ah yes, Aemond is far too mature for his age but sometimes he manages to act like the annoying young man he had never had the chance to be, like he is doing now. 

 It's a slow night. The two of you had dinner alone in your rooms and just the fact that you two didn't have to deal with the political intricacies for a night, had put Aemond in a good mood. Sitting by the fire to read your respective books made him relax; granted, he hasn't lost the broom in his back you are sure he had swallowed when he was a wee lad, but for his standards Aemond is relaxed: he has lost the eyepatch after the servants left for the night, his shirt is partially unbuttoned and his legs are splayed open. The problem is the history book he is reading from; to be more precise, the author Aemond loves and you despise with all your heart. 

Aemond knows this; you have spent more than one night debating about the conceited asshole, your husband defending him and you stating your criticism eloquently and vehemently (Aemond might have started falling for you because of your brilliance. He is not admitting this to himself, so shush!). But tonight your husband thinks it is funny to read random passages out loud, while you are trying to concentrate on your book. 

As previously stated, when Aemond is in a good mood, sometimes he lets his annoying teenager self surface, and the little shit just loves to get a rise out of you; tonight the young asshole even expects you to grumble and go on a tirade, but you are in a pecurial mood yourself tonight. 

Your lord husband wants to read out loud disturbing you? He'll do that to his heart's content. 

You close your book delicately and rise to your feet. Aemond notices your movements without really seeing them. To his trained eye you are not a threat, you are his lady wife who is going to stroke the flames and then go back to her plush armchair; his brain doesn't register you kneeling between his splayed legs until your hands are on his breeches and your are opening the latches. 

"Keep reading" you say freeing his cock

 "What are you doing?" His left hand grabs the armrest while he adjusts himself on the armchair, a hiss escaping his mouth the moment you lazily stroke his cock. 

 "What does it look like, husband of mine? For someone so smart, sometimes you are as dense as a wall of brick" you say and lick the head. 

 Aemond hisses again and his hips move on their own accord, but you stop the movement with a firm hand on his hips

 “Here’s the rules - you say while lightly caressing his cock with the tip of a finger - you keep reading, I keep pleasuring you. You stop, I stop” 

 The black of the iris has already devoured the lilac and his breath is shorter than before. Oh, the power you have on the man who rides the bigger dragon in the Seven Kingdoms: you are not really stroking his cock and he is already painfully hard and ready to go.

 From the way his jaw sets, you know he has accepted your challenge, but his hands are shaking on the leather cover of the book. He tries to school his voice as your hand wraps firmly around his cock and your tongue darts to lick the tip. 

With a firm movement you position his cock so that you can start licking from the base up, long strokes using the flat of your tongue, again and again, until you decide to slowly, oh so slowly, take him into your mouth: you want him to feel every inch of his cock being sucked and worshiped. You can hear him reading on, his voice still controlled but some moans are definitely there and you redouble your efforts sucking your cheeks in to create more friction. This seems to do the trick as he grabs the book tight and lets out a long moan of pleasure, and doesn’t continue with the task, so you stop and stare innocently at him who is bent over, eye closed and breath short. You delicately push him backwards, until is back is again against the plush chair, the way he stares at you would make another person run away in terror, you just laugh in his face and grip his balls gently

 “I’ll make you pay for this” he spits out

“I don’t think your beloved author has written this - you smile and give his head quick kitten lick - you brought this upon yourself, valzȳrys”.

 Aemond grits his teeth and starts again, but this time his voice is not as controlled as before, it breaks with every stroke of your hand and every lick of your tongue. You eye him from your position and you see the white-knuckle hold he has on the old tome and decide to finish him off. You slowly gather him again in your mouth, cheeks hollowing, until he meets the back of your throat; you keep him there, trying to control your gag reflex as he struggles to read on. When he seems to have gained a bit of command over himself, you swallow him down and he screams, his torso smacking violently against the seatback as you keep him there, massaging his shaft with your throat.

You have almost ran out of air when you hear him beg

 “Ugh,baby, I cant- please…” as you release his cock and he comes violently all over your face.

 The book lies long forgotten on the floor as he tries to regain his strength; you stare at him, licking away as much of his seed as your tongue can find. 

 “You shouldn’t have done that” he says as he tries to grab at you, but he is still so fazed that he slips on the floor and you easily straddle him, your hand around his throat, squeezing delicately

“You were saying?” you whisper against his lips as you feel his cock trying valiantly to react.

 Aemond puts one hand in your hair to push you down to his lips, to kiss you passionately.

 This was supposed to be a quiet night in, let’s all say goodbye to that.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen

[vldsideblog]

A Keith blurb

Warnings for: Keith’s shitty childhood, naxzela and everything that happend then. And probably other stuff lemme know if I missed anything

Keith had a nasty habit of throwing himself into all situations head first without a second thought.

As a child he’d run back into his burning home to retrieve his knife, nearly giving his poor pop a heart attack. His dad held him by the shoulders as they waited for the fire department and begged him with tears in his eyes to never be so reckless with his own life again. But Keith had never been good at listening to reason.

His pop had repeated the message countless times over the years. When he climbed the tallest tree he could find and broke an arm falling from it, when he got chased by a rattlesnake after getting too close to it’s nest, when he played outside all day in the burning summer sun and got heatstroke.

And then one day it appeared his pop didn’t take his own advice either. And Keith was alone.

At first he’d tried to be good he really had, but the grief and the anger and the resentment began to weigh on him. Everyday it felt as if he was dragging a mountain behind him, and at some point he couldn’t take it anymore.

If a schoolmate’s teasing became too much he would lash out, fists always ready for a fight. If another kid at the group home stole something of his he would bite and kick and take it back. He ran away more times than he could count, reaching desperately for a better life, where he mattered, where he was more than a bad kid, where he wasn’t in pain.

Keith stole food when he was denied meals at the homes, he took up graffiti as a way to express his anger, the first time he ended up in the back of a cop car he realized how far he’d strayed from his pop’s advice. He never expected things to get any better.

Then something changed.

Someone gave him a chance to be more than a delinquent.

And Keith didn’t know how to feel about that. But he figured what else do I have going for me?

And eventually life got better. He found people who cared, folks he considered not only friends but family as well. He discovered better coping mechanisms and let himself enjoy his interests and hobbies. He no longer lived in survival mode constantly.

Sure Keith had bad days, when memories haunted him, when he couldn’t stand being around other people. He was still reckless and got into fights, but it was more rare. Life was better.

Then Shiro disappeared, and Matt was gone, and Adam was grieving. He let his temper get the best of him and he fled to the desert. The worst part was he wasn’t sure if he regretted his recklessness. The vindication might have been worth it.

And everything was empty. And time blurred. And Keith was alone again. It was almost like nothing had changed at all. Like it had been a crazy dream. He’d never left the desert.

Then Keith was in space fighting for the freedom of the known and unknown universe, and Shiro was back but he was different. He was haunted, and he wished Shiro didn’t have to experience nightmares like he did. But he did and Keith stuck by his side like the loyal brother he was. He accepted his duty as a defender easier than the others, if not for the fact that he’d always been a fighter. This time he just wasn’t protecting himself.

Then his entire world had flipped upside down, but in a completely different way than he had become accustomed to.

Keith was galra. Keith was the enemy. Keith was a monster.

He’d suspected as much, he’d always been strange to say the least. Keith couldn’t even begin to count the number of times he realized he was different. That his teeth were sharper, the dark was much of a hindrance, he could smell things others couldn’t.

But he didn’t think he’d ever get an answer, especially not one like this.

Things were tense for a while, but he was reassured that he was part of the team and nothing would change that. But over time he started to believe that less and less.

And then Naxzela happened. And Keith almost died for the cause. He was ready to follow his pop into the flames and become one with the ashes. He’d pulled the trigger and everything, it was a complete coincidence that he even survived.

And his hands were shaking on the controls. And he couldn’t breathe. His eyes were streaming, and he could barely hear someone calling his name through the radio.

Keith had always been reckless.

#vld #keith kogane #voltron #voltron legendary defender #keith voltron #keith headcanon #broganes #autistic keith #texas kogane #galra keith #fic drabble #self sacrifice #Naxzela #angst #keith angst #character introspection #I’m feeling angsty about Keith again #feel free to scream at me for this

[chaoticyumelikes]

20 days ago someone asked me for this but unfortunately Tumblr ate the ask so I don't remember the user 😔 but remembered the ask! So here goes:

The Devil x Gn! Angel Reader

Well, well, well, how WAS your fall?

Well he used to be an angel too before he was unceremoniously kicked out due to... Heh... History. So color him surprised when he sees an angel of all things in his domain.

He had to rescue you from getting bullied by the regular denizens of the Underworld where they wanted to clip away your fluffy feathered wings. With the rise of an eyebrow while he looked at you, judging you and asking you what are you doing in the Underworld. Have you fallen from grace? Took a wrong turn in the geological or morality compass? It matters not, your presence will be met with irritation, annoyance and if you happen to be a true angel inside as well as out, you will be straight up irksome to him. So naturally he will keep you as a pet.

He misses Heaven though he will never ever admit it. So guess what? You're not going back. Suffer as he has... Kinda. He cannot be overly cruel to you... If you play your cards right of course. But he will never let you go back. You landed on his turf so evidently you belong to him now. If you behave nicely he will give you some freedoms such as walking around his abode without escorts but do NOT stray from him, "Not every demon is as handsome and compassionate as me, dear." He swears he developed a sixth sense when you (accidentally or not) stray a bit much to his liking. He gets snappy with everyone till he reaches you and (gently) grabs your hand to move you next to his throne before he incinerates everyone. Heck, the demons learn this very quickly, so any meetings with their boss they will look for you and kindly ask you to join (you're an angel, so you won't refuse the shivering demons' request...)

On the off chance you are an angel that he used to know be prepared to be relentlessly mocked by him, and him alone.

Not many get to interact with you as they fear their lord's wrath and consequently his pitchfork. Henchman is the only obvious exception. He is far too devoted to his master and thus has the Devil's trust.

You thought you'd have to learn about the Devil by asking Henchman but to your surprise not only the Devil tells you of his life he sets up a whole theatre act around it. When you genuinely clap at his performances his grin could not have been bigger. Finally! Someone of culture!

You bet that after you applaud him you just sealed your fate. He will try to convert you to his ways. He wants you always by his side being his "Yes-angel". Of course, since you are your own person/angel fights are gonna happen when you disagree even the tiniest bit.

Be ready for his tantrums. His very fiery, very dramatic, 6-year-old-worthy tantrums. Fortunately, since you are an angel you have powers, so you can block his fire (Henchman and King Dice have used you as a shield more than once. Not just as a flame shield but they believe their boss grows a bit soft at your general presence and you are a literal angel, you'd protect them anyhow... Right?)

Out of curiosity, he will investigate the why of your fall. Was it a logistical error that you were sent to Hell and not Heaven? Or something else. Won't ever tell you if he finds out though. You'll never know he is investigating your past either. You will suspect it however when his teasing gets a bit more personal tho.

Has pet your wings more than once. His wings were fluffier and prettier than yours (his words) but he misses his wings sometimes (would never let anyone know). If you envelop him in your wings... He complains all the while getting comfortable and sighing. Will even feign a glare or two, but you can see totally he doesn't really mean it.

Do not EVER give the Old Scratch a ride from you. For one he can fly, another reason is... You'll have to give him rides EVERYWHERE. Should you refuse him... He will become so dramatically heartbroken which in turn plays your heartstrings to the sound of guilt and... Dammit it works.

Despite his constant complaining he enjoys your company a lot. He even starts seeing you as an equal. He even starts falling for you (after he mistakes it for allergies and keeps a distance from you but then he misses you and like a cat he will impose himself for you to give him all the attention).

You'll only ever believe he loves you when he protects you from his less loyal minions or lost souls unfortunate enough to even touch you. His wrath will know no bounds.

The Cuphead brothers once tried to "free" you by literally grabbing you and escaping the place. To the brothers' absolute surprise not only do you tell them you want to stay, the Devil himself gets vicious and unrelenting in getting you back he almost manages to get their souls. Fortunately, your immediate "surrender" and staying by his side manages to somewhat calm him. The brothers definitely make a mental note to never do that again EVER.

Do not expect this boss of demons to say he loves you. He has a reputation to uphold mind you. Nooo, you're the one that must take the initiative.... And after him teasing the sh*t out of you for even saying such a thing he will accept the relationship. Be prepared to be always in his arms in private. He has to be touching you almost constantly in some way, even if it is his tail wrapped around you. Will complain and mope around though (like a cat) if you say something about it.

Be ready to be covered in his fur as he is ready to have some of your feathers somewhere on him. Any witness that blurts out something about it it's immediately dealt with.

#The devil x reader #the devil cuphead #The devil cuphead show #gn!reader #Angel reader #the cuphead show #fanfiction

[south-of-heaven]

Can i request platonic reader and damian where he’s super protective with her he’s like a mentor and one day a guy tried to approach her but damian scared the guy away like reader was uncomfortable and damian helped her please?

Safe with me || Damian Priest x Reader

Summary: When an unfriendly man approaches you, you feel very lucky that your knight in shining armour, Damian, is never far away.

As you stood outside the restaurant, enjoying the pleasant weather, you couldn't help but feel a little anxious being alone. Damian Priest, your mentor and friend, had just gone inside to pay the bill, and you found yourself feeling a bit like a scaredy cat without him by your side. You knew Damian was incredibly protective of you, and you were grateful for that.

However, just as you started to feel a bit uneasy, a man approached you, and his advances were anything but innocent. He stepped closer, invading your personal space, and you could feel your heart racing in fear. You tried to back away, but he persisted, making you feel more uncomfortable and scared with each passing moment.

Just as the situation was beginning to feel overwhelming, you heard a familiar voice behind you. "Hey, back off!" Damian's commanding voice echoed through the air, and you turned to see him standing tall, his presence like a shield of protection.

The man took one look at Damian's intense gaze and decided it was best to leave. He hurried away, leaving you feeling shaken and on the verge of tears. Damian approached you, wrapping his strong arms around you, and you couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

"It's okay, I've got you," Damian whispered soothingly as he held you close. He rubbed your back gently, offering comfort and reassurance. "You're safe now."

You clung to him, grateful for his presence and protective nature. "Th-thank you, Damian," you managed to say between sobs.

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his protective instincts kicking in even more. "I'll always be here for you," he said firmly. "Nobody is going to hurt you while I'm around."

You took a few deep breaths, gradually calming down in Damian's comforting embrace. He continued to hold you, his presence providing a sense of safety and security.

Once you felt more composed, you looked up at Damian with teary eyes. "I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't come," you admitted.

Damian smiled gently, his thumb wiping away a stray tear. "You don't have to worry about that," he said. "I'll always be looking out for you, no matter what."

You couldn't help but feel incredibly grateful to have Damian in your life. As your mentor, he not only helped you grow as a wrestler but also showed you unwavering support and protection. He was like a knight in shining armor, always ready to defend you from any harm.

With Damian by your side, you knew you could face any challenge that came your way. His protective nature and caring heart gave you the courage to keep moving forward. As you walked back to the car, hand in hand with Damian, you felt a sense of peace and security, knowing that you had a true guardian watching over you. And you knew that as long as he was there, you would never have to face anything alone.

#wwe fanfiction #wwe x reader #pro wrestling #wwe #wrestling #damian priest #damian priest x reader #damian x reader

[wildemaven]

Farmers Market: Saturday Afternoon with Javier- Part 2

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Rating: T

Words: 895

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and food; if I missed anything, please let me know

A/N: This is a part 2 to this story. I wanted it to be from the reader’s perspective, so hopefully it reads that way. I’m not really sure how I feel about it as a whole, I rewrote it a few times in areas, but think I got it to a place where it mirrors Javier’s perspective like I was wanting it too. Also, in case it isn’t obvious when reading, italics are written as flashbacks. I think that’s it. Enjoy!

Masterlist / Saturdays with Javier Masterlist / Part 1

Having someone like Javier as a constant in your life was an indescribable feeling. His presence brought you a sense of security. Your days now lived with more intention and brilliance.

It’s a balmy Saturday afternoon and you find yourself tucked securely into Javier’s side as you make your way through your favorite weekend spot.

Mornings are a little different. Waking in his arms to soft kisses and tangled limbs before the sun bleeds through the windows of your shared home announcing the new day— loved and protected.

You find yourselves weaving through the mass of market goers. Fresh baked breads and brewed coffee, a refreshing aroma. The weight of Javier’s touch never far— he’s got you.

Your list ready, empty tote awaiting the days finds.

You’ve never been one for grandiose gestures, you found beauty in quiet appreciation. Javier loved celebrating you, grand accomplishments or small triumphs, he found any reason to show how much he adored you. After moving in together months ago, he’d left a bouquet of baby’s breath tucked inside a vase you’d inherited from your grandmother with a small note placed beside it—

I love you - JP

For a week the sweet flowers would live in that spot on your kitchen table until a new bundle replaced them. Every week that little bundle of flowers brought you so much comfort.

Javier shared his plans for the week in between bites of his custard filled pastry wandering on to the next merchant. The path always the same each visit. Javier had mentioned he appreciated the normalcy each visit brought him, a welcomed routine.

That dim lit bar wasn’t your first choice that evening. You weren’t immediately convinced anything would come of this blind-date when you’d stepped into the bustling dive bar tucked away on the outskirts of Laredo. If all you left with was the thrilling experience of glitchy neon beer signs, sticky table tops and keyed up jukebox tunes, you’d see it as a bucket list experience and call it a night. The 30 min tardiness on his part only added to the proof of why you didn’t date in this manner.

Javier’s presence is all-encompassing. He guides you through each spot you’ve visited numerous times before. Casually moving from stall to stall to visit the merchants, now dear friends whose chats you’ve grown to cherish deeply. Their goods now weekly necessities in your home.

The upbeat tune drowns out the chatter amongst the other bar dwellers. Condensation pooling beneath the glass of beer you’ve been sipping for the last hour. Tonight’s impending letdown slowly becoming an afterthought.

You’d lost sight of Javier while picking up a few loaves of sourdough, remembering Chucho had mentioned he just used up the last of his. Across the way he was chatting with the local florist. Early on, Javier never strayed far from your side, always allowing you to lead the way. But more and more, you catch him browsing, sometimes grabbing things that catch his eye.

The trajectory of your night shifts as a slow ballad quiets the smoke hazed room. You find your arms resting on the shoulders of a stranger you’d just met. His hands placed gently but firm on your hips as you both sway to the acoustic chords. The song far too established for only just meeting merely minutes ago, but it holds promise for a possible future. The chorus fills the air, your eyes locked with his. There’s an unspoken feeling you both share, time suspended around you— he’s captivating.

Fresh bundle of babies breath tucked under his arm, the other wrapped around your shoulders. A quick kiss to the top of your head as you double check your list, everything accounted for.

Last call has been announced and yet you don’t want this night to end. The exchange of life stories between you both has been easy. The cadence of his voice has you hanging onto his every word, longing for endless conversations. The gravel crunches with each step as he walks you to your car, drawing out your departure as much as possible. The invite, albeit impulsive, had left your mouth before you’d even realized it. He accepted immediately, meeting this Saturday at the city’s Farmers Market. The kiss, felt long after you’d parted ways and his spicy musk lingering in the air as you drive home, he was everywhere and you needed more of him— Javier Peña.

The late afternoon light filters through the trees, crowds of people gathering near the live band preparing to start their next set. Catching a few songs from headlining acts for the weekend was always your last stop before heading home.

The first few chords of a song begin to play as you push through to look for an available spot. Sidestepping through clusters of other concert viewers, pulling Javier along with you.

The words you instantly recognized, you smile as you continued on, finding an opening near the front. A squeeze to Javier’s hand— our song.

He promises sunsets and picnics by the lake. He promises laughter and long conversations over dinner. A promise to always kiss away your tears and bring you flowers when you need them most. He promises slow dances in dim lit dive bars until they’re kicking you out. He promises all his Saturday afternoons. He asks you for forever— Yes!

#Javier Peña #Pedro pascal #javier peña x you #wildemaven writes #Saturdays with Javier #javier peña x reader

[bunbeeplays]

Jaden's Letter

After what feels like a lifetime, Jaden timidly opens the envelope and unfolds the paper, revealing neat handwriting stained by the occasional water droplet.

His stomach churns as he reads the letter from his birth parent.

My sweet Jaden,

There’s so much I wanted to say to you all those years ago. You’re old enough to understand now.

I’m sorry I had to leave you behind. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss you. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life but I knew it was what was best for you. Not even because of the danger your father and I had gotten into… but the danger we were to you.

I got married far, far too young, because I had been told my entire life that there were “certain ways” to live life, and it would be disgraceful to stray from the rigid expectations our congregation had for me.

I used to think I was a good person, because I followed all the “rules” for what I was told of how a good person behaves. I was a dutiful wife and mother… but I wasn’t happy. I was a miserable person, critical and judgmental of others, especially of Ophelia and Xander. But in all honesty, I envied them.

Everything came so… easy for the Lemons. At least that’s how it seemed from the outside looking in. Xander was not only an active but enthusiastic participant in his kids’ lives. I wanted that for you, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make it happen.

Your father, Calvin, was a cruel Sim. He wasn’t like that when we courted, but I chalked his switch up to the stress of becoming a provider and, shortly after, a father. It was gullible of me to think fatherhood would soften him.

I loved you more than anything, but I was so brainwashed by the church we were in, their dogma of “submitting to your husband”, that I let your father treat you horribly.

I could have stopped him, I could have taken you away from him, but I didn’t. You needed me to protect you from his cruelty, and I let you down. Not a day goes by where I don’t regret not doing right by you.

When we had to flee our homeland because of our crimes, Calvin originally intended to take you with us. For the first time in my life, I stood up to him. I told him it was too dangerous, we didn’t know what was on the other side of that portal, and while there was truth to that, my main goal wasn’t to protect you from whatever laid ahead. It was to protect you from us.

I wasn’t ready to be a mother. Calvin wasn’t fit to be a father. You deserved better. You deserved a fighting chance at having a happy childhood… so I gave you one.

I hope you’re happy in life. I hope being a Lemon has brought you more joy and belonging than being a Huff ever did. I’ve always wondered what you grew up to be like, what your interests are, what your friends are like… but I’ve never wondered if you were okay. I know you’re okay. And that was always enough to keep me going.

If you take anything away from this, please don’t let anyone try to put out your light. You were always the happiest, sweetest little thing. Don’t let society, or religion, or your peers tell you who to be. Be yourself, unapologetically and unabashedly.

Don’t make the same mistakes I did.

With all the love in my heart,

Wren

[plutoswritingplanet]

Stop, Hammer Time (The Grabber x Female!Reader)

a/n: told y’all i’d do it. reposting because tumblr finally gave me my posting rights back. 

Warnings: Kidnapping (shocking, i know), General Stalker Behavior from the man of the hour, Suggestive Themes, Reader is An ADULT ffs

Summary: Curse your good nature and your winning smile. Curse your anger issues, and the inability to keep your mouth closed. But most importantly, God bless speed bumps. 

There is a slight tremor in your movements, as you try to spread some peanut butter onto a half-burned toast. The knife you've picked up, catches on a stray bag of chips, laying abandoned on the counter. Some of the peanut butter smears onto the packaging. You stare at the messy patch for a second too long, the vein at the side of your head nearly popping then and there. That's enough for you. You place the knife down with enough force to chip away at the tiles.

You take a step back, wrists pressed into your eye sockets. It must've been a long day, and a tiresome one at that.

He likes to watch you, when you're angry.

Your cheeks flare up with a bright blush, eyebrows scrunch together, and your eyes have this magical shine in them. One, even a window and a bit of distance can't stifle. He ducks a bit more out of view, his head of graying hair hiding behind a bush. He's seen you enough times to know, that once you get lost in thought, you tend to look out the kitchen window.

Those are your little intricacies, he has learned by heart. He treasures them, every time he's lucky enough to bear witness. Like the times he's seen you shake your hands after coming home. Every single time you lock your door, you turn towards the house and shake your hands, as if trying to rid yourself of some residue from the outside world.

He knows all this, because there is a beautiful view from the living room window. He can see your entire corridor from there, even reaching the doors to your bathroom. You really should invest in some actual curtains, because those frilly things don't do much. If he doesn't feel like getting out of his van, he can just park it right outside your yard. The patch of land is barely big enough to fit your house, fence almost touching the wall. There, between two bushes, he can lean back into his seat, and watch.

He's not obsessed. He'd never admit it either way. In his mind, he's just looking out for you, for your safety. There are some messed up sickos in the area. He should know, he's one of them. But not for this particular reason. No.

It's getting dark outside, the whole town slowly getting ready to sleep. Not you, however. Never you. Always on the run, always working, putting everyone's needs first, never stopping to take care of yourself. He's tired of seeing it, your slouched silhouette, as you finally come home after days of working. If he had the chance, he'd make you see how much more there is to life, when you have someone to care for you, to protect you. Someone like him.

Now, you, beautiful, angelic you, are making sandwiches for some kid you're meant to babysit tonight. He can barely see the head full of curly hair coming to the kitchen and grabbing a bite out of your hard work. It makes something boil under his skin, that ungrateful brat.

- I was meant to stay until seven - you say to the kid - I have another family to get to in like, five minutes. I have to go.

- That's okay, my dad's probably closing things off at work, I'll tell him you stayed an extra hour.

The man feels his chest come close to exploding at the image of your smile. Teeth on full display, some dimples in your cheeks. So sweet, so pretty, so far away. His hands tighten into fists at his sides, but before he can focus on another wave of anger, you start to walk towards the door.

- See you later Finney, say hi to your sister from me - you wave at the kid, and close the front door behind you.

At the porch, first thing you do is shake your hands. He smiles, as he sees you do it, the view of you partially obscured by a rather large bush. As quietly as he can, for a man of his stature, he begins to tread back to his van, twigs snapping, under his heavy boots.

You get off the porch only when you hear a tell-tale sound of the lock being turned. You'd never leave any kid you're meant to be babysitting all alone in their house, but it's been an hour past your shift. There's another family, that needed a sitter for the night, while the parents went to a birthday party. Or a wedding. You're not entirely sure, never one to meddle into your client's affairs.

So, with a sigh, you begin walking down the road, your destination just a couple of blocks over. That's when you hear a snap coming from the alley, running parallel to Finney's house.

There's a figure crouched over the side of the road, moving from side to side, as if looking for something. A difficult task in the growing darkness. For a moment, you nearly turn away and walk ahead. It would be the safe thing to do, especially since there's a kidnapper on the loose. But then, the crouched man sighs deeply, and moans an "oh no" in such a pathetic voice, you can't imagine him being dangerous in any way. So, like the good citizen you are, you plaster a smile onto your face.

- Sir? Are you okay?

The man nearly trips, as he stands up abruptly, turning to face you. You can barely see his features, as the streetlamps haven't turned on yet. His jawline seems to be sharp, eyes covered by orange sunglasses, a sight, which should've been a screeching red flag at the current time of day. And he's tall. Frighteningly so. His frame is large, towering over you, despite his shy stance. Hands behind his back, head hung low.

- Have you lost something? - you ask again, taking another step closer, caution blowing away alongside the evening's wind.

Finally, the man looks up, his face painted a sickly shade of white. Like a clown, or a magician. Definitely not a normal member of the town, which is why you can't seem to shake the feeling, you've seen this man before.

- Oh! - the man's voice is high and airy, which sounds absolutely strange, coming from someone of his size. - Yes, I dropped my car keys somewhere, and I can't seem to find them. Silly old me.

You rationalize, that it must be his "performer" voice. Sort of like your own special tone, you use only when dealing with customers, during your day job at the café. Perhaps you've seen him there, among dozens of people going in and out. He probably tried the special Sunday pie, and decided to never come back. The image makes you suppress a laugh, but the man catches your huff with a raised eyebrow.

- Sorry, just got reminded of something funny - you mutter, before coming to stand next to the lawn, eyes searching for any key-adjacent shapes.

The man looks at you for a moment longer, as if contemplating something, but you're too embarrassed by your previous hiccup, to hold his gaze.

- Yeah? Want to share with an old geezer like me?

You smile to yourself, as you crouch down next to a patch of wild grass. The man really didn't look that old. Sure, there was at least a gap of twenty-something years between the two of you, but you wouldn't give him more than fifty years. Well, fifty-five at most.

- Ah, it's nothing. - you chuckle - It's just we have this special pie at work...

The rest of your sentence is cut off cruelly, as a sharp pain erupts in the back of your head. Your vision swims with specks of black, and soon, you feel yourself falling. As your face lands on the patch of grass you've previously inspected, you barely register someone's hands grabbing at your shoulders. The last thing you remember, are blue eyes, almost popping out of their sockets, as they look over your face. The feverish, almost child-like wonder in them being your last image before you completely slip into darkness.

Thank God for speed bumps.

You're awakened rudely, as your head jumps up, and hits the metal flooring of a van. It takes you a while to recognize the sound of a working engine. Even more, to realize you're laying down, inside the car. But the most important revelation comes in much later. Your hands aren't tied. Which means your attacker was sure you wouldn't wake up before he got you, wherever he wanted to take you.

The man. A long shiver runs up your spine at the mere memory of his intense gaze. With panicked eyes, you search around the dark van. Looking over your shoulder, you can see the top of his head, peaking over the driver's seat. His back is turned to you, focused on the road ahead. Perfect.

Slowly, you start to move. Uncurling your aching limbs from the uncomfortable position he has put you in. Then, you start to touch around you, hands flailing, as you try to find something, anything you can use to defend yourself. Finally, your fingers brush over a untensil of some sort. The handle is made of wood, and as you begin to map it out further with your hands, you realize what you're holding, is in fact, a hammer. And not any hammer. Judging by the sticky liquid coating the head of the tool, it's the same hammer, the Mystery Kidnapper used to stun you with.

Armed, you hide the weapon under your body, focusing very hard on not throwing up, as the incessant, throbbing pain in the back of your head finally catches up to you. You lay like this for a couple of minutes, listening to the sounds of the van's engine. Sometimes the man would hum under his nose. Some old tune you'd hear on the radio decades ago. His voice is nice, you note, among other delirious thoughts running through your terrified mind.

Finally, the man pulls over. The car is turned off with a rather pathetic sound, that betrays its old age. Then, with cautious eyes, you watch him get out, slamming the door to the driver's side. You hold your breath, squeezing your eyes shut, fingernails digging into the wooden handle of the hammer. You can hear his footsteps, heavy on the gravel road. If you focus hard enough, you imagine, you can hear his breathing, the beating of his heart.

Then, the door to the backside of the van open, metal screeching in protest. You count to three, until he puts his hands on you. Both of them grabbing at your shoulders. That's when you uncurl like a snake, the hammer connecting with the side of his torso, with a sickening, wet sound.

- Fuck! - the man curses loudly, loosing balance for just a moment, giving you time to slide yourself out of the vehicle.

The hit, however unexpected, is not nearly hard enough to sway him. You're not able to take two full steps, before you feel hands grabbing at the back of your shirt. Stitches tear, as the man forcefully yanks you backwards, sending you towards the pavement. You fall like a sack of potatoes, head hitting the cement. A groan erupts from your lips, as another wound forms at the back of your head, but this time, you fight those black spots with all your might.

Pushed by panic alone, you turn on your stomach, crawling away from the van. Again, you don't make it far, before he catches you. Suffocating weight bears down on you, as he all but crushes your body to the pavement with his own. Your head cranes back, trying to look at him, perhaps spit in his face, but one of his hands finds purchase in your hair, tugging at the roots hard enough, to make you bear your teeth at him with a hiss.

His knees pin your legs to the ground, his torso pressing close to your back, impossible heat coming off of him in waves. Other hand makes quick work of capturing your hands and pinning them by the wrists above your head. Your body jerks under him in a futile attempt at throwing him off. That's when his hips press closer to your backside, in a warning you understand all too well. A sickening feeling coils in your stomach, at the sensation of something very obviously hardening against the inside of your thigh.

You freeze, breathing heavily through your teeth. The fact, that you can't see his face angers you to no end. You want to etch it into your memory, so you can imagine it twisted in pain, as you tear his fucking throat out. Perhaps your mother was right, when she told you years ago, you had some anger issues. But you'll be damned if they don't come in handy in this situation.

- Stop fucking moving, or I'll give you a real reason to squirm - he growls in your ear, fixing his hold in your hair.

He waits for a moment. You feel his eyes drilling holes into your face. Your movements stop, muscles tense as you lay pinned to the pavement.

- Good - he praises, his tone of voice changing into something akin to a condoscending chuckle, letting go of your hair in favor of gently patting the crown of your head.

The gesture makes you want to rip his hand clean off.

- Now - his body moves on top of yours, pressure leaving you back slightly, as he changes position, from downright crushing you, to hovering. - You're going to be very quiet, and we'll walk right up to that door there.

You can't see the door he's talking about, all you can see is the veins running up his surprisingly muscular arm, the edges of a black dress shirt. Gritting your teeth, you throw your best venomous look in the direction, you suppose the rest of his body is hidden.

- Fuck yo..

He doesn't let you finish. The hold on your hair tightening momentarily, as he drags our head upwards, and slams it back down. Your chin hits the pavement, the impact reverberating through your entire skull. You groan in pain, as the pressure on your body returns, his head craining around you, so he can whisper into your ear.

- I'm trying to take care of you, sweetheart. The least you can do, is not be a ungrateful fucking whore. - the words are forced out through his teeth, between heavy, panting breaths.

You don't have the strength to fight him, when he shifts to turn you around. Finally, you can see him. Well, part of him. The top half of his face is obscured by some sort of porcelain mask, depicting the frowning eyebrows of a devil. White horns pertrude forwards, and once you get a clear look of this deranged man, that's when fear settles in. Pure, freezing dread spreads out throughout your body like snake's venom.

Tears spring at the corners of your eyes, because, despite the many times you've stated otherwise, you really don't want to die. The alternative also looks grim, if not worse, and the helplessness of the situation wrenches a sob out of your chest.

As if touched by some magic spell, the man halts all his movements. His eyes follow teardrops that fall in heavy streams down your cheeks. Something flickers across those unfeeling blue eyes of his, something akin to guilt, but you don't feel optimistic enough to believe it.

Slowly, his arms sneak around your torso, one hand still placed firmly around your wrists. Your head sways, as he manouvers you around, forcing you into a half-sitting half-kneeling position. Then, his other hand comes up to your face.

- Oh, my poor, sweet thing - he coos, voice so gentle, you almost trust him.

Ignoring the way you flinch away from his touch, his hand wipes at at your tears, rough fingertips dragging across your skin.

- You done got yourself hurt - there's an edge to his voice, and your breathing quickens in anticipation of another outburst.

Instead, his hand wrenches itself underneath your chin, where a new wound is already forming. You watch him with fearful eyes, as his tongue peaks out to wet his lips.

- Let me kiss it better - is all the warning you get, before he dives down, despite your desperate attempts at pulling away.

His tongue presses hard against the scrape at your chin, licking a long stripe across it. The sting makes you squeak, and he soothes his assault with a chaste kiss to the wound. Then, you gasp, as he tugs your body against his chest, the ridiculousness of the position you're in, making your head swim. You stay there for a moment, feeling the rising and falling of his torso. His heartbeat surprisingly calm, considering your little tussle from before.

His true intentions come to light soon enough, however. One of his muscular arms wraps aound your throat. You try to protest, to scream, to do anything, but with one swift move, he cuts away all the oxygen. Your legs kick and flail, but he doesn't let go. The finality of the situation finally rushing down on your mind, This is how you die, this is the end.

You hear him mutter something into the crown of your head, as your conciousness starts to fade away from you once again.

#the grabber x reader #the black phone x reader #the grabber #slashers x reader #although he's not really a traditional slasher is he #anyways im reposting this one because when i first uploaded it i was shadowbanned by tumblr #but surprisingly they listened to my whining and im back in the tags babey

[kleenex-tissues]

Yours Truly (17)

AO3 here

Ch. 17: Meetings for Dysfunctional Families

“Alright, kids. I think it’s time we had a talk.”

Years of fighting by Bruce’s side hidden beneath the cowl of Batman had numbed any of the fear he attempted to exude when it came to his numerous crime-fighting partners, but as the anger shown so sparingly on this side of the mask came through, his kids couldn’t help but be afraid.

An ominous message sent to their phones just days ago to come home immediately had sent them all rushing to the manor, ready for whatever emergency awaited. Tim had come in like a hailstorm, no doubt having taken the emergency Kon-El route straight from Paris. Duke and Dick arrived a bit later, having had to finish up whatever personal missions that had found themselves tangled up in first. Cass arrived next, calm as she always was, but still covered in sweat and mud from her training session. Steph and Barbara were not far behind, having taken the time to find a stopping point in the investigation they had been working on together. And finally, Jason emerged from one of his safe houses deep in the underground of Gotham.

There was no Alfred to save them, as Bruce asked him specially to continue his vacation. This was something that Bruce needed to handle personally.

His eyes bore deeply into the audience, but Tim most pointedly avoided looking at him head on. He was sweating and picking nervously at the skin around his fingernails. His guilty conscience was obvious to everyone else in the room.

The ‘family’ sat huddled on and around the oversized couch Alfred had put in after realizing no, Bruce wasn’t going to stop adopting kids anytime soon, as Bruce stood menacingly above them. Damian sat in a chair behind him, uncharacteristically quiet. If they hadn’t been scared so shitless, his brothers might have noticed that for the first time, Damian was sitting with his knees to his chest like the frightened child he never got to be.

“Anyone want to take a guess why we’re here?”

Bruce was smiling. It wasn’t good when Bruce smiled like that.

Jason, as self-preserving as ever, was the only one to pipe up. “Did you finally decide to stop bringing in stray kids? I can only threaten to kill so many before it gets old.”

Dick pinched his arm from beside him to signal Jason to shut up. Jason only scowled at him in response.

Bruce was smiling with his teeth now, and it was collectively agreed to not let Jason open his mouth ever again.

“You always know how to brighten up a room, huh, Jay? I’m so glad you could join us today.”

Jason, who never knew fear, was now slack-jawed. Dick put an arm protectively around him, but it did little as said arm was shaking uncontrollably.

“Now, let’s have a little family discussion about boundaries. I know we haven’t always been very strict on the concept, but it’s time we begin defining those lines, don’t you think?”

Duke was nodding aggressively from his position on the floor. He was wedged between Stephanie and Cass’ legs, and if he scooted back any further, he’d practically be on top of them.

“First of all, no more meddling in anyone’s personal relationships. This includes, but is not limited to: romantic endeavors, friendships, and most importantly, pen pals.

“Secondly, we will not be sharing information that somebody else has requested be kept secret. Secrets will not be weaponized, nor will we threaten each other into submission to keep them.”

At that, Bruce turned slightly to acknowledge Damian’s place in the room.

“Finally, we will give out appropriate apologies to each other. Dick, Jason, and Tim will apologize for signing Damian up for a pen pal without his knowledge. Duke and Cass will apologize for assisting them. Tim and Duke will apologize again for having made contact with said pen pal, Tim for doing so without letting her know who he really was, and Duke for not only granting her embarrassing information about Damian but telling Dick without permission.

“Barbara will apologize for hacking into the account and secretly cyberstalking Marinette, and yes, I know you did that. You’re not as sly as you think. Stephanie will apologize for telling Bernard that Tim was also making out with Conner.”

“Wait, you told him!?”

“Not now, Tim. Let me finish.” Bruce cleared his throat. “As I was saying, you all will issue apologies to each other, as well as Damian. He will be apologizing for threatening Duke and placing cameras on every exit point in both the manor and Wayne Enterprises to stalk Tim.

“After that, we will all sit down as a family and watch a movie because I just want one night where my children aren’t at each other’s throats.”

“Actually, you never formally adopted Steph and I,” Barbara chimed in.

“Not the point. You eat my food, you wear my insignia — you’re one of mine.”

Barbara shrugged as if to say, ‘fair enough,’ and let him continue.

“Any suggestions before we begin our round of apologies?”

Bruce gave the room a few seconds before clapping his hands together and cheerfully saying, “Cheaper by the Dozen, it is! I think we could all learn something from it. While I go put that on in the den, you all can talk amongst yourselves."

They all saw the thinly veiled threat for what it truly was.

As Bruce exited the room, the remaining group sat in awkward silence, trying their best to not make direct eye contact with each other.

Once she was sure that Bruce had reached far enough down the hallway, Cass took initiative to begin the conversation. She moved across the room to gently set a hand on Damian’s shoulder and croak out a weak, “I am sorry.”

Her attempt at speaking, something the girl rarely did, brought the tension down. Damian offered her a gentle pat to the hand on his shoulder, assuring her in their own special way that they would be alright. She smiled in return, and the rest of the room began to erupt into their own sincere apologies.

Stephanie stuttered over an explanation of hurt before letting Tim know that she was sorry. He expressed his own regret and let her know that her feelings were valid.

Duke leaned against Dick’s legs to tell him how unfair he had been by using Dick’s feelings to get a leg up on Damian, before moving to face Damian, himself, and thoroughly apologizing.

Dick joined in, Jason begrudgingly, as well, and Tim let him know how badly they had all messed up, him especially. Barbara let out a remorseful ‘ditto,’ and Damian meekly accepted.

They were all shocked at the youngest’s sincere apology and the ease in which he forgave them. Damian had spent many years being spiteful, never wanting to show weakness by issuing anyone an apology, no matter how deserving. His way of expressing his true feelings was still emotionally constipated by normal human standards, but it was a new territory for him. His brash kindness was all they really needed from him. One day, maybe, he would be willing to be vulnerable with them, but for now, this had been enough.

When they finally wandered their way over to the den, Bruce was sitting in a recliner to the side of another enormous sectional. Blankets and pillows were comfortably draped across the cushions, and a few large bowls of snacks sat on the coffee table before them. Bruce had really gone all out to make the most of the night, and Cheaper By the Dozen was already paused on the screen, just seconds into the intro.

The group offered each other genuine smiles, Dick slinging his arms around both Damian and Jason to drag them towards a spot in the middle of the couch.

Tim wedged himself between Jason and the corner, sprawling his legs down the other side, Stephanie resting comfortably between them.

Barbara wheeled herself over to sit between Bruce’s chair and the couch, pulling a blanket over her lap and a large bowl of popcorn. She patted Bruce’s arm, and they shared a grateful nod before both digging into the snack bowl.

Cass sat on the end of the couch closest to Barbara, and Duke squeezed in between her and Damian. They pulled up a large fleece blanket to share.

Bruce dimmed the lights and began the movie.

They giggled their way through the first movie before beginning the sequel. Popcorn was thrown haphazardly across the room as projectiles, and Tim drifted off with a mouthful of trail mix. Jason had wanted to draw on his face, but Bruce stopped him, reminding him that this was a night for bonding, not embarrassing one another.

By the time the credits had rolled, the room was quiet. Tim and Stephanie were peacefully sleeping, cuddled together. Jason had fallen asleep with his head lolled back and his arms crossed. Dick was pressed in tight against his shoulder, drooling down his shirt, but his arms were wrapped around Damian protectively. Damian, himself, was laying with his head against Dick’s chest and his legs over Duke and Cass’ laps, who in turn were sleeping with their heads stacked on top of each other. Even Barbara had been lulled to sleep with her head resting on her fist.

Bruce took a moment to take it all in, and appreciate the many blessings he had been given. There wasn’t a thing in this world that could ever make him trade away his family.

He spent so much of his youth stuck in Crime Alley, watching his parents bleed out before him. He did not think he would ever escape the nightmare, but now, standing above the kids who had come into his life with a crash, he never wanted to look back.

He took a quick picture, which he would no doubt frame on his bedside table later, and turned to Barbara. He stood up, picked her up gently from her wheelchair, and placed her in the recliner he had just vacated. He took the time to tuck each of his kids under a blanket before heading towards his bedroom. Before leaving, he glanced back one last time.

“I really did get the best ones, didn’t I?”

#Marinette Dupain-Cheng #batman #maribat #miraculous ladybug #Damian Wayne #Bat Family #batfamily #BatFam #batbros #dcu x mlb #mlb x dcu #wolfish-writes

[tacticaldiary]

Revelations and Reverence Pt.2

PAIRING: Spencer Reid x Reader

WARNINGS: Kidnapping, Torture, Drugs, S2 E15

SYNOPSIS: Season 2, Episode 15 where Tobias kidnaps Spencer, but this time she gets taken with him.

"I killed a man." She repeats, swallowing hard. Her hands are shaking, but Spencer's been left alone and that's all she wants. "He was a father. He had two daughters and a wife. I...I shot him two months ago. Killed him. I killed him."

PART 1

NOTE: I am NOT taking requests at the moment.

They say words are insignificant when one's body language is more expressive than a testimony of truth.

Spencer looks ragged. Through a blurry haze, that's all she can make out. The worry in his eyes that never seems to go away, laced with muted panic as his eyes flicker over her head to look at-

She breathes in a hiss of pain as her head is yanked back by her hair, and the pain is enough to bring her out of her medicated sludgy mind. "Shit..." She groans quietly, and the curse is met with a grunt and a shove to her head which lolls to the side as she tries to get her bearings back.

Whatever that fucker injected her with turned her bones into lead, but it seemed to be wearing off.

"You ready?" Tobias says, and his demeanour is so much different than the scared earnest one from before it'd be enough to give her whiplash in a more normal scenario.

"Ready for what?" Spencer says immediately, trying to get the attention off of her. It works, because Tobias turns to glare at him instead. Spencer tenses, sits a little straighter though his eyes never seem to stray away from her for long. Always flicking back and forth like the tail of a cat.

"My weakling son thinks God gave you both to us for a reason. Let's see if we're both right."

Spencer's chair makes a horrific scraping noise as he turns it around to face a couple of monitors and what she can now make out as a tripod and a camera.

"What are you doing?" She croaks, promptly ignored in favour of setting up the machines.

While his back is turned, Spencer turns to look at her, wide-eyed.

People say he's hard to read. She thinks they just don't hard enough. Spencer's an open book to her. Words aren't the only form of communication for the soul, and her boyfriend speaks fluent in body language. His hands gesturing quicker when he's excited, pressed against his eyes during a migrane. The slight quirk of his lips when she whispers something in his ear that's definitely not work appropriate in the middle of the office, the tips of his ears that redden whenever she's modeling a new outfit for him.

It's so...him. It's him. That's the only way to describe it. She could find him in the darkness of pitch black, could run her hands over his shoulders, and read the tension like it's written in braille.

He's terrified. There's a lot he's neglecting to say at the moment, but she gathers it all from a single glance. Spencer's eyes flicker up and down her body, lingering on her arm where the needle went in prior.

Guilt. He feels guilty and she can't wait to remind him that he's not. That she was glad it was her, that she wants him to stop trying to protect her because she's aware she's tough when it comes to herself, but might just break if Spencer were to get hurt.

She offers him a shaky smile, a small solace in the hell that caves in the walls around them.

He can't return it, can't bring himself to, merely presses his lips together, eyes softening.

And it's enough. She understands.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"Far right screen."

Tobias rattles off the woman's name and address.

Something in Spencer shatters.

This wasn't...he wasn't...no, he was, wasn't he? He saved and doomed a life, he's been forced to play God for someone who believes they're someone affiliated.

He can't tear his eyes from the screen away as the woman on the far right shuts her laptop screen. Can't quite bring himself to say anything as Tobias announces his departure.

There's a buzzing in his ears, something eating away at the inside of his flesh. He feels like his heart is wrong, or twisting in a shape unrecognisable. It's not logical, it's scientifically impossible actually but it's the only metaphorical way to describe the sickness he feels.

At Tobias. At these bloodied cuffs that cut into his skin. At the weight that pressed down on his shoulders as each second ticks by.

At himself.

"Spencer?" Her voice floats somewhere around him. He's always loved her voice. A sweet melody, the lilt of it was fascinating. He'd die happy if it meant she was talking to him in his last moments. Maybe this was what that was? But he must be inherently selfish for being relieved to hear her voice because that means that she's still here with him, trapped just like him. Spencer squeezes his eyes shut for a second until the ringing stops, until her voice gets louder.

"He made you." She speaks steady. Steadier than he's felt in...how long has it been? Hours? Days? A week? His throat closes up at the thought, and then some more at the the notion of believing that he can't remember.

"Spencer!" He swallows, turns to finally look at her.

Urgency floods her eyes as she takes him in, the paleness of his skin, the confused, distraught look in his eyes.

Shaky breathing fills the silence from both parties for a moment.

"I think you're in shock." She says to him, eyes wide. "You-...you need to come back to me, okay? Spencer?"

His brows furrow, something cutting through the noise in his mind. "I...no, that's not..." He trails off for a second, "I'm not injured seriously enough, shock is often associated with heavy external or internal bleeding from a serious injury. I'm not...not in shock-"

"I can't do this without you." She blurts out, and suddenly Spencer couldn't give less of a shit about himself. His focus snaps to her, clear headed as can be.

"I'm not going anywhere, honey." He assures her, the gentleness she's used to hearing creeping back into his voice. "I'm not leaving. We're...we're going to be fine, they'll find us. Hotch will figure it out."

She nods along, only because considering the opposite is too daunting.

There's movement on the screen in front of them suddenly. Both of them watch as one of the women is brutally murdered, throat slit like a sacrificial lamb and left the gargle the remnants of her life out.

There's solace in the silence, knowing that both of them still have enough humanity to be horrified after working a job like this for so long. Neither of them comment, neither of them speak.

Spencer lets out a shaky breath when Gideon talks to him.

She knows he doesn't believe him

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Watching Spencer try to convince Tobias to let them go is something straight out of a horror movie. The semi-calm, soft, wavering voice, eyes flickering cautiously to the needle Tobias pulls out and fiddles with. It makes her heart twist as she watches.

A glance between them both and she's understood Spencer's plan to try and coax their location out, had let him take the lead.

But this was getting too close. The finger of the plunger, the drugs being sucked in.

"It's not worth fighting." Tobias sounds honest, which is the sickest part of the entire situation. Her mind is racing watching the needle. She can't let him inject Spencer with that, doesn't want him to suffer anymore than he has to.

"I want it!" She says suddenly, unable to stay quiet any longer.

Tobias pauses. And it's all she needs.

Spencer is alarmed, catching onto her intentions immediately. She knows better than to hesitate lest he snatch the reins away from her right now.

"My arms, they still hurt." She pleads. "Feels like they're broken. They were bleeding a moment ago, please Tobias." It's not hard to fake the break in her voice, not when she's begging a murderer who might slit their throats the next time he steps into this room.

"No-" Spencer says quickly,

"I always thought it wore off too quickly." Tobias nods slowly, leaving Spencer's side. The wave of relief that crashes into her is promptly replaced with dread when he turns the point of the needle on to her again. "I'll get another dose for him the next time I'm here."

"That sounds lovely." She plays along. "Thank you." The words are acrid on her tongue whist he rolls her tattered sleeve up.

All she can do is make eye contact with Spencer while it happens. The drug is fast acting, lucky for her, because one moment she's looking at Spencer's distraught expression and the next she's under, darkness replacing the meagre light trickling into the room from the cracks in the walls.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"Do you think they'll notice if we show up late tomorrow?" She mumbles to him, head buried into the crook of his neck. He smells nice, pine and sandalwood, earthy and grounded.

"Considering we have to be in the air at 7, I think so." Spencer hums back, melting into the hand running through his hair. Dying light trickles into the room through sheer curtains neither of them can be bothered to get up and close.

"I hate this job." She groans, mellowing out when Spencer's arms come around her tighter with inkling of a laugh.

"We both know that isn't true."

"It should be. God forbid I get a good night's sleep with you for once."

"We're here now, aren't we?"

She leans up, props her chin on his chest to meet his eyes. Soft and gentle, loving in a way only Spencer can achieve.

"I guess we are." She says quietly, pressing her lips to his jaw.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The shift in the air is palpable. Even in her weary, drugged state, she can feel the minute the atmosphere turns the razor sharp scent of danger.

"They're trying to silence my message!"

"I can't control what they do, I'm not with them, I'm with you." Spencer argues, tensing up.

Her heart sinks when the video of Gideon pops up on the screen, Tobias' gaze unflinchingly furious. Call it a profiler's intuition but she can tell this isn't going to end well.

"You think you can defy me?"

"We don't know what...what he's talking about." She breathes out, loud enough to crack through the room. "We're here with you-"

"Silence." He slams his hand on the table making both her and Spencer flinch.

Something she's notices is Tobias doesn't address her unless necessary. He doesn't glance at her, doesn't talk to her, doesn't give her the same decisions as Spencer. What she's deduced so far in between her periods of being conscious is even in this fucked up situation Tobias seems to be gripping onto traditional gender roles.

The man makes the decisions, so he tells Spencer to choose.

The woman needs to listen, so he forces her to watch.

It's sick, twisted and a fucked up view of the world, and maybe she'd be more angry about it if she has an atom of spare energy to use. It's much easier to be indignant about the big picture right now.

The camera's switched on.

Perhaps there might have been some comfort knowing their friends are watching, that they're getting more crucial information, but then Tobias stops in front of Spencer.

"Confess your sins." The only noise out of Spencer is a ragged exhale.

Tobias cracks his hand across Spencer's face so hard it makes her audible gasp. She jerks out of her chair on instinct, wanting to be there, wanting to skin Tobias alive. Her efforts are rewarded with metal cutting into her wrists and the cool pinch of her handcuffs.

"Confess."

"I haven't done anything." Spencer insists choked up, still reeling.

The next punch from Tobias pulls out a sob from him that makes her heart twist, urgency flooding her veins. She can't breathe, she can't breathe watching him get beat, the same man who stayed awake with her for two days to console her after a case hit too close to home. The same man who held her hair back when she was sick, that remembered all the little insignificant things she told him about and knew her better than she knew herself.

He pleads out for Tobias to help him, and the begging makes her snap.

"I killed someone." She blurts out shakily.

Everything stops. Spencer's cries die down for a second as he gasps for air, hunched over.

"What?" Tobias narrows his eyes.

"I killed a man." She repeats, swallowing hard. Her hands are shaking, but Spencer's been left alone and that's all she wants. "He was a father. He had two daughters and a wife. I...I shot him two months ago. Killed him. I killed him."

She leaves out the fact that he had an assault rifle and seventeen hostages in an elementary school.

Tobias's eyes narrow. "So you confess?"

Spencer straightens up, panic in his eyes. He shakes his head at her subtly, pleading with her to not continue. They know what happens when Tobias' victims confess.

He remembers the videos. They flash across his mind the moment she keeps going.

"I confess."

Slowly, Tobias approaches her, stops barely an inch away. "Thou shalt not kill. If you commit murder, you are subject to judgment."

She swallows as he bears down onto her, cold, lifeless eyes scanning her for any hint of a lie.

They stop on her arm.

It's too late to pull her sleeve down. Tobias bands his hand around her arm in an iron grip, shoves up her sleeve to reveal the needle marks. "You're pathetic." He spits. "Just like my son." He yanks her out of her chair and shoves her roughly to the ground.

Spencer cries out for her as Tobias kicks her in the ribs, spitting insults, quoting passages that she's not familiar with. "You think you can outsmart God?" She sobs as he head snaps back, colliding with one of the wooden beams in a sickening crack. "You think you have the right to take a man's life of your own accord?" Her ribs are on fire, at least three of them broken, she thinks.

Curling up into a ball to protect herself, it doesn't save her much from the vicious onslaught. She can vaguely make out Spencer speaking and being ignored, can make out her own cries and the sicking thud of his boot colliding with her bloody form.

Then it stops. Just like that.

Breathing hurts. Twitching hurts. Thinking about moving hurts.

"Grab her." He hears Tobias command her boyfriend. "Bring her out to the yard." He's clicked free from the shackles, pale and clammy as Tobias grabs a shovel and heads towards the door.

Spencer doesn't need to be told twice. He stumbles out of his chair and onto his knees beside her, gathering her up into his lap in trembling arms. "I'm so sorry." He presses his face into her hair, tears soaking into the strands. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm really sorry. I'll- I need to...I'm so sorry." His voice shakes, apologies falling from his lips like a prayer.

She can't bring herself to speak, her chest feels caved in and lit on fire, but a trembling hand comes up to grip the front of his sweater vest anyway, bloodied, shaky, but reassuring. Spencer grabs it, brings it up to cup his face. "I'm sorry." His voice breaks.

"Hurry up, boy. Or you'll be digging in the frozen ground." Spencer swallows, and slowly stands up, helps her to her feet the best she can stand. He's trying to be gentle, trying to mind her injures but every whimper that breaks through her lips makes his heart break and his guilt triple. Anger takes it's hold somewhere in the midst of it all, anger that he's too weak to act upon.

He's led to a cemetery. Part of him is relieved that he was correct, hopes that Hotch got the message from before and pieced them together. He'd been dropping hints there and there about where he thought they were, hoping that it'd pay off later.

So far no luck.

A shovel's pressed into his hands.

"Dig."

"Dig?" He repeats shakily, setting her down at the base of a nearby tree.

"A body needs a grave, doesn't it?" He jerks his head towards her, and suddenly Spencer's paralysed. He wouldn't let it happen. Wouldn't take part in burying her, wouldn't watch while she choked on dirt and suffocated.

He needs time, needs to think, to come up with a plan.

But plans take time, and the only time he can get is by playing along.

So he digs.

He hopes she's not conscious enough to listen and understand what's going on.

For a few minutes there's nothing but Spencer's attempts to dig through the cold ground. Through stingy hair, he glances at her every now and then, just to make sure she was breathing, that she was still here with him. He'd felt blood on her when he carried her, felt it dripping down the back of her head. At this point he can't tell if the blood staining his clothes and hands is his, hers, or both-

"Dig faster." Tobias barks

Spencer's grip on the shovel tightens, "I'm not strong enough." He breathes. Something grabs his attention in the forest behind Tobias while the man strips off his jacket, throwing it onto the floor with a spat insult. Flashlights...people? Flashlights meant...

Metal catches the light in one of the pockets of the discarded jacket.

Tobias seems to notice his gaze and whips around to spot the light. Something determined and desperate kicks Spencer into drive, the first glimpse of hope in the midst of this hell, perhaps? The thought that maybe they'd be saved, that she'd be okay and they could go home.

Regardless, he snatches the revolver out of the coat and aims it at Tobias without hesitation. The clicking of the safety makes Tobias whirl around and bring up his knife.

She watches it all happen, watching through laboured breathing and half open eyes.

"Only one bullet in that gun, boy-"

The shot makes her flinch.

The thud of Tobias' body hitting the floor makes her want to cry. Her eyes slip shut as Spencer shuffles to the body, throwing the knife out of reach. There's voices, but she can't bring herself to tun into them.

Was it over?

Someone crunches the leaves next to her, and she flinches away at the touch.

"It's me," Spencer breathes, "It's just me, we're done. It's over. We're going home."

"Home?" She manages to repeat, and it hits Spencer so hard he blinks back tears of his own.

"Yeah," he sniffles, letting out a humourless chuckle, "Home." He tries to reach out again, and this time she leans into it. It's all the encouragement Spencer needs to gather her into his arms.

He keeps her so close it hurts, but she'd rather die like this than have Spencer let her go. This little bit of comfort breaks the dam and suddenly she's sobbing into Spencer's shirt. The man brings her face to press against the crook of his neck shakily, whispering to her. Sweet nothings, apologies, smoothing her hair back while she cries.

Spencer tenses as familiar faces fill the clearing, glancing up but unwilling to let go.

Hotch is the first to reach them. He says both their name, squeezes her hand and lets Spencer clutch his other in a deathly grip. "I knew you'd understand." His voice breaks. The trust he had in these people, in his family was the only thing that kept them going. The only light in the throes of darkness.

As they crowd around them, he swears he'll never let this happen again, he can't.

"I love you." He whispers onto the top of her head. "I'm sorry I-"

"Not you." She cuts him off hoarsely. "...not your fault."

"I know, but-"

"No." She sniffles, and even after being beaten half to death, the determination and finality in her chiding tone makes him choke out half a laugh.

"We're gonna be okay." He whispers, tightening his arms around her as the EMT's start trickling into the room.

She nods with a sigh, feeling the tension drain out her shoulders for the first time.

Reblog, Like and Comment! PART 1

(04/04/2024)

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #x reader #angst #x y/n #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fluff

[kingdom-of-the-damned]

Devin Chandler, King of Hell Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

(CW: Mentions of Violence and Abuse)

Heaven and Hell, two sides of the same coin. Its two rulers Caelum and Devin also two sides of that very same coin.

Devin is the younger of the Two beings, he and Caelum were once the best of friends growing up apart but inseparable. They were created to rule in tandem and balance each other out.

Devin had a rough childhood, his “father” an abuser to both him and his countless stepmothers, each reduced to nothing once his father was bored of them. Caelum was ever the protective older brother as he tried to protect Devin from harm as much as he could.

Eventually they learned of their fate, and Caelum embraced the power it gave him full force, banishing those who had hurt his little brother and would dare hurt him further

But Devin saw the faults and took them in. Creating a real of his own alongside his brother, his realm was one of weakness, where that weakness grew to strength, and his love for his people grew and was returned to him tenfold by those he ruled

He was just, and he was kind, and he gave exceptions and explanations where he could. Portraits were painted and hung in the castle and in the towns in his honour, he was regal and royalty in all the way a good king should be.

But trouble never strays far, Caelum began to grow distant, Devin was no longer able to reach him. His own brother had cut him out, worst of all. He let the power rush to his head, his ego inflated exponentially. He knew that Caelum had planted the advisors that now sought to oppose him at every turn, and he kept his strength, knowing well that he would always be the one making final decisions. He made sure of it

Until the fateful day he lost almost everything.

One day Devin received an invite from Caelum to meet and discuss their kingdoms. Truly believing that his brother was ready to settle things he met the Angel they now called god. However Caelum was there for one reason, Mid sentence from Devin Caelum plunged his hand into Devin’s chest and pulled his wings off on the exit.

#The King//Devin #a crown of ash and thorns #acoaat #oc #ocuniverse #heaven #hell #king of hell #Devin Chandler #kingdoms art #my art #oc art

[midori-laboratories]

Frozen Ashes: Chapter 1 - Sanguine Standard I

Book 3 of The Calendula Chronicles.

Story synopsis: Albert Wesker molded his captive into the perfect, pliable bait for taking out Rockfort Island's paramilitary facility, and cracking open the Ashford family’s secrets. But who’s really in control, once chaos breaks out?

The stakes have never been higher for Marigold, but she may not be fast enough to save everyone.

Book 3 of the Calendula Chronicles series. Written as the other side of The Antarctica Incident.

Chapter summary: The mission kicks off, and the pieces move into place. 'Alan Green' is introduced in the first chapter of Paper Tigers.

December 25, 1998 - somewhere in the eastern United States

“Should auld acquaintance be forgot…” Alan Green smiled at the radio. For all this country seemed to establish Christmas’ dominion the instant Halloween ended, they were always so very ready to rush on to the next thing.

Old acquaintances, indeed. Marigold Ashford, the woman who’d given him his job at Umbrella back in 1969, had looked as fresh as she had twenty years ago. When they’d spoken a few weeks back, it seemed all of that Ashford cunning had been left equally intact.

It was Christmas evening. The corporation was officially on holiday, but no one strayed far from their phones even today. There was too much on the line…and not everyone on the board was happy with some of the choices made for this first mission following the destruction of Raccoon CIty.

Alan and the board may have made the overtures to Wesker to switch sides, but a snake was still a snake. He’d bear close monitoring.

Alan had read the file on Marigold, fascinated. What had happened with Dr. Marcus. The slow progression of her condition, culminating in her ‘death’ back in 1981. The scant list of people known to have been targeted by Ms. Ashford, and their symptoms - as well as their fates.

Never did it occur to him that he himself had been one of those targets, once upon a time. Why would he? He’d led a charmed life. His cousin had held a childish grudge at Ms. Ashford’s success once upon a time, but Maxwell’s choices had likely caught up with him.

Something about that thought felt off. Alan shook his head. Nerves, that was all.

Back when they’d worked together, Marigold had always had a knack for making the worst situations seem like a minor inconvenience, back when he had headed up her department at the Umbrella office in London. Finding out what she had been capable of back in October, once her identity had been declassified to the board, had been a shock. Seeing the Raccoon City footage of his old friend stalking out of that car towards half a dozen Hunters had nearly stopped his heart.

Seeing her go on to tear the pack apart like they were wet tissue paper had been another thing entirely…although it explained a few things. The manner in which she had always avoided contact in the past might not have entirely been borne out of physical shyness.

When he had finally met with Marigold on the HCF grounds a mere month earlier, that delicate, nervous little step she had taken away from him at the end had an entirely new context. Fear for the other person; she’d never harbored any fear of them.

That surge of protectiveness he’d felt at how sweetly delicate she had still looked in doing so hadn’t changed with time. His cousin’s health had taken a turn after a fit of jealousy and an aborted attempt to sully the woman’s reputation, leaving Maxwell to depart at the end of 1969 for the fairer weather across the channel, near Paris. Marigold had welcomed him to her team around the same time, treating both himself and his wife as dear, lifelong friends.

Gemma herself had been nigh inconsolable when Marigold’s “death” had been announced within the company back in early 1982. There had been a quiet service, and the attempted purge within her department, which had quickly been reversed. Later that year, he had come home to Gemma staring blankly through the front window.

He’d mentioned the purges to her, and shaken his head. “I get the oddest feeling whenever Ms. Ashford is brought up at work. It’s like a code of silence is being enforced around mentioning her name at all. The head office just dropped her name from the list of directors there - they made a quite a fuss of it.” He’d paused. “It felt like people were watching me to see how I’d react. Why does it feel like a less prominent person would have simply been erased?”

Gemma had turned when he had started speaking, eyes clearing as she contemplated her husband’s words. Most Umbrella executives were smart enough to keep the details of their work at work. Gemma, though…there was an unspoken bond of cooperation between them that went beyond the marriage bed. Moreover, Marigold had treated with Gemma as a friend, insofar as Marigold had those. “Because they would have,” she said what Alastair, now Alan in 1998, wouldn’t yet voice. “Those old families forget nothing and forgive nothing. Something went wrong.” She paused in her turn, then, “I keep having the oddest feeling. A Sword of Damocles sort of thing. I wonder if she felt the same thing and tried to shrug it off.”

That familiarity had allowed him to read her tension at that ‘first’ meeting, outside the doors of the compound. According to the file, “Placidia” had been trapped, and later hunted down like an animal by their new operative, kept docile under heavy surveillance and implicit threat.

It was still happening. Be it a cell, or an exotic zoo exhibit, the operative was still holding her like a beast whose will to run was gradually being broken. And the rest of the world had been told she had died long ago. There was a clear tension in her body language, an understanding that she was not free to leave; that failing to acquiesce would have consequences.

Then there was the family. The poor goddamned family. Young Alexia had worked briefly within the Arklay lab with their botanical lab before she had passed away. When he had told Marigold of this fact, she had looked almost physically ill. He had paused before realizing the source of her fear. “There was no way she could have known you were there, dear,” he said in a soft voice.

The company’s plan to break Umbrella’s paramilitary spine rest upon going after the one surviving relative the poor woman had left alive. When he’d gone to meet her - couching it in careful, reticent terms, always for the sake of the company - he’d gone in looking for anything, anything at all, to keep her away from the worst of it.

But she’d also had that look in her eye at their meeting. Marigold had always favoured a soft touch. That didn’t make her passive. She relied on being underestimated. That footage underlined just how much everyone had done so in the past.

And really, there was no way that Umbrella would remain blind to her survival for long. People had seen her during the evacuation. Most of those people were well versed in Umbrella’s code of silence, which benefited them now. Still…

When Marigold became that accommodating, with that look in her eye, it was always best to quietly back her, while staying the hell out of her way. So long as their objective was met, doing anything else would become a problem. The woman had always been frighteningly patient, after all.

The phone on his desk rang, and Alan sighed. Gema had gone the bed early, her spirits bright and cheery as they had been in the old days. No avoiding it, he thought, and plucked the receiver From its cradle. “Hello, Mark.” There had been a few holdovers in the HCF division board of directors when it came to their more…potent acquisitions from the Raccoon City Incident. Mark Oliver was the one corresponding directly with the recent acquisition and operative, Spencer’s traitorous whelp.

Mark was also the only one whose ambition outweighed his trepidation from the outset. The idea of hitting the heart of Umbrella’s enforcement arm when they were at their weakest had been a wet dream come true. HCF had been Mark’s pet project, but it had really begun to come alive once Wesker had accepted his overtures. Even without the trove of data, Alan had to admit that Wesker’s presence was already paying dividends.

At least, so long as the mysterious secret BOW Wesker had allegedly co-opted to their side - now identified as Marigold Ashford, of all people- could be aligned in the same direction. Mark had only known the woman by reputation, and Umbrella had done it’s work in slowly scrubbing her presence from its annals. Most who knew anything only knew that the disgraced Alexander had had a sister, and that their relationship had been distant at best.

Albert Wesker, the operative, had reported over the last several weeks that he’d determined, then refined, a means of using the woman to flush out their primary prey, rather than a direct means of attack. The logic was akin to that of a fox hunt, using her to trace the pathways in and flush out prey at once. The woman had been told that they were hitting the shipping terminal in Buenos Aires, so she’d be relatively calm until arriving on Rockfort Island; Wesker’s report had also suggested that he’d found a means to keep her pliable within manageable parameters.

The haunted look in her eye, coupled with the marks on her throat and the rumours swirling around the facility made it clear how he was getting pliability from Miss Ashford. Alan’s hand tightened on the receiver at the thought, but his voice remained cool. “Did you get confirmation on the team’s arrival at the staging grounds?”

Mark cleared his throat. “Yes, they got in last night, although the men are a bit disconcerted by the effect…the extra asset…has.” He sounded unhappy. “I’ve heard the security argument, and it’s not wrong. Keeping her on the grounds virtually unguarded would be unwise. But to send her there, of all places? Alfred Ashford fights dirty, Alan, and he won’t take prisoners.”

Alan laughed. “I’ve heard. That’s why this move is going to work. The team can soften the defenses nicely, and the boy’s tightly wound enough that just showing her face could break him. Everyone knows he’s unwell. And,” he added for emphasis, “there’s quite a family resemblance, I imagine.”

Mark huffed laughter on the other side of the line. “If I didn’t know what a sadistic bastard he was, I’d feel sorry for the lad.”

“Umbrella does nurture those traits when they can get them young,” Alan agreed.

Mark paused. “I was honestly a little surprised you went along with this, when the vote came down. You seemed a little soft on the asset, and this mission will come down on her hard when it starts in earnest.”

“It’s amazing how cooperative the asset can be when you address her by name. You realize she practically built the corporate framework Umbrella exists within? The plan is solid, if a bit…risky.” Alan let his voice grow cold. “Like you’ve said, the operative felt leaving her in place would be too great a security risk for Umbrella to pass up, and if anything could convince that madman to stand down, she could.”

Mark began to argue. “ Do you have any idea the kind of ruthless psychopaths Umbrella is run by? If they recover Placidia-“

Alan smiled. “ I may have the ghost of an idea. You realize the asset you so prize was one of them. Families should be kept together, don’t you agree? Your operative has been uncovering some fascinating intel to that effect.” He tucked the receiver into the crook of his neck. “Besides, it’s already underway. The operative left with her in containment three days ago.”

Mark sighed. “I don’t suppose I can drink myself into oblivion and wake up in three days to celebrate a glorious victory.”

“Afraid not,” Alan replied. “The Host Control Force project is live, and the corporation has hung its hat on this mission succeeding- or else, the division’s funding will be in question for next year. It’s all hands on deck for as long as the liaison takes. This is what you wanted. So do what I’m about to do: hang up, have a stiff drink with a nice cigar, and be ready for the next few days.” Alan reached for a cigar on his desk. The answering machine in the corner blinked with three missed calls. Across the pond, Poppy Higgins knew something was up. It was regrettable to leave the woman in the dark like this, but the pieces were in play now.

To Mark, he said, “We’ve played the long game this far. We can be patient a little longer.”

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Leaning back in his shape, he lit the cigar. He wondered, with a smirk, if Albert Wesker sensed the sword hanging by a thread above his own head.

Dec 26, 1998 - a private airfield and base near Puntas Arena, Chile

“Sir, we have reports from the first wave on Rockfort,” the mercenary whose job was to run the comms said in a subdued voice as he approached the commander. “Ashford is confirmed on the island.”

Rockfort was never going to be a soft target. Years of working in various outfits for money, slowly building up a core of experienced grunts, had taught him that. Rockfort was the dismal jewel supplying Umbrella’s paramilitary.

But Umbrella had lost a lot at Raccoon City. All those assets, labs, and a huge chunk of soldiers. Most of the remainder were stretched thin over the rest of their assets, desperately closing anything not absolutely necessary. Or, they had seen where the wind was blowing, and were getting ahead of the competition to the softest parts of the underbelly, ready to tear open.

The man he was reporting to, Albert Wesker, was in the second camp. It would have been perfect…if Alfred fucking Ashford hadn’t been present, processing new inmates when the first attack had landed.

Alfred Ashford was the sort of man who had a dozen wild and deeply contradictory rumours linked to his name. A legacy trust fund baby who happened to have a genius for military administration. A man who was barely holding on to his sanity over his dead twin sister, with a deeply sadistic streak aimed at anyone who crossed him. A skinny twig of a man who could absolutely eviscerate any marine crazy enough to take a shot at him.

The commander was calm, centered. “He survived the first volley then. War games are his element, unfortunately. He’s holding his ground?”

The mercenary blinked. This Wesker had known the madman? “Yes, sir. We’ve deployed the T-Virus, and it’s leveled the local training and prison populations He’s gotten… creative.” The mercenary offered the report he had just takes from the captain of that team. A full third of the first-wave team was already dead or injured.

Wesker took the report, scanned it, and nodded to the mercenary. “We’re still on track. Team two will draw him out; The first wave is simply softening their defenses, and evaluating weak points. There was always a chance he would be present. Looks like the rumours of his mental decline haven’t affected his ability to strategize…although his grasp on reality is about as poor as ever.”

Long experience had taught the mercenary captain not to bite back with his thoughts on a bad op, but her couldn’t help the face he made at the situation. The commander noticed and smirked. He continued to scan the document and paused. “We have a trigger to draw him out in the second phase, but I want to know who the new prisoners are. Between the black market and the attack in Paris, they could prove useful distractions. Until we’re in place, anyhow.”

Ah, yes. The trigger. The dossier for the mission had included a photo of Alfred Ashford, and a brief description of the man- including a twin who’d been lost young, which had set off the man’s spiral into instability in the first place. The woman the commander had brought…well, there was certainly a resemblance in colouring and facial structure. And the woman was…strange. She had worn tinted glasses in the first few hours she’d been on the site. She had also seemed almost drugged, following the commander closely.

The men had even odds as to whether the commander was fucking her. When a soldier had strayed too close though, she’d seemed to sharpen, directing a predatory silent focus on the person. The men had started to become uncomfortable, so she’d been moved into an empty dormitory at the edge of the camp. Later, one of the men who had strayed into her orbit and shuddered, describing her affect “like a Hunter in human skin.”

The mercenary said none of this. He only nodded with an easing of his posture. “Sir,” he said, and left the room to resume his posting.

He wasn’t sure whether to feel grateful that the second wave would be so much better equipped and prepared. But, this was the job. The commander clearly had some idea of how to break Ashford.

And it looked like their odds of success were about to go way up.

Wesker watched the captain leave, noting his look of distaste when he mentioned the trigger. Wesker had begun Marigold on a regimen of hormone patches three weeks earlier, ramping up the dosage over the last few days so as not to give her system time to adjust. It had the desired effect in maintaining a somewhat glazed compliance without significantly affecting her physical state. However, it made her more dangerous to the men around her on the base. That optimal primal state inhibited her self-control, and while she could be managed, she was never left alone with any of them.

Not when she was free to move around, and there were no other targets to be had.

The way her scent had risen during those near-incidents suggested that the patches were working in other ways as well.

Alfred’s presence on Rockfort wasn’t a surprise. It would be better to pin him down at the beginning of the venture anyhow. Wesker’s sources had shared rumors of a strange woman in a purple dress occasionally being seen around the island earlier that year. If Alexia was truly dead then, who was haunting the halls of the Rockfort palace?

He had a number of theories. They would hold until he could examine the situation for himself.

Tomorrow they would mobilize for the second wave. But for tonight, he would attend to his secret weapon.

#calendula chronicles #frozen ashes #albert wesker x oc #marigold ashford

[itsapeterthing]

For You? I Do || Druig

pairing: druig x eternal!reader

summary: when you and druig are caught alone together in 1814 england, you two come up with a plan to fake your engagement and marriage to protect your new identities. as time goes on, you both realize that your feelings are far more than platonic and that calling each other your spouse may be what you both have always wanted

a/n: this one shot was originally based on a fake dating request that somehow became this! reblogs and replies are super appreciated!

word count: 4.6k

warnings: mentions of fire, marriage, angst and fluff

masterlist || taglist

Druig watched as yet another man asked you to share a dance with him before whisking you off of your feet and onto the dance floor. There wasn't a single song that had played that night that you hadn’t had a partner for and as the night grew old, Druig prayed there wouldn’t be much more. He understood the significance of it- the dancing, the society, the making yourself seem eligible- but he could barely stomach it regardless.

“Druig, if you don’t ask a girl to dance soon, they’ll begin to get suspicious.”

Sitting up straighter at the sound of your voice in his head, Druig glanced over his shoulder to where you danced with the man, your eyes straying to Druig’s before falling back on your dance partner and nodding along with whatever he had said.

“And if you don’t stop dancing, you’ll have a proposal by the end of the night.”

The smile on your face faltered just long enough for Druig to catch it.

“Please, Druig,” You thought. “It’s all in good fun.”

Taking a sip from his glass, he rolled his eyes.

“And they say I’m the selfish one.”

Despite the fact that the group of eternals as a whole had separated years ago, you and Druig had never strayed too far from one another. Even when you tried to escape each other- wherever one eternal had gone- the other wouldn’t be too far behind. If he was the mind, you were the heart and together you made one fully functioning person that neither of you could survive without.

He came to these balls for you but as he checked his watch and saw the clock strike ten, he was nearly convinced he wouldn’t be able to survive another ten minutes.

“You know,” The older woman seated at the same table said. “It truly is a shame for a man to sit out when there are so many eligible young ladies waiting patiently to be asked to dance.”

And just then- Druig was thoroughly convinced he couldn’t spend another second in that sweltering room.

Without another word, Druig pushed himself up from the table and sought the nearest exit. On the other side of the room you watched as your best friend practically fled the ball, and without even apologizing, you separated from your dance partner and rushed as inconspicuously as you could out of the room.

“Dru?” You called into the foyer outside the ballroom. “Druig!”

Taking a second to breathe, you listened closely and heard a bit of rustling from a nearby coat closet. Stepping carefully towards the door, you swung it open and almost laughed at the sight of Druig sitting on the floor of the closet amidst a pile of outerwear.

“I’m sorry…” You said, crossing your arms and trying your hardest not to break into a fit of laughter. “Are you hiding right now? How very human of you, Dru.”

Druig only rolled his eyes and pushed himself off of the floor, towering over you once more.

“Very funny, Y/n.” Druig said, checking his watch. “Does your little detective game mean you’re ready to leave?”

“Why didn’t you just head back without me?” You asked.

For a moment Druig paused, staring at you in silence before shrugging.

“Didn’t want to leave you behind without the carriage.”

Just as you were about to open your mouth and remind him that you had the power to create almost anything for your mind in a second of thought, the door to the closet swung open- the host of the ball, Mrs. Taylor, on the other side.

Watching her eyes grow wide and her jaw drop before your eyes, you shoved at Druig.

“Do something!” You thought.

Druig only looked at you in confusion.

“Why?” He asked. “Who cares if some woman-”

“Druig!”

At your frantic call of his name he froze the woman where she stood before turning back to you.

“What’s the matter?”

“Druig,” You sighed. “Don’t you pay attention to anything? She just caught us in a closet alone together.”

“And?”

“And,” You said, your patience running thin. “That’s social suicide. I might as well flee the country. Nobody will want to be associated with either of us… unless…”

“Unless what?”

“We have a few options.” You explained, glancing back to the frozen woman beside the two of you. “You can either erase her memory of ever seeing us… or… or... never mind. You’ll hate it.”

“Just say it-”

Druig wasn’t sure what he was expecting you to say, but it wasn’t at all the words that fell out of your mouth next.

“Or we could get married.”

In the centuries upon centuries that he had been alive and roamed the earth beneath the two of you’s feet, he had never thought of himself as a marrying man and he certainly never thought that you would be the one to propose the idea of it to him.

But... he also never thought he would love the way you said “we” and “married” in the same sentence so much. So much so that he almost hated himself for it.

“Excuse me?” Druig whisper shouted.

You threw your head back before grabbing Druig by both of the arms, forcing his eyes to stay focused on yours.

“Hear me out,” You said. “If we get married, or even engaged, I don’t have to worry about some random man proposing to me thinking that he’s doing me a favor, and you won’t have to deal with any of these socialite social expectations anymore. You won't have elderly women telling you to dance or people whispering about you behind your back when you have a built in partner for life- me.”

Druig paused for a second.

“People whisper about me?” He asked.

“Druig!” 

Joking aside, Druig had to admit... he wasn’t all that opposed to the idea.

As much as the society centered lifestyle in 1814 England didn’t necessarily agree with him, he knew it meant a lot for you to be able to stay there for at least a few years before moving on to your next adventure. He remembered the day you had first arrived and the energy that had been drained from your body as you once again created a new life for the two of you in someplace new.

Although you had the power to create from nothing- a manor, a carriage, a library for Druig- every piece you crafted took a bit away from you and he still remembered the way you didn’t leave your bed for a week after creating your expertly painted ceilings that rivaled the Sistine Chapel’s. It was hard work for you that you poured every ounce of your heart into and he didn’t want to take that away from you.

Although Druig never cared much about the house he lived in, he was grateful to live in such a home with you.

And sure, he knew he could try to erase the woman’s memory, but the way you promised him that he would never have to appeal to some random lady or watch men fawn over you ever again was almost an offer he couldn’t refuse.

“Are you sure you want to marry me?” Druig asked, genuinely shocked you would want to be associated with him such a way- even if it was just a ruse.

You paused for a moment, taking in the question your best friend had just asked you.

Although you and Druig had never crossed the line from friendship to lovers, you two were undeniably partners in life. You couldn’t recall a time since you had stepped foot on the planet that you didn't have each other’s best interests at heart and would stop at nothing to be by the others’ side. The two of you had been through thick and thin and although the word “marriage” had different connotations for different people... to you.. you weren’t scared of having that devotion written into stone with Druig.

Smiling softly at Druig, you slipped your hand into his and squeezed gently.

“I’m sure.”

When Druig only stared at you, you placed out your left hand and allowed him to watch as a gorgeous, shining ring appeared on your finger, a box coming together in his free hand. The ring was so detailed and ultimately you, that he wondered how much thought you had put into it before this moment.

“You can stop freezing her now.” You thought.

And without another thought, he did.

-

“No, he really is the sweetest, Eliza.” You told your friend as you walked down your street, towards your home. “We really must have you lunch one day this week. I was thinking-”

“Y/n.”

You would recognize that voice anywhere.

Just as you stepped in front of the gate of your property, you stopped short when you saw Ajak and Sprite of all people standing on your doorstep.

Although you loved the both of them with all your heart, seeing them in town when everyone was out and about gossiping about your latest engagement to Druig was the last thing you wanted or needed at the moment.

Laughing nervously, you excused yourself from your friend and wringing your hands, made your way towards your two fellow eternals.

“Ajak,” You smiled. “Sprite. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

A pang of guilt hit you as you watched a bright and kind smile grace Ajak’s face, her hands reaching out to meet yours and squeeze them gently. You had always felt at peace in Ajak’s presence, knowing that there was nothing but kind sincerity in all of her actions, and you couldn’t help but feel awful knowing that you had not only been away from her for so long, but that you were hiding your truth from her as well.

“You look as beautiful as always,” She cooed. “I’ve missed you.”

Squeezing her hands, you returned her smile.

“I’ve missed you too, Ajak.” You said, before asking the question that was on your mind. “But what brings you here-”

Sprite was more than happy to answer.

“Well,” Sprite said, crossing her arms. “Two days ago when I was playing baccarat, this man at the table started complaining about how the woman he was courting wouldn’t stop gushing over this wedding that was happening in a few weeks. I, obviously, didn’t care until the names slipped out of his mouth- a Ms. Y/n Y/l/n and a Mr. Druig Valkin.”

There were few times in your life that you found yourself at a complete loss for words, but here, in this moment, all you were able to do was stand glued to your spot like a fool, without a single idea of what to say next.

You should’ve known better than to utilize the same surname you did every time, and you should’ve told Druig to use something besides his father’s name, but when you have to leave your life every couple of years, sometimes you couldn’t find it in yourself to break away from the few consistencies you afforded yourself.

“What a coincidence!” You said, laughing nervously.

“Y/n, you’ve been using the same name for centuries.” Sprite said. “We’re not stupid-”

“Are you ashamed of us?” Ajak asked, her face falling. “Why wouldn’t you tell us? This is great news!”

Unbeknownst to you as you were being barraged with questions, Druig was also on his way to your home after being told by some man at the pub that “that woman” was lucky to have him for providing her with such a nice home and comfortable lifestyle. Of course, Druig couldn’t help himself for providing that same man with the ability to pour his drink over his head for sharing so many unwelcome opinions in succession that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

The joy Druig found himself in knowing he would be seeing you soon quickly dissipated as he stepped in front of your home to see you talking to Sprite and Ajak on your doorstep.

Just as Druig was about to step away wordlessly, however, Ajak glanced over your shoulder and waved out her hand to him.

Of course.

“Druig!”

Not opening his mouth, Druig only folded his hands behind his back and walked down the path to meet with the three of you.

“What’s going on?” He asked you.

Feeling Druig’s arm brush against yours as he took his place beside you, you communicated to him wordlessly through your mind.

“I came home and they were standing here.” You thought. “Sprite found out about the engagement from someone in town.”

Of course she did.

“Shit.”

“Can you stop doing that?” Sprite asked, pulling the two of you out of your own world.

“Doing what?” You asked.

“The thing you two do?” Sprite explained. “Where you talk to each other in your heads? It’s annoying. We’re standing right here.”

Not even having to look at Druig to know that there would be a slight blush coating his cheeks at being called out for his intimacy with you, the both of you stood there in embarrassed silence.

“You know,” Ajak said, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “I always knew you two would end up together.”

If you thought you had been embarrassed before, you could hardly even bare standing beside Druig now.

“What?” Druig asked.

Ajak clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and laughed.

“Please, Druig,” She said. “I’ve always seen the way you look at her. You look at her as though she created the sun and the stars herself. You may not have been as open with me as Ikaris, but I’m not oblivious, Druig.”

Druig wished more than anything that he had the ability to shut Ajak up in that moment, but he knew it wasn’t even worth the effort.

He also knew that she was right- at least partly.

Druig had never completely admitted to himself that he was in love with you, but he knew he admired you more than anyone else alive and that if it ever came down to it, he would sacrifice his own life for yours. You were everything to him. You were the only consistency in Druig’s life and even though he could explore the vastness of nearly anybody’s mind, you were the only person who had ever made sense to him.

He had never admitted to himself that what he felt for you was more than platonic before, but in the past few months since he had first been called your fiancé, the pieces began to fall into place and Ajak’s own account was even further proof of the truth he was too scared to admit to even himself.

“And you, Y/n,” Ajak continued, raising her hand to your face and brushing your cheek with her thumb. “I could always tell by the way you talked about him. You have so much love in your heart, I don’t think you even realized how much you would talk about him... or defend him. It came naturally to you. Both of you.”

-

“You can go,” Druig finally said as he watched the fires burn in the city below the of you. “You don’t have to force yourself stay with me anymore. You’re free to go.”

Turning your head to the side, you noticed how Druig’s eyes stayed trained on the destruction in the city below as he sat by your side. You watched as the burning flames cast a warm glow against his skin and highlighted the stern features on his face. It almost felt like a poetic end to a centuries long tale, but you were too stubborn and sentimental to let something like that sway your judgement. Being eternal meant you never saw an end, and you weren't about to search for one now.

“I’m not leaving Druig.”

“What don't you understand?” He asked as his eyes fogged over. “You’re free to leave... to live your own life. I don’t need you to stay here.”

You had to admit, it hurt to hear the words that he didn’t need you come from his mouth, but you also understood that it was not from a place of hatred, but one of love.

“Druig, what don’t you understand?” You asked. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t stay with you because of some sense of duty, I stay because I love you and care for you and... and don’t want to imagine a life without you there. You make it worth it, Dru. You make staying on this planet worth it. I’m not staying because I feel like I have to, I’m staying because I want to... if you’ll have me.”

Although he knew others cared for him, Druig had never felt kindness quite like yours. As hard as he attempted to hide it, the thought of you leaving him to navigate the rest of his days on this planet alone terrified him. He tried to push you away for your own sake but as he finally tore his eyes away from the destruction below and set his gaze upon you at his side, he realized that he couldn’t let you go. Even if it was selfish of him, Druig wanted you and that was a fact he couldn’t deny.

Even without peaking inside your head, he could tell just by the sincerity in your eyes that you meant every word. Rather than saying words that he felt didn’t need to be said and pouring his heart out to you over a burning city, Druig only looked at you and nodded.

And just like that, wordlessly, as you set your own head upon his shoulder, your hidden feelings and unspoken promise was written into stone.

-

Neither you nor Druig could find it in yourself to tell Ajak the truth- that your planned nuptials were born of a mutually beneficial plan to survive the time period- so instead you spent the next week listening to Ajak gush about your “destined” relationship over dress shopping and choosing flowers. Every time she told stories about the two of you from centuries ago that she felt sealed your fate, you couldn’t help but feel guilty for lying to her... and eventually... for agreeing to rush into a marriage with someone who didn’t feel the same.

Sure, you had been the one to propose the idea- not thinking much about why the idea appealed to you so much- but as time went on, you felt as though everything finally clicked in your head.

You loved Druig as more than a friend, more than a partner in life- you loved him. You were in love with him. Ajak had thought that Druig treated you as though you created the sun and the stars, but if it came down to it, you would create your own personal universe just for the two of you to thrive.

But, despite all of that, you didn’t believe that Druig felt anything more for you than platonic intimacy.

You couldn’t be more wrong.

Druig had heard plenty of times throughout his long life that some people just seemed destined to meet and it was fate that they would end up together. Druig was never sure how much he believed that, but realizing the love he had for you made him a firm believer.

Everything you did made him melt. People had said that they held a special place for a certain someone in their heart, but he was sure his heart was completely and utterly devoted to you.

When it finally came time for the day of your wedding and he stood in front of the floor length mirror you had created in his quarters, he wasn’t sure what to feel. Druig had realized that he wanted to be called your husband- more deserving of a title like that, he thought, than Ikaris ever was- but he couldn’t escape the feeling that for the rest of the time you spent together there playing husband and wife that you would cringe whenever anyone referred to him as such- as your husband. The thought nearly killed him.

He had never thought himself to be the marrying type, but he was thoroughly convinced he would kill to have you call him your husband with nothing but the genuine kindness you had possessed and presented to him millions of times before.

When he had finally convinced himself to make his way to the altar, he whipped his head towards the door every time it opened, waiting for you to make your appearance on the other side. He hated how anxious he was. Druig was supposed to be calm, collected, unbothered and he couldn’t stand how nervous waiting for you to walk down the aisle made him.

But when you finally did, it was worth it.

He had had his breath taken away by you plenty of times before, but none had quite the same affect as watching you walk down the aisle in a delicate white dress, your eyes meeting his through the snowy mesh of your veil as a violinist played from the other end of the room.

You walked down slowly, Ajak’s arm looped through yours and, unbeknownst to the other, you both wanted so badly for what was happening to be true. To be real. To be a real wedding with the people you cared about most at your side.

When Ajak handed you off to Druig at the altar before taking her own seat, you couldn’t help the nagging feeling at the back of your head that this wasn’t right. You couldn’t allow Druig to marry you for some ruse when you wanted him wholly, completely and honestly to yourself.

When you turned to face him and your hands slipped into his, your heart began to race against your chest so loud you were sure everyone in the room could hear it. When you looked up to meet Druig’s eyes, you saw a kind of sadness in them that you couldn’t fully interpret, but you understood then that no matter how badly you wanted it... you couldn’t go through with marrying Druig. Not like this.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, squeezing his hands as you felt tears prickling in the corners of your eyes.

Druig felt his heart drop to his stomach.

“What is it?” He asked without opening his mouth, too afraid his emotions would get the best of him if he allowed himself to speak, knowing where this was headed.

Glancing at your fellow eternals sat in the aisles behind you with confusion written all over their faces, you turned back to Druig and shook your head, your eyes focused on his.

“I can’t marry you, Dru.” You said, your voice catching in your throat. “Not like this. Not in this way.”

The words that he had been dreading hearing all day finally fell from your lips and he was sure that if he was capable of it, he would’ve passed out then and there.

Still standing in shock, Druig watched as your hand squeezed his and you turned to look at the crowd of eternals behind you before facing him once more.

“I lied.” You said staring up at the ceiling, willing yourself not to cry. “Druig and I had gotten caught alone together and we came up with this plan to fake our engagement so we could stay here in peace. I... I never thought it would get this far, or at least, that I would feel the way I do now when I got up here. But...”

Your gaze fell back on Druig and you could tell he was utterly confused on where you were going with this.

As you admired the way the sunlight peaking in through the mosaic windows cast colorful light against his skin, you tried your hardest to will yourself to say the words you had been preparing ever since you discovered your true feelings for the man in front of you.

“It’s okay.” You heard his shaky voice in your head saying. “You can do it.”

Slipping your hands out of his, you moved them to rest over his clothed chest.

“I love you, Dru.” You confessed, finally finding the courage. “I know I’ve said those words a million times, but this time it’s different. I love you. I love you more than the way the sun loves the moon or Sersi loves Ikarus. I love you more than I’ve loved this planet since the day I've arrived and I love you more than I can even possibly fathom. I want to marry you, Dru. I do. But I want you to want to marry me first.”

In all the time that Druig had been alive, he had never felt the way he had in that moment, and had certainly never been the subject of such an emotional profession of affection like that before.

It had always been said that you were the heart and he was the mind, but as Druig stood there, everything he had ever learned seemed to fall apart as he watched the most amazing woman he had ever met confess her undying love for him. Although he was at a loss for words, he had gained so much more in knowing your love.

He thought of the first moment he had ever laid eyes on you on the Domo and felt his heart surge with joy knowing how much the two of you had grown from then to now. He smiled to himself thinking of how innocent and naive he was then and that he never could’ve imagined he would find himself here, in this moment, but he wouldn’t change it for a single thing.

“I love you too.”

When you heard those words fall from his lips, you stared up at him in shock only to find his loving, smiling face staring down at you.

You watched as Druig took the edges of your veil delicately in between his fingertips and pulled it away from your face and behind your head. Moving his hands from the veil to your cheeks, he cupped your face and pressed his forehead against yours, the smile never leaving his face for even a second.

“I love you.” Druig said, meeting your eyes as your hands reached up to hold his. “And I want to marry you if you’ll still have me.”

“You do?” You laughed, so lost in complete bliss.

“For you?” He asked, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “I do.”

The ceremony passed by in such a complete blur with both you and your now husband so lost in each other that even the officiant could barely hold your attention at your own wedding. Although your relationship began in the most unexpected of circumstances, you wouldn’t change a thing because as long as you had Druig by your side, you were happy and that was all that mattered.

For your husband, however, he found that he loved the sound of calling you his wife coming from his mouth so much that he would remind you every time your lips met his of your commitment to one another. Druig’s favorite moments were when you laughed into his kiss as he told you that if he could go back in time, he would tell himself to pull it together and confess his love for you earlier because there was no greater feeling to him than being your husband, your partner, and even though your life was endless, he was sure he would never be able to get enough of it.

#druig #druig x reader #druig fanfiction #druig imagine #druig one shot #druig blurb #druig drabble #druig fluff #druig angst #eternals fanfiction #eternals x reader