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calummss · 5 months

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having a baby with marshall mathers/eminem

masterlist

headcanon includes timeline, pregnancy and after birth bullet points

for the purpose of this headcanon the baby is called romy

timeline

i imagine marshall to also be young in this universe — 24 years old, can barely keep a job down. you work multiple jobs to pull through college. becoming parents was the last thing on your mind

finding out you were pregnant was a shock; as much sex as you two had, you always made sure to be protected, so when you suddenly realised your period was late and took a pregnancy test your heart literally dopped

you literally dropped everything, crammed the test into your pockets and marched through the frosty detroit morning to the restaurant marshall was currently employed under and asked to see him

marshall assured you that whatever conclusion you came to would be right and would support you no matter what

that definitely was the biggest weight lifted off your shoulders—the reassurance that marshall would stick with you if you decided to keep the baby

it was definitely a tough decision and took you almost two weeks to completely make up your mind

you ofc decided to keep the baby (otherwise whats the point of this headcanon?)

marshall promised to that he would be by your side and support his new family

literally 5 seconds after you told him you wanted to keep the baby, he pulled out a ring and said ‘thank god cause this is just a good excuse to marry you’

and we all know that having a child in marriage is far easier (but marshall also loved you and would’ve married you anyways)

baby mathers would be born on december 25th aka christmas because it would just be the best christmas present

what it would include (during pregnancy)

i feel like marshall is the type to be extra careful with you; offering his arm or hand when walking down steps, not letting you carry heavy things, making sure you cannot be hurt in whatever it is you are doing. and if any of his friends did something harmless but he saw it as a danger, he would be so pissed off

i also think it’s very possible for him to call your unborn baby ‘baby mathers; little slim’ something sweet that builds a connection

i imagine marshall to be very helpful with things around the house or other things that need to be done but he’ll definitely be pissed a few times because even though he understands that you’re supposed to relax and take care of yourself and the baby, he feels an extra burden so maybe he snaps once or twice? he immediately apologises but it’s a lot for a man who constantly takes new jobs and tries to be the best husband and father

i 100% see him talking to your stomach. he’ll talk to his daughter, catch her up on life and what he’s doing

‘hello baby, it’s daddy. mommy only has a few months left before we finally get to meet you. don’t take too long though because mama is startin’ to get very tired. the doctor said that you’re due for christmas. now daddy isn’t one who belives in destiny but you my little lady are goin’ to be our little christmas present. daddy has no money right now and that makes him feel like a bum but he’ll work extra hard to give you everything you ever want… if you ever want a unicorn you just come and let daddy know, okay?’

i have this gut feeling that he tries to hide his feelings. during this time marshall is so overwhelmed. he’s happy to welcome his daughter, stressed because he doesn’t know how long his job will last and how much money he can put down. you’ll find him crying in the kitchen one night after you wake up and couldn’t feel him beside you. you let him cry alone knowing he needed alone time

marshall will try to honour your cravings and buy you anything you want. if he’s short on money or can’t leave he will ask deshaun to swing by (and shaun cannot say no to you)

the d12 group will 100% pledge allegiance to baby mathers!! like you just now that as soon as you hang out together they’re gonna talk about how baby mathers will be protected at all costs, no one’s gonna f*ck with her etc. it’s like they’re her bodyguards ready to get at anyone’s neck who would even dare take a wrong glance at her

marshall’s arm would drape over your stomach when you two sleep at night. his arm would go from lying on a flat surface to a montain but he didn’t seem to mind. it was a habit he picked up

when you get closer to your due date this man would be stressed!! i mean stressed! any call out (shit, fuck, no, yes, what, literally the list goes on and on) would have a panting marshall by your side in less than a few seconds. he’s just waiting for your water to break. he’s extra careful during the last weeks because at this point you’re also stressed and just want the pregnancy to be done with

so when your water does finally break you know the bag is packed and in less than 5 minutes you’re on your way to the hospital, i just know it

extra: during labour he’s so supportive: holding your hand, motivating you, but deep inside he’s so much more stressed than you are lmao

what it would include (after birth)

he would not be able to let go of her. any time you turn away and look back he’d have little romy in his arms, literally hearts in his eyes as he stares down at her

you both decided on breastfeeding but you bought formula so that he could feed her and seeing him holding her in his arms feeding her the bottle makes your heart skip a beat. it allowed him to be as close to her as you were during feedings

he is absolutely obsessed with her hands. he loves how her baby hand wraps around his finger, and when she’s older the feeling of her small hand in his as it engulfs hers

plus he loves carrying her. he just loves the closeness. he will carry his baby girl anywhere and everywhere

marshall would be so proud to show her off to his friends. and if she wasn’t with him he’d find any reason to talk about her. they could be talking about the best ways to make a drink and he’d just start rambling about baby romy. some of them playfully roll their eyes but understand where he’s coming from

he’ll definitely be overwhelmed the first months when she wakes up crying in the middle of the night because it just adds to the stress but will never openly complain about it. he toughens up and goes to her room to calm her down

he’d have an addiction with baby clothes and browsing around stores literally fighting himself wether or not he actually needs to buy certain things

he’ll only address his daughter as ‘baby’ to the point you tell him to start calling her romy because she’d probably start to believe that baby was her name

marshall would definitely beat himself up trying to live up to his own expectations as a father. having no father to look up to, he tries to do his daughter justice but feels like he fails her in certain moments. those moments similar to those during pregnancy, he would sit alone in the kitchen just thinking about how to make things right

he’d insist on bringing baby romy EVERYWHERE. this man cannot stay away from her for longer than a few hours. she’s his serotonin, his lifeline

he’d have a piggy bank for her where he would put a 1/4 of his pay into so that she would be able to buy things she wanted

romy (and you) would serve as his main inspiration for music and also motivate him to work hard to make it out of greensbriar

after his rise to fame, despite his busy work schedule, marshall tries to spend as much time with her as possible

he tries to do few shows so that he’s not away from her and you for too long

with the rise of fame, his income flooded in. marshall buys her almost everything she wants. not stuff she doesn’t need but a lot. he’s not spoiling her in the way you think. he just wants her to have everything he didn’t have and make her happy. and if buying her a fourth barbie doll makes his baby smile then he will buy her that fourth barbie doll!!

though romy serves as his drive and motivation and inspiration for many of his songs, he tries to keep her out of the spotlight and out of hollywood. as soon as he’s done recording, attending award shows etc. he’s back on a plane to detroit to see his baby the only lady he adores (see what i did? ofc you did.)

he’d just be such an amazing father which you remind him of every day. he still doubts a lot but he’s starting to know his impact on her life

also romy comes before anything else!! daddy-daughter-day at kindergarten? sorry dre but this recording will be postponed. tour dates fall onto romy’s first day of school? yeah that tour night ain’t happening—i think you get what i’m trying to say. nothing will stop him from experiencing milestones and important memories in her life and in his life as a father (learned what not to do from his father)

the older she gets the more sentimental he becomes. seeing his baby grow up makes him sad and proud at the same time. she’s not only his whole world but she is the reason for him breathing and continuing in life even if it seems that life doesn’t want him to win

you made romy a cd with all the songs dedicated or about her from her daddy so when she’s in her room playing with dolls whatever, his songs are on repeat and the sight of it could make him fall to his knees (metaphorically speaking)

when romy turns 4 and older she’ll randomly make him watch her self choreographed dances or sing along to his songs and you best believe he is smiling and clapping after EVERY performance his baby girl gives!! he’s her number 1 fan. he even encourages her to show his friends and you already now they’re hyping up their little lady

and when romy is 15, oh she’s gonna rap him some of his songs and he’ll have the same reaction. maybe even share the stage for one song? who knows?

marshall is known for his rap and not for his cooking for a reason but he has few recipes like pancakes or foods he grew up with that are staples and enjoys cooking them for romy (she has her dad’s tastebuds 100%)

when romy has nightmares he’ll let her sleep in your bed for as long as she needs to feel safe again (deep down he never wants his baby to leave)

#eminem x you #eminem x y/n #eminem headcanon #eminem x reader #eminem imagine #eminem imagines #eminem fanfic #eminem fanfiction #eminem #marshall mathers x y/n #marshall mathers x you #marshall mathers headcanon #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers imagines #marshall mathers imagine #marshall mathers fanfiction #marshall mathers

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 2 months

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The Dangers of Hope Ch. 6

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Nothing major.

Word Count: 3,308

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: Hope you enjoy this chapter! I'm getting excited to finish up the series. Four chapter left and so far it seems like the story is staying on track, and it shouldn't go over. (But you never know! 😁) Thanks so much to everyone who has been reading, liking, commenting and reblogging this series! It means SO much! ❤️

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

Y/N felt her heart beat triple time as she watched Dean’s face return to the stony granite it had been when she’d first come to camp. Over the last couple of months she'd begun to see him soften slightly; there were even a few moments where he’d seemed on the verge of smiling. His eyes had eventually lost their frosty hardness, and their look of perpetual suspicion.

But both were back with a vengeance now.

She shook her head at him again and tried to understand what he was talking about. “What kind of psychic am I?” She asked, the question conjuring up an urge to laugh. The idea of her having psychic abilities was laughable to her. But she didn’t think Dean would appreciate the humor around it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dean. I haven’t done anything, and I certainly have no psychic powers.”

Dean said nothing, just shuffled sideways towards the door without taking his eyes off of her. Y/N took a few steps towards him, but froze when his hand dropped to the pistol on his thigh and he hissed at her. “Stay back.”

She felt Emma come up and hide behind her leg and her daughter's renewed fear made anger start to burn in Y/N’s chest. In the last few weeks that Dean had been coming to dinner, Emma had been gradually losing her fear of him, offering him shy smiles and even bringing him one of her books and asking him to read to her.

But now Y/N could feel her tremble slightly and frustration flared in her. What was Dean doing? And why? Because her mother had died in a fire when she was a baby? What kind of logic was that? Where was all this insanity coming from?

Dean walked to the entrance of the cabin and called to Patrick. When the soldier appeared in the doorway Dean spoke to him brusquely.

“Go get Castiel.”

Patrick looked back and forth between Dean and Y/N and frowned at the obvious tension. “Sir?” He questioned.

“Now.” Dean said with finality. As the man turned to leave Dean spoke again. “And send Risa in here.”

Dean continued to stare at Y/N, keeping his attention intensely fixated on her, the way he’d done during those first few days she’d been there. When Risa came into the cabin she frowned; like Patrick, she could clearly sense the hostility in the room.

When Dean saw her he nodded towards Emma. “Take the kid.”

Panic suffused Y/N and she began shaking her head. Emma clutched tightly to her leg and began crying and whimpering softly. She shook her head and buried her face in Y/N’s hip. “No, mommy.” She hiccuped softly.

“Take her.” Dean said quietly but firmly. There was a pause for a moment as Risa’s eyes lingered on Emma and Y/N before she shook her head.

“No.”

Dean turned his head slowly to look at his soldier, his expression incredulous and furious at the same time.

“Excuse me?” He said softly, and Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine.

Risa looked away for a moment, clearly intimidated by Dean's anger. But when she looked back at him, her brow was crinkled and she still questioned his demand.

“Why?” She asked.

“Because I gave you an order, soldier.” was Dean's softly spoken reply.

Risa stared at Dean a moment longer before she took a deep breath and then exhaled loudly and forcefully, turning and walking towards Y/N and Emma.

Emma started crying in earnest and Y/N knew that no matter what, she had to try and ease her daughter’s fear. She got down on her haunches and smoothed back Emma’s fly away hair. “Oh baby, it’s okay.” She smiled brightly at her, desperately trying to erase all her own fear and anxiety about what was happening.

“Dean and I are just gonna be here for a little while trying to figure out some boring grown up stuff.” Y/N’s happy smile seemed to be fooling Emma slightly because her tears were slowing and she sniffled.

Y/N kissed her cheek. “Why don’t you let Risa take you to see Keisha and Julianne. It will be so much more fun to play with them for a while, rather than staying here and listening to boring grownups talking. And I’ll come pick you up later, okay? I promise.”

She felt awful making a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep, but she wanted to believe she would be picking her up later, and she wanted Emma to lose the look of panic in her eyes.

She nodded towards Risa. “Go on now, and have fun playing. I’ll see you soon.” She kissed her forehead and gave her another bright smile.

Emma nodded, still obviously unsure, but willing to believe what Y/N was telling her.

Y/N kept her happy smile in place until Emma was out the door and then her mask dropped and she looked at Dean, her eyes accusing.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked quietly.

Before he could answer, Castiel walked through the door. Like the others, he seemed to notice the tension immediately and questioned it.

“Dean? What’s going on?”

Dean motioned for Y/N to move backwards. “Sit down.” He said, with a gesture towards the folding chair she’d been sitting on to read the story. When she did, Dean turned his head towards Castiel, but never took his eyes off of her.

“I know why she’s immune.”

Y/N felt her stomach lurch. “You do?” She asked, some of her anger burning away from pure shock. It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Though she still had no idea what this had to do with her mother’s death.

But evidently it was connected, because the angel’s eyes widened in disbelief as Dean continued. “Her mother died in a fire when she was a baby.”

It was to her that Castiel looked for an answer. “Is that true, Y/N?” She nodded. “My God.”

“Will someone please explain what my mother dying has to do with anything?” Y/N asked with immense frustration.

But the men ignored her for the moment. Dean was finally looking at the angel properly and he nodded at the questions in his blue eyes.

“Yeah, she’s a psychic kid. She’s immune, just like Sam was.”

“Who is Sam?” Y/N asked, but was ignored again.

Castiel was shaking his head. “Maybe…” He looked back towards her briefly. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”

Dean scoffed. “Come on Cas! This is way too big a coincidence to be…coincidental.”

Cas nodded reluctantly and then frowned. “But, if she's psychic...then what’s her gift?”

Both men turned to stare at her, and Dean spoke softly. “That’s a real good question. Because she could be doing anything to us, mind controlling us, or manipulating us to only see what she wants us to.”

Y/N finally did let out a bark of laughter. “Are you insane? You think I’m mind controlling you? If I had the power of mind control, I’d definitely make you be nicer, or I’d make you let me go, because this whole thing is ridiculous! And you still haven’t explained why on earth you think I’m psychic and why my mother’s death is involved.”

Dean stared at her for a long time, and Cas just watched him. Finally Dean spoke and his voice was calm and even, as though he was just telling her a story while they sat around her table eating dinner.

“Ten years before you were born, your mother or father made a deal with a yellow-eyed demon. They got something they desperately wanted and he got permission to enter their house. When you were six months old he came into your room, slit himself open and bled into your mouth. Your mother likely interrupted him somehow, and he killed her and burnt the place down around her.”

Y/N felt her stomach turn at Dean’s words. He had to be insane, there was no way it could be true. Demon blood? A demon killed her mother? She shook her head.

“How on earth could you possibly know any of this?”

“Because it’s exactly what happened to my mom, and my brother. The demon fed him his blood, killed my mom, and when Sam turned 22 he started having psychic visions. And he wasn’t the only psychic kid. There were a bunch of them, and without fail every single one of them had powers and every single one of them went bad.”

His jaw clenched and he folded his arms over his chest. “So, if you’re gonna sit there and try and tell me that you’re the only one that never had the blood take hold, the only one who managed to avoid being triggered when you turned 22? Well, then I know you’re lying. So, I’ll ask you one more time.”

His eyes were chips of ice once again. “What can you do? And what have you done already?”

Y/N blew out a puff of exasperation. “I can’t do anything, do you hear me? I am not psychic! I have no powers!”

Cas stepped forward, putting himself between the two of them. “Okay, Y/N, have you ever felt something, something that made you different from other people? Like,” he snapped his fingers, “the ability to connect easily with people maybe? You seem to make friends quickly, people respond to you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “So being a nice person makes me a psychic now?”

Cas shook his head. “No, but maybe it’s more than you being nice, maybe people can’t help but like you. It could be involuntary on both their part and yours. Like some sort of psychic charisma”

Cas seemed to like his idea, his expression saying that he thought he’d figured it out.

But Y/N was again shaking her head. “No, look, that’s not true. I’ve had lots of people not like me, I’ve had people try to kill me in my sleep just to steal my blanket, I’ve had men attack me just for…well, for being a woman. And I can promise you I didn’t get away from those people by smiling at them and asking nicely.”

Y/N felt the old fears rise in her as she remembered the panic and terror of those moments and so many more like them. To think that she had some kind of mind control or psychic abilities and hadn’t used them then, was laughable.

Cas looked slightly defeated and Dean pushed him aside. “The fact is though, that you could be lying through your teeth, you could be saying anything to knock us off your scent.”

Y/N scowled at him and then stood up. Dean stepped back, and yanked Cas back by his shoulder. “Sit down.” He ordered her but she shook her head.

“This is ridiculous, Dean. You have to know it is.” She took a step towards him. “What about our…our friendship? What about what happened last night?”

Dean’s eyes just got colder and his voice was deep and demanding. “I said, sit down. Now!”

“Dean.” Y/N began and stepped closer again, reaching out to him. But she stopped dead and dropped her hands to her sides as Dean pulled his gun from its holster in the span of a breath.

“I said get back, and sit down.” He said, slow and deliberate.

Y/N looked at the gun pointed at her, looked at Dean holding it, his hand not wavering an inch, and she was suddenly, unbearably sad. She stared at him and knew her heartbreak was plastered on her face, she was bad at concealing emotions.

She nodded slowly and moved back to sit in the chair. She had lied to Emma; she wouldn’t be picking her up tonight.

***

The night passed just as her first night in camp had; with her sleeping lightly, troubled by disturbing dreams and waking to find Dean watching her almost unblinkingly. He took her to the outhouses on his own this time, and she wasn’t in chains so, that much had changed. But his hand hovering over his gun the whole way there and back definitely felt binding, and kept her locked in place just ahead of him.

When they got back to the cabin Dean walked over to the door and said something quietly to whoever was just outside. A few minutes later Theresa arrived with breakfast. She looked at Y/N back in her spot on the floor by the table leg and her young face creased in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” She asked Y/N with a look thrown at Dean.

Y/N tried to smile and put her student’s mind at ease. “Nothing, sweetie. Just trying to sort something out. Tell your mom thank you for the breakfast, but I’m not hungry. You should take that back to her so it doesn’t go to waste.”

“Eat it.” Dean’s voice rang out with authority and Theresa took a step closer to Y/N.

Y/N didn’t bother looking at him. Instead she gave Theresa a reassuring nod and the girl bent to set the tray on the ground. “It’s okay, thank you. I’ll probably be hungry later.”

But she wasn’t. She felt guilty enough about wasting food to try and swallow some down, but it just stuck in her throat and she gagged on it and spit it out. At lunch Brandy brought the food tray and she was slightly more vocal with her questions than her daughter was.

“What the hell is going on here?” She asked Dean. “All the parents are confused and worried. They said you ordered them out of here yesterday and no one has seen Y/N since; Emma’s back with Monique.”

She set the lunch tray on the table Y/N leaned against and bent to pick up the uneaten breakfast tray. She was looking at Y/N, but still addressing Dean when she spoke. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing that concerns you.” Dean answered brusquely.

Brandy stood to her full height and her large chest rose and fell with indignation. “Since when do you keep me out of the loop?”

Dean frowned at her and his voice was laced with annoyance and anger. “Since this isn’t something that requires your attention. And I’d like to know, exactly when did everyone start questioning my orders?”

Brandy shrugged, seemingly unfazed by his foreboding tone. “I guess when your orders started to seem stupid.”

Y/N’s eyes grew round, beyond impressed at the woman’s boldness and nerve. Dean seemed much less impressed by it though, staring the woman down with a furious expression. But Brandy kept his gaze and never wavered. Finally Dean spoke through gritted teeth.

“Take away the tray, and send someone else with the supper tray.”

Brandy stayed still until Dean took a step towards her and yelled, “That is an order!”

Brandy shook her head, but turned towards the door as she answered. “Don’t forget, boss, not all of us are your soldiers. Some of us follow you because you’ve been a good leader.” She paused at the door and looked back at him. “Don’t fuck that up.”

She walked out, leaving behind an electric buzz of tension in the air. Dean turned back to her and the muscle in his jaw was still jumping.

“Eat.”

But Y/N shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit!” Dean said bitingly. “You haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. You have to be hungry. I don’t know what kind of hunger strike, sympathy ploy you’re going for here, but it’s not gonna work. Now, eat!” He ended on a shout and something snapped inside Y/N.

She jumped to her feet and yelled back. “This isn’t a sympathy ploy, you bloody dumbass! I can’t eat the food because it tastes disgusting to me and it chokes me. My stomach is in knots and I feel sick! And do you know why that is? Because you keep threatening to kill me!”

Dean thundered towards her, stopping barely two feet from her. “Yeah, and I’m not gonna have you starve to death before I get the chance! Now eat!”

Y/N threw her arms wide. “What the hell do you care if I starve! It’ll just save you a bullet!”

She took a deep breath, feeling herself unraveling but unable to stop. “You have me locked up in this place, again! You think I’m some kind of horrible monster. Again!” Her voice broke. “You have taken my child away from me! Again! So don’t pretend to give a shit about my fucking health and wellbeing!” She reached out to furiously smash the food tray to the ground.

Silence descended and Y/N breathed hard and heavy through her nose, her anger carrying her through a little longer before she turned away from him and buried her face in her hands, quiet, uncontrollable sobs shaking her.

By the time she managed to get herself under some kind of control, she turned around to see that Dean was gone. She looked around the room as though he might be hiding in plain sight, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Y/N walked over and fell down onto the chair he'd sat in all night. She felt exhausted and deflated. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, but it felt like ages before Cas walked through the door. He looked solemn and he nodded at her.

“Dean says that you should go.”

Y/N felt her stomach drop. “He’s kicking us out?”

Cas held up a hand. “Oh, no! Not…he didn’t say for you to go from camp. I mean that he said for you to go from here. Go get your daughter, go back to your tent. That kind of go.”

Y/N shook her head, more confused than ever. “I don’t understand. Now, suddenly he doesn’t think I’m some kind of psychic menace?”

Cas shrugged. “Psychic yes, but menace no. He said, and I quote, ‘She was pissed enough to take off my head if she could have, and she didn’t, so she can’t.’” He shook his head. “Occasionally his thought process is hard to follow.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, you’re telling me.”

She didn’t waste anymore time right then, though, contemplating Dean’s bizarre behavior; she was free to go and she ran to get Emma, apologizing for taking longer than she said she would to come get her.

Emma forgave her easily for not keeping her promise, relief clear in her big, deep cerulean eyes. They spent the evening cuddling in the tent; Y/N read her a dozen books and played clapping games with her until Emma’s eyes were shining again, and no more fear or worry clouded them.

At bedtime she sang her a song and Emma drifted off to sleep happily; Y/N found no such easy reprieve. She laid awake for hours trying to understand Dean and the way he thought. He’d been so angry, so sure of her wickedness and evil. And then, just like that, because she’d exploded in anger, he let her go?

How did that man’s mind work? And how did he see her now? Harmless psychic freak? Or someone he’d still have to keep a close eye on?

She shook her head. It didn’t matter, he’d made himself perfectly clear on one thing, the relationship she’d thought they had, the friendship that she’d hoped would grow into more had meant nothing to him. The kiss they’d shared had meant nothing.

She meant nothing. He couldn't have acted the way he did if he cared about her at all.

She needed to remember that going forward and not let her heart get entangled so easily.

From now on, she needed to keep her distance.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @akshi8278 @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @safiyas-world

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96 @hobby27

#dean winchester #endverse!dean #endverse!dean x reader #dean x reader #dean x y/n #endverse!dean x y/n #endverse #endverse!dean series #dean winchester fan fic #the dangers of hope

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mailjeevasfan · 1 year

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HELLO! here's a cookie to go along with my ask! 🍪 could i ask for hcs about how the death note characters would be if they had a crush? (the choice of characters are completely up to you! go wild!)

ofc!!!! no specific gender stated for reader

-light, l lawliet, mello, matt, misa, matsuda, near (first serious post hoping i did good)

-death note x reader

༺♡༻

how death note characters would act if they had a crush ❦

light yagami - could probably vary depending on whether it’s pre or post finding the death note.

-pre : would be pretty chill. would still treat you the same way as any of his other friends but would also have confidence, meaning he would be likely to make the first move and ask you out.

-post : would be a little more cocky. would still be likely to make the first move but would be way more forward and maybe even blunt with it. i mean he sees himself as a genuine god so it’s not implausible lmao

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l lawliet - would try to ignore it and would be very unlikely to make a move. he’d just continue to focus on his work seeing as he does have a very busy life, all while still hoping that u liked him and that you’d make a move (as much as he’d probably hate it lol). if you did ask him out or flirt or something he’d be kind of flustered (seeing as he hasn’t been in this situation very often that’s for sure) but would recuperate and try to negotiate the situation tactfully. eventually he’d understand how things work and he’d become a lot more affectionate

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mello - would probably be pretty frosty and try to avoid his feelings, if you made the first move he’d probably remain the same but go along with it. i feel like he’d be naturally protective over you all the time but at this moment in time you’d see something different in his behaviour. eventually he’d open up a little more and you’d see a realer side to him.

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matt - would be remarkably chill. i feel that we collectively forget about the lack of social skills this guy has however he’d be a cutie. he’d probably try and flirt a little but wouldn’t ask you out on a date per se. he’d just causally try and spent some more time with you, like playing video games together or going on a 3am snack run or some stupid shit. you’d most likely eventually notice the change in his behaviour towards you

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misa amane - would be super open and honest about it. she knows that she’s famous and pretty etc but she isn’t necessarily cocky she’s just a good type of confident. she’d be so adorable in going about confessing and would probably get you some kind of gift like flowers or something and would ask you out for coffee or lunch. she’d probably be very physically affectionate too even before she asked you out

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matsuda touta - very easily flustered. usually he’d be his usual self, pretty sweet and generally kind but you’d deeeefinitely notice a change in him. you’d realise pretty quickly. despite his nervousness, i do think he’d be likely to ask you out and you already know he’d be so adorable about it. after his anxious period passed he’d be extremely affectionate and would always try to be a gentleman

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near - would be strangely anxious for such an unemotional person. similarly to L, he isn’t in this situation often, so he’d be unaware of what to do about it. i don’t think he’d be as avoidant as L but i also don’t think he’d make the first move. he’d hope that you will and if you did he’d be happy but he’d still take a while to warm up from his usual stoic personality

#death note #death note x reader #mail jeevas x reader #l lawliet x reader #light yagami x reader #misa amane x reader #mello x reader #matsuda x reader #matsuda touta x reader #mihael keehl x reader #matt x reader #l x reader #light x reader #misa x reader #near x reader #nate river x reader

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windtowee · 8 months

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Muzan, douma and Akaza & Urogi if possible, with a harpy reader who has laid an egg? ( I'm sorry if this is a bit weird, i just think it would be interesting.) the nest would be a bunch of pillows as reader would sit on it (gently, ofc) then, the egg hatches and the bby looks both like reader and their darling lover <33

Tw! Children, cussing, implied death, Romantic Afab! harpy! Reader A/n: this has been strange yet interesting concept also I didn’t do Urogi because I suck at trying to write him

Muzan

He’s very protective of you and the egg as soon as it comes out

He’s actually quite curious about how you’re kind do you once a egg is fertilized

So he keeps a close watch on you two

He makes sure the nest is the right temperature and the right amount of comfortable

whenever he’s not with you, which is like 1% of the time he mixtures that either upper moon, one or upper moon three watches over you

Not upper moon two.. we don’t like to talk about him

Once the child has been hatched, Muzan is Proud that the child looks like both of you

Speaking of upper moon two Douma

The clingy of this man has been times by 100

He just is over the moon knowing that you have his child

He’s always talking to the egg no matter the time

He’s gonna be carrying the egg in one of those, baby slinging things that moms wear

He’s absolutely blabbering to all of the upper moons about you and the egg

He makes sure that no harm comes to you and the egg or else a frosty hell is gonna be raised

As soon as the child hatched, he’s just all over the little one. It’s very similar to a grandmother with her first grandchild

Akaza

He simply doesn’t know how to react but is overly cautious about you and the egg

He’s very similar to a mama bear

The nest is always full of soft, clean warm blankets. They’re warm like they just came out of the dryer

He actually wants to try sitting on the egg

He’s reading all of the parenting books and all of the books about Harpy’s

He awkwardly talks to the egg, because he doesn’t know that the child can hear him of not

Once the child has hatched, he is immediately all over them and baby talking them, telling them that they’re gonna be the strongest

#muzan x reader #douma x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #akaza x reader

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mouschiwrites · 3 months

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hiii can i req prompt "9 & 16" for the event with lloyd :3 congrats on 300!!! (i dont rlly have any scenarios in mind sorry :( )

Yes ofc!! Inspired by my love of winter scenery yet hatred of the cold,, hope this turned out okay!!

Word count: 1.4k

Ninjago - 9. “You’re beautiful.” and 16. “You have no idea how cute you are.” (Lloyd) (300 follower event)

It was more than cold outside. With the sun hidden behind thick, dark clouds that promised snow, the world was deprived of whatever warmth might have been permitted in the harsh winter. Frost crept up the windows of the Bounty, yet as you looked out the blurry glass, you felt compelled to venture out into the frozen wasteland.

Donning your thickest winter gear, you stepped outside and down the ladder. You realized that this was no wasteland at all; the evergreen forest in which you were grounded was gorgeous. Tufts of deep green needles accented the blanket of white snow draped across the landscape, and when you paused, you could hear a stream bubbling somewhere.

You ignored the way the air nipped at your face, smiling to yourself in complete bliss unburdened by the cold.

You heard the crunching of snow behind you, and you looked over your shoulder to see Lloyd, bundled up in his winter gear. He approached you with a smile, reaching out a gloved hand to hold yours. Without saying a word, you both began your trek through the snowy woods.

Lloyd let you take the lead, so you decided to follow the sound of the creek. It was difficult at first to discern the noise over two pairs of boots creaking through the snow, but as you went on the sound gradually overpowered the noise. You rounded a large rock coated in snow at the top and dipped in frost at the bottom, tinting the wet black stone a softer grayish hue, and there it was.

The black water cascaded over stones of a similar shade, white bubbling torrents streaking the water as it rushed along. You squatted down to examine the water, trying to see something through the darkness.

As your face drew closer to the stream, the blackness seemed to be more of a dark greenish blue, and you could indeed see pebbles in the shallow water by the bank. You pulled off a glove and reached inside, gasping at the freezing temperature. You felt around the bank quickly, looking for a nice flat stone.

“What are you doing?” Lloyd wondered aloud, still standing upright behind you.

In answer you held up an excellent skipping stone, and in a moment Lloyd knew what you were about to do.

You tossed the stone, frowning when it plopped straight into the water without skipping once. Lloyd let out a little ooh and gave your shoulder a sympathetic pat. “Second time’s the charm?”

You shook your head, yanking your glove back on. “Second time’s the one I get frostbite. That water is cold!”

You came up to your feet and held out your hand, waiting for Lloyd to grab it before you set off again.

You decided to follow the stream, appreciating the quiet rushing noise. Looking at the water made your fingers, which were still a little wet inside your glove, feel cold, so you looked virtually everywhere else.

While your gaze was directed up at the trees, Lloyd was looking at the stream. As his eyes traced the banks and the water flowing in sculpted curves around rocks and depressions in the riverbed, he suddenly spotted a little patch of green.

It was right where the bank met the snow that covered the forest floor: just a little patch of frosty green grass, with a single purple flower poking out the side closest to the water. As you approached, Lloyd suddenly stooped down to pluck it.

You looked at him, having felt the motion through your locked hands. You sent him an inquisitive look, perking up your eyebrow. He was smiling hugely when he straightened himself again, and between his forefinger and thumb was a little flower, coated gracefully in frost.

Your eyes went wide, marveling at the sight. The frost made it look like it was coated in crystals. Lloyd let you look at it for a moment before reaching up to your face and tucking it behind your ear.

His gloved hand cupped your cheek. He looked between you and the flower, his eyes finally anchoring on yours, looking straight into your soul with nothing but pure admiration.

“You’re beautiful.”

It was the first thing he’d said in a while, and the sound of his voice seemed just as natural as the din of the water gushing behind him. Still, it caught you by surprise, and your cheeks were suddenly warm.

You smiled, switching your grip on his hand to a more intimate grasp in the crook of his elbow. You clung to his side, leaning your head against his shoulder as you proceeded on your walk. This proved to be an excellent idea; not only was the proximity making your hearts fuzzy, but it was also keeping your bodies warm, which was becoming increasingly important the longer you were outside.

Just as you had suspected, the clouds began to shed snow. You looked up to watch the fluffy flakes float down, mesmerized by their delicate dances from the heavens to the ground.

You paused your walk to stare, and out of the corner of your eye you saw Lloyd’s head turning upwards, too. You laughed when you noticed that his tongue was sticking out. He was trying to catch a snowflake on it, bobbing his head this way and that in hopes of getting one.

“You have no idea how cute you are.”

He side-eyed you, the corner of his mouth turning upwards in a smile, but he kept at his task. You decided to join him, dashing left and right to catch the sparse flakes.

You had come apart to hunt snowflakes independently, but you suddenly crashed back together when you both dove for the same one. You tumbled onto the snow, tangling your limbs as you fell.

Laughter erupted from both of your mouths. You giggled until your bellies were sore and your lungs were aching, but you didn’t really feel compelled to get up until the snow started to soak through your pants. You seemed to notice it at the same time; your faces suddenly sobered and you looked straight at each other.

In a wordless exchange you had decided that it was time to head back. Lloyd got up first, brushing himself off brusquely before extending a hand to help you up.

You started to walk back, but Lloyd was lingering behind. You got a few yards away before you had to turn around to check on him, and you found him digging through the snow, bending at the waist to do so.

You were about to ask what he was doing when he suddenly sprang back up and jogged over to you. Pinched in his fingers was the flower he had given you, snowflakes spotting the still-frosty purple petals. He grinned hugely as he tucked it behind your ear and pecked you on the cheek.

“Couldn’t forget that,” he explained, hooking your arms together and marching along. You smiled fondly, the feeling of the icy stem strangely comforting against your ear.

When you got back to the Bounty it was just about blizzarding, and you were both holding your arms above your heads to protect your faces; a futile effort that just resulted in your forearms being peppered in even more flakes than they would have gotten at your sides.

You let out a long breath when you were finally enveloped in the warmth of the Bounty, and you fairly ripped off your snow-soaked layers, abandoning them in a heap by the door while you sought out somewhere to bundle up with a blanket.

Lloyd had a similar idea, but he first went to the kitchen. You found a place on the couch, immediately throwing together a nest of blankets and burying yourself in it. You called out to Lloyd to let him know where you were, and in a moment he came scurrying in with two steaming mugs.

“Hot cocoa?” You perked up hopefully.

Lloyd bent down to kiss your forehead, nodding. You opened your nest for him to crawl inside, taking both the mugs while he adjusted himself.

He held out his hands to take his own mug, but you brought them both close to your chest.

“No,” you pouted, “these things are warm.”

But you had to relent to Lloyd’s puppy-dog eyes, which he cruelly whipped out right at that moment. With a sigh you surrendered his mug, wrapping your other hand around your own to absorb its warmth.

As outside, neither of you spoke. You basked in the reverence of peace, remembering the wonders you’d seen outside yet appreciating the atmosphere of your current surroundings. There was only bliss, and cocoa, and the feeling of increasingly warm skin against your own as you lay nestled together with your love.

Thanks so much for participating in our event!! And thanks for reading, take care sweet duckies <33

(divider by saradika)

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago x reader #lloyd garmadon #lloyd garmadon x reader #lloyd x reader

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theliterarybeldam · 10 months

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Love Beyond Time - Chapter 1: A Fateful Encounter

It's finally here y'all! Please enjoy something that caused a lot of sweat and tears for me ❤️😭

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in this story besides my OFC and potential future OCs. This is purely a work of enjoyment.

Series Masterlist

The heart of London pulsated with energy as Lady Elizabeth Pierce, a woman of resplendent African descent, emerged from her stately home onto the bustling streets. Her radiant skin, as rich as the coffee beans of Ethiopia, contrasted beautifully with her elegant white dress. Her tightly coiled hair was tastefully pinned up, revealing her regal countenance and sparkling hazel eyes. Her mannerisms echoed a bygone era, a grace and elegance that seemed out of place in the current world.

The secret behind her timeless beauty was known to only a few. Time, for Lady Pierce, was a frozen river, her life a pause button that had been hit in her late twenties. Like Adaline Bowman from a story she once read, Elizabeth too did not age. Her tale was not of fiction but her own reality, woven through the warp and weft of over two centuries.

Lady Elizabeth Pierce was born in the heart of Ethiopia, a land teeming with lush flora and fauna, hidden from the world, housing secrets as old as time itself. The vibrant city was an advanced paradise, a stark contrast against the backdrop of its rich traditions and culture.

Her childhood was saturated with the vibrant hues of the Ethiopian festivals, the thrill of tribal dances, and the wisdom conveyed through the ancient tales of her ancestors. She was brought up in the shadow of the majestic Panther God, always aware of the potent power that pulsed through their lands.

However, her life took an extraordinary turn when an encounter with a revered shaman left her with a cryptic prophecy - an intertwining of her destiny with the enigma of time. This mysterious event marked the beginning of her timeless existence.

Centuries later, as she stood on the foreign land of England, her memories of Ethiopia were as vivid as the sunsets, the rhythm of its pulse echoing in her heart. Her roots ran deep, grounding her to the heart of Africa, regardless of the miles she had traversed since then.

Her transition from a young Ethiopian woman to Lady Elizabeth Pierce of London was a tale of resilience and resourcefulness. With her timeless existence, she bore witness to the changing world around her, her eternal youth a blessing from the shaman that allowed her to navigate the ebb and flow of the centuries.

Embracing her immortality, she used the wisdom acquired over the years to amass knowledge, skills, and wealth. She found herself intrigued by the distant land of England, its culture, its monarchy, and decided to make it her home. With her wealth amassed over the years, she bought land and a stately home in London, her grand residence soon becoming a symbol of her stature.

Her intelligence, charm, and philanthropic nature soon caught the attention of Queen Victoria, who was so impressed by Elizabeth's contributions to society that she bestowed her with a title, officially making her Lady Elizabeth Pierce. Over time, she became a figure of fascination and respect, her seemingly eternal youth adding to her aura of mystique. However, she kept her secret carefully guarded, the mystery of her agelessness becoming an unsolved riddle in the heart of London.

Away in the frosty expanse of Russia, Count Alexei Vronsky led a life of solitude in his vast estate. Since the tragic end of his tormented affair with Anna Karenina, he had withdrawn from society, living with the ghosts of their past. However, the news of a grand ball in London, hosted by the illustrious Lady Pierce, coaxed him out of his reclusion.

As Vronsky embarked on his journey from the frost-laden expanse of Russia to the buzzing metropolis of London, he found himself in a state of melancholy contemplation. The biting cold of the Russian winter seemed a reflection of his own solitude, its icy grasp mirroring his internal chill.

The trip was long, the scenery changing as he moved across the continent. The vast Russian plains, stark and blanketed with snow, slowly gave way to the greener landscapes of Eastern Europe. The monotony of the endless expanses was occasionally broken by huddled villages and bustling towns. The harsh Russian winds slowly softened, replaced by the crisp, cool air of the west. Each part of the journey echoed his solitude, whispering tales of his past, stirring memories he had long since tried to bury.

He passed through cities that bristled with life, each one a stark contrast to his current emotional state. The elegance of Vienna, the charm of Paris, the majesty of the Swiss Alps - these places, magnificent as they were, held no joy for him. They were but waypoints on his journey, devoid of the warmth of home, echoing his own emptiness.

His arrival in London marked a significant shift in his journey. The city was a vortex of energy, teeming with life. Its grand architecture, the bustling streets, the rhythmic hum of the city - everything felt different from his homeland. Yet, as much as it was disconcerting, it also offered a glimmer of hope, a chance for a fresh start.

As he moved through the city, taking in the unfamiliar sights and sounds, Vronsky couldn't help but feel a spark of curiosity. His heart, which had been in a state of icy numbness, seemed to thaw slightly. Here, in this city of endless possibilities, perhaps he could find solace, perhaps he could escape the shadows of his past.

The grand ball held by Lady Elizabeth Pierce was a spectacle of elegance and sophistication. Every detail was meticulously curated, each element a testament to Elizabeth's exquisite taste and attention to detail. The grand mansion was transformed into an extravagant carnival, its opulence matching that of the royal court.

The grand hall was illuminated with hundreds of glistening chandeliers, their light casting a soft glow on the assembly of distinguished guests. Nobles from the length and breadth of England and from continental Europe filled the hall, their gowns and suits adding a vibrant palette of colors against the rich tapestry of the mansion.

A live orchestra was stationed at one end of the hall, the music they played was a captivating blend of classical and contemporary tunes. Their melodies filled the air, adding to the cheerful buzz of the gathering. Couples twirled on the dance floor, their movements fluid and graceful, mirroring the rhythm of the music.

Servers, dressed in pristine white uniforms, moved around offering a plethora of delicacies. The aroma of roasted meat, baked goods, and exotic spices wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of fine wines and perfumes.

Conversations ebbed and flowed around the grand hall. From political debates and discussions of recent literature to harmless flirtations and whispers of latest scandals, the gathering was abuzz with engaging dialogues. Laughter rang out, toasts were raised, and connections were formed.

Entering the lavishly decorated ballroom of Lady Pierce's mansion, Vronsky was greeted by the intoxicating music of the orchestra and the heady scent of perfumes. However, it was Lady Pierce's striking beauty that held him captive. Poised and graceful, she navigated the throng, engaging with her guests, her lively eyes taking in the merriment. She was the perfect hostess, her aura commanding respect and admiration from her guests. Vronsky almost started to believe this was a goddess idly chatting with people who were truly clueless to who that was.

The grandeur of the ball was momentarily forgotten as Elizabeth's gaze locked with the newcomer's. There was something hauntingly familiar in the man's eyes that drew her in, a sense of shared solitude that resonated with her own. She gracefully navigated through the crowd to introduce herself.

"Count Vronsky, I presume?" Elizabeth said, extending her hand in greeting.

He took it, bowing slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Yes, and you must be the enchanting hostess, Lady Elizabeth Pierce."

Elizabeth gave a small, appreciative laugh. "Flattery so early in the conversation? One might think you're trying to win my favor."

"Only stating the obvious, Lady Pierce," he replied with a half-smile, his eyes twinkling with genuine admiration.

Their conversation unfolded naturally, starting from polite pleasantries and gradually delving into deeper topics. Elizabeth found herself drawn to the man's intellect and his perspective on art, literature, and culture, which mirrored her own.

"You have quite the appreciation for art, Count Vronsky," Elizabeth observed, referencing their discussion about the Renaissance.

"Only as much as you do, Lady Pierce. It's rare to find someone who appreciates Botticelli as much as I do," Vronsky replied, his interest in her visibly growing.

“There is an agelessness about you. It feels as if you've seen the rise and fall of ages."

Elizabeth met his gaze, a soft smile touching her lips, "Perhaps I have."

They shared light-hearted banter and stories, their connection deepening with each passing moment. The world seemed to blur around them, their focus solely on each other.

"Do you believe in fate, Count Vronsky?" Elizabeth asked suddenly, her gaze intense.

"I can't say I've given it much thought," he admitted, slightly taken aback. "Why do you ask?"

"Perhaps it is fate that has brought us together tonight," Elizabeth proposed, a mysterious smile playing on her lips.

This unspoken shared understanding marked the beginning of a poignant bond between the two, a bridge of companionship across the chasms of their solitary lives. Their shared experiences of love and loss, and their ability to transcend them, tied their fates together in a dance as old as time.

As the last notes of music faded away and the merry chatter of the departing guests grew faint, a deafening silence descended upon Elizabeth's grand mansion. She found herself standing in the now deserted ballroom, the echoes of laughter and music only serving as a stark contrast to the stillness that enveloped her.

The flickering light from the dying candles threw long, dancing shadows across the room, the extravagant decorations now seeming almost eerie in their quietness. Elizabeth's gaze was drawn to her reflection in the grand mirror on the far wall. Her timeless beauty, framed by the gleaming diamond necklace around her neck and the rich silks of her gown, was a sight to behold. Yet, the woman who stared back at her felt like a stranger, her radiant appearance belying the inner turmoil she felt.

Her heart felt heavy with names etched deep within its corners - names of lovers she had once held dear, whispers of affection shared in the silent watches of the night, remnants of love stories that had faded with time. Her life was a testament to the endless cycle of love and loss, each love story a reminder of the agonizing loneliness that followed their inevitably brief existence.

The grandeur of her life was a double-edged sword, the vibrant celebrations and extravagant balls merely temporary distractions from the solitude that awaited her. As she stood alone, her heart echoed with the melancholy of lost connections, the vacant halls of her mansion reflecting the emptiness she felt.

The fear of losing someone again was a constant gnawing presence, a silent specter that loomed over her every time she found herself growing close to someone. Yet, she also recognized the longing for companionship that tugged at her heartstrings, the yearning for the warmth of shared affection, of heartfelt conversations, of love.

She was caught in a constant struggle - a tug of war between her desire for love and the fear of the inevitable loss that her immortality brought. As the silent witness of passing ages, her heart was an immortal battleground of conflicting emotions, the scars of past losses a grim reminder of her endless existence. Her solitude was not just a condition of her circumstances, but a fortress she built around herself, a protective barrier against the inevitable heartbreak that loving mortal beings entailed.

With the quiet hum of the London night as her only company, Elizabeth settled at her mahogany desk, the flicker from the nearby candelabrum casting a warm glow on the parchment before her. Picking up her quill, she paused, her thoughts lingering on the evening's encounter.

"Dearest Esther," she began, her script elegant and precise. Esther was her oldest confidante, the one person who had managed to see beyond Elizabeth's mask of endless youth and understand the solitude hidden behind it. Their friendship was a source of strength for Elizabeth, a treasured connection that had withstood the ravages of time.

"I met a man at the ball tonight, a certain Count Vronsky from Russia," she wrote, her thoughts returning to their engrossing conversation, the ease of their banter, and the depth she'd seen in his eyes.

"There's a depth to him, a sorrow that resonates with my own," she continued, her quill dancing across the parchment. "He carries the weight of his past like an invisible shroud, much like I do."

A thoughtful smile traced her lips as she remembered his words, his appreciation for art, his passion for literature. "His intellect is as captivating as his charm. His words weave a tapestry of profound thought, mirroring my own fascination for art and literature."

The memory of his gaze, warm yet haunted, caused an unexpected flutter in her heart. "His eyes, Esther, are windows to a tormented soul. I found myself drawn to him, compelled to understand the mysteries they hold."

Elizabeth sighed, her gaze momentarily drawn to the starlit sky outside her window. "I know the perils that lie in the path of my heart, yet I cannot help but wonder. Could I dare to love again? Could I dare to risk the agony of inevitable loss for moments of shared love and companionship?"

Her words echoed the turmoil within her. "I find myself at a crossroads, Esther. To love or not to love, that is the question that plagues me."

She signed off, "Yours always, Elizabeth," before sealing the letter. As she dispatched it to Esther, she felt a strange mixture of relief and anticipation. Sharing her thoughts with her old friend, even in the form of a letter, had always brought her solace. Now, she could only wait for Esther's wisdom to guide her through her inner turmoil.

#aaron taylor johnson x reader #alexei vronsky x reader #count vronksy x reader

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shrinkthisviolet · 1 month

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do you have any headcanons, old or new, for the kf!Barry possibility? i am so intrigued by it, fascinated even and i'm curious about your own takes, or what's the most interesting thing about it to you?

Ahh I love this question! It’s an idea I periodically get obsessed with from time to time, and I’ve talked a bit here about how I’d write it. And to expand:

I’ve never been a fan of Killer Frost’s split personality thing in the show, and it’s not comics accurate, so I’d probably do away with it. It’s just the general colder body temperature affecting his mind (chronic cold effects are terrifying, and that wouldn’t even be as bad as this, because this is inside him), not to mention his constant hunger for body heat to try to reach homeostasis (comics-based and…also, given biology, makes sense)

There’s a few different times I could give Barry powers, though I love the idea of them manifesting during s2 and him using them to defeat Zoom, freezing and shattering him to pieces

On the other hand, I also love the idea of them manifesting during s3, the way KF’s do in canon, maybe after he’s already met his frosty E2 doppelgänger. I doubt he’d team up with Savitar…unless Savitar was Iris and they became a genuine evil duo (not the leader-subordinate dynamic that Savitar and KF had in canon, but a true equal partnership)

He could also get powers in s1, and they start to affect his mind. He’s snappish, more irritable…and most of all, he doesn’t trust Eowells (especially if Iris is the Flash, and CSI Barry’s hero worship for Eowells is overridden by suspicion and worry…especially as he starts noticing more things off about Eowells)

And, to slip in a little Barrisco, I think KF!Barry and Reverb might’ve been the dynamic duo on E2. So KF!Barry on E1 might be very keen to recruit Cisco and replicate that…👀

Maybe he becomes an anti-hero like KF does in canon—still with villainous tendencies, but using them in service of the heroes (I do usually love that trope 💞)

I also have quite a few thoughts about “what if I wrote him in the Morgan AU as a spinoff AU” (4 additional headcanons for anyone interested in that):

He gets powers from the accelerator in s1, and they affect him as per the first headcanon outlined above. And, ofc, no split personality

He doesn’t fall into a coma, and instead, decides to use his powers to protect Central City. He doesn’t tell anyone—and if Iris is the Flash here, he ofc can’t tell her. While out on patrol one night, he meets a young hero who calls themself “Sentry”—definitely a kid or young adult, and definitely in need of guidance. Barry might not know how to be a hero, but he knows how to guide people. Probably (and their powers certainly make them useful…even if he’s horrified at that fleeting thought)

Barry and Morgan’s dynamic is thus pretty different. It’s less equal from the start, and it never really approaches that. Morgan looks up to him, and Barry…doesn’t quite look down on her, but as time passes, it gets close. Even as they become friends outside of their superhero identities, she’s still very much someone he needs to protect, not so much someone he can count on to protect him

He also notices some things are up with Eowells and Morgan. Some…not so great things. As time goes on, a picture starts to form in his head—abuse? Neglect specifically? Something. He’s only a CSI, he can’t investigate that…so he drops anonymous tips to CPS. Eowells gets out of all of them, and Morgan is visibly much more anxious after that, so Barry takes the hint and stops, but he’s still pissed that his effort was futile. But also…maybe it’s for the best. Where would Morgan go? Tina raised her for a little while but gave her back to Eowells, she can’t be trusted. (Maybe the only person he can trust for such a job is himself—and he should be horrified by the thought, but…he’s not)

send me an au and i’ll share 5+ headcanons about it!

Taglist (send an ask or DM to be added or removed):

@arrthurpendragon @ocappreciationtag @raith-way @vexic929 @ironverseocs @thechaoticfanartist @goldheartedchaoticdisaster @negative-speedforce @starstruckpurpledragon @angst-is-love-angst-is-life

#au headcanon ask game #kf!barry #barry allen #some flash!iris because i can’t resist 😅 she’s always my alternate flash choice #reverb #a little hinted barrisco #the flash #this is an au i’ve tossed around in my head for a while #idk if i’ll write the canon-spinoff version but maybe!#the morgan au version tho…👀 yeah that’s on my list for ‘someday’#oc: morgan wells #brotp: i know my hero #forgive me my oc rambling lol i am but a simple girl obsessed with putting them in Situations™️

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lewkwoodnco · 7 months

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get him BACK! - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: The idea for this fic has been living rent-free in my head for WEEKS and I finally decided to write it all out hahah I wanted to try a new style of writing, something more lighthearted and not so serious/depressing so here's a fun lil fic based off get him back! by olivia rodrigo! couldn't decide which gif to put so I put BOTH lolll ofc I made some modifications to better fit Lockwood and there are some parts where their relationship isn't the healthiest butttt it's a work of fiction soo take with a grain of salt! Tyyy to @karensirkobabes for giving me the push I needed to get this written down <3 enemies to lovers, reader is a Fittes agent similar to the I can see you fic (not exactly the same set up but quite similar so think parallel universe?) HAVE FUN, 5.4k

Enough was enough. She picked up the golf club and stomped out.

“Y/N. Y/N! Where are you - hey!”

She pulled her arm back, and now she was bringing it smashing down, probably inefficiently so, but she didn’t care. She punctuated Lockwood’s yells with shattering glass and screams of her own, wreaking havoc on his car like a woman scorned. She was a woman scorned. How dare he be so irritating yet so fucking irresistible all in the same breath?

She had met him shortly after she came back from a much needed summer vacation, ready to dive into a case that ended up lasting nearly 7 months. They had been assigned to the case around the tail-end of August, but for some odd reason Barnes had been keen on briefing them individually. Perhaps it had something to do with how both of them had hounded him after their frosty first encounter. She had tried her best to be open-minded, but she couldn’t help how her face twisted over having to work with this pompous prick, convinced that he was God’s gift to them all. That was enough to incite some snarky, underhanded comment and she retaliated, and they went back and forth until they realised Barnes was gone.

In hindsight, maybe it was their extreme hounding of him as they begged to be assigned elsewhere that made him decide to never be in the same room as both of them.

"She's uptight, narrow-minded, contemptuous -"

"I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I-"

"- bossy, irritating, ill-tempered, and did I mention uptight?"

"- I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I-"

"Enough!" Barnes could only walk so fast and they could walk faster. "The rest of the teams are already stretched thin over this spiked string of hauntings across the country. So if you want to keep your job, and if you want the commission I know you so desperately need, I suggest you find a way to put aside your differences."

So she couldn’t avoid him forever, though she tried her best. He just had to have an opinion over everything that came out of her mouth and that opinion always had to contradict hers.

“I think we should split up into the different rooms.”

“Hmm. I think it’s best we all stay in the dining hall.”

“But the Sources could be in the rooms too.”

“But it’s unlikely, since most of the guests were killed during a dinner party held…where was it? Oh yes, the dining hall.”

“All the cutlery from that party is in the kitchen, the tablecloths in the linen cupboard, the chairs in -“

“Because cutlery, tablecloths and chairs are known for being prime Sources. Infamous, really.”

She hated how mocking his eyes were. She was a leader of strong character with resolute faith in her instincts, so damn did it sting to cave.

“Fine. Shaw, you’ll set up the chains -"

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lucy’ll do it.”

“Why?”

“She’s the best Listener in all of London; she’ll know the best place to set them up.”

“Fine. We’ll meet in the dining hall at 5 pm-”

“Hang on - what about the groups?”

She mouthed wordlessly at him. “Wha - we just decided that we’ll all be in the same room! What groups?”

“To look for the Sources in the linen closets, the kitchen, the -“

“I thought we just decided that those trinkets were too menial.”

“Oh, well, we can never be a hundred percent sure, can’t we? A good agent is thorough, you know.”

She blinked, her eyes sliding over the rest of her team’s as she wordlessly mouthed retorts which were too stunned to form. She tugged at her hair, dreaming of yanking it from her scalp strand by strand.

“Fine. Fine. Fine.” She slammed her journal on the desk, treating the pages with less care than she ought to be. “Shaw and Karim, you’ll take the parlour. Lockwood and Vernon, you’ll take the master bedroom. Carlyle and -“

“Vernon? Hasn’t he been sick, like, three times this week?”

“I’LL do the master bedroom with you, Lockwood. Anything wrong with that? Hm? Anything to nitpick or whine or complain about?”

He leaned back in his chair, his smile a little too lazy for her liking. “Trying to get me into a bed? We’ve only just met.”

She had to physically restrain herself from screaming at him. That wasn't any different from the kind of digs they took at each other in private, so why was her face beginning to heat up?

"What can I say?" She spoke through gritted teeth. "You bring out the absolute worst in me."

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Thankfully, by the time they were stationed in their different rooms, most of the fight had bled out of the two of them, and they were the closest they have ever been to amicable, or even civil. Lockwood insisted that he was better at handling a rapier than her so they decided that he would keep the visitor back, should it make an appearance, as she searched the room.

A visitor did show up, screaming something awful at the two of them. She was spiralling in despair as she tore apart drawers and boxes, coming up empty. Then, in a sudden wave of inspiration, she realised that they hadn't considered looking under the floorboards. There had been a loose one in the corner of the room, but the only problem was that the visitor was floating mere inches above the floorboard.

Lockwood, with all his proclaimed prowess, seemed quite evenly matched with the visitor, and he looked far too pale to comprehend a new plan. She squeezed her eyes shut and launched herself to the floorboard, hoping that the surprise would be enough to give the visitor pause. There was an anguished yell mixed with aggressive taunts from Lockwood, and she could make out the hiss of a flare as her fingers scrabbled for the Source: a pen. She flung it into her net and the visitor disappeared, leaving behind Lockwood sprawled on the floor, having been backed into a corner.

She numbly put the chains away and shouldered their bag of supplies, starting the trek downstairs while Lockwood caught his breath and struggled with something. She hadn't missed the outrage in his eyes and the way his jaw was ticking something furious, and prepared for the worst.

"What the hell was that? That wasn't the plan!"

"Oh, but you provoking the visitor was?"

"I was drawing it out! You were inches away from being ghost-touched."

"I was not."

"Were too!"

"Ugh, you're such a child!"

"You know, none of this would be happening if you didn't suck at finding Sources."

"Like you would have been any better."

"Actually, yes, I would have."

"Fine!" She turned and threw the bag at him, relishing the way it (momentarily) knocked the wind out of him. "You look for the rest, and God help you if you don't find them all."

Fortunately or unfortunately, her threat never saw the light of day as the rest of them had managed to find the other Sources with not nearly as much fuss as them. Everyone was too tired to talk much on the way back to DEPRAC. She began drafting their report while Lockwood helped Lucy limp along to one of the nurses. She signed the report, not looking up as Lockwood approached.

"Come to yell at me some more?"

"Ha-ha." But it was wooden and deflated. She glanced at his exhausted face and decided it wasn't worth it. "I was just...taken aback, is all. I didn't mean to -"

"It's fine. I wouldn't have lasted this long if I crumbled every time someone got mad at me."

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards and she felt this absurd sense of accomplishment.

"Still, let me make it up to you. Let's all go for dinner. My treat."

"Oh." She felt her face warm as she clumsily tried to remind herself how awful he was and how terrible having dinner with him sounded. "It's no need, really -"

"We'll be at this for a while, if tonight was any indication, so we might as well keep our spirits high."

"But-"

"I'll get George to start flagging down some cabs." With that, he briskly turned away, case report in hand, while she stared at him like a goldfish. So he was a prick on and off the job. Who did he think he was, ordering her around like that. Part of her wanted to refuse to come along out of spite, but she was starving, so she settled for a silent internal rebellion.

As much as she hated to admit it, the food was good and her team members seemed to be having the most fun they've had in months, if their noise was any indication. George and Ned were locked in some intense argument about their research on the house and Lucy was desperately trying to get them to shut up, in between a conversation about cheese rolling. She was getting lightheaded from laughing over Lucy's unusual fascination and George being George ("Shaw, say one more thing about my page holder and I'll come over there and fuck you up.") when Lockwood turned to her, half-yelling into her ear, and she nearly choked on her drink. Her weird sense of humour was usually perceived as non-existent, but Lockwood somehow managed to come up with the most out-of-pocket statements that made her sides ache. But she still hated his guts, of course.

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And so began their convoluted relationship. Sure, they were both prone to the extremes, but in an oddly balanced kind of way. They would butt heads and swear at each other copiously during cases and then tiredly patch up (mostly) over dinner. She had started to grow fond of their team dinners, but only because of the camraderie and fostered and not because it meant having the thigh of a certain someone with excessively long legs pressing into hers in their cramped corner of the booth. That was just an unfortunate by-product that she, er, suffered through. That, and the wrestling with Lockwood over the bill ("How are you affording any of this? Aren't you at the edge of bankruptcy??"). Their relationship was complicated enough before his string of small gifts began.

Lockwood walked into the agent lounge where she was examining the file of their mission that night, and her eyes barely flickered in acknowledgement. The case was excruciatingly demanding to the point where they spent less time apart than together. He tossed a small bag on her papers before being accosted by one of her team members. By the time he was done, the lounge had cleared out and she had unwrapped the package. Her eyebrow twitched.

"What's this?"

"Oh, I thought someone might have told you by now. This here is a nifty little device called a watch, and -"

"Hardy har har. You're hilarious. I meant, why are you giving this to me?"

"Oh. Didn't your watch get smashed a few nights back?"

She grimaced. It had been rough to accept, but she had slammed against the wall so roughly that it was a miracle she didn't get a concussion. She had really liked it and she had a feeling he had picked up on how much she had been missing it over the past few days.

"Er, yes, but what does that have to do with you?"

"Feel bad, is all."

"Like how you felt bad enough to buy me a designer pen?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." His coat was draped on his chair and he was working on a biscuit tin from the cabinet. "That was just a momento to commemorate our first house together."

"Uh-huh. Sure." She reluctantly but carefully put the watch away. "You better not make a habit of this. I...appreciate the gesture, but I don't need any of this."

"I know."

"So this is the last, um, trinket. Right?"

He leaned forward, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "Aw. You're cute as a button." He tapped her nose as she spluttered angrily, innocently picking up one of the maps she was pouring over as the rest of the team started to arrive.

After the case, she began writing the report as usual, because Lockwood always had some reason or the other to dawdle. But when she looked up, she felt her breath hitch. The scene was crowded, but he was somehow in her direct line of vision, talking to one of her team members, Catherine, who was laughing at whatever he was saying. She stood there, stunned, as if only just remembering that he had a life outside of her. Betrayal stabbed in her gut. Really, she only had herself to blame for thinking she was somehow special. Maybe it was the long hours, or the exhaustion that had caught up with her, but for a moment there...she could have sworn...

She didn't realise he was standing in front of her. He made some teasing remark as he looked over the report, but she wasn't in the mood. She was never bound to stay with him while he made his own additions to the report, but there was always something magnetic about him that fascinated her, and she wouldn't even realise until he was done. But not today. She glared at him before turning away swiftly, his smooth voice cutting off abruptly.

"Y/N?" He caught up with her, carelessly signing the report. "Was it- was it something I said?"

She turned to look at him, no longer illusioned by dreams or fantasies her mind had a particular propensity to concoct.

"Ugh, you're such a boy."

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She had never been a sentimental person, but as they ascended in the elevator of the illusions museum that was their final case, she was feeling some type of way. She glanced at Lockwood, whose eyes snapped up to her face, and she squinted at him suspiciously. But he took care to keep his face blank, so she looked away. She wasn't completely innocent herself, either. It was just the showy swagger with which he walked that drew her eyes to how his rapier hung near his hip. He was always one for theatrics.

When they exited the elevator, it looked as though they were faced with a dead end, until they realised it was just an oddly placed wall.

"I'll climb over, since I'm the one with any real height."

"You're just a fraction taller than me." So not true, which he picked up on as well with a short bark of laughter. Her neck would hurt from looking up at him if they were too close together.

"I'm nearly 1.9 metres tall, and-"

"Oh, shut up; you are not that tall!" But there was no real heat behind her words, and she rolled her eyes at his grin before he pulled himself over. Once they were both at the other side, they wandered around in a maze of mirrors, looking into every door they came across, until Lockwood found one gleaming of iron that wouldn't budge.

"I'm going to pick it."

"Lockwood, no. If the door has an iron frame; it's probably locked for a reason."

"What are the odds?"

"Very high."

"Eh, I'm not convinced."

"Leave the door!"

"Geez, relax. You're no fun."

"...you're picking the lock right now, aren't you?"

"Yep."

She groaned frustratedly, haphazardly trying to get to him through the maze, but it was too late. A shriek rang out in the deathly silence, followed by loud cursing from Lockwood. She caught glimpses of the Spectre through the reflections, which luckily seemed just as confused as them, though significantly more aggrieved. She somehow managed to find the room the Spectre had burst out of, though it seemed to have sealed shut again. She yelled to Lockwood, and tugged harder at the door, finally wrenching it open. She heard his footsteps as he drew closer, rolling in just as she shut the door against the Spectre wailing at his heels.

"Lockwood," she gasped in relief, "you are so full of shit."

Still panting against the door with an angry cut running through his eyebrow, he pressed his mouth against hers, and they were a mess of lips, tongue and teeth clashing against each other. Just as suddenly as it started, it was over, and he looked away, not meeting her eyes. Her vision swam. She had never felt so alive.

"You're maddening," he choked out. "What do you suggest we do, then?"

She was dizzy and felt sure that her legs were going to give away any minute now. "I- I don't...um...god, where is that humming coming from?" She spun around, the buzzing grating against her nerves. After some hunting, they managed to find a box hidden in a cavity in the wall which reeked of psychic charge. They wrapped it in their iron net and instantly the wailing ceased.

They took the elevator down in silence. She watched him from the corner of her eye. His eyes swept her from head to toe with a dark, unrecognisable expression, before he turned to face the doors like her. What was it? Disdain? Interest? Contempt? Awe? She wanted to shake an answer out of him.

"It's hard to be on the same wavelength with someone who insists on arguing with me about everything."

“Look, I’m not the one who decided that you were a terrible person from the get-go.”

“I did not do that. I looked at the evidence and made an educated guess. Besides, I never meant to be so blatant with it. I’m just…an expressive person.”

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, grimacing as she heard the smile in his voice.

“Expressive, huh?”

“Oh, sod off.”

He clicked his tongue. She wanted to rip it out with her teeth. "You can be so adorable when you're nice."

"Oh yeah? What am I when I'm not nice?"

The elevator doors opened. Suddenly, his warm breath was ghosting the exposed sliver of her shoulder.

"Hot as fuck."

She briefly short-circuited, Lockwood long gone by the time she came to her senses. She hurried out, kicking herself over how heavily she was breathing over a stupid whisper like that.

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It was a full month before she saw him again, and she never got fully used to working with just her team again. She would turn, wondering why Lockwood was remarkably quiet, or waiting for some smartass comment, but it would never come, and it rubbed at something raw inside of her. She hadn't laughed the way she did with him since he left, and the memory of his bruising kiss hovered at the back of her mind. Not that she missed him or anything, ew. She was glad he was gone. So glad. Good...riddance.

She entered her flat, fumbling for the light switch, sighing at the pile of letters that stood abandoned on her desk. It didn't take long for some part of her to long to reach out to Lockwood, but every letter she wrote was disgustingly sappy. Sometimes, in a fit of desperation she would put on her coat, determined to post her latest letter, but the resolve would fade before she even stepped out. She'd be an embarrassment to Fittes and he would awkwardly explain how she wasn't anyone special and she would never live it down. How humiliating to be rejected by someone who made her life a living hell.

She stabbed her latest letter on her mantle with a newfound passion for vengeance. This was all his fault, the sick bastard. She was going to get him back.

The opportunity somehow presented itself by fate. The next day had just happened to be her day off, when she received a panicked phone call from Lucy. She had to return home for some emergency but George was down with the flu, and Lockwood was away at a client meeting, so would it be alright if she came over for a few hours, just until Lockwood got back?

She went over and calmed a frantic Lucy rushed off her feet enough for her to get to the train station. George was taking a nap, and though Lucy had mentioned that he'd make some soup for himself when he woke, she decided to make herself useful. She was just finishing up the touches on some spaghetti for herself and Lockwood when he arrived. He looked a little stunned to see her, and she couldn't quite find her voice either. He looked more sombre, somehow, like the last month had weighed heavily on him.

"...hey."

"Hey."

"I'm sorry about all this, it's just there was a strike, and the trains were all-"

"Oh, no worries."

"Thank you for the - is that soup?"

"Yes, and some, erm, watery spaghetti-"

"No, it looks amazing, really. You shouldn't have..."

"It was no trouble." They paused as they heard a thump coming from George's door. She left to check on him.

"George? Is everything all right? Is it the soup?"

George coughed, calling out in a raspy voice. "Soup's wonderful, thank you. That isn't Ned, is it?"

"Hm? Oh, no, Lockwood's just come home. But he came around earlier today. He wanted to see how you were doing but you were asleep."

"Oh," he wheezed. "Well, you tell him to piss off if he comes back. And maybe you can tell him I'm doing alright." He took a sip of the soup and closed his eyes. "Try not to murder Lockwood till I'm better. I want a front-row seat."

She smiled to herself as she walked back to the kitchen. Lockwood had put out two plates of the spaghetti for the both of them, and was waiting for her.

"Everything okay?"

She nodded. He picked up his fork, then set it back down, almost as an afterthought.

“You didn’t poison this, did you?” She flung her dishcloth at him, which he caught, but just barely. Damn his reflexes. But things were starting to feel normal again.

“Don’t tempt me.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lockwood had a job to do at a cemetery that evening, and though he insisted he would be fine on his own, the look in his eyes was enough of a request for her help.

"You know," he was saying on the way there, "I've got another job two days later, if you're interested, that is."

"That sounds - oh. Hang on, I'm going to the movies with Terence that day."

"Terence?" She turned to see an uncharacteristically confused Lockwood, looking as though the wind had left his sails. "Not Terence Fisher?"

"He's the only Terence I know. No worries, I think we can shift-"

"No." A stubborn streak that had lied dormant since their reunion emerged, rearing its ugly head. "It's fine. I think it's just a Type One anyway."

"Oh. I mean, you can never be too sure-"

"I'll be fine. I can handle it. You go enjoy your...your date with Terence." He looked so disgusted, and that only enraged her further. They were getting along so well. What was his problem? She responded to his cold shoulder with one of her own, glaring out the cab window.

Despite her anger, the case went smoothly if a bit quieter than normal, and she enjoyed their familiar rhythm that she had so dearly missed. Somewhere in the middle, Lockwood looked as though his anger had thawed, but then his features changed, like he had just remembered something, and he walked away frostily. She swore, biting her tongue. Fucking Lockwood.

She wandered around, kicking at pebbles, while waiting for Lockwood to straighten out his fees with the client when her heart stopped. It couldn't be. She pulled back the vines creeping around one of the headstones in an unmarked plot. The grave of Celia Lockwood.

Once she had gotten over her shock, the words seemed to flow out of her mouth of their own accord. "Um, hi." She cleared her throat. "This is probably...the most disrespectful thing I've done, but, uh, I have to ask about your son. Why the fuck is he so aggravating?" She laughed nervously, hoping Celia Lockwood wouldn't be hunting her down in her sleep for this. "He sucks. I'm sorry, I know it's terrible to say, and I'm sure you were lovely people who gave him the most loving home he could wish for...but god does he suck."

"Y/N?" Lockwood called from a distance. She waved to the headstones before hurrying back, before he could see where she had been loitering.

"I need to drop the report off at DEPRAC. Want to come with? Unless you're off to meet Terence, that is." He looked away. There it was again. Gosh, would it kill him to not pick a fight for once?

"No, I'm not meeting Terence. Not that it's any of your business."

He muttered under his breath, yanking the cab door open more viciously than needed. She could feel her temper bubbling under the surface and Lockwood's was clearly only barely restrained.

"You know," he had started, jaw ticking promisingly, once they were in the elevator. "I don't understand what your problem is."

"Me? I'm not the one throwing a tantrum like a baby."

He sharply inhaled, and she defiantly stared at him, daring him to speak. The doors opened again, and a crowd of people entered, pressing them to the back of the elevator. He seemed to decide against whatever he was going to say.

"Y/N L/N..." he murmured, exhaling through his teeth. They were nearly touching, but not quite, but she could feel the vibrations of him talking. "You are one tough nut to crack."

"Bite me." Her whisper was rougher than intended, but she was unable to tear her thoughts away from her irritation with him. Why was she feeling so shaken up? Stupid Lockwood was stupid, big deal; it wasn't anything new.

"Oh, I think I'd leave that to Terence."

"What is your obsession -" She felt this wave of euphoria wash over her as realisation struck. "Oh my god. Oh. My god. You're jealous."

"Am not." But he looked too disturbed to seem even remotely convincing. They had reached their floor and he was quickly walking away from her, and for once she didn't mind running to keep up with his long strides. Her eyes glittered with glee. Oh, this was absolutely delicious.

"You are so. You can't stand the thought of Terence and I together, can you?" She crowed, only mildly breathless, relishing his discomfort, her words honey on her tongue. Ah, at last, sweet, sweet revenge for his months of hell. "Does it hurt? Does it sting? Does it eat away at you on the ins-"

"Please. Like you've never been jealous either." The gleam in his eye looked so knowing that she felt herself falter.

"How'd you know?"

"I didn't. I...what was it? Ah, yes, 'looked at the evidence and made an educated guess.'"

She shoved his shoulder, and he just laughed. "Still not as down bad as you, idiot."

He slammed the report on the counter, frightening the poor receptionist. "I am not 'down bad.' But you can't pretend like who you're seeing is none of my business."

"But it isn't! Why do you care so much anyway, huh?"

"I just do."

"Then make it your business." Something unstable was climbing up her throat, and the nervous look in his eye told her that he was thinking about the same thing as her - that time he had pulled her lips to his.

"I...I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because...because you're the most insufferable person I've ever had the misfortune of meeting-"

"At least I'm not a completely emotionally avoidant dickhead-"

"An emotionally avoidant dickhead whose throat you stuck your tongue down-"

She shrieked, and before she knew what she was doing, she was pulling her arm back, and she heard the thud of her fist connecting with his cheekbone. From the corner of her eye, she saw a figure that looked suspiciously like Barnes hurriedly back out of the lobby.

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It was all over before it even began. The uppercut was enough to shut him up for the ride back to 35 Portland Row, where she forced him into a chair at the dining table and pulled out their first aid kit. She

"I'm sorry I punched you." Not even a little, but she had to be the first to try to make amends. Not that he would have the initiative. He just sullenly looked down at the table, twitching his cheek a little. "Is there something you'd like to say to me? An apology, perhaps?"

"Apologise for what? The truth?"

She clenched her teeth. "It was crass, and in public -"

"Big deal. I'm always crass in public with you. What was so bad about it this time that you just had to beat me up?"

"I didn't beat you up -"

"Oh, so I just did this to myself, then?"

She had promised George that she would wait till he was better, but she wasn't sure how much longer she could hold out on strangling him. "Enough with the snark."

"I'll tell you why it bothered you so much."

"Lockwood."

"Because it was true. It was the truth, and it hurt, and you couldn't stand it-"

For the second time in less than a span of an hour, she saw red. She stumbled out the door, grabbing the golf club that was in the stand with their rapiers, and there she was now. George wasn't too upset; he seemed to enjoy the view from his bedroom window.

"Y/N -"

"SHUT UP!"

"Y/N, please, let's talk about this -"

"Oh, now you want to talk?"

"Please, just put down the golf club -"

"FUCK YOU!" She continued demolishing his car until he finally wrestled the club out of her hands.

"What's gotten into you?" Lockwood cried, and he looked concerned enough to give her pause. She blinked her murderous rage away, regret overwhelming her. Numbly, she allowed herself to be guided back inside, where Lockwood made a cup of tea for both of them.

“Oh god.” She buried her face in her hands, the embarrassment finally catching up to her. Had she completely lost her mind? “I’m such a mess. I’m sorry you had to see all that.”

“S’okay.”

“I’ll leave now.”

“Hey - what for?”

“Are...are you kidding me? I just smashed your car to bits. I might be medically certified insane.”

“I don’t mind. I’ll put up with it.”

“...you’ll hate that. It’s rotten work.”

“Not to me. Not if it’s you.” She exhaled, watching the tiny daisies at the windowsill sigh and flutter in the barely-there wind. He aggrieved her like a bad habit she couldn't quite kick.

“You’re…a masochist.”

“I’m aware.”

“No, I don’t think you are.”

“Why else would I have held out so long for you?”

The teasing was back, and she let out a short, indignant gasp before walking towards him and sitting in his lap. Her eyelashes grazed his cheek as she traced the dressing on his bruise. Pity that his gorgeous face had been the only punching bag in the vicinity.

“I’m always going to hate loving you. You know that, right?”

“Know it? It’s my crowning achievement.”

She punched his shoulder and he let out an exaggerated wheeze that made her laugh despite herself. She shifted and leaned on his chest as they watched the sunlight glimmer over the shards that littered the driveway. He was both the light of her life and the insanity that drove her to destruction. She didn’t feel so bad about the car anymore.

Serves him right for fucking her up this way.

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"So...Lockwood."

They hadn't been overly obvious about their relationship, but it wasn't exactly something they could keep from George and Lucy. Lucy was back from her trip and was tickled pink by the smashed up Volvo in the driveway.

"Yeah. Lockwood."

"You do realise that he is absolutely batshit crazy?"

She smiled into her tea. “Yeah. You’re probably right. But,” she smiled innocently. “I am my father’s daughter. Maybe I can fix him.”

#anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood oneshot #anthony lockwood x you #fanfiction #fanfic #guts #olivia rodrigo #get him back!

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fluffyhare · 17 days

Note

RASPBERRIES!!!!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

OKAY, so raspberries.. does Avery KNOW what tickle raspberries are? Like, the ones where you press your lips against a giggly lee's big ol' belly and go PBFBHBHBHFFTT and make them explode with squealy laughter and flustered babbling????

I had this headcanon where Avery doesn't know the tickle method, just the fruit- so one day Casper is super lee mood as always and vents to his beloved cloud boi about it, and mentions raspberries- and the poor cloud boyo says "Oh, I can help you with that!!", then quickly leaves the room and comes back in the room 5 minutes later with a basket full of berries <333

Also.. cloud raspberries?? Absolutely heavenly right????? Like, both giving and receiving.. imagine being softly held down, watching him slooooooowly float his head down as you start letting out babbly, nervous giggles.. he floats his head up, looking at you with those soft eyes and a smile full of love as he just asks..

"Are you okay?"

And you just nod your head rapidly and kick your feet into the bed below you, squirming with all your excessive energy your getting from the excitement you have for the upcoming raspberries~.. his frosty fingertips softly slipping your shirt up the rest of the way, and his plush, pillowy palms holding onto your hips and keeping you still.. before his head yanks back down and goes "PBHBHBHBHFFFHT" and blows a big fluffy raspberry onto your tummy and making you bounce and shriek with delight.. and ofc after that he just holds you close and peppers that belly with plenty of kisses, unable to stop himself from expressing how much he adores your laugh, and how soft you are, and how he's going to raspberry you all the time now <3

... sorry, did I just ramble?~ ♡

Oh- 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

H-help- 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫💙💙💙💙💙

Oh my goddddd >////< ouuuuu that was so cute...! Oh, thank you so much for writing all of this, it was such a delight to read and very flustering, I have to admit...

I love this scenario... I love the idea and concept of raspberries, especially the anticipation... sadly, they are not super effective on me, though. I wish they were! I'll still giggle a bit, but nothing like finger tickling there...

Nonetheless, I liked this writeup very much! 💙

By the way, as a result of you writing this...

I may or may not have had to ask my spouse to help me verify the above information, and that may or may not have been VERY difficult for me...😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

#calicole #ask #raspberries #favs

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syngrafaes09 · 2 years

Note

Can you re-do the hypothermia situation but with Stephen taking care of the reader. and elaborately??

Ofc...

Rapture | Dr Strange x Apprentice!Reader

Masterlist

Word count: 1797

18+ MDNI!

“How many more do you think?” Tony inquired, putting into place one of the rebels.

“I think we've got most of them. Might have a handful left down the valley,” Peter Quill replied pointing somewhere in the mist and snow. The frosty human-like beasts had been more difficult to fight against than he had imagined. He knew they were a race of warriors, and had expected brute force but magic, he hadn't seen that coming.

“Mr Stark,” Peter distressed over the intercom, “Y/n is shaking badly, I think she might pass out. She’s very cold.”

“Shit,” everyone muttered in unison. The apprentice Stephen had sent had been more helpful than her Master and other apprentices. Once she managed to subdue their magic, the rest of the avengers managed to bring the beasts down easily.

Stephen mentally thanked Y/n once again as he buried himself in the cosy blankets and sipped in the tea. The cold had gotten the better of him in the last three days. He was delighted when she offered to go instead of him in response to Star lord’s call.

The beep from the device in the corner of the room irritated him. Once Tony had created this multi-galaxy intercom, the calls for aid had increased by three folds. And most of the time there was hardly any serious issue.

“What is it now Tony?” he grumbled.

“I think Y/n is slipping into a hypothermic shock. I can't help much. Open up a portal,” he said as he scurried inside the jet, getting any warm thing for Y/n as he could.

Opening a portal into the jet, he found her heaved onto a seat with a blanket around. “God,” he muttered at the sight of her. The shaking of her body, the clattering of her teeth and her paleness sent him into a spiral of fear and anger. “Why did you stay out in the cold for so long? You could have managed to control them even from the jet.” He scolded her and picked her up in his arms.

“Sah..ry..,” she slurred.

“You need any more help, I’ll ask Wong to send-”

“Don’t bother. Only a few are left.”

Stephen nodded before closing the portal.

“Mh room’s…upstairs,” she protested when he placed her in the cocoon of blankets he was earlier lying in.

“Can you feel them?” He took off her wet boots and pinched her frozen toes. Y/n weakly nodded, her eyelashes fluttering as she started slipping in and out of consciousness.

“Hey sunshine,” Stephen called out as he fumbled around contemplating what to do next. He had to stop being nervous - she was slipping away. “Hey drink it,” he tried to make her drink his hot tea.

Y/n groaned, trying to push the cup away, the lava was burning her mouth and throat. She couldn't understand why he was so mean to her. ‘What form of punishment is this for always complying with her Master’s orders?’

Stephen was visibly baffled to hear those words from her. She was losing it. He hurried to his closet and frantically searched for the first aid kit.

“Hey sunshine, don't sleep,” he cried out, “talk to me.”

“Why do… you always call me that…,” her voice was just above a whisper.

He chuckled, shoving the warm compress through the robes covering her chest. “‘Cause that’s how I remember you from your first day. Standing with Wong at the foot of my bed, early in a cold winter morning, the sunlight dazzling on your face.”

“Uh-hn..”

“W-what are you doing?” Y/N asked, bedazzled to watch him taking off his clothes.

“Trying to warm you up,” he replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

“I… feel better.” Both of them lying bare to each other was a very bad idea. Her friends back at Kamar Taj had been teasing her notoriously after Stephen switched her from training at Kamar Taj to the New York Sanctum. It would be her death if any of them got the slightest hint of this.

“Then help me out by taking off your robes.” She found herself speechless and motionless at the sight of him.

“See, you are too numb,” he spoke out, getting under the blankets, “you need to warm up,” he said, flicking his fingers to vanish her robes.

All her protests died out when warm hands were wrapped around her stomach and tugged her against his chest.

“God,” Stephen winced when he spooned her. She was cold as a corpse.

Basking in his warmth, she had no recollection of when they had slept. Having regained her senses, she could feel his long legs tangled with hers, his chest pressed against her back; his arms on her bare stomach, lightly brushing against her bra and… Holy! She could feel him hard through his boxers. Now Y/n could clearly remember the sight of him, in his boxers, climbing into the bed. She cursed and thought of getting out of there before she did anything stupid.

“Y/n,” he rasped as she tried to wiggle out of his arms. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she veered around in his now loosen grip to take a look at him.

“You could have died,” every bit of him was dripping with fear and she had never witnessed this side of his nature. She had witnessed his sarcasm, his sardonic humour, his savageness and intelligence in fights and training, the tranquillity of his company, and at times his kindness and his protectiveness but never this sort of apprehension.

“Thanks to you, I'm not.”

“Others had come back when they couldn't take the cold, why didn't you do the same?” For heavens, she had to get out here before the other three apprentices came searching for them! What would they think to find them like this? His fingers taunting rubbed circles on her back.

“I’m sorry,” she said, peeling off the layers of blankets. “I wanted to do better than everyone else, just like you.”

Just like you. The words echoed in his ears. She trained harder than him. Adapted to things faster than him. Put up with his harsh training and sarcasm and everything he offered better than any of his other students. He wanted to tell her she was the best he had to date.

He shot up and gripped her waist firmly as she hurried to leave. “What good would it do if you died trying too hard?” His lips placed a soft kiss on her shoulder. “I can’t lose the best, can't think of losing you.” His fingers traced the back of her spine.

Y/n shuddered at the sensation. The electric wave transversed from her shoulder to her core. Once again she was aware of their nakedness.

“I can understand if you don't want me… Your no will silence me forever. But what I did today was - genuinely to save you.”

He didn't know, she thought, what his touch was doing- undoing me. “I could never say no to you,” she cupped his face, “Nobody ever could.”

Ah, God, he had almost forgotten what the touch of a hand would do. And he had known rejection. “Does nothing about me repulse you?”

“I wouldn't put them as repulsive… Your words do wound me at times but everyone's got a poignant habit or two. They don't repulse me enough to not adore you.”

She had told his heart what it had been wanting to hear. His cheeks, had in no way ever, felt a caressing as hers. His flaws had never been accepted as such. And his mind couldn't have come across a declaration of love as hers ever before.

His lips gently captured hers and his soul was overjoyed in rapture.

“I love you as well,” he whispered, nestling closer.

When her eyes met his, the determination and dominance, made her breath hitch. The gentle caress of his hand made her stomach flip and flop like a dolphin.

“Many will talk,” her voice trembled like her fingers that were intertwining with his.

“Let them, people like to talk all the time,” he drew her closer to him. “Only we matter, everyone else is drivel.”

Swept up by passion, his seductive tone, by her desire: her lips found his and her hands were thrown around his neck. And soon the very little fabric that had been left was discarded.

The sight of her, lying all bare, in his bed made him harder and hornier.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He growled. The pressure of his legs parted hers, and he moved slowly to press his heat against her wetness.

Then he kissed and sucked her neck, her shoulders… Y/n arched off the bed when he traded his tongue for his lips and licked her nipples. One of his hands cupped her breast firmly as his mouth sucked it.

“Stephen,” she whimpered, wiggling her hips. She could feel him smile against her like the cocky bastard he was.

“Say that again,” he urged, licking his lips. She had never before called him by his first name.

“Make me,” she tested the waters of teasing him.

And so he did.

Y/n moaned his name as he glided himself swiftly through her wetness. She had to admit it did hurt a little but he felt good as well.

Stephen peppered her with kisses as he began to move and thrust.

Whimpering and moaning, she moved her hips along with him.

“Stephen,” she protested when he pulled out of her.

“Patience, love,” he said before flipping her on her stomach to the other side of the bed.

Y/n felt the tip of his cock nuzzling her slit as he laid open-mouth kisses along her back. Then her hips were grabbed and pulled towards him. She wanted nothing but for him to pound her.

“Y/n,” she looked over her shoulder as he pushed his cock, entering her slowly, never breaking eye contact.

“God,” she cried out when his thrusts became deeper and harder.

Still thrusting, he pulled her up to his chest, wrapping his arms from behind and holding her in place. “Open your eyes,” he whispered in her ear.

The sight, Y/n saw in the mirror, caught her breath- Stephen on his shins, one arm around her torso as the other moved to fondle her breasts and nipples, his cock exploring her insides; she felt her knees might give up any second from now.

“Yes, Y/n,” he groaned, feeling her clenching around him as she started trembling.

He watched her throw her head back with pleasure and buried his face in the crook of her neck as her rapture captured him. And soon they were swearing each other’s name.

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