#Protective Reader

[aventurineswife]

Anaxa with a reader who acts like a mitigation unit for whenever he says something blasphemous and leaves people wanting to punch him lmao

The reader is soft-spoken and gentler in disposition (much like castorice) and not exactly on par with him in terms of ingenuity, so some people wonder how they ended up together. But eh, who cares? Anaxa loves them anyways. Though, spending time with him is not good for their heart since whenever he states something outrageous, the reader will chime in with a "he doesn't mean that" and attempt to smoothen the tension, only for this dromas loving nerd to ruin the peace by spouting something like "no, actually, I meant every word I say" and the reader just stares up at the heavens, gaze resigned, and inwardly prays that they won't be stoned to death in that very moment

Bonus if they're taller than anaxa. I just think it would be cute if the reader has to constantly bend down whenever anaxa has something to say. Just the overall trope of the tall one being meek and withdrawn while the short one is feisty and outspoken

“He doesn’t mean that… I think”

Summary: You're the tall, soft-spoken partner of Anaxagoras—the infamous scholar with a talent for making blasphemous statements that nearly get you both stoned on a regular basis. While he fearlessly challenges gods and sages with wild theories and cutting wit, you're always close behind, offering polite smiles, calming words, and the occasional desperate "he doesn’t mean that." Despite your gentler nature and quieter intellect, Anaxa is fiercely devoted to you, pulling you into his chaotic orbit with unwavering affection. It’s loud, it’s intense, and your spine might just be made of divine patience.

Tags: Anaxagorus x Reader, Opposites Attract, Height Difference, Chaotic Genius x Soft-Tall Partner, Damage Control Partner, Romantic Tension, Emotional Vulnerability, Found Family Elements, Slow Burn (Implied), Philosophical Drama, “He Doesn’t Mean That” Energy, Protective Reader.

Warnings: Themes Of Death And Loss, Mentions Of Religious And Academic Conflict, Blasphemy (Fictional Context), Light Emotional Angst, Mild Language, Potential Reader Endangerment (Non-Graphic, Played For Irony/Humor), Anaxagorus being Anaxagorus.

A/N: I love this man, can you tell? 😋💚

It always starts with him saying something he absolutely shouldn’t.

The atmosphere in the courtyard of the Grove is as tense as a taut bowstring. A gathering of scholars and disciples encircle the infamous Anaxagoras, their faces twitching with barely concealed disdain, curiosity, or both. And there you are, standing right beside him like a loyal, bewildered lighthouse in the middle of an academic storm.

“…And that, my dear sages,” Anaxa declares, arms dramatically flared, coat swishing like some peacock possessed by hubris, “is why divine authority is nothing but an inherited illusion. If a god needs worship to maintain power, is it not merely a glorified parasite?”

Silence.

Not a respectful kind of silence. The "someone-is-about-to-throw-a-chair" kind of silence.

You blink. Smile nervously. And step in, gently placing a hand on Anaxa’s shoulder—he’s still mid-pose, soaking in the shocked silence like it’s validation—and clear your throat. You lean forward slightly, voice as gentle as spring rain.

“He doesn’t mean that.”

“I do,” Anaxa replies immediately, not even turning to look at you. “And if anyone disagrees, they’re welcome to explain how an all-powerful being managed to trip over the concept of mortality.”

You don't even sigh anymore. You just look up at the skies, lips silently mouthing the names of all the gods, hoping one of them has a sense of humor.

People often ask how the two of you ended up together.

You, the serene, quiet mitigation unit who wears soft colors and softer expressions. Him, the sharp-tongued philosopher whose idea of a romantic date involves reading banned texts and dismantling holy logic.

“They're not even on the same wavelength,” someone once whispered, watching you gently tug Anaxa back from yet another oncoming theological brawl. “How does it even work?”

You weren’t sure either.

Maybe it’s the way his eyes soften when you’re the one holding the scalpel during a shared experiment. Or how he lets you tie his ponytail every morning, mumbling critiques about symmetry but never actually fixing it. Or how he always looks for you in a room before he speaks—to see if you're there to watch the world burn with him.

Maybe it’s just love. Bizarre, inexplicable love.

Even if that love occasionally comes with public threats of excommunication.

You’re taller than him, of course. He pretends not to notice. But when he speaks, you always instinctively lean down just slightly, hands politely folded, like you’re giving a particularly chaotic child your full attention.

“Listen,” he says one day, post-lecture, voice low and dramatic, “I’ve discovered a correlation between Titan souls and the latent fear gods have of mortality. My next paper will be titled ‘The Cowards in the Sky.’”

You stare at him. Then glance nervously at the passing sages.

“He doesn’t mean that,” you murmur.

“I do,” Anaxa snaps, tilting his head up at you with that familiar glint of mischief and defiance. “And if I vanish in the middle of the night, assume they finally sent divine assassins. You’ll avenge me, won’t you?”

You rub your temple. “I’ll try to negotiate.”

“And you call yourself devoted,” he mutters, smug.

Still, for all the chaos he invites, Anaxa clings to you like a man who has seen too much fire and finds comfort in quiet.

When the nights are cold and long, he curls against you like he’s hiding from ghosts, his left hand resting just above yours. Sometimes, in those fragile hours, he whispers the names of people who aren’t alive anymore. Sometimes, he whispers yours like it's the only name he trusts to stay.

You don’t always understand the depth of his genius. You don’t have to.

You’re there. That’s enough.

You ground him, and occasionally save both your lives from being pelted by rocks.

“I’ve concluded,” Anaxa says one day, while reclining on your lap beneath a half-dead tree, “that your spine must be made of divine patience.”

You smile faintly, brushing a strand of mint hair from his face.

“And I’ve concluded,” you reply, voice barely audible, “that your mouth is going to get us killed one day.”

He laughs.

“You love me, still?”

You lean down slowly, forehead resting against his.

“Unfortunately,” you whisper.

And he grins.

“Good. That makes two of us.”

[severussnapemylove]

(Looking at a list of Order members names)

Y/N; “Wait, for real? (looks at Sirius) Sirius Orion Black? Your initials are S.O.B? So you’re a son of a bitch by name and by nature.”

Severus; (chokes on his drink)

[pininghermit]

A God's Worship

Request: I hope you are doing well 💗 I love the new Adrian x dutchess reader story. I got the prompt, 'Psyco'. I was wondering if you could write a Adrian Tepes x female reader story where the reader is a bit unhinged. But he is madly in love with her. Like a dark, twisted tale. 😁

AN: Hello anon, thank you for reading my work! Here is your request. I hope you enjoy this. Unhinged but madly in love readers are my fav. I tried something new by writing this one poetically.

Genre: drama & angst ig

Pairing(s): Alucard x gn Reader

Summary: His breath hitches. His heartbeat slows. His eyes flutter shut beneath your touch. And the world falls apart.

Some sacrifice love for good. Some burn the world for love. Some light it up. And some… create a new one.

This story is for those who become God to worship their love.

"It is not real!"

Adrian clutches Lisa’s hand, his golden eyes wide, trembling with frantic terror.

"You're dead!"

His body, shrouded in blankets, wracks with shivers as he points a shaking finger at his father.

"And you… I killed you. Why are you here?"

He flinches from their touch, ignoring the gentle hands trying to soothe him, to press a cup of medicine to his lips.

"My dear," Lisa whispers, cupping his damp cheeks. "It is a dream. We are here with you."

She pulls him into her arms, a mother’s warmth, he remember it well. Her warmth, the scent of herbs and ink...his mother.

"A nightmare of the past. Your father and I live. We are alive."

But her words are hollow, empty as the castle halls.

Adrian presses his hands over his ears.

"This is a lie… a spell, a dream, an illusion." His voice wavers, a fragile thing on the brink of breaking. Sweat drips from his temple, strands of pale hair clinging to his nape.

Then—

"Shhh."

A voice silences the storm in his mind.

A whisper, just by his ear. Lips brushing his skin.

"You are safe."

His breath hitches. His heartbeat slows. His eyes flutter shut beneath your touch.

And the world falls apart.

Adrian links his arm through yours.

It takes effort, his gaze refuses to leave you tonight.

The winter ball of the Fae glows with silver light, a kingdom sculpted from frost and moonbeams. Next to him, you are a wonder, robes spun from the midnight sky, glimmering with woken stars. Your hair cascades down your back, untamed, luminous with crystals of ice braided in.

The court is frozen in time, statues carved by the careful hands of devoted brownies.

His mother and father are lost in a sea of dancers, their laughter carried by the wind, lost among masked dancers.

Adrian rubs his thumb over your palm.

"You look beautiful, my love."

He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin.

"Dance with me?"

At your nod, he whisks you onto the floor.

His arms around you. Yours around him. Closer than ever.

He dances with the same effortless grace as his father.

Dracula, after all, had taught him the waltz of the Unseelie Court.

Sun-spun hair rests beneath your fingers. He smiles, laughter spilling from his lips, his eyes never leaving yours.

His steps creak—

Not against polished marble, but against worn wooden floors.

Dust shifts beneath his shoes, months of neglect disturbed with each movement.

Yet his smile remains.

His eyes remain lost in the illusion of your faraway court.

Perhaps it would be easier to let him stay here.

If it brings him joy, you would leave Dracula’s crumbling castle in a heartbeat.

"Do you like it here?" You nod to the marvelous sights of your court that your beloved revels in.

Your fingers weave into his hair, cradling the warmth of his head against your palm.

"Why not stay longer?"

The question is light, effortless. Crafted with delicate precision to mask the quiet desperation curling inside you.

What you would not do to have him here, in your world.

To drape him in silks, to spoil him with the everlasting luxuries of your court.

Adrian frowns.

Hesitation lays itself bare upon his face, a fragile thing for you to pluck away at first sight.

Spells make it easier to read him.

"No… please, no." His fingers tighten around your sleeve, his grip trembling. "I cannot leave home."

His steps falter. His eyes clear, gold sharpening through the mist of illusion. "Must stay with mother...and father," he whimpers.

The edges of your glamour wither, fragile as the first frost beneath morning light.

"Alright, beloved."

You pull him into your embrace, his breath shaky against your shoulder.

"No more. We won’t leave. We shall stay where you wish"

With a mere thought, the phantom forms of his parents step closer.

"We shall stay with your parents."

A reassurance. A spell. A carefully woven promise.

You usher him back into the comfort of his dream. The world you have made for him.

Your beloved is happy there. Fulfilled.

Who are you to deny him?

Here, the castle stands untouched, as it had in the past.

Here, the bodies of traitorous friends do not rot in the woods.

Here, the church has never burned.

Here, the humans still live.

Here, you have given him the world he desires.

And in return, Adrian chooses life.

Next to you. Here.

You twirl him in your arms, guiding him through another waltz beneath the dream-lit sky.

He dances with you, laughter slipping through his lips, until exhaustion drapes over his shoulders like a heavy cloak.

His body leans into yours. He tires more easily now. Agitation wears at him faster, the strain of his soul bound to your spell pressing upon his fragile form.

It had been his fading soul that led you to this.

By the time you found him, it was already too late.

Broken by grief, your beloved had been lost to the cold corridors of his misery, wasting away within the crumbling bones of his father’s castle.

But you refused to let go of him.

Your love, your passion, your despair, your grief, it was all his.

But mercy?

No.

You refused to grant him that.

You refused to let his soul wander where you could not follow.

So, you made him a world.

Seared his soul to yours.

Even death would not take him. Not at the cost of him.

You yawn, feigning drowsiness.

"Shall we retire?"

Adrian blinks up at you, bleary-eyed, nodding without question.

You lead him to his room, guiding him to the bed with a gentleness neither of you deserve.

He does not question the sudden shift in scenery.

Does not question the way his vision wavers, as if some part of him knows.

He simply settles into your arms, his face buried against your neck, breathing softly.

And you hold him closer, knowing he will never wake from this dream.

[itsalliny0urhead]

Let Me Stay (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Bucky doesn’t ask for help. He never says he needs you. But when the nightmares hit, you’re the only one who can reach him. In the silence of the early hours, you hold him through the shaking, the memories, the guilt. He says he doesn’t deserve love — but you stay anyway. Because he’s yours. And you’ve never needed him to be perfect — only real.

Bucky Barnes x reader

It always started with the silence.

Not the kind that came with peace — the kind that held its breath. That heavy stillness just before something breaks.

You felt it before you heard him move.

Bucky jerked upright in bed with a sharp gasp, body tense, back bowed, lungs desperate for air that refused to come. He was already drenched in sweat, chest heaving, metal hand curled tight in the sheets. The muscles in his neck were straining, like he was still bracing for impact.

He wasn’t there. Not with you. Not yet.

Your heart cracked.

You didn’t say his name immediately — you’d learned not to. Too sudden and it startled him. Too loud and it pulled him under.

So you moved carefully.

“Bucky,” you whispered, voice soft as breath, like a hand reaching out in the dark.

He didn’t turn.

The moonlight through the window caught the edge of his scars — the silver glint of metal at his wrist, the faint shimmer of sweat along his spine.

You sat up slowly, sheets slipping from your skin. Reached out. Let your fingers hover just above his back. He was trembling.

When you finally touched him, he flinched. Just barely. But he didn’t pull away.

“It was just a dream,” you murmured. “You’re safe.”

He let out a breath that sounded like a sob held too long in his chest. His shoulders dropped, just a little.

“I couldn’t stop it.” His voice was wrecked. “It was happening again. I couldn’t— I didn’t know where I was—”

You moved behind him, pressing your body to his back, wrapping your arms around his chest like a shield. You felt his heart pounding beneath your palm.

“You’re home,” you said quietly. “You’re not there. Not anymore.”

Bucky shook his head. “But it’s still in me.”

You pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck. He shuddered.

“I still hear the screaming,” he whispered. “I can feel the blood on my hands. I wake up and I can’t breathe because it still feels real.”

You closed your eyes. God, how many times had he woken like this? Alone, before you ever touched his bed. Before he ever let you stay.

“You didn’t choose any of it,” you said, holding him tighter. “You were never what they made you.”

Bucky’s breath hitched. He twisted slowly in your arms, like he was afraid of what you’d see. His eyes were wet, jaw tight.

“I’m afraid,” he whispered. “Of what I’ve done. Of what I still could do.”

You cupped his face gently, both hands holding him like something precious. Something fragile.

“I’m not,” you said. “I know you. I know every part of you — even the ones you hate.”

His throat worked. “You shouldn’t love someone like me.”

You kissed the scar just beneath his eye. Then the hollow of his cheek. His temple.

“I don’t love someone like you,” you whispered. “I love you.”

His hands gripped your waist like he didn’t know what to do with that — like the weight of being loved so completely made his ribs ache.

“I don’t know how to be soft,” he said. “Not like you deserve.”

“Then don’t be soft,” you said. “Just be here. With me.”

He leaned in, slowly. Hesitantly. His lips brushed yours — tentative, almost shy. But when you kissed him back, his hands found your back, your jaw, your hair — pulling you closer, like he needed to make sure you were real.

When you pulled him down into the bed with you, his head rested against your chest. One of your hands slid through his hair. The other held his metal hand, fingers curled gently between his.

“I’m still here,” you whispered.

Bucky closed his eyes.

“I don’t deserve this,” he said.

You kissed the top of his head. “That’s not your call to make.”

He was asleep within minutes — still holding your hand like he was afraid you’d disappear.

You didn’t.

You stayed.

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Heeey ! If request are still open, can I ask for a father!reader that have lost their children and take care of the BAU like of they were his children ? I'm bad for explaining, but it's basically a reader that don't want to see anyone in the BAU die and take care of them like if they were his children-

Ignore it if you don't want to write it

And have a good day !!

I've set it out a little differently, idk lol. But this is an amazing idea I love it!

Warnings: Reid's one mentions food and not eating properly, Morgan's mentions violence, JJ's mentions grief of losing a child, Prentiss' discusses nail biting and skin picking.

Reid:

"Hey, Spence?" You chime, turning to the younger man. Reid's head shoots up.

"Yeah?"

"Have you eaten breakfast?"

"Yep," Reid nods, sipping his coffee.

"And that breakfast was...?"

"A doughnut and this coffee." Reid looks at you, slightly hesitantly. You just raise your eyebrows for a moment and sighed.

You fish through your bag, pulling out a protein bar, a packaged croissant, and a water. "Here,"

"(Y/N), you really don't need to-"

"Don't wanna hear it, Spence." You sat in the seat next to him, sipping on your own coffee. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

"Oh, yeah? And what did you have for breakfast?"

"That's not- we're talking about you-" Spencer rolled his eyes, passing you back the protein bar.

"I don't want to hear it."

Morgan:

"He really kicked the shit out of you, huh?" You said softly, pressing the cold compress against Morgan's head.

Derek winced, forcing himself not to pull away, knowing the compress would help. He doesn't say anything, just gives a small snort.

"You give as good as you got?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at the younger man. When Derek gives a soft nod, you let yourself smile. "Good."

Garcia:

"There she is!" You give Penelope a soft smile, offering her a coffee. "I got decaf, hope you don't mind."

"You know, despite popular belief, I'm pretty good at dealing with caffeine."

"You literally vibrate. Like actually, literally vibrate."

"That's just a glitch in the matrix."

"...So you don't want the drink and cookie of making amends?"

"I said I can deal with caffeine, I didn't say I was an idiot, gimme."

JJ:

When you found out JJ was pregnant, it was a bittersweet feeling. On the one hand, you were so excited for the young couple to settle down, for them to experience all their firsts together. But then came the bitter side of this.

Whilst you were overjoyed for them, it hurt. It hurt to see a young woman who reminded you so much of your daughter start a family, knowing you would never get the chance to be a grandad.

Prentiss:

You could generally tell when it started to get bad for Prentiss. Or at least when it started to get too much. She'd subtly bite at her nails, sometimes picking at them instead. Pulling at the skin around her nails, barely even flinching if it bled.

After Doyle, her nail biting got worse. As did the skin picking. You had made sure to keep a close eye on her throughout the case. N the jet ride back, she continued to pick at her skin and nails.

You give Hotch and Rossi a small nod as you place the book you were reading down gently. You slide into the seat opposite her.

"Hey."

Emily pauses picking at her fingers to look up at you.

"Hey."

"How are you feeling?"

You watch her debate whether or not to say anything. "It's just... it's been a rough case."

You nod, taking a moment before you reply. "How about I make us both a tea - decaf because otherwise we'll both be bouncing off the walls-"

"Speak for yourself, old man." She quips with a smirk.

You mock offence, placing a hand over your heart.

"Careful, you might actually give him a heart attack." Morgan chimes.

You scoff, "Rude. Anyways, I make us a tea and we can talk about it. Or, we can talk about Sergio."

"Sergio it is." Emily nods.

"Alright, tea coming right up."

"Can I get one?" JJ asks, sitting up straight, you give a small nod, grinning when Spencer chimes in.

"I'll take a tea if you're making,"

"You did just say I'd have a heart attack..." You pulled an unsure face, "I'm not sure if I should be rewarding that behaviour."

Rossi gives a smirk as you continue, "Just this once." Morgan gives a soft snort as you grin at him. "Aaron, you having one?"

"I'm okay, thank you." You nod, throwing him a bottle of water instead.

"You look dehydrated."

"He means you look like shit." Morgan teases quietly.

"I heard that."

Hotch:

"Sir, respectfully, if you don't sleep, I will hit you over the head with something to knock you the fuck out." You chime, sitting across from him. You opened your book (the latest one Reid had suggested you read), raising an eyebrows at the 'children' - read 'other team members' - as they snicker. "Oi, no giggling, y'all better sleep too."

"Y'all?" Morgan smirks.

"Less backchat, more sleepy times." Is all you respond with.

"You know I'm only a year younger than you, right?" Hotch raised an eyebrow.

"And yet here you are acting like Morgan."

"Hey-" Hotch and Morgan both gasp.

"Now, shut up and sleep."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Rossi chimes.

Prentiss snorts, "Yes Dads."

Rossi:

"Honestly Dave." You sighed, "Sometimes our kids can be a right pain in the ass."

"Tell me about it. We might have to ground them."

[hazbininserts]

Okay so I’ve been having a Vision

Basically, hazbin hotel with a reader, who is really sweet and really nice. They are very protective, always want to take care of people, and being kind of a motherly influence to everyone in the hotel. I’m going to say they were there in the beginning when Angel Dust started there. They are very protective of their family, and they see everyone in the hotel as their family.

Then, one day, Angel comes back after a bad time with Val, and they are really injured and probably concussed. This reader doesn’t usually look like someone who is a demon, but when they see the injuries, they get a smile that looks like Alastor’s when he’s angry. As soon as the reader has confirmation it was Valentino, they look Angel in the eyes and ask if Angel would be okay with Valentino disappearing. Like, he would never be able to harm anyone else again, and no one from the hotel would get in trouble, and they are asking for permission because ‘You have had decisions made for you too many time, so I want to allow you to decide if you are okay with this.’

Angel, probably due to the concussion and not thinking the reader could do it, agrees. The reader has Angel go upstairs to rest/eat/take a bath and self care, and sends Husk upstairs to keep an eye on Angel. Then, reader pulls out a phone that isn’t their regular phone, and everyone in the lobby (Vaggie, Charlie, Alastor, Nifty, not sure about Sir Pentious) hears one side of the following conversation. The quotations are what the reader said, and there are pauses in between lines.

“Hey, raptor, it’s me.”

“I need a favor. You remember Valentino?”

“Relax, I didn’t make a deal with him, but someone I care about did. Look, I want to bring back the deal we had when I was alive. And I want full scorched earth with Valentino. I want to be sure he can never hurt anyone again.”

“Don’t try to cheat me, I remember the deal, since this is only one guy, I only need to give five days.”

“No- Don’t you dare-“

“Do I need to call Wren? Because I will.”

“Fine. One week, four ��special’ nights.”

“If you get this done before the weekend is over, I’ll even let you all dress me up in whatever you want, one person choosing per day, and won’t complain.”

“Fine.”

“Have Wren or Raven call me afterwards, and I’ll arrange transportation with them.”

“Because if I arrange it with you, you won’t let me leave.”

“See you then.”

Then, reader hangs up, and breathes a sigh that is far heavier than the residents have ever heard before. Reader then smiles at them, wishes them a good night, and goes upstairs.

Are you guys interested in this? If I get more than 75 notes, I will link my ao3 and write it.

[todorokis-girl]

Standing Tall - Chuuya x reader

Chuuya Nakahara is head over heels for his badass civilian s/o, Y/N, who refuses to be intimidated by anyone, not even the most powerful figures in the Port Mafia. Y/N stands up for Chuuya, knocking out Dazai for insulting him and even confronting Mori to ensure Chuuya gets his promised time off. With unwavering confidence and a calm demeanor, Y/N is a force to be reckoned with, and Chuuya couldn’t be more in love.

Based on this post by @hellaarknight

it's been day, this has been rotting on my brain for days, It had to be written.

Requests are OPEN!

masterlist

Chuuya Nakahara had never considered himself easily impressed. He was a man who had seen the world’s darkest corners, who had fought and bled in the name of the Port Mafia, and who had faced down the most dangerous Ability users without flinching. But you? You were something else entirely.

You weren’t part of the underworld, nor did you possess an Ability that could turn the tide of battle. You were, by all accounts, a civilian. But what people often overlooked was that it wasn’t power or status that made someone formidable. It was the unwavering confidence, the sheer refusal to be intimidated, and the ability to stand tall in the face of adversity.

You’d caught Chuuya’s eye almost immediately, a whirlwind of determination and fearlessness wrapped in a kind smile. He’d been head over heels before he even knew it, captivated by the way you could walk into any room, look anyone—no matter how dangerous—straight in the eye, and hold your ground. It was refreshing, exhilarating even, to see someone who didn’t just survive in a world of chaos but thrived on it without ever losing themselves.

The first time Chuuya realized just how serious you were about not taking anyone’s shit was when you knocked out Dazai. The lanky bastard had been mouthing off, making one of his usual snide remarks about Chuuya’s height and appearance, calling him a "short, ugly slug" with that annoying smirk on his face. Chuuya had been ready to retaliate, but before he could even move, you were in front of him, eyes blazing.

“Say that again,” you’d said, voice calm but laced with an undeniable threat. Dazai, ever the troublemaker, had repeated his insult, barely getting the words out before you’d sent your fist crashing into his face, dropping him to the ground.

Chuuya had blinked, shocked but undeniably impressed. “Y/N—”

“He deserved it,” you’d cut him off, wiping your hand on your pants with a satisfied grin. “No one disrespects you while I’m around.”

And that was that. Dazai had stayed on the ground, nursing a bruised jaw, while you stood there as if nothing had happened. Chuuya couldn’t help but laugh, a deep, appreciative sound that made your grin widen.

But it wasn’t just the small skirmishes where you showed your strength. You had no fear of the Mafia’s hierarchy, no qualms about confronting the most powerful figures if it meant protecting what mattered to you.

It had been one of those rare days when Chuuya had actually been granted time off—time off that Mori had later revoked, summoning Chuuya for an "urgent" mission. Chuuya had been ready to grit his teeth and go, fully aware that refusing an order from Mori wasn’t an option. But then you stepped in.

You had marched straight into Mori’s office, completely ignoring the bewildered stares of the subordinates, and leveled a steely gaze at the Mafia boss himself. Mori had looked mildly amused, raising an eyebrow as you spoke.

“If you don’t respect your employee rights, I’ll make sure that you will respect them one way or another.”

Chuuya had frozen in the doorway, eyes wide as he watched you stand toe-to-toe with the most dangerous man in the Port Mafia. Mori’s amusement had deepened, but there was a sharp edge to it. “Do you have any idea who you’re speaking to?” he had asked, voice deceptively gentle.

“I do,” you’d replied without missing a beat. “And I don’t care. I know how to handle people like you.”

The air had crackled with tension, subordinates shifting uneasily, ready to react if Mori so much as twitched. But you hadn’t flinched. Instead, you’d continued, voice calm and steady. “The last assassins sent to deal with me are six feet under, so I strongly advise you to rethink your response, Mori-san.”

Mori had studied you for a long moment, the smile never leaving his face but something darker lurking beneath it. And then Elise, perched on his desk with a curious tilt to her head, had spoken up. “I like them, Mori. Can we keep them?”

It had been a surreal moment, one that could have easily ended in disaster. But Mori had merely laughed, a soft, chilling sound. “Very well. Chuuya, you’re free to go. I wouldn’t want to upset our dear Y/N, after all.”

You’d turned on your heel, brushing past the stunned subordinates as if nothing had happened, leaving Mori and Elise behind. Chuuya had followed, heart pounding in his chest, a mix of awe and disbelief swirling within him.

“Y/N,” he’d said once you were safely out of earshot, “you do realize who that was, right?”

“Of course,” you’d replied, flashing him a smile that was equal parts sweet and dangerous. “But I wasn’t about to let him push you around. You deserve better.”

Chuuya had stared at you, utterly captivated. No one—absolutely no one—had ever stood up for him like that, especially not against Mori. He’d known you were special from the moment he met you, but this? This was something else entirely.

From that day on, Chuuya knew he’d found someone who was more than just a partner. You were a force to be reckoned with, a storm in your own right, and you had no intention of being anything less. You weren’t afraid to set boundaries, to demand respect, and to fight for what you believed in. And you did it all with a calm, collected demeanor that only made you more formidable.

Chuuya loved you for it, admired you for it, and he knew there was no one else in the world who could ever take your place in his heart. You were his equal, his anchor, and the one person who could stand by his side without ever being overshadowed.

And when you’d pulled him close that night, holding him like you never intended to let go, Chuuya knew without a doubt that he was the luckiest man in the world. Because you, Y/N, were nothing short of extraordinary.

As the city lights twinkled outside the window, you leaned in and whispered, “No one’s ever going to push you around again, Chuuya. Not as long as I’m here.”

Chuuya smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I know. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

In a world filled with chaos, power struggles, and constant danger, you were the calm within the storm, the fierce protector who refused to be intimidated. And Chuuya Nakahara couldn’t have been more in love with you.

[aussiepineapple1st]

Hi there! If your taking requests can you do a Leon x reader where they have a baby and one night theyre sleeping in bed when there's an intruder in the house and it ends up being Ada and Leon goes to check it out and tries to reason with Ada. The reader goes to check on Leon when they see Ada holding their baby and hears her arguing with Leon. Leon telling her to hand the baby over and get the hell out but the reader steps between Leon and Ada and sizes Ada up saying "what the hell do you think your doing with my baby?" Like a badass reader and Leon being impressed and just so in love?

Thank You! 🥰

I will do my best!😅

Stolen Child

Words: 1,266 Contains: Daddy Leon, guns

Coming back from feeding your 5 month old daughter, you slide back in bed with your husband. Rolling over Leon had stayed awake just in case you needed his help, insisting you got it this time.

"Is she happy now?" He asks pulling you into his body to get comfortable once again.

"She is... But you should be asleep, you had it tough the last week." You were worried about your husband's health, he had come home to you bloody and bruised. You had been with Leon during Racoon City, you also had managed to live a fairly normal life. Working your way up to your own dream job as a successful Café owner.

"I'm alright, I just feel bad leaving you alone with her for so long."

You shake your head at his words and snuggle into his warm chest. "You do more than enough for both of us already." Sighing, you close your eyes. She would be wanting another feed at around 4am so you had a few hours to sleep.

An hour passes and you feel Leon pulling away from you leaving the bed. You wake up, but guess he was only going to the toilet. Staying on your side you start falling back asleep when you hear Leon talking, you groan and sit up. Does he really have a call at this time of night? You reach over turning on the lamp beside you and look over to his table... No, his phone was right there. You didn't hear a knock at the door?

Sliding out of the bed, you use the carpet to your advantage and stay in the hall, listening to where his voice was coming from.

"I won't ask you again." There he was, in your daughters room, the tone of his voice had your heart racing. Peeking through the gap in the door you see Leon standing there, facing the window. His arms were extended, holding his gun in his hands. Trained on a woman holding something in her arms.

"Put her back in the crib or so help me I'll shoot." Leon's voice was low and demanding, but soft enough to not wake the still sleeping baby.

"You wouldn't do that, I might drop her." The woman's voice was smooth and sensual, mocking Leon with what she knew he would never do while his daughter was in danger.

You couldn't just stay hidden! Opening the door, the woman pulls her own gun on you. "What the hell are you doing with my baby!?" You didn't care if you woke her, you wanted her out of the arms of this intruder. Who would steal a baby?!

"Ada, don't." Leon warned as he steps between you and her gun. So this was Ada? The very same woman Leon had told you about from Racoon City when you had both been separated in the mayhem. The woman who he would tell you kept popping up on his jobs.

Placing a hand on the back of his shoulder you step around your husband, his finger leaving the trigger, almost starting to squeeze it. Still keeping it trained on Ada he makes sure you weren't in the way if he needed to in fact, shoot her. "What do you plan on doing with her?" You ask.

Ada just glanced down at the still sleeping babe, a smirk pulling at one side of her lips then lifting her gaze to you once again. You had stepped close enough for the barrel of her pistol to be pressed against your collar bone. Ada frowns at how ballsy you were, she could tell why Leon had fallen for you and was still with you even after so long. "Sorry, but I don't work and tell."

Leon was stood directly behind you, so you knew she wouldn't shoot, just in case she hit him. Ada not expecting the speed in which you had grabbed her wrist and lifted her arm to the ceiling, your grip making Ada wince slightly as you step even closer. Yes, you were shorter than she was, by half a head, but your intense stare made up for your height intimidation.

"You'll hand my baby back to me now and leave the same way you came in. And if I ever..." You lower your voice to a growl. "Ever! See you again, I will Not hesitate to shoot you, unlike my husband."

Ada tilts her head up, seeing in your eyes you weren't joking. Maybe the job she thought would be easy wasn't, not with you being the child's mother. She looks to Leon who was smirking at you, she could tell he was impressed by your show of protection for your daughter. Reluctantly she allows you to take your baby back from her arm, your hand still holding her wrist tight.

Once your daughter was back in your arms and only then did you remove your grip from Ada's wrist. Leon pulls you back into his side as he keeps his gun on Ada. "You heard her.. On your way." Leon motions with his gun for her to leave through the open window.

Once she leaves you wait before removing your gaze from the window and felt your legs go weak under you, the adrenaline leaving your body almost instantly. Leon saw you drop and half catches you, kneeling down beside you as you sat on the carpeted floor, cradling your baby. "You okay?" Leon asked seeing you starting to tremble.

"Y-Yeah, I'm okay, just.. my legs aren't working right now. Heh.." You were so scared, but protecting your daughter was your main objective, worrying about if you got shot later. "Did.. Did I do good?"

Leon just lets out a low chuckle from a closed mouth, rubbing your arms to help calm you down. "Yeah, I was even scared for a moment there." He didn't want to put his daughter back in her crib, not tonight. And it looked like neither did you, so he ends up scooping you into his arms while you held your baby.

"No you weren't.." You pout.

"Really, I was." He carries you back into your bedroom, placing you on your side of the bed. "I was scared you would be shot."

"Oh.. Right." Leon walks down stairs to fetch a U-shaped pillow, placing it in the centre of your bed. You then gently lay your daughter in the middle, both of her parents laying on either side of her for protection. You lay on your side, head on the pillow surrounding the tiny infant. Leon was doing the same, reaching down to use his index finger to draw tiny circles on the inside of her open palm.

She closed her fingers around Leon's finger causing a big smile to pull the corners of his lips. You watch the smile on his face and he looks up to you. "I was really proud of you for standing up against Ada. You were so hot."

"Oh please." You blush and pull the blanket over your shoulder. "You probably do that type of thing daily."

"Yes.. Sort of.. But you don't. God, I love you so much." He said reaching over his daughter and gently touching your cheek.

Your cheeks turn a darker red and look in his eyes that looked at you with pure admiration. He had seen a new side of you tonight and it only made him fall more in love with you. "I love you too, but we really need to figure out something about house security so this doesn't happen again."

"Right.."

🏷️: @phoenix666stuff @maehemthemisfit @greywardensaywhat @growingupnrealizing @starcrossedreaders

[aventurineswife]

Feeling romantic, eh? Well it has been a little while since I welcomed myself to your inbox and have returned with love. But not just that! A request as well. Rather than my series of flowers, I think it's time for music.

"The Legend Of The Blue Eyes" - Anaxa x Astrologist! Reader

This is a series that I think has music that may... inspire you. It will be your only prompt to go off of besides the reader being an Astrologist as well as an Astronomer. Fluff, Angst- It matters not. These will be targeted towards Anaxa, and he alone. Enjoy, ma amour. (This is totally not an idea I had but haven't had the confidence to write. So, you'll enjoy this dynamic I'm sure.)

“If the Gods Fall, Let the Stars Remember Me”

Summary: In a world governed by celestial fate and divine tyranny, you—a battle-scarred astrologist—find yourself slowly unraveling under the weight of your past and the growing pull of an eccentric scholar who dares to challenge the gods. As Anaxagoras pursues truth with reckless brilliance, and you shield your beloved ward with fierce devotion, an unlikely intimacy forms between you—one forged through shared loss, quiet defiance, and the fragile hope that love, too, might be written in the stars.

Tags: Anaxa x Reader, Vanitas-inspired, Jeanne based Reader, Fluff & Angst, Found Family, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Experimental Love, Tragic Romance, Still Life Symbolism, Emotionally Vulnerable Characters, Forbidden Knowledge, Protective Reader, Scholar x Warrior/Astrologist Dynamic.

Warnings: Past abuse and trauma (enslavement, coercion), Death and grief, Self-worth issues, Emotional breakdowns, Mentions of physical violence and manipulation, Existential themes (mortality, gods, divine rebellion), Bittersweet/ambiguous ending, Use of his full name (because I don't want him to leave me alone).

A/N: So, I guess... This is the start of a new series?

Tagslist: @sewoui

The first time you met Anaxagoras, it was beneath the shattered remains of the Starfall Observatory. The sky was blistered with constellations long since banned from worship, and you had blood on your hands—though not your own.

You had your blade pressed against a noble's throat. He had mocked your ward. Called the child a "pet." The noble didn’t get the chance to say another word before you silenced him with a wordless snarl.

That was when he spoke. Not the noble. Anaxagoras.

"I see your stars have teeth. Fascinating."

You turned, startled by the unexpected guest standing in the rubble. He looked... odd. Pale skin, spectral hair draped over his shoulder like seaweed through moonlight, and eye like broken galaxies—pale aqua seared with magenta. A golden-patterned eyepatch gleamed over his left eye, and his smile held the weight of both satire and tragedy.

The child behind you tugged at your cloak.

"They hurt me," the child whispered. You nodded, and without a word, left the noble's body to the collapsing stars.

The second time was different.

You had just mapped the soulburst trail of an extinct comet, and Anaxa was sitting cross-legged on the table of your study, flipping through your star maps like one might flip through a scandalous novel.

"The way you chart the cosmos is so... emotional. Like you're writing poetry to the gods."

"And you're desecrating divine cadavers to prove they're mortal."

He grinned, utterly delighted. "We make a fine pair."

You hated how fast your cheeks flushed.

The third time, he found you sobbing.

Not because you were weak, but because someone had tricked you. Lied about the child’s safety. You had surrendered to the enemy, let yourself be chained and humiliated—all because you'd believed your ward had died screaming.

When the truth was revealed, you wanted to tear the liar's throat out.

But instead, Anaxa held you.

He didn't speak. Just let you scream into his shoulder until your voice cracked like brittle moonlight.

"If truth is pain," he whispered finally, "then you're the most honest person I've ever met."

You clung to him, shaking. Not from grief. From relief.

It became a ritual. You, the once-ruthless protector, reading the stars. Him, the foolish scholar, trying to dethrone them.

When he showed you his soul-seeing eye, you didn’t flinch. You simply asked, "What do you see when you look at me?"

He hesitated.

"I see a constellation too beautiful to name."

That night, under a burning aurora shaped like a shattered crown, you kissed him.

But love, to you, was dangerous.

You had never been allowed it before. You feared it. It made you reckless, vulnerable. You wanted to own it, dominate it, like a caged starmare longing to outrun the night.

You whispered things you shouldn't. Held him too tightly when nightmares seized you. Touched him when you shouldn't have, and cried afterward, convinced you'd ruined something sacred.

But he never looked away.

He never stopped coming back.

One night, he laid out an arrangement of vanitas symbols—wilted flowers, broken instruments, gold tarnished with acid.

"This," he said, gesturing at the still life, "is how the world sees me. A failed scholar, a madman. Disposable."

You knelt beside him and placed your hand over the crimson tattoo on his right.

"Then they're blind. Because I see someone who made me believe I was more than a weapon."

He swallowed. You had never seen him look so... small.

"Don't go tomorrow," you said.

"I have to. The experiment must be finished."

"You don't have to prove anything. Not to them. Not to the gods."

He turned to you, tears forming like stardust in his remaining eye.

"I'm not doing it for them. I'm doing it for you. For a future where people like you aren’t born in chains."

You broke that night.

And he held you as if he was the fragile one.

They never recovered the body. But your ward found a final letter, hidden in a hollow telescope.

"If the gods fall, may the stars remember me. And if I fail, let my ashes guide you home."

You etched those words onto a monument of shattered astrolabes.

You still watch the stars.

And every time you see a flicker of pale aqua and magenta dancing across the night sky, you smile.

You whisper, "Truth never dies."

And somewhere, through the veil of dead gods and broken prophecies, you know Anaxagorus hears you.

[Navigation]

[black-dragon1998]

Hell must be paid

Synopsis: (Y/N) is a ruling crime boss in National City and the alpha of the city's werewolf pack. When her lover Morgana(let’s pretend she is in this multiverse and the twin sister of Lena Luthor, who stayed behind in Ireland) gets hurt, somebody has to pay.

Two sets of headlights illuminated the night sky as they drove in unison to the docks. The first car stopped with screeching tyres making it stop abruptly and rattle forward in front of the pier,. The figure behind the steering wheel stepping out of the car and looked at the scene around her, knowing it was a cliché but a good cliché.

As she approached the trunk of her car, five guys came out of the other vehicle and set up a perimeter. Blending so into the shadows that if she couldn't sense them (Y/N) wouldn't even know they were there. But (Y/N) could tell all her men apart just by smell. That is how she caught the rat.

Before opening the trunk (Y/N) gave her surroundings a once over. She wouldn't want unwanted guests at her party. Opening the trunk, she ignored the body, pretending to be unconscious. Her acute senses could tell the difference, but she would give him his false sense of security. No, first, she had some things to set up. (Y/N) grabbed the chains and heavy weights from next to the man and threw them at the end of the docks. She was letting them fall with a loud clang.

People always said she had a flair for dramatics. It also gave her time to calm down a little and go over what she was going to do to the dead man before he became a dead man.

Thinking back at what the low life in her car had done made her blood boil, and she could not help but think of who it had almost cost her.

When (Y/N) was sure she wasn't going to rip his guy's throat out, she went to pull him out of the car.

Looking down at the man (Y/N), she watched the man who almost took everything from her a couple of hours ago. She waited for him to look her in the eyes.

She knew who the guy was when her men picked him up: James 'Jimmy' Olsen, a former associate of the Kent Clan. What (Y/N) had heard as of late was that he was working for the Danvers sisters.

James finally opened his eyes after (Y/N) glared at him for a few minutes. He was trying not to show his fear, but (Y/N) knew better. She could practically taste his fear.

"Mister Olsen, how nice of you to stop pretending." (Y/N) said in a sweet voice and kind smile, knowing he wouldn't buy it. The smile dropped when he didn't answer.

"I suggest, Mister Olsen, that you don't look a gifted horse in the mouth. To begin with, you are already on thin ice. So don't throw my kindness in my face." (Y/N) half growls as she grabs him by the shirt collar and lifted him out of the trunk like he weighed nothing more than a trash bag. (Y/N) Threw him toward the weight and chains. He comes down while scraping over the ground. Because his hands and feet were bound, he couldn't prepare himself and landed face first, cutting him up just a bit.

Not even a curse. someone had done this before.

(Y/N) hiked over to him, making her footsteps be heard so he knew she was coming closer. She grabbed James roughly by the shoulder and forced him on his back, with her looming over him—eyes just a little too bright in the night and teeth just a little too sharp.

"what do you want from me?" James asked, trying to get away. The hand on his shoulder prevented him from getting very far.

with the poor lighting around them it was like a demon staring down at him, and he had to do everything he could not let his fear show. With the cocky look, James saw on your face, he knew you could tell anyway.

"I think you know what I want from you, Mister Olsen. Seeing as where my men caught you." Patience was not your strong suit; buy you could be when you had to be.

"your men snatched me off the street with no good reason." James started to struggle, trying to get free. He got nowhere, however, except for being slammed back into the ground.

"No, my men picked you up because you smelled like the explosives that set one of my warehouses on fire tonight. A wolf's nose never lies, Mister Olsen. So, who sent you?" He stayed silent and glared at (Y/N), making her furious. Did the little prick even know what he had almost done tonight, who he had nearly cost her?

If he wouldn't talk to save his life, maybe something else could rattle his cage.

"I heard your sister and her wife adopted a little girl recently." That seemed to strike a nerve because he started to fight like an animal. Making (Y/N) smile.

"you bitch. Keep away from my family!"

"I will if you tell me what I want to know…"

A car approaching them pierced the silence. As the vehicle stopped, a chorus of growls could be heard. The person getting out didn't seem to care as they came closer. (Y/N) craned her neck to the side as the mystery person got closer.

"Let him go (Y/N)." Just a little bit of her Irish accent came through, but otherwise, she sounded exactly like Morgana.

"Well, if it isn't the poster child of the Luthor clan herself. Oh, wait, you are nothing more than the breeding bitch of the youngest Danvers now. Here to save the boy toy? (Y/N)' s mouth turned into a loose grin, more teeth than a smile and a mocking tone.

Eyes rooming over Lena's body. Except for the suit and straight hair, she looked exactly like Morgana.

Morgana who was lying unconscious in a hospital bed after a wall collapsed on her. Caused by an explosion ripping through the warehouse, James Olsen had set on fire.

When Lena noticed (Y/N) wasn't budging, she repeated her request, making (Y/N) laugh.

"You knew me, Lena. Mercy isn't in my book." (Y/N) said. Her attention went back to the man under her. She put the chains around the weight before rapping the weights around James, making her intentions very clear.

"if I let him go, what would that do to my reputation?" (Y/N) could feel her rage build the longer Lena was around. Her scent resembled her wounded lover, setting her inner animal on edge.

Lena was smart enough not to get closer. Sensing that (Y/N) was getting more agitated. Slipping from being a brutal bitch to the animal that dwelled inside.

“(Y/N)! whatever you think James has done…"

"You mean setting my warehouse on fire?" It took Lena a little too long for (Y/N) 's liking to come to James's defence.

"so the Danvers sisters set you up for this, Jimmy." (Y/N) says, looking down at James.

Hoisting him up with one arm, she dangled him over the water.

"And here I thought we were getting somewhere in our meetings."

“(Y/N) please! James was ill-informed. He thought your men were responsible for something my brother did."

"the beating of Winn Scott? That's what this is all about." (Y/N) didn't know if she wanted to scream or laugh.

"the warehouse was empty. I checked!" James yelled, his brave demeanour cracking as he dangled in the air over the water.

"you know what is stored next to that warehouse?" Lena noticed (Y/N) 's demeanour growing colder and becoming more dangerous.

"How should I know!" James was getting frantic.

"next to that warehouse, they stored car batteries. When they caught fire, they exploded. Injuring a very important person to me." That sends Lena's mind into overdrive. Only so many people could get this strong reaction out of you. Before anything else could be said, one of (Y/N) 's men emerged from the shadows.

"boss, she is awake." Lena could feel the heaviness of those words. (Y/N) stepped back from the edge and let James fall to the ground without a second thought. She was walking away before he even hit the ground. When she passed Lena, she stopped for just a moment.

"This isn't forgotten. If Morganna doesn't fully recover, I will see this little stunt as an act of war. Also, you can consider our meeting over and get your men out of my territory within the next 2 hours, or I will consider them fair game." With that, (Y/N) got into her car and sped off.

Lena caught her breath momentarily, not knowing she was holding it. She got to James and helped him out of his binds.

"I hope for all our sakes, James, that Morgana isn't that injured; otherwise, we have a war on our hands. Also, you can explain this to Alex when we get back."

[severussnapemylove]

Y/N; (Shooting a curse at Voldemort) "That’s for hurting the love of my life!"

Severus; "She's talking about me!"

Severus; (quietly) "I’m the love of your life?"

Y/N; "I don’t know. I’m still angry at you."

Y/N; (shoots another curse at Voldy) "And that’s for hurting my children!"

Draco and Harry; "She's talking about us!"

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Hi, if you’re request are open I was wondering if you could do one where yn is a total loner, has a resting bitch face and has a temper when needed so everybody (including hellfire) is terrified of her, everybody think she’s been in jail and crazy rumors like this but in reality she is just extremely shy and has a huge crush on Eddie. One day in the cafeteria Jason is picking on Dustin or anybody from hellfire and reader temper get the best of her and gets involved and since Jason thinks she a witch or something he immediately gets scared but so Hellfire but when Jason is gone yn turns into her shyly usual persona and mumble something like ‘are you all okay?’ and runs away blushing. Eddie brains gets short circuited from the interaction because he never thought you could be so… sweet and then you can go from there 🤧

...

Mostly everyone in Hawkins had a tendency to stay away from you, even though you had a few trusted friends you were a bit of a loner. Since you moved to Hawkins two years ago it had always been like this.

You also had a bit of a temper when the occasion called for it, a permanent resting bitch face, and no tolerance for bullshit. So rumours spread around the school that you had been in jail, kicked out of your old school or just plain bad news.

None of the rumours had any basis of fact. Most people didn't realise you were actually very gentle matured. It's just you hated bullies, fakes and idiots, and Hawkins was rife with them.

One person who you truly liked and you were nursing a crush on was Eddie Munson but you were way too shy to do anything about it. He was probably as terrified of you as the rest of your classmates were, the thought made your heart sink.

Maybe one day you'd pluck up the courage to talk to him but every time you thought about it, you would talk yourself out of it.

Fate decided to intervene in the form of a jackass by the name of Jason Carver, he had a penchant for bullying others he deemed as less than him.

His favourite target was Hellfire, never Eddie as he seemed to leave him alone. You were certain Jason was terrified of Eddie and his supposed satanic rituals in the Hellfire Club. Rumours you didn't buy into one bit.

Jason's taunts were particularly bad today. As usual Eddie gave as good as he got but Dustin, Mike and even Lucas got the worst of it. The longer you listened to Jason, the more angry you got.

Who did this asshole think he was? He seemed to think he ran the school because he was dating Chrissy, who was the sweetest girl you had ever met.

When Jason rounds on the younger Hellfire members, begins to harass them even more, you've heard enough.

"Oh shut the fuck up and sit down Carver, no one wants to hear your opinions" there's a collective gasp around the room, more than a few people nodding their heads in agreement.

"Excuse me?" Jason snaps and you stand up and stare him down.

"You heard me. Sit down and be quiet for once, your stupidity is showing" his mouth falls open and he decides to go in for the kill, or at least so he thinks .

"Oh Please, you've been in jail. What was that like?" You stare at him exasperated.

"I've never been in jail or kicked out of my old school for that matter. I just don't like bullies, which means I really don't like you" Jason flounders after this and promptly flees from the scene like a bat out of hell.

Idiot.

The rest of Hellfire gape as you turn around and go suddenly shy at their shocked gazes, "Are you all okay?" Eddie nods and then pulls himself together.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks" you feel awash with happiness at your interaction with Eddie and then leave, your heart racing and stomach full of butterflies.

Eddie's mind was racing. You weren't mean or anything like that, you were sweet and clearly liked him in some way to jump to his defense like that.

Suddenly Eddie was very intent on getting to know you better

🫶

[anundyingfidelity]

me and the logan hoes 😭

[daxisyzz]

Marked What's Mine

Pairings: husband!bucky barnes × wife!reader

Summary: You can hold your own—always have. But that doesn’t stop your husband from going full Winter Soldier mode when he sees someone laid a hand on you.

Warnings: Language, injuries, soft-but-intense husband!Bucky, protective behavior, possessiveness, comfort, fluff, violence mentioned (not graphic), "who did this to you?", lots of banter.

Word count: 1.3k+

A/n: this fic is from my poll where husband au and who did this to u prompt won. I will do the enemies to lovers in my next fic. Thank you for reading <3.

Divider credits: @saradika

Night- 1:47 AM

You turned the front doorknob with all the delicacy of a trained assassin—which, to be fair, you were.

No sound. Good.

You stepped inside, sliding your shoes off silently and tiptoeing like the floorboards might narc on you. You could practically hear your heartbeat in your ears.

He’d be asleep. He had to be.

You could get to the bathroom, clean up, hide the worst of it. He didn’t have to know. You didn’t want him to worry, to spiral. Not again.

You made it three steps down the hallway.

Then— “Don’t move.”

Shit.

His voice cut through the silence, low and lethal. It came from the living room.

You closed your eyes. "Hi, honey. I'm home."

A light flipped on.

Bucky stood by the couch, arms crossed, half in shadow. The sight of him—barefoot, hoodie loose over his broad chest, hair tousled from waiting up—would’ve been comforting, if not for the look in his eyes.

His gaze traveled from your face to your arms, your ribs, where blood had started to seep through your shirt.

He didn’t say a word.

You tried to play it off. “Before you say anything, it looks worse than it is—”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Who did this to you?”

You exhaled slowly. “Buck—”

“Don’t. Just…” His jaw clenched. “Stay right there.”

“Bucky, it’s fine. I dodn’t even need stitches—”

“You’re bleeding.” His voice trembled with something dangerous. “You’re limping. You snuck into your own damn house like a thief because you knew I’d lose it if I saw you like this. And guess what? You were right.”

He was in front of you in three long strides.

His hands—warm, shaking—came up to cup your face, careful to avoid the bruises.

“You weren’t supposed to see me like this,” you whispered. “You’d only worry.”

“I worry when you’re five minutes late for lunch. You think this is gonna lessen that?”

“I’m not made of glass—”

“You’re made of everything I live for.”

Your breath caught.

He scanned your injuries with haunted eyes. “Who did this?”

“It’s not important.”

“It is to me.”

You sighed. “I didn’t want you to spiral. Last time you saw me with a busted lip, you threatened to drown a guy in the Hudson.”

“I should’ve.”

“Bucky—”

“Tell me his name.”

You met his eyes. “If I do, you’ll find him.”

He didn’t deny it.

“And if I don’t?” you added.

“I’ll find him anyway.”

You groaned. “You are the most dramatic man I’ve ever met.”

He lifted you into his arms like it was nothing—like you didn’t have two working legs—and carried you down the hall.

“I’m intense,” he corrected. “Not dramatic.”

“You literally brooded in the dark waiting for me to get home.”

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice? Like my wife could come home hurt and I wouldn’t feel it in my chest?”

You let out a weak laugh. “God, you’re annoying.”

“You married me, doll. That’s on you.”

Twenty Minutes Later...

You sat on the bathroom counter while Bucky dabbed antiseptic over the cuts along your ribs, his brows furrowed like each mark physically hurt him more than it hurt you.

He hadn’t stopped touching you.

Even now, his thumb rubbed soft circles into your thigh as he worked.

“Doesn’t even sting,” you said.

“That’s not the point,” he muttered, placing another bandage carefully. “You came home bleeding. You flinched when you took your shirt off. You snuck in.”

“I didn’t want to see your sad little kicked puppy face,” you teased.

He glared. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“No, you’re lucky I love you. You’re high maintenance.”

“Says the woman who took on a six-foot mercenary solo and got cracked in the jaw for it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think I didn’t win?”

He paused. “Wait. You won?”

“Cracked three of his ribs and made him cry.”

He stared.

Then—slowly—he grinned.

“That’s my girl.”

You tried not to bask in it, but you totally basked in it.

Still, he wasn’t done.

As he finished wrapping the final gauze, he stood between your legs and stared at you like you held gravity in your hands.“I breathe for you,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “That’s it. That’s the only reason I get up in the morning.”

Your throat went tight. “Bucky—”

“You come home hurt, and it feels like the world’s off its axis. I can’t think. Can’t function. You’re not fragile, babe. You’re the strongest person I know. But the thought of losing you? I’d lose everything.”

God.

You buried your face in his chest, arms tight around him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Too late. You did. You always do.”

You looked up. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

He grinned and kissed your forehead.

Next Day – 2:00 PM

You woke up to an empty bed and a note on the pillow:

Had to step out. Be back soon. Don’t move too much or I’ll find out and carry you around like a baby until you learn your lesson. I love you more than oxygen.

—B <3

You rolled your eyes.

And sighed.

And smiled.

He came back at sunset. Calm. Too calm.

You didn’t even have to ask.

“You found him, didn’t you?”

He dropped his jacket. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“He’s not gonna be walking straight for a while.”

“Bucky…”

“And probably won’t be talking much either.”

You stared at him.

“He’ll live. Probably,” Bucky said with a shrug. “I was nice. For the first ten seconds.”

“Jesus—”

“He laid a hand on you. You really think I wasn’t gonna rearrange his face?”

You huffed, arms crossed, but you were secretly touched. And maybe a little turned on.

“You are so dramatic.”

“No. Dramatic is you sneaking past your literal super soldier husband with blood dripping down your shirt.”

“Fine,” you muttered, walking toward him. “You win.”

He caught you easily, arms pulling you in.

“I always win, doll,” he murmured, kissing your bruised temple. “Especially when it comes to you.”

The Next Morning – 9:07 AM

Sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, painting golden stripes over the bed where you were curled up like a cat. One leg over the sheet. A little sore. A little achy. But warm.

Bucky stirred beside you, his metal arm slung protectively over your waist.

“You awake?” you mumbled.

“Was watching you breathe,” he rasped, voice still sleep-rough. “You twitch your nose when you’re dreaming.”

“You’re creepy.”

“You married me, sweetheart. This is your fault.”

You snorted, rolling to face him, wincing a little. He was already awake, already watching you with that look. Like you were sacred. Untouchable. His.

“You hurting?” he asked immediately, shifting to sit up. “Need painkillers? Water? I can carry you to the bath—”

“Bucky.”

He blinked.

“I’m okay. It’s just a bruise, not a broken limb. Stop hovering.”

“I’m not hovering.”

“You’re three seconds from spoon-feeding me cereal.”

“…Is that an option?”

You groaned and buried your face in his chest.

“You’re insufferable.”

He chuckled, warm and smug, tucking you tighter under his chin. You stayed like that for a while. Tangled limbs. Warm sheets. His fingers trailing soft patterns on your back like he couldn’t stand not touching you.

“Don’t do that again,” he whispered finally.

You didn’t pretend to not hear it. “Okay.”

“I know you’re strong. I know you can take care of yourself. But if something happens to you—I stop breathing. You get that?”

You swallowed hard. “I get it.”

“I love you so much it makes me a little insane.”

“Only a little?”

“I toned it down for your sake.”

You giggled. “You’re cute when you’re crazy.”

“Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

You looked up, brushed the hair from his forehead, kissed him slow.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[khioneee]

simon is one of the girls (sort of)

boyfriend!simon was always invited to girls’ night—not out of obligation, but because everyone genuinely wanted him there. he fit into the group effortlessly, his quiet, protective presence becoming a staple at every gathering. whether it was lounging around in pajamas with face masks on or heading out for a wild night at the club, boyfriend!simon was part of the plan.

if it was girls’ night, boyfriend!simon was there. need someone to open a bottle of wine? he had it uncorked in seconds. carrying heavy bags for a night in? already done. if the group was heading to the club, simon was always the first to volunteer to drive everyone home safely at the end of the night.

boyfriend!simon never overstepped, but he wasn’t a silent bystander, either. when conversations got lively, he’d chime in with the perfect sarcastic remark or sly observation, earning a mix of giggles and mock glares. and when a topic turned to relationship drama, he always gave it to you and your friends straight.

“dump the bloke,” he’d say bluntly, not even looking up from his drink. “if i hear his name one more time, i’m blocking his number myself.”

your friends always groaned, but soon enough, they started messaging him directly for advice.

out on the town, boyfriend!simon was the designated protector. no one had to ask—he was always at the edge of the group, watching for anything suspicious. he made sure no one lingered too close, and if someone tried to chat up one of your friends unwantedly, simon’s presence alone was enough to send them packing. if they didn’t get the hint, simon would step forward, voice low and deadly calm: “you’ve got somewhere else to be, mate.” that always did the trick.

despite his intimidating size, boyfriend!simon never felt out of place during your quiet nights in. he sat comfortably among blankets and pillows, scrolling on his phone as face masks dried and reality tv droned in the background. your friends teased him mercilessly about it, but he didn’t mind.

“you’re basically one of us now, si,” one of them joked once.

he gave a small shrug, not looking up. “just don’t expect me to paint my bloody nails, yeah?”

with boyfriend!simon around, you and your friends could relax fully, knowing he’d take care of everything—from heavy bags to creeps at the bar. he wasn’t just there for you—he was there for everyone you cared about, making sure nothing went wrong on his watch.

one night, after everyone had left and it was just the two of you, you leaned into him, curious. “why are you so sweet to my friends?”

boyfriend!simon didn’t miss a beat, brushing a strand of hair from your face as he answered softly, “because they mean a lot to you—and you mean everything to me.”

an. i desperately need a man like him.

[mostly-imagines]

Guard Dog vol.I

jason todd x fem!reader

aka don’t fuck with jason’s girlfriend

4 in 1 blurbs

vol. II

warnings: mildly creepy guys, standard protective bf methods

Jason’s good at shutting people up very quickly. You’d almost call it a talent.

He shuts you up with a kiss when you get stuck in a rant, or with a hug to calm your worried rambles.

And when you’re in an incorrigibly teasing mood, he’ll throw you over his shoulder and carry you back to your bedroom to really shut you up.

With other people though, he has…different methods.

You sit atop your kitchen counter, trading lazy kisses in between giggles with your boyfriend. He stands in front of you, hands massaging your thighs as he leans in for another. You happily oblige.

You break off the exchange to lay a series of sweet kisses on that spot under his jaw.

His head tilts back, letting out a groan so low you nearly miss it. “Sweetheart…” he warns.

“Sorry…” you resign with a sheepish smile.

A knock at the door bursts you out of your shared reverie. You press a kiss to his knuckles and hop down to start setting the table.

Jason gets the door, greeting the pizza guy with a nod as you shuffle around the kitchen. The delivery guy hands him a receipt, asking for a signature.

Jason uses the door as a surface to sign, giving the delivery guy an apt view into your apartment, where he sees you getting out plates in the kitchen. More noticeably, he sees you in your boyfriend's shirt, which rides up just a little bit when you stand up on your toes to reach the top cabinet. The lift of the shirt exposes the bottom of your underwear, though it falls back into place again just as quickly.

Now, lucky for this guy, Jason’s facing the door and does not see him checking you out in your own home. Unlucky for this guy, he has wildly misread the vibe of your relationship. Or at least your boyfriend.

“Man, how do you get anything done around here?” He jests.

Jason looks up at him, and the pizza man’s eyes tear away from your legs to meet his hard gaze. It does not take him long to realize his mistake.

“Try again.” Jason behests, arms crossed in front of him.

The pizza boy’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head, stuttering. “I—uh, I said have a good night.”

“Mhm.” He grumbles.

The pizza guy hands Jason the box with shaky hands and scuttles back down the hallway.

Thankfully, you didn’t seem to notice the exchange, but even so, your boyfriend still glowers down the hallway after him.

“Jay?”

His attention snaps back to you, demeanor changing instantly. “Yeah, baby?”

You’re sitting in your usual spot at the table, his chair empty and waiting just around the corner from you.

“Come sit.” You say, with eyes that might as well be hearts.

He gives a reassuring nod and kicks the door shut behind him.

You and Jason are sitting on the floor in his old room at the manor, your legs thrown over his. You lean up against his bed, asking him about posters on the walls and trinkets on the shelves.

His knee is propped up and your arm dangles across it, his hand in yours. He plays with your fingers and periodically leans forward to leave a kiss on them.

You’d just woken up less than an hour ago after spending the night post-gala, and it’s a peaceful, if not unusually quiet morning.

Dick shouts your name from another room, audibly booking it towards you. Yeah. That’s more like what Jason remembers.

He grumbles some annoyances, dropping his head against your intertwined hands.

Dick bursts into the room, clearly incredibly excited.

“What’s up, Dick?” You ask, calm as ever. Jason lets an unseen smile creep up, head still down.

Dick’s practically jumping up and down, “You gotta see the shit that Tim just found in the cave!” His face drops as he directs his gaze to Jason, “You’re not invited.”

“Thank God.”

Dick ignores him and grabs your wrist, yanking you up from the floor. This is one place where he differs from Jason—he’s not always quite so aware of his own strength.

His grip doesn’t hurt really, but it’s firm enough that you imagine there’ll be bruise marks there later.

“Hey.” Jason calls out, nodding his head to where Dick is holding your arm. “Ease up.”

Dick follows his gaze and immediately loosens his hold, apologizing to you before pulling you along once again (this time much more gentle).

You grin at Jason as he tugs you out the door, him returning it with an endeared smile as he watches you go.

Fuck he loves you.

Jason had a decent break from his night job for once, and was happy to let you drag him out to a bar for a little date. You’d been linked at the hip for most of the night, his hands maintaining their ever present home on your waist with yours rested on his thighs as you told him about your hectic day.

He’d usually prefer to stay in bed with you for as long as possible when he gets time off, but you’d looked so excited asking him to go out with you—he never stood a chance.

You look up into the mirror as you wash your hands, a strand of hair falling into your face as you do. You push it back behind your ear and smile to yourself, recalling the several times Jason had wordlessly done the same throughout the night as you rambled.

You make your way back to the bar, smile immediate on your face when you see your boyfriend. It gets replaced rather quickly though, when a man slides in front of you, cutting off your view of him.

“Hey there.”

You have to take a step back because of how close he decided to stand to you. He looks sober (enough) but wildly overconfident in whatevers about to happen.

"Let me buy you a drink, pretty thing."

Jason calls you pretty thing sometimes. It makes the blood rush to your cheeks and an inescapable smile creep up on your lips. When this guy says it, it makes you literally frown.

"Oh no, I'm okay, my—"

"You seem like a dirty martini kinda girl." He expertly ignores you, clearly trying and failing to make some kind of innuendo there.

Jason's sitting back against the bar, watching the interaction carefully. You still can’t see him, but he’s close and you can rest comfortable knowing he’s looking out for you.

With that reassurance, you don’t play this out quite as carefully as you would if you were alone.

"Look, I don't want a drink from you, thanks."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say to him because his face contorts quickly to mock-disgust that you figure is really just embarrassment.

“Hey, don’t be a bitch just ‘cause—”

You try to sidestep around him, thoroughly done with this interaction, but he grabs your upper arm harshly, pulling you to an abrupt stop.

Jason stands up real quick, yanking the guy backwards by his collar before you can even process what's happening.

Now, you know that Jason is an objectively intimidating guy. There's not many people that will come face to face with that absolute unit of a man and still decide to keep on trying him. However, you tend to forget that when you're so used to your gentle giant that only ever speaks to you kindly and touches you softly.

But his intimidating status becomes very apparent when the guy spins around, looks up at Jason, and immediately takes four steps back. He actually almost bumps into you in the process, not doing anything to tame Jason’s acute distaste for this man.

"Listen to me—back the fuck off before you get hurt."

“She—”

“I don’t give a fuck. Leave.”

The guy hesitates.

“Now.” Jason adjusts his posture to stand at his staggering full height, clearly with no qualms about putting him back in his place.

That does it for him, the man stumbllng away with half-committed mumbles of “whatever” or “something something lame anyway.”

Jason watches him until he walks out the door, before turning back to you.

He delicately takes your upper arm in his hand, pulling your sleeve up to search for bruising. But as harshly as he had grabbed you, it didn’t have the time to cause a bruise before Jason intervened.

“What’d he say to you?” Jason asks, brow furrowed as he inspects your arm.

“Nothing very interesting.” He looks at you mildly.

You smile and comb his hair back from his forehead, “Don’t worry about him. I’m good.”

He lets your arm go, and exchanges it for holding the back of your head, planting a kiss on your forehead.

You take his other hand and guide him back to your seats.

“Besides,” You look over his shoulder and let out a little shocked gasp. “Guess who just walked in.”

He gives you a questioning look before his face slacks, eyes widening in realization.

“No…” And you smile so brightly it almost makes up for what's coming his way.

You redirect your smile over his shoulder and give a wave to the door. Jason swigs down the rest of his drink, hand finding your waist once again.

“Jaybird!”

Jason’s still exhausted from patrol last night but he’d insisted on going with you to the bar to meet your friends. You’d tried to convince him that it was okay to stay in and rest tonight, you’d be fine. But it was a losing battle.

You suspect it has something to do with him not liking when you go out in Gotham at night, especially when you’re drinking.

So he hangs out in the background of the buzz, with you sat in front of him, in between his legs.

You’re talking it up with Roy, who’s been making jokes about how Jason’s “moody ass” tricked you, “the ray of sunshine” into this relationship somehow.

You laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “Right, ‘cause you and Kori were in love at first sight.”

"Oh, fuck off." Roy jeers.

He doesn't say it with the cadence of a joke, but it is.

You know he's joking, he knows he's joking.

Jason, who very well may have been tuned out of the conversation up to that point, does not seem to know he's joking—or he doesn't care.

You don't need to look behind you to know that your boyfriend is in defensive mode, though the look of regret mixed with amusement on Roy's face gives a solid hint.

You hold your hand out to block Jason his path as he moves forward. He lets you stop him, though you're certain he could get past you without so much as blinking, no problem.

"Right. My bad, forgot your guard dog was here. Don't fuck off." Roy backtracks, hands up in front of him.

Jason just rolls his eyes, slouching back down. You reach behind you for his hand, giving it two squeezes. You know he’s tired, so much so that he almost punched his best friend for making a typical joke.

“Five more minutes, okay?” You say softly over your shoulder.

He nods at you blearily, and ducks his head down to rest on your back. You adjust your posture a little bit to make it more comfortable for him and continue on talking, his hand still in yours.

If he hadn’t fallen asleep so quickly, five minutes would’ve been five minutes, but instead it became something more like fifty.

He goes through patches where sleep isn’t always so welcoming, a phase he’s been in for the past couple of weeks. You’d been waking up to find the bed half empty, your boyfriend resigned to doing research on cases in an attempt to at least be productive while he’s awake.

You can’t protect him in the same ways that he protects you—you’re not a fighter or necessarily “intimidating.” But you can protect him like this, in these little ways. Letting him nap on you, making him close the case files and rest with you, holding his hand throughout the night so that when he inevitably has nightmares, he knows immediately that you’re still with him. That he’s safe.

So if he can get some much needed sleep while only costing you a stiff back tomorrow, you’ll happily take that deal as many times as he needs.

vol. II