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hiddendrabbles · 2 years

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I’m not dead. This is an incredibly niche market, I know, and not what’s typical for this blog, but it’s here and it’s here to stay. L honestly deserves more x reader stuff and if I’m the one who has to encourage it I’ll be the one to do it.

Am I Invited?

Your boyfriend was an odd man.

You were quite fond of him, but the fact that he was far from normal was emphasized by anyone and everyone he was willing to meet in person. Even if those who had seen him had decided to hold their tongues, you would have known how odd he was. When you had met him, you had understood that much; you had been a highschool senior, he a year younger, and the only reason you had met him at all was because he and who you assumed was his father had come to the coffee shop in which you worked. He had worn a mask obscuring his mouth– his father had claimed that it was due to a cold– and he had not spoken a word to you, instead studying you silently as you filled the order for them. Despite disheveled black hair and dark circles, he was pretty in a quiet, Victorian way, and you had a desire to speak to him in part because of how little he seemed to get out.

He was there, apparently, to study. He had been ordered a cup of coffee with ten or so spoonfuls of sugar– you had decided his father seemed not to be the type to make that sort of joke, and so you had made it as asked. When you brought him his drink, you decided to make a move.

“Here’s your sugar with coffee,” you had teased, placing the cup and a parcel in front of him.

He had stared at you a moment, scrutinizing you, before averting his eyes.

Awkward, you had cleared your throat. “Hey, man, I’m hardly one to talk.” You had smiled. “I can barely handle coffee without a mountain of add-ons. I’m a pussy; I drink tea.” Clearing your throat, you gestured to the paper bag. “That’s on the house, by the by. I hope you aren’t allergic; those cookies are the best thing we sell.”

On your word, he pulled the pastry from the bag: a simple peanut butter cookie by all accounts. Wordlessly, he broke off a piece and handed it to you.

It took you a second to understand what he was doing. “Oh, no, I couldn't possibly.” You put your hand up in protest. “It’s yours.”

He did not remove his hand.

You glanced around, awkward before taking the piece and popping it into your mouth. You were hardly opposed to cookies. Your smile grew meak. “What,” you laughed, “think I’d give you a bad cookie?” You tried to regain your confidence. “You wound me”

You were startled by how clear his voice was. “No, that’s not it.” He pulled down the mask, taking a bite out of the confectionery, swallowing quickly, and pulling his mask back up. “I was just checking something.”

“Oh.” You nodded, confused.

He took another bite of the cookie, uncomfortably nonchalant. “This is quite a good cookie. Is it made here?”

Your eyes shift to the side, any assuredness you had gone. He was studying you. “They’re made on-site, yeah.” You resisted the urge to slide your hands into your pockets. “The recipe’s ours, too.”

“Is it old?”

“The recipe? Yeah.”

There was silence.

It dawned on you how oddly he sat. He was not so much sitting, in fact, as he was crouched on the chair, feet flat against the seat. If it was a struggle to balance in such an unnatural position, he did a good job of hiding any difficulties he had maintaining it.

You slid into the chair across from him. It was a slow day anyhow. “This is a small town,” you pointed out. “We don’t get many new faces.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“How so?” You rested your head on your hand, quietly satisfied at his letting you sit.

He shrugged. “I would assume it would be bad for business.”

“People like the atmosphere.”

“Sure,” he pointed out, “but I would imagine that you would want to have as many customers as possible.”

“Not necessarily.” You smiled. “If the atmosphere changed the people who come in would probably stop or complain if they didn’t have personal ties to the place itself. That’s not good for business either.”

“I suppose.”

Talking to him was a bit like pulling teeth. You took it he was not approached like this often. “Are you going to school nearby?”

“Why do you ask?”

You gesture to the folders stacked next to him. “I assumed that was for a project.”

He considered what you said for a moment too long. “Yeah.” He nodded. “Journalistic writing would count, I suppose.”

“Sounds like a blast. What on?”

He took a sip from his coffee. “Homicide case.”

Your smile widened. “So I was right. Which one?”

“You wouldn’t have heard of it.” He reached over seemingly absentmindedly, finger peeling at a corner of the topmost folder and letting it spring back into place. “It’s recent.”

“Try me.”

He stared at you for a moment, sizing you up. “Why do you want to know about it?”

“I dunno.” You shrank a bit under his gaze. “I want you to keep talking, I guess.”

He blinked, his head cocking to the side ever so slightly. “Why?” His voice was softer than before.

“I like it.” You forced confidence forward. “You have a nice voice, and I think you’re attractive, and you seem interesting.”

That was how you got his number.

The only time he ate decently was when you saw him. You knew this because he had lost weight; whenever he lost weight, it was because he had not eaten well enough or was stressed over his work or the news. He was doing both, you were sure, and though you had little time with him before he would fly back off to who knows where you were hardly about to let him leave on an empty stomach.

You saw him less than when you were younger. You never saw him much before– not as much as you had the first month you two had “been together”-- but weekends turned into single days, and once a week turned into twice a month. You never said anything. You doubted he was getting on with someone else; he did not seem the type, despite what your friends had to say on the matter. What did they know? They had hardly spoken a dozen words with him. You did not even mind much. You could survive without him comfortably enough.

He would not stop staring at the television screen. You were sure his eyes would roll out of his head from how long he paid attention to it. International news. Not that he did not know any of what was being said anyhow— he always seemed to know exactly what was going on in the world at a given moment— but he never wanted it off. Even as you set a bowl of stew in front of him, he barely glanced over at you long enough to register it.

You sat down next to him, tapping him on the side of the head as you dug into your own bowl. “Soup’s up,” you tell him, turning down the television. “You’ll waste away if you don’t eat.”

“Will I?”

You smiled, taking the bait. “You will. Your body will shut down and go into cardiac arrest and I’ll have to call the ambulance to come to drag you off.”

He did not smile much these days, but something like it tugged at his lips. “Oh, you don’t say?”

“I do.” You took another bite of your stew. “And with how much work you do it’ll kill you, and I can’t afford to help chip in much for the funeral, so it’ll be a shitty little thing and you’ll be made fun of it for it by the other dead people.”

He balanced a chunk of meat from his stew, watching so it would not fall. “Oh, so there are more dead people now.”

“Don’t be stupid,” you wave him off. “Of course, there are more dead people.”

“Of course.” The spoon was slid into his mouth.

“Of course.”

The spoon came out clean. With a quiet hum of satisfaction, he began to eat. “‘Ts good,” he said around his food.”

“It’s beef.”

“I’m a fan.”

You nodded. “Good. You’ve gotten uncharacteristically thin.”

“Rapid weight loss is often a symptom of high anxiety.” He swallowed. “That’s probably why.”

You took another bite of stew. “Work?”

“Work,” he confirmed.

“What is it now?”

He paused. “How to put it…” He swallowed another spoonful. “An issue’s come up and neither I nor anyone in my department quite understands what it is. It is unlike anything we have ever had to deal with in the past, and despite how many resources are being put into solving the problem, we are no closer to a solution.”

“What sort of problem?”

“That’s the question.”

You blinked. “So is it a problem or not?”

He smiled dryly. “It’s certainly causing trouble, but it’s difficult to define, seeing as I hardly know exactly what it is outside of the fact that it has seemingly infiltrated every corner of the company.”

You take another bite of stew. “You really should quit,” you swallowed. “Your job, I mean. It’s bad for you.”

He considered it. “It would probably be better on my health, but I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Because it is one of the very few things that give my life meaning.” He picked up the bowl, tipping his head back and drinking the rest of its contents. “I have no other skills outside of my job, you understand; I would be essentially nothing without it.”

It was odd how he described what he did. He never told you what it was, exactly, but he always talked as though whatever it was was an integral part of himself, like it was more than just a job. You knew enough not to ask; he had always been secretive in this regard, and you knew it would do you little good to pry. “That’s not fair.”

“It is.”

“That’s not true.” You smiled. “Personally, with or without your job, I think you’re pretty great. And if it’s as big as you make it out to be, I’m sure someone else would hire you if that was what you wanted.”

He pursed his lips. “I’m not sure that’s even something I would want,” he mumbled, almost to himself. “Again, it is essentially my whole life, what I do.”

“But it doesn’t have to be is my point.” You let your head rest on the back of the couch. “You can do whatever. You’re still pretty young; the world’s your oyster.”

“Shakespeare.”

“Hm?”

“That idiom. It’s Shakespeare.”

“What, really?” You smiled. “See? You could go into etymology if you wanted.”

He chuckled. “I think I may go insane if I did that.”

“Oh come on,” you push him gently. “It’s not that boring.”

“I would disagree.”

You give him a look. “Then how come you know where it comes from, wise guy?”

“I had to read Merry Wives of Windsor.”

“Oh.”

He watched you curiously. “Why are you making a face?”

Your cheeks heated up. “I’m not making a face!”

“You are, as a matter of fact.”

“It’s just like why?”

“Oh, it was hardly by choice.” He shrugged. “My caretakers insisted. Personally, I’ve never been much a fan, but it would hardly make sense if I did not pick up on at least some of it.”

“Bastards.” You stuck your hands in your pockets, settling in. “What else did they make you read?”

He thought for a moment. “Well, all of Shakespeare–”

“The fuck you mean all of Shakespeare?”

He blinked. “What do you mean what do I mean?”

“How many things has Shakespeare written?”

“Surprisingly few.” He very quickly seemed to tally on his hands. “Thirty-seven is the generally accepted number, I believe.”

“That’s a lot!”

“I’m well aware. I didn’t enjoy it much at the time.” He settled in next to you, leaning his body against yours. “But apparently an extensive knowledge of English literature was vital to my education.”

You draped an arm across his shoulders. “Your caretakers are just the lives of the party, aren’t they?”

“I don’t believe they’ve ever attended one.”

“Look at you, being snarky.” You leaned into him. “I’m so proud.”

He reached over, pulling you into his lap. “I can be snarky.”

“So has been demonstrated.”

“I can be snarky generally too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You learned very early on that when dating your odd boyfriend you were best to not ask too many questions. Not about work, not about his personal life outside of you, not even about where he stayed when he was not with you. You had never been to his place, never seen it. He went away a lot for his job, and the two of you talked a lot on the phone, but you had learned from how little he volunteered information to not ask him to divulge too much to you. In exchange, as a way of keeping things fair, he never asked too many questions about your life, never commented on your home or your loved ones unless asked, and gifted you hush money—which he never called hush money but always felt like it for how much of it you received— and offered you an unusual amount of legal expertise.

Your conclusion: your boyfriend was some sort of government worker/spy/lawyer.

“You know I’m using you, right?”

You looked up from your phone. The night of that conversation— the last conversation you have had with him, about two months ago— was on the last night of his week-long stay at your place. You had gone out of your way to make him good food before he went back to his diet of carbs and nothing else. He had been quiet all day, fidgeting more than usual, clingier than what was typical. You had asked him about it throughout the day, but he always brushed it off. “Hm?”

He had that look in his eyes that he did when you first met, that cold, calculating stare that made you feel like a patient on an operating table. He repeated the question.

You set the device face down on the table. “Use how?”

“Emotionally. Physically. Psychologically.”

“I mean,” you shrugged, “I wouldn’t say using—“

“You should if you don’t. It’s the appropriate word.”

You leaned against your hand, elbow on the table. “What’s your definition of use?”

“Any, really.” His shrug, a mirror of your own, was stiff. “For our purposes, let’s define the term as ‘to exploit one for one’s own advantage.’”

You could play this game. You laced your fingers together, leaning forward. “And how would you define exploiting, love?”

“‘To use in an unfair and selfish way.’”

“You would consider yourself selfish?”

“Impossibly so.” He never looked away from you, then. “Incredibly so. Our relationship is largely one-sided.”

You swallowed. You knew he noticed. “How so?”

He considered the question, eyes lowering ever so briefly before meeting yours again. “Well, it’s fair to say that you’re a caring partner. You’ve provided for my every emotional need for the past five years, you’ve let me stay in your home, you’ve cooked for me, cared to remind me of my humanity.” He folded his arms on top of his knees. “And in return for your unflinching hospitality I’ve largely neglected you; I’ve refused to tell you anything meaningful about my upbringing or my work or even who I associate with. I’m not traditionally attractive— I understand,” he cut off your protest, “that beauty is subjective but for our purposes, I’m not objectively beautiful— and I haven’t so much as let you stay with me. I only spend time with you for a week every two months or so, which is ridiculous considering how long we’ve known each other. Any reasonable person would be right to leave.”

You shifted in your chair, eyes focused on your fork.

“Why are we still in a relationship?”

“I like you.” You shrugged, picking up the plastic utensil and turning it over in your fingers. “I’m allowed to like you, aren’t I?”

He exhaled, a poor imitation of a chuckle. “I can’t imagine it goes much farther than a skewed cost-benefit analysis.”

“So what if it doesn’t?”

“That’s incredibly foolish of you.”

“So what if it is?”

“Don’t you find an issue in that?”

“So what if I don’t?”

He opened his mouth, sighed, looked down. He mumbled something.

“Pardon?”

“You don’t even know my name.”

You stopped your fiddling. “You’ve never offered it.”

“That’s my point.”

You inhaled slowly, trying not to get yourself riled up. “Are you trying to break up with me?”

“No.” The response was immediate.

“Why are you telling me all this, then?”

He paused.

“That’s what it sounds like.”

“Do you have any idea what I do?”

You chuckled, leaning back in your chair. “I mean,” you sighed, “I have something like an idea.”

His eyes are not cold like they were before. Dull, maybe, but that was nothing new. “Take a guess.”

“I dunno.” You buzzed your lips. “Spy? Government worker? Assassin?”

His lips twitched upwards. “Assassin?”

“Hey, you asked!”

He smiled. “Let’s go with that.”

“What, you're an assassin?”

“Sure.” He leaned forward. “I’ve been asked to kill someone very important.”

You blinked. “I got it right?”

“No, but the comparison is somewhat apt.” He chewed on his thumb nail absently. “I’ve been tasked to kill someone very important. Because I’m killing someone very important, I’m going to be in a lot of danger.”

“Are they a dick at least?”

“I’m being serious.”

You crossed your arms behind your head, trying to relax. “If you’re an assassin, aren’t you always in danger?”

“This particular person is unusually dangerous.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

“And because I’m going to be in a lot of danger, I may never see you again.” He broke eye contact. “I’m unable to get out of this, and this person has to die.”

You swallow. “Sure.”

“If I don’t get in contact with you for a month, I want you to assume that I’ve broken up with you.”

“And if I don’t agree?”

He sighed. “I can’t exactly force you to, can I? But you will be setting yourself up for disappointment.”

You looked up at the ceiling. “Am I invited to the funeral, at least?”

He considered the question. “Yes.”

You swallow again, hating the taste in your mouth. “Okay.”

He looked at you again. “Would you mind too terribly if I came over there?”

You said nothing. Your voice would crack if you did.

He took your silence as a no, standing from his awkward posture and kneeling at your feet. He placed his head on your lap, looking up at you. “May I have your hand?”

You let one of your arms down.

His hand was shaking as the fingers interlaced with yours. “I highly doubt that anything will happen. It never has before.”

Your eyes slid shut. You did not want to cry.

“I just want you to be prepared if something does.”

You never saw him again after that night.

Previous Works

#wait hold on pause #I LOVE THIS SO MUCH #the writing style is just *chefs kiss*#l x reader #death note #lawliet x reader #loml

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hiddendrabbles · 2 years

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like the moon w/ aizawa

hi lul! for this let’s pretend the capture scarf is…in the wash? burned up? idk man

tw: blood n injuries

“I’ve got you, don’t let go.”

Dark eyes bore into yours, hazy with tears and panic. Yours had the same look in them, you were sure of it. With a shuddering breath, you glanced at the only thing keeping you alive.

Aizawa’s hand wrapped around your wrist. Aizawa’s hand that was connected to his very broken arm was holding on to your wrist. You could see how he grit his teeth and pushed through the pain to keep ahold of you, but it wouldn’t be enough.

The explosion that wracked the building had been wholly unexpected and it sent both of you through a wall. There was ringing in your ears from the noise, but the snapping of bones and Eraserhead’s soft grunt echoed in your head twice as loud. As the building toppled and leaned on another, the floor tilted and sent you both sliding down into a busted open window. The pro hero had shot out an arm to catch you at the last second, one hand clinging to the glass covered window frame.

Choking back a sob, you studied the man holding you up. Aizawa Shouta. Sho. Eraserhead. ‘Zawa. One of your closest friends. He looked so beautiful in the morning light. The soft colors making the bags under his eyes look lighter. Bathed in gold and with a burning building as a backdrop, Aizawa looked strong and heroic. But you also knew what he looked like with his hair in a bun wearing a cat apron. Soft. Happy. It was a good look for him.

The hand that wasn’t holding yours was bleeding heavily, you cloud see the bright red dripping from his palm and down his arm. A drop landed on your cheek. Soon, the blood would make his grip falter and slip, sending you both to your death.

“No. N- Hey, look at me.”

He’d probably figured out where your train of thought was headed.

“Look at me. Please. Just…please.”

No. It would be harder. You know what you’d find there. But…you were selfish. One last look at him, you reasoned with yourself. One last look at Aizawa.

Meeting his eyes felt like seeing the moon for the first time. Not the sun, which burned like the fire that was steadily getting closer. Like the moon on a clear night, his eyes were bright with adrenaline and emotion. You could see yourself reflected there, and you smiled.

“We’ll be fine ‘Zawa.”

You made a fist with the hand he was holding, and the hero’s eyes widened. The movement had caused his grip to loosen the smallest bit.

“You’ll be just fine.”

With that quiet assurance, you twisted your wrist from his grip.

Aizawa drinking from the cat mug you got him. Aizawa running a hand through his hair. Aizawa introducing you to Eri. Aizawa flicking your forehead playfully. Aizawa putting a hand on your lower back. Aizawa smiling at-

#aizawa shota x reader #aizawa x reader #mha #my hero acedamia #eraserhead x reader #in the aaaaarms ooof the angeeeeels #lol #my writing #aizawa brain rot #loml

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hiddendrabbles · 2 years

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hiddendrabbles · 2 years

Text

sweet smell w/ aizawa

um…haha hi. i return to u an aizawa simp <3 ok so basically villain!reader w some type of uhhh breath smell quirk caught our dearest eraserhead heh short n sweet to get back into it

tw: slight mention of blood

“My…you’re awfully pretty. Not what I was expecting at all.”

Aizawa grit his teeth and did his best to face where he heard the voice coming from. The cloth tied over his eyes kept him in the dark and rubbed uncomfortably against his skin. The same material had been used to bind his wrists and ankles together as well.

“A pity I can’t see those lovely eyes of yours.”

Warm breath tickled the pro hero’s ear and a sickly sweet smell filled his senses. Jerking away, and scowling he answered.

“Get this off and you can look at them all you want.”

An airy laugh filled the room, and more of their sweet smelling breath followed. Fingertips ghosted over Aizawa’s shoulder and along his jaw, tilting his head up gently.

“Oh my dearest Eraserhead, don’t tease.”

The lightest of touches to his lips, along his cheekbones, and to the tops of his ears. As those soft fingertips moved towards his hair, the hero lunged forward to head butt his captor. As he face-planted into the concrete, a put upon sigh sounded from above him.

“Now look at what you’ve done. You’ve gone and scraped up your handsome face.”

Aizawa could feel the gravel digging into his cheek and the blood that coved his chin and lips. Making a move to sit up, a sharp pressure to his lower back froze him in place.

“Don’t you worry my darling, I’m here to look out for you and that pretty, pretty face.”

The soft words spoken in a gentle tone were followed by a sour smell that quickly overpowered the previous sickly sweet one. It made Eraserhead’s stomach turn and his head pound.

A hand gripped his chin firmly and angled his face up. Fingertips that were so careful only minutes ago dug painfully into his cheeks, digging the gravel further into his skin. Keeping his mouth set into a firm scowl drew another sigh from the person in front of him. This one sounded softer, laced with amusement almost.

“I’ve got you now, my dear.”

#my writing #aizawa shouta #aizawa shota x reader #villain!reader #eraserhead #mha #loml #my hero acedamia #bnha #what we thinking about non 2nd pov #lmk heh #i like 3rd pov but i’ve only posted 2nd on here i think

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hiddendrabbles · 2 years

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my bad y’all i’m still binge watching different shows lol finals are over so i have a couple of days to write before a big trip heh

ok so um anyone want some uhhhhhhhhhh

mahito

gojo

levi

zeke

kenny

aizawa

hisashi

shigaraki

or perhaps

shigure (fruits basket)

those are the ones that are living in my head rent free rn

i do want to write some like reader!older sibling dynamic with inosuke, megumi, itadori, tamaki, bakugo etc

*breakdances softly* i discovered anime and i’m going to write about it

#shut up y #anime #my writing #help

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hiddendrabbles · 2 years

Text

*breakdances softly* i discovered anime and i’m going to write about it

#sorry guys #lol #um #i watched aot and mha #and now #now i have many thots #shut up y #anime

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hiddendrabbles · 2 years

Note

I love you’re work!

My idea was maybe a feisty aunt (married to Bruno) that always looks out for Mirabel and her children who had “unwanted gifts”. Reader constantly is arguing with Abuela. Like when Mirabel and Abuebla reader is the one fighting Abuela and pointing fingers and all Bruno can do is watch in awe at his wife standing up for his niece and children.

I’m sorry if you don’t like it. I hope you do though!!

{A/N: PLEASE THIS IS EVERYTHING I INVISION WHEN I INVISION BRUNOS WIFE. SOMEONE WHOS WILLING TO GO TO BAT FOR THE FAMILY WHEN THEY FEEL TO PASSIVE AND UNABLE TO STAND UP FOR THEMSELVES. RIGHTS FOR BRUNO. RIGHTS FOR THEIR CHILDREN. RIGHTS FOR THE MADRIGALS. MMM}

{Word Count: 3349}

{Warnings: Talks of mental anguish and abuse}

When the name Madrigal circulated through the small tight knit community you called home, pride and respect followed along with it. The esteemed family held a hierarchy within the blessed Encanto, the name alone striking strength and unity into its people. For years you grew up admiring the household and the unique mystical talents stored within the many walls. Everything about la familia Madrigal seemed to be a flawless fantasy, not a single toe stepped out of line. You never conceived the idea that one day you’d be granted a life merged between yourself and the prestigious family, it being too far-fetched to even formulate in your mind, but as fate decided you fell in love with a gorgeous gentle endearing man. A man beyond your years but still ripe for the idea of marriage and love. Your engagement sparked news around the town. The most eligible bachelorette, next to the Madrigals' own Isabela, promised to marry the last of the family's triplets. Your love sparked debates and rumors around the town about how Abuela Alma must have cuckolded you into the marriage some way or another, or how Bruno’s visions forced your hand into marriage, but none of it was true. You just deeply cared for the flawed broken man, a love that held no boundaries. You’d fallen madly truly and deeply in love with the short hearthrob but he wasn’t where your love stopped. You’d come to appreciate and love each and every member of his family. You gained two sisters, who loved you just as much as they did your husband, a collection of bright and talented nieces and nephews…and when the fates decided to once again bless you, two beautiful babies of your own came into your life. It felt as if you were living in a fairytale, surrounded by the unordinary. That’s what you wanted to tell everyone. It’s what you felt you NEEDED to tell everyone, but the truth of the matter was that la familia Madrigal was flawed, fractured and broken beyond what felt like repair. When you pulled back the beautiful rose-covered curtains and looked beyond the facade the Madrigal’s put on for the people of their Encanto, things weren’t what they seemed.

Every day was a toxic trainwreck. Whose gift could be utilized for the good of the Encanto? Whose gift was burdensome and taxing? This question usually found it’s answer buried in your husband’s lap. It sickened you the way Alma treated her family as if they were nothing more than tools for success. It’d been explained to you before by Mirabel herself why Abuela was so driven to run the family so flawlessly, but the logic behind the monarch's power trips didn’t sit right with you.

“I understand that what your Mama went through was traumatic, I wouldn’t even wish it on an enemy, but it doesn’t excuse the things she says to you mi amor! You can’t just let her talk to you like that, you are worth so much more Bruno.”

“I-I…She means well, I-I know she does…I think she does. I mean she is my mother, she wouldn’t do anything that wasn’t for the good of the family.” Bruno nervously laughed, his hands messaging the patch of exposed skin at the back of his neck.

Truthfully speaking, Bruno didn’t know if what he was saying was true anymore. He’d always made excuses for why his mother was the way she was. He tried to justify her behaviors by reflecting on her traumatic past, but some days he didn’t even believe the things he said.

Eventually as the hands of time ticked forward, the first of the two children you welcomed into this world received their gift. You and Bruno were both beyond proud to see the miracle Casita blessed your tiny family with, but the pride didn’t extend up your mother-in-law’s way. “What do we do with a gift like this? I should have expected such a gift to come from your child. What does this mean for the town? We can do nothing good with this gift! Think about the Encanto, think about our family!” Her tone was rigid and venomous, causing her son to shrink down in both shame and fear.

You could feel the way your blood boiled, your fingernails digging into the soft flesh of your palm as you did your best to not say anything. It wasn’t working. You could feel the anger at the tip of your tongue. You watched as Bruno touched the tips of his index fingers together, his eyes casting anywhere but his mother’s. The way she made him look so small and weak broke your heart. “Enough! I don’t want to hear another word about this gift situation! What is done is done. Casita has bestowed a blessing to our baby, and the ONLY thing we should be thinking about is how to help them easily transition into life with this gift. I am sorry you didn’t get the perfect power you were hoping for, but they’re five years old, and terrified.” you barked, your typically soft gentle eyes hardening through the anger surfacing. Bruno’s heart twinged with a bit of relief and pride. He didn’t have the nerve to stand up to his mother like that, but he knew you were right. It sat heavy on his soul that he didn’t have the gall to stand up to his mother the way you did, but he was forever thankful you advocated enough for the both of you. You advocated enough for the entire family. There wasn’t one Madrigal in the home you wouldn’t go face Alma’s temper for.

Pepa was known for her ability to control the weather. The issue? Her emotions tended to get the better of herself and tended to cause problems. It wasn’t her intention, it really wasn’t. But growing up with Abuela it was hard for her to be able to express herself properly. Even at the small age of five years old if Pepa cried, grew angry, or did anything out of line that wasn’t considered “perfect” to Alma all hell would break loose. Pepa wanted to improve. She really wanted to healthily control her emotes so they wouldn’t affect her powers as much, but it was hard. Luckily for her you happened to be great at helping her slowly regain control. Using the tips you used to use whenever you were upset or angry such as deep breathing and counting to ten Pepa found it easier to be less of a walking hurricane. Well that was until Alma stepped into the picture again. Even with everything you taught Pepa to do when her emotions got all crazy, Abuela always had her way to put Pepa in a state of mind that would cause destruction.

You watched as the middle Madrigal triplet aggressively combed her palms over the copper strands of hair that wigged out of position on her thick braided ponytail. Her shoulders hunched close to her ears as she sat silently taking her verbal lashings, eyes casting down as she repented for the unsatisfactory weather she had been producing. “Do you have any idea what kind of weather you’ve been producing down the mountain? Snow! The Encanto isn’t prepared to deal with weather that extreme! We’ve talked about this before Pepa, you need to control your emotions better, we can’t have snow building up!”

You gave a scoff, watching as Felix’s hands gently tried to swat the snow filled cloud away from his wife’s head, “She’s trying her best! Chur’ just lucky the snow isn’t 28 inches deep!”

“Well sometimes your best just isn’t good enough. I don’t care how you get this situation to stop, but I want it to stop, immediately!” Alma threatened, her voice crackling like the thunder that formulated in the clouds above Pepa’s head. “Figure it out.”

You could feel the way your stomach spun as you listened to this argument play out. How could a mother talk this way to her own child? Stepping around the corner you intruded on a conversation that didn’t involve you whatsoever. It was one of the things Alma truly disliked about you. Avoiding the elder’s eye contact you gently situated your body alongside your husband’s sister, hands gently cupping hers. “I think that a little snow is beautiful, and has never hurt anyone before. Sure the cold can be a bit inconvenient and the snowfall does make things a little bit more difficult, but there’s a subtle beauty in the snow storm.” Your eyes casted from Pepa’s, which were damp and stained pink from the tears that were streaming down her cheeks, to Alma’s which boiled with anger and disgust. “I’d tell your precious Encanto to prepare for the inclimate weather because Pepa WILL feel whatever she wants to feel.”

Felix’s eyes gazed over at you appreciatively, his wife’s index finger rubbing along her water line to clear the tears she had stored. “You’re feelings are important Pepa, don’t push them away. You shouldn’t feel like you have to hide how you feel just to please some people.” You could feel the way your Mother-in-law’s eyes burned into the back of your head, “Express the emotions you need Carina, we'll make sure the village can weather the storm.” Your interference might not have been requested, but it was most certainly appreciated.

As time progressed the struggle to keep your heated opinions inside your mind felt like a chore. You could feel yourself growing resentful of the elder as you tried to navigate through her mental mindfields. How could you sit on the side and watch this woman tear the love of your life down, piece by piece until there was nothing but a husk left when she was done. It broke you to witness the way Bruno strived for his mothers approval. Typically you could lay dormant and stay out of their affairs, but you couldn’t rest idle any longer. “Another bad prophecy!...I don’t care what it is about, I don’t want to hear it! The Encanto needs good news! News for us to grow and prosper! I don’t know why you hate our familia so much and why you want to see our village suffer, but it needs to stop! Why can you never come to me with good news?”

You watched the way your husband's body shriveled in on itself, his typically bright and fun green eyes liquifying as he did his best to fight back the tears. She was right in his mind, everything said to him were the things he grew up hearing. They were cultivated in his brain, the seeds of self doubt and hatred growing. You could see the way his chest rose and fell with haste as he followed behind the woman trying to explain. You felt a set of tears welding in your own eyes as you watched the travesty unfold. “Mama, please. You have to listen to me, I-I know it’s bad news but I think-”

“No! I don’t want to hear a single word from your mouth! I don’t care what you have to do with that vision but get rid of it! Go, I don’t want to hear any news from you unless it’s good news! We need good news.” The woman snapped, her body swiveling on her heels. Her eyes were sharp daggers digging into your husband’s, the sheer anger behind them enough to make the man step back. It was enough. You couldn’t stand by quietly and listen to the argument anymore. “How DARE you say that Bruno doesn’t love this family. He ADORES this family!” you spat through gritted teeth, body moving to step between the two heated parties.

Your husband reached forward, hands trembling slightly as he moved to place a palm against the fabric of your shoulder. “Mi vida…please.”

“No Bruno, I’ve had enough! I understand the traumas you've been through in your life Alma. Losing the love of your life immediately after giving birth to your children, losing your home the same day, I don’t discredit the strength you’ve had all your life. You’ve been such an amazing leader to our Encanto, but as a mother I can’t say the same.”

Bruno’s eyes begged you to show some mercy as his grip tightened on your body. “Y/N…”

Blinded by the downfall of your pent up anger and frustrations, the flow of truth couldn’t be calmed even by your husband’s pleas. “I want to know…Do you have just an ounce of regret for the things you say to your family? Do you realize the emotional damage you’ve inflicted on each and every member of our home? Isabela is terrified to be who she wants. You’ve been drilling the idea of perfectionism into her brain since she was five. Despite the way you’ve suppressed Pepa’s feelings throughout the years, Julieta doesn’t let herself feel a single thing. She’s too busy running rampant like a robot, functioning only in perfect mode. You expect so much from this family and it isn’t fair! “

Her features all pulled together scrunching the wrinkles on her face, a look of pure anger and disgust consuming her gaze. “You have no right to talk about how I run mi familia! If I had things my way, you wouldn’t be part of this family! All you do is cause problems around this casita! You-you think you’re helping everyone with these big talks and-and these crazy ideas! You are the reason this family is so divided! It started the day Bruno bought you into this house!”

You could feel your heart chip as your eyes began to sting and water, tears of anger and sadness threatening to bombard your cheeks. You wanted to retort with some witty come back, some snide remark, but before you could another voice was already filling the air. “I don’t care what you think and say about me, but I will NOT let you talk to my wife like that! She has done nothing but try to bring our familia together, how dare you blame her for the problems we have. They’ve been here long before I bought her into this house. You may not want to hear it mama but….S-she’s right.”

Betrayal washed over Alma’s face as her hands clutched to her chest, the sight making you feel just a bit terrible for the approach you had to the situation. Admittedly you let your anger consume your vision and for that you felt shameful. While the woman in front of you had committed her fair share of wrong doings, you knew two wrongs didn’t make the situation right. You moved to step forward in an attempt to soothingly reach out for your mother in law's hand, understanding when her body closed itself away from you. A thick tension filled the room as the floor tiles began to chatter and shake, the house trembling as you returned back to your original stance alongside your lover. The typical calmness of the house seemed to dissipate, a sense of unease settling in your gut. While the older woman stood, her eyes casted towards the grout as her hands clutched the black shawl draped over her fragile shoulders shut, the house’s discontent grew clearer. The walls began to convulse violently as words of hatred began to fall from Alma’s mouth. “Get out. I want you out of this house and out of my family! You are no longer welcomed in MY home!”

Casita’s floors began to shuffle and shift, shoving you towards the door against your will. Bruno extended a hand out your way in an attempt to stabilize your body but casita worked tirelessly against him pulling the two of you apart. “Mi Vida! Mi Vida!”

Panic stricken, your hand flies forward in a desperate attempt to reach out for your husband's palms, you unsure of what was happening. “Bruno!” You called back until finally your body was thrown into the rigid grass of the Madrigal lawn. It wasn’t a gentle toss, the fall leaving your body scuffed and bruised. Tears threatened to riot down your cheeks in a violent display of retaliation as you pushed yourself to your feet staring up at the house that was no longer yours. It was clear the town elder needed a chance to cool off, forcing you to spend the night back in your old family home, just at the edge of the Encanto. Your husband and children joined you just a few hours later, the sting of the family disaster still harboring freely in Bruno’s mind. While you had been reunited with your family, you still couldn’t help the way your heart weighed heavily at the thought of all the problems you’d created that day.

In a change of pace, your love spent the remaining few hours of the day consoling you through the guilt that held your mind hostage. As your bodies morphed against one another in a bed that felt entirely too small, you let your ear rest against his chest. “Mi Vida, it’s not your fault, okay?….My mama was out of line. You were- I mean you’ve always been right. I let her get away with so much mistreatment. I think when things cool down, maybe we could possibly talk with Mamà…I know I’m not one for confronting problems , but this is a big one mi vida that needs to be handled properly. I think the fate of our family depends on you and Mama making up.” Your body tensed in thought, Bruno’s mind spiraling as he frantically tried to backpedal on his previous statement. “T-that’s not to say if you don’t make up with my mother I-I’m gonna leave or anything like that! I’d never leave you and the kids-I just- I meant to say our fate with my family I guess…”

Relief flushed over your body as you let the small chuckle that bounced around in your throat pass through your lips. While his delivery might not have been impeccable the message your husband tried to portray was clear, you and the Abuela were in desperate need of a heartfelt conversation. Your body nuzzled closer to your husband, the youngest of your two children nuzzled between the two of you. “You're right mi amor…” your fingers gently brushed through the child's curls, fingertips gently unwinding them as they slept with their face crushed against your stomach. “I know my communication with your mother has been lackluster till this point, but I believe that we’re both capable of fixing the relationship we have,” you murmur.

A flutter rippled through Bruno’s chest as he watched you interact with the child formed from the bond and devotion you shared. His lips pressed forward to leave a lingering kiss against your forehead. “Get some rest mi Vida. If you plan on talking to my mother tomorrow, you’re gonna need all your energy.” he huffed.

He was right, talking with Alma would be the challenge, but it was a challenge you were willing to face head on for your family. As promised, as soon as the sun rose and your eyes wicked the sands of slumber from their ducts you were ready to talk. You typically prided yourself on your communication skills, but today you didn’t feel as confident voicing your opinions. Swallowing the breath you unintentionally held, you let your fist rap gently against the wide wooden doors of Casita. You half expected the house to lock it’s doors, but instead you were washed away by surprise as the doors widely opened without hesitation. You took the instant acceptance into the Madrigal home as a sign of good faith. You could tell that this talk would be a positive one. You couldn’t wait to clear the air and build a better relationship with the woman you once used to admire. It would be a long journey, but for your familia you were willing to do it. You’d always stand up for your family and do what was right, no matter what.

#encanto #bruno madrigal #bruno madrigal x reader #I LOVE IT #I AM SCREAMING RN #IM SOFT

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hiddendrabbles · 2 years

Text

a hug w/ bruno madrigal

blah my mental health n school wont let me write blah blah n e way i just want to Comfort the rat man so bad it hurts

It started innocently enough. An invitation to walk along the river. Bruno had asked you shyly, hands fiddling with the edge of his rauna, his eyes barely meeting yours. How could you have said no?

So, you packed a picnic, put on your most comfortable outfit and walked out the door. You step out, and almost crash into him where he stood at your door with his hand poised to knock. You couldn’t hold back a grin.

“Buenos días.”

He blinked.

“…Bruno?”

The seer jumped before smiling sheepishly.

“Pe-Perdón. Yeah, um, hi. Hola co- yes.”

He cleared his throat and nodded towards the way you’d both have to walk.

“Right! Let’s go.”

You laughed softly and reached for him before he could scamper away from you. Bruno jumped at your sudden touch and watched curiously as you reached under his rauna to grab his hand. You tuck your arm into the crook of his elbow and straightened your back as if you were going to start marching. With a silly voice you spoke and nodded.

“Alright. Lead on!”

Both of you walked for a while, and as the minutes passed Bruno seemed to feel more and more comfortable with you. His smiles came easier and they reached his eyes. You were absolutely mesmerized with the slight change in him. The way he gestured with his hands, how his mouth formed words, the stubborn curl that kept falling into his face no matter how many times he pushed it behind his ear.

Soon enough, you arrived to the clearing Bruno had picked. You let him take the basket from you and watched as he spread out the blanket, smoothing out the wrinkles before plopping down and crossing his legs. With a crooked smile he patted the spot next to him, curls bouncing as he turned to you. Voice soft and nervous he calls out.

“Here, I won’t bite.”

You definitely wouldn’t complain if he did though. Walking over, you carefully settled next to him and lay a hand on his shoulder as an excuse to help steady yourself. Finally settled, you slid your hand down to his arm slightly before leaning close to him.

“I hope you like what I brought to eat. Personally, desert is what I’m most excited for!”

Wide hazel eyes were glued to your hand. Oh. You lifted your hand away. Of course, he must not enjoy touch after being without it for so-

Bruno scooted closer the slightest bit and leaned his shoulder into your outstretched hand, eyes not meeting yours. Oh? So maybe the complete opposite of what you were thinking. He missed it.

Slowly, your hand trailed to rest against the opposite shoulder, giving the seer plenty of time to shake off the side hug you were going to attempt to give him. You started pulling him closer to you, Bruno pliant in your arms. With your free arm, you reached across his chest to loop your fingers together, effectively locking the man in a hug.

For a moment there was silence and absolute stillness. Then, at a snails pace, he started to lean against you. After giving a shuddering sigh, he buried his face in the crook of your neck. The grip you had on him tightened and you shifted him so he was flush against you. This new position had him in your lap practically straddling you, while one of your hands was on the back of Bruno’s neck the other rested on the small of his back. Face hidden, he found it hard to stop the tears that slipped from the corners of his eyes.

Bruno felt safe, taken care of. Your arms around him felt so secure. Being held by you was something he’d never even dreamt of being possible. You with your kind smiles and pretty eyes. You, with your laugh that made his heart feel lighter, with hands so gentle as you brushed them against the back of his cheek fondly. He’d dreamt of holding your hand on more than one occasion, but the position he was in right now he would relive in his dreams for years to come, he was sure of it.

Pressing a soft kiss to Bruno’s forehead seemed to make him melt even more, so you made sure to repeat the action multiple times. The older man was completely slumped against you and your heart ached for him. Years without the affectionate touch of another person had caused the gentle seer to become absolutely touch starved.

“I’ve got you Bruno. Aqui estoy, mi cielo.”

You spoke quietly into the curls that brushed against your jaw. He responded by nuzzling again into the side of your neck, eyes still closed. Swallowing thickly, he raised shaky arms to loosely wrap around your back. Hearing your gentle encouragements, he squeezed you a little tighter and let himself enjoy being held. In your arms he could breathe, he could be just Bruno. No bad-luck-Bruno, no curse bringer, not an omen of death and suffering. Just Bruno.

Bruno, the man who you met by getting a face full of sugar when he didn’t notice you standing behind him in the marketplace. Bruno, who opened doors for you with a shy smile. Bruno, who offered you his rauna when Pepa had a sudden mood change. Bruno, who you snuck deserts for from your family’s bakery. Just Bruno. Your Bruno.

A quiet settled over the both of you. Under his cheek your heartbeat was steady, its rhythm relaxing the seer further. Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba dum. That combined with your hand rubbing soothing circles on his lower back were lulling him to sleep. In his current half-asleep state he didn’t quite notice his current position. The older man was sitting on you lap, knees on either side of your hips with his arms around your back. It was something that would usually be turning him into a blushing stuttering mess, you knew.

But for now, you would hold him and he would let himself be held.

#encanto #bruno madrigal #bruno madrigal x reader #my writing #loml #i want to hold his hand #i want a lapful of bruno #SO BAD RN #:/

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