#( ;; he knows he's about to limp away with a puncture wound here. )

[redemn]

a  particle  of  dust  floats  past  arthur’s  peripheral  vision  ,      then  another  ,      closer  still  :  some  sort  of  lingering  omen  in  the  blanket  of  sun  steeped  across  rolling  tidal  wilderness  .      against  all  odds  ,      he  cannot  fight  the  tickle  ricocheting  its  way  from  his  watering  eyes  down  through  his  nostrils  :  he  turns  away  ,      slams  his  forehead  into  a  misplaced  ,      trigger-ready  wrist  .

element  fails  the  steer  wrestler  .      his  thighs  have  learned  and  grown  crevices  and  valleys  where  slicker  ,      slender  creatures  linger  comfortably  .      maneuvering  cattle  comes  easy  ,      natural  .      but  this  bull  ?      this  bull  hates  him  ,      and  it  aims  to  end  his  life  .      no  two  ways  about  it  .

❝        eight  seconds  is  a  hell  of  a  long  time  t’be  grippin’  onto  a  bull  for  dear  life  !        ❞        arthur  barks  back  .      agitation  spreads  red  across  parched  skin  .        ❝        don’t  piss  in  my  ear  and  tell  me  it’s  rainin’  ,      cassidy  .      ‘ain’t  that  mean’  don’t  mean shit  to  me  .        ❞

╰ ゜@colecassiidy.  /  continued .

[jasmines-library]

Revenge Best Served Cold

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

WHUMPTOBER DAY EIGHTEEN: PROMPT: revenge

This is PART TWO of I’ll Make This Up To You from whumptober last year. Please read this first so it makes more sense. - part 2: in which Jason gets his revenge on the Joker.

Warnings: previous torture, fighting, medical terms and recovery.

Word count: 1.2k

MASTERLIST * WHUMPTOBER 2024

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Your recovery was…slow. And Jason hadn’t left your side since the moment you had been brought out of surgery. They had managed to fix your punctured lung, but your list of injuries had been extensive: A punctured lung, four broken ribs, both shoulders dislocated, your left wrist was broken and you were covered in multiple lacerations and bruises across your body. The wound to your thigh was fixed up with stitches. It was deep, but luckily didn’t cause too much long term damage. Alongside all of that, you had lost a lot of blood and needed a blood transfusion. Luckily everything went well and you had been recovering in bed for the last few weeks. At first, you spend your days in the hospital wing. But after that you were allowed to move back into your bedroom. You were strictly on bed rest, which Jason took very seriously. And it was a good thing too, you supposed. Whenever you were up and walking for your physical therapy or to go to the bathroom your steps were accompanied by an awful limp, which usually ended with you clinging on to whoever was there to support you. Usually Jason.

He seemed to take your condition personally. He was completely and utterly guilt ridden at the fact you had risked your life to save his. It didn’t help that seeing the Joker had resurfaced his trauma. He didn’t sleep a whole lot anymore. But then again, neither did you. He was feeling a range of emotions. Fear. Guilt. But one of the feelings that over powered the rest was anger. A deep, seething anger. He was angry at the curcumstance. At the Joker for what he did you you. At himself for letting you get hurt. But right now he had pushed that aside to care for you, though his anger was likely to bubble over any moment.

You stirred, rising from your nap. You spent a lot of your time sleeping. The medication you were on did help you heal but also made you extremely tired, but the doctors had claimed that the sleep was good to help you heal.

“…..morning” you mumbled, turning you head to Jason. “…..you’re still here..?”

“Yeah, of course.” He responded, tracing a gentle circle on the back of your hand.

“You haven’t moved, have you?” You frowned. You knew Jason had a habit of staying by your side as the guilt ate him up.

“I have.” He lied.

You just gave him a look that immediately told him that you weren’t falling for his bullshit.

He sighed. “Fine. No I haven’t.”

“Jay.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just…..I worry about you, kid.”

“I know…” you tilted your head at him softly “but seriously, jay. You need to look after yourself too.”

“I do.”

“No you don’t.” You responded quickly. “You sit here looking after me all the time. And I appreciate it, jay, but you need to take care of yourself. Please. Take the night off? Get some proper sleep.”

“Fine.” Jason agreed. “If it’ll make you happy, Kid.”

You smile kindly. “Thank you, Jay. It would mean a lot to me.”

~

Jason did not take care of himself that night. Instead, he slipped out of the manor, ignoring the orders that Bruce had given him. There was news that the Joker had escaped Arkham once again in the few weeks of your recovery. He was aided by Harley, of course. Bruce had ordered Jason to stay away from him. He knew how the cogs in his head worked. He knew Jason would be out to exact revenge. And he was exactly right.

Angrily Jason slunk through the streets. He had been researching the Joker for years since he was killed. He knew his likely hiding spots. And sure enough he found him deep within the cauldron.

The joker hadn’t even turned around and acknowledged Jason’s presence before he was being slammed against the table in front of him. Jason was angry, and slammed him full force against the wood before picking him up by the back of his shirt and throwing him against the wall.

The joker grunted before turning around and reeling his fist back. Jason caught it and twisted his arm awkwardly. The joker grinned that insane grin.

“Jaybird! I was wondering how long I would have to wait before you showed up.”

Jason slammed him back against the wall. He hit his head with a sickening crack. “Shut your damn mouth, Clown.”

“Now now.” He grinned. “I just knew you couldn’t wait to get your hands on me. Not after what I did your poor little sister. How is she by the way?”

“Don’t you talk about her.” Jason snarled.

“Ooh. Feisty. Hit a sore spot did i?”

“Shut your mouth.” Jay spat, landing a punch to the jokers face.

He was relentless in his attacks, leaving the joker black and blue. He had half beaten him to death, and likely would have if it wasn’t for Bruce, decked out as the Batman, yanking him away.

“Back down, Hood.” The Batman ordered. His voice was stern. Angry. Jason was going to be in a lot of trouble when they got back.

Jason staggered backwards, frustrated that he could continue his assault.

“Back off.” The Batman reinstated.

Reluctantly Red Hood let up with a grumble.

~

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Bruce yelled at Jason. The two of them were back home now, just entering through the mouth of the cave. “I specifically told you that you were not allowed out!”

“He hurt her!” Jason hissed. He was still seething with anger. “He tore her up and then laughed about it. And you expected me to do what? To sit there and do nothing while he roamed free? No. No way.”

Bruce shook his head. “You could have been killed.”

“He’s already killed me once. So what’s once more? And he nearly killed her too!” He snapped.

“You directly disobeyed an order.”

“That man doesn’t deserve to live.”

Bruce was silent for a moment. “Look, Jason. I know you’re angry-“

“Tt. That’s one word for it.”

“But you can’t let your emotions get the better of you. You might think that we’re doing this to spite you, Jason, but we’re not. You could have been killed. And we can’t loose you again. She can’t lose you. She needs you right now. We nearly lost her. We can’t loose you too.”

Jason was stunned. “I….”

“Please. I know you’re angry. I know it hurts. But you have to let us deal with it okay?”

Although he wished desperately that he could take matters into his own hands, Jason knew that Bruce had a point. He had expressed his own vulnerability to his son. He was scared of losing his child again. And that hit Jason hard for he was scared of losing you, or any of his brothers for that matter. “….okay..” he breathed out softly.

“Good.” Bruce nodded. “Now go and get some rest. Proper rest. Tim is watching over her. She’s asleep and well taken care of. You need to look after yourself too, Jason. Like you promised her you would.”

And with that, Jason retired to his room. The anger still lingered in his veins but it was less so. It was now overcome by an overwhelming sense of compassing and belonging for his family. And he knew, that he was safe. That you were safe at home and on your way down the road of recovery.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

TAGS:

@hearts4robs @kingshitonly @alicedawitchbish @hell-o-kittys @azure-drag0ness @harleycao @thewhispersofthewaves @batfamsstuff @xxrougefangxx @rosecentury @noisymutantherelol @killxz @rhiodes @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @canthavetoomuchchaos

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[b1mbodoll]

idk if vamp!enha thoughts are still open (if not, just ignore this <3) but if they are...

vamp!wonnie has been your boyfriend for a while now. he doesn't know how to tell you his little secret so he warms you up to it by introducing biting in and out of the bedroom (he tells you they're love bites !!!). but as time goes on he gets really desperate n decides to manipulate you so you don't run away!! meaning he tells you outright and BEGS for your blood SO dramatically,, like he would die without it. you're kinda iffy about it but he's been waiting for so long that he just sinks his little fangs into your neck and drinks from you without your permission. it makes you a bit drowsy and he loves the view,, taking advantage of how limp you are by pushing your panties aside and just rutting into you on his blood-high. and when you eventually come back to your senses, he lies to you n tells you you asked him to bite you. you obviously believe it because he's just soso good with his words and it becomes a regular thing. the next time the two of you have sex, he goes down on you beforehand n nips your clit while telling you how sweet you taste...

(sorry i think i went a little crazy here but vamp!hoon and vamp!won do things to me)

p.s. ilysm and i hope you have the bestest day ever baby!!

🧵

pairings: yang jungwon x f! reader

warnings: noncon + blood + biting + monsterfucking + oral + masochism

💌: oh my baby thjs is… so very…yeah 😵‍💫 AGHHH I CANT STOP THINKING AB HIM GOING DOWN ON U AND PRESSING LITTLE BITES TO UR CUNT LEAVE ME ALONEEEEE DEMON DEMON UR A DEMON WITCH!!!!!!!!!! (affectionate)

it’s not that jungwon doesn’t trust you, it’s that he doesn’t trust himself to not take advantage of you after he tells you about his vampirism. knows he’ll come to you whenever he wants, as often as he wants for just a lil taste n knows you’ll gladly comply cus he’s ur sweet lil wonie n you dont want him goin’ hungry :(

before outright telling you he decides to try out biting in the bedroom. presses mouthy kisses to the expanse of your neck n licks the tiny little holes his fangs leave behind, too afraid to full on bite you bc he doesnt know if he’ll be able to control himself. he’s already itching for more as the small drops of blood collect on his tongue.

“‘m sorry princess, ‘m so fuckin’ sorry” is the last thing you hear, jungwon too wound up to stop himself from biting down hard n he drinks your blood til it smears on his chin and stains his teeth.

the opportunity is too good to pass up and he doesnt even bother taking your panties off before he slips his cock inside as he continues to feed from you, moaning deeply and sucking hard, his teeth puncturing so deep inside it makes more and more blood gush out.

jungwon’s sure he accidentally drank too much but when you wake up ditzy and begging for him to do it again he smiles before making his way between your thighs.

“knew you’d like the pain, feels good doesn’t it angel?” his words are slightly muffled as he licks over ur panty covered pussy, dampening the soft material with drool and your own juices.

his venom makes you desperate for more and has you pushing his head into your cunt forcefully, his long n sharp fangs accidentally grazing your vulva and shredding your panties.

once the blood hits his tongue jungwon just gives in to his instincts. shoves you into the bed as he sloppily makes out with your bare pussy and bites along your thighs every now and then. the poor vamp can’t bring himself to part with your wet hole n ends up catching your clit between his lips, fangs poking and prodding at your sensitive nub which makes you cum instantly, mind hazy and body sore as the pain from each and every bite begins to make itself known.

[catierambles]

Feral Instincts Ch.30

Pairing: The Rogue’s Gallery (Geralt, Syverson, Mike, August Walker, Walter Marshall) x Stephanie Daniels (OFC)

WC 1074

Warnings: mentions of blood and injury

They pulled up to the house in a quiet neighborhood, Sy parking half on the curb as Geralt's bike slid to a stop, August’s SUV parked out front right where the tracker said it would be. Getting out, they ran up the walk, hearing a crash from inside. August didn't pause, kicking the door in and they rushed inside.

"Steph!" August called out and there was another crash from deeper in the house. Running towards the sound, they stopped, seeing the wolves locked in combat. Jordan's was a dark blonde color and massive, but his fur was streaked with blood from bites and tears along his back, flank, and muzzle. He was tackled by Stephanie's, her wolf smaller than his, but her bite was strong as she sank her teeth into his shoulder and brought him down. He rolled, knocked her off and they came at each other again, paws swiping and teeth snapping. She went low as he went high, catching him around the throat and slamming him to the floor on his back. He shifted back, the fur retreating, and he pushed against her, fought to free himself, trying to dislodge her teeth from around his throat. She suddenly wrenched and blood sprayed, bone snapping.

"Steph." Sy said and she whipped around to look at them, the piece of gore falling from her mouth to land wetly on the floor. Her eyes were wild, enraged, and her lips pulled back from blood stained fangs in a growl.

"Easy." Walter said, his voice low. "Easy sweetheart. It's us." She couldn't seem to hear them, advancing on them slowly, her body low to the floor as her hackles raised, her ears pinning back. They could see blood on her fur, and it wasn't all Jordan's. "You're injured, love." He took a step towards her, but backed up as she snarled at him.

"Steph," Sy said, "Come back to us, darlin'."

"Listen to us, Princess." August said.

"Stephanie." Geralt said, "Don't let us lose you to this." She suddenly stopped, shaking her head, and her body relaxed before she let out a low whine, limping over to them.

"Baby." Sy said as she nearly collapsed at their feet, shifting back. Ragged gashes and deep punctures littered her back and shoulders and they knelt, Sy's hands hovering over her.

"Sy…" She said, her voice a pained whine, and August came back with a blanket, laying it over her and wrapping her in it before gathering her in his arms, picking her up. "Are Mike and Albert okay?"

"We can talk about that later, sweetheart." Sy said, brushing blood streaked hair away from her face. "Let's get you outta here first."

"Cleanup crew is on its way." Geralt said, putting his phone back in his pocket, "I'll wait for them. Take her home."

"No!" She reached for him, grabbing his jacket. "Don't leave me, please. None of you, please. I need all of you, I need to know you're okay."

"I'll call Leon when we get in the truck." August said, "Council is just going to have to fucking deal that Lewis is a corpse."

She was quiet on the drive back, curled up in the blanket on August's lap, her fingers twisting in his shirt as he carried her into the cabin, Walter having driven his truck back to the cabin so August could tend to Stephanie.

"You need to get this blood off of you." He said and she nodded. He carried her into the bathroom, sitting her down on the toilet as he started the shower, pulling his clothes off and unwrapping her from the blanket when the water reached a suitable temp. The hot water irrigating her injuries made tears come to her eyes and he held her against his chest as she sobbed, the water swirling deep red then pink then clear around the drain. He washed the blood out of her hair with gentle movements, making sure to rinse it thoroughly and he didn't fail to notice the fresh silver wounds around her wrists.

When she was clean, he shut off the shower, toweling her off gently before wrapping her in it and one around his hips. He waited as she brushed her teeth quickly, getting the blood out of her mouth, before picking her up again and bringing her down to the living room where Walter and the others had made something of a nest, moving the couch and recliners aside and piling blankets and pillows on the floor.

"I killed him." She said as they laid there, and the smallness to her voice broke their hearts, Geralt’s arm tightening around her waist as he held her back against his chest. "He hurt Mike, Albert, and Sy, so I killed him."

"You did."

"I didn't--I didn't stop to think, I just did it because he hurt them." She said, "Am I--am I a monster?"

"No, sweetheart." Walter said, their hearts breaking a little bit more, "You're an Alpha. He hurt your Mates, he hurt your pack, but it should have been us. Not you."

"I'm sorry I didn't wait for you."

"It's not that." August said, "We know death. Sy with the Army, Walter with the police, Geralt with being a Tracker, and me with…well, what I did with the Agency and for the Council. We know death, we've taken lives. We’re not angry it wasn’t us, baby, we just didn't want you to know it too. We wanted to protect you from that."

"I didn't care what happened to me." She said, "I didn't care if I died too. I needed him to pay for what he had done to them."

"You protected them." Geralt said, "You left with Lewis to protect Mike and Albert, and you made sure he would never hurt them or anyone else ever again."

"Council is going to be pissy." She said, "They wanted him alive."

"They'll get over it." August said, “Steph, I have to know. How did you know to take my truck?”

“What do you mean?”

“How did you know the Council gave it to me and it has a tracker in it?” He asked and she tilted her face up to look at him.

“I didn’t.” She said, “I just grabbed the first keys I saw. It has a tracker in it?” There was a beat of silence before they gave soft laughs, August pressing his lips to her forehead.

[simiansmoke]

@badonkeykong

DK felt most at home and most like himself when he was spending time with other him. They had very similar interests and viewpoints but their tastes were different enough for their personalities to mesh perfectly. One of their favorite activities to do together was wrestling. The ape was well aware of his own strength and being that his counterpart was also him in a way, he knew his strength too. It would never get too serious of course and they were the perfect fighting match.

However, it wasn't uncommon for them to get carried away, especially DK. When he got hyped up, his instincts would lead his actions, however playful they're meant to be. This happened to be one of those instances, he pulls a move his look alike had pulled with him many times before. The bite. The other ape freezes just like he expects him to though he doesn't expect to receive that look.

If it were anyone else, he might think they're just pulling that face to get out of their wrestling match but he knows the look in his eyes all too well. Cute aggression makes him want to chomp harder, a primal thrill making him enjoy the dominant position he's in but instead, after a moment of hesitance, his jaws release his counterpart and he moves off of him. He scratches the side of his head sheepishly, trying to play it off.

"W-What's with the puppy dog eyes? You can't trick me into feeling bad..." Too late. The pang of guilt is felt in his chest.

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

To say they didn't have a lot in common was proving that the observer was blinded with some sort of confirmation bias. That or they just didn't have eyes. There was just something he got out of spending time with...well, his own self, that seemed to escape him with everyone else. Maybe he's just a narcissist? Wouldn't be the end of the world.

Either way, scuffles shared with his other self were particularly fun. Mainly because losing didn't even mean anything bad since at least one of him ended up winning. That means he was always the winner! To some degree.

"You little bitch, get over here!" He laughed, sinking down into his weight before springing back up after a few hearty wiggles and launched himself at his brown-furred opponent. Squaring up practically chest to chest with the other Kong, DK about winds up to give the backside of the other's head a particularly potent upslap, but is stopped mid swing with teeth sinking into his shoulder to interrupt the swing at the source.

Immediately, DK freezes. The bite isn't particularly sharp as much as it's stopping him, and it stops him a little too much by no means of its own. Like a younger Kong with its neck scruffed and carried away, he feels his limbs go limp and he sags down under the other's weight as his breath catches in his throat and everything stops.

There's nothing around him but dark jungle and stone walls. A maw much larger than the one currently clamped in place is heaving heavy, heated loads of hatred-tinged breath into puncture wounds. The pop of bone-...an unimaginable pain pursued by the task of setting an arm back in its socket. He quivered in the anti-anticipation of. Once he comes to to see his arm free and the look of confusion on both his face and his other's, DK frowned and shook out his fur as he turned to start looking for his exit route.

"...it's nothing. This is stupid. I'm out."

[pianolo]

AN EXCERPT! I am writing a story that spans over many centuries! If you have any questions please feel free to ask!

Hatta looked over at poor, shivering Cosmo. Sakir had pulled Cosmo’s shirt up over his head. 

Hatta had never seen him so scared. But, then again, she would be too in his situation. 

Cosmo must have known he was about to be tortured. Tortured terribly.

“Now, Hatta,” Sakir pulled Cosmo’s hands above his head, connected them to a winch on the ceiling, and suspended Cosmo until he stood on his tip-toes. “This Engineer is going to die unless you do everything I say. You will prove that the Szeszchek mean nothing to you. You will use your powers to fix every injury I lay upon young Cosmolov Sekotchya here.”

Cosmo cringed at his formal name.

“Ready?” Sakir picked up a wooden club, complete with nails hammered through it. Sakir swung it in a full arc, crashing it against Cosmo’s lower ribs with a terrible crunching sound. Cosmo didn’t scream. But Hatta soon realized it was because he couldn’t. The hit must have directly affected his diaphragm.

He made a sad gasping sound, like he was surprised over and over again. three small holes where the nails had punctured his chest were leaking and oozing blood down Cosmo’s bare abdomen. He looked at the ceiling, not at Hatta. She understood he planned to die. He would sooner die than give the Fabrikash results. 

“Heal him,” Sakir demanded. “He has only been hit once. And besides, I owe him for what he did on the battlefield.”

Hatta held her hands out to Cosmo, healing his wounds in an instant and returning breath to his lungs. 

Sakir brought it down hard again, this time across the back of Cosmo’s knees, causing them to buckle, leaving him to dangle by the wrists while Hatta healed him. This time he screamed, long and hard, “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!”

Sakir grabbed Cosmo by the face. “Let’s start with some easy questions. I know Hatta can tell lies by your heart rate from afar. But i can tell lies by touching you. By sensing your spirit’s energy.”

“Ready to answer some questions? Answer honestly.” Sakir viciously pushed Cosmo’s face away and put two fingers to Cosmo’s sternum. Hatta noticed the tears that escaped the corners of Cosmo’s eyes. “What is your age, Cosmolov?”

Cosmo swallowed hard, tilted his head back to the ceiling. Hatta focused on his Adam’s apple. She didn’t want to have to meet his mournful gray eyes. “23,” Cosmo finally answered.

“Good!” Sakir patted Cosmo’s side in a way that even Hatta thought was creepy. “Now, how did it feel…”

Sakir grinned and looked away for a moment. “Killing MY FUCKING BROTHER?!”

Sakir clutched the fingers he had placed on Cosmo’s sternum. Cosmo went limp.

“Shit, Hatta wake him up. I need to control my power more. I overloaded his senses by accident.”

Cosmo, under the guidance of Hatta’s power, woke with a start. 

“Time for brute force again, I think.”

Sakir picked the club up again.

Hatta could remember every one of Cosmo’s screams after that night.

[casspurrjoybell-27]

In a Heartbeat - Chapter 58 - Part 3

*Warning Adult Content*

Simon

'Blood. It's Vince's blood.'

He halted in his tracks before looking down at it apprehensively.

The scent was fading, but we spotted another one just a couple of yards away.

Despite the nerves, we continued on, following the trail of blood until a low growl emerged from the bushes on our left.

I barely had time to react as a feral rogue jumped out from behind a tree.

Foaming at the mouth, the wolf lunged toward us, his eyes crazed as he bared his canines.

Before I could even react, Xavier had snarled, grabbing the wolf's neck in his maw before flinging him away.

Behind the rogue, two other crazed wolves appeared from the tree line.

Xavier growled at the three, lowering his head with his hackles raised.

I moved closer to him, baring my teeth as well as I heard the sound of more wolves approaching.

'Go,' he told me.

'I'll handle them, go follow the trail.'

'Xavier?'

'Go find Vince.'

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye before addressing the wolves again.

'He needs you, go. I'll catch up to you.'

Hesitantly, I stepped away and picked the blood trail back up, trying desperately to ignore the sounds of Xavier and those rogues fighting.

Xavier could handle himself, I reminded myself.

Vince could hardly shift into his wolf form and the trail of blood was not a good sign.

Pushing fast the fears I had, I kept on, trekking up and down the forest slopes, following the scent of blood as I tried to figure out where they could have gone.

The snow was coming down faster and the blood trail was getting cold.

I needed to find him, needed to stop Michael from whatever vendetta he had against Vince.

I stopped dead in my tracks, smelling the sweet smell of Vince's scent suddenly coming from my left.

It was faint but I could recognize that scent anywhere.

With my wolf whining, I ran faster, letting the scent wash over me as I approached one of the clearings.

Stalking through the shrubbery I peeked my head out, finally seeing my mate there.

The sight of them had my wolf howling.

Vince laid at Michael's feet, his wolf form cowering on his side as Michael's front paw was firmly placed on his neck.

From here I could tell he had wounds on his side and shoulder, the blood trail probably from those wounds.

His black coat looked completely soaked from the blood.

I couldn't help but let out a low growl, the sight of Vince hurt and pinned pushed my self-control nearly out the window.

Michael noticed my presence first, he raised his lips to expose his canines, almost in a smirk as deadly as the one he'd wear in his human form.

Vince preened his head toward my direction as best he could, a petrifying look that struck a chord in me.

I stalked forward, my head low and ears up in alert, aware that I was exposed here.

Rogues could shoot out of the bushes but with the adrenaline and fear shooting through me, all I worried about was ending this madness.

I couldn't let Michael get away with this.

I wasn't going to let him ruin the pack or hurt Vince any further.

'Let go of him,' I urged, looking up at Michael defiantly.

He chuffed, his tail swinging in a playful manner as he narrowed those gold eyes.

'And why should I? Someone who attacked me on no basis ought to be punished.'

I snarled.

'You know that's not true.'

'Even if it were true, who would believe you?'

I took two steps forward, letting out a growl, letting my wolf hover on the edge of consciousness.

'Let him go. That's not for you to decide.'

'Fine,' Michael snarled, removing his paw from Vince's throat.

He coughed before scrambling away from Michael, limping slightly from his shoulder injury towards me.

I met him a quarter of the way, my ears drawn back as I studied him.

The only blood appeared to be from the three puncture wounds on his shoulder and what appeared to be a couple of claw marks down his side.

Once at my side I glared at Michael, worried he'd pull something any second.

'Vince?' I mind-linked him.

He looked at me before burying his head into my neck, whining.

'You shouldn't be here. You'll get hurt. They'll use you against me.'

'I can't lose you too, Vince.'

He let out a low whine but Michael's snarl drowned it out.

'How sweet?' He bared his teeth.

'Too bad I'm not the only one that wants him dead.'

I let out a growl at that, taking a defensive step in front of Vince as a cacophony of growls and snarls emanated from the tree line, one by one wolves approached us from all sides.

Approximately twenty of them, frothing at the mouths, ears alert as their hackles rose.

We were surrounded and worst of all, some pack members were among those wolves, snarling with bloodthirsty eyes.

Fighting them all at once was futile, especially with Vince's wounds.

My heart was pounding against my chest, my breaths labored as I watched them step closer and closer.

My wolf, although as terrified as I was, was livid.

Clawing to breach the surface, we wanted more to wipe that smirk of Michael's face.

I wouldn't let Michael get away with this.

I wouldn't let him hurt my mate further.

'Do you trust me?'

I leaned my muzzle into the crook of his neck.

'What?'

'Do you trust me?' I repeated, burying my head into his neck further, trying to calm my nerves with his scent as I could hear the wolves inching closer to us, their barks and growls growing louder and louder.

He blinked before nodding.

'Yes.'

I stepped back before looking him dead in his eyes, swimming in those curious blue eyes.

'Run.'

[monkeymyth]

@reapers : sit down before you fall down. ( laura. )

"it's not that bad," he tries, but it sounds sort of fake, even as ravi says it aloud. the blood's stopped running from his nose, but there's still the black eye blossoming into an ugly bruise, the blood on his knuckles, the way he's leaning weight towards his left leg rather than his right. the evidence is everywhere to the contrary, but he says it anyway on instinct. the sentence is almost subconscious.

on some level, it's true. things aren't that bad. bad is a stab wound right through his lower lung, puncturing through so deep that pulling it out makes him wheeze. bad is falling into a river full of waste that should have probably killed him. if he really sat down to think about it, it might say enough that that's his definition of bad. but in the day to day, it makes a lot of other things easier. he's not limping. he can move relatively well, even if it hurts to do so. he felt it on the way back here—he can turn, shift, do everything that he needs to as long as he's willing to feel each and every movement in every piece of his body.

so be it. that's the price.

mostly, he feels bad about getting blood on laura's things. it's a small thing to be worried about, but it feels crass somehow. blood looked right on the floor of kings because it was already a place soaked in blood. it made the physical world reflect the interior, once and for all. he didn't feel bad about any of that. red sprayed across the faces of the maharaja under the british. blood soaking into his hands, sticking there, dripping from them as he stood too still in the elevator, staring at his own reflection in the shining metal doors.

sometimes it feels good to make a mess of someone that deserves it.

twin peaks is a town full of people who quietly, covertly deserve it. it's different here. small town america, all its secrets buttoned up close to the chest. but ravi still knows the ugliness when he sees it. it's the same everywhere, even if it dressed and walked and talked differently back home.

he runs his hand under his nose again. blood, now half-dried, flakes away onto the back of his hand.

"just a bar fight. i don't want to bleed on all your things," he says, quieter. "i really don't mind standing."

[hermits-hovel]

20. bandaging/stitching up an injury

[part 1 here!]

the long-overdue second part! thank you @cadrenebula!!

quick disclaimer though, this got… long. obscenely long. unnecessarily long. I take these prompts and just... run. I’m very sorry 8′]

20. bandaging/stitching up an injury CW: blood/gore, mentions of stitching (obviously)

If there is aught Ancel can be grateful for, ‘tis the fact that the heavy downpour would help wash away and mask the scent of blood from any nearby beasts.

All the rest—the rainstorm itself, the enshrouding darkness of the night, the dead dragon he was towing, his many wounds—he could do without.

===

Scrape…

Scratch…

Scrape…

… Slip.

His jaw collides with the ground, and in a fit of frantic indignance, Ancel pounds his fist against the slick rocks as if to punish them.

“Gods—Damn it all!”

Still, he wastes no time rising once again to his feet. His legs burn, his body aches, and he’s all but certain he’s losing blood somewhere—but there exists little time to register any of that, not with a more pressing matter at hand.

Dragons are often drawn towards their fallen brethren; he doesn’t know why, and doesn’t care to learn. All he knows is how dangerous it could be to leave a freshly killed nuisance laying in undesirable locations, lest one risk attracting an endless chain of them.

And so he spits, bends down, grabs the tail of the young wyvern, and resumes dragging its corpse towards the cliff’s edge. He pulls intermittently, steps and yanks, to accommodate the dragon’s weight and to keep himself established upon the wet terrain. He cares little how much his wounds feel fit to burst at the overexertion.

And once there, ‘tis with a grunt of effort that Ancel heaves the body over the edge. He watches it tumble down, collide with the rocks and grow ever fainter until the rain-wrapped darkness swallows it from view.

That would have to do.

With the deed done, his adrenaline begins to wane, and it hits him all at once—the damage he’d sustained in the struggle.

===

As Ancel reenters the hollowed threshold of their cave encampment, he inhales softly, deeply, gathering every onze of composure he yet has before proceeding further in.

The dim light of the campfire still shines, dusting the area in a warm, modest glow. To the back wall rests their supplies and weapons haphazardly scattered about, and in their midst lays one chocobo in deep slumber.

So too does Estinien, not too far to the right of the cave. Whether or not his resting is at all restful remains to be seen, with his features strained and breath laborious as his body continues fighting its current illness.

Thankfully, the sounds had not roused him; or so it would seem.

Ancel notes that the cold cloth he’d supplied him with had fallen away, and he suspects it had grown warm by now. He would need to refresh it.

But first…

Approaching the leftmost side of the cave—his side, he established—Ancel limps towards his makeshift bed with the aid of his lance, and once there, carefully lowers himself down. He swallows any inclination to gasp from the shooting pains across his body.

And promptly curses himself upon releasing a soft hiss of breath through his teeth.

His recklessness, his folly.

‘Tis utter folly. To engage a dragon without armour, let alone without a plan is entirely too dangerous, and he’d known it full well when he grabbed his lance and charged at the beast. 

But there had been no choice, no time.

Praise Halone though he does for his triumph, She did also welcome unto him due repercussions for his haste. The monster did not succumb without a fight, and had made diligent use of its jaws and claws. As Ancel peels down his rain and blood-soaked breeches, he learns the severity of it—the reason his left leg in particular is nigh impossible to walk upon.

Even in the feeble light he can tell. The gash in his thigh is viciously wide, and the surrounding flesh is pocked and punctured with memories of the dragon’s teeth. Blood still flows in thin rivulets, pools high in divots and drips onto the blanket below; nearly his entire leg is smeared red.

It takes a concerted effort to keep his breath soft and steady at the sight of it. No matter how lightheaded he is, he would need to work quickly.

===

The sudden movement out of the corner of Ancel’s eye startles him, and had he been in a less compromising position, he might have felt compelled to grab a weapon.

Alas, he can find little relief in realizing the movement belongs to Estinien. The man had surrendered a short series of waking gasps before rolling onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow. 

Almost immediately, his eyes fixate dazedly upon Ancel.

Ancel, whose bloodstained lance is leaning against the wall, whose hair is yet damp and dripping from rainwater, whose bare shoulders are draped with a spare blanket.

Boasting a very bloodied thigh. Flanked by various flasks and medical supplies. Noticeably haggard and weak as he struggles with a makeshift compression band.

Damning, to say the least.

“… ‘Twas not my intent to disturb your rest,” Ancel claims calmly. “If I have.”

“What—“ Estinien swallows the graininess in his voice. “What have you done?”

“I know how it looks, but I assure you, I’m well. Worry not.”

Try as Ancel might to concentrate on his ministrations, any hope of doing so is fated to fail. He spies yet more movement in his periphery, and paired with a distinct shifting noise, his heart nearly stops when he realizes—

Estinien has pulled himself to his feet.

In complete defiance of his lingering vertigo, he begins staggering over. Ancel might have succumbed to the shock had he not been promptly consumed by an immediate and overwhelming opposition to the notion.

“Estinien, no,” Ancel scolds sternly. “Did you not hear me? I can handle this.”

But the knight does not listen. He drops clumsily to his knees next to Ancel and swats his hands away from the bandage. “You’ve lost so much blood you’re paler than I,” he mutters and places a palm upon Ancel’s chest, pushing firmly. “Lay back.”

“You—“ Ancel gasps, indignant as he keeps himself propped upright. “Perish the thought! You’re—still running a temperature, Estinien, I can feel it.”

“I don’t particularly care.”

“Estinien.”

“I need—“ Estinien stops short, as though rethinking his statement; after a short exhale and a resigned shake of his head that he rephrases, “Let me do this.”

A strangely-worded request, and a peculiar tone he’d struck besides.

There rings the barest hint of urgency, a kind Ancel hadn’t heard in Estinien’s voice before. ‘Tis not that of a man delivering orders in combat, nor of a caretaker advising in earnest. It sounds more desperate than that, as if he were afraid of what could occur if he doesn’t carry the task through.

The thought of Estinien being gripped with apprehension is enough to stave off Ancel’s objections for the time being. He reaches up, clutches the blanket around his shoulders, and allows himself to lay back against the rocky surface of the wall.

In truth, he admits, ‘twould not likely matter who took up the deed. Utterly robbed of their strength, neither of them seemed in the best condition to be administering such delicate operations. While Ancel holds little confidence in Estinien’s enfeebled hands, he can’t say he had much faith in his own, either.

Once Estinien finishes fastening the tight band, he pauses to inspect the wound closer, then takes one of the flasks at Ancel’s side. He observes it for a moment before looking to their scattered belongings.

Ancel thinks to inquire his intent—after all, he’d already gathered what was needed—but instead watches with mounting confusion as Estinien places the flask down, leans over, and retrieves one of their discarded belts. That confusion only escalates when he loops the leather and holds it to Ancel’s lips.

“Bite,” Estinien instructs.

… Ah. For the pain.

Too tired to argue, Ancel takes the belt between his teeth and shifts his position somewhat, looking to brace himself for the inevitable discomfort.

The feel of Estinien placing his hand—alarmingly warm still—on his knee does well to earn his focus at the very least. And then, the flask is inverted, and liquid is poured directly into the gash.

As expected, the pain is instantaneous, a piercing, nauseating sensation that makes Ancel flinch. His muscles seize with the effort it takes not to twist away, and a deep hiss saws into his lungs as his teeth dig into the leather of the belt. A final, muted whimper escapes his throat without consent.

Estinien murmurs something Ancel can’t hear, but there’s no reason to ask him to repeat it. He had already taken a cloth and gotten to work gently cleaning the wound, his features drawn stiff with concentration.

And as ever, perhaps spurred by a need to avert his focus from his howling nerves, Ancel’s thoughts wander as he takes the sight in.

The situation brings to mind the first time the two had met—when Ancel pulled Estinien from their flaming barracks and administered the selfsame treatment to the gaping wound in his leg… albeit with markedly less efficiency. 'Tis with a sentimental whim that Ancel thinks to drop the belt and remark upon the parallel, but he quickly dismisses the idea.

He doubts Estinien is the reminiscing sort. And that was in the event Estinien even recalled the encounter; it took him an age just to remember Ancel’s name, after all.

When did they truly become friends, then? Had they at all? Those sound like questions Estinien would avoid answering, and in a way, Ancel finds himself similarly inclined—afraid of the answers, afraid of differing answers.

At least, for his own part. Estinien, on the other hand, never seemed to care quite as much; at least, only ever cared as much as he needed to.

Mayhap… he would merely find the question ridiculous.

‘Tis easier to never ask, then. An aching mystery indeed, but a safer one. And that was well.

That’s… how we are.

===

“Almost…” Estinien mumbles, pausing to wipe his forehead with his arm.

He had gotten the wound partway sutured, and by now, Ancel had grown fairly accustomed to the pain. The belt in his teeth helped stave it away, but his wandering thoughts and overall weariness likely played their parts in that endurance.

Estinien had also managed to tidy his leg quite nicely, enough to locate scratches and punctures that could hardly be seen in the mess of crimson. Dried patches and smudged fingerprints yet remain, however, and Estinien’s hands had grown horrendously stained. While this was to be expected, and he seemed wholly unbothered by it, Ancel can’t help but feel remorseful.

He takes the belt from his mouth, just for a moment. “There—“ A grunt as Estinien pushes the needle through again. “There are enough clean cloths for your hands.” Wince. “E-ere you dress the wound.”

Estinien nods, though it was unclear if he truly heard. Mayhap he’d already thought of that.

Aye, he is remarkably efficient in spite of his illness. Trembling fingertips did lead to accidental pricks, and by the Fury are his searing hands still utterly distracting against Ancel’s own cold flesh. But beyond the way Estinien endeavours to breathe, and the intermittent pauses he takes to ensure he stays sitting upright, one might struggle to tell that the man had taken ill at all.

‘Tis rather surreal, his manner of care—his demeanour now. Firm, as expected, but careful, delicate, so distinctly unlike him.

... Mayhap, then, 'tis not so difficult to tell that Estinien was out of sorts.

The thread tugs a final time, and the wound closes. Estinien cuts it loose with the nearby blade, and then sets both items aside before shutting his eyes.

Regaining his stamina before initiating the last step, like as not.

Ancel shifts ever-slightly, lowering the belt from his mouth and placing it at his side. He takes the liberty of removing the bandage around his upper thigh, grabbing the blade and easing it under the tight binding. Once he cuts it loose, he surrenders a sigh of relief.

“... Tell me true,” Estinien urges.

Ancel freezes, but regards him in silence.

“A dragon,” the knight continues, “entered our encampment. Did it not?”

Ancel swallows, feeling a hot wash melt over his body. It seemed remarkably like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have, despite knowing the necessities of his actions; despite how obvious it had been what manner of creature had gifted him his wounds.

But Estinien doesn’t appear angry at all. In fact, his tone and expression both are nigh indecipherable.

“… It wandered too close,” Ancel confesses, setting the blade down. “‘Twould have entered the cave and cornered us. No recourse but to engage ere it could do so.”

“Killed, or wounded?”

“'Tis dead, no question. I discarded its body over the cliffside. None of its kin will happen upon it, or us, Fury willing.”

Estinien nods, and after drawing another weary breath, opens his eyes. He turns his head slightly, slowly, and takes one of the few remaining clean cloths with intent to rinse his hands.

The silence feels suddenly naked, dialogue now missing where it should have been. Estinien has more to say.

Given the right questions.

“… Had you heard it, then?” Ancel prods meekly. “The struggle, that is. Did it rouse you after all?”

There is no answer at first, but he can hear the gears turning in Estinien’s head as he wipes the blood from his hands. And what was once a demeanour indecipherable suddenly grows notably troubled.

“Outcries reached my ears while I slumbered. ‘Twas clear as a bell in my head.”

Ancel can’t help the pang of discomfiture that strikes him at the way Estinien words that answer. He wants to respond, but not a cohesive sentence comes to mind.

Instead, he can only furrow his brow and watch his comrade cast the bloodied cloth away in favour of retrieving a new one—one he uses to dress Ancel’s wound. He does so wordlessly at first, but upon fastening the cloth in place, Estinien speaks again, eyes lidded and voice falling as quiet as it had ever been.

“Rather than wake me,” he says, “the sound engulfed my dreams. Commanded them. And no matter how real I knew the danger was, my limbs would not listen.”

His eyes fall shut, and his brows knit with slight strain—a wince, almost—and it passes as soon as it appears. Estinien confesses then, in a tone no different, yet no less haunting:

“I could not wake—only watch.”

It takes Ancel a moment to fully process his words, to realize their meaning—and then, try and fail to determine why Estinien had spoken them in the first place. ‘Tis the first time, perhaps, that he’d heard him say anything so unguarded, so…

… Personal.

“This sounds more like a nightmare,” Ancel whispers, “than a dream.”

There comes no verbal response, and no movement either at first. But after a slow, utterly telling blink, Estinien shifts and takes another roll of bandages, obviously intent on finishing what he’d started without any further elaboration.

He doesn’t need to elaborate—his earlier persistence now has its answer.

Concern and sorrow twist and churn in Ancel’s chest. Without giving himself a chance to hesitate, he lifts his hand to Estinien’s and takes the roll between his fingers, pulling it gently. It comes away as effortlessly as breaking a fruit from a vine; no resistance, no reaction.

“Estinien…” The name leaves him as an aching whisper, but the man in question offers no response.

Completely blank. He has finished speaking.

The silence continues to marinate between them, stagnant and heavy as though time had ceased to pass altogether. Ancel pulls his lips into a thin line. 

What could he say? What wouldn’t sound hollow? Did any such combination of words exist?

What does Estinien want to hear?

A smile, one weary and lost, forces itself onto Ancel’s lips.

“‘Tis… fortunate, then, that I survived,” he ventures. “To see the danger passed. To greet you as you awoke.”

Estinien’s eyes flicker to Ancel, his expression unchanging; yet there lies consideration beneath his exhaustion, hesitation beneath his discomfort.

Still too saccharine for his liking. Ancel’s smile turns apologetic.

“Ah... n-nevertheless. I think…” Ancel shifts to the side, granting more space on his makeshift bed. “You have... more than done your part for the day.” He peels the blanket from over his shoulders and lays it out over the area, covering the spot that had pooled with his blood earlier.

Sitting upright, he gestures to the freed space. “Lay down and rest proper.”

Although partway certain that Estinien would refuse outright, the man simply pauses—calculates. Hardly a beat passes before he begins to slowly shift and lower himself down 'til he’s laying on his side, a heavy exhale escaping him.

Relieved with his compliance, Ancel relaxes his shoulders and begins to wrap the bandages around his leg.

===

��Tis finished at last—each wound he sustained, patted clean and dressed appropriately.

And now he can rest. 

He can rest... assuming he can first refresh the damp cloth he’d given Estinien earlier.

Assuming he can do so without waking him again.

Estinien himself appeared to have succumbed to slumber already, but he’d done so at a far closer proximity than Ancel would have liked; his own fault, granted, but nevertheless a hindrance. Moving without disturbing the knight may prove a challenge, but ‘tis better than allowing his head to burn. 

Better than falling asleep here. And so Ancel begins lifting himself. 

... Only to be stopped. He hardly makes it a few ilms forward before a warm palm rises and presses itself flat against his stomach. He flinches and freezes in place, his eyes darting immediately to the culprit: his fever-addled comrade.

Still laying on his side, eyes shut, but Estinien’s arm is indeed raised and braced against Ancel with notable intent.

“Is something wrong, Estinien...?”

“Rest.” The word is hardly audible, bogged by exhaustion. Ancel blinks, taken aback by the request.

“I—… I was about to,” he clarifies. “To refresh your cloth. Then I’ll move… t-to your side of the—“

“Rest here.”

Spoken more clearly, yet Ancel is certain he misheard this time.

Myriad questions cross mind—the whys, the well-beings—and hundreds more that he would never dare inquire.

Is this something you normally ask for?

This is not something you… would normally ask for. Is it?

Why now do you ask?

‘Tis the fever, no question, reducing Estinien’s ability to care, melting his steel-clad guard down into a viscous mercury. He isn’t thinking at all. He would never ask anyone of this.

Are you even awake?

“Now,” Estinien mumbles, impatience lining his voice.

Aye. Barely awake, but awake nonetheless.

Ancel thinks, for a moment, to decline politely. ‘Twould have been easy to do so. But instead he pauses, left considering Estinien’s words from earlier.

How shaken he seemed to be from his dreams, how they proved enough to spur him into action. His ‘need’, as he phrased it ere correcting himself, how easily he succumbed to his own frailty once he saw it through.

‘Tis an instinctual guess to say this feels similar. An urgent measure, a weary precaution, Estinien’s backhanded method of seeking purchase—a sense of control where he no longer held any.

A need for security; a request for comfort.

"...”

When Ancel lowers himself, ‘tis with slow and watchful movements at first. He keeps as much of a gap between them as he can, but something about doing so begins to feel... unkind, somehow.

Once he is laying upon his back, Ancel shifts himself closer, ‘til their bodies are but ilms apart. His arm arches over Estinien’s frame, though he keeps his palm on the ground.

He expects little response from this—none, in fact—but is taken further aback by the precise opposite. Estinien’s hand does not leave his stomach, but it instead remains and furls into a fist. He takes shockingly well to their new proximity and curls in even more, nudges himself closer, lays one side of his burning head against his comrade’s pounding heart.

Indeed, upon experiencing this, Ancel feels suddenly as though he’s the one who’s taken ill.

“Is...” 

Is that sound going to bother you?

Ancel can’t bring himself to ask the full question, but Estinien doesn’t seem to notice; doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, in fact. Though only the top of his head is visible, he appears to be unconscious already.

The relentless burning of his skin is more apparent than ever, and briefly does Ancel consider the threat to his own health. Sleeping so close to Estinien would put his own condition at risk, without a doubt.

Yet there exists no true mind between them. 

He finds that he cares for the risks about as much as Estinien seems to; mayhap, they both care more for the nervous pulse now making its paces through both of their skulls.

Aye... ‘twould seem the sound of a beating heart to guide his slumber is what Estinien wanted to hear.

[omniscientwreck]

I know I already sent u a prompt idea but it just hit me that once Essek goes into hiding, him and Caleb could end up easily having a conversation about their experiences, what they missed until they didn’t have it, or techniques, how similar/different their circumstances were, etc. There’s lots of potential (heh) for angst or comedy or both :)

Anyways, do what you will with this info ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

This is a really lovely prompt and I think I took it in a bit of a different direction than you were thinking, but I hope you still like it!

My partner got back last year from studying in another province for 3 years so for nearly half the time we've been together we've been apart so this is a little about that. Please enjoy!

----------

As Essek teleports in, he nearly crumples where he stands from sheer relief. The only thing keeping him from doing so is a fluffy black cat who’s immediately begun curling around his ankles. He lifts the offending creature and stares directly into mischievous green eyes, “Now sir, I understand you are excited to see me. I am glad to see you in good health Ernst but I must insist you allow me to walk unimpeded. Otherwise we’ll have an incident on our hands and you know how long that paperwork takes.” Ernst, who knows nothing of bureaucracy, blinks lazily back.

“It has to be done in triplicate Ernst! I think we’d both rather avoid that headache.” There’s a soft laugh from the doorway as he sets the cat on the ground and he scampers off to bother a sibling.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing at dearest, that’s at least two hours of writing for something that isn’t difficult to avoid in the first place.”

“I know Schatz, I just missed you.” Caleb’s eyes crinkle and they quickly close the distance between them to fade into an embrace.

Pulling back, Essek can’t keep the smile from his face, “I missed you too. I missed this.” The house smells of bread and a light soup, Caleb smells of incense and firewood and he buries his face in his husband’s neck.

“You’ve been gone a long time, why don’t we eat? Tell me about your travels.”

Some time later, after he’s gone through the series of failed leads that had led to his eventual success in locating another beacon, untouched and unknown by the Dynasty, he lands on what’s really bothering him. “It’s much different than I expected, being in hiding that is.”

“Ja, I know that feeling well. The first few years, before I met Veth, it was very solitary.”

Essek nods, “It’s so strange, to be reading and to have a thought I can’t voice to you immediately. I had gotten so used to this, something I never thought I’d have, and now I find myself talking to empty rooms more often than not.”

Caleb nods, “Ja, sometimes when there was a knock at the door something in me would try to find a rational way for you to be on the other side of it. I remember that loneliness too, I would go weeks without using my voice in the warmer months, sleeping on the outskirts of cities and towns scrounging by on stolen food.”

An old bruise on Essek’s heart squeezes. They’ve told each other everything over the years, he doesn’t think there’s an aspect of his own long life that he hasn’t gone over with Caleb. In turn Caleb has gifted his story to Essek in chunks, as it had been bearable to talk about it. Every wound and scar, every silver lining and bright spot amidst so much darkness.

Caleb never deserved any of that. “I would almost prefer I didn’t have to use my voice. I cannot for the life of me keep names consistent with disguises. I had given out three variations on the same name in one city and had to leave when I saw two people I’d spoken with conversing.”

He earns a laugh with that, hearty and low in the chest. It’s his favourite sound, he’s missed that too. “Yes Mr. Lord Lord from around, we all know how you are with your personas. At least you have the benefit of disguise magic.”

He joins in the laughter then. Thinks back to a memory that is still accompanied by a dull ache, but that he can now look back on with a twinge of fondness. That version of him had been so lost, so sorely in need of guidance. He’d gotten what he needed, he is working towards better now, he’s taken care of his younger self and that feels good in a way.

“There are so many things I didn’t know to be thankful for. Even something as simple as walls and a roof to contain heat, or the padding of the cats’ feet.” He hears a cup rattle to the ground, “Hanz, if that’s broken it will come out of your paycheque.” he calls into the next room as a tortoiseshell cat bolts away from the scene of the crime.

Caleb just laughs again and Essek savours the melody. He’s missed the glow of the amber lights that float around the dinner table, the stacks of notes or stray books that litter every available counter surface, Caleb.

His wizard reaches across to take his hand, “I am glad you’re back Schatz. Now don’t think I haven’t noticed the limp you’re walking with. Let me take a look before we retire.”

He rolls his eyes, but the truth is he’s quite injured. “Fine.” he huffs and Caleb laughs at his put on annoyance. “It was dire wolves. They caught me off guard.” His eyebrows knot and he leaves to get warm water, soaps, and cloths.

“Schatz this is a deep bite, perhaps I should notify Jester?”

He shakes his head, “We went through all of Aeor without them, I will be fine.”

Hissing at the warm water poured over puncture wounds, Caleb starts talking again to distract him. “One of the things I used to miss was my name. I think this one suits me now, but that’s because people know Caleb. For a long time nobody knew me by a name and those who knew Bren were a danger to me. It’s strange to lose something as arbitrary and as important as a name.”

Essek nods, “My name was power in my corner for a very long time. Now it is just a bitter reminder in some ways. But I like how it sounds when you say it so I will keep it.”

Caleb smiles down at him, pressing a blessed kiss to his forehead and continues to wash and wrap his wound. “I missed you Caleb.”

“I missed you too Essek.”

“I will have to leave again one day.”

“I know Schatz, I will be here when you get back.”

“I will always come back.”

His wound is wrapped, their bed is warm. Before falling into his trance he curls back into Caleb’s chest and thinks that it will be a while before he can bear to leave again now that he has someone to miss.

[rattlerinthewheel]

Hypocrite: Scud/Reader

You’re going to kill him, willingly, if the thirst doesn’t make you do it first.

For the Season of Kink bingo square: blood play.

For the Kinky Things Happen bingo square: blood and punishment.

@pille1983 asked for some choking, so included a little thing here. Grabby vampire gets grabby, necklace was in reach...

- - -

It’s an odd feeling, the room being dark but loud. The TV’s off, but the radio’s thumping somewhere else in the warehouse, turned up enough that the bass rumbles all the way over to the smaller room. It works up the couch’s frame, thrums through you, itching in a way that’s distracting. And you want a distraction, with how he’s leaning back. With how he’s scooping his hair out of the way, leaving his throat exposed.

"All yours, baby."

"Josh."

You’re going to kill him.

It’s not even that you’re pissed at him, at the end of your rope, put there by teasing and prodding. You’re too wound up, too focused on keeping your crouch from turning into a spring at him, to be mad. There’s no joke on his lips to make you, no glint to his eyes when he slants them towards you. For once, he’s deadly serious.

But you’re deadly. Thirst burns your throat like acid, shakes you with fine tremors that stutter the growl low in your chest. It cloys to the sides of your throat, the back of it, your tonsils, on its way out. So dry, so fucking dry, and Josh is right here and offering himself up...

You shake your head. It’s all you can do, all you can thaw without giving over to instinct. If you risk anything else you’ll be lunging, and then you’ll be opening your mouth, and then you’ll be draining him. Blade’s out, he’ll never get back in time to stop you, and you won’t let Josh go until you’ve had every last drop. You’ll kill him, really kill him, and you don’t think you’ll stop Blade from icing you when it comes to it.

But the slack look on Josh’s face hardens, just a bit. Enough for you to notice the nerves twitch and string.

"Said come here, bat," he sighs, patting his lap.

Your growl throttles, enough that you know he can feel it across the couch. "You got a death wish or something—"

You’re faster, but you’re thirsty and too busy honing in—not on purpose, fuck—on the pulse he’s offering up to jump away. His craftsman hand, steel under the soft, clamps around your wrist. His palm’s warm, flushed, and you drag your eyes off his neck to watch the blood blush out around the meat of his palm where he grabs, leak back fish belly-white when he eases his grip. Then it flares back out, warmer, when he redoubles his hold and yanks.

You flail, hissing, but there’s another firm grip hooked under your thigh and the lumpy couch under you is traded for a solid lap, and doesn’t this dumb boy know—

"You’re starving and," and the grip on your wrist jumps up to your face, craning it towards his neck while he hikes your bare leg—you’re just in your boxers, and fuck, you can feel his blood-heat through your flesh—to fold you up, "and I wanna try something."

"Wanna try death," you groan between your teeth.

The words come out flat, strained, because you’re trying not to breathe, trying to keep your eyes latched onto that stupid chain necklace and not the pulse thumping beneath. Your jaw locks, loosens, and locks enough times in a span of seconds that your whole face throbs, and you’re so, so tempted to just break it so you can’t clamp down.

"This’ll sting," is all the warning you get before something acidic sears into your thigh.

You snarl, and Josh releases you just as fast.

"Trial run. Sorry, bat."

Josh clucks his tongue like he isn’t sorry at all, wiggling the fingers of the hand that touched your thigh. You glare at the innocent-looking, fingerless glove that covers his palm. Something about it reeks, like rotten eggs and sulfur.

"Like it? Slipped it on when you were doing your impression of a viper. Not my favorite, if I’m honest. Too..." he hums, thinking, before turning his hand upside down and giving you reversed rabbit ears, "bitey."

Your growl only comes out as a pained moan, because you’ve got the shakes all of a sudden. Not thirst tremors. Sick shakes, like you’ve got the flu, and your leg has a rash of foreign pins and needles prickling that you shouldn’t be feeling.

"What," you groan, trying to flex your leg and only half-succeeding, "did you do?"

"Been fiddling around. Not exactly a fan of lethal-only weapons, what with a vamp on my side that can get fried in daylight."

A bone-tired, waterlogged feeling seeps into you like lead. "Uh huh."

Josh isn’t oblivious to your state. In fact, he takes advantage of it. You’re pliant, not limp but malleable enough that you’re positioned in his lap comfortably—for you and him. He goes on as he adjusts, "You’d be surprised what you can get blended up in fabrics these days. Best way I can explain it is, uh, those glow in the dark stickers? That, but bat repellent."

Another wiggle of fingers you want to bite off, despite how tired you are. "What?"

Josh’s easy grin drops, serious. "UV, bat. Try to keep up."

"No wonder I feel like shit," you growl, even as you feel some of your strength come back. "You’re fucking insane—"

"Ah."

You clam up at the noise. Not the threatening wave you get, that damn glove dangerously close to your thigh.

"Good, we’re making progress."

That easy grin returns and you bristle, regretting not draining him when you had the chance to.

"Now, drink."

You try to keep your mouth shut anyway, hold your breath, close your throat even as his non-gloved hand clamps the back of your neck and drags you close. You hate the ragged, pained whine of thirst and not wanting to kill him; but you hate the thirst a little more, and his thumb digging into the hinge of your jaw pries your teeth apart with no trouble at all.

You couldn’t turn him if you tried. You don’t have the... you don’t know if it’s a power, or something you have to activate that you haven’t figured out yet, or what—but you can’t turn him, and that’s good, because he’s already bound to a family and you’re good as dead if you turn a claimed familiar. Killing one? That’s an accident.

Turning? You’ll get staked.

That’s your consolation as you sink into his throat, fangs springing out and burying deep. Josh tenses, his grip goes slack, and you growl and push up so you’re straddling him. You seize that damn chain and yank it, and the flutter of his pulse, the throb of his windpipe as he tries to fight for a breath against the choke, works up some dark glee that gets you yanking it again. You gulp down hot mouthfuls that’s so, so good and...

... and you gasp, choke on the mouthful you inhale, as that goddamn glove skims your thigh.

"Easy," Josh warns, breathy but strong. Then he clears his throat, grimacing as he works his vocal chords, unintentionally tugging at the puncture wounds. "Ah, how ‘bout you use that tongue o’ yours?"

You’re recovering from the second touch, not as severe thanks to the blood, and you have just enough will to obey. Your grip on the necklace jumps off, and you frown at the pink marks you’ve embedded in the flesh: a ring of odd circles that’ll bruise. You don’t like having to lap at the blood that trickles down, either, like a damn dog; you smear just as much of it as you swallow, slathering his throat in red and saliva. But your throat isn’t parched, you don’t feel sick, and gradually, you begin working on cleaning him up.

"Do not get hard," you hiss, even if that’s too late to warn against; between his jeans and your boxers, there’s hardly enough fabric to hide the half-attentive shaft you’re sitting on.

"Hypocrite," Josh purrs, not touching with the glove but tenting his hand, fingers keeping his palm hovering, so it’s close enough that you feel the UV radiate. You don’t feel sick over it, just prickling, like burrs on the other side of a thick layer of clothes, so you feel...

... well, you feel like a hypocrite.

"This," you tell him, continuing to lap up your dinner, "will not become a thing."

But you can’t bring yourself to bare your fangs at the lazy, high-looking (he isn’t, his blood’s refreshingly plain) grin Josh gives. Or argue when he hums, "It will," in a sing-song pitch that clashes poorly with the dark and the thumping music.

About as well as a familiar and the vampire that can’t claim him.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Can you write something where a Supervillain was an absolute jerk to hero, but when she finds him, tortured, sick, and left to die, she helps him anyway?

Thank you!!!

Sure thing! Sorry this took a while. I had a million ideas for this and had to focus in on one.

Dear Diary

Warnings: fevers, delirium, left to die, betrayed, Stockholm Syndrome (implied, not directly stated), fungal infection, exposed bone, broken ribs and nose, starvation, implied neglect, bathing, stripping of clothes (non-sexual), blood, crying

~

Hero sat down at her desk, illuminated by a small lamp and pulled out her worn, leather notebook. She opened the first thirty pages to an empty one, taking brief notes of the way the pages were clearly, neatly filled out top to bottom.

Then, she took her pen- an object of sentiment, nearly as old as her, and gifted to her by her late grandfather- and wrote, as neat as the previous pahlges, in her cursive sign:

Dear Diary,

Then she stopped writing and glanced over at the sleeping figure in the nearby bed. His brown hair tousled, but neat. Old injuries securely bound by more bandages than Hero cared to admit. His once flushed and feverish skin, now placid and evenly moist, was completely neutral with no signs of that agony that brought screams that still haunted Hero at night.

Smiling, she changed her writing to a more easy going print and started writing.

I apologize for not writing recently. It's been so hectic that I think I need a vacation. So, before I tire my hand out complaining, let me tell you about the past couple weeks...

Two weeks ago:

Hero drove smoothly over the recently tarred road. It was night and the sky was absolutely glamorous with stars and constellations of all sorts of celestial bodies. She sighed, contentedly, and aimlessly tapped her fingers against the black steering wheel. She hummed no song in particular as cheery eyes scanned the long, expansive track in front of her.

Until suddenly, the monotonous road was broken by a Ford stranded across the center. Thankfully seeing it immediately, Hero flashed the lights on top of her patrol car, and stepped out with her gun in hand.

A F250, manual with only two seats, but it was empty. Hero raised her gun again and stalked to the other side. Nothing, just an eerie, sporadic vehicle in the middle of a county road.

She whisked open the door. The acrid smell of tobacco and liquor plummeted into her nose and she grimaced. But, like the exterior of the whole truck, there was nothing in the cab.

"Hmm." Hero shrugged, and slammed the door shut, slightly annoyed. She was about to call it in when she heard a tiny, pained whimper.

She tensed, bringing her gun back up again, and spun around. Nothing. Not even a deer or a racoon.

Then, the whimper sounded again.

"Who's there?" Hero asked, but she was starting to think it was just a young fawn or a toad or something.

But it sounded so human.

"Help."

The plea, the breathless plea, sounded the still air. Hero, now completely able to locate it, bounded to the bed of the truck and looked in.

To find a man, bloodied and bruised, with sweat glistening across his dirtied face. He seemed to be conscious- at least awake enough to call for help, as weak the call was- but his eyes were half-lidded and dazed. Blood, still fresh, streamed from a very broken nose.

"Sir?" Hero asked, lowering her gun and putting it in the holster.

The man's eyes opened slightly and he looked at Hero with wonder. A small smile formed on parched, ruined lips. Tears seemed to flood his eyes and he started to cry.

Baffled, Hero climbed into the truck and gathered the man into her arms, mindful not to hurt his neck or spine.

"Hey buddy," Hero cooed, concern evident in her voice. "Are you okay?" No, obviously.

"She-she left me," Supervillain rasped. "She left me here." He started to sob, clawing at Hero's shirt. "Villain left me."

Wait Villain? The stuck-up, obnoxious, feminine bastard that acted as if the world bowed down to her? Hero looked down at the shivering man. Villain, as arrogant as she was, wouldn't hurt a person to this grave extent, unless...

Unless it was...

"Supervillain?" Hero asked. The man turned his head and only then did Hero recognize the sharpness of his jaw and those dashingly handsome golden brown eyes. He let out a hoarse whine and pressed his face back into Hero's leg, chest rattling with broken ribs and mucus.

It was him.

Hero pushed the man off her lap and scowled. He didn’t deserve comfort, or love. Heck, he deserved whatever catastrophe Villain wreaked upon him.

But, after that cruel shove, Supervillain started to scream from the pain of both his horrific injuries and the fresh feeling of betrayal again. He curled his battered form into himself and started a nonstop crying session.

Feeling awfully guilty, Hero laid her hand on his hot shoulder and sighed. She took it back, no matter how mean or terrible a person is, they didn't deserve this.

Before Hero knew it, Supervillain was asleep in the back of her car. As she drove home, night shift forgotten, she thought of her plan. He needed a bath to wash the injuries out and to see the full extent of them. And then he probably needed stitches and a few bones set.

She glanced in the rearview mirror at the limp body. He was breathing, but very subtlety. If it wasn't for the periodic moan or a distressed cry here and there, one might've mistaken him for dead.

Hero shook her shoulders out and looked back at the road, slightly paranoid that she would stumble across another hazardly placed truck. Specifically a manual F250 owned by a certain woman named Villain.

But of course, she didn't. She arrived at home safe and sound, turned off her car, and gathered the now unconscious supervillain in her arms.

"Okay bud," she whispered, hauling him in a bridal carry as she made it to the door. If he wasn't so starved and lightweight, he would've been a big problem to lift.

She opened the door, then immediately in a sudden instinctual rush to hurry, locked the door. She took Supervillain to her bedroom and laid him across the floor. Then, she took off his shirt to reveal a whole menu of wounds.

He had, across both his sides, large purple- nearly black- bruises around his ribcage. They greened at the edges, leading to his torso where cuts and puncture wounds made up a revolting soup. His broken ribs barely had anything in the terms of flesh or muscles on them. Only skin.

His abdomen was sunken in, remnants of days without food, revealing high, pointed hip bones. Hero winced, running a finger lightly across a particular large cut. It was so deep that it revealed the ivory bone beneath. Supervillain, even in his unconscious state, stiffened and whimper pathetically.

Sleep was not an escape from the pain.

Hero stripped the rest of his clothes off. Even his legs and lower body were covered in those red and purple marks. She picked him up again and carried him to the bathtub where she delicately showered the dirt and grime out of infected wounds and off his face.

When it was over, Hero was dumbfoundly shocked at the lack of color in his ghostly face. He didn't wake throughout the process; he was throughly exhausted and sick. Fever raged behind those closed eyelids, appearing in his hot breaths and lolling head. Hero put some old shorts of her's that she bought at a garage sale a couple months ago. They were way too big, but maybe a bit of foreboding told her that they may be necessary one day.

Then she scooped him back up and carried him to her room, laying him on top of the bed, and got to work on stitching and bandaging the wounds.

Supervillain stirred when the needle accidentally pricked a bruise. The second his eyes opened, he screamed and tried to thrash away.

"Leave me alone! Leave me alone!" He yelled. "Villain? Villain! Help me, please!" He started to sob, pressing his cheek into the pillow. "Please... V-vill...ain."

"Shh, shh," Hero laid a hand on his shoulder. He tensed and made a blubbering sound. "You're safe, okay?"

"No, no... I-i want Villain," he sniffled, tears streaming down his face like a waterfall. "I-i need her."

Hero felt her heartbreak at the desperation taut in Supervillain's voice. She gently placed her hand on his forehead in an attempt to comfort and check his fever. He was hot, super-duper hot.

Supervillain pulled away from the touch, watching her with wary eyes. Hero gave a small smile and stepped away. He didn't trust her and her presence might freak him out more. So she stepped away and went to her desk, back facing him.

After a while, his sniffles ceased. Hero took the risk and glanced at him to find him asleep. She sighed, the poor guy was so sick and hurt and tired...

Hero walked back over and went to work again. She applied some antibiotic ointment on some of the more severe wounds, hoping the infection wasn't too deep.

She was about to get to work on tending to his legs, when something in his hair caught her eye. It was a tuff.

Curious, she went over and gently pulled on it to find that it just fell out. A feeling of nausea rose in her throat as more and more hair fell loose. Crunching her brows together, she cleared a hole spot on his scalp to reveal reddened, puffy and dry skin.

A fungal infection. She recognized this from when she took zoology classes in high school. They went on a field trip and the staff gratefully allowed them into the vet area.

Hero rummaged through her medical supplies and found an antifungal cream for athlete's foot. She hesitated, not knowing if something for feet would be good for scalp.

But it was all she had, and something was better than nothing.

So she spread the cream on Supervillain's head, watching as the rose colored flesh glistened with newfound moisture.

Then, she went back to work on stitching and cleaning the wounds of his lower body.

When that long feat was done, she went into the kitchen and grabbed a bag of frozen peas. She wrapped it in a towel and placed it on Supervillain's forehead. Even unconscious, he whimpered and relaxed into the new, relieving sensation.

Hero started to pace. As the minutes ticked by, his breaths seemed to get shallower and shallower and then would increase in a sudden gasp. Periodically, his eyes would flutter open, but only for a moment before he passed out again.

She ended up sitting on the other side of her bed, far away enough to not scare him if he ever regained consciousness enough to be aware of her, but close enough to monitor him.

Hero felt herself dozing as she watched Supervillain's chest rise and fall, but suddenly he awoke fully. She started backwards, then froze. Maybe he would fall asleep again...

But he stared crying, mucus filled lungs heaving. Then he started sobbing, then wailing.

"Villain!" He cried, loudly. "I-i need you." He pulled his legs into himself and Hero did nothing to stop it- too petrified about him hurting himself if he got too spooked.

"Please," he mumbled. "Please, please, please. Don't leave me. Leave me... please no. I don't want you to, I love you please."

Hero's heart broke at that.

Supervillain went silent, apart from nonstop screams of fear and incoherent begging. It got to the point where Hero had to roll him over and gather him into her chest.

"Hey, shh, shh," she cooed, rubbing his back. "It'll be okay. It'll all be okay. Deep breaths... that's it. Breathe in, breathe out. Good job."

Supervillain calmed down and clutched at Hero's shirt. He buried himself into her and fell back asleep.

[knightsimp]

Just a Little Bit of Blood

Pairing: Vampire!Percival Graves x Reader

Summery: Percival comes home late at night, injured. He needs a little blood to be able to heal.

Genre: Tooth-rotting Fluff, but spicy tooth-rotting fluff.

Word Count: 1600+

Date Posted: February 22, 2021

Warning: Definitely spicy (no actual smut in this, but it alludes to it and is still pretty suggestive), blood talk

Note: Oh god I have never posted any of my suggestive pieces. We were talking about Colin Farrell in Fright Night (2011) and this happened.  

Requested by: @sugarbloomart​

Percival landed in his apartment, apparating from the MACUSA building. It was late at night, around an hour past midnight. The bustling city was starting to go quiet, though New York never seems to go completely quiet. Percival took off his coat, hanging on the coat hanger near the front door. He pulled off his tie and waistcoat and placed them on the dining table. He did the same thing with his belt.

The blood from the injury on his side had stained his white dress shirt. When he moved, it felt like pins and needles. The man had gotten injured during a mission with a trainee. This trainee had a lot of promise but clearly needed more experience. Unfortunately, Percival paid the price of that inexperience with getting injured.

Percival getting hurt was always a concern. He did not heal like any other human wizard. 

“Percival?” Percival looked towards the bedroom door, where (Y/N) was standing. Clearly, his return had woken her up.

Her hair was tossed from whatever sleeping she had already done. She was only wearing a pair of underwear and one of Percival’s dress shirts. Simply said, she was not put together in the slightest.

But to him, she was quite the sight.

(Y/N)’s bare feet did not make a sound on the dark, hardwood floor as she approached him. 

“You’re late.” She stated, putting two hands on his chest and dragging them to his shoulders. 

“I know, darling.” He gently held her left wrist. He watched as her eyes slowly wandered to his injury. 

“Percival!” She gave light pressure to the wound, making him hiss from the sharp pain. “Is this why you are so late to come home?”

“Yes.” He grumbled, running his hand through his hair. “The boy has potential, but...” Percival rubbed her arms, up and down. “I must ask something of you.” (Y/N) is quick to agree, knowing what he is asking of her. 

“You need blood, right?” She asked, clarifying.

“Yes.” Percival brushed a little bit of her hair out of her face. “The blood supplements won’t help here.” The blood supplements were just that; they were what Percival can take instead of hunting and taking blood from humans and survive off of that. However, they were not enough for him to heal. While he can heal rapidly, he could not heal at all without real blood. If he were to let an injury go unattended long enough, he would bleed out, regardless of any medical treatment. There was already an anti-wizard growing sentiment growing and a vampire getting spotted would not make matters better. 

She sat on the kitchen island, pushing her hair away from the left side of her neck. 

“Come on.” She encouraged. Percival smiled, seeing how ready she was for him to take blood from her when he needed it. He stood in between her legs, hands instinctively on her waist.

“As much as I appreciate your kindness, my dear, taking from your neck will be too visible. We both must go into work tomorrow.” (Y/N) hummed, looking off to the side.

“I guess you’re right.” Percival took her left wrist, gently rubbing his thumb over the visible veins. She looked back at him, staring into his dark eyes. 

“You’re wrist is another viable area for taking blood.” He suggested. “Not an area you are used to but would make for another spot.” (Y/N) shook her head.

“If secrecy is your concern, my wrists will seem even more suspicious if someone notices. The neck is something more explainable, but the wrist would asking to be found out.” She thought for a moment. “My thigh is always an option.”

“As much as I do love getting in between your legs like that, you don’t need to be limping or in any pain when you go to work.” Now, this was getting frustrating. What would be an area that Percival can take from that would not hinder her as an auror or risk Percival’s true nature as a vampire from being found out? 

“What about my chest?” She inquired. “It would be under my clothes and it is not an area that is very mobile during the day.”

“It is not an area that will produce a lot of blood, nor will it be comfortable for you.” Percival gently held onto (Y/N) arm, sliding his hand down to meet hers. 

“Well, how much blood do you need for an injury like that?” She gestured to his injured waist.

“Not a lot.”

“Then, let’s do it!” Percival seemed hesitant. “Percival, it is our best option right now.” He takes her cheek in her hand, lips close, and his other hand holding her thigh.

“Are you sure?” He whispered. “This will not be pleasant and I will need to expose you for a moment.” She nodded, still sleepy.

“We’re both adults. It’s not anything you haven’t seen before.”

He popped a couple of buttons on the shirt and pushed the left side of the shirt down her shoulder, just exposing the top of her breast. Of course, she was not wearing a bra underneath.  His hands slithered on her body; one on the side of her neck, his thumb under her ear, and the other holding her ribs, just under the breast he was about to take blood from, thumb massaging the side of her breast. His lips were so close to her body.

“Are you ready, darling?” She nodded, biting her lip to prepare for the pinch. When he went in just above her breast, she realized what he meant when he said this was not going to be pleasant. The muscle in the chest is tight, making it painful. The puncture was not pleasant, but otherwise doable given the circumstance.

Oh, but the sounds Percival was making. 

To get whatever blood he could from the area, he was sucking on her skin hard. The sounds he was making were absolutely sinful. Not only were the sounds slightly wet, but he was also panting slightly. And the occasional grumble from his throat came through. If he was not trying to get blood to heal his wound, this moment would have taken a very different turn. It was enough for (Y/N) to make a couple of noises of her own which were not from the pain. 

Once he was done, he pulled away. Both of them were breathing heavily. Blood had dripped from the wound on her chest to the once-pristine dress shirt she wore. 

“Percy, you’re shirt.” She whined, feeling a little lightheaded.

“It’s okay.” He went to her chest once more, licking off the dripping blood from her skin using the flat of his tongue. He put the hand which was sitting on her side on the side of her neck with his other hand. She leaned in, letting her forehead rest on his. The red around his mouth did not scare her in the slightest. No one spoke, but it was very clear how thankful Percival was.

He wrapped her legs around his waist before picking her up. She loosely put her arms around his shoulders, unable to cling on harder. Percival carried her to their bathroom, setting her in the bathtub and sitting on the closed toilet seat. He took his time when stripping her of her chosen nightwear, gingerly unbuttoning the shirt completely and pulling her panties off from under her. 

When she was completely naked, he took the time to strip himself. In all honesty, he was ready for the shower after a long day. When he shrugged off his shirt, he saw the tail-end of his injury rapidly healing. He looked down to (Y/N) only to see her smiling up at him, eyes on the verge of closing. She was happy that he was no longer injured and that was all that mattered. 

He held her up as warm water from the showerhead poured onto them, each movement of his hands so gentle and full of adoration. One hand rested on her back and the other held her head to his chest, keeping her upright. The blood on both of them was washed off and went down the drain. As much as they both wanted to stay in the moment, (Y/N) was slowly falling back asleep and the slight loss of blood was not helping. 

Percival sat her on the bed, putting a cut-out J&J band-aid onto her chest before dressing her in one of her more comfortable nightgowns. It was not until she was lying comfortably on her side of the bed, duvet over her, when he started getting dressed for bed.

He dragged his feet back to the bathroom to freshen up before joining her. 

As he was brushing his teeth, he caught a glimpse of those slightly elongated teeth of his. The red had slightly stained his teeth, but a quick brushing washed it away rather quickly. 

He rinsed his mouth out completely before looking at his reflection in the mirror. 

For years, Percival thought of himself as a monster. He never found someone, in all his years, who was as accepting as the beautiful woman currently in his bedroom. Sure, he should have told her earlier than he did in their relationship, but even then she was so accepting of him. 

He pursed his lips, still tasting her blood in the back of his throat. Like her, it was sweet. 

Before returning to the bedroom, he drank a glass of water to wash down anything that was left. (Y/N) was already fast asleep when he laid down on the plush mattress. Facing her and entangling his legs with hers, he gently slid his knuckles over her cheek before pulling her into his chest. 

Moments like this, he almost felt human again.

[damn-stark]

The Trouble ch.7

A/N- sorry it’s taken so long to post but I plan on finishing this now, so expect more frequent posts. :)

Warning- angst, talks of death, ptsd, blood, light fluff

Pairing- Jesse x fem!reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

——

You could still see it, as clear as day. You could still hear the sound of the gunshots, and the sound of his body thumping the ground.

That’s the only memory you could see now. The memory of Jesse's face contorted into that single painful memory of his death. Everytime you tried to recall a happy and blissful moment, he appeared with his bloody face and the wound that killed him.

As much as you tried to forget, his death haunted your dreams and your mind every waking hour. It wasn’t as bad as it was in the first couple of months after you returned home, but you still couldn’t be the same. You could never be the same. No one who went and came back with you was the same.

Sometimes...you could even see him appear to you…it was so strangely vivid, it seemed like he was actually with you. But you knew he wasn’t, he couldn’t be.

“Y/N, hey kiddo….” You look over your shoulder and notice Tommy welcomed himself inside the house.

You weren’t even aware when he walked inside, or if he even knocked. He most likely did, you just didn’t hear. Albeit sometimes out of instinct, he just walked inside the house; it happened once when Maria was home, she didn’t say anything though, he was the only one embarrassed.

“...I thought you’d be holed up in here,” he continued as he set down the tupperware filled with food.

You turn off the sink and completely turn around to face him, leaning back on the counter and shrugging nonchalantly. “I was just going to go out, you just caught me in here before I could.”

Tommy rests his hand on the counter across from you and releases an airy chuckle. “Right, with which friends may I ask? Maria says you’ve lost them all.”

Your eyes flicker away from him and you scoff as you nod slowly. “They lost me...man,” tears fill your eyes and you feign a grin, “..they...lost me.” You clear your throat and raise your head, letting out a quiet sigh and changing the mood before the tension rose. “Anyway, what’s with the surprise visit? I thought we were meeting for patrol later this week?”

“Well,” Tommy says as he shrugs and averts your gaze. “Just thought you might like the visit.”

You cross your arms over your chest and nod stiffly, smiling softly and then clicking your tongue. “Sure did. But,” you begin to say as you narrow your gaze on him, noticing he looked strange; his stiffened posture, his perplexed expression beginning to show itself on his face. It was hard to tell, he hid his true intentions well, but you saw the truth. “...you’re not here just to visit are you?”

Tommy stands up straight and drops his head to shake it without having to face you. “No,” he mutters before he moves his hand to search the pocket hidden inside his jacket, slowly scrummaging through it to pretend he was looking for something, when in reality he only had one thing, a folded up map. “I wanted to show you this.” He puts the map on the countertop and unfolds it on the surface to flatten it out and show a part of some state, he doesn’t reveal it right away, he instead just waves you over and waits for you.

However you don’t move right away, first you let your eyes scan the wrinkled paper, noticing the marks and the city names. You didn’t recognize the cities so you didn't instantly catch what his intentions were—it could be just some city he needed some supply from, some part of the state where he wanted to visit for some reason, you truly didn’t know. If you were being completely honest you didn’t want to know. Something was telling you to not press further. But you did.

After a couple seconds of hesitation you walk up beside him and take a better look at the map he was showing you.

“First of all, before I get to explaining, I want you to know that I’m not asking anything of you, you don’t owe me anything, okay?” Tommy explains as he turns his head to look at you, waiting in silence for you to assure him. “You understand that?”

“Yeah,” you nod hesitantly. “I understand...why?” You lift your eyes from the paper and meet his gaze. “What’s up?”

“Well,” he swallows thickly. “Recently this guy who’s heard my story, shared to me that while he was moving through California…..” he pauses and looks back at the map, waving his hand around as he chooses to continue. “He traded with a woman that he described was built like an ox.”

“Okay,” you nod, feeling the explanation he gave instantly matched with the women that also plagued your mind, knowing that he was referring to no one else but her.

“He said she was traveling with a kid with scars across his face.” Tommy proceeded to then shift the map around, pointing to a part of land by the ocean. “He said they were living along the coast in a beached sailboat. Right here.” Tommy says as he points to the specific location. “That’s gotta be her.”

Your eyes flicker up to him as you let silence take over for a few minutes as you tried to collect your thoughts, as you tried to process the news and what he was really asking of you.

“Is this…” you ask slowly as your eyes remain away from him. “About Joel?”

“No,” Tommy instantly answers, “not for you anyway...this is about Jesse.”

“I see,” you nod as you step back, feeling your throat begin to burn and your eyes begin to cloud with tears. “I see.”

And it’s at the sound of his name that you see him appear close to Tommy.

Jesse looked so real, so insanely real that it really seemed like he was there listening to Tommy with you. But that was the point, right? The game your mind tortured you with.

The only thing that distinguished him from actually seeming real was that he appeared to you how he was when he died; with the bullet that punctured his face, and the blood that poured from it. Otherwise you’d have a hard time actually believing he wasn’t real, otherwise you’d always be looking at his illusion your mind created, unlike how you were now, you couldn’t even fathom looking at him for more than a second before you looked away in horror.

Tommy noticed that reaction but he didn’t hold back. He was too mad to do so.

“I went to Ellie about Joel, but she let me down.”

“What?” You gasp as you snap your head up to look at him. “You went to Ellie? Why would you do that?” You demand with anger beginning to lace through your voice.

“Because she promised she’d do something about her.” Tommy remarked, making you shake your head and blink in disbelief.

“But why would you break that peace she’s trying to find? That’s why she and Dina moved.” You snap. “Why would you go to her with this?”

“That peace she’s trying to find his bullshit,” Tommy scoffs as he grabs the map and begins to fold it. “You know that.”

“That doesn’t matter!” You interject furiously, “why would you go to her?”

“Because she needs to do something about Abby, just like you do too. Are you really going to let her get away with killing jesse?” Tommy counters, instantly making you stiffen and feel your breath hitch at the sound of his comment. You wanted to talk back, but you were struck with disbelief and grief to manage to muster anything out.

All that you could show was the pain on your face, in your tear filled eyes. Tommy noticed that and hesitated, he stepped back and wanted to try and apologize, but he waited too long. Maria walked in and didn’t want an explanation, she recognized the pain on your face that she saw everyday since you returned. She, unlike Tommy, knew more of what you were struggling with and she wasn’t going to allow someone to just worsen the pain. Not even Tommy.

“What do you think you’re doing Tommy?” She demanded after she also took note of the map in his hand.

“Just came here to talk to her,” Tommy said as he hid the truth. “That’s all.”

“Well,” Maria scoffed, “then that’s enough for today. Get out.”

Said man didn’t argue, he stopped under the kitchen doorway to add one last thing to you. “Think about it y/n, you know I’m right. And then go talk to her. Do what’s right.”

You slowly look up at him and catch a brief sight of the anger burning on his face before he turns and limps out of the house, leaving you a scrambled mess and only causing you to see him again. It was brief, but you saw Jesse's dead figure under the doorway right before Maria broke you from your stupor and didn’t hesitate to embrace you, trying to comfort your withered soul. But not succeeding. Not like the times before.

——

“I’m giving you ten minutes.” Jesse informs you as he leans by the tree trunk a few feet away. “You better have your eyes closed already.”

“I’m already asleep,” you add sarcastically, “you just keep talking to me so.”

Jesse scoffs and keeps talking to you even after he gives you a time limit to take a very short nap. “We don’t have a lot of time to waste here if we want to catch up to Ellie and Dina.”

You pull the small blanket over your head and sigh. “If only we did have time. I’d love to stay here. It’s very pretty.”

You hear Jesse's feet shift and you imagine he was now looking at you over his shoulder, but you couldn’t know with your back turned his way. All the indication you had to know that he was still listening was the fact that he responded without thinking of his answer. “After we find them on our way back home, we could get “lost” and just arrive a few weeks after them.”

You open your eyes, but you don’t turn to face him, you keep yourself facing the forest you stopped in to rest and smile as you continue to play along. “They’d be worried.”

“Yeah, but we’ll go back, we’ll just be a few days, or weeks late.”

“You’re right,” you say as you turn back and close your eyes again. “And we won’t tell them that we just wanted to spend time together.”

“No,” Jesse agrees, “it’ll stay between us.”

“Sounds good,” you finish with a content sigh and a giddy smile. Jesse doesn’t answer, but you didn’t need him to know he agreed with you. You were content with the quiet comment he made a few minutes after the comfortable silence.

“Goodnight, y/n.”

——

“Goodnight...Jesse.”

You shift around in your bed and face the ceiling, wiping the tears off your cheeks and watching as the sun slowly begins to peek inside the room, slowly reflecting the soft light on the ceiling. You had gotten a few hours of sleep, but not so much, not as much as you would before. And well it seemed that Tommy’s words kept you up. You just couldn’t stop thinking of the fact that he had gone to Ellie, that he had tried to put salt over the wound.

You just couldn’t help but think of what she was doing. It had been months since you heard news of Abby, since anyone heard news of her, and it’s not like you or anyone else expected it, that part of everyone’s life was supposed to be over. That meant no chasing revenge schemes.

Yet here Tommy was, wanting people to chase after a woman he couldn’t. Knowing that he shouldn’t put such a heavy burden on anyone, knowing that you wouldn't do it, you weren’t that person….however that’s why he didn’t come to you first, that’s why he went to Ellie, because he had hoped she would.

Only you hoped she wouldn't….she went through so much, she has a happy life, a good family. Joel wouldn't want her to throw that away, not for some revenge plan that could end up with her dying this time—you hoped she knew that. You wished Tommy would realize that.

Yet...something told you she didn’t….shit—you let out a deep sigh while you sit up and swing your legs over the bed to quickly slide off. You hesitated continuing for a bit, but you needed to do this, you needed to talk to her.

No more holing up in your house, no more avoiding.

——

“This is it.” You mutter under your breath as you stop in front of the porch, looking away from the land that surrounds the house and looking at the house. “No more avoiding.” You draw out a small breath and walk up the stairs to make it to the front door, hesitating again but this time with your knuckles hovering over the door. Your eyes slide to your fist, and you’re tempted to pull it away and just walk back home since no one seemed to know you were here.

But, no. You needed to remind yourself that you were here for a reason. So you let your hand go and knock on the door and wait. And it actually didn’t take long before you spotted someone peeking out the creaked door, before they spread the door open and revealed their face.

“Y/N, hi,” Dina greets you with a very faint smile and swollen eyes. “What a surprise.” She steps forward and wraps you in a hug, seeming to use all the strength she could muster to keep you close.

“I know,” you smile as you return the embrace. “I’m sorry, it’s just been….hard,” you sigh, letting her be the first one to pull away after some minutes. “How’s JJ?”

“Good,” she assures you as she steps to the side. “Come in.”

You do so slowly to take in the nicely decorated space you’ve seen so far.

“He’s just sleeping,” Dina continues as she walks further into her house, while you come to stop in the living room and keep searching, this time for Ellie; “water? Tea?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine.” You assure her while you watch her peek her head out the kitchen. “Thanks. Uh, Dina, where’s Ellie?”

Suddenly at the sound of her name you see Dina stiffen once she’s out of the kitchen, she drops her gaze and shakes her head before she continues to walk and join you in the living room. “She’s...not here.”

Your eyebrows furrow and you take a step towards her to press for a clearer answer. “What do you mean?”

“I mean she left.”

“What?” You queried ere as you blink in disbelief, for the first few seconds not getting why. Not until it hit you. That’s when you let out a deep sigh and dropped your own gaze. “I’m guessing this had something to do with Tommy.”

“Something like that.” Dina scoffs.

You nod slowly in comprehension and clench your fists, choosing to share what happened to you too. “Yeah,” you scoff, “he came to me too. I came here to tell her not to go, to remind her that...Joel wouldn't want that for her.” You look up and see Dina was now closer to you, her eyes were watery and her frown was deeply formed. “But I’m late.”

“You know nothing would’ve changed her mind,” Dina shares as her voice quivers. “She’s stubborn.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I know. But at least then I could’ve tried something else.”

Dina stays quiet for a moment while her eyes search your face, her own seeming to come to a realization. “Don’t do it, y/n. Don’t go after her.”

“I,” you pause and think to yourself; you didn’t even think of doing so at this ínstant, the intention didn’t cross your mind. But it was beginning to slowly break through your mind, you suppose she got that impression before you did. Now it’s the only thing you could think of.

You exhale deeply and your impulse answers for you. “My friends' problems are my problems."

.

.

.

.

Tagged- @protect-lev , @expecto-nox, @vintage-and-hypnotic , @kokomaesadie , @0j-b0, @itsyellow , @minheoly @traceylader

[mutantenfisch]

Small Victories

Pairing:  Chargestep (Ricardo Ortega/Terry Rhys)

Summary:  The aftermath of the Psychopathor incident and Ortega’s stupid idea of kissing Terry.

Warning:  canon-typical mention of injuries

Notes: I originally planned to make this longer, to include a few more scenes, especially the reaction of the Rangers of the yellow press photo after the kiss, but i ran out of spoons halfway through this ^^; Also, I haven’t written anything i dared to show the public in well over a year so pls bear with me.

Word count:  1903

AO3 link: Here

Your head starts spinning even faster than your thoughts.

This is happening. This can’t be happening. Why? Does he really kiss me? (He does) Am I really kissing him back? (You are)

His lips are soft, so soft, and warm against yours and for a brief moment there is nothing else in your life. And you feel oh so very alive, for the first time in… ever?

You slightly shift your position and pain shoots through your leg. You break the kiss with a pained whimper and cling to Ortega for support, your fingertips digging into his skinsuit so abruptly that he makes a choked sound as well. His hands that were cupping your face moments before instinctively move down your shoulders to support you standing.

“Shit Terry, your leg!” Ortega’s face is all worried frown now, his eyes darting all over your half-revealed face and up and down your body as if he’s assessing how much damage done by Psychopathor he didn’t notice.

“It’s fine”, you manage to get out between your teeth as you fumble to pull down your mask again. “It’s only punctured, not broken. Stop fussing. I’m fine.” You aren’t. You can feel the blood running down your shin in a constant, warm flow. You’re not so sure any-more that your light-headedness is only because of what just happened. Well, it is, but also for more than one reason.

“Listen Terry, you need to –“ You interrupt Ortega with a slight punch to his abdomen. Sometimes you hate how tall he is in comparison to you.

“No! You know I won’t go to a hospital while I’m still breathing”, you hiss. As if to prove a point, you let go of him, only now noticing how stiff your fingers are from clinging to his sides for support. You manage to not whimper again when you take a wobbling step back. He must be bruised from my grip. The thought pops up but disappears as soon as the other man opens his mouth again.

“Of course you won’t. Because then a morgue would be more sensible, you idiot.” His worry is shifting into something else now, something more… personal? You can see it in the way he straightens his back and furrows his brows even more, his beautiful brown eyes boring into yours relentlessly. You can see it in the twitch of the corner of his mouth when he continues, almost pleadingly: “Seriously Terry, if it is about the bill, I’m sure I… the Rangers can –“

You don’t let him finish this sentence either. “Shut it, Charge. No hospitals. And if you’re trying to drag me into one, you’ll be needing it more than I do right now.” Your voice is cold as ice. A growl you never expected to be capable of producing. At least not for a very long time.

As you turn to limp away from the Marshal, you try to assess your wounds. Your leg hurts like hell and you begin to feel nauseous because of the pain and blood loss, a creeping tingle on the back of your head being the precursor of what will probably turn into another migraine attack as soon as the adrenaline stops overriding everything else in your bloodstream. Great. Also, your leg isn’t the only part hurting right now. Your face and shoulders are bruised, the skinsuit under your coat uncomfortably sticking to your skin where the blood has already coagulated, and either the flying debris or the shockwave from the explosion definitely managed to hit one of your ribs hard enough to make breathing painful now as well.

You take a careful breath, wincing just a little when the rib acts up. “If you really want to do something for me, then get me a ride home so I can go visit my doctor.” This is only half a lie, you’re your own doctor after all. You try not to sound too harsh, as a peace offering. Then you turn back at him again and pull the hood of your coat over your head. Not a moment too soon, as some LDPD officers are getting near the scene now that the fight is over, and their voices start brushing against your mind. That was tough. Is he really down? The other thought pattern that joins them is all too familiar and you decide now is the best time to leave the scene and tend to your wounds. Steel’s scrutinizing glare is the last thing you need right now. Especially since the look he is giving you makes you more uncomfortable than ever. You shudder and pull your hood deeper over your face.

“I… I guess I can do that.” Ortega’s voice is quiet again. This is the answer you were hoping for but something in his tone and in how his expression changes makes you feel another pain added to the mix that comes from the centre of your chest and you grimace under your mask. Oh shit. Fucking hell!! This was never supposed to happen!

You reach out to reassuringly pat him on the arm, you aren’t mad at him after all. The look he gives you when you touch him makes you pull back as if you’d been hit by one of his electric charges. You notice his eyes wandering between your hand and your face and you turn away quickly.

“Just… just let us get out of here, okay?” You don’t dare to look into his eyes.

 __________________ 

Even with your mask still on you continue to avoid looking at Ortega during the whole ride back to the block where you live. Your cheeks are burning hot as it is. In return, he doesn’t stop looking at you, as if you might disappear from the cab seat next to him if he even blinked. When he helps you to get into the seat, you let him. When he slides to the place next to you, you let him. But when he tries to take your hands, you pull them away and wrap your arms around your torso under your coat and he lets you.

Ortega tries to start a conversation, but you cut him short, leaning forward to the cab driver to ask him to hurry up instead.

“Charge please, I can’t think straight at the moment. Let me rest, then we can talk.” You are barely whispering at that point and breathe a sigh of relief when he bites back whatever he is about to say and replies with an almost begging “Of course. But please text me if you need anything, alright?” before you get out of the cab to walk – no, hobble – the remaining distance from the side-walk to your tiny apartment. 

When you are finally sitting in your bathtub, you are so close to fainting that for a brief moment you consider getting back on his unspoken offer. But no, the risk would be too high. Too dangerous. Especially now that you are stripped naked to carefully wash away the crusted blood and debris, to see what can be patched up with a compress and some band aids and what would need the stapler. Lucky for you, the leg wound has finally stopped bleeding while you were in the cab. Unfortunately, you still have to clean it. Infection is the last thing you need right now. You clench your teeth and get to work. By now you’ve become quite the surgeon. It is messy work and your growing collection of scars surely isn’t pretty to look at, but your appearance is the last thing you’re thinking about until you’re done.

Then you lean back in the tub to rinse off the remaining sweat and blood and dirt with the shower head in your hand. You allow your mind to return to what happened. There’s no turning back now. You can’t undo this small slip-up. You can not make Ortega forget what you just did a few hours earlier and you realize that even if you could, you don’t want to.

With that thought, you pull yourself up to stiffly climb out of the tub. You make sure to rinse it properly so you don’t have to scrub away dried blood later, put on the pyjama pants and long sleeved shirt you wear at night and limp to your sleeping couch, downing some painkillers and iron supplements on the way. Whatever you’re going to do to solve this situation with Ortega will have to wait until later. You remember to send him a short Home. Doc says I'll be fine before you toss your phone to the floor. The last thing you need right now is him showing up here to make sure you haven’t bled to death or something. No, right now you need sleep more than anything else and you just hope for being too exhausted and having lost too much blood to have any dreams you can remember. Even though there’s the small hope that maybe, for once, the dreams might be pleasant.

 __________________ 

Judging from the light and noise coming through the shutters of your window, it must be past noon when you finally wake up. You are lucky that you really didn’t dream and it feels like the lingering migraine has been drowned out with the painkillers you swallowed yesterday. Still, when you rise into a sitting position, you feel a bit dizzy. You groan and blink into the small strip of sunlight that dances on the opposite wall until your head stops spinning. Then, the buzzing of your flip phone brings you back to the real world. You suppress another groan when you bend down sideways to pick it off the floor, where you left it yesterday. Of course. Ortega has tried to call you, once directly after you’ve sent your message, once around 10 am. The latest buzzing is from a text message though. Only two words. Dinner tonight?

You ponder the implications for a moment. Dinner with the Marshal is your usual way of celebrating another victory. Nothing special about it, really. Just two men enjoying some good food and drinks together to celebrate having made Los Diablos a little bit safer. Celebrating that they're still breathing. Except that, fucking hell, he’s kissed you and you have kissed him back and also he is currently dating this Riley, whom you haven’t bothered to meet yet but you still feel bad about if they found out about this kiss. 

Still, a part of you hopes that if you carry on as usual, the warm feeling in your stomach whenever your mind wanders to Ortega or his brown eyes or this damn smile of his or to this stupid stupid kiss will go away. You don’t want it to go away, but you are also so damn terrified of the consequences. 

The only thing you know is that you have to answer this text message or he would not stop pestering you or, even worse, show up here and there was no way of knowing what would happen then and you don’t dare to find out yet.

You sigh and flip open the phone again. The rumbling in your stomach finally helps you make a decision. 

OK HQ at 7:30?

The reply comes almost immediately and you can’t help but feel your cheeks burning again.This time, you allow the smile to creep up to your eyes.

[sweatergirlsposts]

Imagine Being Part of The Wolf Pack and Imprinting on Carlisle (Oneshot)

(A/N: Back by demand here is a longgggg oneshot of this imagine. I’m a little rusty, but I hope you all like it)

Ever since you turned, life had gotten lonelier for you. Living the pack life meant separating yourself from your closest friends and finding only solace in your brothers and sister in the pack, but it wasn’t always enough. No one could know your secret, especially your mother. 

Your mother thought all the stories about turning into wolves was entertaining for children, but to ponder on them as adults was a waste of time. Your father was a Quileute while your mother was a resident of Forks. Your father never turned or imprinted but he did fall in love with your mother and stayed on the La Push reservoir until he died. 

You turned when you found out the news of your father’s mysterious death. The police described it as an accidental fall off a cliff, but you knew your father wouldn’t even be near a cliff, for he had an intense fear of heights. According to a police report, that you stole, they found long wavy auburn strands on his body. Your mother’s first thoughts were that your father probably had an affair, but you also knew that your father wouldn’t even dream about being with any women other than your mother. Least to say, your hypothesis was that your father was murdered.  

Still living in La Push, you come up with excuses to your mother of why you’re always out late and how your friends with everyone in the pack. She thinks it’s weird but tells you that if it gets out of hand then she will ban you from leaving the house. You didn’t see the point seeing as were an adult, but you let her say whatever made her feel comfortable.

Currently, everyone in the pack were getting ready to go train with the vamps, or more formally known as the Cullens. 

You only knew/heard of their family and individual names in passing, whenever Sam or Jacob would rely a thought through the pack connection. One name that you heard all time was Bella Swan, the human girl whom you’ve briefly met, that was involved with them. Everyone in the pack would always recoil at the thought of Bella and Edward, her Vampire significant other, being together. You could give less of a care in the world. The only thing you cared about was if they were to kill another human or if they passed into your land.

“Get ready to head out,” Sam yelled who stripped down to his skimmies like everyone else. To say that you go through a lot of undergarments in a week was an understatement. 

“(Y/N), you take behind the pack,” Sam ordered. Sam trusted you to keep the pack safe from behind, seeing that you were just as strong as himself and Paul. 

“Yes Sam,” you responded with compliance waiting for everyone else to turn before you did. 

You changed thinking of the only thing that could make you enraged, the death of your father. Bursting from your human form, came forth your wolf form. You were covered in thick dark grey fur with highlights of white that reflected when the sun hit it just right.  

‘Let’s go’  is all Sam said through the connection as Jacob howled to let the Cullens know that you all were coming.

Apparently according to Sam and Jacob, the Cullens had offered an olive branch because they need your help to take down a common enemy, rouge vampires. These vampires were coming after Bella and therefore were breaking the treaty of harming humans and would get the punishment the tribe saw fit for this conflict; to be put to death. One of the vampires of their coven, Jasper you believed his name was, said that they could train you to fight against these vampires, for his prior experience with some.

‘What is the point in meeting up with those bloodsuckers! What can they teach us that we don’t already about killing their kind.’ Paul sneered through the connection as you ran as a pack to the meeting spot.

‘It’s not about what they can teach us, it’s about keeping treaty and protecting our people, even if it means working with them for short amount of time’ Sam growled with his hackles raising to assert his dominance. 

Sam was the first to make it over the hill to the clearing the Cullens agreed to meet up at. Still in a protective approach, one by one the pack emerged from the brush. Since you were last, Sam expected that you would circle the perimeter to make sure that there were no unexpected guests.

“They don’t trust us enough to be in their human forms,” you heard from a soft masculine, almost throaty voice, as you soon finished your circle around the area. 

“They came. That’s what matters” said another voice that sounded silky and comforting. You shake the ghost chill that ran through your fur giving you goosebumps as you made your way up the hill.

“Will you translate?” asked the second voice before the first protested.

“Hold on there’s another one coming up the hill,” the voice sensed your approach making it’s way atop of the hill. Finally showing yourself, you observed the clearing in which everyone would practice in.

Your eyes came across each Cullen and Bella. One by one, you surveyed how each one looked with what you assumed to be their companion, until your eyes stopped on who you assumed was their leader that stood in front of your group. 

And in that moment you could feel you heart almost drop out of your body. Your head became overwhelmed and dizzy as if you had rolled down a hill and you were trying to find your equilibrium to stand. Something flowed through your veins, stronger than hormones and more numbingly intoxicating than morphine. As soon as the feeling came hitting you like you ran into a brick wall, it disappeared. 

You knew what you did and oh boy did you regret it. You imprinted on the angelic blond vampire in front of your whole pack and they felt it through the connection.

The vampire with Bella turned his head towards you with a taken aback look but also one of understanding. It was like he was reading your mind. He looked back and forth between you and ‘him’    

‘Oh fuck’ is all you thought after imprinting on the vampire.

“Carlisle we might have a situation,” informed ‘Bella’s’ vampire to ‘him’ while still staring at you before letting him say anything. 

Before you knew what was happening, Sam jumped atop of you knocking you onto your back.

‘YOU IMPRINTED ON ONE OF THEM!!’  Sam ferociously barked in your face, ready to attack in case you resisted.

‘Disgusting!’ yelled another through the connection.   

‘I can’t control it Sam, you of all people know that’ you whimpered meekly. Considering that you usually had a strong demeanor, you’ve never felt so vulnerable and powerless within your time being in the pack. 

“Hey!” called Bella’s vampire, “Let them go, they can’t control it”

You took advantage of this distraction and pushed Sam off of you. Once freed, for a mere moment, Sam caught you by the leg and punctured it with his massive teeth. 

Letting out a yelp at the sudden pain to your hind leg, you donkey kicked Sam in the face with your other leg and ran away limping. You couldn’t believe what Sam just did to you. You needed air, you needed space from your pack, and from him.

All your instincts told you to turn around to be near your imprint, to protect the bewitchingly good looking vampire from your pack in case, but you couldn’t be near him. The shame that your stupid wolfy senses put upon your shoulders was too much to bare right now. All you wanted right now was be alone with your thoughts and to go get help for your leg.

Meanwhile in the clearing, all but one vampire was very confused at what went down.  

“What just happened?” Bella asked being the first one to verbalize everyone else’s thoughts

“They imprinted on Carlisle,” Edward stated confound, “The one that Sam attacked”  

No one was more surprised than Carlisle. He didn’t really know how to take it, especially if the feelings were coming from one of the people they had a treaty with. One thing he knew for sure was he needed to check on you, if that bite got infected while your out in the forest it was going to cause you a lot damage to your human self. 

Reading Carlisle’s mind, Edward knew that he was coming along to track and translate once you were found. 

Carlisle turned to Jasper, “You continue you to show them how to take care of the newborns, Edward and I will be back soon.”

Leaving the clearing, Carlisle followed Edward so he could track your mind to find you. 

You laid on the river bank, still in your wolf form and bleeding from your back left leg. This river was the one that your father would take you to go fly fishing in when you were a kid. It was the river in between the land of both the Cullen’s and the Quileute’s, but the part you were at was far enough down that the pack wouldn’t hear your thoughts from there. 

The pain from your leg hurt like a bitch. You were so livid with not only Sam and the pack, but yourself. 

‘How could you be so stupid to imprint on one of them?!’ you thought to yourself, ‘Of all people and creatures, it had to be the people that your people were sworn enemies to! The pack will never want me back’ 

Trying to distract yourself from your mind, you tried ‘cleaning’ your wound with your tongue as disgusting as it sounds. 

Edward could hear your thoughts of pain as you tried ‘cleaning’ the bite. Werewolf blood was in a way revolting like the smell of them. The blood was still edible but unnecessary to the vampire diet. Both Carlisle and himself, arrived at the edge of the tree line where you couldn’t see them.

“Let’s try not to scare them off. By the substantial smell of blood, if they keep straining the wound, they’re going to pass out soon,”  Carlisle smelt the aroma lingering in the air, “I think you should go first to talk to them Edward”

You could smell that someone else was there. Vampire with possibly more vampires. You try standing up in case you have to defend yourself but stumble backwards.

“Easy (Y/N)” you whip your head to find Bella’s vampire walking towards you slowly from 10 feet away, “I’m Edward, and I’m here to help”

You wondered how he knew your name but remembered that his kind had special gifts, you assumed his was mind reading.

‘I don’t need your help, I need to be alone right now please,’ you growled lowly as a warning.

“I can’t let you do that, especially if you’re bleeding that much,” he said gesturing to your injured leg and how the thick substance spilled from it matting your fur. 

‘There’s more of you here, I smell someone else’

“I brought someone that could help your leg. I brought Carlisle, he’s the one you imprinted on”

You let his roll around in your mind. It sounded like the name of someone who belonged to bloodline of  royalty. Edward smirked reading how you played around with Carlisle’s name. 

Starting to feel the blood loss, you fall down into a laying position on your side.

“Carlisle!” Edward called over to his adoptive father as he watched you fall to the ground

Catching your breath, you felt two presences over your form, Edward by your muzzle while Carlisle was by your leg analyzing it.

“They’re losing a lot of blood. We’re going to have to get them to turn back so we can wrap a tourniquet around their leg,” Carlisle relays to Edward before turning to you, “I’m going to need you to revert back so I can help you”

You looked into his amber eyes. Even though his colour was similar to Edward’s and the rest of the Cullens, you could see that his had matured longer to be that certain colour. It was like first day break rays hitting rich honey. 

‘I will be nude if I change back. Can I have a cover of some sort?’

“Carlisle, (Y/N) would like to use your jacket to cover up when they turn, if that’s okay they asked” 

Carlisle had no objection there, as a doctor he had seen everything but he understood that you would like to cover any and all modesty. He took off his jacket and placed it over your large form. 

You calmed down and slowly felt yourself shrink back into your human body with the jacket, thankfully, covering enough of your skin. Edward held your head above the rocks, trying to keep you awake. Carlisle took off his blue crew neck sweater, leaving him in a white undershirt, and made the tourniquet on your upper thigh above the teeth gash on your inner and outer thigh. The blood soaked through the sweater but Carlisle didn’t care, his main concern was getting you some where to stitch you up.   

“We should take them back to the house. Edward call Alice to tell them to stay out of the house for a couple hours”

Finally looking to your face, Carlisle had to stop for a second to take you in. Your features were soft yet seemed like they were chiseled in a likeness to statues he had seen in his time with the Volturi. There was only one word that came to how he felt when it came to looking at you in your human form. 

Alive

As if a shock of electricity flowed through him, and jump started his heart he  could see why you imprinted on him. If he was your imprint then you were his ‘true’ mate. 

Similarly to imprinting, when Vampires find their ‘true’ mates an eternal romantic bond is formed, it cannot be broken, and it can be anyone. Esme and himself acted as partners for many years as to not draw attention from the locals, for it would be suspicious that two individuals would raise six adopted children. He too had been lonely for over the last three and a half centuries but he would have never suspected that you, a shapeshifter, would be his true mate. 

Again for the second time today, Edward was astonished but had to stay composed enough for Carlisle and to not drink your blood.

“We should get them back Carlisle,” Edward broke Carlisle’s train of thought back to the fact you were indeed bleeding out. Edward moved away a couple steps so he could get out his phone and call Alice.

“I’ll send you the money for your dry cleaning,” you said to Carlisle, wearily trying to stay conscious.

“No need to do that (Miss/Mr/Mx) (Y/N). Edward and I are going to take you back to our house to give you stitchs”

“I would like that very much,” you slurred feeling the effects of blood loss before falling into unconsciousness.

Carlisle scooped you up into his arms. In perfect contrast, your form burned and he was frigid to the touch. It was comfortable for once not being the temperature of a blast furnace for you, and him to not feel like glacier to others.

Meeting your imprint was far from how some of the pack described meeting their’s, especially with all the blood and confusion. Eventually, you knew that you’d forgive Sam for what he did to you. And he and the pack would come to a place of understanding for their feelings about you and your imprint. For now, you knew while floating in between being conscious or unconscious in the doctors arms, that you’ll never feel truly lonely ever again.

MASTERLIST

(Request are open! Gif Source Unknown)