#it was not blood btw it was the lip stain i just got. because it looks like blood. that i very intentionally put on to look like i was

[salemruinseverything]

my mom: hey, are y-

me, mouth visibly covered in what appears to be blood, in the darkness, wolfing down pizza:

[chocsra]

"I Can't Hear You, Speak Up!"

15! Chuuya x fem! reader

content: you stain your skirt and a certain mafioso comes to help you, swearing, periods/blood, fluff, pre-relationship, mutual pining, teenage romance

Reader is fem! mention of periods

based off a reddit story 😭

Please give some more ideas and characters for fanfiction, I love teen skk btw

12:13

It's been about 8 minutes since you left an important mafia meeting, excusing yourself to Boss to go to the washroom.

Yet now you stare at your bloodstained skirt and underwear, sighing to yourself in defeat. "No pads either.." You mutter, digging your palms into the luxurious marble sink in thought. Theoretically, you could tell Boss that something happened and you taught an underling a lesson while you were out, or you could be frank about your period; which was something really embarrassing considering you'd have to stop the meeting infront of a bunch of grown criminal men for hygiene products.

So you hid behind the ajar white bathroom door, calling out 'hello?'s and 'is someone there?'s everytime a gust of wind made the slightest creek. "11 minutes.." You leaned your head on the steel door, trying your best to cover your skirt.

Then you heard it.

A quiet murmuring coming from the hallway outside the bathroom, you sighed in relief and poked a leg out of the door; the shadows covering half of your face. There he was, Chuuya Nakahara walking around the hallways like there wasn't a highly significant meeting going on; he had a scowl on his face and his fists clenched like something had happened, muttering about 'killing that bastard'.

"Ahem." You cleared your throat, peeking out to the ginger boy, he spun around in mutliple possible directions the noise could have come from. "Huh?!" the short boy shouted, before locking his blue eyes with yours. "The hell? Aren't you supposed to be in the meeting?" He cocks a brow, folding his arms over his chest. Chuuya seemed to be all dressed up for the day, wearing his signature fedora, choker, white dress shirt and black slacks; but a new large raven overcoat that reached his ankles was loosely thrown over his shoulders, even a new silver hat chain.

"I need something from here, that's why." You purse your lips into a pout, crossing your arms behind the door. "Why are you here anyway?" You ask curiously, slowly easing into the topic, the stylish boy only scoffs with irritation. "Got kicked out, all cause of that fuckin' mackerel." Chuuya rolled his tongue across his inner cheek in annoyance, of course you knew who he was talking about; Dazai, his only friend, you think? You did see them attempting to act serious as they kicked each others leg under the table, maybe he deserved it.

"So then where's Dazai?" You question, tapping your shoe against the marble floor. "He got to stay because he was important, or some bullshit!!" Chuuya shouted again, gritting his teeth harshly. "Woah, calm down." You motion before pausing, "Can you just get a girl, please? Like Kouyou or something.. I don't know." you ask politely, a light blush tinting your cheeks; the redhead's eyes only furrow at your request. "I told you already, I got kicked out, Kouyou's inside. What do you need anyway? I'll just get it for you." He feigns a sigh, shoving his hands in his slacks pockets.

You inhale in annoyance, before stepping further into the washroom, "Nevermind, forget it." you dismiss, causing Chuuya to clench his fists even more. "Just tell me, damn it." He scowls in annoyance, before noticing the blush creeping on your cheeks, and the fact that you did not turn around once from facing him. It all clicked together. "Oh, uh-" The boy paused, red tinting his ears and nose. "You want that thing?" Chuuya asks, causing your eyes to light up at seemingly the only boy who knows what hygiene products are. "Yeah, that!"

He then fishes out something from his pocket and hands it to you, you were a little confused as to why he'd keep pads in his pocket, until he placed a silver safety pin in the palm of your hand. "What is this?" You ask with a blank, despairing face; Chuuya only blushes more at your reaction. "Your.. your skirt ripped, right?" He stammers, making you internally facepalm. "No, no.. pads." You whisper the last part awfully quiet, making Chuuya lean his ear closer to your face, his hands still in his pockets.

"What?" He asks, knitting his brows. "Pads, tampons.." You repeat again, motioning with your hands. "What the hell? Speak up!" The boy scowled, leaning even closer to your face, you almost wanted to push him from inching so close to the girl's bathroom; and the close proximity of his breath tickling your lips.

"Pads!"

You shout in his ear with a frown, Chuuya stepped back at the loud noise, now blushing profusely. "Oh shit, my bad- I just thought your skirt-" You cut him off, crossing your arms. "It's fine! Just please get them, damn.." You brush off with a scowl, seeing the boy scurry off to the hallway.

And after a few minutes of agonising silence, you hear loud shouting coming from Mori's office.

"You can't just go thru Rintarou's stuff!!" A high-pitched girl yelled.

Chuuya quickly hushed her, the loud sound of rummaging through drawers audible. "Shh, shh! He's gonna hear us, shit!"

"I don't care if he hears us! Just let me colour!!" Elise then countered, throwing what you assumed was a crayon at him.

The boy soon rushed to the bathroom with multiple types of pads in his hands; night, day, winged, super. "What the hell is winged?! Does it fly to you or somethin'?!" Chuuya yelled, making you laugh. "Did you really fight Elise for this?!" You laughed, taking them all from his hands. "Shut up!"

And as you finished thanking and mocking him, about to spin around and leave to a stall, he tapped your shoulder.

"Here, uhm.." The redhead took off his overcoat and draped it over your shoulders to cover the stain. A pink blush spread on his cheeks, you only did the same. "Thanks.." You grasp onto the coat, walking inside the stall.

And even as he waited for you to come out of the bathroom, walked you back to the meeting room, and parted ways with a meek wave and blush; you walk into the room with a big smile on your face, only seeing that the meeting was already empty and done.

Fuck.

Even so, it wasn't all that bad; even if the incident happened weeks ago, there would always be a certain redhead giving you a casual nod or wave if he saw you wandering the mafia's hallways or available in meetings.

It made you want to make him steal pads from Mori's office and give you his coat all over again.

Double fuck.

[starvity]

hi! i love your writing, im so shocked to find someone with the same ults as me ^ i was hoping you could maybe write a protective gunwook scenario? the idea of him always thinking he needs to protect you from others (even when he is a little scared himself,) is rlly heart wrenching.

like !;!!,!,! imagine him pulling you behind him slightly with a serious voice but you can feel him shaking a bit. 🥹 hes too precious rlly we dont deserve him.

— ☆ follow your steps

gn!reader x zb1 gunwook

genre: angst, student!au, fluff?, gunwook and you as the popular class presidents // warnings: bullying, blood, violence, jealousy

author’s note: i was originally going for a happy ending because angst makes me feel so bad but no i like to make us (yes, myself included...) suffer today :D (you'll be fine) also omg ult twins!!!! you’ve got insane taste btw hehe <3 (★ω★)/ [requested♡]

gunwook and you were two of the most popular students in the entire school. you two being the two class presidents, you can often be seen together to work on projects or just share ideas on future plans to improve your lifestyle. it had started with a pure academic motive. meeting up after classes at the library to talk about the recent complains from the students and how you could find a solution to those. after a few weeks though, you found it less and less of a burden to stay late at school and, if you dare to say, you were excited to do your duty as a model student simply and solely to spend some time with gunwook.

and the other students were quick to catch up that maybe you two had become much closer than expected and let's say people were not very happy about it. you were aware of how popular you were just by counting how many love letters would be squished in your locker on valentine's day and how many students would wait for gunwook to clean the classroom until sometimes 5 or 6 to hand them a cheap snack and hearing a few words from him, a simple hello and thank you. and you hated how that popularity made all your relationships feel fake and forced. but when you were with gunwook, everything felt so light and casual. for the very first time, you felt like you didn't need to keep a facade and felt like you could finally be yourself.

gunwook was already waiting for you at the quiet and empty library as he had finished his classes earlier than you. he took the chance to grab a drink for both of you, thinking that it could maybe cheer you up after this long day. gunwook noticed that you still hadn't arrived after 20 minutes and assumed that you were probably talking to your teacher or helping your friends with their assignments like you usually do. therefore, he starts working, his glasses resting on the tip of his nose, almost sliding off. his chin was placed on the palm of his hand, his index occasionally taping his upper lip and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. almost 45 minutes since your class ended and you still were nowhere to be seen. the boy starts to get worried and he goes looking for you, considering that a walk around the school would also empty his mind a bit.

"i already told you we are just friends, nothing else" you state firmly, glaring at the group of students circling you. the girl in front of you, who seemed to be the "leader" of the crowd steps on your foot, lasers shooting through her eyes. you wince in pain but keep your composure and replies calmly "have you maybe considered that your terrible attitude might be the reason gunwook doesn't want to have anything to do with you, with all of you guys? he wouldn't even befriend and even less date any of you guys." you suddenly feel a boy grab your hair from your right while another person twists your arm from your left. despite the pain you keep your head up, smirking at her while some blood from the punches received earlier was staining your lips "and what if we were more than that?" her eyes turn dark and you know you're about to receive either a slap or a punch, or worse, in the next 5 seconds.

but those 5 seconds were enough for gunwook to find you and quickly stand between you two. he takes a glance at you from over his shoulder and his heart aches seeing the state they left you in. he orders them to leave you alone with a shaky voice but the only response is a couple of chuckles. all of a sudden, the crowd takes a few steps ahead, slowly closing the gap between you. gunwook takes your hand in his, he was trembling and he could barely murmur a sorry with the tears building in his eyes. and the boy had never felt so much shame and disappointment in himself before this moment when he understood that he won't be able to protect you this time.

[slasherparty]

hi!! i know shes not in your character list, but i did see you do HCs on her before i think? can you please do a friends to lovers fluff oneshot for jennifer check x reader 🙏 welcome back btw!

of course, she's added to my list now!! because i'm replying so late, i won't harp on it, but for full fanfics (including oneshots) i do commissions, not requests! i prefer to be paid for long form writing :) you can see my rules for more info! i hope this piece here suits you <3

You Found Me in the Witching Hour 🌙

The first time Jennifer kissed you, it wasn’t even a kiss. Not really. It was a flicker of her lip gloss on your cheek, a rose-tinted comet streaking across your skin, leaving a trail of glitter and something that might’ve been longing — or might’ve just been Jennifer being Jennifer. That was how she was: a beautiful ruin, a cathedral with stained-glass eyes and scaffolding nobody dared to climb.

You thought about that not-kiss as you leaned against the counter of her parents’ dimly lit kitchen. The house smelled like stale perfume and something older, something untouchable, like ink staining an old diary. Jennifer was sitting cross-legged on the linoleum floor, painting her nails the exact color of dried blood. The tiny brush moved with precision, but her smile — sharp and wild — was all for you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, not looking at you at all.

“Like what?”

“Like I’ve got the answers.” She smirked and blew on her nails, each exhale a spell meant only for her.

“Do you?” you asked, playful but a little serious. Jennifer always felt like she knew more than she let on, like the world had whispered its secrets to her during one of her moonlit rendezvous.

Her eyes flicked up then, sudden as a thunderstorm. They pinned you in place. Of course she does, you thought.

“I don’t know,” she said, voice softening. “Maybe. But you’ve got the questions, and that’s better.”

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. She always did this — turned the simplest moments into something alive, something electric.

“Come here,” she said suddenly, uncrossing her legs and patting the floor beside her.

“Why?”

“Because I said so,” she teased, but her tone was almost sweet, and that scared you more than anything.

You sat down, knees bumping hers. She leaned in, her shoulder brushing yours, and it felt like stepping into a patch of sunlight after a week of rain.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, her voice quieter now.

“Dangerous.”

“Shut up. I’ve been thinking about... us.” She looked at you then, really looked, and it was like the world had paused to see what you’d say next.

“Us?”

“Yeah.” She frowned, like she was annoyed with herself for saying it out loud. “You’re always here. You stick around even when I’m a mess, and that’s... weird. But it’s nice, too. And I think —” She stopped, her words tangling in her throat like caught birds.

You waited, the silence heavy but not unbearable.

“I think I’m kind of in love with you,” she finally said, all in one breath, like she was afraid the words would run away if she didn’t trap them fast enough.

For a moment, you could only blink. The kitchen light buzzed softly, a flicker in the corner of your eye, but all you could focus on was her — Jennifer, vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before.

“Say something,” she whispered, her bravado cracking just enough for you to see the girl underneath — the one who wasn’t all sharp smiles and knowing smirks.

“I —” You swallowed. “I think I love you too.”

The smile that spread across her face was radiant, the kind of smile that could set stars to spinning.

“Good,” she said, leaning in, closer this time. “Because I was going to kiss you anyway.”

And she did.

Her lips were warm and soft, tasting faintly of strawberries and chaos. When she pulled away, you were breathless but whole, like something had clicked into place.

“See?” she murmured, her forehead resting against yours. “Told you I had the answers.”

( ✂ continued under the cut)

You laughed softly, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it. “I guess you did.”

Jennifer pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes catching the light like something enchanted. It was unnerving, how easily she could look at you like you were the only person in the world. Maybe to her, you were. At least now, in her dimly lit kitchen, sitting side by side like you had since forever.

“Well, now that we’ve got that out of the way...” She grinned, sharp as ever, and got to her feet in one fluid motion. She offered you her hand, a glossy red smudge on her thumb from her nail polish.

You took it, your pulse skittering as her fingers wrapped around yours.

“What now?” you asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

She tilted her head like she was considering. “We could watch a movie. Make popcorn. Or...” — and here her smile turned wicked — “we could drive out to Devil’s Kettle and see if the lake really does swallow everything.”

“You’re not serious.”

She shrugged, already reaching for her car keys on the counter. “I might be. You’ve got to admit, it’s kind of romantic.”

“Romantic? Sneaking out to a bottomless pit where stuff disappears forever?”

“Exactly. It’s like a metaphor for life or something.”

You stared at her, half-annoyed and half in awe. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re obsessed with me,” she countered, the words rolling off her tongue like a dare.

You didn’t deny it.

The drive to Devil’s Kettle was quiet, the kind of quiet that buzzes with the weight of something unspoken. Jennifer hummed along to the radio, her fingers drumming on the steering wheel. You watched her in the faint glow of the dashboard lights, wondering if this new thing between you was fragile or indestructible.

When you got there, the air was cold, sharp enough to sting your cheeks. The woods around the falls were eerie in the dark, the trees twisting upward like skeletal hands. Jennifer grabbed your hand without asking, her fingers cool against yours.

“Come on,” she said, tugging you along the narrow path to the edge of the falls.

The water roared, relentless and unknowable, vanishing into the earth like it had secrets to keep. Jennifer stood on the edge, her face lit with the kind of excitement that bordered on reckless.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she said, her voice raised over the sound of the water.

“It’s terrifying.”

She laughed, and it was the most alive sound you’d ever heard. “Same thing.”

She turned to you then, her expression softer, almost shy. “Hey.”

“What?”

“You’re not going to disappear on me, right?” Her voice was teasing, but there was something underneath it, something raw.

You stepped closer, the spray from the falls cool on your skin. “Not unless you push me in.”

Her smile flickered, and then she was kissing you again, this time with more urgency, like she was anchoring herself to you. Her hands gripped your jacket, pulling you closer until there was nothing between you but the sound of the water and the pounding of your heart.

When she pulled back, her eyes sparkled with mischief. “You taste like destiny,” she said, and you couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

“Is that a good thing?” you asked, breathless.

“It’s the best thing.” She squeezed your hand, her smile softening. “Come on, let’s get out of here before we freeze to death.”

You followed her back to the car, your fingers still intertwined. The night seemed less cold now, the darkness less threatening.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t afraid of falling.

💌 thank you for reading!!! 💌

you can find my other writing on ao3!

[avirxy]

115. "Please don't touch me." But Werewolf Claire? (I love ur au btw)

She wakes up with blood in her mouth, cracked and dried along her lips, stained in rivulets down the hollow of her throat.

Claire blinks, wincing as she turns her head away from searing sunlight overhead.

It parts through the leaves, glinting across dry, withered underbrush. Spring is approaching but cold still nips and bites at the foliage, making it an off wicker brown that soaks up everything.

She doesn’t immediately see anyone or anything, just endless woodland. Curling her fingers into the soft earth the trickling sound of running water hisses nearby, not man made, to rough and tumbling.

The stumbling trip is made in short bursts of leaning against nearby trees, her feet catching along roots that rise from the ground. But she sees it eventually, slightly sloping lower into the earth.

Claire drags herself to the bank, aching for a drink, to get this—disgusting, tangy…sweet blood out of her mouth and off her hands.

It’s under her fingernails, wedged along each bed.

She doesn’t recognize the creek either, sandy little outcroppings, the trees, sometimes she can piece together a relative location, like once she woke up near the lookout or by those weary abandoned straggler cabins belonging to some sort of nature preserve.

The unknowing scares her, of what she did, or didn’t do.

Ice cold water stings her skin, but the want for a drink is far outweighing any chill she’s experiencing. It’s easier to focus on, keep the task simple so her mind can’t stray.

Claire almost doesn’t care as it drips in-between her fingers, soaking her ruined clothes.

She hears him long before she sees him, as she’s cupping another palm full of water, the twigs he keeps stepping on, his rushed breaths.

Something could hunt him down so easily, in the woods, where the beast knows best, it could be on his back before he has the chance to defend himself.

Jim’s an incredibly capable fighter, and part of her knows his rush is to reach her, uncaring with the noise he’s stirring up. But he couldn’t stop her when the moon hangs full and heavy in the sky if he tried, and he wouldn’t.

Even if it hunted him he’d play offensive, Jim would never hurt her and that terrifies her, because she knows the wolf doesn’t hold the same values.

She could end up over his body one of these days.

Claire’s already seen enough of that in her nightmares.

Ones that keep her sleepless and cagey, desperately fiddling with the tab of an energy drink before first period because she can’t close her eyes without seeing flashes of what might be true or not.

He’s breathing hard when he crests the edge, a tattered bag slung over his shoulder. Toby calls it something really stupid and joking, a recovery bag but the exact name is blanking her right now, too early for her mind to fully be slotted back into place.

Housing whatever Jim has carefully packed into it for her today. His eyes widen at the sight of her, relief the only emotion spread across his face.

It should be disgust she thinks bitterly, using her sharp nails to scrape at the dried blood still sticking to her wrists, but she can’t get it all off, even days later the ghost of the feeling lingers, the guilt.

Claire swears the blood is still on her hands sometimes, soaked into her skin as a reminder.

“I got turned around twice,” He talks so light, so softly, “this magic compass could definitely use some tweaking.”

He’s also awful with directions so, the cards are stacked against him.

He kneels down, carefully slipping the bag off his shoulder. Jim’s sword sits at his hip, he doesn’t take any chances after one month when a Ogre decided no one was allowed to cross his bridge without losing a limb. Funny it wasn’t a troll.

It’s never been used against her, not yet, likely not ever, not willingly.

His heartbeat thumps in her ears, so loud it’s almost enticing, closer still he approaches, bringing with him that—

Gold flashes violently across her vision and Claire shies away instantly, inhaling sharply.

“Please don’t touch me.”

It’s not that she doesn’t want his comfort, his touch. She’s covered in someone…something’s blood though.

And his heartbeat is far too leering.

Jim doesn’t press, he never does, gaze flitting across her face worriedly. Sitting down in the mud there’s ample space between, he’s safer that way.

Claire stares at her reflection, watching it twist and warp as the water ripples, just like last night. The nearly unrecognizable figure stays human though, untamed brown hair, the blaring strip of white. Her eyes look weird though, fighting between flits of gold.

“Did I…”

“No,” He assures steadily. “You stayed to the east of town the entire time, never got close, Darci had a spell going all night.”

Her bottom lip has been worn raw from the drag of her teeth. “And you didn’t find anything?”

Jim seems to infer what she’s asking. “It was probably an animal.”

“And if it wasn’t?”

“Claire, I don’t think you’d do that.”

She wouldn’t, but the wolf would, it did, she still doesn’t think Toby’s fully forgiven her for Mr. Fluffy, the poor thing was found mauled in a ditch not long after the full moon a few months ago.

“Why do you keep doing this for me?”

He wakes up before dawn, or maybe he doesn’t even sleep, treks through mud and grime, exposes himself to the danger of the woods.

All to find her.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know how you stand it.”

Claire doesn’t phrase it as a question, because she already knows the answer. If it were him, instead of her, if he was cursed to become a monster, to roam the woods under burning moonlight she’d do everything in her power to help him.

He smiled softly. “You can’t chase me off with a little blood,”

Would she chase him off with the fact that this is forever, there’s no cure, there’s nothing in the world that could possibly help her.

“Claire?”

The tears burning at the edges of her eyes are becoming harder to fight off, blurring her peripheral.

She tries to swallow the thick, wallowing knot in her throat unsuccessfully.

“Hey,” He breathes in a whisper, fast and worried.

“Can I?”

She fights with herself for several moments before nodding, squeezing her eyes shut.

Jim grasps one of her bloodstained hands, clasping his fingers across her own and Claire feels fresh tears sting her eyes, it’s done so gently she trembles at the force of it.

“It’s okay,” He murmurs as the first of many sobs escape past her teeth.

“Claire, it’s okay.” Jim repeats as she twists on the bank and grasps the edges of his shirt, hating herself for getting blood on his clothes.

His arms wrap around her, carefully, holding her up as Claire cries, burying her face in the space between his neck and shoulder.

She hates it—

She hates that she’s crying in front of him.

Claire hates that she can’t stop herself, that she can’t wait an hour until she’s sitting in shower as the water rubs her skin raw to sob, to cry until her voice is hoarse and her eyes are so blurry with tears it’s hard to see.

Jim just keeps murmuring the same two words, over and over.

Gently reminding her, staining his hands with blood just like her’s already are.

[rodolfoparras]

Same tbh, i he thinking the most unholy things with price yet also hella cute things, ONE OF those cute things being.

Like price gets home late from a long and tiring mission, feet aching from being in his boots all day and his head full of dirt and some blood, eyelids feeling all heavy. But he doesn’t care all he wants is to feel your warmth, just wanting to be held or hold you in his arms, he doesn’t even want to shower, I get that sounds kinda nasty but it’s cuz he doesn’t want to like waste any time with his lover after being away for so long, he just wants to cuddle with you and get his face prepped with kisses. ARFHHJJ I NEED PRICEEEEEE BRO😩

. Alec I cannot blame you for spending money on things you don’t always need, CUZ TB I do that shit too sometimes shit look so buyable so I just got to😭😭.Btw 🔮 if your seeing this hope you get better soon and 🌷hope it all gets beter for you Too❤️. And Alec hope you can take a nap later🫶🏼.

-🐍

It doesn’t sound nasty at all sugar because hear me out price almost losing his life one day after being out on a mission and you’re the one to pull him away from danger so when you get back home safe sound and most importantly alive you just want to hold him

You don’t even care that you can smell remnants of smoke in his hair, don’t care if you can feel the caked blood in his hair strand as you card your fingers through it, don’t even care when you see your white sheets getting smeared in stains you’ll never get out of them, all you care about is that he’s here; that his body is warm as it presses up against yours, that you can feel his lips on yours even though his kisses may taste saltier than usual, that you can see him right there in front of looking very much alive

You’re so sweet sugar please I hope you have an absolutely wonderful day Angel!!

[volterran-wine]

Where I cannot follow || Caius X S/O

“Almost dead yesterday, maybe dead tomorrow, but alive, gloriously alive, today.” ― Robert Jordan

Requested by two Anonymous people: "Hi! If your inbox is still open, I was wondering if I could please request a Caius Volturi oneshot? Maybe one, where Caius's S/O gets gravely injured in a battle and he gets very worried and scared because they have been together for about a century or so now, in fact they are something like the power couple of the Volturi? I understand if this is a bit too much and will completely understand if you are unable to write it but I just had an idea... BTW, your blog is simply AMAZING!"

"Anything with Angst for Caius, doesn't matter what it is, i just want it to be sad. Thank you!! <33" From 🐿️ Anon

People really enjoy torturing Caius on this blog, will he ever find peace and love? But thank you for your compliments, I hope that this little angst piece is exactly what you both were craving.

Summary: Caius is tearing through the battlefield, every foe outsmarted and shown no mercy. He finds himself lost in that all familiar brain fog of violence and blood, until he stumbles across his mate’s broken body.

Wordcount: 1428 words

!Warnings! Serious Injuries, Body Horror, Almost Death, Violence, Caius being Traumatised and Scary once again.

𝐄𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲

Gepidia, 486 AD

A bloodbath, that is what this was. But instead of the underbrush and trees being stained red, it was quite more destructive. Caius watched as venom poured from the bodies of their enemies and burnt through the fragile vegetation. Trees knocked over and broken as they gave away from the force of vampires knocking one another about. Fires burnt like beacons through the night, their fuel; the bodies of The Volturi’s enemies that fell due to their superior tactics and gifts. Glorious victory was in sight, they were one step closer to a magnificent future; a future where they reigned supreme.

Caius was on an all time high, lost in the feeling of warfare and pulling his weight. This was where he belonged, in the chaos of a battlefield him and his men were dominating. Nothing could halt his advance into enemy territory.

Until he stumbled upon a scene out of his worst nightmares. One of the Dacians had his mate on the ground, unresponsive and injured as they held a lit torch above them. Burgundy eyes widened as Caius realised just what was about to happen, and he felt a chill run through his veins for a split second. An animalistic snarl escaped him, lips pulled back and sharp teeth on full display as Caius huffed once before pouncing on the vampire with little to no grace, only blind fury. As he ripped apart the other he saw red, limbs being viciously torn off and flung in every direction as he wanted to punish the one who had dared to even attempt taking his mate from him. His only regret was that the body he had destroyed was that of a vampire, for his teeth and gums ached for the sweet release of blood. When he was finally left with only the head, he spit into it's eye once before throwing it far off into the distance.

The torch had burnt out and lay discarded as smoke rose to the skies, far away from his mate of hundreds of years. Close up he got a better understanding of just how injured his beloved was, and it took every ounce of self discipline and control he had not to begin wailing.

Their neck was barely attached, head lulled to the side in an angle that was anything but natural. If Caius had been a second too late, his mate would surely have ― his head jerked to the side violently, eyes shut as he refused to finish that thought. His entire frame shook as he reached out, gently guiding their partially detached neck so it could begin re-attaching itself to the head. Recognition sparked in those now dull eyes he loved so much, lips quivering as they could in no way articulate their pain or relief at seeing Caius. Their face was cradled, a kiss planted against the forehead as the general rested his own against theirs.

"I have you..." He whispered as he let his thumbs caress their jaw, ignoring the cracks that ran all the way to their ear. "I will mend this." Caius declared and pulled back, looking down at them with as much love as he could muster despite feeling such excruciating pain. A single venomous tear escaped from his mate's right eye, trailing down their cheek before dripping through the hollowness of their throat. An involuntary shiver ran through their body, their healing would be painful and they needed to be taken far away from here.

The awful realisation of not being able to carry his mate to safety himself dawned on Caius, and it felt like a dagger through the heart. In the distance he could hear Felix's distressed commands, partially drowned out by the sounds of screams and snarls that echoed through the night. This was it. The Volturi's final push and this region would be theirs to command, one step closer to ridding the vampires of the world of their indulgent overlords. His eyes closed, focusing on listening to the steady creaks as his mates flesh sowed itself together. "Γαμώ το..." The quiet admission left his trembling lips as he tore his cloak apart in order to secure his mate's neck

When he was satisfied with his wrapping he rose, his mate safe in his arms. Holding them close one last time before schooling his expression back into the icy frown he was known for. "Matteo!" Caius called into the night, all traces of worry gone from his voice. His trusted third was with him within seconds despite the chaos all around them. The guard tried to look as nonchalant as he could, but it was difficult not to be overcome with worry when he realised how terrible of a state his general's mate was in.

They were gently shifted into the guards waiting arms, despite weak noises of protest that made Caius' heart break. He fixed his eyes on Matteo, now almost black as he let the rage and hunger be his sole motivation to get through this night.

"Get them home." What he had wanted to say was 'Keep them safe', but Caius had never quite been able to say what his heart really felt in front of others. It was a simple order, laced with enough underlying threats that made Matteo almost shake where he stood. With a solemn nod of his head did the guard turn, taking off into the night towards Volterra.

The not yet king was still staring into the darkness that Matteo had disappeared in; breath laboured despite having no need for air. Caius did not pray to his gods anymore, but... if they wanted to grant him one kindness in his immortal life; he wished for it to be his mate's survival.

A rustling bush to the right of him alerted Caius to the oncoming threat, a Dacian he had heard from a mile away finally launching themselves at him; a fool. In less than two seconds he had the weaker vampire in a deadly grip, ripping his neck apart painstakingly slow; watching with mirth as his flesh cracked and venom oozed. Fingers dug into the small cracks as his prey screamed, flailing in an attempt to get Caius off of him. To his left he heard a couple of his own men approaching, undoubtedly to aid him if he needed it. The body in his grip finally stopped struggling, tired and accepting that their death was upon them. With a scoff did Caius let go of the vampire, watching as the body folded in on itself beneath him; a pathetic display.

The last thing the Dacian vampire saw before his life ended was Caius' eyes, filled with pure joy at the thought of how much agony his enemy would endure in their final moments. A torch was passed to the general, and without much fanfare did he lower the flame to the body at his feet. But death would not come swiftly, for the vampires head was still partially attached to his neck; prolonging his suffering for hours.

Caius laughed.

Light streamed in to their shared quarters, creating a halo around the generals almost white hair whilst he sat vigil besides his mate's place of rest. He had not left their side since his return from the east, not taking part in any of the celebrating his men had been doing the last couple of days. The Volturi had never quite seen an injury like this before, even during his fatal battle with a werewolf had Caius not experienced almost having his head cut off. His mate had laid still for a while now, eyes closed and resting through their recovery. No words had left their lips, and the thought of never hearing their beautiful voice again scared Caius to the core.

On the fourth day did they finally begin showing signs of life again, gently rolling their head to the side, dark eyes opening to the piercing gaze of their relieved mate. Caius felt as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders, and he let his forehead fall against their joined hands. "... Do not go where I cannot follow." he whispered into the quietness of the morning. Looking up at them with wet eyes, a shaking smile on his lips as he tried to convey his undying love for the vampire before him.

"Never." they finally croaked, their vocal cords and windpipe not quite reassembled as it should yet. Caius shushed them, raising their hand to his lips and kissing their knuckles softly.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭��𝐱𝐭 Gepidia: Also known as The Kingdom of The Gepids is a region that now equals part of modern day Romania, Hungary and Serbia

Dacia: Proto-Romania and neighboring countries that once were part of the Roman Empire.

Matteo: ... All I am going to say, is that Matteo is a special guard and an original character of mine that will have great importance in my own stories and worldbuilding.

"Do not go where I cannot follow": In fact a quote from The Lord of The Rings: Two Towers by J.R.R Tolkien, it is one of my favourites.

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: Γαμώ το: Greek for an intense and despairing"Fuck it" (Thank you to my friend for the more accurate translation, I am one step further away from awful Google Translate Greek.)

𝐈𝐧 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 One day I hope I can bring Caius some joy on this blog, he really deserves it. He either gets traumatised, or laid and that's no way to live your immortal life. Also, I feel like this very much could be interpreted as Athenodora joining him on the battlefield and almost being killed as well.

[tom-holland-parker]

Could I make a request where a guy almost crashes into Arvin’s car and when he tells the reader about the guy, she’s hesitant to tell him he’s her ex and when he finds out he gets into a fight with the guy (who’s jealous btw) and a lot of fluff at the end.

Word Count: 876

Pairing: Arvin Russel x Reader

Warning: Violence, small mention of blood and drinking

Masterlist

“Woah what happened to your car” You asked Arvin as you got into the passenger side

“Some son of a bitch who does know how to drive almost crashed into me, scratched up the entire side” he was aggravated, you could tell by the way he finished one cigarette and then lit another one right after.

You chuckled, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and flicking it out the window, “Point him out and I’ll beat him up”

Arvin looked at you, smiling at how adorable you looked, “And you claim I’m the violent one”

“I’m not the one who always has bruises on my hands”

Arvin rolled his eyes as he pulled out the driveway of your house, “So darling, where do you want to go?”

“You ask me this all the time and I always give you the same answer, take me wherever you want. I just want to spend time with you” Arvin rolled his eyes at your response, lighting another cigarette as he began to drive to the deserted field just outside of town where you and him often spent time.

Unfortunately minutes after you arrive the field was taken over by the loud voice of a drunk man

You scoffed, sitting up from the hood of the car where you’d been laying. The second your eyes landed on him your body tensed, slowly filling with anxiety. David Baker, your ex boyfriend who couldn’t accept that you two weren’t together anymore. You’d broken up with him months ago but he was still bitter and used every opportunity he could to bother you.

Arvin noticed your change in demeanor as he sat up from his spot next to you, “God dammit. That's the son of a bitch who scratched my car” He whispered under his breath as he gently grabbed your wrist, “Go wait in-”

He was cut off quickly by the slurred voice of David, “Well well well looks like we meet again Arvin” he stumbled closer to the car, smiling we he saw you, “and with none other than y/n”

“David get out of here” You said with an aggravated tone as you stood next to Arvin who looked to you confused.

“You know him?” Arvin whispered as he instinctively wrapped his arm around your waist in a desperate attempt to protect you. You shrugged, not sure if you should tell him that David was your ex. The relationship hadn’t lasted more than 4 months and it wasn’t anything truly serious. “Not really, he just likes to start trouble”

You were lying, Arvin knew you were. He’d opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the cackling laughter that escaped David, “Not really? I didn’t know you could hook up with someone for a few months and still not know them”

You felt Arvin’s grip on your waist tighten, “We never did anything but kiss, stop spreading lies” You shouted in anger.

“Yeah and then you broke up with me”

“Because you were acting like you owned me, you wouldn’t allow me to see my friends. I had to spend every moment watching you get drunk with your friend and then try to force yourself on to me every night”

Arvin was angry, not that you lied, although he was annoyed by that, but because of the experience this boy put you through. He quickly turned your around to look at him, “Go wait in the car, turn up with music and read your book”

You knew better than to argue with him when he was like this so you did as you were told and sat in the car, the radio played music that you hummed along to as you looked at your book. You were too distracted by the muffled grunt and moans of pain that David was making as Arvin continuously punched him. Although you didn’t truly approve of the violence that Arvin did, you never got in the middle of it. Besides, David deserved to get punched.

By the time the song ended Arvin was making his way back into the car, you put down your book and pulled out your handkerchief, handing it to him as he put the keys in the ignition. Both of you watched as David limped away in pain. Arvin took the white cloth, staining it as he cleaned the blood off his hands, “Why didn’t you tell me he was your ex boyfriend”

You let out a deep breath as you picked at you nails, “because the second you said that he did that to your car I knew he did it because of me and I didn’t want you to get mad at me”

Arvin leaned back in his seat, looking at you as he gently grabbed your chin to make you face him, “I’m sorry that he treated you like such an asshole. It’s not your fault that he messed with my car, he made that decision not you”

He leaned down placing a quick kiss on your lips before driving out of the field, “Come on I’ll get you ice cream”

You nodded your head, moving to sit closer to him. Giving him a quick kiss before you rest you head on his shoulder

[shorkbrian]

So happy your requests are open and I don't mind the wait at all!

I just really want to see a sweet quirkless omega going into heat and sending her alpha Overhaul (Kai Chisaki) into a hard rut and he just pins her to a wall and fucks the life out of her before taking her to the bedroom to knot her.

but you do know that it would 100% be like "hate sex" on Chisaki's part (even though he kinda do like it lol)

(Kinda overhaul x reader x chrono btw but only for a little bit)

Just. Overhaul being able to tolerate you being kept at his compound because one, you're his mate, whether he likes it or not.

Two, you're quirkless.

And three? You don't bother him, you stay out of the way and you have passable hygiene when compared to Chisaki's standards.

But that has to be thrown out the window the second Chrono hauls you into Chisaki's office, the man in charge of watching you when Chisaki isn't around flustered and pink around his ears.

"B-boss, your omega, she's-"

"What the fuck is that smell." Chisaki growls, eyes immediately snapping to your trembling form. Taking in the way you're gasping, sweaty, barely able to stand even with Chrono's hand tight around your bicep and holding you up.

For some reason, the sight of Chrono touching you makes Chisaki itch. Odd, that usually wouldn't bother him.

The smell is cloying; too intense and too sweet, it makes his throat burn and his skin crawl.

"I think she's in-"

"Please, it hurts." You choke out, cutting off Chrono. "Need... I need-"

Chisaki recoiled as the scent got stronger, clouding his senses, making him feel... Chisaki didn't even know. Excited? Tingly?

Uncomfortable - he decided.

"Get her out. Give her a bath too, she smells disgusting." He commanded, but Chrono stepped forward instead of back out the door.

"Boss, she's in heat."

Heat?

Oh.

Overhaul cringed.

Logically, he knew it was going to happen eventually. But on the other hand, he had hoped his omega would be different. you was already quirkless, already pure... surely it wouldn't be too far of a stretch to assume that you wouldn't be affected by the mindless heat-addling that Omega's all seemed to undergo?

His irritation was rising.

"So?"

Chrono looked at his boss with questioning eyes, unsure what to do with the omega becoming increasingly more distressed at his side.

"You'll get her over it." Chisaki decides, ignoring the bitter taste that floods his mouth as he utters those words. His eyes slide over you again, lip curling into a disgusted sneer.

"Messy thing."

Chrono is frozen in disbelief. But this isn't a test of his loyalty, Chisaki truly doesn't want to deal with the germs and the mess and the cleanup associated with omega's during their heats. Slick everywhere, pheromones staining the room, needy hands touching everywhere-

"Sit her down on the couch." He instructs his second-in-command, rising from his office chair and stepping around his desk so he can close the door. "I want to make sure you don't damage her."

That's the only reason. Only reason he wants to be present and watching while Chrono fucks you through your heat.

"You're serious then?" The white-haired man asks, removing the plague mask he wears while inside the compound, thus beginning the process of disrobing.

Chisaki waved his hand idly, resuming his position in his office chair with a tired sigh. "It'd be such a chore for me to do it myself. Aren't you an alpha yourself Chrono? You should be jumping at the chance to bed a nice quirkless omega."

Chrono shrugs off his white coat, looking up from where you're panting on the couch while he stands in front of you, eyes finding his boss. "I wouldn't want to overstep my boundaries with your property."

The brunette smiles, not that anyone can see, but it's clear he's pleased by the crinkle near his eyes, the relaxed way he slumps in his chair. "And that's why you're my favorite Chrono."

You're wearing what you usually wear - long pants, a cozy sweater. Overhaul hasn't heard you complain about the chill in the compound, but it's clear to see it affects you by the way you dress and the way your nose darkens from the cold.

You don't fight the half-naked Chrono as he helps you out of your sweater, unbothered by the temperature of the room and looking entirely too hot and sweaty.

Chisaki supposes it's good that you aren't fighting. You had at first, when he first brought you here, crying and pleading for him to let you go and leave you alone. That pathetic show was quickly shut down with a simple demonstration of Overhaul's quirk, and what he'd do to you if you didn't comply.

Now you're seemingly accepting of the situation, casting nervous glances towards Chisaki, your attention constantly getting stolen by the pale man stripping in front of you.

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time before Chrono has his cock in you.

And you look completely blissed out, mouth open and letting out choked little gasps on each thrust, one hand desperately trying to hold onto Chrono's shoulder, his arm, his chest - anything you can reach.

The other hand is on your stomach, and Chisaki doesn't understand why until he focuses on it, sees the distention whenever Chrono swings his hips into you.

Chisaki feels himself throb.

The sounds you're making sound like music. Awful music, all discordant and rushed and pornographic, stuttered breaths and pitiful cries, high-pitched and girlish moans in between Chrono's quiet huffs.

The sweet pheromones in the air become sweeter, thicker, and Chisaki can see the direct correlation between the smell and how much slick is dripping out of you, drenching Chrono's pretty cock, his stomach, even splattering his thighs on each thrust as his cock squelches deeper.

It's disgusting.

Digusting but curiously enamoring. Chrono's got you sitting on the couch, pushed up against the back while he fucks you. It's a tall piece of furniture, and Chrono merely hikes his leg up onto the cushions to gain a better angle to fuck you with. Your slick is everywhere; Chisaki knows that couch won't be salvageable after this. Somehow, he doesn't mind.

What he does mind, however, is the way Chrono is speeding up, rhythm stuttering and practically falling apart. He's going to knot you. Chisaki had given him full permission to - that's what taking care of an omega during their heat means, after all. But jealousy is boiling inside him, blood painfully engorging his cock, he feels tingly all over, very unlike himself.

He wants to touch you.

But you're a disgusting mess, smelling sweet and fertile and sweating and dripping everywhere. Chisaki can't believe he's feeling... attracted to you right now.

"O-ohh feels good, r-right there! Yes, thank you,t-than-" You mumble out, drunk on cock as you shudder through an orgasm, cream gushing out of your cunt and further dirtying Chisaki's office.

Chisaki sees red.

He's furious - not only at you, but at Chrono for touching you, and for himself for explicitly allowing it to happen. Chrono's about to knot you, claim you, and Chisaki is out of his chair before he knows what's happening.

"That's enough." And his gloved hands are ripping Chrono away from you, sending the other man reeling as his subordinate struggles to control his alpha instincts and stop himself from fighting his boss, tearing Chisaki to shreds for interrupting his mating.

Chisaki doesn't care, he's too focused on you.

"You're so pathetic." The man hisses at you, crowding into your space. When had he taken off his mask? He wanted to smell more of you.

His gloves are gone too, ripped away in a moment so he can feel your wet skin against his hands, feel the sweat beading your brow before those same fingers snap to undo his pants.

"I hate you, I hate you." He seethes, golden eyes staring at you so intently that you start to cry, overwhelmed with the situation, still craving a knot, craving intimacy and tenderness.

You've reduced him down to barely better than an animal, tearing at his clothes so he can sink into you, closing his eyes at the way you're wet and warm inside, perfect and velvety.

Chisaki doesn't know what's come over him. Normally he'd be disgusted, absolutely incensed at having such filth be in direct contact with his skin. But right now... all he feels is pleasure ripping through his veins, clouding his head, his mind, flushing rational thought down the toilet.

"Stupid, hate you-" his words rattle out on each rapid thrust, breath uneven and labored as his muscles stretch and work to fuck you harder and faster. He's building up to his peak.

One of his hands is fisted in your hair, close to your scalp and keeping you still, the other hand clamped firmly against your hip and making sure you don't wiggle away. Alpha instincts taking over as his brain convinces him to mate, breed, cum.

"You're so fucking dirty." He gasps, voice heated and gravelly as he struggles to fight through the heat taking over his body.

He's going into a rut.

Chisaki isn't supposed to do that. He takes supplements and suppressants to ensure he doesn't have too. Ruts are messy, nasty things to endure, and Chisaki would rather lick the floor of a dirty subway than experience one.

Yet here he is.

"You disgusting, wretched thing-" And you're crying, fat tears mixing with sweat and rolling down your chin. Chisaki feels disgusting himself, wanting to lick the liquid away.

He hasn't felt this good in his entire life, this burning fever pitch rising and rising and cresting, blazing along his nerves.

He can barely thrust his hips anymore, and only then does Chisaki realizes that he's popped his knot, jammed it in deep while you cried and moaned and struggled to hold onto him.

Theres a sick sense of satisfaction filling him up, his mind clears for half a second and Chisaki thinks to look over his shoulder, seeing Chrono still standing there with a soured look on his face, cock still swollen and drippy and bobbing purple against the man's stomach.

"Get out." Chisaki orders, and Chrono knows enough to merely pick up his coat and wrap it around himself before exiting the room. He's never seen his boss like this - so feral and unhinged and debauched like some regular dirty plebeian.

But Chisaki doesn't care. Odd.

He cares about grinding against you, feeling you milk every last drop of cum from his balls, shimmying his hips to hear you gasp and moan and clutch at his body, trembling like a little lamb.

Chisaki doesn't want to stop.

"As soon as my knot goes down-" He growls, lowering his face until it's mere inches from your own, breathing into your space. "I'm going to take you to my room and knot you until you break."

[wearywinchester]

Tender

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When hiding an injury from Dean doesn’t go to plan, he’s there to give you the comfort you need.

Requested by @latenight-daythoughts: “Hey! I have a request for a Dean one shot please, could you do one where she gets hurt on a hunt and tired to play it off until they get back to the bunker and when dean patches her up it hurts more then she thought, so she starts crying and Dean comforts her and is all cute and sweet? I love your writing btw!!”

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: angst, injury, blood, fluff, comfort, kissing

Hurt. You got hurt on that hunt and you weren’t quite sure how you talked yourself out of it with Dean. Maybe you actually did, but a part of you told you that was more than likely impossible. Not with the look he gave you or the glance he spared down at your leg. But he seemingly took your word for it at that very moment.

Your eyes squeezed shut for a moment as you took a breath, trying your hardest to make it to the Impala sitting just a few feet away. Every ounce of pressure on your leg made it ache all the more as you walked, walked like you insisted you could do to a persistent Dean the moment he saw the look on your face. But you told him you were fine, staving his worries with a smile and a witty counter that had a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It was fine, so long as you kept your weight off of it as much as possible until you could clean yourself up, it’d be fine. At least that’s what you’d told yourself.

You were relieved once you’d slipped in the front seat after Dean suggested you sit up there with him, Sam in the back, a quiet sigh leaving your lips as you slumped back against the leather seat. The fabric of your jeans over the wound on your thigh had been frayed on the brink of being ripped, but not enough to draw your eye should you be anyone but yourself or Dean Winchester. Stains of crimson hadn’t been visible on the dark denim material, but you were sure it’d be obvious the moment they came off.

As you sat, you felt that ache on your leg begin to lighten some, that pain shooting down it dissipating now that you hadn’t been standing on it.

It shouldn’t be that bad, not really, you’d snagged it along the edge of something sharp when that demon had thrown you with so much as a flick of her hand. You were sore overall, something a hot bath might help with when you make it back to the bunker. But you’d yet to see your leg, to see just what damage lay beneath your jeans.

“You sure you’re okay, sweetheart?” Dean asked, pulling your attention from your thoughts.

You looked to your left, Dean’s gaze shifting from the road to look at you for a moment or two before looking ahead.

“‘M fine, De,” you murmur, that aching burn on your thigh threatening to spill over your emotions and give you away in an instant.

He looks at you again in a lingering glance, his lips pursed in disbelief, brows furrowing at the way you looked down at your leg with a frown, or the way you brushed your thumb over that very spot you said was nothing. He saw how your lips twitched downward in a deeper frown for only a mere second, quickly brushing it off with a sigh and a bite to the inside of your cheek before he looked forward once more.

You knew, by the light tension in his jaw and the crease between his brows, you knew he could see there was more to it than that.

After a moment or two you scooted a little closer to him, your hand grabbing his own. He felt the way you brushed your thumb along his knuckles in an absentminded habit, your gaze fixed out the window in an attempt to set your attention on anything other than the burning feeling that simmered on your skin.

It was okay. You were fine.

Your hand hadn’t left Dean’s nearly the entirety of the trip, something he noticed and something he didn’t mind, something that had him smiling softly at the mere thought of it. But something that was just as quick to steal that smile was the very look on your face each and every time he glanced over at you, a slight frown on your lips that you weren’t even aware you had, and that crease between your brows very much there.

You sighed when he parked in the bunker’s garage that night, getting out before he could come and help you do it. The look on his face was evident that he wasn’t happy with that, those dimples appearing by the corners of his mouth as he looked at you over the roof of the car.

“I’m fine, Dean,” you say, meeting him and Sam at the trunk where you’d grabbed your bags.

“You say that every time, sweetheart,” he counters.

“Maybe this time you’ll take my word for it,” you say, brows raised as you put your bag over your shoulder.

He chuckles then, head shaking as he closes the trunk. You tried your best to be convincing, and so far he hadn’t pried, but that very same feeling was back now that you were up and walking around, pressure back on your leg seemingly worse than before.

You found yourself grateful that Dean had chosen to walk ahead, Sam beside you, making it just a little easier to hide the change in the way you walked. Just enough to get you to your shared room without being terribly obvious. But it hurt, it hurt more and it was becoming increasingly more apparent to you.

You were home, and that’s what made things a bit better for you. You weren’t in some motel anymore, weren’t in the Impala anymore, you were home in the comfort of your familiar place with your room, your bed, and Dean. Despite the nagging pain wearing away at you with every movement of your leg, you tried not to think about it that much, and tried not to think about how it’d feel upon taking your jeans off. How it’d look given that you haven’t even seen it yet.

Dean dimmed the lights in the hall and bid Sam a goodnight like he always did, twisting the knob to your shared room and pushing the door open. Everything was as you’d left it just three days prior, the bed still made and ready to climb in and Dean’s slippers still tucked halfway under the bed, his pajama pants still slung over the back to the small desk chair.

“There’s no place like home,” Dean chuckles, sighing as he drops his duffel bag on the floor at the foot of the bed right next to yours.

You watched as he untied his boots and stepped out of them, unease settling over you as you took your own boots off, fighting the urge to scrunch up your face at the way your jeans pressed into your leg as you bent down.

You couldn’t hide this from him forever, you don’t think that’s possible when you really think about it. But you still weren’t willing to give it up, you could see the look on his face already if he knew. So, you bit the inside of your cheek and shrugged off your jacket, eyeing him with a soft sigh.

“I’m gonna go shower before bed,” you say, smiling when he turns to face you.

He simply hums, dipping down to kiss you.

“Don’t be too long,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling back with a grin.

“Is it ‘cause you’ll miss me too much, Winchester?” You ask, brow raising in amusement.

You watch as the corner of his mouth quirks upwards, a laugh leaving his lips as he nods to himself, tugging back the blankets on the bed. It very much was the reason and he knew it, no matter how much Sam picks on him for it all in good fun, he just can’t help it.

“That’s exactly why,” he says, tossing a clean flannel of his your way along with a pair of boxers because he knows just how much you love to wear them to bed. Doesn’t even need you to tell him that very fact because he sees you snag a pair from his drawer every night without a care that he’ll see you stealing them either.

You stand there for a moment more as you look at him, your smile soft and fond as you hold the clothes in your hands. After that moment, you find it in yourself to turn on your heel and step into the hall, heading towards the bathroom. Your heart was bursting with the very thought of him sharing his clothes with you, of the very idea that he’d been so thoughtful, but the wound on your leg was making it awfully difficult to think about anything other than that.

You switched the light on and closed the door behind you, setting the clothes down on the counter. You turned the faucet on and stuck your hands under the tap, the water cold as it splashed across your face. It was a little more refreshing than you felt before it, soothing the fatigue that’d been settling over you only temporarily.

Dread simmered in the pit of your stomach at the thought of having to take off your jeans, but it wasn’t doing you any good to keep them on.

You exhaled a sigh, eyes squeezing shut as you hooked your fingers in your belt loops. It was fine until you got about halfway, and you found yourself fighting the urge to let out the cry that’s been sitting in the back of your throat, the feel of the rough material scraping over your thigh making it all the more difficult to stifle it.

It was then that you saw it, the blood smudged over your leg and the scrape that ran across your skin, angry and red as it tapered just above your knee. You ran your hands down your face at the sight of it, having been less than ideal but you knew it couldn’t have been good.

You kicked the dirtied jeans to the side in frustration, sighing as you opened the cabinet below the sink. You snagged the first aid kit and the bottle of peroxide just next to it, grabbing a clean wash rag.

This could have been avoided, maybe, but at that moment you were struggling to figure out just how it could have been. Demons were unpredictable, able to sense a trick with ease, able to tell when someone’s lurking with the intent to leave one less demon in the world. They give ample opportunities to be outsmarted, though, but this didn’t seem to be one of those times. There was no match for a human against the powers they hold save for the weapons that served you no use that day. You were thrown clear across the room without a beat of hesitation, something done with ease.

So maybe, just maybe it wasn’t avoidable this time.

You knew Dean saw it, he had to. It was more than obvious that there’d be repercussions to being thrown a good seven feet into a less than unforgiving cabinet. He knew you better than to believe that you were as fine as you say you were. He knows you like the back of his hand, can see your stubbornness from a mile away because he’s the very same.

You wet the wash rag at the sink, taking a seat on the bench by the showers. You began to blot away the blood, nose scrunching and eyes squinting as the burn of the jagged scrape worsened from it.

It was then that there was a knock on the door, a more than familiar voice on the other side.

“Sweetheart? ‘M coming in, I forgot to—”

Your eyes widen as the door opens, gaze meeting green eyes before his stare shifts downwards to the rag in your hand, splotches of a pale crimson staining it. They bounce to the source, to the irritated and red scrape dragging along the outside of your thigh, nearly classifying as a cut but not quite.

“Y/n.”

“Dean, it’s not—”

“What, ‘it’s not a big deal’?” He says, anger seeping into his tone. Not at you, never. It was when he thought back to that hunt that has him angry.

“Dean,” you sigh.

He’s quick to cross the tiled floor, kneeling in front of you. He nudges your knee with his hand gently, the tips of his fingers brushing along your skin. You saw the crease between his brows deepen, lips parted as his eyes bounced over the entirety of the wound on your leg. You can see the way his jaw tenses, tight and unwavering and if it were possible, steam would be coming out of his ears at that moment.

“Damn it, Y/n,” he says quietly, a frustrated huff leaving his lips. “You didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to freak out,” you reason, brows furrowing as you tilt your head to the side slightly.

His gaze narrows up at you in disapproval, your reasoning something that was near laughable to him, you even knew it was ridiculous too the moment the words fell from your lips.

“You can bet I’ll freak out,” he says, his chuckle humorless as he runs his hand down his face. “This is exactly why I didn’t want us to split up.”

“Well, we did.”

He bit the inside of his cheek as he looked at you, breathing out a huff through his nose. He was upset more than anything, with himself you could tell, could see the frown on his lips as he grabbed the wash cloth from your hand and picked up where you left off.

He was gentle as he wiped away the dirt and blood smeared around it, more so than you despite the white-knuckled grip he’s got on the tattered cloth. You tried to keep your attention on anything else, anything other than the way your leg had been so sensitive even the most mild of touches as hurt. You tried to keep your gaze on him, distract yourself with the abundance of freckles speckled across the bridge of his nose and over his cheeks.

They were easy to distract yourself with on any given occasion, on times where you didn’t need to be distracted, when you shouldn’t be. But for the life of you, you couldn’t bring yourself to get lost in counting them this time, not with the numbing pain serving as a painful way of keeping you fixated on just that.

“You should have told me,” he says quietly, residual anger still wrapped around his tone with the softness of his words. But he was more concerned than angry.

You puffed out a humorless laugh through your nose, your grip on the bench you sat on tightening some. “I’m not exactly jumping at the idea of running to my boyfriend every time I get hurt on a hunt.”

Your tone is frustrated, embarrassment simmering in the pit of your stomach over the current situation you were in, not to mention the way it happened. You’d never get taken seriously if you ran and cried to Dean each and every time you got hurt. You barely felt like an adequate hunter as it is, you didn’t want to add to it. You would have been fine if he hadn’t seen it.

“Y/n, this isn’t some puny little paper cut, okay? This is way different than just slapping a bandaid on it and kissin’ it better.”

“I said I’m fine, Dean,” you say, jaw tensing as you look away.

You hated the way your voice was beginning to falter, swallowing thickly in hopes to push down the persistent lump in your throat. Now was not the time to cry, not in front of him. That would only make matters worse and you don’t think you could handle that.

“It doesn’t make you weak to ask for help, not even a little bit. You don’t have to play the tough guy act all the time.”

You stay quiet as you continue to look away from him, the pressure building behind your eyes. When you glance down you see he’s got that dreaded bottle in his hand, popping the cap open with his thumb. He’s hesitant as he tips the bottle, the clear peroxide having poured steadily over every inch of the wound on your leg, bubbling and stinging the moment it touches the damaged skin.

You felt your lip begin to quiver, near uncontrollable as it throbbed and burned, the pain worse than you thought as you bit down on your lip. It was almost unbearable, a numbing kind of pain that brought heat to your cheeks and quickened your heart. That pressure behind your eyes increased then until you just couldn’t handle it, lip free from your teeth as you hid your cry in your shoulder.

But it turns out, you’re not that good at hiding, not from Dean Winchester. Not that it was very hard to notice either.

He stopped immediately, gaze flickering to you, cheeks wet with hot tears and lip quivering in a way that tugged at his heart. His hand settled on your cheek, a gentle nudge to get you to look at him.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, the fond nickname something that makes you cry all the more in that moment.

You wrap your arms around him and he settles back a bit as he holds you closer, brows furrowed and jaw tense because seeing you so upset is one thing he can’t handle. Seeing you cry is something that tears him to shreds every time.

His grip on you is tight, his stubble pressing into the side of your neck. He’s cautious of bumping your leg, his throat clearing to try and stave off that pressure constricting around his throat from that very same lump forming as it did you. You could feel the kiss he pressed to your cheek, one to your temple, lingering and sweet. Dean Winchester could be the gruffest man anyone’s ever seen, but he’s got the softest heart, and if there’s one thing he can do without fail it’s comfort.

He finds himself pulling back when you loosen your grip, lip still wobbly as ever as you look at him with glossy eyes. You wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand, cheeks that burn with embarrassment for crying even though he didn’t mind it in the slightest. He didn’t mind the tears on his shirt, didn’t mind the snot to go with it. That’s the least of his concerns, they all pale in comparison to you.

“It hurts,” you whisper, your gaze shifting to his at the feel of his hand on your cheek, calloused and warm.

“I know it does, baby. Hell, I couldn’t even imagine what that feels like,” he says, smiling softly. “But ‘m almost finished and the ugly part is over, I can promise you that. You just gotta let me take care of you, okay?”

You nod, the patience in his words having set you at ease as you sniff, wiping your tears once more when his hand falls from your face in favor of sorting through bandages. He comes up with a few cotton pads, laying them over the length of the freshly cleaned wound as you sit there, still sniffling from having cried.

He’s more than careful as he takes the roll of gauze and wraps it around your thigh, securing the bandages completely with care to not make it too tight before he tucks in the loose end.

“You’re good as new, sweetheart,” he says, looking up at you.

You flash him a look, biting the inside of your cheek as you laugh softly, not quite humorous. “I’d hardly call it that.”

You’re grumbling, but he takes that hint of a smile as a good thing, standing halfway to press a kiss on your cheek and one to your lips, another to your forehead as his hand brushes over your cheek before he stands fully and swipes the clean clothes from the counter.

You stand with a look of unease, trying your best to keep the pressure on your good leg before that dreadful pain can jolt up your other. You shrug off your shirt in favor of his flannel, the soft material hanging loosely from your shoulders in a heap of warm and fabric softener and a hint of his cologne. It’s a simple thing that amounts to more comfort than you can express, the mere feeling of it putting you at ease.

He helps you with your pajama bottoms, trying not to fuss over you as you did it yourself, instead offering his arm for your balance that you found yourself needing more than you thought.

Your bed was more comfortable than you’d imagined coming home to, leaps and bounds better than that motel mattress. The sheets were soft and they too smelled like Dean, the blankets warm and hefty as they rested over top of you.

Dean brought you close enough to nearly share a pillow, the events transpiring earlier that day on the hunt having sunken deep in the pit of his stomach and simmered there, bringing with it that anger that hadn’t quite left. It made his stomach twist and churn each and every time you got hurt, the blame he put on himself having picked at him every single time without fail. Especially when it brings you to tears, especially when it’s got you so bothered it’s got you crying into his shoulder.

He hates it, he hates that part of hunting.

But regardless, those kind green eyes meet your gaze as he looks at you with a soft smile, his fingertips brushing along your cheek. He’s got that look on his face, one that’s telling of something humorous sitting on the tip of his tongue just waiting to be spoken.

“What, De?” You sigh, feeling the residual tension of your tears beginning to dissolve just a little more.

He chuckles, looking down for a moment as he shakes his head. “If I were you, ‘think I might’ve cried way sooner than you did.”

You roll your eyes then, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Dean, that’s a lie and you know it.”

“Is not,” he insists, lips pursed to stifle his smile.

You look at him, tired and amused as you make no effort to hide your smile. He’s got that smile, that one that makes your cheeks burn and your heart flutter every time he looks at you like that.

“Whatever you say, Winchester,” you sigh, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips.

You find yourself lying atop his chest as he turns the tv up a little bit more, his chuckle rumbling against you. He tossed the remote down, the very tip of your finger tracing over his chest. Your legs tangle with his own, your injured one on top as you turn a bit more on your side. He’s got reruns of your favorite show on because he knows you’re too tired to watch the new ones, knows you like to have it on when you fall asleep.

“Goodnight, De,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his chin before sinking back down on his chest.

He smiles in that moment, soft and sweet as his thumb brushes back and forth over your shoulder lightly.

“Night, sweetheart.”

You’re fine. You’ve got him and you’re okay.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @deandaydreaming @campingmonkey @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho

[infictionalwonderland]

hope mikaelson x reader , bestfriends to rivials to secret protectors to lovers ?

secret protectors is secretly protecting eachother btw

and if you can , can you start it where they are ex bestfriends already

sure thing darling ;) I’ve tweaked it a tad but it’s mostly the same

it’s quite shitty but It’s written with my sleep deprived brain.. so.. sorry.

warnings : swearing, mentions of sex, underage drinking

Y/N Y/L/N and Hope Andrea Mikaelson.

The two of you had an.. interesting history to say the least.

Let’s start with the backstory shall we?

Now the two of you had already come from feuding families, though you had both completely disregarded that fact in your first meeting and there was an instant platonic connection. One which you and her both eagerly deepened as you’d both grown up shadowed from the outside world and without the ability to form relationships of any kind, so it was like a first to the both of you. In a sense.

Your relationship status of friends quickly glided from good friends to close friends to best friends and the two of you were perfectly content with this.

Of course that was until you families had to go ahead and ruin it.

It was actually Hope’s mum Hayley who had found out about your secret friendship first, unbeknownst to you, and Hope had almost burst into tears at the look of shock and mild disgust on her mum’s face.

“You’re father told me about that family.” Hayley had said “They aren’t a good bunch sweetheart.”

And Hope had stayed mute and assumed that that was the end of that — but of course she knew deep down that wasn’t simply going to be the end of this situation she had gotten herself into.

The next day, she was at a family dinner — one which they commonly had every single evening so nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the slightest.

But the tense looks on all her families faces told her otherwise and she had felt her heart psychically constrict at her dad’s next words.

“We don’t want you involved with that y/l/n family.”

That sentence was playing on her mind for days as she actively avoided you at all cost, knowing full well a look into your y/e/c eyes would only worsen her current predicament.

But she made her decision (no matter how difficult).

Family was everything to her...

So the next day, she had met you in person in broken up your friendship in perhaps the rudest way possible she could think of in the hopes you would start disliking her and consequently leaving her life which made her family life so much easier. No matter how the mere thought being without your presence for eternity pained her dearly.

But afterwards it was after your friendship never happened.

You went to thinking she was just like how your parents portrayed her family to be.

And she went to glaring in the halls of school and showcasing her ‘hate’ while dreaming of you when the day turned to dusk.

• • •

“Looking good y/n.” Your friend (kinda) Bianca Goldman whistled as you strutted over to her where she stood leaning against a tree as she observed the lively party.

“You too Ani.” You smiled playfully, twirling a strand of Bianca’s strawberry blonde hair around your finger with a playfully seductive look in your eyes.

“Go find someone else to hit on, you’ve got half the school pining after you.” Bianca scoffed lightly with a joking (mostly) roll of her green eyes but anyone could make out the newly gained pink flush to her pale skin.

“Aww no need to be jealous Ani.” You whispered lightly with a mocking pout as you leaned in a little more and watched in amusement as her pale skin gained a more crimson flush.

However, what you failed to see was from across the forest. Leaning against her own tree was your ex-bestfriend (enemy to everyone’s knowledge) watching you intently with jealously shining transparently in her ocean blue eyes.

“What’s go your thong in a twist princess.” Elizabeth Saltzman smirked jokingly, her eyes alight with the perfect mixture of mirth and entertainment that masked her confusion.

Hope didn’t answer, instead, a glare glazed over her previously envious blue eyes and she pursed her lips together.

“You’re jealous aren’t you?” Lizzie asked in amusement though slight shock, her gaze quickly flickering between both you and Hope with a new sense of interest and determination.

“Jealous of what? I’m only concerned for Bianca, y/n plays people and leaves them high and dry.” Hope spoke defensively.

“More like pleased and happy.” Lizzie corrected cheekily.

Her response was a displeased scoff and Hope taking an even bigger swig of her beer.

• • •

It was officially the next day and those who weren’t suffering with hangovers (the vampires and some werewolves or witches who knew the correct spells) were up bright and early.. most of them.

You were a witch, a bloody good one at that and thankfully you knew the hangover spell but with your lifestyle you sort of had to know it.

Still — instead of attending class like you were obviously meant to, you just went down to the kitchens for some food because hey? food is way more important than studies, right.?

Standing in the kitchens and munching happily on a chocolate chip cookie and you heard a sharp gust of wind. One which you could identify with an approaching vampire.

But before you could even turn, a resounding thud rang out through the kitchen and you turned to see a vampire, a newbie — Leon Arnold — neck snapped on the floor, blood staining his lips, mouth and shirt and vampire features receding back.

You blew out a harsh breath and placed your hand on your head, trying to calm your rapidly racing heart.

Under her own cloaking spell, Hope Mikaelson smiled lightly to herself in accomplishment and relief. Oh so maybe this seemed slightly stalker-ish.. but she was curious to what you did when you didn’t attend class and honestly thank god she did decide to be .. stalker-ish today.

“Mikaelson?”

Shit. She just so happened to forget you were an equally as powered witch who could see past her spells.

“You did that..?” You gestured to Leon and much to the annoyance of yourself you felt a warm feeling encase your heart at the thought of her protecting you.

“Yeah..I did.” Hope nodded her head hesitantly and slipped a quick smile over her plush pink lips with her cheeks discreetly flushing at the softer look that entered your y/e/c eyes.

“Well thank you.” You spoke sincerely and cursed yourself out mentally for the butterflies that swarmed around your stomach.

Just like old times

A response wasn’t heard on Hope’s end as you hastily hurried out.

• • •

“Ugh this is stupid.” Lizzie groaned slumping against the wall as she watched Hope pointedly avoid your eyes and you do the same. She had a sneaking suspicion and she also had an idea which in her opinion was spectacular.

“What is?” Josette, Josie, Saltzman asked hesitantly as she looked up with the end of her of pencil resting between her lips absentmindedly.

“This!” Elizabeth practically shouted as she gestured between Hope and you and Josie looked on with wide perplexed eyes.

“No you know what.” Lizzie muttered, putting Hope’s wrist in a tight hold and magically dragging you over. Ignoring your groans and shouts of protest and everyone’s either wide and curious or shocked eyes.

Quickly, she basically threw the both of you in the nearest classroom and placed a spell on the door.

“Talk! Now!”

You and Hope sat in a extremely tense silence for about a minute or so just staring into each other’s heatedly.

Before suddenly she crashed froward and pressed her lips into yours hungrily.

You eagerly responded to the kiss, familiar with this nature of kiss, winding your hands through her soft locks of auburn hair as hers wrapped around your waist. Hope let out a little moan as you ran your tongue over her bottom lip and she obediently opened her mouth slightly for you to proceed.

Abruptly the two of you pulled apart, panting harshly.

“We should—“

“Yeah—“

“Be my girlfriend—“

It felt like time stopped from a moment and with a wide grin appearing on your face you nodded your head frantically.

Your families the last thing on your minds.

[comfortscripts]

Could I request angsty prompt 3 ("It was almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare you’re so relieved. I woke up into a nightmare.”) with Remus. But could it have a fluffy-ish ending??

Congrats on 2.5k btw!!!

Join the celebration ♡♡♡

Thank you for requesting!!! There is mention of bruises and blood in this so be aware please

I got so carried away

Flashes of flowing red and slashing paws ran through his head, painting a picture of last night’s atrocities. Remus begged to fall asleep again, that dreamless state was better than the realisation of the monster he became only hours before.

Full moons are never safe but there is a structure that tries to prevent disasters. Protection charms, group tactics and restricting the changing beast, all of that had worked for countless nights. Until last night.

Pieces patched themselves together in the shaken boy’s mind, memories revealing the terrible truth. The night was going well, the Marauders had managed to restrain him through the peak of the transformation. But something snapped, the wind shifted and he caught the scent something, no, someone.

You didn’t make it a habit to roam around at night but with all the pressure of exams, a midnight walk in the brisk air as the beams of the moon shone your path, seemed like the perfect destressing technique.

Skirting the forbidden forest as you hummed a sweet tune. Daydreams of a certain chocolate-loving Gryffindor filling your mind, pulling you away from reality and distracting you from the increasing sound of heavy paws thudding.

Remus didn’t want to remember the actual attack. He couldn’t bare to relive those cruel memories or hear the echo of your pained whimpers anymore. Anger at the beast that lurked inside him and guilt over not having control but mainly, he was scared. Scared that he could have killed someone, killed you, nonetheless. You have always been there, supporting him and caring for him even when his own friends didn’t notice. Remus was more in love with you than he could admit, but now, his love for you nearly cost him so greatly.

Light knocks accompany the sound of the door cautiously opening, “Moony, she’s okay. It’s all okay”

Throwing the duvet over his lanky figure once more, trying to lull himself back into a dreamless state. The actions caused James to sigh, he hates what happened but what he hated more was that Remus was haunted by it.

“Lupin, you can’t just sleep all day. You have to go see her; she’s been asking”

“I can’t. Facing her is too much, just let me sleep please. Today is almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare you’re so relieved. I woke up into a nightmare.”

Tears brimming his stormy eyes as his scarred lips quake with each truth that falls. His heart longs to go to you, to hold you and apologise until he runs out of air. But his head knows he can’t, he can never be around you again because all you’ll see is a monster, you’ll see the truth.

Hours pass by as the Marauders come and go, failing in their attempts to convince the crestfallen wizard. With the moon’s ray taunting him, reminders of his vicious counterpart invaded his mind once more. Tossing and turning as he realised the answer to his problem; he needed you, he needed to know that you were truly okay.

For such a tall person, Remus could sneak through the halls quieter than any Marauder. Light footsteps toward the infirmary with only his wand and stray moonbeams to guide him, heart pounding and mind racing at what could possible be waiting for him when he arrives.

Slipping through the impressive doors as his eyes scanned over the empty beds, searching for your figure; only to find you propped up against the pillows, gazing out the window at the midnight view.

Cuts and scratches painted your arms, bruises slowly disappearing thanks to a multitude of potions, and a blood-stained bandage placed amongst the crook of your neck. Even with the obvious aliments, Remus thought you were the most breath-taking person at Hogwarts.

“I was wondering when you’d show up”

His eyes had been so focused on the damage he'd inflicted that he had yet to notice your attention was solely on him. Cheeks began to feel hot as his body reacted to the gaze of his crush.

“Just didn’t know how to face you. Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it, but I am.” Stepping closer to your messy bed, practically leaning against the stiff mattress. “I’m more sorry than I could ever communicate, I wish I could take it all back and protect you from that monster, well actually from me.”

Those tears that had balanced upon his lower lashes gently fell across his sombre cheeks; streams of the warm tears highlighted by the silver of the moon. Hanging his head in shame but mainly, protecting himself from looking at you.

Your soft hand reached to cover his larger one, tenderly gripping it as to show affection and forgiveness. The smile on your face hadn’t left since he arrived, knowing that his presence was all your heart had craved even in a situation like this.

“You, Remus Lupin, are no monster. I shouldn’t have been out so late, nor should I have been so distracted, but this is neither of our faults. Sometimes things happen and we can’t stop them, we can’t stop nature.”

Bringing his lone hand to cup your empty one, he allows himself to search your eyes. The expectation of fear was quickly drowned by the overwhelming sight of care and forgiveness. “I don’t deserve to be forgiven, not after what I did”

“Darling, you are good. A mistake like this doesn’t change that. And if we want to look on the bright-side of things, now you’ll have company on the next full-moon”

Your optimistic words shook Remus, almost as if he hadn’t fully comprehended the idea of having turned you.

Whilst his heart swooned at the thought of having someone to love wholly, his mind painted the nightmare he had cursed you with, again and again.

[cosmictobios]

THE FLOWERS YOU’D COUGH UP FOR THEM

hanahaki disease -fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. it ends when the beloved returns their romantic feelings, or when the victim dies. it can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear.

author’s note: this one .. was pretty sad for me to write djdb. i’m not the best with angst but i really, really wanted to write this. this is probably going to be a little series where i add more boys and possibly do a part 2 to some characters. if there are any characters you’d like to see in this, please let me know ! [ suga is already in the works btw ]

KAGEYAMA - deep blue forget-me-nots, ones the same shade of his eyes. it’s bittersweet really, to cough up the petals at first. and the longer you let it go on, the more little flowers you coughed up— the more they killed you. it made you miss out on so much. it especially made you miss hanging out with kageyama. eventually, the hacking got much worse and the tiny little things tumbled past your lips stained scarlet. the flower that represents true love now falls from your heaving lips into the toilet bowl to represent your unrequited love for kageyama. it was as if it was mocking you— telling you that kageyama would never be more than a friend because he didn’t feel anything more than that for you.

HINATA - orange dahlias reminiscent of the shade of his hair. the first time you coughed up a flower petal, hinata was with you. you’d turned away from him to spare him from your coughing fit. when it was over and you’d pulled your arm away, there was a single orange flower petal in the crease of your elbow. you stared at it in shock and startled when hinata had asked if you were okay. you turned back to him and gave your most reassuring smile. eventually, you started to cough up more and more petals and in larger clumps— sometimes they were stained with your blood other times they were only coated in saliva. that’s how you found out they were petals from dahlias— the flower of strength and commitment. kind of ironic, right? ironic that a flower that represents strength was making you weaker, killing you, even. a flower that represents commitment where there would never be in the way you longed for. but maybe it was to solidify your commitment to him, even if it meant it would hurt you in the end. it was a pain that would be worth it, though. because a life without shoyo? that wasn’t a life you wanted to endure.

ATSUMU - yellow carnations that matched the shade of his bleached hair. the first time you coughed up one of the vibrant petals you’d burst into tears. you knew immediately. you’d been trying to deny your feelings for the longest time and you thought you’d succeeded. oh how you were wrong. so damn wrong. the flower confirmed it. the yellow carnation, also known as the flower of disappointment and rejection. he didn’t feel the same. atsumu didn’t return your feelings. you sat slumped against your toilet after coughing up a yellow flower head, a sobbing mess while a large drop of blood dribbled down your chin. you didn’t know what hurt more— the act of coughing a whole flower out of your lungs or the fact that the person you had fallen in love with just.. didn’t feel the same. it was most definitely the latter option but pretending it wasn’t eased the ache just a bit.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: M for mature. Blood, more blood, heavy language, seriously lots of blood. Literally the bloodiest/most detailed thing I've written. Genre: Super angst with some fluff to ease the pain. We're talking putting honey in your cup of poison to make it taste better. The ending is split, with both a happy and a sad ending. Warnings: Minor surgery (technically?) while the patient is fully awake (that's the reader, btws), blood loss, graphic depiction of a wound and how said wound is taken care of. Possible trigger for self-harm, as the reader is performing part of the surgery themselves. Also brief mention of cannibalism in the bad ending. This may very well be a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat sort of thing. Notes: While I have more medical knowledge than the average person, due to my Girl Scouts training + having a mother as a nurse, I am in no way shape or form a medical professional, and do not suggest that the methods of treatment used in this fic be taken seriously. If you find yourself seriously injured, do not attempt to replicate anything you read here. Only a portion of this is based on a real-ass incident I went through, the rest is based on a dream, and what I experienced was not what you want to do in an emergency.

{Wounded Love}

This was a mistake. Blood stains your leg, your fingers, and bruises start to form all over your exhausted body. And for what? Why had you, a tiny, fragile human, dared to pass through this damned, lycan-infested forest? Because a woman who didn’t even love you asked you to. Now you were going to die, body certain to get left out in the cold or reduced to a pile of gnawed bones. If you had more strength remaining, you might have slammed your hand into the ground in frustration, or screamed until your lungs burned from something other than frost.

But that wouldn’t get you anywhere. Wouldn’t help you get back to the castle, wouldn’t ease the racing of your heart. So you settle for the only thing that might do any good: One quick motion pulls the scarf from your neck, sending a chill down your spine that you promptly ignore. Even with shaky hands and numb fingers, your experience is enough to let you wrap the cloth around your leg, tying the ends in a knot to secure it. The pressure hurts, just not enough for you to prefer bleeding out. A test step reveals that walking is mildly more difficult now.

“I’m going to haunt her,” you muse, under your breath, tears starting to freeze at the corner of your eyes. Still, you are as quietly determined as ever, and so once more you limp down the path. Every time you put weight on your injured leg it protests harder. If not for the snow and ice covering the ground, you might have quickly searched for a walking stick. “What could be so important about this damn package? Couldn’t Doug or whatever-his-fucking-name-is deliver it? Man can practically teleport, and here I am, watching as blood loss and hypothermia race to see who can kill me first.”

Gods were you angry. Why had this happened so soon after you had settled in? Finally you had been comfortable in Castle Dimitrescu, no longer as frightened of the residents, even finding them… charming, in a way. Then the Lady of house called to you for what she claimed to be a simple errand. You had believed her, even when she explained that you would have to leave the relative safety of her home. What a fool you had been.

“What a fool she must be,” you murmur, “to think me safe here. To think I could outlast wolfmen prowling the village outskirts.” Would she even care if she saw you now? Would she be surprised, disappointed? Would she do something to change your fate? There was no reason for her to do so. It didn’t matter how much you had helped her, how much she claimed to appreciate what you did (heavy lifting, repair of clothing, massages). You were as replaceable as any other Maiden there was. And that, that was what made you have a double-take. It came to you in that moment, a thought so painful that you could not deny it was the truth. “She never thought I would survive.”

Bitterness coats your tongue, like blood in your throat, and your brain demands that you destroy your cargo, the very thing that got you sent here in the first place. You almost do it. Feet stopping, arms shrugging the carrying straps off, bloody hands taking hold of it. Tears fall, just two, and hit the package. At that moment your plan changed. This new idea would be far, far more satisfying… as long as you succeeded.

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

Spite was one hell of a drug. Enough of it and you could march your warm corpse right back to the castle, fist banging on the front door with everything you had. The path had been shorter than you thought, thankfully, but it had still taken so much out of you. Now you were leaning against the door, sliding down it, unable to support your own weight. Nothing inside the castle stirred. Were they ignoring you? Was Alcina really going to let you die inches from your “home”? Fuck that, you thought.

“Alcina!” You scream, loud as you can, startling the birds in the distant trees. The word echoes around you and rattles inside your ribs. It’s not enough. “Damn it, I am seconds away from dying, get out here now so I can look you in your fucking eyes!” Something tears a little in your throat, turning the last of your words into a hellish screech, leaving you to gasp and croak in the snow. You go to wipe your tear-filled eyes with your hands, only to remember just how much blood they’re covered in.

Sobs overtake you in just a few moments. You’re blinded by tears, deafened by sorrows, and numb from all the cold. In the aching seconds before you black out, you can only barely make out the silhouette of someone rushing to your side…

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

The first thing you feel when you wake up is mind searing pain. You try to jolt upwards, only to find a pair of strong, gloved hands holding you down. Someone shouts something, but you can’t make it out, and you feel another hand gently squeeze one of your own. Pained gasps escape your throat one after the other, but whatever is hurting you doesn’t stop. It takes a full minute for you to adjust enough to make sense of where you are. At last, you understand what’s being said.

“-it’s okay, shhh, please, we’re trying to help,” says none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. She’s the one holding your hand, doing her best not to hurt you with her grip, trying desperately to calm you down. One the other side of you, Cassandra is positioned to hold you down. There’s a tight-lipped scowl on her face, and her brow is furrowed, but she’s not looking at your face, but rather eying somewhere in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, you find her older sister is sitting near your injured leg, and is undeniably the source of some of your pain. In one hand she holds a bottle of alcohol (notably not the wine her family produces), the other holding a wet cloth to your wound. No wonder it stings so much.

“Shit, shit, stop,” you growl, barely getting the words out. But all anyone does is look at you. Alcina’s mouth opens to speak, only for you to cut her off. “I’ve got medical training, for the love of Mother Miranda let me help! How long have I been unconscious?” This time Bela stops, glancing at her mother for direction. The grip on your torso grows looser, with Cassandra evidently heeding your words, and you take the chance to sit up, careful not to move your leg. At this point you realize that there’s a needle of sorts in your arm, attached to a tube, which trails up into a blood bag. It’s clearly been improvised with equipment from the “wine-making” part of the castle.

“Fifteen minutes at most,” a new voice chimes, from somewhere behind you. “I got that cloth you wanted, mother, but something tells me I’m not done fetching things.” Ah, Daniela Dimitrescu. Was the whole family helping you?... Why? As much as you wanted answers, there wasn’t (currently) time for questions. Not when one glance at your leg tells you that some of your flesh is rapidly decomposing. The wound was made only an hour ago, and already it was getting deadlier than you could even process.

“I need a sharp, clean knife, a needle with thread, a glass of water, and someone needs to put a metal tool, sterilized, on the stove, right now,” you said, finding it easier to talk now that no one was cleansing your wound. Without hesitation Daniela dispersed into a cloud of insects, heading towards the kitchen, while Cassandra stood up and moved towards the stairs.

“Guess I’ll get the needle,” she said, sounding rather unenthusiastic.

“What are you planning?” Alcina asks, more concerned than you had ever heard her before. Attempting to reassure her, you manage a small smile before explaining.

“Got scratched and slobbered on by a lycan. Whatever they have, it’s infectious. If I want to save my leg, or at least have a chance at surviving, I have to take measures to reduce the likelihood of an infection,” you say. Now Alcina is slowly stroking her thumb across your hand, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s a look on her face that you can’t quite parse, something she’s not saying. For now you ignore it and continue going over your plan. “The best thing would be to amputate. The tourniquet might have helped prevent the saliva from getting further into my body- and I do mean might- but I can’t keep it on forever. Problem is… I don’t want to lose it. God, I’m terrified of that, and with what we have in the castle I… I’d be more likely to die of shock than not. So, well, forget that idea.

“I’m just going to remove the wound. By making a bigger wound. It’s crazy, I know, but this will kill me if we do nothing. It will probably kill me if we do. The technical term is some shit like ‘de-bride-ing’?... No, debridement, I think. Except normally the poor fucker getting cut open is asleep for the procedure.” By the time you’re done, Lady Dimitrescu is looking at you with horror. Yeah, you had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the idea. “Look, if this is too much… if it’s not worth saving me, if you’d rather give me a quick death, I understand. If I were-”

“Don’t be foolish, dear. You will not die, not as long as something can be done about it,” Alcina replies, quickly, eager to stop hearing you talk about dying. It’s… strange to hear her sound so confident about saving you, even stranger to realize what she called you. As if reading your thoughts, she shifts in her seat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Shyness didn’t suit her, and you imagined it was more about her finding the right words. When she speaks, she’s looking right at you again. “I have hesitated to tell you the truth, and now I find the world playing a cruel trick on me, trying to take that which I adore. But I don’t want to aggravate your stress right now. Please, think nothing of what I have said.”

Before you could reply, footsteps reached your ears, and soon enough Daniela returns. In one hand she holds a large pitcher of water. In the other? Several knives, of various sizes, one of which you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Cassandra playing with before. As soon as you see her your face lights up, glad to be able to start the procedure.

“Oh thank fuck- or, I mean, thank you, Lady Daniela,” you stutter, reaching out as she offers you the items. Thankfully Bela had already made room on the table at your side, where she had set the bottle of alcohol down. For a moment you had forgotten that she was there. Had she already known about her mother’s feelings? Based on her lack of reaction, you could only assume that she was well aware. “I’m gonna scream, B-T-dubs. Just, uh, cover your ears?” You offer, already holding your chosen knife (big enough to be effective, small enough to offer precision).

“So… you’re going to do this yourself? Didn’t think you had it in you, red. Try not to cut anything important. Wouldn’t want to have to clean that mess up,” Daniela teases. As soon as she’s finished she has to shift into a swarm, as Bela flat out throws a knife at her. For a moment you freeze, watching as Alcina rises to her full height, staring her eldest daughter down. Behind her, Daniela reforms, clearly using her mother as a shield. “I was just trying to relieve the tension, jeez. It’s like you think she’s already dead.”

“Don’t speak another word!” Alcina snaps, sending a frightening stare towards Daniela. You cough, awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Meanwhile Bela is pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, clearly tired of dealing with her sister’s sense of humor. “No one will speak a word until this is finished, unless my dear needs something, understood?” Both the girls nod at that, neither feeling a need to risk any further ire.

“I’m just going to start working now,” you awkwardly chime, taking a deep breath before leaning in towards your injured leg. On closer inspection you can see a strange, dark residue in the wound. They’re specks, scattered along the length of it, and they seem more common the closer you look to the gash’s center. Gross, you think. Half curious, half checking for legitimate reasons, you bring your other hand to the cut and gently spread both sides apart. It hurts like hell, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. But sure enough, the residue is practically solid at the deepest point of the wound. “Those lycans really should be on leashes.”

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Daniela exchange looks with Bela, but neither of them disobey their mother (yet). Shaking the thought away, you finally get to the brunt of the task at hand. Your hand moves slowly, reluctant to inflict such damage against its own body. As soon as the tip of the knife touches your skin, you start to doubt your ability to do this. It takes looking at Alcina, seeing the way she watches you with equal parts concern and tenderness, to remind you why you’re doing this. Death just wasn’t something you could accept right now; not after what she had said, what she had implied.

The knife is fantastically sharp. Hardly any pressure is needed before your flesh gives away, cells letting go of their neighbors like it was a casual affair. You start at the left side of your injury, digging down a little, trying to only go as deep as you needed to. Tears formed in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. As the first of many screams leaves your mouth, you turn and twist the knife, cutting to the right, then up. Like scooping the seeds out of a pumpkin. Fresh blood springs from the wound, starting to fill up the crevice. Quickly you discard the skin you removed by tossing it into the same bowl that Bela had put a bloody towel in earlier.

“Yes,” you shudder through gritted teeth, “this hurts so fucking bad. No, I don’t need someone to take over yet.” At this point neither of the present sisters are looking at you, seeming oddly uncomfortable at the sight of you cut up like this. Hadn’t they done worse to your fellow Maidens?... Whatever, the thought couldn’t last long when you still had work to do.

Next you take a fresh, damp cloth and dab at your injury, ignoring how it throbbed beneath your touch. Then you resumed cutting, forced to press the knife deeper in order to remove the spreading residue. If you had been a scientist, this would have been utterly fascinating to observe. Whatever had been in the lycan’s saliva was slowly eating at your flesh, but not outright dissolving it. No, it simply left the skin where it was, but killed and rapidly broke it down. Yes, it would have been fascinating, if not for the fact that there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to outpace the bacteria.

With this in mind you force yourself to hold in your next scream, hoping to make it easier for you to focus. The knife continued to cut, going lower, setting nerves alight as it did. Your vision starts to blur, and for a few seconds you think you’re going to black out. Someone says something you don’t hear, and then suddenly there’s a hand on top of your own. When your vision clears you see Bela is responsible, her grip keeping you from dropping the knife. She doesn’t let go until you give her a clear nod. Even then, she seems reluctant to let you continue.

Around this time is when Cassandra returns. Her footsteps catch your attention (it’s your understanding that carrying objects is much harder in swarm mode), and you spare her a quick glance before getting back to work. A few moments later she’s placing a set of needles and a long spool of thread next to you. Ironically, they’re the same tools that you’ve used to repair and adjust Alcina’s dresses over the past year. Hopefully they work just as well on flesh, you think. Your next thoughts are canceled out by unbelievable pain. More cries leave your lips, and your hand starts shaking. Panic is settling in fast, your movements getting sharper, leading you to make a brash decision: Time to care less about precision and more about speed.

“Distract me, please,” you gasp between grunts. No one responds at first, and you know they need clarification. Speaking is getting harder by the second, but you do your best. “Brain can’t process many stimulants, same time. Just- fuck- trace skin around wound, touch hair, anything.” Somewhere between your semi-broken sentences and screams, Alcina gets the message. She’s moving closer, now, behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other rubbing gentle circles on your undamaged leg. Across from you Daniela is too busy pacing to help, though you can hardly blame her.

“Should I get the metal thing from the stove?” Cassandra asks, silently hoping that Dani hadn’t assumed someone else was going to handle that part. You’re still in too much pain to talk, so you half nod half grunt in response. Not bothering to say anything, the middle child takes off, swarm moving at what might be a new speed record.

As much as your hands are shaking, you still manage to cut away another strip of flesh, tossing it aside with even less care than before. This time Bela wipes the wound for you, practically reading your mind. The moment her hands are completely out of the way you start cutting again, crying out, throat shredded to pieces from all your screaming. Alcina sounds like she might be close to sobbing, but she doesn’t stop her movements, doing her best to distract you just like you had asked. Even Bela helps, now, tracing spots around your injury whenever she knows she won’t be in your way. The effect is minor, in the end, hardly making a dent in how much pain you’re processing.

If you survive this, though, you’re hugging every daughter as tight as you can and showering them with affection… but only after you finish doing the same for their mother.

“You are so brave,” Alcina murmurs next to your ear. It’s even clearer now how close she is to crying, her voice seconds away from cracking. Hearing her like this almost hurts as bad as the initial lycan attack did. “You are so strong. No other mortal could ever be your match. Do you understand, my dear? You are blessed, divine, and I love you so much.”

In any other setting, her words would leave you melting in her arms, radiating affection so strongly that you might as well have been radioactive. Instead, you are unable to respond, or even look her way. All you can do is press the knife to your skin again, showing your own feelings by destroying yourself for her.

The blade is starting to find more resistance, and you’re having to pause more often, spots appearing in your vision. Going faster only makes things worse, your hand threatening to slip. You’re determined to finish this, no matter what, but your need to control the situation is gradually making things worse. Alcina notices this before you do, and acts before you have a chance to protest.

“Bela, the knife,” she says, then tightens her grip on your waist. Your confusion shifts to panic as your arm is carefully, but forcefully, pulled away from your wound. “Can you finish the job?” It takes you a few moments to realize that Alcina isn’t talking to you. No, she’s speaking to her eldest daughter, who doesn’t hesitate to take the knife away from you. It’s so easy for her, between her strength and your weakness. “Don’t struggle. Let us finish this.”

Protests rise from your throat and die in your mouth. Pain flares harder now that Bela isn’t distracting you. Once more your vision goes dark, but this time there’s no pause, no hesitation. You are suffering, horribly, and the Dimitrescu family refuses to make you hurt longer than necessary. It’ll be over soon, you think, not knowing whether you refer to your pain or your life itself.

Something wet drops onto the back of your neck, then darkness overtakes you…

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

“Damn those lycans, I should string Heisenberg up myself! They’re his responsibility, after all,” Lady Dimitrescu snarls, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes. Now that you’re unconscious, unable to hear what ails her, she feels free to voice her thoughts. “The damn things should never have come close to the path to the village.”

“What if she strayed from the path? Wouldn’t that explain it?” Bela suggests, even as her hands work to remove what seems to be the last piece of dead/infected flesh from your leg. She hates how the words feel in her mouth, hates suggesting that you of all people might have betrayed her mother’s trust. But it makes sense. After all, this whole mess, with you leaving the castle to retrieve a mysterious package, was all a test to see if you would try to run. It hadn’t been her idea, and Bela admitted to herself that she thought it was unnecessary.

“On the way back? Why would she bother getting the package if she intended to run?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, right as Cassandra returns. The middle child is practically juggling the metal spatula she’s carrying, irritated (not harmed) by the heat it produced. One of her brows perks up when she hears the conversation, but she keeps any thoughts she has to herself.

“Just a thought, mother, I didn’t quite believe it myself,” Bela chimes, after a pause. With that said she holds up her hand with pride, clutching between her fingers the last of the decaying flesh. The way the others react, one might have thought that a miracle had been performed. Daniela clapped her hands together, giggling a little, and finally stopped her pacing. “Don’t celebrate too much, now,” Bela reminded her, taking the spatula from Cassandra as she did. “There’s still plenty to do. It’s a good thing she’s not awake for this part.”

A good thing, indeed. She uses her fingers to spread the remaining skin a little, giving a quick examination, then deciding that she had successfully removed all remaining residue. Keeping her fingers where they were, she pressed the side of the spatula to your skin, putting the most pressure at the center of the wound. Three seconds passed, then she lifted her hand. A pause. She pressed it back into place, keeping a close eye on the affected area. This repeated several times, the gaps being necessary to prevent unintentional damage. Once the wound seemed properly closed she set the spatula aside.

“Is that it?... Did we save her?” Daniela asks, opting to finally sit down in a nearby chair. Something about her word choice makes both of her sisters scoff.

“I could sew it closed, as a precaution, but there’s no way I’d do it the way she had intended. It might be best to just give her time to rest, and see what she thinks when she gets back up,” Bela answers. For a moment her words hang in the air, but eventually Alcina gives a little nod and a hum.

“Very well. I shall carry her to my quarters, where she won’t be disturbed. Please, let one of the Maidens know to bring some food up this evening,” Alcina says, gently taking you into her arms as she does…

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

BAD ENDING: It’s been six hours, with no sign of you waking up. Your other wounds had been examined, cleaned, and bandaged. Food had been carefully prepared and brought up to you, though it now remained on the bedside table, untouched. Alcina has gone to call Mother Miranda, intending to speak to her about the growing unrest of the lycans, as Heisenberg hadn’t answered his phone. For the first time since you returned you are alone. It is now, of all times, that you awaken. A gasp sends you into a coughing spree, forcing you into a sitting position. The space around you feels like it's moving, and your vision blurs. Blood spills from your mouth as you finally regain the ability to breathe.

Seconds later your vision clears, but what you see is enough to make you wish you couldn’t. The blood that spilled onto the sheets is a dark red… with even darker spots scattered throughout it. All at once you know what happened: Residue had hidden from you, or gone deeper than your wound, infecting you before you ever stood a chance. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but something deeper starts calling to you. Something older. Darker. It drags you to your feet, ignores the pain of your wounds, and sends you out the bedroom door.

Your mind is racing, thoughts never quite clear enough for you to understand. It doesn’t feel like you’re in control of your own movements. Was something else in charge, or were you operating on an infection powered autopilot? Answers weren’t coming, just bloodshed.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed yet!” A voice calls out to you, making you turn to investigate. On the other end of the hallway is a maiden, one you instantly recognize. You’ve worked with her before, plenty of times, tag-teaming more tasks than you could count. She was like a sister to you. When she sees the blood staining your clothes, she gasps, then moves to support you. “Please, Lady Dimitrescu will be so upset if you-” her words melt into a blood curdling scream. For a moment you don’t understand.

And then you swallow, a chunk of hot meat slipping down your throat, and the scream dies down.

“What?...” You whisper, finally tasting the blood in your mouth, watching as your friend’s body falls to the floor. There’s a chunk of flesh missing from her neck, and the dots connect themselves in your head. You did that. Every part of you wants to scream, wants to cry out and beg someone to come kill you. Instead you fall to your knees, hard, uncaring. Your hands move themselves, grasping at the still warm corpse. Something has made you stronger, or at the very least removed the mental limits that kept you from destroying yourself. Flesh gives under your touch, tearing like paper, and you start crying as it reaches your mouth.

Footsteps approach, thundering fast, and you want to warn whoever it is. When you turn to look, you feel your hands let go of your meal. Your gaze meets that of a stunned Cassandra Dimitrescu, then drifts to the sickle in her hand.

“Kill me,” you growl, voice distorted, practically echoing. “Kill me now!” Not needing to be told a third time, Cassandra moves lightning quick, swarm-jumping forward before manifesting behind you, sickle dragging across your throat in one smooth motion. But it’s not enough. She realizes this, though, and slams her foot into your back, sending you tumbling forward. It’s enough to prevent you from countering, which gives her time to advance again, this time pulling a knife from her boot and driving it into the center of your back. When you scream, it’s not with your own voice, but that of a monster.

“Fucking fuck, what the fuck, red?” Daniella asks as she rounds the corner, eyes immediately landing on your bloodsoaked mouth. She’s quick to take in the scene, drawing a conclusion easily, even if it breaks her heart a little. Your vision fades as she approaches, and you know that it’s finally over. If only you had expired a few seconds earlier… because the last thing you hear is the startled cry of your would-be lover.

“No! No, darling, what happened-” Alcina finishes her sentence, but you do not hear it. You do not hear anything, anymore. You do not know it… but there will be hell to pay for your death.

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

GOOD ENDING: When you awake, you find yourself in the softest sheets you’ve ever touched, a warm and familiar presence next to you. The first thing you see is Alcina’s sleeping face next to your own. She’s on her side, one arm around your waist, the covers pulled up to her hip. Warmth fills your chest as you take in the sight. For a few moments you just… appreciate this. Never before had you imagined that you would get to wake up next to the woman you loved so much. A sigh, one of bliss, leaves your lips. Slowly you move forward, gently placing a kiss to Alcina’s cheek. Seconds later her eyelids flutter open, and she tiredly takes you in.

“You’re… awake,” she murmurs, hardly awake herself. But her fatigue doesn’t last long. As soon as she’s fully processed the situation her eyes go wide. Then she’s pulling you closer, careful not to hurt you, and peppering little kisses over your face. “I’ve been so worried, dear. You scared us so much.” The hurt in her voice leaves you restless, making you curl up against her, desperate to soothe her worries. Moving hurts a little, but not enough to dissuade you from your goal.

“I’m sorry, love,” you say, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m okay, I’m alive, the plan worked out. You don’t have to fret for me anymore. I won’t leave you, I promise.” Slowly but surely, Alcina calms, exchanging kisses for softly running her fingers through your hair. There’s such love in her eyes that you can hardly believe you aren’t dreaming. “You’re amazing, Alcina. I could stay like this all day.”

“Maybe we should,” she offers, chuckling a little. Once again you give her a quick kiss, unable to resist the urge. “I should have never asked you to leave. I should have just trusted you.” The words give you pause, and you tilt your head in confusion. Realizing that you still didn’t know the full story, Alcina frowns. “The package is worthless, just a bundle of straw and a few rocks for weight. It was never what I cared about.”

Tension builds in your chest, and for a few seconds you have no idea how to react. It takes a minute for you to think, to connect the dots, but once you do it’s a tad bit easier to breathe. A scowl twists your lips as you think of what to say.

“If I had known that Heisenberg was forgoing his duties, I never would have sent you outside,” Alcina adds, the silence taking its toll on her.

“You shouldn’t have sent me either way,” you respond, bitterly, thinking of all that you had seen and heard on your journey. “I would have done anything to prove to you how I feel. There are other ways to show devotion- far less dangerous ways, at that.”

“I know, dear. You have every right to be angry… and watching you suffer has taught me all that I need to know,” Alcina says, still playing with your hair, trying to ease the tension. As upset as you about this recent revelation… it’s not enough to change how you feel about her, and you want her to understand that, fully and completely.

So you lean into her touch, let your eyes drift close for a moment, then softly place one of your arms around her as best as you can.

“We’ll need to talk about this more… just not right now. Right now, I need you, Alcina. I need to hold you, and be held by you, and just know that you’re here. That I’m here. That neither of us are going anywhere,” you say, resting your forehead against hers. “I need to feel safe, and your arms are the safest place I can imagine. Stay here with me?”

“It will be the easiest thing I have ever done.”

[rogue-durin-16]

YOU DRIVE ME MAD

Summary: Fred's and Y/n's silly rivalry may have more to do with love than with hate; after a fatal incident, some confessions are made.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Genre: angst-fluff

Tags:

Fred Weasley: @whiskeyn-rain @lumos-solemn

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa

Warnings: brief mention of violence, blood, language (this seems a lot darker than it is lmao)

A/N: idk man I just love this idiot so here it comes another oneshot. The reader's house is not specified btw. Enjoy <3

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

Fred spotted me and walked to stand near me before asking jokingly "On your way to kill a man, Y/n?" Oh, little did he know.

"what is that?!" I exclaimed at the sight of my friend's bruised arm.

"uhm... Nothing."

"who did that to you?" I knew the answer before I even got it. My friend had gone to break up with that Cormac McLaggen the previous night; she had finally listened to us and ended that toxic relationship they had, but apparently she got a souvenir from it.

"It's fine- he didn't mean to- Y/n don't do anything stupid." Too late, I saw red.

"I don't have time for your bullshit, Weasley." I curtly replied bumping his shoulder while I walked past him, making his smile drop in confusion. I never missed the opportunity to start a playful argument with him, but, as I had said, I didn't have time for that.

With the corner of my eye, I saw him joining my friends in the task of trailing after me.

I spotted the bastard chatting with his friends in the middle of the hallway that led to the Great Hall. "Oi, McLaggen!"

"Evening, Y/l/n." That filthy grin vanished from his face when I kicked him in the balls, triggering some gasps from our peers and a grunt of pain from him.

"Listen carefully, you loathsome pig." I leaned over to be eye to eye with him. "If you dare to lay a finger on my friend again— if you even think about it— I'll become your personal nightmare." I stood upright again, his eyes full of hate and rage following my movements. "You don't deserve a bloody warning, but I'm a generous woman." Poison dripped off my tongue, my eyes throwing daggers at him as I stepped back and turned around.

My eyes met Fred's worried ones while I made my way to my friends; they surely had told him enough for the ginger to know this was no time for joking and teasing.

His gaze then flickered behind me with panic and I realized a tad too late I shouldn't have turned my back to McLaggen; at the end of the day, pride overpowered honour in a lot of Gryffindors.

I spun around, grabbing my wand from my pocket, but I wasn't fast enough; before I knew what was happening, Fred was in front of me, serving as a human shield from the jinx.

The unknown spell hit his back and propelled us in my friends' direction. I was quickly on my knees, sitting Fred up and earning a grunt in the process, which I initially thought was caused by the fall. "Are you mental?!" My friend casted an Expelliarmus at the younger Gryffindor, long forgotten due to Fred's actions.

"My back— AH!" He yelped when I tried to pull him up.

"OI!" A first year who had made his way to the first row of students frantically gestured at Fred's back. "He's bleeding!!"

"What?!" I made him lean on me to take a look at his white shirt, now stained with blood. What I thought to be a harmless jinx turned out to be fatal.

"He's not supposed to be bleeding!" Cormac shouted, as panicked as I was.

One of my friends said something about going to look for George while the others shoot off to look for Madam Pomfrey.

"I'm gonna kill him..." Fred mumbled through gritted teeth, his voice shaky and weak. He felt so fragile in my arms, and I couldn't help the tears stinging my eyes.

"Fred—" his hands, which had been gripping my forearms, lost strength as the boy's body relaxed. "For fuck's sake don't fall asleep."

"... 'm trying..."

"FREDDIE!" His twin brother rushed to us, falling on his knees by his brother's side.

"I'm sorry." McLaggen had walked to us, keeping a safe distance.

"YOU'RE DEAD MCLAGGEN!" George stood up before I could stop him. Luckily for everyone, Madam Pomfrey showed up.

"Oh Lord! Mister Weasley, quick! Help me with your brother!" The Healer commanded, and soon they were pulling Fred off my grasp and rushing to the infirmary.

I was left in the middle of the hallway with my friends showering me with worried questions and reassurance.

What the fuck had just happened?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

During dinner, several girls and a couple of boys came to congratulate me for kicking McLaggen's balls, and it would have been a lot more satisfactory if Fred Weasley hadn't stepped in the middle.

As soon as I finished my meal, I headed to the infirmary through the now quiet halls, only to find there were too many people visiting.

Of course, George was there, along with their younger siblings and Lee Jordan, but in front of them stood Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall and none other than Cormac McLaggen himself.

"—already told you it wasn't for you!"

"How is that an apology, Mister McLaggen?" McGonagall scolded him, refraining herself from hitting the boy herself.

"You better fucking run, McLaggen, because the moment I can step out of this bed I swear on Godric I will—"

"Enough, Mister Weasley!" I almost pitied the poor woman. Her House was probably the most problematic. "All of you must go to your dormitories, Mister Weasley needs to rest." I stood on the entrance of the room, unsure of whether I should leave or enter, until Flitwick's eyes landed on my form. He redirected McGonagall's attention to me, and I felt the need of shying away. "Miss Y/l/n," I didn't miss the failed attempt of Fred to move; luckily, he was stopped by his sister. "I suppose you wanted to pay a visit?"

"Uhm... I did, Professor." I confessed, fidgeting with the sleeves of my robe. "I know it's late—"

"Don't take too long." She spoke, motioning everyone to follow her. "Curfew is still at 10." She reminded me in a warning tone, passing by.

As soon as they were out, I made my way to Fred, who lay on his stomach in one of the beds, the sheets only covering his legs an hips in order to avoid the clothing chaffing his damaged skin.

"You have a heart after all, huh?" He teased once I stood in front of him.

"How are you?" He frowned at my genuine question; the ginger surely expected me to make a witty comeback, but again, it didn't seem the time.

"A tad better." He gave me a reassuring half smile, deciding to drop our banter for a night. "Flitwick said he used a stinging jinx but casted it wrong." Fred huffed. "A bloody tosser."

He motioned at the chair behind me and I sat down, scooting closer to the bed. I still couldn't wrap my head around the fact that he had jumped in front of me. It had hit his back, but I knew it was meant to hit my face —what a mess that would have been—, and I couldn't help but feel a bit guilty.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"It's not on you." I felt my face flaring up at the ease with which he saw through me. I wasn't the first time he did that, but it was the first time he didn't use it to tease me.

"I know, I just—" I sighed. "I don't know." Though my sight was casted down, I still felt his worried gaze on me. "I'm gonna murder him."

"I reckon George will overtake us both on that." He tried to laugh but ended up in a since instead. "Or Gin. Maybe they'll team up with Ron and we'll find a corpse in the Gryffindor common room tomorrow." This time it was me who laughed. "How's your friend?"

"She'll be alright." I informed, distracting myself with a loose string at the hem of my skirt.

"And you?" I met his eyes with a hum leaving my mouth. "How are you?"

"Been better." I confessed.

Silence.

"Can you pass me the water?" I nodded, holding the glass in front of him and putting the straw in his mouth so he could take a couple of sips. "Thanks."

"No worries."

Silence again.

"Did you eat something?"

He scrunched his nose. "Not really."

"I'll go grab something from the kitchens." I didn't get far before his long fingers wrapped around my wrist.

"I'd rather have you here keeping my company." I then sat down again, his fingers only leaving my wrist to intertwin with mines. "I'm not hungry anyway."

More silence.

"Your hand is really soft." I reckon those words involuntarily escaped his lips by the way his eyes widened. "I don't know why I said that."

"Yours is too, surprisingly."

"Surprisingly?" He quirked an eyebrow at me, and I didn't quite realise what his grin was about until I spoke again.

"I imagined they'd be more rough." Oh no. "That came out wrong— I meant—"

"That you've imagined what my hands would feel like?" He was trying to bite back a laugh at the way my face turned red.

"No!"

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Liar."

There we went again; the white flag was out.

"Fuck you."

"Please." My cheeks turned even redder, and I wanted to think it was because of the anger. "You look really cute when you blush."

"You look really cute when you keep your mouth shut."

"Then shut me, love." He wiggled his brows at me.

"I would, but I don't wanna punch you in this state."

"You're very agressive." He pointed out, shocked that I didn't get what he was implying. "I meant with a kiss."

"Ew-" I pretended to gag. "no!"

He tugged on my hand and pulled me to my knees falling right in front of his eyes with our faces inches away. "C'mon Y/l/n, we're dragging this on now." His eyes kept falling on my mouth after I had unconsciously chewed on my lower lip.

"We're... We're not dragging on anything." I wasn't sure if I was trying to convince him or myself.

"Do you want me to start? Alright, you drive me mad." He forced his gaze to be fixed on mine. "You're annoying, rude and a pain in the arse." I huffed. "But you're also quick-witted and caring and brave." Gosh I hated how easily he made me blush. "Sometimes I want to punch you in that pretty face of yours but other times— most of the times— all I wanna do is kiss you." His thumb caressed the back of my hand. "Hell, I threw myself between you and that blonker without thinking twice!"

He raised his eyebrows, silently prompting me to say something, but I just didn't know what to say.

"Miss Y/l/n," Madam Pomfrey called, making me let go of Fred's hand an stood up. "It's almost ten o'clock! Let Mister Weasley rest." I nodded, not even looking in Fred's direction as I exited the infirmary.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

FRED'S P. O. V.

The morning after the incident, Dean and Neville dragged in an unrecognisable McLaggen; they were probably the only ones who cared about that bloke enough to take him to Madam Pomfrey, though they did it half-heartedly.

I was discharged after three days in, right before lunch, and obviously, I was received as a hero; several people came to praise my bravery or ask how I was feeling, but I just wanted to see one person.

That night in the infirmary I was sure she felt the same way —hell, I had been sure for a couple of months— but after seeing her reaction, I didn't really know anymore.

I could always tell her it was a prank, and we would go back to our usual bickering. "Weasley!" Shit. "Fred!" She specified when the four of us turned at the call of our surname, almost jogging in my direction. "Can we talk?"

"Go ahead, darling." I prompted her without moving from my seat.

"In private?"

"Nah," I begged Godric for her not to see behind my grin the panic that produced me the mere thought of being left alone with her.

"Are you joking?" She huffed and, after taking a deep breath, she spoke. I wasn't expecting her to speak. "So you see, you're cheeky and stupid and not nearly as funny as you think." Ginny spit her pumpkin juice due to Y/n's harsh words. "but I... ugh! Okay— I want to kiss you too."

This time it was Ron who choked on his drink. "What's going on?"

"I feel like we missed an important part of this conversation." George commented.

This time it was Y/n who awaited for an answer. "This is literally the most embarrassing thing ever, so at least say something." She commanded in a rather rude tone, tapping her shoe against the floor.

I winced ever so slightly at the effort of getting up, but it was worth it when I saw her expression as I towered her; I reckon I had never seen her that sheepish before.

"That's a really mean way of saying you're attracted to me." I observed, quirking a brow at her. "Dunno why I fancy you so much."

"Well that makes the two of us." I couldn't help but chuckle at her attitude before cupping her cheeks and bring her lips to mine.

Finally.

Despite being a short, innocent kiss, was enough to make us both blush and grin like idiots.

"Awww" I rolled my eyes at my twin's mockery, knowing damn well I wouldn't hear the end of it.

"Why do I feel like I'm gonna miss you two being at each other's throat?" I couldn't care less about Ron's question as Y/n pulled me down for another kiss.

Almost bleeding to death seemed worth it in that moment.

[dreamii-yume]

ANOTHER ASK BECAUSE IM HORNY ASF-- IT'S STILL THE ANON WHO SIMPS FOR DEUCE BTW!!! I LOVE U YUME!! ❤️💕

Okay, so... Closet Pervert!Deuce 👀 just basically stealing anything from darling from her newly bought handkerchief, straws from drinks she sucked from, hell maybe even sneaking into her room and stealing her underwear hngg.... AAAAAA i just love the idea of him finally having the privilege of fucking darling when she finally consents(or not, i love ur non con works ughhh 😩) when it's finally his birthday, for him to fill her up a bunch of million times and going feral when he thinks about his precious best friend getting knocked up with his babies-- GAHDHFKFHAKDHAKA BARK BARK BARK--

Baby, I smell your hornii from way over here ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) I, too, LIVE for yandere closet perverts ♥︎

Warning : Dub-Con | Yandere | Kleptomania (?)

LOL Deuce probably doesn’t even realize this creepy-ass behavior most of the time, since I can see it starting off really innocent and sweet. Like— He loses his temper one day and got into a fight with another random mob. He won, he always do but in this particular fight, he didn’t come out unscathed and blood was shed. Maybe his nose bled or there was a cut on his lip, but it caught your attention nonetheless and offered your own handkerchief to help wipe up the blood and cover the wound until you both reach the infirmary.

The handkerchief was so potent of your scent and realized how fond he is of this smell, somehow making him feel so nostalgic and soothes him up. You basically gave him the first item in his collection, despite Deuce saying how he’ll wash and return it afterwards. Surprise, surprise,he never did return it not that you minded anyway nor ever washing the piece of cloth because he didn’t want your scent getting washed away in the process. Now, it sits at the top of his collection, still stained with his own dried blood from that day...Deuce lowkey considers it his favorite lol

AND THUS, stealing shit you probably won’t notice gone became habit little by little, even becoming a daily basis. The eraser you dropped? Nope, gone. You tried looking for it in the place it landed but for some reason, it’s not there, like it was just been swallowed by the ground...weird. Oh, and that pen you were chewing on as a way to quench your boredom during history class? You looked away one moment to watch the birds outside the window and looking back— Yup, it’s gone. Sometimes, Deuce would even offer to throw your trash for you, specifically when you just finished drinking a special limited-edition milkshake, only for him to...casually slip the straw out of the cup and pocket it in to add to his growing collection. He’s a soft boi to blush at the thought of indirect kissing if he sucks on it right after.

But the real problematic issue comes in when he starts to come into your room at every opportunity he gets. Whether it’s because you invited him in, or he sneaked his way in, it doesn’t matter if he can find a way and he always will. He begins to steal stuff that was now making you suspicious, like— you’re pretty sure you dumped your underwear in the laundry basket just a few minutes ago...huh, where did it go? Socks?You’re missing a pair. Bra? It’s not difficult to count in one hand how many you have, and you SWEAR there’s one missing in your closet. Shirt, a full-set of your daily outfit?? Okay, this is getting weird, it’s clear to you now that someone is stealing from you after denying it for so long, and that’s not good, not to mention creepy.

But you don’t know that it’s him and you don’t have to know! You’re more wary of your surroundings but that’s alright...Deuce thinks as he listens to you complain about this stalker you claim to have, a smile slowly forming on his lips and sweat dripping down his forehead...You look really cute being all pouty about your lost items here, it’s difficult to resist the urge to just...steal you away for a change.

DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED WHEN YOU FINALLY GIVE THIS “CONSENT”YOU SPEAK OF. Okay, maybe you developed feelings for him at some point, cool, that’s understandble— I mean, he’s a great listener, a sweetheart who’s willing to protect and provide for you, a true gentleman who wouldn’t hurt you ever. How could you not fall for this wonderful boi? So, as a birthday gift, you finally answered his call and tried quench his hornii, the thirst and give yourself to him...Well, yeah~ Maybe it’s great at first, since he’s really cute being inexperienced and wanting to learn more about pleasuring you sexually and all but...His actions surprisingly doesn’t seem to be that of an inexperienced individual at all, if you do say so yourself.

Once you give him that green light, there was no turning back as he, quite literally would pounce on you before you could even say anything else. His actions seem so practiced, like he was just waiting for this day to come, fantasizing every outcome and how to deal with it, what methods he should use. Deuce is that type of person to get lost in the moment after all, because goddamn you feel so good wrapped around his cock like this. He had been stealing from you for months without you ever considering him as a possible suspect, like a deranged kleptomaniac he is, but he could not describe the ecstasy he feels when the realization hits him of actually being able to steal your virginity away with mere words.

So, if you give consent, you can’t expect him to stop or to slow down at any moment, because— Um, you just can’t, Darling. Isn’t this supposed to be his birthday gift? Even you can’t shake him out of the goal of fucking you stupid, finding your special spots and thoroughly abusing those spots until it all goes sore that it would be difficult for you to even stand tomorrow morning. He wouldn’t be able to shut himself up too during an intense session most likely. Aggressively muttering about creating a family with you, and wanting you knocked up with his child, possibly suggesting more ones that sounded more like a threat rather than just dirty talking that you just clench against him out of instinctive fear. Unfortunately for you, it only motivates him further.

So, anyway— yeah...This happens.