#+ btw. like Going For The Throat I Need You To Bleed Out And Die want to bite people. so even considering it casually i find myself feeling

[piningprecussionist]

(Not an rp ask)

What is your opinion on chau x kim? I'm not a shipper of it myself but I heard it was a proship since knives is 17 but also I saw she was 18 in the comic so I'm not sure where to stand on it honestly. But I'd like to hear your opinion about it !! Sorry if this is a bit of a random ask (ーー;

You're completely fine!! Do not even worry about it.

So, yeah- When Scott first meets Knives, and I'm not entirely sure how much time passes between then and when they start dating, it was *literally* her seventeenth birthday, as I am reminding myself reading back over these panels presently. And then at the start of book six, the first time we see (real, non-dream,) Knives, she has apparently been eighteen for a week!

Now, I'm going to preface with a little something before I go further into this: I am totally fine answering this ask and others like it I think! but, I will note, I do get like a (not fun) physical sensation in my chest- partly anxiety (lol) but also something else I think- thinking about them like 95% of the time- it's gotta be like. Handled The Right Way, if that makes sense. Let's get into it.

So, first off, I'm just gonna re: some of the stuff relative to this I've posted here before- both nonrp and rp, since I use RP to develop my read on Kim and shed some light on how I see things I guess!

These clips come from this ask (and reblog) here!

This rp ask here, which is simply too difficult for me to get in a good screenshot I feel, so I recommend just checking it and the tags for it out- I will share my Bonus Commentary reply though:

This ask as well! Tags less pressing, but still provide a little insight.

And this is probably a dumb inclusion if I really want to make a pseudonym to post fics under, but. I have posted my (very early) thoughts on the SPTO sparks scene to AO3 before, so- (and before going into this- I did remember that Julie and Gideon have that sparks scene after the fact!)

And here's the Barely Anything Lines hinting at the ship that I had in that fic that I used to justify that blurb, while we're here:

I think I've gone over my feelings a little bit in the discord as well, and there might even be more rp stuff relative to it, but I'm not going to go back and get any of that honestly- at least, not right now, or unless requested, since I don't really feel like it's necessary, if it does exist. This gives a pretty good glimpse in I'd say- especially that second to last one there.

So. Yeah.

Used to ship it; have expanded my horizons since then. I don't really want to knock it because like... for some people this is a legitimate life experience for them- one that might have even turned out well, miraculously. And there also a lot of minors in this fandom evidently, so like, any other baby gays out there just wanting to Project for a minute? I feel that. Sincerely I do. It's not the wisest choice but better to read fanfiction about it than go out and actually make out with a 23 year old, Gods forbid. (Genuinely felt sick thinking about that; fucking gross. Any minors out there: Please Make Good Choices. Look out for yourselves. Begging you. There are too many freaks in this world- I promise you whoever you're thinking of probably isn't the magical exception.)

But there are definitely things to consider about them that are very interesting to me, still, so like. I'm in this weird state of conflict; I don't know if it's just me being like "it happened, you can't escape it" or having been desensitized/some sort of Brainwashed by how many times I had to use Knives in the game to quick heal- maybe something else but I just don't feel like flaying myself open like that unprompted for just anyone- but like. Oh man.

Sorry, gathering/writing this that feeling like went away but came circling back for this last bit, it seems. Which makes sense I guess. I feel like I'm setting myself up for a Pyre right now eugh shfsgkjfhjg

I dunno. I'm not gonna lie and pretend like I know it to be some big formative ship for me in my early teen years, but it was kind of important in finally coming around to realizing how queer I was, I think. My memories of the time are fuzzy, but it would have been one of the things- there were likely larger ones, my current obsession could be recoloring my past here so I'm trying to acknowledge that.

But there is like. A dynamic that is posited by them that is also one I'm a really big sucker for. More so now than I was then, so I find myself grinding my teeth about that a fair bit at times.

I definitely still really like it as something unrequited no matter what I think; I like the idea of Knives having a really big crush on Kim, genuinely. I think it's cute and funny as hell for how uncomfortable it would make Kim, who's just trying so hard not to be a fucking creep while this ray of sunshine hangs off her- something she absolutely does not deserve (in her eyes.)

I'm obviously more partial to Kim resisting any advances made at her, but I can understand so, so badly why someone might be attracted to the idea of Knives managing to thaw some of Kim's frigidity with that. Ugh.

If they work for me, I think they'd have to work for me after Knives is gone at college for a bit. Kim would need to know Knives for longer than she knew her as a minor- and they'd have to be FRIENDS in that time, quite strictly. Kim would need to not feel (intensely, because frankly, she would unavoidably feel this way at least a little no matter what,) like she was a fucking groomer going into it, basically. I don't know what I think past that.

You know, I'll put my feelings like this: with the exception of a fic I saw recommended to someone that intrigued me, I have managed to resist reading any/many fics featuring them, despite it being a large majority of the wlw Kim fics that exist, and also kinda just Kim fics generally. It's kind of Insane, especially considering how much Kimona SCREAM at you from the pages of the comic itself- but I digress....

I've been working on this for like over an hour now I think so I really should cut myself off. I am like,, too hungry and mildly stoned to be rambling off about this maybe. If you want more concise/specific thoughts, I recommend prompting! I can try and channel the responses easier with a bit more direction, maybe?

...

actually another thing real quick- I like. Do not know that I could ever feel comfortable, truly, consuming content for them, not knowing if the OP has good intentions. I just Do Not trust people, largely, so that's just like. A little thing. Idk. "Death to the author" or whatever but I am still allowed to feel personally uncomfortable ya know! I don't want them taking my silent observation as like,, passive acceptance in the event that they were. Idk if that makes sense, I need to go eat already, I'm hitting post before i drag this out to TWO hours

#w oof. that was a doozy. mostly just on account of how long ive been working at it #but yeah. they fuck me up in some sort of way idk man. i cannot stress enough how much i want to bite people that are freaks about knives + #+ btw. like Going For The Throat I Need You To Bleed Out And Die want to bite people. so even considering it casually i find myself feeling #+like i am a massive hypocrite with the word scrawled in blood across my back or something. but im just a starving gay sdfjkhjsd #and i love Kim So Much. Denying myself Kim content is Actual Hell. and I have persisted. #(i mean. i also probably read some of this stuff back when i was a teenager. so. idk how much im really denying myself. but it's the + #+ thought that counts right? right?? hh... i likely dont remember any of them anyway so. it should totally count.) #ooc #txt #glitterminionking12 #am i really gonna put these in the tags.... hhhh yeah i guess i am #if any of the people that know me read this and can see i am shooting myself in the foot here please slap me in the discord i'll understand #i might just be having a Moment #sp comic #spvtw #spto #kim pine #knives chau #possibly the only post- unless i get asked about it more- that is gonna get the ship tag for them i guess? what even is their ship name... #ship stuff #no seriously what is their ship name im sitting here blanking i dont know how to tag this for people that dont wanna see it. or do i guess #knikim #sounds kinda like knick-em in my mind so im doing that for now #since starting to type any of the ones i thought of doesnt make a suggested tag pop up or anything #if there is one someone please tell me maybe and ill tag it #long post #headcanons #i guess? #spvtwtg #forgot that one

[whalesforhands]

would love to see something ab reader having a nightmare about shoko, geto, and gojo dying maybay? and they wake up in a panic? shuffling off to the dorm kitchen to try and maybe calm herself down only to see geto there and he helps calm them down after they confide in him. could be with your series where gojo and geto are together because those boys are def in love 🥹☺️. BUT YEAH JUST,,, comfort hehe.

really enjoying your writing btw, pls keep up the good work, bub :)

very very very cute idea anon. ily ♥️

yes, i swear they are 100% in love with each other canonically!!!! i love them together sm.

if only my dreams were as sweet as you (geto x reader x gojo)

warnings: angst to comfort, anxiety attacks, depressive episode, gore descriptions

You shook upon the ground you sat on, barely breathing, barely able to move.

Your leg was ripped off, the remainder of what was left of it wrapped tight with Suguru’s coat, his attempt to comfort you, to stop the bleeding. To assure you everything is okay.

You think you’ve lost your sense of touch. Your sense of self. You can’t feel any semblance of their cursed energies anymore.

Geto Suguru laid on the ground, his eyes lifeless, an arm torn off from his body, laying uselessly within the pits of some sick curse’s stomach. A large hole stretched throughout his midriff. He had no chance of survival.

Shoko Ieiri was near your side, body cold, trapped within rubble that suffocated her already dead self, her face unrecognisable, gored from the ferocious attacks of a special grade that she stood no chance against from the start.

Finally, Gojo Satoru, laid on your lap as you screamed and cried for him to wake up. You can’t lose him. His eyes were wide open, crystalline blue dull and gone, his cursed energy barely even there. Your tears fell onto his face, staining his cheeks and seeping into the cuts he sustained.

You shake and shake him with your broken arms, your arms feeling useless as the nerves slowly started to die.

Please. Please. Please!

Don’t leave you alone in this universe. Don’t leave. Don’t leave! You can’t lose the only people you love. You can’t. Your heart shattered when Ieiri fell, crushed to dust when Suguru lost, and now nothing would remain as Satoru was defeated.

You feel the looming shadow of the special grade curse.

You hope it takes you to where your beloved three were.

Jolting awake with a start, sweat dripping off your brow even as the AC ran. Feeling your heart stutter and pound, your senses going into overdrive as you felt the area for the three.

Suguru, Shoko and Satoru. You felt their energy all around you. A strikingly bright, overwhelming energy. An ominous, immense and darker energy. A serenely heart-chilling one.

Alive. They were alive. Your heart never felt such relief.

Thank goodness. It was just a dream. Just a dream.

Your hand scurried to what you thought was your missing leg, squeezing and pinching the flesh that was definitely there. Yep, definitely a dream. A horrible one.

A nightmare.

You hold your face in your hands as you felt tears begin to well up. You can’t believe your mind even conjured that. Bile was rising up your throat as you continued to cry.

You can’t live in a world without them. The thought of losing all three of them was devastating.

A life without them? You’d rather die. You felt the urge to throw up just thinking about this.

Water. You need water. Does Suguru keep his chamomile and valerian tea in the pantry too? You think you need some.

Your shaky legs barely hold you up as you venture out of your room, dressed in your sleep shorts, oversized shirt and fluffy lamb slippers. Your hair was a mess, your face void of most of its colour.

You must look like you’ve woken from the dead. (Your attempt at a joke to lighten yourself up. You need to spend more time around Satoru for his silliness. You suck.)

As you approached the kitchen, you were surprised to see a glowing lamp still on. Is someone in there, or did Satoru forget to turn it off?

You slowly peek in from the ajar door, only to find Geto Suguru, in all his glory, already staring at you. Long hair left down from his usual bun, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt with Satoru’s face printed on it.

In his hand, a cup of steaming tea.

“I thought that was you. How are you still awake?”

——

Your head was rested on his shoulder, his arm comfortingly wrapped around your shoulders, snuggled comfortably onto the sofa with one empty cup, the other half-way drunk on the coffee table before you.

“And? What happened then?” He softly inquired, voice soothing and gentle as he tenderly prodded your thoughts.

“You all… Were dead…” You began, a sniffle already squeezed out of you. The thought making you want to cry all over again.

“I- I could never handle… Losing any of you…” Your grip tightened itself around his shirt, hand over where his beating heart was, as you buried yourself into his shoulder, trying to press yourself closer to him.

“It’s okay.” He whispered. “I’m here. We’re all here.” His other hand came up to wipe at your tears.

“That will never happen.” He continued to say, hearing your breaths starting to slow and even out.

He was about to continue, until the door to the room was creaked open.

“Suguruuuuuuu, why’d you leavveee meeeee?” A whining Satoru has just awoken from Suguru’s bed. His eyes were still closed, had it made it all the way here just by feeling for his boyfriend’s cursed energy?

Then he must’ve sensed yours too.

Dressed in a shirt printed with Suguru’s sleeping face, and a similar pair of sweatpants, he creaked open his eyes. Picking up Suguru’s half-empty cup and downing the remainder of it.

You felt Satoru plop onto the couch right beside you, snuggling his face into your chest before he stretched over the length of both your and Suguru’s legs, placing his head on Suguru’s lap as he splayed his legs out on your own lap.

(The menace even reached out for your hand, holding it in his own as his eyes closed back, smiling as he threaded his fingers through yours.)

A cuddle pile.

He spoke, feeling Suguru stroke his hair.

“Ya just woke up from a bad dream?” It was an inquiry, tender and laced with a hint of worry.

You remain silent. He understands.

“Don’t,” He yawns, feeling comforted by Suguru’s hand. “Don’t worry…”

“We’re the strongest, after all…” He fell back asleep. How strong of him.

Suguru nods, a smile on his face.

“He’s right, you know?” A kiss to your forehead.

“We are the strongest.”

You think the tea was starting to kick in. Why was there such a warm, soothing feeling within you? You felt the lids of your eyes begin to grow heavy, Suguru opening his free arm more allow your head to loll onto his chest, holding you close as your eyes begin to shut.

You like being here.

masterlist

Notes:

Suguru has trouble sleeping due to the bad aftertaste from swallowing curses. It’s disgusting, the taste haunts his mouth and he gags at the reminder of it.

It was Satoru’s idea to get his and Suguru’s faces printed on shirts. The photo he used for himself was one of him looking charming, whilst Suguru’s photo was one of him drooling onto Satoru’s pillow. The shirts are very high quality, and very expensive.

There is an extra shirt in your size with both of their photos printed on it hidden in Suguru’s closet.

Satoru finds it hard to sleep without a certain someone in bed. If Suguru is awake, they’ll both just sleep on the couch in the shared living room area.

Shoko was the one to find all three of you cuddled into each other asleep on the sofa. She got a blanket she draped over you as she drank her coffee, taking a photo of all three of you that she sent to both Suguru and Satoru.

See? She can be nice. But they both owe her a favour now.

#geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo #gojo x reader #whalewrites #getou suguru x reader x gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #getou suguru x reader #satosugu x reader #dyf au

[zzzzombieboy]

Oh my lordddddd I absolutely adored it!!! I love your writing😭😭

May I request a part 2? It took me a while cuz I had no idea how to continue but maybe this works:

After the reader fixed Leon up they go back to their constant bantering (maybe even more discussions or more angry beefing) because the reader still can’t quite comprehend what the hell just happened there. They go looking for Ashley and when they find her, they get attacked again. Reader sacrifices himself so they can make a run for it. Maybe change it so Ashley gets home safely but instead of fleeing with her, Leon goes back to save the reader.

Reader is brought back to the castle cuz they wanna use him for some kind of ritual (it’s so long ago that I played the game I'm sorry if the idea is not quite like in the game with the ritual stuff etc.) he manages to take down a few guards before he gets tied up and taken to the dungeon. If you’re comfortable with writing explicit torture scenes, you can add them. Maybe his back gets slit open, they beat him up, both his hands are chained over his head and he’s basically kneeling on the floor, shirtless because why not🔥🔥

He looks like shit and has a lot of wounds, like really a lot. Nosebleeds, cuts on his cheeks, bleeding on his forehead, cuts on his arms, bruises on his throat. He is on the rim of death and Leon never saw him in such a weak state. Reader always managed to at least save himself, or to flee when he seriously couldn’t handle it anymore (which rarely, almost never happened) but he couldn’t get out of this situation on his own. He couldn’t even walk alone and Leon has to get out of the castle with him which is really really hard since there are guards everywhere. Reader tells him to just leave him there to die but Leon definitely can’t do this.

EEP EEP EEP !!!!1!2!2!2!2!2!!1!1!1!1!1! love this love u i love long requests this is so cool and great weeeeee

btw kind of angst but it’s cute at the end

Leon Kennedy x M!Reader (pt 2)

Y/N breathed in the cool air. He shoved both of his hands into his jacket pockets as he looked back to Leon. The two were standing on a ledge made of wood against a tall mountain, looking over the lake to try and gage where Ashley could’ve run to. Leon’s eyes were squinted slightly. Y/N swallowed as he continued to stare, analyzing his face.

Something about Leon had shifted in his eyes. He didn’t know what it was, but there was a sort of comfort that had sparked between the two, something understood. They had never found common ground before. Leon’s eyes flickered up to Y/N’s, landing on each other.

“You wanna say something?” asked Leon.

Y/N paused. He blinked himself out of his haze, his had shaking ever-so-slightly. “Uh, what do you mean?” he asked, looking back ahead. Leon took in a sharp breath, also looking back to the lake. “Y’know,” he started, scratching the side of his nose. “About what happened.”

Y/N felt his stomach drop at the mention. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t even register what happened. “No.” he stated, his throat feeling like it was about to close for good. Leon lifted a brow. He was a little confused, to be expected. He didn’t understand why, he was the one who initiated it after all. Maybe he was ashamed? He just didn’t know.

Leon brushed some of his hair away from his face, giving another glance to Y/N’s stoic gaze. “Why not?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest. Y/N hated that he was pushing on the subject, even though he knew that Leon would. He always, always, always needed a reason. “There’s nothing to talk about. Stuff happens.” Y/N shrugged, trying to dismiss it. Leon was starting to get a little frustrated. He knew that this wasn’t how Y/N actually felt, and he wanted to get an actual answer instead of Y/N avoiding it like the plaga.

“Y/N, come on.” Leon pleaded. “You had to have had a reason for doing that. Just tell me, I’m not judging you. I mean, I liked it. You must’ve liked it too.” He lifted his hands up in a show of support, trying to get something out of the man standing next to him. Y/N clenched his jaw, taking in a deep breath.

He looked down at Leon, pulling his gun out of his holster. “I told you to drop it, Leon.” he cocked the pistol, making a sharp turn back onto the path of wooden panels. “We have a job to do. Come on.” he stated cleanly, not waiting for any of Leon’s protests.

Leon let out a short groan before following behind him into a cave. It was dark, the only thing lighting the path was the flashlight that was planted on Y/N’s gun. You could hear droplets of water falling into puddles below them, echoing through the hall. Y/N led the way, trying to find his way through the rubble.

“Leon?” a voice echoed. Leon looked to Y/N, who looked just as confused as Leon did. They started to look around, not seeing anyone around them. Y/N raised his gun to his chest, waiting for another call to ring out.

“Down here!” the voice cried. The two looked down to their feet, where they could see Ashley hid under a pile of rubble a few feet away from them. In her hands she held Y/N’s combat knife safe, looking up to the two men with a half smile on her face. They were all relieved that they found her. “Thank god.” Y/N muttered quietly, stepping over to the small blonde with his hand held out.

Leon stayed put, observing. “Are you alright? No cuts, bruises?” Y/N asked, pulling her up out of the little crevice she had wiggled herself into. She shook her head, feeling somewhat prideful she had held her own so well. Y/N let a small grin spread across his face. “Good, that’s good.” He had helped her up onto her feet, where she gave a small ‘thank you.’

The three stood there for a small bit, all taking in a breath to relax themselves somewhat. But of course, the peace was soon interrupted. A call could be heard from the far exit of the cave.

“Ahí ellos estan!”

“Motherfucker.” muttered Y/N, pulling his shotgun off his back and setting it in his hands. He stepped in front of Leon and Ashley, his body tense. He didn’t think that this would be smart, but he needed to make sure that Ashley was gonna get out of there safe.

He turned around with a straight face. “I got it. Just get to the extraction point, I’ll meet you there.” he ordered, pointing to Leon with a brow perked up. Leon shook his head. “No, I’m not letting you do that.” he stepped forward, placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. Y/N furrowed his brow at the touch. Leon had never showed affection in any way, especially going as far as touching.

“Don’t fight me on this, please.” Y/N replied, not missing a beat. “Go. Go now, I got this.” he waved them off, seeing as the villagers began to approach. Leon swallowed, taking in a sharp breath. He looked back at Ashley, her face filled with concern and confusion. She needed to get out of here.

Reluctantly, he did what Y/N was asking for. He trusted Y/N. He barely ever got into actual trouble when it came to combat. He was a very good fighter, and he can hold himself. Leon trusted that he would be okay. He turned around, grabbing onto Ashley’s hand as they approached the other exit of the cave. “Don’t die on me!” yelled Leon, picking up his pace, Ashley following in his footsteps.

Y/N gave him a slight cocky smirk. “Kennedy, I wouldn’t dare.”

The last thing that Leon heard as they ran out was an exploding gunshot, ringing through the chamber of the cave. Leon and Ashley’s footsteps pounded down on the wood below them, hunting for a ladder to take them to a speedboat that was docked below them. Leon’s brain essentially went on autopilot, pushing things aside and carrying whatever until they had found the boat.

Ashley hopped in first, sitting herself down on one of the benches while Leon was in charge of the motor. The sun shined onto the lake, reflecting onto Leon’s face. Leon grabbed onto the wood pull, yanking it at full force until the engine had started to run. He let out a sigh of relief that there was still gas in the boat from when he was riding in it earlier.

Leon drove the boat away from the dock, leading it down the lake to where the extraction point was. Ashley looked to Leon with a glint of concern in her eye. “Is he gonna be okay?” she asked, leaning over slightly to look at the structure they had just ran from. Leon pursed his lips. “He’s a tough guy. He can take them.” he muttered.

Ashley nodded. It went quiet again, the only thing they could here was the low hum of the boat and the waves crashing against it. It was so calm. “Are you guys close?” she asked. “You seem to have a good back and forth.” She giggled quietly, a small smile spreading across her face. Leon let out of a short breath from his nose, sharing the same small smile.

“He hates me.” he replied. “But he… He’s smart. He’s strong, and he can handle himself. That’s what you need to be in this line of work.” he continued, feeling a slight twinge of that fuzz forming in his chest again. Ashley narrowed her eyes a bit. She was trying to analyze Leon’s face, trying to figure out what tone he was speaking in. She had spotted a slight shade of pink spread across his cheeks. A smug grin spread across her face.

She folded one leg over the other. “Do you like him?” she asked. Leon furrowed his brows slightly, tilting his head to the right. “He gets on my nerves sometimes. But… he saved my life. Many times. I kinda owe it to like him.” he explained, slowing the speed of the boat down as they neared the dock. Ashley nodded. “You should tell him that. Might lighten the tension.”

Leon stared back at her, staying silent for a short second. “Yeah, I probably should.”

The two got out of the boat, heading to the spot where Ashley would be taken to safety. They had rushed through a path they had sputtered, getting through the tall blades of grass and scruffy tree leaves until they had reached the location. Leon lifted his hand to the chip in his ear, pressing down on it. “Rooster, Condor One, do you read me?”

The phone held static until the voice from the other line replied. “Yes. Update on Baby Eagle?” asked the woman. Leon looked over to Ashley. “Safe and waiting at the extraction point.” he answered. “Good, and Venus?” she questioned. Leon furrowed his brows. Of course, it didn’t take too long before he put two and two together. Venus was Y/N. “On his way.”

“Good. We’re sending the chopper down now. Rooster out.”

The reception went dull. Leon looked up above him, heaving the sound of propellers whipping against the air. A large metal helicopter was floating above them, slowly lowering. Both Leon and Ashley backed up as it slowly came to a hover above the ground, whipping their blonde hair into a frenzy. Leon nodded at Ashley. “Go ahead.” he yelled out, trying to make his voice louder than the wind. Ashley seemed hesitant, but followed his instructions, walking into the helicopter, finding herself a seat and buckling herself in. Leon was about to follow, but his phone began to ring again. Two fingers against the chip, he picked up the phone.

“Condor One! Venus got captured!” Hunnigan shouted from the other side. Leon’s heart dropped.

“What?” he asked. He didn’t believe it. He promised that he was going to come back. He never got beat.

“We lost track of him! Best location we have is at the castle.” she breathed. “Don’t wait for him- We’re gonna send a rescue team. Just get on the helicopter and go!” she called.

Leon scoffed. He backed away from the helicopter. He was not in his right mind for thinking about what he was going to do, but it was for solidarity. He was not going to leave a man who saved him from near death to die. That’s just cruel. “No, don’t send the backup. I can save him.” he shouted over the wind.

Hunnigan sighed. “Leon, don’t! Just go!”

“Not a chance.” he uttered. He hung up the phone, taking it out of his ear and shoving it into his pocket. Ashley stared at him with a confused glance. Leon walked closer to the helicopter, yelling to both Ashley and the pilot. “Leave without me!” he shouted.

Ashley furrowed her brows. “What? No!” she yelled back. Leon shook his head. He motioned to the pilot and gave him the go-ahead. The pilot did as Leon instructed and began to lift the vehicle back up into the air. “Leon!” Ashley yelled. “Leon!!” she cried out. She continued to yell until Leon couldn’t even hear her anymore. He clenched his fists, turning back to the dark path. He was going to save Y/N, even if it was the last thing he would do.

A soft, empty sob ran throughout the room. Brick wall to brick wall, this was a chamber of pain that had been made Y/N’s home. Each whip, each wound, it was all because he took two away from their salvation.

The room was dark, leaking droplets of rain hitting the floor at random times, driving Y/N insane every time he heard it. The only light was a candle in the far corner of the room, It flickered on and off from time to time, lighting back up only when it was dire. Y/N’s consciousness was acting the same way.

On and off, back on for when a white blinding pain had washed over him. Weather it was boiling water or a slash to his face, he would wake up for a momentary moment of pain. His already scarred body was going to become much more crowded.

He had been kicked and bruised, stabbed and slashed, water boarded and shook back awake. The worst pain of them all was the drowning hopelessness that had washed over his body. He fought so hard. He tried so hard to kill them all, to protect the people he was made to save, but he failed. His failure was something that he couldn’t stand, because for a moment, he let himself be distracted. He let his guard down. If he had a second chance, he would never, ever let his guard down again.

He knew that this was it for him. It was sort of freeing in a way, knowing that he didn’t have to try anymore, but he was still upset. His cheeks were stained with tears, which stung the large gashes that were on his face. He couldn’t feel it anymore, though.

His entire body felt chilled. His shirt was taken off, along with his bulky jacket. He was freezing, and his blood continued to freeze and crack, and freeze and crack, making it even more painful to try and wiggle out. His arms were lifted above his head, ripping the skin on his wrists with the shackles. He was forced onto his knees, which had lost all feeling in them at this point. He didn’t have any energy left to cry out, to ask for help. He could see the key hung against the door leading out of the castle. He was so close, but it was just out of his reach. He was going to die here.

A creaking was heard at the door. Y/N let out a short mumble of nothing, preparing himself for more suffering. The small line of light almost filled the room, almost shining onto all of Y/N’s deep wounds. Y/N didn’t even try to lift his head, instead he let himself fade.

“Y/N?” asked the man at the door.

Leon made it. He pushed through so many guards, killed so many just to save Y/N.

“Y/N!” he shouted.

As the door closed behind him, Leon got a full look at what had happened to the man he was going to save. Coated head to toe, there was cuts, deep deep cuts, that lined all of his veins. Bruises covered all of his areas, mainly around the ribs and legs, making it clear he wouldn’t be able to move on his own. Burn marks and blisters lined his shoulders, still somewhat raw. His nose was bloodied, along with slashes across his face that led down to his neck. His neck was covered in ligature marks, completely darkened. It was a bleak sight to see.

Leon’s breath turned very frantic as his hands began to shake. Was he too late? Y/N wasn’t moving at all. He wasn’t responding to his calls. He had to wake him up.

Leon rushed up to Y/N and tried to get him to look up. He yelled his name over and over, progressively getting more concerned. But the one thing, the one shout that got Y/N to wake up was simple. “It’s me! It’s Leon!” He pounded on his chest, trying his hardest. Y/N’s hand twitched.

Y/N’s eyes slowly opened, flickering as they met with Leon. He didn’t have the energy to smile, all he could do was let out the most hollow, dull laugh. It was still his laugh, though. That’s all that mattered to Leon. “Leon?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His vocal chords had been damaged from the strangling he went through earlier, making it hurt every time he dared to make a sound.

“Yeah, Yeah! It’s me, I’m gonna get you outta here, alright?” Leon asked, a smile returning back to his face. “I just gotta find a thing to break these chains.” Y/N breathed from his nose. “No, Leon. Don’t.” he muttered.

Y/N felt useless. Hopeless, dead. “I’ll just…” he trailed off, trying to fight off the urge to fall back asleep. “I’m not worth it. Please, just go.” he mumbled, looking back down towards the floor. Leon swallowed, shaking his head. He grabbed onto Y/N’s jaw, forcing their eyes to lock once again. Y/N’s we’re half lidded.

“No,” Leon rejected the idea. “No, Y/N. There have been so many times where you saved my ass, so I’m paying back the favor. We’re both gonna make it back in one piece.” he chanted, darting around the room, looking for the keys to unlock him. Y/N didn’t have the energy to protest. He just listened.

Leon hated it. He was so used to Y/N fighting back, the arguing. He missed it. He needed it, he needed to hear it. He needed to hear Y/N’s voice. It drove him to be better. If he abandoned him, what would be the point? He finally locked eyes with the keys on the back of the door. It was hung on a metal rod sticking out from the wooden door, which he was quick to grab.

Y/N’s body shivered. Leon looked him up and down. He knew it wasn’t the time, but this was the first time he had seen Y/N without any bulky gear on, he had to admit that it was impressive. But he was off task. He grabbed onto the shackles on Y/N’s wrists and jammed the key into them, turning them until they had fallen, swinging back and forth from the chain they were hooked too. Once both hands were free, Leon looked down to Y/N.

Y/N was a big guy. He was very bulky, and it would be a little difficult to carry, but Leon was always up for a challenge. “Leon, please.” Y/N mumbled, watching as the blonde hooked his arms underneath his back, bringing him up into his arms. Leon let out a small grunt, ignoring the plea and continuing on with his mission.

Y/N’s blood leaked onto Leon’s clothes, coating his blue compression shirt in maroon. Leon made sure to support the back of Y/N’s head as he walked back over to the door. “Stay awake for me, Y/N.” he ordered, looking down at Y/N. He didn’t reply.

Leon kicked the door open, his sight filled with men in black cloaks, all staring at him.

“You have got to be kidding me.” He uttered.

All he could do was run. He ran as fast as he could, the large corridor echoing back every single footstep. Shouts were heard from the men behind him, but he ignored them. All the needed to do was make sure that Y/N was safe. That’s all he needed. He continued to run, kicking up some of the carpets and getting scratched by some of their weapons. It had continued until he finally had reached the large doors that marked the entrance.

Since his hands were occupied, he pushed his back against the golden plated wood, bumping them open just enough that he and Y/N could slip through. He looked down at the man in his arms, double checking that Y/N was still awake. He was. Thank god.

He stumbled down the staircase, all the way down to the dock at the base of the grass. He looked behind him, there were many villagers chasing after him. He let out another angry breath from his nose before hopping his way to the edge of the dock. He jumped into the boat, setting Y/N down onto the seat next to him, coated in sand and dirt. It stung, but Y/N didn’t say anything. He was too tired.

Leon grabbed onto the wooden pull, grabbing onto it and throwing his entire body weight into pulling on it. The boat started, the loud engine almost stirring Y/N back awake. The boat was on, he grabbed onto the steering rod and pressed on the gas, leaving the castle and all those who resides beside it in the horizon.

And finally, there was peace.

Y/N leaned against Leon for stability, his head resting on the blondes shoulder. He stared into the sun. His wounds stopped hurting for a little bit as he felt Leon’s hand snake around his waist. He smiled.

“Leon.” Y/N said. “That was really stupid.” he chuckled softly, letting his eyes shut. Leon laughed along with him, finally feeling a sense of calm. “I know it was.” he replied, letting the boat slow down a little bit, almost to a stop. The sun finally let Y/N be a little warm. That’s all he wanted. Leon and the sun made him warm.

Leon looked at Y/N, his lips pursing into a smile. “I do like you, Y/N.” he started. “I like you a lot.” he blurted. “You make me want to be better at what I do. That’s impressive.” he laughed softly. Y/N felt a slight fuzz form in his stomach, just like butterflies. He never gets compliments. It was nice.

“I like you too, Leon.” Y/N uttered. “There’s a reason why I let you touch me.” he joked, looking at Leon with a perked eyebrow. Leon shook his head slightly. “Yeah? What’s that?” he asked. Y/N rolled his eyes softly. “The same reason I macked faces with you.” he laughed, rubbing his hands against his eyes. Leon furrowed his brows slightly. “I thought you did that because you were mad at me?”

Y/N scratched the side of his nose, trying to avoid a huge cut that was next to it. “I did. But I just… I don’t know. I was so scared that if I told you I liked you like that you’d report me or something, so I just…” He trailed off, shaking himself awake again. “I pushed it down. I never thought of it, and to make sure I didn’t act on it I stayed away from you. And I made you stay away from me.”

Leon listened, planting his hand down on Y/N’s waist. “Huh.” he huffed. He didn’t really know what to say to that. It obviously was a shock to hear that, but what was he supposed to say? He didn’t know. He just let himself talk.

“Would you wanna be my partner?” asked Leon.

Y/N perked up. “Like boyfriend?” he questioned, slightly surprised at the sudden offer. Leon shook his head.

“No, no, not…” he paused. “I mean like, my assignment partner. We go on missions together.” he elaborated. “Like a package duo.”

Y/N thought about it. They did make a really, really good team. No matter how often they butt heads, they are efficient. Now that they didn’t feel the need to argue, they could be ruthless. He looked back to Leon with a a smile.

“Yeah, sure.” he nodded.

Leon grinned. “Cool.”

The two had gone quiet again. They stared at the sky together. It was a surprisingly romantic moment for the situation that had just occurred. It made Leon start to think it over again. He tilted his head back slightly, taking in a deep breath. “I wouldn’t mind being your boyfriend, too.”

Y/N shut his eyes, a small grin spreading across his lips. “Yeah. I wouldn’t mind that either.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #leon kennedy #male reader #resident evil #x male reader #leon kennedy x m!reader #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #re4 leon #leon x reader #leon kennedy x male reader #leon s kennedy x male reader #leon s kennedy x m!reader #cute #fluff #hurt comfort #hurt/comfort #angst #horror #m!reader #x reader #y/n #part 2 #torture #they’re happy at the end #oneshot #one shot

[blurrycow]

The Night Is Young And So Are We

Tws: vivid descriptions of gore, cursing

two fics?? in one day??? completed no less??? omg

basically a lil Death Cure au of tua after the sparrows. maze runner fans you know what im talking about

major character death btw, if you dont wanna read that this is not for you

lol chickadee beta’d this and immediately went ’i wanna kill you’

word count: 988 (still under 1k, sob)

taglist: @assaily, @conchshell, @stupidcanofpeaches, @burnmyself, @jbd302020, @sharkneto, @hargreef (bobee i see you are online again and i am determined to befriend every single good tua writer/content maker on this site so.. if you dont mind the tag)

“Come on, Five,” Viktor pleads, but Five only presses his hand closer to his chest. Viktor can feel all of his ribs through his shirt. Five is so skinny. How did he not see it before? Who knows how long it’s been since he ate? Since he sat down and took a break? How long has it been since he’s gotten a shower or relaxed?

“Just do it,” His brother begs, holding his hand like a lifeline against his heart, and Viktor stops short. Five never begs. He’s aloof. He’s prideful. He’s cold. But above all, he does not beg. 

Viktor swallows and shakes his head. “I can’t.” He’s not lying. The cold pierces through the night like a sharp knife, gleaming and hard, the type of cut that you don’t notice until you’re bleeding out on the floor. 

Five’s eyes grow hard and cold, the greenish blue laced with anger and pain. Viktor is startled by their intensity. “Just do it,” he repeats, and his voice is shaking slightly, warm breath releasing in pale grey puffs into the light of the streetlamp and the dark road. A place for a nighttime stroll or midnight donut run. Not a place for a killing. Not a place for a suicide. 

Viktor feels the tears coming, but he swallows down the lump in his throat. “I don’t know why.” Maybe he can prolong this. Maybe if he makes Five explain, he can talk him down.

Five shuts his eyes, lashes fluttering on pale cheeks. Viktor can feel his heartbeat, pounding shakily but holding steady. “Because the Commission implanted a disease in my brain.” 

“And what does this disease do?” Viktor grills desperately, hoping with all of his will that his siblings are coming soon. If anyone can help Five it would be Allison’s rumors or Luther’s strength, or Diego’s knives and Klaus’s wit. They would all be so much better in this situation.

“It makes me want to destroy you,” Five says, opening his eyes again, and they are very shiny, like an ocean in the sunlight. “It makes me want to kill you all and myself, so I’d rather you get it over with before I have to kill all of you.”

The night is quiet. A gust of wind chills Viktor to the bone. He’s never felt this cold in his life. “You’re my brother. I can’t hurt you.”

Five lets go of Viktor’s hand, suddenly feral, savage, a wild boy turned rabid. He grows teeth, snaps, snarls. “You have to, Viktor! If you don’t kill me, I’ll kill you! It’s a kill or be killed world, and the only thing to do is kill me, because you can’t die, not when I’ve been working my whole damn life to keep you alive!” 

Viktor is silent.

“You did it once. You can do it again.” 

That’s what does it. That’s what fells the final blow. Viktor remembers the agony, the anger, the lash, the worry. 

He’d killed his family. Five’s time spent in the apocalypse was his fault. 

Viktor has to put him out of his misery. 

He stares at this boy, this boy that is not the same as he remembers, and Five is spitting and maniacal, shouting something about how Viktor needs to kill him, to just channel his power and blow his brains out, but Viktor has stopped listening.

There’s really no other choice but to kill Five, then. To kill the only brother he’s ever really loved. 

How sad is that? How tragic must the Hargreeves be to be put into situation after situation, and now their backbone is offing himself at Viktor’s hand?

But time stops for no one, not even the Master of Time, and Five is already foaming at the mouth, hungry and ready for blood, and Viktor has to choose: does he want to die or does he want Five to live?

Five slams Viktor’s hand against his chest again, weakly, like he’s running out of steam. “I told you why. Now do it quick.” His eyes are bloodshot and pained, and glistening with something that looks like tears. But it can’t be tears. Five Hargreeves never cries. Crying is too weak. Crying is too human. 

And Five Hargreeves isn’t human. He’s a cold, unfeeling killer. This is what the world has shaped him to be. 

“You goddamn coward,” Five whispers, and Viktor goes over the edge, toppling into the dark pit of oblivion, past his soundproof chamber and critical whispers and into the shadows where it is dark and cold and black, and there he sees a boy, standing alone. He is holding a leash empty of pets, and his hair is dark and unruly and falling in a curtain over his face. The boy is small and short, with icy blue eyes far too intelligent for his face, and he is wearing a blue uniform piped with red. The boy opens his mouth, and blood spills out over his teeth, staining them red, dripping down his chin in lazy rivers. The leash drops from his hand, and Viktor hears his own voice within the boy’s declaration- kill him. 

He flies back to the present where things are overwhelmingly hot and Five is back in front of him and the streetlights gleam pale fluorescents and the wind whistles like a cheery barber and Viktor is filled with a strong and sudden conviction that this is what he is supposed to do. 

He’s gotta be a good brother, right?

He nods, looks at his brother. Five nods back, mouth in a tightly pained grimace. They both know what comes next, and although later the guilt will come, the overwhelming loneliness and hurt and shame, for now Viktor can only see the fact of what is happening right now and what will come. 

He unleashes his power in a burst of blue white, and the world is bathed in pale light.

#Five Hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #tua #the umbrella academy #fanfic #whump #major character death #tw descriptions of gore

[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.”

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #tw blood #tw self harm #tw cannibalism #blood blood blood oops #I wrote this instead of sleeping because my hands cannot be stopped #typeity type type type #sorry if the formatting is off #i'm trying the new editor or whatever #if it's fucked I'll fix it whenever I wake up

[shih-coulda-had-it]

50 from the kisses list romantic and platonic with anyone u want

ok i know using second-person is like... a Sign of Previous Fandom Behaviors, but it also broke the block regarding this piece, so i have no apologies.

50. kisses with their last dying breath | wc: 988

a/n: This is Third's pov over duo holders' entire (lack of?) thing, and also the first traumatizing pass of OFA to a new holder. Yoichi's wounds are not explicitly listed, but, uh. Yoichi does die in this one. If there are vibes of pining from Third (named Sanjuro, btw), then... well, wouldn't YOU expect there to be some next-level pining with a second-in-command that's third in line to be an OFA holder?

//

Your head is ringing in the aftermath of the explosion; one moment, Yoichi’s teasing the leader about the new scar (“I think,” Yoichi had said, blithely, “that men with scarred faces are hot,” to your immense consternation because the resistance needed the leader functioning, not fixated on Yoichi’s flirtations), and the next--

You’re lucky that the kitchen’s equipped with a pantry, and that the walls here are reinforced by all the shelves. The trap doesn’t hold you for long; what worries you more is the status of the leader who holds this resistance together, and the man who’s become more adept than you at holding the leader together.

You cannot afford to lose them.

“Taicho,” you croak, flexing your hand once, twice, ten times before shoving at the rubble. Your joints creak at using Fa Jin; hopefully, the leader will be able to blast an exit open. “Yoichi--!”

“Stop, Sanjuro,” the leader orders, and you obey, freezing at the sound of rising panic. Straining your ears, you hear: “You’re okay, you’re okay, just breathe with me…”

“What’s wrong?”

“A building dropped on top of us,” says Yoichi in a wheeze.

“Yoichi, stop talking,” says the leader. He talks over the snappish backtalk, even as it descends into a feverish mutter. “Sanjuro, find the first aid kit. Take care when moving.”

“Understood,” you say, but as you try to map out where you last stored the first aid kit (Yoichi used it, didn’t he? Spindly fingers soaking cotton balls in disinfectant, and then dabbing gingerly at the bleeding injury on the leader’s hangdog face. The leader refused any attempts at stitches), Yoichi lets out a hitched cry.

“He’s coming,” Yoichi gasps. “He’s coming.”

“You can tell?”

“There’s a--there’s a feeling--”

The leader interrupts, “He won’t get you. I promise.”

“Easy promise to make,” says Yoichi. “I’m dying. No b-better protection than that.” There is a terrible silence, broken only by your desperate scrabbling at the remains of a caved-in ceiling. It’s blocking the cupboard where the first aid kit had been tossed.

First this, and then prying your way into whatever hollow the leader and Yoichi are squished in. Simplest two-step process in the world.

“Sanjuro.”

“I’m going,” you say, fingertips beginning to leave blood stains where they tear at wooden floorboards and crumbling plaster.

“Take your time,” Yoichi calls out. Is his voice getting weaker? His constitution is awful, both you and the leader learned this when flu season descended, and Yoichi stayed ill for the entire winter instead of shaking it off like the rest of them.

“We’ll get out of this,” the leader promises, and his voice is low and aching, a tender vulnerability that you’re fairly certain you’re not meant to hear.

“It’s nice to hear you being the optimistic one for a change.”

A grunt of assent precedes the lapse into silence; you grab the miraculously intact kit and restart the arduously delicate process of shifting rubble. Their voices had come from this direction; it fits with your mental map, sort of.

“You guys have to talk,” you say, throat dry. “Can’t exactly see through the walls.”

“Captain Hero could see through walls,” says Yoichi immediately. You picture the leader’s face screwing into an expression of ‘ah shit, he’s a nerd.’ You sympathize. Yoichi’s taste in literature is absurdly shallow with not a manifesto or doctrine under his belt. “Th-that’s how he rescued the Good Witch from the labyrinth.”

“Captain Hero has too many powers,” the leader comments.

“He has just enough to defeat the Lord of Evil. That’s the point. And--and they weren’t all awesome, at least not at first--” Yoichi descends into a hacking, coughing fit. It sounds wet and muffled, and the leader retracts his contrary attitude, saying, “Alright, alright, breathe--just breathe with me, okay--Yoichi, please--”

The frantic pleading is the thread you follow, carving your own path in blind hope that you will get there in time. Eventually, you crouch and dig, and dig, and dig--

A reedy murmur of the leader’s name. An even quieter question, but this one you get to hear: “Do you think you could have loved me?”

You still your movements, holding your breath, eyes wide and unseeing at what has to be the final obstacle.

“Like--” the leader’s voice breaks. “Like… marriage-love?”

“Check yes or no.”

The leader laughs, a little hysterical. “I do. I have, Yoichi. Yes, yes and no, because it’s not a matter of do I think I could have.”

“Oh,” says Yoichi. “Alright then. No harm, no foul.”

You let them have this moment for five seconds, painstakingly counting out each one in your head. And then you flex your hand, clenching it into a fist on repeat until Fa Jin feels like electricity, like a rubber band pulled too tight. Under the sound of your rushing pulse, you hear a the sound of a soft kiss, a whispered name--

Ripping away the cover shielding their little corner of the world (it’s the goddamn loveseat from the living room upstairs, of course it is), you’re too hastily sliding in close with the first aid kit to register the scene.

There’s blood on the leader’s lips, desolation in his eyes as they are fixed below where Yoichi is sprawled against his chest. Yoichi’s head is tucked down, eyes shut, bitter relief creasing his mouth into a smile.

Reflexively, the leader’s tongue swipes the blood clean away; instead of spitting it out, though, the leader swallows, hard, and looks nauseous. Uncertain. He looks to you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, hoarse.

“He was dead the second we took him out of All for One’s vault,” the leader responds, like he’s trying to convince himself. “He was dead the moment he caught the flu and told us he’d skipped out on two decades’ worth of booster shots.”

“Taicho.”

The leader shudders. “Not now, Sanjuro. It’s--it’s time to go.”

You bow your head. “Understood, taicho.”

#bnha #duo holders #third ofa user #second ofa user #shigaraki yoichi #shih.txt #anon #asks #i hate coming up with names i hate coming up with names #horikoshi drop the holders' profiles. i'm no longer asking politely. #ahhh this was initially in afo's pov y'know! #but i hit a stalling point #so i trashed like 300 words #and went 'huh. how do i do an outsider pov--THIRD.' #i think it's pretty funny if yoichi's taste in literature is trash btw #then he'd be like: 😳 omg... i'm being stolen away... #and second goes: wth you took my hand. you chose this. #first: omg haha are you gonna take me as a war prize #(don't get me wrong. first is smart. he can read the room. #it's also just that... y'know... he IS being rescued by handsome men)

[s-serendipit-y]

weak s/o almost killed - gundham, kazuichi, korekiyo, mondo

anonymous asked: Hello there! I'm wondering if you could do Mondo, Gundham, Korekiyo and Kazuichi rescuing their shy/weak s/o from being killed by one of the other students. I love your work, btw!

a/n: thank you so much! i’m happy you like what i write :))

also i left the attacker unnamed so it’s up to your imagination who it can be :)

mentions of violence with weapons

——— gundham tanaka

it was almost bedtime when you decided to go to rocketpunch market before meeting with gundham

during your time on the island you and gundham had grown close. very close.

and now you were staying the night at gundham’s cottage since he claims that “mortals like you shouldn’t be alone.”

you open the door to the market walking towards your favorite snacks.

as you started grabbing the last few things you wanted you heard the door open

“hello...?” you called out, hoping for an answer

soft footsteps echoed throughout the building stopping at the aisle before yours

you could hear your heartbeat in your ears too scared to even move.

then the person came into view holding a sharpened piece of wood

“…please, you don’t have to do this-“ you muttered

“i want to leave, s/o.” they said stepping closer, “and you’re the easiest target.”

you dropped the contents in your hand attempting to run past them but they grabbed your wrist tossing you on the ground

you back slammed into one of the shelves, tears filling your eyes as you looked up seeing them standing over for you.

“what the hell are you doing?”

you recognized that voice, relief washed over you as your attacker runs off in the opposite direction

gundham kneels down next to you, “where were you? i swear, making an overlord wait...”

you pull gundham into a hug stopping him mid sentence, “thank you for finding me, there’s no telling what would’ve happened if-“

“there's no point in saying that” gundham pulls himself out of your hug, helping you stand up.

you both leave the market not saying another word about what could’ve happened

——— kazuichi soda

you were alone in your cottage, waiting for kazuichi to arrive

you two had grown pretty close and you invited him to come to your cottage after bedtime which he quickly agreed to

you were setting up the snacks you got earlier on your bed when you heard a knock on your door

“kazuichi you’re here early.” you chuckle opening the door

but it wasn’t the pink haired mechanic, but one of the other students standing at your door.

they were hiding something behind their back a blank expression on their face

“oh! um, did you need something?” you ask hiding part of your body behind the door

“i heard you were meeting with kazuichi today.” they said, you nod

“umm yeah… but he’s not here yet.” you admit.

“can i come in?” they request

“sorry but i’m actually busy right now-“ you go to close the door but they stop it with their foot.

they forced themselves into your cottage revealing the knife they had behind their back

“i’m gonna kill you s/o, and blame it on kazuichi.” they say

they raise the knife at you slightly cutting your arm as the knife came down quickly

you run towards the bathroom trying to lock yourself in the there but they start pushing on that door too

you try to match their strength to keep it closed but to no avail. the door flies open and you fall on the ground.

they say nothing as they raise the knife once more

“hey! leave s/o alone!” you hear the pink hair male yell at the entrance of the bathroom door.

you attacker turns around the color draining from their face. they push past kazuichi running out of the cottage.

“s/o! are you okay, i’m so sorry!” he says quickly sitting down next to you. “you’re bleeding, i’ll go get mikan!”

you grab his wrist, stopping him, “no please just stay here with me. i don’t want to be alone.”

“well what about your arm?” he mutters

you grab a towel wrapping it around the cut, “thank you for saving me,” you say quietly

kazuichi smiles, “well it’s not like i want you to die s/o! maybe we should tell the others and have them tied up.”

——— korekiyo shinguji

you were going to korekiyo’s ultimate lab, it was already past bedtime so the grass filled school was dark

you were coming close to the last set of stairs when an arrow went right past your head.

you spun around and saw a silhouette of one of the other students holding an weapon from a ultimate lab.

“w-what are you doing…?” you stuttered your back hitting the wall.

the staircase was right next to you, if you were fast enough you could probably run but they would most likely catch you.

“my family is waiting for me, i need to know if they’re okay.” they loaded another arrow aiming it at you, “i truly hope you’ll forgive me.”

before they hit the trigger you take off up the stairs, dragging your hand across the wall so you don’t fall. however before you reach the top, you’re attacker grabs your ankle pulling you down the stairs the loud thumping of your body echoing throughout the stair case.

they stood above you pressing the weapon your forehead.

“i’ll try to make it a quick as possible,” they mutter

“if you do that, i’ll tear out your nerves.”

they drop the weapon right by your head taking off down the dark hallway

korekiyo walks down the stairs helping you stand up, “my love are you alright?”

“i don’t- i don-“ korekiyo pulls you into a hug pressing a masked kiss to your forehead.

“it’ll be alright, i’m here to protect you.”

“can i stay in your room tonight, please.” you say in his shirt.

he laughs, “of course my dear.”

——— mondo owada

just like how celestia requested, everyone was in their rooms after the bedtime announcement.

yet you couldn’t fall asleep

monokuma has handed out everyone’s deepest darkest secrets and seeing yours made your blood turn cold

you opened the door to your room, hoping that mondo wasn’t asleep yet.

just like him and kiyotaka, you two grew close and if there was one person you could trust, it was definitely him.

the hallway was dark as you made your way down to his but as you got closer you heard a door open behind you.

“what are you doing out here s/o?” they asked.

you smile, “oh um- i’m just gonna go see someone real quick. why are you out here?” you asked back hesitantly

the shrug, “the new motive has put a lot on my mind.” you silently agree with their statement

“well i’ll be heading off now,” you turn around to go to your destination but a hand on your shoulder stops you.

“i never wanted anything to come to this.” they mutter their grip tightening

“c-come to what?” you ask even though you dreaded the answer

they say nothing pushing you against the wall between two dorm doors, their hands wrap around your neck cutting off your breathing

your hands grip theirs trying to pry them off you but you weren’t strong enough, you tried to gasp for air but to no avail.

right before your vision was filled with darkness your attacker was punched in the face falling onto the ground as you fell too.

you rubbed your neck looking up to see mondo, his entire face red out of anger as he looks as you attacker.

“i should kill you,” he hissed bring his fist to hit them again.

“n-no... stop…” you weakly get out reaching out towards the male.

he looks back at you, his expression softening. the attacker takes off back to their dorm. “you alright?” he asks kneeling down to look at you.

you shrug, saying nothing continuing to run your throat.

mondo sighs, “what were you doing out of your dorm anyways?”

“to see you, i couldn’t sleep.” you say quietly

he turns away from you to cover his flustered face, “just be more careful next time, i might not always be here to protect you. alright?”

you nod and he helps you up going into his dorm room, helping you sit on his bed.

“get some sleep,” he says, “i’ll be right here if you need me.”

#danganronpa imagines #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa headcanons #v3 x reader #dr2 x reader #mondo x reader #korekiyo x reader #kazuichi soda x reader #gundham x reader

[pinkcatharsis]

I dunno if I should legit continue this because I can’t remember where I was going with it. Read a prompt at @sloaners anon or a comment in one of their posts (fantastic art btw go check it out!) about Tsunade adopting a bb Tenzou and well. I wrote this and it’s unfinished and yeah.

I actually don’t even have a title for it. Was supposed to be an eventual YamaIru, too. Oh well!

—

Names have power, they say.

Tenzou can agree to a certain point because his experience from his missions, his targets, countless reconnaissance on high profile politicians has proven that people tend to cower from the syllables of a name if they are a threat.

Names carry prestige more than an identity.Names give history, are the pillars for legacy provided it is a name the people can accept. More often than not, it is a vessel for fear, control

They’re also a convenient excuse for people to either sing with high praise or forget because the truth is always a pill too hard to swallow.

Sometimes it lies ignored despite its great sacrifice to stop a rampaging monster, when the womb still bleeds fresh and a goodbye too soon falls from crimson lips. It is ignored because it is easier to hate someone helpless than to acknowledge a name that saved everyone.

Sometimes it is indifferent, distant, as cold as the unreadable, white irises of its clansmen.

Sometimes it lies abandoned, walls cracking, dust collecting over blood stained tatami mats where the weight of shame fueled enough strength to slice through flesh. Shame because of a choice to save one’s comrades as opposed to prioritising the mission.

Sometimes it is soaking in blood, whispers of its massacre echoing loud, and towards the end of it, the word traitor.

And sometimes, they’re just old, only remembered through history that is a core subject within the Academy walls, a prerequisite in terms of knowledge for every Konoha shinobi. They’re faded, scattered, heirless, visually only present through the carvings of stone that towers over the village.

Tenzou is conditioned to not pay any heed to something as trivial as a name. Not when he’s been conditioned, trained extremely well, that the only thing that matters is servitude to the village. That the name Konoha is the only thing of true value.

Greater people have sacrificed themselves for the good of village and now, their heir wanders Konoha’s walls shunned, sneered, hated, ignored. Their names hardly mattered in the present -- it’s like the Yellow Flash only exists as a tier to be achieved in terms of talent, hard work and mission success and nothing else. As if the man behind the legacy hardly existed.

Legacy means nothing, Tenzou realizes, in the grand scheme of things.

When you die, you just die.

It’s okay to die nameless.

*

Tenzou hears about Tsunade’s arrival tucked behind the cover of an open locker door. Apparently, Tsunade-hime is in the village for a visit. And like always, she has spent her first day sitting with her former sensei, having tea until she had flung the table across the room, out the window in a fit of uncontrolled, roiling rage.

“I think it’s because sandaime is asking her to stay,” one fellow ANBU says.

“No, it’s got something to do with her gambling debt for sure,” another says.

“Monkey says it has something to do with the council pressuring her to produce an heir,” a softer voice says.

“I thought she couldn’t?”

“Or she doesn’t want to?”

The conversation explodes, only coming to a sudden stop when the sound of a door opening puts a halt on the outright gossip that Tenzou shamefully has been eavesdropping on. Someone dares throw a table out the window in front of the Hokage? And the Hokage does nothing? Tenzou thinks back to Danzou an Root -- if any of them dared show such insubordination, that would mean at least half a day’s worth of lashings under the scorching sun and then dry fasting isolation for thirty-six hours. Not many tend to survive that but that would just mean they’re too weak to remain in Root, anyway.

“Don’t you guys have better things to do?” Kakashi’s voice cuts through with a drawl. It is followed by a series of locker doors shutting, rapid shuffling and then silence. “Oi, Tenzou. The Hokage needs you.”

Tenzou straightens, tugging his clean armor on and running a comb through his damp hair. He slams his locker shut and gives his senpai a wordless nod, acknowledging the summon.

*

A summon that suddenly renders him not so nameless anymore.

Tsunade is a towering figure, heals almost five inches high, back straight, eyebrows narrowed, hands on her hip and staring down at him like he’s a two year old.

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen,” Tenzou responds, keeping perfectly still. He isn’t intimidated by Tsunade’s persona. He’s just feeling a little too awkward because if Tsunade leaned any closer to examine him, her breasts would be ten centimeters too close to his face to be called professional, let alone proper.

“You are awfully small for a fourteen year old,” Tsunade tartly says, almost disappointed.

“I am a hundred and twenty nine and a half centimeters,” Tenzou agrees, well aware of how stunted his growth is. Danzou always factored his slow growth to the radiation and chemical exposure, a side effect to the experimentation Tenzou miraculously survived. But small doesn’t mean weak, Danzou had said, one of the few times he had been encouraging.

“Do you even eat, boy?” Tsunade scoffs.

“Yes. Five meals a day when I am in the village, continuously supplemented by calorically dense ration bars that Danzou-sama advised to--”

“Hah! Which one -- the one that tastes like sweet wet newspaper or the one that tastes like mouldy bread?” Tsunade snorts.

Tenzou finds himself stammering a little, glancing a little cluelessly at the Sandaime who is taking a very, very long drag from his pipe. Tenzou’s mouth quickly clamps shut before he can voice out his confusion. He can’t honestly say he knows what mouldy bread tastes like nor can he say he’s actually tried eating wet newspaper, let alone a sweetened one. So he goes with what he thinks is the correct response to this kind of inquiry. “The N-4150?”

“Sweet, wet newspaper. At least that old fart chose the better formula.” Tsunade rolls her eyes before taking - thank heavens - a proper step back.

Tenzou blinks once, altering between Tsunade now very put-upon expression and the Sandaime who is standing there as if he were part of the book shelf. “Hokage-sama, should I not continue consuming the N-4150?”

Sandaime rumbles an amused noise, blowing out a slow stream of tobacco smoke before he stands, rounding the table. “Why don’t you demonstrate your Mokuton skills for Tsunade, Tenzou? After all, that is the reason you were summoned here.”

It gets another eyeroll, with a bit of a scoff from Tsunade, who crosses her arms under her breasts.

“Yes, Hokage-sama,” Tenzou acknowledges.

He puts his hands together, channels just enough chakra and forms a small pot in his hands, slowly filling it with roots coiling until it sprouts green leaves, topped with large, black centered white poppies.

“Oh, white poppies,” Sandaime smiles, his face wrinkling. “An interesting choice. You see, Tsunade, Tenzou here has been studying botany for a year now. He’s a bit of an artist with his gardening. Tenzou, didn’t you recently start studying architecture as well?”

“I have only started reading some reference books three months ago, Hokage-sama,” Tenzou responds, with a bit of a nod, as his fingers tightens a little bit around the pot in his hands, not quite sure what to do with his creation-demonstration.

“Hmmm,” Sandaime hums, a touch bemused before he brings his pipe back up to his lips. “Reminds you of someone, doesn’t it, Tsunade?”

Tenzou looks at Tsunade, who in a space of a heartbeat looks far too young in a show of vulnerability, as her throat bobs when he swallows. It gets washed away when he clicks her tongue and turns to look at Tenzou, giving him a once over.

“Well, no one fucks with grandfather’s DNA, gets away with it and then keep it from me. Had it been anyone else but Danzou, Root of all places, I wouldn’t take issue! When did you discover your Mokuton skills, boy?”

“A year before I graduated from the Academy.” Tenzou swallows. “I was five years old.”

“Nine years! With that creep!” Tsuande shouts.

Sandaime’s tobacco inhale had to be the longest one Tenzou has ever seen.

Sandaime exhales, responding with a sigh, “Better late than never, hmm?”

“Fine.” Tsaunde grouches. “I’ll do it. Tenzou, you can call me okaa-san when you’re ready.”

The pot drops from Tenzou’s hands.

“Eh?”

Tenzou thinks it's a good response. Given the proverbial punch to the face he’s just received.

*

It’s not that Tenzou wants to say he cares much for the idea of family.

It’s more like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

(What does family even mean?)

So Tenzou, much like every other time he gets moved around like he’s no more than a potted plant, agrees.

Not like it really matters, right?

He thinks of it as just having another sort of… superior?

*

A superior that Tenzou apparently now gets to live with after all of those paperwork.

In a large, inherited estate, closed off, covered in wildly growing flora and fauna. The estate does not look like it’s been lived in for decades. There is damage from the growth of vines, some of it poking through the tatami doors, and getting to the interior of the house. There are a few soda cans littered around the gate, some old, some new. Likely the result of dares from the younger crowd of Konoha.

The once heralded Senju estate that Hashirama and Tobirama and their families once resided in is now nothing more than a shadow of its former glory. Uncared for. Outdated. Obsolete.

“Well,” Tsunade huffs. “I haven’t seen this place in, hmm, ten years maybe? Maybe twelve? Tche, what a dump.”

Tsunade toes an old, faded orange soda can by her heel, kicking it further away.

Tenzou wishes he’s no more than a spore in the ground. Should he say something? He may be a Senju by name and by experimental DNA, but that doesn’t really make him a Senju-Senju.

It’s just circumstances.

“Well? What do you think, kid? You like the house?” Tsunade holds her hand out at the once upon a time regal grounds, now overgrown with weeds and littered with random junk.

Tenzou looks at the estate again and decides to go with the most diplomatically acceptable response there is in this case.

“It’s a lot bigger than my apartment,” Tenzou politely responds, as his eyes stray towards the patch of wildly growing rosary pea and oleander growing by the gate.

Tsunade’s booming laughter echoes throughout the entire compound, bemused and real. She doubles over, slapping a hand on her knee, her laugh tapering off to a bit of a wheeze. It almost sounds nervous. A little hysterical even.

Tenzou tilts his head to the side, staring up at this woman, this new mother of his, a legendary sannin, one of the most if not the best, medic there is in the country.

Would it be rude to ask her if she is okay?

“Kid,” Tsunade snorts, shaking her head, reaching out to ruffle Tenzou’s long hair. “I like your sense of humor. You and I are going to get along just fine.”

*

Tsunade asks to see his apartment.

And then proceeds to wear what Tenzou can only assume is her analytical face. It’s peppered with a little judgment, too.

Tenzou’s current apartment is a shoebox in size, with enough space for a single bed, a small sectioned off wall by the door turned to a makeshift kitchen and a connecting bathroom that Tsunade, no doubt, will have to carefully manage her long limbs.

“You like it here?” Tsunade asks, her lips twisting at the sight of the old hotplate on the tiny kitchen counter.

“It serves its purpose.” Tenzou shrugs.

“That wasn’t my question,” Tsaunde prompts, turning that analytical gaze back to Tenzou.

Tenzou frowns, resisting the urge to reach up and rub the back of his head in partial confusion, partial irritation. It’s a comfortable space -- what is she on about? Having an opinion on something as trivial as a living space serves no purpose in the betterment of Tenzou’s skills in the field. It has no correlation to his successful mission counts. Liking something or anything for that matter doesn’t make missions easier or harder, either.

Unsure of how to respond, Tenzou resorts to Danzou’s advice when it comes to undercover. If you’re caught in a tight spot, the easiest thing to slip out of attention is to either blend with your surroundings or mirror the person in front of you.

Tenzou goes for the mirror, sloping his eyebrows down the same way Tsunade is, relaxing his shoulder to what looks like a wary slump, canting his head just the tiniest bit to the side, and responds with what he hopes is a conclusion to this conversation, “It’s all right.”

Tsunade goes quiet for a while, before she sighs slowly and curses under her breath.

“Let’s try this again,” Tsunade sighs, gesticulating with her hand towards the entirety of the small apartment. “What do you think would make this space better suited for you? Take into consideration that you are also currently studying botany and architecture.”

Tenzou looks at the small stack of reference books he had borrowed from the public library, how he has to do most of his reading on the bed. If he had to sketch on drawing paper, he usually does so on the ceiling given the lack of floor space and a full flat wall that isn’t lined with bulging pipes or the sil of the window, with the paper taped on the corners. Makes it easier for him to get on his knees and practice his pencil sketches.

“Then that’s something you should consider when you fix our house, hmm?”

Oh. So he’s fixing it.

Well.

Okay, then.

—

And yeah that’s all I got. 🤷🏻‍♀️

#yamato tenzo #anbu tenzo #tenzou yamato #yamairu #tsunade adopts tenzou #tsunade is wine mama #senju tenzou #please help yamato

[jade-marie]

Top 10 books fics I read in 2020

Tagged by @sothischickshe

I don’t read books. I’m trash. So have my top 10 fics. These aren’t in any real order, btw.

Finally got round to adding some content to each one. Send word to my family, I died doing this. All the fluffy goodness is hitting me right in the feels😭😭😭

Do not collect $200 by @mrslackles

My OG favourite series. I will talk about this till the cows come home, I will read it over and over again until the day I die. So fucking good. The plot, the characterisation, the angst, the fluff, it just has everything and I fucking love it.

Favourite snippet:

Her touch is so light that Rio shivers and his tongue darts out for a second, meeting two of her fingers, and it makes their eyes meet.

And the look she finds there, god, it’s indescribable – no words, there are no words. Yet she knows what it means. Nobody’s ever told me I’m a good kisser and nobody’s ever touched you like this.

She doesn’t say it aloud but it doesn’t matter, not really. They both know it.

And Beth doesn't know when she falls asleep, only that it's with her palm on his throat and her fingers splayed over his lips.

Lush life by @hereliesbb

Lush life is basically my comfort blanket. I have a bad day, I read it and I’m smiling again. Every time. Without fail. The fluffiest fucking shit I’ve ever read in my life, even the angst is fluffy. I love it so much, I cannot find the words. 

Favourite snippet:

“What?” she asked when she saw he was staring. She looked back in the mirror to make sure she didn’t have anything in her teeth.

“You’re beautiful,” he said and then huffed like he was making fun of himself. Beth felt her face flush and about a hundred thousand butterflies take flight inside of her.

Warm water by @inyoursheets

Angst, yearning, friends to lovers, slow burn AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES. Such a good read omg 😫

Favourite snippet:

She kisses him.

Elizabeth. Elizabeth kisses him.

He can’t move—can’t think, not with her up close, her scent overwhelming him, her soft body pressed into him—when she’s already pulling back, jerking to a halt.

And just like that, he’s done. Finished. Can no longer find it in him to keep it up, his carefully crafted indifference, the control he tried to grasp so eagerly. No point guarding it from her any longer, not with those wild, wide eyes peering up at him like he can give her something, here, now.

Good sport by fireinsideforfun

Again, phenominal characterisation. I love the way she portrays their vulnerability. It’s just so so so beautifully written. 

Also, the image of Rio drowning in a pair of ginormous pyjamas makes me feel some shit🤣

 Favourite snippet:

“You’re not going to go rotten on me, are you darlin’?” he quietly asks her.

The question takes her aback, because although his voice is gentle his eyes are speaking volumes, something dark and desolate brewing.

“No. Never,” she says to him and means it.

He scoffs. “How can you know?”

“Because we’ve already been there before,” she says, and she can tell he knows what she’s referring to. “I already tried to get rid of the king and I couldn’t do it. We’ve been through those motions together. It’s done.”

Milkshakes by @emilykolburn

Dad Rio vibes, Rio and babies. Milkshake meetcute. I cannot. Literally so adorable.

Favourite snippet:

Rio was looking her up and down, slowly taking in every inch of her that he could, and she noted that he had that twinkle in his eyes again. When his eyes eventually found hers, he tilted his head to the side a little, tongue running slowly across his bottom lip. The intensity in the eye contact alone made her want to shrink away. She wasn’t used to it, she realised, but the longer they looked into each other’s eyes, and the way the corner of his mouth slowly twitched up into a smirk, she found she liked it.

Irresistible by @wakeupflawless

Highschool au. Enemies to lovers. I eat that shit UP.

Before anyone could say anything, she grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him down to her for a very public, very dirty kiss.

“Oh, shit,” She heard Pedro say.

For once in his life Rio must have been stunned, because he was frozen against her for a moment. He grabbed her hips, pulling her closer to him and deepening the kiss. The bystanders erupted, she heard hoots and hollers coming from the guys and exclamations of “Oh my God!” from the girls.

“Hey! That’s enough” Called the Vice Principal, “Everyone get to class!”

Beth broke their kiss, panting slightly and grinning ear to ear.

“What was that?” Rio asked, raising his eyebrows.

“So everyone knows I’m hittin’ it,” Beth replied, smirking, “And also to say sorry,”

Love despite by @itsbriology

Dad Rio strikes again. If Lindsay throws in one more big-hand-small-baby-ratio reference... i’m pretty sure my ovaries will explode inside of my body and I’ll die of internal bleeding 🙃🙃🙃

Favourite snippet:

The hiccups lasted longer than he thought, almost to the point he wondered if there wasn’t something else he could do for her. But they eventually slowed and so did her tears, and then he stopped and looked down at her little head full of soft brown hair that had landed on his chest and watched her eyes drift shut again from the pure exhaustion of the near traumatizing event.

“There ya go, sleepy head. See, I told ya.” He laughed down at her as he continued holding her and pushing the cart down the aisle. A little old lady stopped and took in the sight of them.

“Someone’s a good daddy,” She smiled up at him with Jane cozy in his arms and he stopped. The lady looked to be about eighty and probably weighed seventy pounds.

“Uhh, no… this ain’t…” He tried telling her but she interrupted.

“What an adorable little girl you’ve got there.”

The lady looked up at them grinning.“Thank you.” He smiled back, not knowing what else to say in that moment.

Criminology 101 by @sdktrs12

College au. Cars being destroyed. Fluffy shit. Idiots being idiots. LOVE ITTTTT

He moves one hand up to brush her hair out of her face. “Do you trust me?”

I do that’s the whole problem, she wants to scream. She finds herself nodding quietly instead.

“That’s good.” He leans down, presses his lips against her temple in a soft kiss that makes her heart skip a beat.

Beth closes her eyes as she leans into him, giving in and letting herself fall into the dark abyss that is his touch, his smell, his voice.

Shit.

She’s in so much trouble.

Both sides of the law by @joeyjoeylee

Slow burn. Y E A R N I N G. But they don’t even know they’re yearning. Taking the constant oneupmanship and translating it into a law school setting - genius. So so good.

Favourite snippet:

“Shouldn’t you be at the bar?” She really needed to let Gretchen know some of the staff had a distinct professionalism problem. If, or when, she was in charge of throwing the party next year, she’d have to make sure they did a better job of recruiting the help.

“Was just there, actually.” He wiggled his hand to show her the beer bottle he was holding. “But Gretch got on me ‘bout not having my nametag.”

She was confused and a little scandalized. Was he really drinking on the job? And…”Gretch”? He had to mean Gretchen? Granted, Beth barely knew her, but Gretchen hadn’t seemed like someone who would be on a first name basis with the staff. And why would he have a nametag? Nametags were for the students, and he was just a bartender…

Oh.

Oh no.

Everything seemed suddenly to be moving very slowly and she seemed to be watching it all unfold from outside her own body.

She watched him lean closer again to reach behind her and pick up the last nametag from the table.

She watched him pluck the Sharpie from her hand and use it to cross out “Christopher” then write “Rio” in big block letters that still managed to look messy.

Then she watched as he made a production of pinning the nametag just so to his lapel, mirroring her, exact and mocking, grinning down at her all the while.

Oh no.

A time to kill @sothischickshe

JUSTICE FOR MICK. And his shirt. Poor bby did not sign up for dealing with these two dumbasses and their dumbassery. Grumpy Rio pov is always a winner in my book. It’s comedy gold.

Favourite snippet:

Jesus, her hair is past lank. He sniffs. “You’re ripe. Go shower, man.”

Elizabeth grumbles incessantly until he agrees she can have coffee first, but he draws a line under a single cup, demanding she hurry.

Rio opens the windows wide as they allow. There’s a distinct scent of manure in the air, but it honestly might be preferable.

“That shirt needs washing too!” he yells from a safe nasal distance.

She literally punts the shirt at him from the bathroom, before slamming then locking the door. The handle vibrates for ages after.

He debates sourcing some tongs to handle the offending item with. When he can’t find any, considers setting fire to it instead. Surely Elizabeth can make herself a dress outta all the hair she incessantly moults over every inch or some shit.

Eventually he chucks it in for a wash with some other bits, holding his nose closed.

Elizabeth’s in the bathroom for fucking ages. He assumes it’s payback for pointing out she stunk, or whatever. But it ain’t cute.

He jiggles the handle, knocks on the door. There’s no response.

“Oi!” Rio shouts. “Hurry up, I gotta piss!” It’s not, strictly speaking, true. But. It could be. Hogging the bathroom’s just rude.

“Go away!” she squawks. Then, “Go outside!”

He keeps it up, and she mostly ignores him. Though when he insinuates she’s taking the world’s longest shit, she does straight up tell him to fuck off.

Tagging @purplemagic @wakeupflawless @00gangfriend00 @joeyjoeylee

#tag game #fics #gg fic

[vulturhythm]

1/2 I have an angsty idea (BTW, this is Tristan and Iseult anon - I'm so flattered you wanted to give me a nickname! If you still want to, Skyleen is good since that's what I've been using on AO3). Anyway, my idea isn't too unique from what you've already posted because what you do you do so well and I like it so much). It revolves around Jaskier being horribly sick/poisoned and Geralt desperately trying to find a cure - maybe it's something specific, like a near-extinct herb or the heart of

... heart of the beast that originally poisoned him, but in any case it's really hard to get and Geralt has to go on a lot of dangerous journeys in search of it. Meaning he has leave Jaskier behind (it's a conveniently prolonged illness). And he keeps failing. He keeps going out on any tips, even the most unlikely, brutalizing himself for a few days/weeks trying to kill monsters/please mages/bribe kings/capture demons or whatever he thinks he needs to do, but he always comes home empty handed...

... and Jaskier's always sicker, weaker, worse when he comes back. He'll spend a few days with him, caring for him, loving him, pleading with him to stay strong, before preparing to head out again. And eventually Jaskier realizes nothing is going to work. Even if Geralt did find something, the illness has progressed so far it wouldn't do any good. So he asks Geralt to stop. Stop hunting, stop risking his own life, stop leaving and just stay with him until the end. And Geralt can't.

Can't give up, can't face losing Jaskier, can't accept (what he sees as) Jaskier losing faith in him. So he goes out again, and again. Eventually, the disease and despair break at Jaskier until he clings, begs Geralt not to leave him, and Geralt does anyway, using his greater strength to remove Jaskier's hands from his arms, clothes, hair, Jaskier's cries echoing worse than any curses from Blaviken. On the last trip, he finds the cure. Having lost his horse to some calamity, he *runs* back...

... to Jaskier, full tilt, past even a witcher's stamina and returns to wherever they've been holed up incoherent with exhaustion and fear. Is he too late? What do you think? (Also, thank you for writing such lovely angst! I think it's the best way to get the love out).

thank you so, so much for sending me this beautifully tragic idea! i do hope this is up to your standards.

- - - - -

i won’t let you die

sorceresses are wretched things.

this is an opinion geralt has formed over a fucking century of enduring their treachery and their torment and their taunting, all the times he’s fallen into bed with one be damned. those times were fucking meaningless when compared to the love he found in jaskier.

meaningless, worthless, pointless - and now, looking back, he fucking hates himself for them.

he hates himself, for it was a sorceress whose rage when denied geralt’s aid in the coup of a crumbling kingdom was unmatched - whose rage led her to curse the bard at geralt’s side, merely fucking standing there, not even doing a damn thing.

he wasn’t doing a goddamn thing.

geralt is snarling, spitting, cursing, demanding an explanation, a cure -

the sorceress drops dead, an arrow through her skull, shot from the ramparts of the castle ahead, and, well.

geralt knows when he isn’t welcome.

he pulls jaskier away, runs from the city square, pulls his bard along through the seething, screaming, rioting crowd.

-

at first, geralt thinks the curse was maybe just as simple as the little rash that pops up on jaskier’s skin within they hour, as they walk away and leave the kingdom behind.

(it will be decimated by week’s end.)

he learns quickly he is wrong when jaskier doubles over and vomits on the trail.

there’s blood amongst the bile.

geralt’s heart seizes.

-

he pushes roach hard, hard, hard to the next town over, one where the healer and the mage are one and the same.

“it’s a disease,” the man tells them, and there’s sympathy in his eyes and something sort of like relief in jaskier’s, but - “and it’s one that can’t be cured.”

geralt knows he can never forget the fear that crossed jaskier’s face.

worse, later, is the resignation.

“geralt - “

“i know. i won’t let you die.”

-

he goes to yennefer next, even though to see her face is to grimace inside.

it’s been a week, and the rash has spread, and jaskier complains of stomach pains daily, even when he hasn’t eaten, even hours before he vomits blood.

yennefer takes one look at geralt before her gaze slides to the bard at his side, and she sighs, and motions them inside.

they learn nothing more.

“incurable,” she says, and if geralt didn’t know full well her loathing of jaskier, he would think she sounded... apologetic. “he’s got two years at best, likely less.”

“there has to be something -“

“geralt. i can’t do a thing.”

-

“geralt, surely someone will know... a - a different sorceress, a mage...”

“i won’t let you die.”

-

they go to another mage next, one tucked away in the depths of a town from which geralt has long since been banned.

it’s here that, finally, they get something - a name, a cause.

“it’s eating away at him,” says the old mage, “from the inside out. it’s an ancient thing - dark magic, as dark as i’ve seen. they say... well.”

“what?” geralt snarls, his grip on jaskier’s arm only tightening when his bard sways closer against his side.

“dragon heart, they say. little more than theory, but - “

and just like that, geralt is out the door, jaskier close behind.

-

“you can’t go after a dragon alone - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

jaskier is weaker.

the rash has become boils here and there, on the backs of his hands and arms and shoulders, and he can no longer play the lute without pain.

as much as it tears geralt apart to leave him behind, he does.

he leaves jaskier at home in corvo bianco, begs their nearest neighbors to drop in, keep him well...

swears to come back alive.

-

“promise me you’ll come back if it’s a false lead - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

he slays the dragon, a fierce red thing far up north, slices out its heart and carries it back to blaviken tied to roach’s haunches.

the old mage is waiting, ancient tomes and tablets and scrolls open on every surface, herbs and plants and monster pieces on top of and among it all.

“if this is right,” says the mage, “it’ll be violet at the end, but, well,” he amends, as he checks a scroll, “translating these have been next to impossible,” he admits, as he slices off a section of the heart, “and it might not - “

the broiling mixture in the cauldron turns a horrid, bloody red when the heart is dropped inside.

geralt feels nothing but dread.

-

“geralt, you can’t possibly kill enough dryads in time -“

“i won’t let you die.”

-

the second time he leaves from corvo bianco, he leaves jaskier in pain.

the boils are becoming lesions, and the bloody bile is a daily occurrence, and his singing voice is all but gone.

geralt sets off for the forests, and, well...

he slays fifteen of the forest nymphs, and he feels guilt biting at the back of his throat each time he shaves bark from the dead dryads’ trees, but jaskier’s red and bleeding skin is at the forefront of his mind.

the potion goes gray this time, deep and dull and dreadful, and geralt wants to scream.

-

jaskier is coughing now.

geralt stays home for a week, mourns the loss of jaskier’s warmth in his arms, for his bard cannot bear the touch of another’s on his sore and blistering and bleeding skin.

it pains him to see, and yet...

he cannot rest.

he leaves at week’s end, the edges of the world on his mind.

-

“geralt, please, just stay - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

twenty tongues of elven warriors.

geralt sees the hatred, the betrayal, the disgust in filavandrel’s eyes as he slaughters those that remain.

he sees it tenfold when he slays the elven king where he stands.

he sees it in the surface of the river when he crouches down to wash his skin free of blood, reflected in his own eyes when he does his best to clean his own wounds.

he sees it in the washed-out green the cauldron’s contents turn.

he sees it in jaskier’s eyes when he returns home, tells him of the fall of the elves... tells him of the new scars upon his back.

-

“please, my wolf, stay behind this time...”

“i won’t let you die.”

-

fang of demon.

five new claw marks across his jaw.

jaskier cannot stand without doubling over in the worst fit of blood-splattering coughing geralt has ever witnessed.

the potion is black.

-

“geralt, it’s okay - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

flesh of the one cursed before first breath.

a night in a crypt, a broken wrist, a gash on the flank.

jaskier’s eyes are bloodshot and his voice is frail. he cannot walk alone.

the potion is teal.

-

“geralt, please, if you love me - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

eye of the beast upon the highest throne.

a king slain, a kingdom out for his blood, an arrowhead through the shoulder and a ribcage of splintered bone.

jaskier is bedridden.

the potion is gold.

-

“geralt, my love, *please,* i beg of you - “

“i won’t let you die.”

fang of the lycanthrope.

scar across the chest.

white.

-

“the cure doesn’t exist, geralt, stay home - “

“i won’t let you die.”

sting of the manticore.

wounded in the side.

bronze.

-

“it won’t ever work, my love, please let me die in your arms - “

“i won’t let you die.”

vessel of the djinn.

broken, battered, bruised.

charcoal.

-

at the end of the fifteenth month, geralt leaves his beloved behind for the last time.

he leaves jaskier coughing, choking, begging, grabbing for his arms, his hands, anything to keep him close -

grabbing for him despite the wounds geralt and the healers have done their best to keep bound -

begging for him despite the way his voice is all but gone -

sobbing for him despite the way he can barely even breathe -

but geralt draws away, shakes his head, whispers one last time, “i won’t let you die.”

he can hear his bard’s sobs well beyond the walls of their home.

-

twenty nine days.

wyvern, harpy, dwarf, virgin, cockatrice, gryphon, chimera, basilisk, leshen...

vampire, succubus, drowner, kikimora, barghest...

the monsters blur together after so long - after so much of his blood spilled.

geralt is growing weak, growing tired -

growing slow.

and then, one day -

one day, he stumbles as he walks back into the mage’s tower, stumbles and catches himself on the edge of the cauldron, and -

and his blood, the blood that’s fucking covering from melitele only knows how many fucking cuts and gashes and scrapes and gouges -

his blood drips from his palm, from his wrist, from his fingertips, and it falls into the cauldron -

and the concoction of herbs and roots and flowers and bones and brains and heartstrings and feathers and stones and blood, it -

it turns deep, vibrant violet, and -

and geralt goes still.

-

he’s never pushed roach as hard as he does that day, the next day, the next...

it’s the third day when a group of highwaymen cross his path, when they fire at him from the hillside, when a crossbow bolt strikes roach through the sockets of her eyes, and -

and geralt tears them all down without an instant of hesitation, and he pauses to mourn the loss of his cherished companion, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and geralt runs.

his legs ache and his lungs burn and his ribs feel as though they may shatter again from the strain, and he is bleeding, and he is dying, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and he loses track of the days and of how many times he trips and falls and of how many times he drops to his knees and then to the ground -

and still he runs.

-

i can’t let him die.

-

geralt feels as though he may collapse by the time he stumbles against the doors of corvo bianco, but still he moves,

still he pushes on,

pushes the door open and almost falls inside, and -

and he cannot breathe, and his vision is hazy, and he knows that he’s gone too far, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and he steps through the doors of the room they’ve shared for so many long and perfect years, and -

and he reaches into his pocket for the vial of antidote, and -

and he looks up, and he goes still.

the vial falls to the floor.

geralt lurches the few steps to the edge of the bed, drops to his knees, reaches out to touch the back of a cold, cold hand, closed tight about a scrap of parchment he can’t bring himself to acknowledge.

he lowers his edge to the mattress, and he breathes in, and he breathes out, and...

and at last, the witcher is still.

-

geralt,

my beloved, i have kept alive as long as i can. i have spent my life at your side, and there isn’t a day of it that i would have changed.

my only regret is that i did not die in your arms.

i love you.

live well.

#answered asks #skyleen #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #gerlion #my fics #character death #don’t break out the pitchforks #you asked for this #it’s not on me this time

[shadowhunter221]

“I’m sorry...I’m so sorry.” (Spencer Reid Imagine)

@princeza-tame​ Hi! I saw your post about imagines with Spencer. Would you like to write one where the reader got wounded during a chase while paired with Spencer, they get into a building and get stuck so Spencer tries to help the reader, clean the wound somehow or maybe bandage it up while blaming himself for all that happened. So basically angst mixed with fluff? If you feel like it, of course 😊 I'm a big Spencer fan as well! PS. You are awesomeeee! 💞

A/N: I had so much fun writing this!! This was definitely my favorite imagine request that I have ever received so far💕(btw sorry I didn’t include the chase part of the request, I had major writer’s block and just decided to leave it out, I hope that’s okay).

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (feat. Aaron Hotchner)

Word Count: 1,599

Warnings: Some fluff but mostly angst and one curse word. Just the one.

   You stared outside, anxious of what was ahead of you. The BAU had just received an anonymous tip that the unsub was in an abandoned building near them. Hotch is currently speeding down the road, a concerned look on his face. He was worried that the unsub had already killed the girl he kidnapped, since it had been over twenty-four hours from her disappearance. Morgan was in the front seat with him and you and Reid were riding in the back. You continued to stare out the window, fiddling with your gun. You had seen so many dead bodies in your lifetime that they never really phased you anymore, but something about this case was different. You couldn’t see that poor girl die. You would rather give up your life for her than see the terror in her eyes…

   “You alright?”

   You glanced over at Spence, nodding. “Yeah…I don’t know. Something about this is off. I don’t know what.”

   He gave you an encouraging smile. “I’m sure it’ll be alright. Just stick to the plan and we should be fine.”

   You looked down at your lap nervously. You had discussed previously with the team exactly what you were going to say to the unsub to prevent the girl from being in serious danger.

   You felt a hand on a shoulder. “Hey, I’m serious. I’ve got your back. If anything goes wrong, I’ll be right there.”

   Glancing up at him, you smiled. You blushed a little and realized just how much you loved him. He noticed you blushing and smiled to himself. Hotch and Morgan were both oblivious to your conversation, since they were both on the phone, specifying details about the building they were speeding towards.

   You were suddenly at the scene.  You felt a rush of adrenaline as your heart sped up. You practically jumped out of your seat as you adjusted your bulletproof vest and took your gun out of its holster. You scanned the building you were about to risk your life in. It looked like it could collapse at any minute. You shook your head, clearing your mind, and jogged over to the door. Reid, Hotch, and Morgan followed you. You nodded at Reid, who opened the door quickly. You rushed inside, pointing your gun both ways.

   “Clear,” you said under your breath.

   Hotch motioned for you and the rest of the team. “Morgan and I are going to cover another part of the building. We need to split up; this facility is huge. We’ll never get through it all as a group. The unsub shouldn’t fight back. He’s been displaying many signs of remorse and we think he’s going to give himself in soon. Just be careful.”

   You and Reid were left alone in silence. “Okay. Let’s go.”

   You walked towards the next doorway, scanning your surroundings. The unsub had obviously been here. It was a mess. You continued searching numerous rooms for what seemed like forever. Finally, you saw a closed door ahead of you. It sounded like there were muffled cries coming from it. You pointed your pistol at the door and nodded. Spencer opened the door slowly, and you quickly pointed your gun at the unsub, staying a distance away from him but never breaking eye contact.

   The unsub held the girl with a knife to her throat. He looked huge compared to her as she cowered in his arms. The girl was blindfolded and gagged. You couldn’t fathom how terrified she must have been. The unsub looked at you with his teary, bloodshot eyes. You spread your arms and slowly set your gun down on the hardwood floor.

   “We’re not going to hurt you. Release the girl and no harm will come to you.”

   He looked at you, terrified. “Take off your vest,” he mumbled under his breath.

   ‘”I’m afraid I can’t-”

   He interrupted you with a shaky voice. “Take off your vest n-now or…or I’ll kill her…n-now!!” he suddenly burst out.

   You made eye contact with Reid before slowly taking off your vest. Reid still had his gun pointed directly pointed at the man. You set your vest down next to the gun.

   “I did what you asked. Now release the girl and no harm will come to you.”

   He looked at you again, and something changed in his eyes. You immediately saw it. It was as if he was unveiling a mask of some sort. You had no time to react. He suddenly lunged at Spencer, knife in hand, and knocked him to the ground, sending his gun skidding across the floor. You reached for your gun, but he was faster. He cut deeply into your abdomen and you let out a muffled cry of pain. The unsub jumped out of the window and onto the roof with the girl and started to climb down a ladder. You knew the team should have waited for backup, but it was too risky.

   You didn’t realize how much blood you had lost until now. It was all over the floor and your shirt was soaked. You tried to stand up, but failed and slid down against the wall, trying to put pressure on your wound. Spencer slowly sat up to look at you, rubbing his head. The unsub must’ve knocked him out. He got up, panicking when he saw you leaning against the wall with blood everywhere.

   “Y/N/N…Y/N! It’s going to be all right, I’ve got you.”

   He took off his vest quickly and shrugged off his cardigan. He attempted to soak up the blood with his cardigan and put pressure on your wound to help stem the bleeding.

   “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

   You looked up weakly and glanced over at the window. “He went…through there…and…” you took a deep breath. Your breathing was getting shakier and you kept seeing black spots swimming in your vision. “Spence…” you passed out, having lost too much blood. Your blood was all over Reid’s hands too. Reid was near tears. He didn’t think it was that severe of a cut, but if you kept losing blood at this rate…he didn’t want to think about it. He should have been the one to take off his vest and put his gun down. None of this would have happened and Y/N would’ve been safe. He glanced at his phone. There wasn’t any reception.

   “Shit.” Reid took a shaky breath. “Morgan! Hotch! We need medics!” his voice cracked and he looked down at you.

   Suddenly, Hotch, Morgan, and a couple of policeman burst into the room.

   Medics swarmed around you and you were soon carried into an ambulance and were driven off to the hospital. Reid just stood there, staring at the puddle of blood you had left behind. Hotch came up behind him.

   “What happened?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

   “The unsub…he told Y/N to take off the vest and put her gun down. He’d been faking remorse this whole time. I…I should’ve known. He wasn’t going to go down without a fight and-”

   “Reid,” Hotch cut him off, “This isn’t your fault in any way. I was the one who told her to do that, not you. There is no way that either one of us could’ve known that this was a ruse.”

   Reid looked at him with tears in his eyes. “What if…”

   “Y/N is going to be fine. The medics said she lost a lot of blood but she should be out of the hospital in a few days.”

   Reid nodded. He took a deep breath and picked up your vest and gun. The team headed back to Quantico to end the day.

                                                   The next day

  Reid and Hotch sat in the waiting room of the hospital, anxiously waiting to visit you in your room. After what seemed like an eternity, the nurse finally let them in.

   You looked up at the pair weakly. “Is the girl okay? Did you catch the unsub?” you mumbled. It was taking all of your strength to stay awake right now. Your lower abdomen felt like it was on fire.

   “Yes, the girl is fine and we caught the unsub. He’s in custody right now and is facing a life sentence in jail.”

   You let out a deep breath and closed your eyes. “Good…good.”

   Hotch moved closer to your bed, while Reid stayed farther away from you. He still felt guilty, despite what Hotch had said earlier, and couldn’t bear to see you in pain.

   “Y/N, I’m very sorry. I should’ve seen that the unsub could’ve done this. It wasn’t a good idea to split up. I’m sorry that this had to happen to you, and-”

   You interrupted him and shook your head. “Hotch, it’s fine. I’m okay, alright? No one could’ve seen what he did. He tricked all of us.”

   He nodded, backing away. Before he left, he nodded at Reid, leaving you two alone.

   “Hi,” you smiled up at him.

   He looked at you with concern. He was about to say something, but then looked down at his feet. He realized that he didn’t know what to say at a time like this.

   “You know it’s not your fault,” you said.

   All Reid could do was nod.

   “Hey. I love you, you know.”

   He looked up at you with surprise. This was the first time you had said that to him. “I…I love you too.”

   You smiled, closing your eyes. You fell asleep within seconds. Reid walked over to you carefully. He placed a kiss on your forehead and looked fondly down at you. “I love you so much,” he whispered.

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid reader insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid headcanon #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds oneshot #criminal minds reader insert #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds headcanon #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler oneshot #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler reader insert #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #matthew gray gubler headcanon #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner reader insert #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner headcanon

[lenniewip]

Unknown (A Sterek Wrong Number/Celebrity AU)

11.09 PM Unknown Number

>I’m writing songs about you again.

11.20 PM Unknown Number

>its stiles btw.

>in case you deleted my number

>I did.

>I mean I deleted yours.

>but I still remember it apparently

11:41 PM Unknown Number

>I only have 2 lines so far

11:57 PM Unknown Number

>I bleed you from my veins.

>I grieve you like I love you.

>alone.

>its better with the chords.

>u were always better at writing lyrics than me

12:34 AM Unknown Number

>u were better everything than me

2:00 AM Unknown Number

>I hate that I miss you

2:07 AM Unknown Number

>do u want to hook up?

>I promise not to propose again

2:15 AM Unknown Number

>im sorry.

>ignore me.

>im drinking

Derek blinked bleary eyes. His phone screen was the only source of light in his room, as he read through the flurry text messages.

What the hell is a Stiles?

2:17 AM Unknown Number

<I think you have the wrong number

>Lydia?

<no

>oh thank fuck

>I mean

>I’m sorry

>for disturbing ur sleep

>but im just glad I didn’t drunk text my ex all of this

>bullet dodged right?

>is this what near death experiences feel like?

<I wouldn’t know.

>of course

>hey

>seeming as I have you here can I ask you a quick q?

>all my friends are asleep

<probably because its 3am

<everyone’s asleep

>2.39

>and ur not

>asleep that is

>so?

>I’ll take your silence as a go ahead

>what do you think?

>of the lyrics

<im the wrong person to ask

>never experienced heartbreak?

<no

<all song lyrics just look like bad poetry to me

>oh

>yeah I guess it does

>not everyone can be Rupi Kaur tho right?

<do you want to be rupi kaur?

>sure

>not to be dramatic or anything

>but

>I want to be anyone but me

>think id rather be someone like regina spektor tho

<regina spektor?

>singer/song writer

>shes my fucking inspiration

>her lyrics are like poetry to me

>you should listen to her music

<I dont really listen to music

>what the fuck?

>are you an alien?

<no?

>nice fucking try ET

>thats exactly what an alien would say

<…you got me there

>akdjfen

>is this you admitting I was right?

<no

<but this is me going to bed

<because its now 4AM

>already?

>fuck

>ive got an early start tomorrow

>good night random stranger

>and thanks

>for listening

>or reading ig

<good night

//

“You’re late.” Laura frowned, arms crossed.

“Are you going to let me in?” Derek grumbled, still feeling the affects of having stayed up until 4AM the previous night.

Laura didn’t argue she just stepped aside to let him through into her flat. “You’re grumpier than usual.” She noted.

“Didn’t sleep well.”

Derek hated the look she gave him then.

The look that said he was broken. The look that said she wanted to fix him.

“Is…Is it the nightmares again?” Laura’s voice dipped to a whisper, like the question alone would be enough to send him over the edge.

“No.”

An awkward silence defended over the two of them, neither knowing what to say.

Derek clung to the silence like a blanket, wishing things could go back to how they used to be. Back to when they knew how to speak to one another.

But this was enough.

It was enough to know that they were both trying. Failing. But trying.

//

2:40 PM Laura

>I’m here if you need to talk.

//

Derek isn’t good at art, but sometimes it’s the only way he can express himself. Words had never been his forte.

So instead he doodles.

Shitty toddler level doodles that he never shows anyone.

Sometimes he thinks if he could bring himself to show Laura she would like it. Maybe she would even understand it.

But there was a bigger chance that she wouldn’t, and he would feel even more like a stranger to his own sister than he already was.

//

10:18 PM Unknown Number

>I don’t remember it anymore

<You have the wrong number again

>No

>This is ‘not Lydia’ right?

<right

>So here’s the thing.

>I always thought if I needed to text her I could

>And I thought maybe I got her number wrong because I was drunk

>But I can’t remember it anymore

<Oh.

>I have some of her things still

>I don’t think I’ll ever get to return it now

>Unless she messages me first

<When did you two break up?

>Last year

>and I know what you’re thinking

>’it’s October’

>and I should be over her by now

>Trust me I know

>So you don’t need to lecture me

<I wasn’t going to

>Oh

<Stiles?

>That’s weird

<what is?

>I forgot I told you my name

<You should throw away the stuff she left behind.

>you’re right

>I don’t like it.

>but you’re right

>…thanks

<What for?

>for listening

>reading**

>my friends are pretty sick of hearing me complain

>so this is nice

<sure

<anytime

>dope

>no take backsies

<am I going to regret this?

>for definite

>you’re stuck with me now

//

That night Derek saves Stiles’ number as ‘Bad Poet’.

//

Stiles keeps messaging after that.

Stiles messages like they’ve been friends for years, and Derek very determinedly does not analyse why it is he always responds.

Even when there are messages dated from Laura from three days ago that he hasn’t even been able to bring himself to open yet.

He also ignores how when he’s messaging Stiles the gaping pit that had made residence in his chest feels just a little less inescapable.

//

Derek can’t bring himself to tell Stiles his name. He can’t bring himself open up, even though there’s a large part of him that wants to.

He’s not above admitting he’s scared.

//

Derek draws Stiles sometimes.

More accurately he draws a vague pair hands texting on a phone, because he has no idea what Stiles actually looks like.

Derek refuses to let himself dwell on that though, because they are happy drawings.

The pictures of Stiles are pretty much his only happy drawings right now.

//

They don’t always talk about Lydia.

Sometimes Stiles messages Derek song lyrics he’s working on.

Other times it’s memes, or just a bunch of emojis.

Once Stiles had just messaged him what Derek could only assume was a list of everything he had eaten that day.

Sometimes Stiles messages in rambles - and Derek can’t always keep up with the boy’s run away thoughts, but even then he never feels lost the way he does when he’s trying to interact with literally anyone else.

And sometimes it’s 2AM. Those are simultaneously Derek’s favourite and least favourite texts.

//

2:02 AM Bad Poet

>sometimes I feel like too much

>and too little

>at the same time

>u ever feel like that ET?

<not really

>its like I’m infinite, and meaningless

>like a never ending echo

>or a recurring decimal

>I just stretch on and on forever but theres no point to it

>I have no depth

<youre not meaningless

<you’re a rhythm.

<like breathing

>…

>was that a regina spektor reference?

<it might have been

>I thought you didn’t listen to music?

<well someone said her lyrics were like poetry

<so I thought I would check out a few songs

>well fuck

>what did you think?

<she’s good

>you spelt ‘amazing’ wrong

<I still prefer poetry

>of course you do

Derek stared at the texts an ache filling his chest.

Derek was the opposite of infinite. Everything he touched turned to flames.

//

10:30AM Bad Poet

<my sister bought me flower seeds

>I didn’t know you had a sister?

<she’s everything I have

>oh

<and I think she’s trying to trick me into therapy somehow

>…with flower seeds?

<yes

>you sound extremely paranoid

>maybe therapy wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for you?

<shut up

>noted.

>keep me posted on how your gardening goes

>also

>as a side note

>you know you have me too right?

>if you ever need to talk or anything, I’m right here for you

<thanks

>anytime

//

On Derek’s birthday Laura insists the two of them spend the day together, and Derek knows better than to argue.

She buys him a cake and they spend hours sat next to one another silently. Two strangers desperately trying to keep hold of one another but with an ocean dividing them.

Once their family had been so alive.

And it was all Derek’s fault that was gone.

They both knew it.

Sometimes Derek wondered if Laura hated him as much as he did.

He was too scared to ask.

//

That night Derek chased the ache in his chest away with a drink.

And then several more followed.

//

1:14 AM Bad Poet

<seh haars me

>sorry bud, you’re going to have to try again

>try spell checking before hitting send

<she.hates mee

>who?

<larn

>are you drunk?

<yeh

<tyongs ndrf

*Out Going Call: Bad Poet*

The phone rings twice before being picked up. “Sorry. Stupid keyboard is so small. Impossible to type.” Derek mumbled, his words slightly muffled by his cheek being pressed into the sofa cushion.

“Wow. You’re really sloshed huh?”

“No.” Derek denied. “Just tipsy.”

“Right. So what was it you were trying to tell me? Someone hates you?”

“Laura.”

“Who’s Laura?”

“My sister.”

“Oh.”

“She looks at me like she wishes she could fix me.”

“That doesn’t sound like she hates you, bud.”

“She should. I can’t be fixed.”

“You’re right, because you’re not broken.”

Hearing Stiles say that Derek could almost believe it to be true.

“I mean it. You’re not broken. You’re just a different shape than you used to be. But the shape you are now is beautiful.”

Derek closes his eyes and lets the words wash over him. “Do you sing?” He finds himself asking.

“What?”

“I know you write songs, but do you ever sing?”

“Oh…” Stiles sounds uncomfortable. “I guess… Yeah. I do.”

Derek hummed in the back of his throat. “I bet you have a nice voice.”

“Th-thanks.”

Derek tried to say something else, but all that comes out is a yawn, which makes Stiles let out a jittery laugh.

Derek tries to memorise the sound of It, but it’s so fleeting, it’s already slipping away from him.

“I think you need to go sleep, ET.”

“Yeah.” Derek agrees.

“Goodnight bud.”

“Wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Could you stay on the phone? Just for a bit longer.” Derek clutched on to the phone like if he could grip tightly enough it would make Stiles stay.

I don’t want to be alone. The words die on Derek’s tongue.

“Sure.” Stiles didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

Sleep pulled at Derek’s consciousness, unravelling his grip on reality.

“Stiles?”

Stiles hummed in answer.

“Your shape is beautiful too.”

A small whimper came from the other end of the phone. “Thanks.”

//

7:50 AM Bad Poet

>how are you feeling today?

<better

>good <3

Derek holds his phone tightly and wishes that he had more to say. Just to keep the conversation going.

He also wishes (not for the first time) that Stiles was more than a faceless entity on the other end of the phone.

But it’s the first time he feels the want like a physical ache in his chest.

Derek had never been good with words, but if Stiles was here in front of him Derek would probably give him a hug.

But everything Derek touches eventually dies, and a larger part of him is relieved for the distance.

//

Derek plants the seeds his sister got him that day.

//

9:48 PM Bad Poet

>would it totally weird you out if I wanted to do another phone call?

>don’t feel like you need to say yes

>I just enjoyed talking to you

>and hearing your voice

>ugh.

>why are words so hard?

<I wouldn’t be opposed to a phone call

*Incoming Call: Bad Poet*

“Hey.” Derek feels breathless as he answers the phone, anxious excitement clawing it’s way up his throat.

“Hey.” Stiles sounds equally out of breath, and that helps.

Derek chews on his lip, scrambling for something to say. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know.” Stiles admitted. “Anything.”

“Helpful.” Derek said sarcastically.

“I mean. There’s one thing. I didn’t want to ask when you were drunk because it felt a little like taking advantage. And I don’t want you to think you have to answer-”

“Stiles.” Derek interrupts before Stiles could break into a full blown ramble.

“Tell me your name.” Stiles breaks. “Please.”

Anxiety grips his heart. But… he couldn’t stay scared forever.

“It’s Derek.”

“Derek.” Stiles repeats his name in a reverent whisper, as if committing it to memory.

And hearing Stiles say his name makes everything worth it.

//

Phone calls become a regular thing between the two of them over the next month. Always between late in the evening and the early hours of the day.

//

The next time Derek spirals he doesn’t drink before he calls Stiles, but he does cry on the phone.

The next morning he wakes up to a text from Stiles.

6:42 AM Bad Poet

>you need to talk to your sister

And Derek knows he’s right.

//

It’s not easy confronting Laura. He has two separate anxiety attacks on the walk to her apartment alone.

But he forces himself to take the dive.

“It’s okay if you hate me.” He tells her, even though it’s not okay. Laura’s hate might be the only thing in the world that could break him beyond repair.

Laura looks horrified as she stares at him. “I don’t- Obviously I don’t hate you Derek.”

“It’s my fault that they’re gone.” Derek addresses the elephant in the room.

If he hadn’t fallen in love with Kate.

If he hadn’t broken up with her, just to try and prove a point when she refused to say ‘I love you’ back…

There never would have been a fire.

Their family would still be here if it wasn’t for him.

“Fuck that!” Laura let out a harsh noise. “Derek, none of this was ever your fault. You were a kid, and even if you weren’t… You never set the fire.”

“I might as well have.”

“No. If anyone… I was your big sister- am your big sister. But I was so fucking wrapped up in myself. I didn’t even know about Kate.”

The last time Derek had seen Laura cry it had been at the funeral, so it took a second to fully sink in what he was seeing.

He found himself crying to.

“I’m so sorry, Der.”

Derek stumbled forwards pulling Laura into a crushing hug. Laura hugs him back just as tight.

They spend hours refusing to let go of one another.

//

He realises he fell asleep on Laura’s sofa when he woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. But he had no idea where it was, and he was too tired to move.

He feels Laura moving and the sound of the phone ringing gets louder before cutting off abruptly.

“Hello?”

“No - Derek’s asleep.”

“Maybe call at a more reasonable time?”

“Who is this?”

“Your voice sounds familiar.”

“Right.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Derek let sleep over take him once more.

//

2:29 AM Bad Poet

>sorry for calling so late

>you’re asleep so I’ll just take to you tomorrow

//

9:07 AM Bad Poet

<sorry, I was really tried

>no worries man

>you’re allowed to have a life outside of me

<was something wrong?

>no I was just bored, and didn’t realise how late it had gotten

>im fine

>how are you?

<im good actually

<I spoke to Laura

>yeah?

>I’m proud of you

>how’d that go?

<we both cried

<a lot

<and I ended up falling asleep on her couch

>look at you, opening up and shit.

>think I might cry now

<shut up

>literally never

>better men have tried and failed to silence me

//

2:40 PM Laura

>Want to see a movie on Friday?

<sure

//

One night Stiles calls Derek just to say his name in stupid ways, and laugh himself stupid after each one.

“Duhreek.”

“Doreck.”

“Fuck. I’m getting a stitch from laughing.”

“You’re so fucking dumb.” Derek is smiling as he said it.

“Deeruk.” Stiles wheezes out.

Derek just closes hie eyes and listens.

“I’m so fucking glad I know you, Stiles.” The words fall out of Derek’s mouth without much thought.

He only realises the weight of his words when Stile’s laughter pulls to a stop.

“I uh-” Stiles stammered. “Me too. Fuck. You’re the best thing to happen to me in…so fucking long. I’m glad I know you too Derek.”

//

Derek finally admits to himself that night that he’d fallen at least a little in love with the stranger from the unknown number.

//

He keeps trying to draw Stiles, but he can’t. Vague shapes just don’t cut it anymore.

He wants to map Stiles out with his eyes and translate it onto the page.

He wants to be able to see the smile behind the laughter.

He wants.

//

1:58 AM Bad Poet

>do you think you day we’ll actually meet?

>maybe not intentionally

>maybe one day we’d pass each other in the streets and not even know

>maybe we already have

Derek couldn’t imagine a scenario where he wouldn’t notice Stiles.

<is there ever a moment when you’re not talking?

<I think id recognise your voice and know it was you

>maybe your face would make me speechless ;)

<I think id still know

<but if you want to be sure… I could send you a picture?

<of me

>dkfajd

>for reals?

>you would do that?

>you?

<well…not for free

>there’s always a catch

>what do you want?

>my soul?

>a blood debt?

>you can have whatever it is

<I meant you’d have to send me a picture too

<geez stiles

The next text takes an unnervingly long time to come through.

>I could do that

>a photo for a photo

>I kind of look like shit rn

>so no judging me

Derek spends the next two minutes fussing and fidgeting to take a good photo. No matter what angle he took it from the bags under his eyes were noticeable, and so was the week’s worth of stubble he had yet to shave off.

And maybe this was a terrible, awful, idea.

But Derek would send one hundred bad pictures if it meant getting to see one of Stiles.

He forced himself to press send on the last picture he took.

As he pressed send another photo came in.

Derek’s fingers shook as he hit the button to download the image.

His heart stopped.

Stiles was beautiful in every sense of the word, and Derek found himself unable to look away. Even when he heard the small dings of incoming messages.

But he couldn’t ignore them for long, because it was Stiles. And when ever Stiles messaged Derek had to answer.

>Fucking hell

>are you for real?

>you gave me a heart attack

>am I being catfished right now?

>when do you think you were going to tell me you’re the most fucking beautiful man to exist ever?

>how the hell to you look like that as 2AM!?

>Derek

>oh my god

>you gotta respond my dude because I’m freaking out a little bit

>still there?

>did my selfie scare you away?

>I would have tried harder for a nice photo if I knew I was talking to an adonis

>Derek?

<still here

>of thank fuck

>so…

<so?

>come on

>your going to give me a complex

>the selfie…was it okay?

>I know it’s not much

>but we can’t all be greek gods

<its beautiful

<you’re beautiful, stiles

>oh

>thanks

//

Derek is so far gone that he makes the picture of Stiles the home screen on his phone.

//

9:49 AM Bad Poet

<Laura wants me to meet her boyfriend

<this is all your fault

>how is this my fault?

<because she never wanted to introduce us before

<and then you got me to talk to my sister

<and now she wants me to meet him

>…and this is a bad thing?

<yes

>because?

<I don’t make good first impressions

<it’s going to be awkward

>yeah probably

<you’re not helpful

>I wasn’t trying to be ;)

>have fun, Derek!

//

Meeting Laura’s boyfriend wasn’t as awkward as Derek thought it was going to be. But it was strange.

Derek hadn’t been expecting to meet someone so soft and kind. He was nothing like any one that Laura had dated before.

But he also wasn’t used to seeing Laura smile as much as she did around him.

Maybe not all change was bad.

//

Derek tells Laura about Stiles by accident. Or more accurately he mentions Stiles once by accident (not even by name) and Laura had badgered him until he admitted that he had made a friend through a wrong number.

“There’s a lot of weirdos out there.”

“I know.”

God did Derek ever know.

But Stiles is different.

“Just…be careful.”

“I am being. I promise.”

Laura reluctantly lets it go after that. “So…what’s he like?”

“He’s…he’s like bad poetry.”

“Oh god. You’re in love with him aren’t you?”

Derek can’t bring himself to deny it, but he does tell Laura to shut up.

//

Derek fully embraces being in love with Stiles on the day he tells Stiles about his drawings. He’d never told anyone about them before - not even Laura. But telling Stiles had been easy.

‘It reminds me of line art’ Stiles had said when Derek had sent him a photo of the doodle he had been working on. “I love it’.

A warmth flutters through Derek’s veins.

//

It all goes sideways on the day Laura goes on Derek’s phone to check the time.

She’d raised one eyebrow at him looking amused.

“I thought you didn’t listen to music?” She said, a teasing note to her voice.

“I don’t.” Derek shrugged.

“A huh. So why do you have a picture of Stiles Stilinski as your wallpaper?” She asks.

It’s so startling to hear Stiles name coming out of Laura’s mouth that Derek’s brain refuses to function properly. “How do you know Stiles?” He asks weakly.

Laura laughs. “He’s not exactly a niche celebrity Der. He was a really famous YouTuber before he started selling albums.”

Derek doesn’t know what to say to that. He blinks as his world slowly unravels before him.

No.

She had to be wrong, because Derek couldn’t be in love with a celebrity. Stiles couldn’t be…

“Hey are you okay? You look really sick?”

“He’s famous?” His throat is dry.

“Yes? Are you okay? What’s wrong? You’ve got to speak to me Der. Use your words.”

Derek just shakes his head because he can’t.

“It’s him.” He manages to get out.

“What are you talking about?”

“Laura. It’s him.”

It takes a moment to click but Derek knows when it does because a look of thunderous wrath takes over Laura’s face.

“I’ll kill him.” She seethes, shaking with anger. “What kind of fucking punk thinks that this is a good prank to play?”

“What?”

“No one is getting away with catfishing you, Der. I’m going to hunt this fucker down, and then I’ll rip him so many new ones that he going to look like SpongeBob when I’m done with him.”

And god, Derek hadn’t even considered the thought that Stiles might not even be Stiles. The thought of Stiles being a liar…

The gape in his heart grows a little bit bigger.

And it all falls apart.

//

It takes hours before Derek can convince himself to confront Stiles.

11:08 PM Bad Poet

<you’re stiles stilinki

>fuck

(And yeah, it was really him).

>how did you find out?

<Laura

>I was going to tell you

<Were you?

>Yes

>I’ve wanted to for ages

>It just never felt like the right time to bring it up

<I wish you had decided on the right time was sooner

>Me too

>I’m sorry

>Please don’t hate me

Derek did not think it was possible for him to hate any part of Stiles.

<I don’t

>Thank fuck

>seriously

>can I call you?

<sure

Derek closed his eyes after sending the text and waited for Stiles to ring. A heartbeat later his ringtone sounded off.

“Hey.”

“You believe me right?” And Stiles sounds more frantic than Derek had ever heard him before.

“I believe you, Stiles.”

“Are you sure, because I can prove it if you want? I can do a video call? Or I can tweet literally anythi-”

“Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

Stiles lets out a small whine, that reaches through the phone line and yanks at Derek’s already tattered heart, unraveling him just a little more.

“Meet me.” Stiles said, taking Derek by surprise.

“What?”

“Please. I meant to throw a please in there, I’m just really fucking nervous right now. Meet me please. In real life. I uh- I was going to ask when I finally told you about the whole being a celebrity thing. It’s still weird to say that out loud. That’s part of why it was so hard to tell you. But the point was you beat me to the punch with the whole reveal thing, but I still wanted to ask.”

“Stiles…”

“And it’s not that I was trying to use my influence or fame to pressure you into meeting me. I just wanted to be in a space where we were one hundred per cent honest with one another before I asked you. You can still say no. Of course you can, I don’t know why I’m- my point is I hope you don’t say no.”

Derek feels his heart break in two.

“Stiles…I can’t.”

“Oh.”

He hadn’t fully realised just how many worlds apart the two of them were when he had fallen in love with Stiles. It felt even more impossible than it had before.

“I’m sorry.” The words leave him feeling hollow.

“No. Don’t apologise. This is just me getting carried away. It’s okay.”

I love you. The words never leave Derek. They can’t leave him.

There was no way this could work, and he was far too scared of breaking the tentative connection they had with his useless words.

It was better for him to just… fall out of love.

//

6:17AM Laura

<it’s really him

>are you sure

<I’m sure

>what are you going to do?

<nothing

>Derek you’re in love with him

<I’m aware

<it doesn’t matter

<it wouldn’t ever work

>I’m sorry

<don’t be

<I’m going to be fine

>Im coming over with wine

//

That night Derek fills pages and pages of his notebook with drawings of Stiles.

When he gets a message from Stiles at 11PM- for the first time since they started messaging- Derek leaves it unopened.

//

He never ignores a message again after that, and life moves on. Stiles still messages him all the time, but he never asks to call anymore.

Derek misses his voice so much that he goes onto youtube and listens to his music.

He buys all three albums Stiles released and it still doesn’t feel like enough.

//

He fills an entire notebook with doodles of Stiles.

It’s still not enough.

//

1:11 PM Bad Poet

>I wrote you a song

>I know you don’t listen to music

>but it felt weird to not a least send you a link

>bad poetry at 2:00am

The link leads Derek to a youtube video of Stiles holding a ukulele and staring with a soft smile at the camera.

“Hey guys. It’s been a while, huh? But I guess I finally found inspiration. So here we go.”

The song is beautiful, but even more beautiful than that was Stiles.

When the song reached the end Derek doesn’t hesitate to hit replay.

He listens to the song ten times before he realises he’s crying - and he knows that he’s never going to ‘get over’ Stiles because he doesn’t want to.

//

3:00 PM Laura

>have you seen the video?

<he sent me a link

<he wrote a song for me Laura

<I love him so fucking much and he wrote a song for me

>fuck

<what do I do?

>what do you want to do?

<I don’t know

>I think you should look at his twitter

<?

>I wasn’t going to say anything because you said you wanted to get over him

>but I think you need to see it

>@stilesstilinki

//

@stilesstilinski

I want to hug him

@stilesstilinski

Get you a guy that will stay up with you until 4AM talking about literally anything

@stilesstilinski

Why do I alway fall for people so far out of my league? rip me I guess.

@stilesstilinski

He makes me want to write poetry

Derek spends hours scrolling through Stiles’ twitter.

He scrolls far enough back that he gets to the part of his timeline where his twitter is littered with pictures of Lydia, which causes the ache in Derek’s chest to grow. But he can’t stop looking because Stiles looks so happy.

And Derek falls impossibly more in love.

He lets himself acknowledge for the first time that Stiles might love him back.

And everything else?

It’s worth it.

Because Stiles is worth everything to Derek.

//

2:00 AM Bad Poet

<so I looked at your twitter

>fuck.

>how much did you see?

<all of it

>tight

>please excuse me while I go die now

>bye

<don’t leave yet

<I had something I wanted to ask you

>did you want me to delete the tweets?

>I can do that

>I’ll just delete the whole account

>I am my own worst enemy so this won’t be a problem

>actually Jackson Whittemore is my worst enemy

>but I’m a close second

<stiles?

>yup?

<Will you go on a date with me?

>alkdjf

>yes?

>Ofc yes?

>are you being serious?

>because this would be a cruel prank if you’re not serious

<I’m serious

>yes.

>yes. yes. yes. yes. yes. yes.

>holy shit

>theres no fucking universe where I say ‘no’ to that question from you

>im so fucking in love with you

>is it too soon to say that?

>I don’t even care

>I’m speaking my truth

>you obviously don’t have to say it back

>im going to woo you so hard Derek

>you’ll have to love me back eventually

>I’m going to write you poetry

>hell I’ll even read poetry for you

>ill give the whole fucking moon to you

<why would I want the moon?

<im not gru?

>despicable me

>that was a despicable me reference.

>you don’t listen to music, but you watch despicable me?

>you’re such an enigma to me Derek

>god I love you so much

<stiles?

>too much?

<no

<I don’t think I could ever have too much of you

<I love you too stiles

<so much

<I just don’t want you to get your hopes up

<I might not be able to live up to it in real life

>impossible

<seriously stiles

>I am being serious

>I’m already in love with you Der

>you don’t have to do anything more than you’ve already done

>you could wear a potato sack, and spend the whole night not saying anything at all

>and I would still be in love with you

>all you have to do now is show up

<…I can do that

>perfect

//

TWO YEARS LATER

@stilesstilinski

Hey @JacksonWhittemore, remember when you told me I would die alone? Well I just got engaged to the love of my life. So checkmate fucker.

#sterek #eternal sterek #what am i even doing? #i just spent the last two days writing this and banging my head against the wall and nothing else #should i write this into a full fic one day? #i probably wont #hope you guys enjoy #sterek drabble #5k words of them being idiots #i cut so much out how is this still 5k? #stiles stilinki #derek hale #laura is the only other character that makes an appearance #im supposed to be sleeping #but here we are ig #texting #wrong number #celebrity stiles

[vivxwrites]

As Fate Would Have It

*not my gif*

Word Count: 701

Summary: Sometimes fate is wrong but then again, it is meant to be, after all.

Warning(s): Mention of blood, Near character death, Injury

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

A/N: This one doubles as a request sent in a while ago by one of my followers (i am so sorry, my horrible tagging methods have stopped me from finding your @) and an angst request for @carol-thirteen​. Happy Birthday btw xx!

It dawned on you, as you lay in a growing puddle of your own blood, that the supposed ‘easy’ missions were always the hardest. You didn’t quite know why or how it always worked out to be this way, it just simply did, without fail, each and every time.

You tried your best to apply pressure to the gunshot wound on your abdomen but despite your best efforts blood still seeped through your closely knit fingertips and you knew you would need to call for help, and quick.

You reached a shaky hand up towards your left ear where the comm sat and clumsily flipped it on. “I’m hit,” you hissed through gritted teeth in an effort to keep the pain you were experiencing out of your voice. The comm system crackled to life in your ear, the telltale static instilling a small spark of hope deep in your chest.

Just as a panicked voice began to speak, a massive wave of nausea swept over you. A series of garbled syllables could barely register in your mind, followed by the sound of a sickening crunch. 

With no response from your end, the owner of the voice cursed sharply. You heard the line go dead and swallowed thickly, fearful of help not arriving in time.

Just as you had begun to shed tears of dread and sorrow and regret, you heard the pounding of boots sprinting in your direction. In a flash of red and black, she whipped around the corner of the alleyway and you let out a tiny sigh of relief.

Her breathing was ragged and her chest rose and fell erratically. Her eyes were red rimmed and you could see the tears threatening to fall from her glassy, glistening eyes. She stared at you in disbelief for awhile and you could only imagine the inner turmoil going through her head, 

Your vision was beginning to blur but you slapped an easy grin on your face for her sake. “I’m fine Nat, don’t worry.”

She scoffed and spluttered, “How can I not worry about you when you’re practically bleeding out on the ground? For fucks sake (Y/N)!” She threaded her fingers through her hair almost violently and her eyes took on a wild, animalistic look.

You gave her a careful look that she deciphered almost immediately. A choked sob ripped itself free from the Black Widow’s throat and you inhaled sharply at the pained noise. “It’s time,” you stated somberly. You felt yourself beginning to black out and with one final glance towards her, your vision faded, her cries of anguish dulling down in the background.

You wanted to go, to succumb to the darkness creeping along the edges of your vision, to finally rest. You had always expected to give your life to your cause, to die on the battlefield and today would’ve been that day if not for Natasha, the one factor holding you back. She was an unexpected variable in your well-thought out life and while you could have given in so, so easily, you fought. You fought death and you fought the Grim Reaper, putting up your fiercest fight yet, to live. To breathe and to pry your eyes open the tiniest bit, whatever your pain-induced body could muster in order to stay alive for her, the love of your life. 

Natasha was, in every sense of the word, your everything. She was your every morning and your every night, your sun and your moon, your light and your darkness. She was alluring and deadly and forbidden and consequently, you had to have her. And so the two of you, polar opposites brought together, fell for each other. Your love was fierce and it burned like the brightest of flames and it damn well wouldn’t go out without a fight. 

You subconsciously reminded yourself of it now (of yours and Natasha’s love for each other, that is), in what just moments earlier you had accepted to be your final fated seconds of living. You shook death off as if he were a mere fly and you lived, for her.

A/N: Hi friends! I’m finally back from my not-really-kinda sorta hiatus! I’ve had this whole weekend off and I’m hopping to crank out a few more fics for you guys for this upcoming week. Thank you all for being so supportive of me, it really means a lot. If you’re looking for more to read from me, my masterlist is in my header!

Permanent Tag List: @autumnjackson4​ @captainwonderwidow​ @lesbian-x-blackwidow​ @pruemania​ @taramitch96​ @5aftermidnight​ @blushycarol​ @fansanctuary​ @ultralightdumbass​ @arkkarchive​ @envy-adamss​

Feel free to shoot me an ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent tag list!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female!reader #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow x reader #black widow imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic

[hostclubtotallysaidthis]

🌃🕯🥀 with Kyoya please I love your blog btw ❤️❤️

Memory Prompts | Heavy TW for suicide and suicidal thoughts!!

🕯- A sad memory they would rather forget

Kyoya stood, staring at the wooden door with wide eyes. He didn't know if he should go in, even though he wanted to. His mother was sick and needed rest, she'd lost a lot of blood and stopped breathing. Her brunette hair was messy and greasy, and dark bags lay beneath the eyes that were so much like his.

They were always compared, looks-wise. He was a tiny version of his mother, one of the reasons why she let him keep his hair at shoulder length. He was as pretty as a little girl, as pretty as her, and it made the two of them feel... closer. Even if he went weeks without seeing her, he could just look in the mirror and see the parts of her he was given.

She always seemed to need her rest, but he had to see her now. He came so close to... She almost died, and he wouldn't have said goodbye. He wouldn't be able to hug her, kiss her cheek, and listen to her sing. It felt almost selfish to think of it in those terms, but he loved her so much and he couldn't bear to think of the hole she'd leave in his heart.

Taking hold of his resolve, he pulled open the door and stepped inside the clinical, sterile room. He knew hospital rooms had to be clean, but the smell of antiseptic and iodine was pungent, and paired with something disgustingly stale. It didn't suit her. She loved flowers, and the best perfumes, and silk sheets and... and...

"Baby boy."

Her face and voice were both warm and cotton soft when he finally let his gaze lay on her, sitting up in that awfully uncomfortable bed, but he wasn't fooled into thinking she was alright. Bandages lay thickly around her forearms, and she definitely had stitches. Her eyes were puffy, raw and red, bloodshot from the tears she must have cried when she awoke. His father had explained to him, after all, in more detail than an eight-year-old should know.

She wanted to die and was disappointed she was saved. It hurt. A searing pain wrapped around his heart when he thought about it, that none of them could convince her to stay.

Fighting his own tears, he rushed forward and climbed onto the bed, trying to be careful of the various IVs and wires attached to her slim frame. She didn’t push him away, didn’t tell him that he shouldn’t, simply cradled the back of his head and wove her fingers between the soft, black strands, kisses carefully pressed into his hair.

“It’s okay, baby boy,” She cooed, so sure that she could convince him of that. But she couldn’t, because he knew. He knew since he first saw her bleeding out on the bathroom floor.

She wasn’t okay.

🌃- A time they got to admire the beauty of a city

The suite was painfully impressive, even to a sheltered young boy raised in a mansion his whole life. Several rooms decorated in such a lush and overtly gaudy fashion which honestly disgusted his own sensibilities; a room doesn't need to be gold-gilded to show it was luxurious. He was a much bigger fan of the usual minimalism - monochromatic and glass surfaces gleaming in warm lamplight.

Still, he supposed he'd keep his mouth shut, considering the most likely outrageous cost and the fact that his father was nice enough to bring his youngest with him, opposed to his older brothers. It should be treated as an honour, even if it was simply because the other three children were too busy with their studies.

"Not that he asked me," Fuyumi had grumbled, but didn't elaborate further. She just stuck her nose back in her biology textbook, as if she hadn't uttered a single syllable.

Despite his dislike of the décor, what drew his eye was the view.

Panoramic windows lined the room, the night scenery laying beyond, and Kyoya had never seen Tokyo that beautiful. There were no stars, thanks to the light pollution, but thousands of lights were dotted around the city. Even if loud, bright, obnoxious advertisements made themselves known without a hint of apology, it was somehow captivating. Perhaps it was his lack of familiarity with cityscapes - let alone one like this - due to the Ootori estate having acres of land, but it was so absolutely breath-taking.

All he seemed to be able to do was walk over to the window in a daze, taking in every detail that became clearer the closer he came. His fingertips brushed the cool glass, his breath fogging an almost perfect, white-hued circle; it made the city beyond look even more dreamlike.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" His father finally chimed in, depositing their suitcases by the sofa for the moment, "I hate the room, but this makes it all worth the tackiness of it all. Don't you agree?"

He nodded, not knowing quite what to say, and reached for the window latch, feeling the need for a little fresh air. However, it opened maybe an inch, and was stuck. He tried to force it, but his father merely took a breath.

"There's no point in trying, Kyoya," He stated, "They don't open any further. With wealth like this comes much stress and pressure, and there have been... incidents."

"Like with mum?" He replied without thinking, almost instant, and regretted it as soon as those poorly chosen words left his tongue. His father took a deep breath, and he could see his reflection in the glass, racking a hand through his hair.

“Kyoya, do you know why I took you out here?” He inquired, “I wanted you to… Get away from that for a little while. It’s not good for you.”

He didn’t argue with that. In fact, after their “conversation”, Kyoya didn’t say another word all evening, bombarded by thoughts one certainly shouldn’t utter aloud.

It’s certainly high enough. If I jumped from here, I doubt I’d ever get up again…

🥀- A memory about death and grief

Here he was, soon to disappear and leave behind... What?

Kyoya groaned, all but slamming the bottle of pills on the bathroom counter for what had to be the fifth time that hour, at least. His head couldn't shut up about killing himself, but of course he couldn't do it peacefully and with dignity. That'd be far too much to ask for Kyoya Ootori!

It certainly wasn't the first time his consideration to end it all took him to the bathroom, but it was the first time he held the sedatives in his hand, summoning the will to swallow them all. They weren't a painless death - far from - but it was convenient. Slitting wrists and throats had to have a certain precision his shaking hands wouldn't be able to muster, drowning tended to have a low success rate, as self-preservation kicks in. With pills, he could swallow them down, and then go take a nap.

While unpleasant to think about, if he aspirated his own vomit, it would at least be quick, as long as he wasn't found.

But no, all of those perfectly reasonable things weren't what were making him hesitant. He'd like to act like the weeping martyr, say how he didn't want to hurt his family, and turn away. Not to get help, of course, because if you truly were the golden-hearted sob story, then your issues would dissolve into thin air and you'd just be happy again.

No, he's hesitant for fully selfish reasons.

Legacy is such an important thing, and what has he accomplished in his thirteen years of yearning? Nothing of note. He doesn't have friends, he's a good student but thoroughly average for an Ootori, no extra curriculars or talents that would make others think "Oh, he's that kid!"

Will the servants set a place for him at the table, before removing the cutlery and continuing their day a little more melancholic? Will his brothers miss him? Will Fuyumi cry over him? Will his father soldier through with his usual stoicism, before finally breaking down in the privacy of his office?

He can't imagine that. He can't imagine any thoughts of him after he walks out of his life. Because why would they? He can't imagine anyone truly caring anymore. He was too sad, too lethargic, too cold. His pretty looks also seemed to slip through his fingers like the dry, brittle strands of hair that fell from his hair. Even the vainest, shallowest of reasons to notice someone had abandoned him. He wouldn't even mind it if he was purely ornamental to someone, not anymore.

He growled deep in his throat, bile creeping up, and his chest was far too tight. He didn't know what he wanted - leave and be unremarkable, or struggle on and suffer. He wanted to rest, to stop fighting for once. Leave the battlefield for new planes.

But no. He couldn't. Not until he could say that people would at least call his death a shame - and mean it. A star turning supernova before imploding.

Yeah, right; like that could ever happen. 

#ouran high school host club #OHSHC #Kyoya Ootori #Yoshio Ootori #Kyoka Ootori #suicide tw

[severusdefender]

Scribbled this out for the Werewolf!Lily AU Thing, both a scene and devnotes

A/N: Haven’t posted this anywhere, but scribbled out a scene thing. Tried to strike a balance between normal amounts of teen self-centeredness and a little smidge of self-awareness but not enough to be too unrealistic? Maybe some unreliable narrator things (isn’t everyone technically an unreliable narrator?)

Untitled Werewolf!Lily AU Scribble: Sometimes Lily Evans stares up at the ceiling of her dorm not feeling like much of a Gryffindor.

She never tells anyone of these feelings of course, not even her friends; the teen gets up to pace the room, abandoning the open potions’ text and a half-written essay on her bed.

Why just this past afternoon she’d cancelled another after-hours’ meeting with Severus, citing some House busyness she couldn’t afford to miss, because what is she supposed to say really? ‘Hey, your so-called ‘well-bred’ arsehole friends probably want me dead or worse, can you not kiss up to them by parroting them, pretty please? Oh by the by, I can’t tell if you’re actually being serious when you parrot their beliefs? It scares me, would you stop?’

Lily should probably say that, she really should, but she doesn’t and she hasn’t; and Severus either hasn’t noticed or has and doesn’t care, and Lily wants to avoid thinking too hard about which of those options hurt the most.

…

All of a sudden, the room and its cheerfully-decorated walls feel too small.

Mary, Marlene and Ava weren’t in for the night yet, somewhat fortuitous that Lily hadn’t even gotten ready for bed yet, still clad in her day clothes she slips into her shoes and pockets her wand before slipping out for a walk that is sure to break curfew; passing through a largely empty Common Room into an equally-abandoned hallway.

A few lost points is better than stewing in her thoughts all night, sleepless and unable to move without waking her housemates.

Lily is going to fucking scream if she doesn’t find a window soon.

The redhead walks with a purpose, chest tightening and shoulders heavy, hands pressed hard in her robe pockets, before finally turning a corner to a hallway with a wall that was nothing but big open windows, just as a familiar head of dark hair and secondhand robes turn the far corner.

Severus.

A strange mixture of relief, apprehension and guilt bubbles in Lily’s throat before she notices a strange glinting on the floor near an alcove opposite to the windows; she approaches it quickly before realizing what it is.

It was a knife.

Neatly folded into its shiny but nicked handle, glinting softly in the light of a quickly-setting sun, it wasn’t a secondhand knife for potions’ ingredient prep, no, but a switchblade the girl remembers well and fondly; stolen from an older boy back in Cokeworth. The day had been cloudy; Lily had eaten sausages for breakfast; Sev had been wearing a grey shirt, not the one with bloodstains but the one with inky oil stains on it.

‘Sev must’ve dropped it.’

Images of her friend’s bruised face, her scuffed shoes and their bloodied knuckles flit through her thoughts, the nostalgic ring of victorious laughter while huddled in an old library. The knife had been like a trophy, Severus had kept it with him from then on.

“It’s something we won together, o’ course ‘m gonna keep it.”

Lily’s mouth twists pensively, and her heart races, and thinks that she could still catch up with Severus if she ran. They still haven’t talked about it, and she’d be a liar if she said she hadn’t missed him and doing things together, but his friends were swotty, arsehole, Death Eater-wannabes to be polite.

That wasn’t polite but Lily doesn’t care.

But best friends are supposed to talk to each other, tell and keep each other’s secrets, not avoid each other and hope the problem goes away. The knife disappears into her skirt pocket, and Lily jogs to catch up.

This was going to be the end of their friendship, huh? Years and years of little magicks and giggled secrets, surprise family dinner buffers, magic projects over the weekends or afterhours, it was all going to end tonight, right? Not with a bang, but a whimper?

…

Lily can’t believe she’d already forgotten how unfairly quick Severus’ lanky beanpole legs made him. She always would just barely manage to catch sight of him too far ahead, and the lump in her throat always catching before she could call out. And soon she’s outside, having followed him down some stairs and only caught up enough to see him disappear into the rooty base of the Whomping Willow.

This couldn’t be end of them.

Lily stops, apprehensive to approach the temperamental tree and then there’s a bit of shame, is it always going to be like this? Always stopping and never as brave as she’d like? The grass swishes quietly beneath her sneakers, switchblade burning a hole in her pocket, as a girl of fifteen approaches the open entrance her still-friend had disappeared into as the willow’s branches sway almost-serenely.

The teen remembers hopped tracks and gates, running afoul of miscreants and grownups both, and shared meals and library books. She and Sev have history, that has to mean something in the end, doesn’t it?

The tunnel entrance was small its darkness thick and earthy, and Lily hates it immediately even as her lit wand only wards off a tiny portion of said darkness. She plods forward, ignoring the slight constriction of her chest and feeling braver than she’d been a few minutes ago.

So Lily plunges into the dark of the passage, barely noticing the last of the sunlight completely disappear from behind the foreboding line of the Forbidden Forest; she has a knife to return.

OOOOO

NOTETHINGS:  So I haven’t written anything else but this was the scribble that came the easiest to me at the hour of our lord 3am. Also Lily’s is claustrophobic if you couldn’t tell (remember some old asks about the cupboard punishment coming from somewhere thing, I dug it back out for some juicy angst). Basically I needed an introspective scene and then this thing happened. What’s supposed to follow would be a POV switch to Severus. 

I haven’t quite choreographed the action scene too much but it’s supposed to go something like: Severus runs facefirst into Werewolf!Remus and Werewolf!Remus lunges but Sev falls but is prone, Lily bursts in with a spell to Werewolf!Remus’ face and he goes after her instead. Another spell from Lily, but Werewolves are pretty spell resistant so he charges her and chomps on her shoulder and neck (since werewolf heads, even unhealthy teen ones, I hc are p large) lifting her up about to shake (which according to me, would’ve broken her neck and killed her). Remus is currently in the middle of crushing her wand arm’s shoulder, so her wand’s dropped, and she can’t move it anyways. Using her good arm, she takes out Severus’ knife (the one she’d been wanting to return), and stabs Werewolf!Remus in the face (no he doesn’t die), and so he drops her.

This all happens in the span of like, less than ten seconds, generously?

Sev is finally unfrozen and casts quickly somehow blasting Werewolf!Remus back and trying to get to Lily’s side trying to drag her up to run back through the tunnel. But trying to do so with another person and scared as hell is harder than it looks, bc before long Werewolf!Remus is back up and catches Lily by the leg, dragging her out from her lean on Severus, chomps said leg and shakes her by it, breaking it, before letting go and she goes flying in the opposite direction of the Whomping Willow <<->> Shrieking Shack passage exit, and suddenly Severus is faced with the decision between fleeing himself and going through Werewolf!Remus to get his mangled friend.

But of course, this is when Stag!James finally fucking arrives to Kool Aid Man Werewolf!Remus. Yes Severus didn’t have to make the choice right now, but it’s foreshadowing or something for later maybe, although technically he could go save himself now but the immediate threat is being distracted by a fucking deer. Severus has to grab a bleeding, half-mangled Lily and run tf away and to the infirmary, though after crossing the threshold into said Hospital Wing though, he stumbles and hits his head, thus knocking himself out. Yes he did the suboptimal thing by not using magic to levitate her because he was Panicking, which would be addressed in a (hopefully) future scene or something.

James is fine btw.

Thoughts? Percolating ideas?

It’s perfect. Their friendship is deteriorating, then Lily sees something that reminds her of Cokeworth and she follows Severus into the Whomping Willow. Holy shit the description of the attack sounds horrifying. 

#severus snape #lily evans #fanfic #submission #long post

[damian-dreamz8442]

Missing in Action Part II

Hola, back with the second half of the fic. Should I link Part I here?

Psych, I already did. 

BTW this is NOT canon compliant and I do not even try to be accurate at all, just in character. 

Basic re-cap (spoilers) Damian is missing, kidnapped by a pack of goons in clown makeup, right out from under Dick’s nose. Afterwards he got a call from the Joker saying he has Damian, and gave Dick a bit of a clue as to where. 

Meanwhile, the Joker is very angry over the fact that he doesn’t actually have Damian, and the little punk is, in fact, nowhere to be found. 

Dick called the batmobile to his location, putting it on autopilot as he was in no condition to drive. His pounding head was only a minor distraction compared to the all-encompassing worry over Damian. He needed back-up if he was going to find Damian. 

Stephanie was, unsurprisingly, the first to answer. “Batman?” She questioned, no doubt noticing Dick initiated a group call with her, Cass, Tim and Jason. 

“I hope this is quick, Batman,” Tim added, keys clacking audibly in the background, “I’m in the middle of a case with the titans and-”

“Damian is missing.” Dick blurted, abandoning code names. 

“What?” Jason barked. Dick could hear Cass narrow her eyes. 

“He was kidnapped on patrol,” Dick explained, “a pack of goons took him, wearing clown makeup.” 

“Oh my god.” Stephanie breathed, at the same time as Tim’s “the Joker? He’s back?” 

“We don’t know that.” Jason reasoned, voice tight. “There are copy cats of the Joker all over Gotham.” 

“I got a call.” Dick cut his brother off, trying to focus his eyes on the road despite not being in control of the car. “A payphone, somehow he knew I would still be in the area. He gave me a clue.” A really messed up, useless clue. Dick hated even remembering the words as they came along with that familiar nasal voice. He’d written down the message, scrawled hastily on a sticky note in his belt, but somehow he’d dropped it in his panic. 

“He said he took Robin to ‘the place little robins go to... die’.” Dick ignored his voice crack, hoping the others would as well. 

Tim’s typing stopped, “like actual birds or-”

“The warehouse.” Jason growled, eliciting a curse from Dick. “You don’t think...” Jason’s only response was a grunt. 

Jason’s constant death jokes insured that at least they all knew which warehouse he was referring to. It did nothing to instill confidence in Dick. 

“How long do we have?” Tim asked as Dick went about changing the coordinates in his GPS. 

“It’s the Joker,” Jason grumbled, emotion lost from his voice in a transparent way of blocking out old memories, “we’ll be lucky if Damian’s even recognizable when we get there.” 

The line went silent, the implications heavy on the group of siblings. Dick wished for the thousandth time that Bruce was there. He could’ve stopped all this, surely. Dick didn’t have time to think about the irony; losing his first robin the same way the first Batman lost his robin. Dick wouldn’t let his brain go there. He couldn’t. 

Damian finally made it back to the street Dick was supposed to be on. Between limping and sticking to the shadows as much as possible in red and green, it had taken him nearly another hour. Quite the pathetic display, Damian told himself. No doubt if his father had been alive, he would’ve been disappointed. 

Despite it being two hours, Damian was at a loss when he found the alleyway deserted. There was a creepy box, mostly broken, and a stuffed clown face that laid decimated not far away, but no Batman. Damian did not like the idea of limping all the way back to the manor. His ankle pulsed with constant pain, it was getting harder to breathe around his ribs, and the cuts littered all of his limbs had yet to stop bleeding. It was tempting to just sit against the wall and wait for someone to come along and put him out of his misery. 

Instead, Damian limped over to a phone booth across the street. The receiver was unhooked, emitting the most sound, second only to Drake speaking. Damian hung it up with a grimace. He was surprised it worked at all, considering no one used phone booths anymore. Unless they were desperate. Which Damian was. 

He was about to try to remember the number for Wayne manor, when Damian noticed something yellow discarded haphazardly outside the phone booth. It wouldn’t have been of much interest to him, except the handwriting was unmistakable. 

Dick had used the phone booth and carelessly left behind a note. No doubt he was over reacting to Damian being missing, but at least it ensured he was alive. The note made little sense. 

‘Where little robins go to die’, who would even come up with that? Damian made a face at the sickening notion. 

Sluggishly, Damian’s brain aligned the clues. Dick thought he was missing, already on a scale of six of worry. He and Tim categorized a scale of worry for their family. Dick was almost always a five, Damian had never seen Jason rise above a two. 

Someone had called him on the phone booth, obviously. It was unlikely Dick’s communicator was broken in the skirmish and even if it was he wouldn’t think to use a phone booth. For what purpose? He could just call the batmobile. 

So some sicko had called the phone booth and given Dick the message. A clue perhaps? Damian read it again, allowed his mushy, bruised brain to comprehend the words. Wished he was as good a detective as Drake. Bashed the intrusive thought with a mental crowbar. 

Crowbar! Damian would’ve smacked his head if it didn’t already hurt so much. Finally Jason’s fatalistic sense of humor came in handy; his cause of death ingrained in the back of Damian’s mind. A rather dark turn of thought, but Damian was more results oriented. 

The Joker had beaten Jason with a crowbar, then killed him, in a warehouse on the other side of Gotham. It never did get rebuilt, but the Joker had erroneously threatened to do the same thing to Damian. Despite it being a lie, Dick would believe it. He didn’t know Damian escaped. 

Great, just great. How unbelievably fantastic. What an amazing turn of events, now Damian would get the absolute privilege of walking all the way across Gotham, trying to catch up with Dick who was probably a hair shy of a ten. If Damian was wrong well... that would really suck. 

Damian was really starting to understand why Joker was the most disliked criminal in the batfamily. (There was a vote. Ironically, they all like Harley Quinn the most.) 

With no other options, Damian began limping in the vague direction of the infamous warehouse. A street later, he passed a marooned motorcycle. After that, his night got much better. 

Dick ran across the grounds of the warehouse district to find the rest of his siblings not far from the remains of the blown up warehouse. Cass had a hand on Jason’s shoulder, while he quietly muttered about not letting Damian die the same way he had. It was cruelty on another level, this scheme of the Joker’s. Dick just wanted his robin back. 

Tim and Steph were formulating a strategy. Well, Tim was, having pulled up an overhead view of the warehouse rubble. Steph kept suggesting they go in fighting, get Damian, and set Joker on fire. Tim pointed out eight reasons that would not work. 

Dick stood next to Jason, taking a deep breath. “I don’t think we have time to wait, or make a plan.” He shot an apologetic look at Tim, “we just need to go in, canvas it, find Damian-”

“That’s what Joker wants!” Tim insisted, gesturing lamely to the building. “He probably has some game set up, or the entrance rigged, and we’ll all get blown up!” Jason bristled at the prospect of being blown up again, noticeable only to Cass. She squeezed his shoulder. 

Suddenly, a sharp disc cut through the group, lodging in the tree behind them. They all looked at it in shock, Joker’s logo laughing at them. It blinked to life, emitting a hollow cackle. 

“You’re too late!” Came a raspy voice. It hissed, a pathetic amount of laughing gas bubbling out of its edges. The frisbee was not meant to do damage, the real threat...

Dick spun around just as ruins of the warehouse let out a sickening crackle and exploded. Again. 

“No!” Dick screamed, lurching forward. Cass jumped in front of him to hold him back, eyes trained on the building. Jason couldn’t tear his eyes from the flames, memories and horror clutching him. 

“No, no, no, that can’t be it!” Tim insisted, burying his hands in his hair. “It’s... it’s the Joker! Where are the mind games? The... the...” 

Stephanie crashed to her knees, gaping at the scene. “What just-what just happened?” 

“Damian...” Dick’s voice cracked painfully, throat raw. He could feel the heat, there were debris floating down. Cass hugged him tightly. 

Jason spun around and punched a tree, it was unclear if the following crack came from the wood or his knuckles. He let out a furious growl, which morphed into an anguished roar. “I’m. Going. To. Kill. That son of a b-- !” 

Damian nearly stopped his stolen motorcycle as he saw the warehouse rubble go up in flames. What the... who would go through the trouble of blowing up that heap of cement? He could only hope Dick wasn’t in there, it would be just like him to do something stupid without Damian. 

Finally making it over the grassy hill - one of the few greenspaces in this area of Gotham - Damian ditched the bike. He was about to hobble forward when he heard a haunted wail from none other than Jason Todd. Damian broke into a run, despite his bodies protests. 

Had Dick gone into that building? Was one of them hurt? Damian could see his whole family gathered not far from the explosion. He could barely breathe, thanks to his ribs, and tripped on his ankle. He was panting by the time he got close enough to call out to them. 

Are you ok?” He straightened to talk to Jason, the only one looking at him, “what happened? Sorry I’m late, but someone ditched me in central Gotham and-” 

His whole family spun to look at him. Jason looked close to tears. Dick was crying. Stephanie was on the ground. Maybe she was hurt? Before Damian could ask, Dick was running full speed at him. 

“Robin!” His voice was thick with relief as he swept Damian into a hug. Normally such contact was unwarranted but not uncomfortable. This time, could Damian just say, ow. 

“Batman, release me!” Damian managed through gritted teeth, his ribs screaming at the pressure. There were definitely a few broken. 

“Robin, I can’t believe... you were... and then we!” 

“Batman! My ribs!” Dick let go immediately at the pained sound of Damian’s voice, supporting the boy as he doubled over painfully. He looked up to find his whole family gathered around him in concern. 

There were hands all over him, noting his injuries, bracing his ankle, rubbing his back. Someone - Todd, probably - even took advantage of the situation to mess up his hair. It was too much to keep track of, making him dizzy. 

“What happened?” He asked, batting the hand away from his hair. 

“We thought you... you were in there.” Stephanie finally explained, pointing at the burning cement foundation. 

“Joker, he... I saw you?” Dick was still unable to formulate a proper sentence. 

Damian scoffed, which cost him dearly as pain seared through him. It took him another second to get enough breath back in his lungs to explain. “I got away from those buffoons in like... five minutes.” Two hours, but who was counting. 

“Your ankle. Ribs. Head.” Cass countered. Ah, her hands were bracing his ankle. 

“Well, I didn’t get away entirely unscathed.” 

“We were really worried about you.” Tim’s voice was choked with emotion. He was rubbing Damian’s back. Damian couldn’t help but look at him in shock.” 

“So you all rushed here... to try and save me?” 

“Obviously!” Jason scoffed loudly. “Always.” He finished, locking eyes with Damian. 

Damian cleared his throat - another act that rendered him speechless in pain for a few seconds. “Thank you for coming. As you can see, I’m fine.” The siblings shared an incredulous look. 

“Is that Damian for ‘my body frigging hurts and I want to go home’?” Steph asked, leaning down to Damian’s level. He glared at her. “No, I’m-” he was about to say ‘not even that hurt’ but then Cass let go of his ankle to stand and Damian nearly fainted. To his utter mortification, a pained whimper left him. 

“Oh, lil’D, c’mere.” Dick cooed sympathetically, slowly gathering him up. This time he was mindful of Damian’s ribs. Damian would not admit that a huge wave of relief washed over him as soon as he was being carried, weight off his ankle and head cradled on Dick’s shoulder. 

“Put me down. I can... I can walk.” Damian’s protest held no heat, it was basically a whine. Dick leaned his cheek on Damian’s head softly. That was all it took for Damian’s body to finally give into the darkness. 

When Damian came to, he was in the batcave on a bed next to Dick. Dick was holding his hand, half asleep, pristine bandages wrapped around his head. Despite the calm scene next to him, the batcave was anything but. 

Tim and Cass were playing a video game on the huge monitor - correction, Tim was losing against Cass in a video game on the huge monitor - while Jason and Steph cheered them on. Alfred was cleaning up medical supplies when he noticed Damian’s attempt at awareness. 

“Master Damian,” Alfred greeted with a soft smile. Dick jerked awake, already grinning. “Dami! You’re awake!” The game was paused as four more people came rushing to his bedside. 

Damian hated being on pain meds. The sight of his family being so worries about him was enough to make him want to hug them. Humiliating. 

“How are you feeling?” Tim asked. Before Damian could bite back with a harsh ‘fine’, his emotions betrayed him. 

“Thank you,” he muttered, surprising no one more than himself. “Thank you for always coming for me.” Damian bit back the rest of his words, and the tears. He refused to be as pathetic and young as they expected of him. 

Dick saw right through him, he always did. He reached over and hugged Damian - something that was quickly becoming a normal action, not that Damian could bring himself to mind. “We love you.” 

#batfam #damian wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #robin #batman #red hood #red robin #spoiler #orphan #au #hurt/comfort #misunderstanding #tricks #gotham #the joker