𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕!
𝑮𝒓𝒆𝒚'𝒔 𝑨𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒚!
𝗙𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗿 - 𝗔𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗮 𝗦𝗵𝗲𝗽𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗱 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 - 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗱
𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒍!
𝗠𝗮𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗹 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗜𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀 - 𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴
𝗪𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗮 𝗠𝗮𝘅𝗶𝗺𝗼𝗳𝗳
𝗔𝗴𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗮 𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀
𝙉𝙖𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙖 𝙍𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙛𝙛
𝑹𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒊𝒍
𝑹𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

oozey mess

blake kathryn
hello vonnie
macklin celebrini has autism

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cherry valley forever
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

JBB: An Artblog!

JVL

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

if i look back, i am lost

Kaledo Art
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Sade Olutola
AnasAbdin

No title available

roma★
ojovivo
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@ninus9607
𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕!
𝑮𝒓𝒆𝒚'𝒔 𝑨𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒚!
𝗙𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗿 - 𝗔𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗮 𝗦𝗵𝗲𝗽𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗱 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 - 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗱
𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒍!
𝗠𝗮𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗹 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗜𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀 - 𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴
𝗪𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗮 𝗠𝗮𝘅𝗶𝗺𝗼𝗳𝗳
𝗔𝗴𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗮 𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀
𝙉𝙖𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙖 𝙍𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙛𝙛
𝑹𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒊𝒍
𝑹𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕
in last weeks I can't find any LITERALLY ANY GOOD WANDA FF, GUYS!!!
I need your help, I'm craving, starving and yearning for some good Wanda x fem!reader story, could be anything except angst, please drop your favorite ones in comments!!!
THANK U🥰
Me waiting for a flood of new hotd fics after 2 years of starvation:
can we please stop romanticizing cheating in fiction like it’s sexy
Oh to be her controversially young gf… like my dream
i miss you diva
Ehm, Ehm.... I might be baaackkk
Heyy my dearrrrs!
I come back here after kinda long break, and I have no idea what I should write all this time://///
??
Only You - wanda maximoff series
Secret admirer - g!p Natasha romanoff oneshot
RE preferences
Something new?!?
Ahhhh, how I miss you guysssss
See ya soon!!!
𝗥𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗘𝘃𝗶𝗹 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀
𝟑) 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 / 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏
Pairings: Resident Evil Characters x Female! reader
Word count: 8.7K
Warning: (nothing, I hope so! maybe mention of blood)
tags l content: Resident Evil x reader • headcanons / scenario
𝑨𝑵: 𝑴𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔!! 𝑰’𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓! 𝑨𝒍𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉, 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚, 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒇 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒕! 𝑰’𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝑰𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒃𝒚 𝒂 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓, 𝒔𝒐 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔! 𝑨𝒍𝒔𝒐, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒄𝒖𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔, 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝑰 𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑴𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒂—𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔, 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 “𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆” 𝒃𝒚 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊 𝑿𝑪𝑿 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆 :) 𝑹𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 𝒈𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆 🖤
Alcina Dimitrescu:
You didn't expect it to be so awful. It starts a little, as it usually does with her, with one wrong phrase or tone, and then everything swings. You mention leaving - just for a bit, something you need to do, and Alcina keeps silent in a way that immediately tells you this isn't going to end well.
"You will not leave this castle," she adds calmly as if the decision is already made and your choice is useless.
You try to explain, tell her it's not forever, that you'll return, and that it's nothing serious, but she doesn't hear anything because all she hears is that you're abandoning her, which she refuses to accept.
So she does what she usually does when she feels something she can't control: she becomes cruel. Her words become more cruel, as if she is purposefully building a barrier between you, as if she would rather harm you first than admit that she is the terrified one.
"Do not mistake my tolerance for affection, you're simply a small vampire that takes up space and is useful for nothing," she continues, "I gave you a home, so you'll stay here."
That's when something in you breaks.
You don't argue after that. Don't try to explain anymore. You nod quietly, hurt visible in your face even if you try to disguise it, and take a step back as if you have finally understood your position.
"Of course, Lady Dimitrescu," you reply. Your ego took a knock, but what hurt the most was your heart; you decided that even so, you wouldn't obey her order, you'd leave and never return.
You go to her daughters first. It feels terrible to go without seeing or informing them, and once you explain, the mood in the room shifts immediately. Daniela is the first to respond, obviously furious, her voice rising as she questions why, what happened, and why you want to leave.
Bela stays silent, but the discomfort in her posture is visible, her eyes piercing as she listens. Cassandra doesn't even bother to disguise her annoyance, mumbling something beneath her breath that is plainly rude.
And once they understand why, it isn't directed at you. It's directed at her.
"You're leaving because of our mother?" Daniela snaps, confusion quickly giving way to anger.
You don't answer. You don't need to. That's enough.
The tension snapped. Cassandra gives a harsh chuckle and shakes her head. "Of course she did," she murmurs, already turning to face the doorway. "She ruins everything." Bela doesn't say anything, but she walks first, followed by Daniela, who is still complaining loudly.
They don't give you time to stop them. Alcina isn't expecting them.
The mood changes as soon as they arrive. She hardly has time to respond before Daniela begins speaking, accusing her of pushing you away, being blind, and damaging the one thing that truly mattered.
"You finally get someone who isn't afraid of you, who actually stays, and you decide to chase her away?" she snarks.
Cassandra is less subtle. "You're acting like a fool, mother," she states openly.
Bela does not raise her voice, "She was kind to us."
"What are you talking about?" Alcina asks, her tone filled with annoyance.
Daniela doesn't hesitate. "She's leaving," she adds, her words hitting home more than anything else. "She's leaving the castle. Forever."
For a split second, Alcina remains still. Her demeanor remains unchanged, but something flickers behind her eyes. "No, I've said no," she says quietly, as if she refuses to accept it.
Cassandra gives a bitter laugh. "You told her she didn't mean anything. What were you expecting?"
Something in Alcina cracks. "No," she says again, harsher, almost chaotic. "She would not..."
Even as she says it, she knows. She immediately starts moving, not walking or composed, but running. She reacts quicker than she allows herself to, faster than she thinks. By the time she finds you, you've already reached the castle's edge. Already leaving. "Stop! Please, Stop!!" You freeze. Slowly turn.
And what you see is not the lady you know. She doesn't seem calm. She looks...shaken. Furious, yes, but not at you. At herself.
For a moment, neither of you speaks, the tension thick and heavy, your pain still lingering between you, but Alcina doesn't hesitate this time. She closes the distance quickly, like she's afraid you'll disappear if she doesn't reach you in time.
"What do you think you are doing?" she says.
"You said enough," you respond gently, and the silence stings more than anything you could have said. Alcina exhales hard, her jaw clenching and her hand lifting before stopping, as if she no longer had the right to touch you.
"I was wrong," she admits, " I spoke in anger. In fear."
"I am a fool," she says,
Her eyes lock on yours, focused, searching, and almost desperate in a way she would never show anybody else.
"The thought of you leaving..." she begins, but her voice stumbles as her self-control slips. "Do you understand what that does to me?"
She moves closer, her presence overwhelming but never frightening to you.
"I can't stand it, the idea of you walking away, as if this - " her sudden, almost frantic hand gestures between you " ... meant nothing."
Her hand eventually reaches you, firmly holding your arm, as if she needs to make sure you're still there, not already gone.
"I have never felt like this, not for anyone. Not in a way that causes me to lose control of myself. Never."
...
"You are not replaceable," she continues, more confident but no less passionate. "You are everything to my daughters and me, and I won't let you walk away because I was too scared to say what I should have said a long time ago..."
Another pause.
"I love you."
The words come out low, almost gruff, yet they contain all she fought to suppress and reject.
"And I will not lose you," she continues, quieter but no less determined, "not to my own pride, please, I beg you, don't leave us...."
For a moment, you don't say anything. The words stick between you. You can still feel the pain of what she said before, cutting through you and making you walk away, but now she's there in front of you. For you.
Your gaze softens somewhat, and your hand hesitates before lifting to rest against hers, where she still holds you. Her hold tightens instinctively, as if she's terrified you'll pull away again.
"You hurt me," you reply gently. She refuses to look away.
"I know," she says quietly. You take a modest step forward. Deciding to stay. Choosing to stay. "I'm still here," you mutter.
That is all it takes. Her hand glides down your arm to your waist, like she's giving you the chance to stop her if you want to, but you don't. You stay where you are, your hand creeping steadily up to her shoulder.
She leans in carefully, her gaze flickering to your lips for a split second before returning to your eyes, as if she needs to be sure. When you don't pull away, she closes the distance...
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡
Bela Dimitrescu:
You should have realized something was wrong right when he began following you. It wasn't rare for people in the village to chat after the market closed. He stayed close, his footsteps never quite diminishing, and his presence lingering in a way that made your shoulders tense, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. Because of him, the late summer air felt thicker.
"You shouldn't be alone like this," he pointed out after a time, "Girls like you usually believe they don't need anyone, but then what? You wind up with nothing."
You didn't respond. You simply kept walking, hoping he'd become bored and stop. He didn't. "And that thing from the castle?" he asked, "People talk, you know. Say she follows you. Watching you, or maybe stalking you, is a better word for it. " He laughed lowly and bitterly. "Pathetic, really."
Your steps slowed, just slightly.
"And even if she does," he added, "that blond bitch is nothing compared to a real man."
That's when things changed. It wasn't loud. It wasn't noticeable. But the air transformed in a way you'd come to recognize. The laughter stopped. Silence followed, and when you turned, he was no longer standing. She did not appear as soft or distant as she normally did. This time, she stood there fully. Her stare focused on you, but it was darker, sharper, and more intense than before.
There was blood, obviously not hers. You should have been terrified. You knew that. Anyone else would've been. But you weren't.
And something inside her snapped again.
She moved without warning, faster than before, grabbing your wrist and pushing you back till your back touched the hard surface of a tree. Not enough to hurt, but enough to stop you and keep you there.
"You let him speak like that, about you, about me..." Her presence moved closer, not threatening or violent, making it impossible to look away. Her stare never left yours.
"I won't allow that," she said, "You are not something to be talked about like that. Not by him. Not by anyone."
Her hand moved gently away from your wrist, gradually and less harshly, as if she was aware and attempting to grasp onto you without pushing you away. "And you are not someone I will let anyone touch."
"You're mine to protect," she said quietly. You could feel her breath, see the thin smear of blood on the corner of her lips, and the tension in her posture, as if she was waiting for you to respond, reject it, or destroy whatever this was becoming.
You didn't.
Your hand lifted slowly and carefully, your fingers brushing across her jaw, firm despite everything, and Bela remained totally still at the touch because you chose her. Her fingers tightened around your waist to establish herself, and then she leaned closer.
The kiss wasn't rushed, wasn't violent, despite everything that had just happened. It was intense. When she pulled back, When she pulled back, it wasn't far, her forehead almost brushing yours, her gaze still fixed on you...
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡
Cassandra Dimitrescu:
You really thought you could just... keep living like nothing changed? After everything? After her?
...
Something is wrong. The castle feels unusually quiet, as if the walls are holding their breath, as if every step you take is being watched, even when you can't see anything. People don't come near you anymore, not out of fear, but because they've learnt something. Conversations stop when you pass.
You should leave. Maybe only for a few hours, to walk in the fresh air. That thought sits heavy in your chest as you move through the corridor.
You don't make it far, and before you can react, something slams into you, your back smacking the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs. A hand wraps around your throat, not tightly enough to strangle you, but just enough to hold you still and remind you how easily it could happen.
"Where are you going?"
You look up, her face just inches from yours, her face twisted into something darker. There's blood on her. Fresh. It hasn't even dried yet.
"Lady Dimitrescu..." you start, but her hold tightens only slightly.
"Don't." The word cuts you off immediately. "Don't pretend you weren't about to leave."
Her head tilts slightly, her eyes sweeping over your face as if she's trying to understand something that does not seem to make sense to her.
"I've been so good to you," she murmurs almost softly, but there's something off about it, something that doesn't feel right. "I let you walk around. I let you talk to them. I let you think you still had a choice."
Her hand moves from your throat to your jaw, fingers pressing just enough to keep your face turned toward her.
"And this is what you do?" she says, "You try to leave me?"
Her grip tightens again, this time around your waist, drawing you closer as if distance itself is unwanted.
"No," she responds, calmly and definitively. "That's not how this works."
"L-lady Dimitrescu, it's not what you think - I just wanted to step outside for a moment to breathe fresh air."
"Silence, maid!"
...
"You see it now, don't you?" she murmurs, "There's nowhere for you to go."
Her thumb slowly slides across your cheek, "I made sure of that. You belong here," she says, her breath brushing against your lips, her presence so overwhelming that you can't think clearly.
"You belong to me."
She drew out her sickle, cut a small piece of skin from your palm, and tasted your wonderful blood; then she slowly moved toward your lips and kissed you, her mouth full of blood.
The kiss is strong, almost consuming you and more claiming than anything else, as if she's trying to prove something, or sealing it into you so you can't deny it.
And when she eventually draws back, all she does is gaze at you again. Until she held her scythe to her throat and murmured, "Mine forever," and then everything went dark...
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡
Daniela Dimitrescu:
Daniela pauses in the doorway for a while, as if debating whether to enter or exit, her typical passion missing. There was no turbulent entry, no instant giggles, and nothing fell off shelves because she touched them without thinking. She's... calm and completely clean.
There is no blood, mess, or anything out of place. Her hair is set, and her outfit is quite elegant and clean. It doesn't fit the version of her you're used to.
"I hate this already," she says under her breath, but she walks in anyway, the door silently closing behind her. Her hands hold something. A folded sheet of paper with slightly crumpled edges.
She walks closer, then stops and takes another step as if she is forcing herself forward.
"I wrote something," she adds quickly, "And you have to read it before I say anything else because I can't. I tried, it didn't work, it sounded stupid, so just- take it."
The letter is thrown into your hands before you can answer. She doesn't move after that.
The letter isn't perfect. It's sloppy in a way that feels entirely her own, words crossed out, phrases rewritten, ideas mixed together as if she couldn't keep them straight. But it is honest. Every line of it. She writes about you as if you've always been present in her mind, as if each conversation lasted longer than it should have, as if she remembers things you didn't even realize you said.
It feels real. She's still standing there, tense in a way that doesn't fit her at all, like she's waiting for something worse than rejection, like she's waiting for nothing.
"So," she adds after a second, "That's - what I meant."
A short pause. Then she straightens slightly, as if she is remembering something important that she practiced.
"I wasn't just going to give you that," she says, pushing herself to continue. "I mean, I thought about it, but that would be stupid because then I'd just leave and not know what you think, and I don't like not knowing things."
Her fingers twitch softly at her sides. You've never seen her this nervous.
"And I cleaned up," she says hastily, as if she wants you to notice it. "And I picked this dress because I thought you might like it, and I can try to behave normally for a few hours, probably, no promises, but I'll try."
She exhales sharply.
"Go out with me. Properly," she says, her stare fixed on you and not moving away. "It's like a date. Not only staying here and talking, which of course I enjoy, but also something more."
You just stood there smiling at her, but didn't say a word, which Daniela thought was a sign of rejection or pity, and started to apologize.
"I'm sorry, I know it was a bad idea." Her flies began flying around her. "My mother made me stand here and confess my love to you, and now all this... oh God, I'm sorry if you feel uncomfortable."
"Oh, you're so cute and so wrong. Yes. I would love to."
The word leaves your lips so easily, but it strikes her harder than anything else could. She blinks. "Yes?" she asks, as if she needs to hear it again. You nod.
Her shoulders relax, and she takes a breath as if she had been holding it all along. She lets out a low laugh, then a bit louder, feeling more like herself.
"Wow," she responds rashly, "Okay, good. That is good."
Then she suddenly disappears into a swarm of flies and returns with a bouquet of beautiful flowers, offering them to you.
"Here, for you..."
You grab them and look them over. "They're gorgeous, Dani."
"Like you," Daniela said. "Aunt Donna grew them in her garden, and when I saw them, I immediately thought of you."
"That's so sweet of you," you say, blushing.
"Everything for you, frumuseţe." With that, she kisses the palm of your hand and disappears with a little giggle. (My beauty)
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Donna Beneviento:
Living near Donna made silence feel comfortable. Your house was near enough to hers that visiting no longer seemed like a choice and became a habit, quiet walks through the fog, nights spent in her gloomy rooms, the air filled with the subtle aroma of herbs and something warm on the stove.
She didn't speak much, but she didn't have to. You quickly filled the gap, chatting about little things, silly topics, anything to put her loneliness away. And she allowed you. Always allow you.
She started cooking for you without explaining why. Simple at first, then more well-prepared meals, always set in front of you as if nothing had happened, as if she had not taken the time to think about what you would want. Italian dishes were warm and comforting, and she appeared to know how to create them without trying.
Of course, Angie never stayed silent about it, always pointing out the obvious, taunting, and whispering things Donna refused to speak out. You'd laugh it off, Donna's eyes would drop, and the moment would pass.
Then the letters followed...
At first, you assumed it was a mistake. Why would someone write a love letter to a lord? Folded paper left where it could be found, phrases written in delicate, almost shaky handwriting, poetic in a way that felt too intimate to be ignored.
They spoke about you as if someone had been watching you closely, paying attention to things you hadn't noticed about yourself, the way you walked, the way the wind altered around you as if it was listening. It was not disturbing.
Not really. It's just... confusing. Because nobody ever admitted to it. No villagers, no lords, no one. And still, the letters kept coming, each one a little more honest, a little more difficult to throw out, filled with something that felt dangerously close to love.
You asked about them once, and Donna went still. Angie laughed. And that was the end of that conversation.
But the feeling didn't go. If anything, it became stronger, settling deep in your chest every time you opened another letter or read words that were too personal to be from anonymous. You began hunting for clues, little things, anything that might reveal who it was, but nothing ever did.
Until Angie grew impatient. "Oh, this is ridiculous," she said one evening, her voice breaking the silence as Donna tensed alongside her. "Are you going to keep writing forever without saying anything? She is right there."
Donna shook her head sharply, her fists tightening in her lap. No. No, she couldn't. No one would ever want anything to do with her; that's how it's always been and always will be. So, revealing the truth is out of the question for her.
She'll lose you. And she can't lose you. So instead, she writes. Carefully. Slowly. Late at night, when the house is quiet, and Angie isn't speaking, her thoughts flow onto writing in ways they never could out loud. It starts tiny, as it always does, with simple lines that she rewrites over and over until they seem right.
However, this time she keeps going.
The words keep pouring, softer and more honest with each line, her flawless handwriting moving slightly as she allows herself to speak things she hadn't spoken before, not even to herself. She describes the first time you sat with her without fear, how you didn't gaze at her as the others did, and how you stayed.
She talks about how chatting to you makes silence less weighty and makes it easier to find the right words, even when she stumbles. She talks about the food she prepares, how she pays attention to what you enjoy, and how she remembers every tiny reaction and silent grin.
She describes how you changed something in her.
How you softened the loneliness. How did you make her feel seen? Then, after a lengthy moment with her fingers lingering over the page, she writes the part she had been avoiding.
She loves you so much. nor in fancy terms, nor disguised by anything. She says that she doesn't ask for anything in return, that she is aware that she is difficult to love, and that she understands if you don't feel the same way. She claims that you saved her in a way that no one else had, simply by staying in her life without turning away.
She writes about nights that no longer seem empty, about how her thoughts always seem to return to you, no matter how hard she tries to focus on anything else. About how, sometimes, when she sleeps, you're there as well.
She doesn't say it explicitly, but it's there in the way she writes, the way the words linger, and her confession that you don't leave her even in her dreams.
Her hand is trembling more now. But she keeps going. Because this letter wasn't meant to be read. Thoughts calmer now that they're out, even if no one will ever notice. Her fingers paused for a time.
She then signs it. This letter will never leave the Beneviento residence. That was the plan. Until Angie said no.
"So this is the one, huh?" Angie's voice breaks the silence as she grabs the letter from Donna's grasp before she is able to respond.
"Angie - no! Angie, per favore smettila, cazzo!!" But she's already moving.
"Oh, I'm absolutely giving this to her," Angie says, laughing, her voice echoing too loudly in the silent room. "You can't just keep writing things like this and expect nothing to happen."
Donna gets up too soon, fear striking all at once, intense and overwhelming as she reaches out for Angie, but Angie slips away effortlessly, always faster and just out of reach.
"Give it back," Donna begs, her voice weak now, the words cracking as she tries to catch her and stop this before it gets too far. "Per favore!"
Angie just laughs again. "No."
...
She doesn't hesitate.
The door to your house doesn't open; instead, it explodes, wood crashing against the wall as she kicks it with much more power than is required, her laughter overflowing into the room before you can respond.
"Wake up, idiot!" she cries, her voice harsh and happy, careless about the devastation she has just caused. The wind reacts before you.
It twists automatically, twisting through the room, pushing against her, not hard enough to harm, but enough to make her fall back slightly, indicating she isn't intended to be there.
"What-?" your voice cuts through, confused; your hand raising slightly as the air settles around you, controlled once more, "What is wrong with you?"
Angie only grins wider.
"Here," she replies, ignoring your question, bringing her arm back for a second before throwing the folded paper at you. "Catch it, asshole!"
The wind catches it in mid-air before it reaches you, slowing it just enough for you to grab it, your fingers naturally closing around the paper.
By the time you glance down, she's already running.
"Don't lose it!" she exclaims over her shoulder, her voice ringing as she vanishes as suddenly as she appeared. Just like that, she's gone.
The door was still slightly open behind you, and the air seemed disturbed in an odd way. Your attention moves to the paper in your palm.
Every sentence draws you in deeper, every word heavier than the previous. It's honest in a way that seems too intimate to be casual. She writes about you as if you were something unreal, necessary, and something she noticed in ways no one else has.
Small stuff. Keep everything quiet. You sit with her, you talk with her, and you never leave when others might.
You continue reading. About the food she prepares for you. Regarding the peace, it does not appear empty when you are present. Regarding how you helped her feel less alone. You take on the part she didn't want anybody to see.
The insecurity in her words shows up there, with the ink pressed somewhat deeper into the page, as if her fingers trembled while writing them. She writes about the late hours, about how her thoughts constantly return to you, no matter how hard she tries to stop them, and about how, even in her dreams.
You simply continue reading. Until the end. Until the final lines. Where she stops trying to hide it at all. She confesses it simply and calmly, asking nothing in return. That she loves you. Your gaze lingers there for a second longer. Then, drop slightly and saw the name. Signed. "Con affetto, Donna Beneviento"
Everything seems to fall into place too quickly. The handwriting. The pauses in her voice when you asked about the letters. She always seemed to know what you liked without asking. The dinners, talks, the way she stayed around just a little longer than necessary, as if she didn't want you to leave but didn't know how to ask you to stay with her.
The letters weren't random. They weren't from someone watching from afar. They were from her. Your Donna.
...
This time, the door pushes forward harder, not kicked open like Angie did, but also not carefully. It hits the wall with a dull clanking sound, and Donna enters quickly, without her veil, her movements shaky.
She only takes two hurried steps forward, as if she forced herself here before she could change her mind and rush back to pretend nothing happened.
"Did she- " her voice cracks before she finishes, "Did she give you anything?"
The letter is still in your hands. Open, and she sees it. Her entire being comes to an end. It was as if someone had taken all of her breath away at once. Her shoulders tense, her fists clenched at her sides, her entire body tightens up as her gaze fixates on the open letter.
"No, Cazzo! Cazzo!" The word comes out weak, almost insane, as if she's trying to change it just by speaking it. "No, she wasn't supposed to - "
Her thoughts are running way too fast. "Quella è una bambola del cazzo! I told her not to. She wasn't supposed to touch it, she wasn't supposed to!" (That's a fucking doll)
Her hands raised slightly before dropping back down, as if she had no idea what to do with them. "This wasn't for you," she adds abruptly, and her face twists as if she immediately regrets her words. "I mean - not like that, I didn't - I wasn't going to..."
She cut herself off. Because nothing she says sounds right, and for her, everything is already ruined.
"I'm sorry," she says, her words coming out awkwardly, "I shouldn't have written it, I shouldn't have kept them, I shouldn't have ehm, cazzo..."
Her chest rises quickly, her breathing is short and bordering on a gasp, "I didn't mean for you to see that, I didn't want to make things worse, really, you have to believe me, please-e."
She pauses again. Because she can't finish that sentence. Because the idea of you knowing, of seeing her this way, seeing everything she feels spoken out so openly, it's too much for her.
Her shoulders tremble slightly now, her control gone. "Per favore," she starts to speak, but it slips apart halfway through, her voice shaking too much to keep together.
"Forget it. per favore, amore mio..." You move before she can take another step back. Your hand reaches hers first.
The contact is enough to stop everything for a second, causing her to slow down rather than pull away. "Donna, hey...calm down." She doesn't look up.
"It's okay," you say calmly. She shook her head quickly.
"It's not," she gasps, her voice cracking again. "You were not meant to know. Dio, tu sei tutto per me e io ho rovinato tutto, I didn't want to lose this." (God, you are everything to me, and I've ruined it all)
That is the truth, and it lingers between you. You don't let go of her hand. Instead, you step closer. Your other hand rises, resting lightly on her arm. "You didn't," you reply gently. Her gaze slowly and hesitantly rises. There are tears now.
"You didn't lose me," you say, "I read it, all of it. And I'm still here."
She stares at you as if she doesn't understand how that's possible, as if she's waiting for anything to change, for you to back away, for this to disappear as everything else has.
"I feel the same,"
Her eyes widen slightly as she searches your face for confirmation that you are not simply saying it to calm her down. You don't rush it.
Your hand slowly lifts up, guiding hers slightly, and delicately brushes your lips across her knuckles.
She is still under your touch. Completely. When you lift your head again, you don't let go. Instead, you ask her.
"Can I kiss you?" A small nod.
You slowly reduce the distance, allowing her time and space to move away if she wants. She doesn't. Her eyes close just before your lips meet, and the kiss is everything you ever wished for. There's no rush or pressure - only warmth...
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Mother Miranda: (You were kidnapped even before Chris killed "Mia" at Ethan's house, also the timeline in-game will not be here :) )
You wake up cold, not from the weather, but from something worse that settles into your bones before your brain can even react. The ground beneath you is hard, your head throbbing just enough to make everything seem away for a split second, and when you finally open your eyes, the world takes a while to make sense. Stone walls. Metal bars. Dim lighting that hardly reaches the corners.
Then you hear it. Breathing.
Your body tenses right away, pulling yourself up quickly; your eyesight blurs slightly as your palm presses against the floor to support yourself; and your thoughts click into place all at once. This isn't right. None of this is real. Your gaze drifts fast, examining the area until it lands on a figure standing just outside your cell.
"Mia?"
The name escapes your lips before you can stop it.
The name comes out naturally. She looks like her. The same face, the same posture, but something is off. The clothes don't match what you remember, not what she was wearing before, not what makes sense for where she should be. And the way she looks at you, as if she's watching you rather than reacting.
Your fingers slowly curled around the bars. "Mia, is that you?" You ask, sharper now, your question spilling out. She does not respond instantly. Just watching you.
That's when something clicks. Not everything at once, but enough. The way she carries herself. The way she doesn't react to your voice, the way she should.
"You're not Mia. Who are you??? Where are we???"
"You are more observant than I expected." The voice is still hers. But now you're hearing things differently.
Something moves in front of you, slowly at first, like something peeling away layer by layer, the illusion releasing just enough to reveal what's behind. A woman with blonde hair, wearing a strange robe with wings, appeared before your eyes, definitely not Mia.
You take a step back, your grasp on the bars relaxing as the air around you feels heavier and thicker, as if it belongs to her.
"Where is she? Who are you?" you ask again,
Her gaze rests on you briefly before turning slightly to the side.
You follow it. And that's when you notice someone lying on a bed in the next cell. Weaker and paler, her body bowed slightly as her eyes lifted toward you in recognition and fear.
"That's - " your voice falters, your chest tightens as everything comes together at once. "That's Mia."
And the anger comes quickly after, strong and overpowering as you move forward again, grabbing the bars hard enough to hurt. "You!!!" Your voice cracks. "You were her?!?"
"I needed to understand you, draga," she adds simply, moving closer now without hiding or faking. "It was easier this way."
Easier???
The word seems off for you. "So you lied," you reply sharply, your grasp tightening again. "You watched me, talked to me every day as Mia, you acted so weirdly, like any of that meant anything, and I thought I was only seeing that wrong, but I was fucking right, you're sick, where's Ethan, and what do you want from my family?!"
"It did." She cuts you off neatly, her voice calm and assertive, and this makes things worse.
"Don't," you reply quickly, "Don't say that. Tell me where my family is!"
But she doesn't look away. Doesn't even flinch. Also, completely ignore your questions about family. "If it wasn't real," she adds gently, her golden-gray eyes fixed only on you, "I wouldn't have kept you."
"Kept me?" you ask.
"You interest me," she adds, as if that explains everything and excuses anything. "More than anyone has in a very long time. Honestly, if I'm being honest, you're a unique case for me."
"And that's supposed to comfort me? You locked me up in some cold cell with my sister-in-law, took my niece away from me, and then manipulated us? Who the fuck do you think you are?"
"And that is why you are here," she says, ignoring your anger.
Your chest tightens again, your mind focusing on something you don't want to understand. "You kidnapped me," you state bluntly.
"I brought you somewhere safe," she confirms without hesitation.
You almost chuckle, "From what?"
"From leaving." But suddenly, you felt terribly tired, collapsed to the ground, and lost track of time...
...
...
Time doesn't move the way it used to.
It stretches and folds into itself, losing meaning somewhere between the emptiness and the repetition of the same walls, icy floor, and dim light that never changes enough to tell you whether it's day or night. You eventually quit counting. The only thing that signals this period of time is how your body feels heavier, slower, and Mia's voice becomes more familiar.
She's talking more now. Not all the time, but enough to fill the void and keep both of you grounded in something physical. You discover things in small amounts, as if she is hesitant to tell too much all at once.
She then shares it with you. She had been locked up here for months.
The word doesn't sit right. Months. It sounds in your brain alarmingly, and for a time, you simply stare at her, hoping for her to correct it, say something else, or make it smaller.
She doesn't. Months. Which means - mostly everything you remember with her was not her. Each talk. Every glance. Every moment that seemed real, and as if something was developing between you, even tho you hated yourself for that. So all of that was Miranda.
The realization doesn't hit all at once. It creeps in slowly and awkwardly, resting deep in your chest where it can't be ignored. And you despised it. You hate that it felt real and authentic to you. You hate that it still does.
Because that implies you replied to her. That shows you didn't see through it. That means some part of you, without knowing, let her in.
It makes your stomach turn. Miranda doesn't return as much after that. Perhaps it simply feels that way. She never touches you. Even though she performed some tests or examinations on Mia, she never touched you, not a single time.
Not once. Not even when you are close enough for it. It's as if she's established a boundary that she won't cross. It seems like she wouldn't touch until you want her to.
On the other hand, you don't speak to her. What she had done to your family still weighed heavily on your mind; you were worried about your brother and your niece, so your only chance to find out anything was to provoke her by ignoring her.
You reply when you have to, your eyes wandering away from hers as quickly as possible, refusing to give her anything that resembles what you offered her previously. No softness. There's no curiosity. There was no reaction she could cling to.
And she allows you. She doesn't force it. Doesn't demand anything. She simply stays near you, watching you while she's writing something into her journal. Sometimes she speaks quietly. You ignore it. You really try to. But it gets harder. You should hate her.
The day it breaks doesn't feel different at first. Her peacefulness collapses all at once.
"I did not want this!" The words spill out of her before she can stop them, loud enough to bounce off the walls, her voice breaking in an unusual way for someone who usually appears to be in control. Her fists tighten at her sides, claws biting into her own palms, shoulders rising and falling quickly. "You were never supposed to become this... this thing I cannot remove!"
She takes a step closer to the bars, but comes to a stop as if some part of her still refuses to cross that line, as if she is terrified of what she may do if she approaches too closely.
"I told myself it was just observation," she says, her voice trembling and every word pushed out as if it were physically hurting her. "You were supposed to be nothing. Nothing more than a variable in the experiment."
Her jaw tightens, and her look turns desperate and furious all at once.
"But you haven't vanished. You're stuck in my thoughts like a plague I couldn't shake. You were there when I woke, when I slept, and in every silence! Do you realize how frustrating that is? I've lived centuries. I have buried everything that could weaken me. And then you - "
She comes to a sudden pause, breathing hard. Her hands tremble now, fingers twitching as if she doesn't know what to do with them, as if she's physically clawing the emotion out of herself.
"I should have ended it," she says louder, "I should've killed you the moment I realized that something was wrong. It might have been better. Easier."
She lets forth a wobbly, bitter chuckle. "But I couldn't. I could not. And now everything is ruined."
Her chest rises and falls quickly, tears gathering despite her attempts to blink them away, "Rose is not enough. The vessel failed. Eva is still gone. Everything I fought for, every sacrifice, every step! And through all of that, I still..."
She hesitates, "I still thought of you."
"I hate it," Miranda says, her eyes burning and tears finally flowing freely. "I hate that you are the single thing I can't command. I hate that I need you when I shouldn't. I hate that I - "
Out of nowhere, Mia spoke up and started screaming. "Don't listen to her, she just wants to manipulate you an-n" Before she could finish, Miranda waved her hand in Mia's direction, sending her crashing into the wall, and Mia fainted for a moment.
"I love you." The confession doesn't come out soft. It comes out broken, angry, and afraid, as if it costs her something important to admit.
"And it means nothing," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "Because it is not returned. And even if I locked you away for eternity, even if I forced you to stay until the world rots... it would not change that."
Her shoulders slump, and everything flows out of her at once. "I don't know how to exist with this," she says quietly, eyes red, voice breaking. "And I do not know how to exist without you, but living with the feeling that I'm hurting you is the worst thing for me."
She doesn't look at you after that. She just stands there, unraveling in front of you; she has no control at all. The silence doesn't last, the sound cutting through everything. A telephone. Ringing too loudly in the silence.
Miranda doesn't react immediately. Then it rings again, drawing her attention back to the telephone. She walked slowly over to the wall where an old telephone was mounted. She looks at it for a half-second before responding, her attitude already changing.
"...Yes." You cannot hear the other side.
Her gaze sharpens, her posture straightens, and something dark settles back into place behind her eyes as she processes what she has heard.
"Ethan," she says,
"I see." The call stops as quickly as it started. When she looks at you again, she is not the same. The tears are still visible. However, everything else is different. Like, her whole personality changed.
As if she'd already made a decision. She reaches into her coat, metal flashes in the dim light, and then she throws. The keys hit the floor inside your cell with a sharp sound, sliding just slightly before stopping near your feet.
Your sight slowly returns to her. She's already turned away. But not completely. She pauses briefly to look back over her shoulder, her face mystical.
"La revedere," she adds softly. (Goodbye,)
"Dragostea mea." (My love.)
Before you say anything, she's gone. Her body transforms into a swarm of black crows, their feathers spreading into the air, filling the room for a fleeting moment before fading as soon as they appeared.
The keys lie where they dropped for a time, as if neither of you completely thinks they are real. Then your hand wraps around them before you can think twice, the metal chilly in your palm as you push yourself toward the door. The lock opens easier than expected, the sound harsh in the silence as the door opens.
"She let us go?" Mia slowly woke up and saw you standing there with the keys.
Her door opens just as simply, and once she's free, there's no turning back or questioning it. You two leave. Fastly. You don't say much as you go, simply small, necessary words, your mind bent on getting out and finding a way through before something happens.
Something always does. That's your curse. When you eventually get outside, the village air feels colder. You are out. You made it out. Why does it seem wrong?
Mia is muttering something, her voice fading for a moment before rising again when she notices something happening ahead. People. Armed.
Chris.
Relief flickers as he comes closer, his face sharp and focused, already examining both of you for injuries. "You're alive," he adds, speaking to himself rather than you.
Mia goes first, walking toward him and chatting fast, explaining things you hardly notice since your focus is already sliding, your mind drawing you someplace else, back to her.
You should not think about it. You are aware of this. You just escaped. You should be focusing on Mia, getting out, helping your brother, and doing everything to escape this hell. But instead, you're thinking about going back.
"Jesus, Ethan..." Chris mutters suddenly, drawing your attention back.
You glance up at him. "What?" Mia asks immediately."He's heading straight for her," he continues, "He's going to try and take Miranda down himself."
The words strike before you can stop them. Before you can even think, your body moves.
"What!! Hey?!" Chris starts screaming, but you're already running, reaching for the nearest vehicle without hesitating and clutching the door before anybody can stop you.
"Wait! Y/N!!" Mia calls, "What the fuck are you doing!??" You completely ignored her and kept going.
The engine starts gruffly, and your hands clench on the wheel as you speed away before Chris can reach you, before anybody can stop you from doing something you don't completely understand.
The road blurs under you, the village coming back into view. You should not be doing this. Fuck Y/N. When you arrive at the center of the chaos, you don't even fully stop the car before stepping out; your feet are already faster.
The battle is so loud and chaotic. Ethan and Miranda were trapped in the middle of it, everything around them already cracked. You sprint right at it. You don't think when you step between them with a gun, you found in Chris's car.
Your body smashing into the gap between them before any of them can finish what they started, arms slightly out, as if that alone could stop all that is about to happen.
"Stop!"
Your voice cuts through the chaos like nothing else in the moment. Everything freezes. Mother Miranda is the first to react. No, not violently. She simply... stops. Completely. Something inside her refuses to move when she sees you standing between her and the guy she was going to kill.
"Move," she says, "You shouldn't be here."
You don't move. Not even an inch.
Behind you, you can hear Ethan move, his breathing rapid, his grasp tightening around the pistol, and Rose, who was holding him close.
"She's lying to you," Ethan says, "She's the reason for all of this, she's not who you think she is! Come here, sis!!"
"I know who she is," you interrupted him, without looking around, your gaze still fixed on Miranda.
"She kidnapped you," Ethan says louder now, "She used you, used Mia, used everyone - and you're standing in front of her like - "
"Like I chose this?" you say, your voice cutting through his.
You take a step towards Miranda, and she still doesn't stop you.
"You don't get to decide that for me,"
Ethan breathes out forcefully behind you, frustrated and eager. "She's going to kill us!"
"No," you reply right away.
Just a second, you're not sure if you're telling him that. Or yourself. Miranda's eyes have not left you. Not once. "You came back," she says, barely above a whisper, as if she doesn't believe it and is still trying to figure out how you're standing here at all.
"Don't do this," you say instead, and more aimed at her, your chest clenching at how near you are to her, "Please."
"Well, first tell that useless brother of yours, he came here thinking he could kill me. What a fool," she continues, "Everything depends on him."
"And everything already fell apart," you say quietly. Her gaze falls slightly, as if she knows it's true and has already said it herself. And then, a pistol clicks behind you. Your turn this time. Ethan has it raised again. Aimed directly at her. He was barely standing.
"Move," he shouts, his voice trembling now. "I'm ending this."
Your body moves before he pulls the trigger.
You rush into him, your hand catching his wrist hard enough to pull it down, your breathing rough as you push him back just enough to knock out his aim.
"What are you doing?!" he snaps, trying to back away. Getting his gun aimed back at Miranda, "No!" you reply more forcefully. You don't let go. He struggles for a second, the gun shifts in your grip.
You don't hesitate. You lift it at him.
"Drop it," you say,
Ethan freezes and looks at you, confused.
"Are you serious right now?" He breathes out, disbelief piercing through his tone, and stares at you as if he no longer recognizes you. "Are you pointing a gun at me? On your own brother???"
"Leave! Take Rose with you, and go back to Chris. Mia is already waiting for you. And never ever come back here. Do you hear me??" The word cuts him off completely.
"That's insane," he said after a while, shaking his head, his fury growing again. "She will murder you. You know she will. She's not capable of anything else."
He stands there with Rose in his arms, and you can't take your gaze away from him. But your voice doesn't change.
"She won't."
"And you just believe that?!" he snaps. "After everything she did to you?!"
"Yes." Ethan glances at you
"She's using you," he continues, "She is manipulating you. That is what she does."
"Maybe," you admit.
That is what confuses him the most. "But I'm still choosing this."
His shoulders sag slightly, as if the conflict has drained him just enough for him to recognize he will not win this argument. Not with you. "Jesus..." he mutters under his breath, shaking his head and tightening his grasp on Rose for a moment before freeing himself again.
He stares at you one final time. Then past you. At her. "I'm not coming back for you," he admits in the end.
You nod, "I know." And he left...
You turn back to her, and she looks at you like she doesn't know what to do. You move closer. "You're hurt," you comment gently. She doesn't respond to you, but only gazes at you.
"You came back..." Her fingers hover near your face for a second, shaking slightly, before eventually making contact and brushing across your cheek.
Then her hand tightens slightly on your cheek, and her other moves to your waist, bringing you closer in a single swift motion, as if the gap between you had suddenly become unbearable, and she was tired of pretending she could keep herself back.
"You should not have done that," she says, but there is no warning, no rejection, just something almost desperate. "Do you understand what you've done to me?"
You don't get to reply. She doesn't give you a chance.
Her lips crash into yours, the kiss embracing you in an expression that seems like everything she's been holding back has finally found its way out. There is nothing careful about it. It's mostly overwhelming.
Her hand slips to the back of your neck, holding you there and keeping you close. When she pulls back, it's only for a breath...
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Grace Ashcroft:
"Grace, you're breathing too fast."
"I'm not," she says quickly over comms, which would be more convincing if she weren't very obviously breathing too fast. You sit down under cover, shifting your grip slightly, your eyes searching the corridor as her voice fills your ear.
"You just said 'I'm not' in one breath," you explain gently. "That's kind of proving my point."
"I'm fine," she says quietly now. "Just focus, okay? Two hostiles ahead, one going left and one remaining at the door. Timing is important."
You grin to yourself. God, she's adorable.
"Copy that," you murmur softly this time, and you follow her instructions without hesitation, moving exactly when she tells you to, believing her completely, as you always do. That part isn't new.
What's New is how distracted you are. Because she is in your ear. Because you've been thinking about it for far too long.
You take the shot neatly, the first target falling quickly and the second a second later, before they know what's going on. "Good," Grace exhales, and you can hear the relief. "That was - good."
You lean back gently and let your shoulders rest. "Hey, Grace?"
"Yeah?"
"You wanna go out with me?"
"...What?"
You nearly laugh. "You heard me."
"I—no, I didn't - I mean I did, but - why are you asking me that right now?" She struggles over the sentences, her voice rising slightly in pitch and losing its calm.
"Timing matters," you say casually.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it!" She stops herself short, and you can just hear her anxiety as she tries to restore control and fails miserably. "We're literally in the middle of a mission!"
"And?"
"And you can't just, just ask something like that like it's normal!" she shouts, "You're supposed to say things like that... I don't know, after, or somewhere normal, not while I'm trying to keep you alive!"
You grin. "So is that a yes?"
Another pause.
"...I didn't say that."
"But you didn't say no either."
"I-I," she pauses again, "This is not fair."
"How?"
"Because you're doing this while I can't even look at you, you're just - talking like it's nothing and I'm..."
She cut herself off again.
"Grace."
"..Yeah?"
"When this is finished," you continue, "I will ask you again. Properly."
"Okay."
"And?" You softly press.
A tiny exhalation.
"..Okay, yes."
"Good."
"Don't die before that," she says hastily, "Because I swear I will be so mad at you."
You giggle behind your breath. "Noted, Ma'am"
𝗥𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗘𝘃𝗶𝗹 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀
𝟐) 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮
Pairings: Resident Evil Characters x Female! reader
Word count: 3.8K
Warning: (nothing, I hope so! maybe mention of blood)
tags l content: Resident Evil x reader • headcanons / scenario
𝑨𝑵: 𝑴𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔, 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆’𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒕!!! 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐, 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉. 𝑨𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔, 𝑰’𝒎 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖! 𝑹𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 𝒈𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆 🖤
Alcina Dimitrescu:
At first, you were just an interesting sight in her castle, different enough to draw her attention but not important enough to make her wonder why she let you stay. She told herself it was just curiosity. You weren't treated like a maid, but not exactly like family either, and Alcina didn't think much of it, until her daughters began to show an interest in you.
It started gently, with them sticking around you for a longer amount of time than normal, seeking you out rather than losing interest, and what caught her attention was not their behavior but yours.
You didn't fear them, try to control them, or react as other people did; you simply spoke to them calmly and politely, as if they were something normal rather than something to be feared.
She actually noticed it one evening while going through the castle, when the typical chaos was replaced with something more peaceful. There were no screams or hitting laughter echoing through the halls, only calm voices. That alone led her to walk away. Instead of entering, she remained just out of sight and watched.
You stood among her daughters as if you had always been there, talking to them while Daniela stopped you every few seconds, Bela listened more carefully than usual, and Cassandra remained in the room, trying not to care. And you were gentle with them.
That was the moment something changed.
Something settled in her chest as she watched them choose to stay near and listen to you, and it felt right. That was what scared her the most. She should have been annoyed, protective, or dismissive, but instead she found herself lingering longer than she intended, her attention fixed on you and the way you fit into her world so naturally.
She stepped away before you could notice her, dismissing the changes as insignificant, but she couldn't ignore them afterward.
She could not ignore the changes. She began to notice how often she looked for you without thinking, how readily she let you get closer than anybody else, and how the castle itself seemed different depending on whether you were present or not.
The knowledge did not come suddenly; it grew gradually, in moments she could no longer deny, until one day it became apparent and undeniable.
She loved you whether she liked it or not. She was in love with you, whether she liked it or not.
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Bela Dimitrescu:
At first, you were just part of her routine. Bela didn't need to be close to see you; she stalked you through the faint buzz of her flies and the shadows they carried, always just far enough away to be unnoticed. It was simple to remain away in that way, making everything feel controlled and comfortable.
You went about your days as usual, unaware of what was going on around you, interacting with villagers, organising your things at the market, moving through your life in a calm and normal manner, and for a while, that was enough.
The first change was subtle. You began to notice something - not enough to understand or respond in the way that most people would, but enough for Bela to see clearly.
You didn't run, didn't try to chase anything away, didn't treat the presence around you as something wrong. If anything, you simply... accepted it, and that alone was enough to keep Bela's attention longer than it ever had before.
What truly changed everything was one afternoon when one of her flies got too close and landed on your palm. Bela expected the usual reaction - the natural scowl, the quick disgust, and the movement to sweep it off without thinking twice. That was what always happened.
But instead, you simply looked at it for a moment, your expression relaxed, before gently shifting your hand to allow it to take off again. And Bela felt it, sharp and odd, because those flies were not distinct from her; they were an extension of who she was, and no one had ever handled them, or her, with such gentle care.
After that, she couldn't look at you the same way again. It was no longer just a habit, curiosity, or a way to pass the time. She began paying fresh attention, noticing the small things she hadn't cared about before
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Cassandra Dimitrescu:
From the moment you entered the castle, Cassandra had already decided what you were: weak. She'd seen it too many times before: the fear, the begging, and the way maids fell apart in her presence.
You were meant to be the same. But you were not. You didn't run away when she surrounded you the first time, didn't beg, didn't give her what she wanted, and instead of killing you, she kept you, at first just to see how long it would take before you broke.
She studied you more than she admitted, lurking in the shadows, waiting for that time. You kept quiet and careful, avoiding her when possible but never genuinely attempting to run away, and oddly, this simply made her focus on you more.
The change happened outside the castle. You had been ordered to clean the outer walls, far enough away from the regular safety, and Cassandra followed without thinking. She saw the lycans before you did, waiting to see how you would react. You hardly had time before they were on you, claws grabbing your flesh, your steps chaotic as you sought to leave, and something in her broke.
She moved without thinking, cutting through them with an elegance, making sure they suffered for daring to touch you. By the end, the earth was filthy, and the air was silent, and you were left standing there - injured, scared, but alive.
Cassandra gently turned to face you, expecting your fear. Instead, you took a cautious step forward, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for her, your focus shifting from what she had done to the wounds on her body. You told her she was harmed, as if that was all that mattered, and she stopped moving for a time.
You weren't supposed to touch her so softly, as if she weren't harmful. And still you did, your hands gentle as you tried to scrub the blood off her. Her hand tightened on your wrist before you could pull away, not painfully, but enough to keep you there, her stare fixed on you.
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Daniela Dimitrescu:
Daniela had no intention of staying the first time she visited the Duke's shop, but you did not react as she expected. You didn't worry when objects moved on their own, didn't shout when stuff fell from shelves, and didn't try to scare her away - you simply gazed at her, calm and fascinated, and that was enough to entice her back.
It was chaotic at first, as were all of her actions. She spoke too much, moved from one topic to the next, repeated herself, and knocked things over to see how you would respond, but you never pushed her aside.
You listened, even when she didn't make sense, even when she filled the silence just to avoid it, and over time, without either of you realizing it, the time you spent together lightened. Conversations lasted longer, wandering into topics that didn't matter but still did - small details about your life, strange ideas, even the romance books you loved to talk about. It became routine for her to see you, and she didn't question it, until one day you simply disappeared.
She believed you'd return, that you were simply busy or late, but when she returned the next day, and the shop stayed empty, outside of Duke, something seemed odd to her. The place was too quiet, too normal, but at the same time strange, without your voice. She was pacing and touching things without really seeing them, waiting for you to scold her like you usually did after some time.
The emptiness followed her, settling in a way she couldn't ignore, until she finally reached her mother. Alcina saw right away, of course, her gaze landing on Daniela with silent attention before she ever spoke.
Daniela tried to ignore it, muttering that she was simply bored, but Alcina only looked at her for a while before calmly stating that she knew her daughters and could sense when something caught their fascination.
Daniela disagreed with it at first, swiftly and almost defensively, stating it wasn't like that, but she didn't seem convinced. Because the idea was already there. How frequently she returned, how long she stayed there, and how everything seemed wrong when you weren't there.
Alcina didn't push, didn't need to. She simply told her, with confidence, that if it truly meant nothing, she wouldn't be so upset, which was enough to make Daniel relent. The feeling was too strong and obvious to ignore, so she eventually asked what she was supposed to do. Alcina basically told her to express herself, write to you, and put her emotions somewhere she could easily understand them.
Daniela didn't answer right away, but later, alone, she found herself thinking of you again - your voice, your stories, the way you always listened to her, no matter how chaotic she was. Because the idea of not seeing you again felt wrong in a way she couldn't express, and it was enough for her to realize she wasn't going back out of boredom any longer, nor was she staying because she had nothing else to do. She was coming back for you, and she had fallen in love between visits.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡
Donna Beneviento:
You stood out from the start. Donna had become used to being forgotten at the lords' meetings, sitting quietly aside from the others while voices rose and fights filled the room, her presence recognized only when necessary. She wasn't expecting anything else.
It was easier that way. But you noticed her. Not in a way that drew attention or made her uncomfortable, but softly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. When you came, you greeted her with a tiny smile, a lingering gaze, and a gentleness in your voice that no one else had used. She couldn't understand why that stuck with her.
At first, it was just something she was reflecting on later, in the privacy of her own home, replaying small moments she knew no one else would notice. You started staying with her longer after meetings, speaking to her after everyone else had left, and filling the silence with something warm.
It was awkward at first, with her responses brief, but you never rushed her or made her feel like she needed to be more than she was. And eventually, she found herself inviting you to remain. Tea became an excuse.
A peaceful habit formed without either of you noticing it. You would sit with her in that little, gloomy room, talking gently about topics that didn't seem important, while she listened more than talked.
Angie, of course, never stopped talking about it, constantly yelling, mocking, and pointing out how Donna's focus was always on you, how she seemed lighter when you were around. Donna would attempt to calm her down, her hands grasping slightly in her lap, but she would never send you away.
It began like the others: voices rose, tension in the room, with Heisenberg's typical biting words cutting the air. Donna stayed mute, as she always did, her eyes dropped, and her hands still. But this time, you didn't keep silent.
Your voice rang through the room, firm in a tone she hadn't heard before, directed at him, calling him out for the way he spoke and acted. Donna felt a sudden, uncomfortable tightening in her chest as she looked up, her gaze focused only on you.
You defended her. Not because you had to. Because you wanted to. No one has ever done this before. No one had ever chosen to stay by her side, to speak for her, or to see her as you did without asking for anything in return.
Because the way her chest tightened when you spoke, the way her attention stayed on you, the way the thought of you leaving suddenly felt unbearable...
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡
Mother Miranda:
You thought Miranda wouldn't fall in love? You're completely wrong.
When she approached you as Mia, it was calculated, controlled, every word chosen carefully, every movement intentional. You were simply a source of information, someone near enough to Ethan to be valuable, someone she could easily control. At least that was the plan.
Getting close to you was simple. You trusted her, spoke to her without hesitation, and allowed her to stay with you longer than she should have. At first, she followed the plan perfectly, soft smiles, a gentle tone, just enough warmth to make you comfortable, just enough distance to stay in control.
However, the longer she stayed, the more difficult it got to keep up the charade. You spoke to her as if she were still Mia, as if her presence and the way she looked at you were normal. You did not doubt her. I didn't hesitate. Miranda began to notice things she shouldn't have cared about, such as the way your voice softened when you spoke to her...
It eventually became less about the mission. She started hanging around longer than necessary, asking questions she didn't need answered, and making reasons to be near you, to touch you. You allowed it every time, thinking it was just friendly touches. That was her first mistake. The second step was recognizing that she didn't want to stop.
The change didn't happen all at once, but it became hard to ignore in a way she couldn't explain: you smiled at her, something gentle and genuine, untouched by fear or manipulation, and Miranda froze.
It didn't feel like control. It seemed like something she desired. After that, everything changed, even if she refused to admit it. She still played her part, spoke like Mia, but something behind it had changed, something she couldn't control in the same way she controlled everything else. Her look remained longer, her voice softened accidentally, and she despised it because Miranda never loses control.
But you made her. This wasn't about Rose anymore; it wasn't about the mission, and she couldn't end it without consequences. It was about you. Because loving you represented vulnerability, risk, and something she may lose.
She didn't back down, didn't stop it while she still had the opportunity, because a part of her - the one she believed she had buried long ago, refused to let you go. And that is how she knew. It was never just manipulation or a role she was performing. She had fallen in love with you somewhere between lies and reality, between control and something far more deadly, which was something she couldn't afford.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡
Karl Heisenberg:
You think Heisenberg didn't notice you the moment you walked into that room? Please. You're not like your aunt, and that was enough to capture his attention. You vary from Alcina, who breathes cold elegance and control. Less predictable. And Karl? He likes things that don't fit in their proper places.
At first, it's simply entertainment. teasing you at meetings, making jokes about you simply to see how you respond, and watching you rather than listening to anything Miranda says. You don't answer as he expects. And this simply makes him push harder. It becomes a habit without him knowing, seeking you out, and making reasons to talk to you.
You wind yourself sneaking away together more than once, slipping out of meetings or walking into areas of the castle where neither of you is meant to be, as if it were a game. There is no strain like with the others, no endless desire to prove anything. Just calm moments, snarky jokes, and the rare smirk he doesn't bother hiding.
But one of those moments lasts longer than it should. You're someplace hidden away, far enough away from everyone else that the castle's noise doesn't bother you, and for once, he's not talking. Not making jokes, pressuring, or testing you. Just... there. Watching you.
Still looking at you like you're something worth keeping around, like you're something he doesn't want anyone else getting too close to. And the thought of you walking back into that room, back to the others, suddenly doesn't sit right with him.
Because it's not just amusement anymore, not just curiosity or some passing interest he can drop the moment he gets bored. You've become something more than that, something that slipped past all his usual rules without him noticing.
Because somewhere between teasing you, arguing with you, and those quiet moments you weren't supposed to share, he stopped treating it like a game. He wanted you to be only his.
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Ethan Winters:
You thought he would give up after the first time you said no. He did not.
Ethan was persistent without being forceful or making others feel uncomfortable. The first time he asked you out, it was awkward and shy, as if he wasn't sure he should be doing it. You politely rejected, and he nodded, a little uncomfortable, muttered something about understanding and not wanting to make things awkward.
But he kept trying.
Not irritating or forceful, but simply tiny tries. Casual comments of getting coffee, asking if you wanted to join him on a walk, and other basic requests were easy to decline. You did, at first. You had reasons, and he respected them. He never pushed or questioned you, simply accepting it and moving on as if nothing had happened.
But it did. He continued coming back, not just to ask you out, but also to chat, to sit with you for longer than necessary, and to make reasons to be with you. It became routine, your discussions, the quiet times, the way he would check in on you without making it obvious.
And sometime along the road, it stopped being about inviting you out.
He started to notice things. The way you smiled when he said something silly, listened even when he didn't make much sense, and being with you made things feel a bit simpler. Because one day, he asked again, anticipating the same response, ready to laugh it off and pretend it didn't matter.
And you did not say no. It wasn't an important moment. Just a simple, "Okay."
And it mattered more than anything else.
The date wasn’t perfect. It was basic, a bit awkward at times, and you were both confused about how to act now that things had changed. But Ethan did not mind. He didn't want things to be flawless.
Because you were present. And it was enough.
Every tiny moment after that, he began to look forward to seeing you, the way your presence became something he relied on without realizing it, the way the concept of returning to how things were before didn't feel right.
He did not say it right away. Didn't hurry it. But he knew. He fell in love with you...
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡
Leon Kennedy:
Leon, our adorable dork. Yeah... He's the sort that falls in love at first sight, and unfortunately for him, that moment comes while he's half-conscious, bleeding, and being brought into your medical station. He doesn't even notice what's going on at first; just an explosion of activity, the sound of voices, and then you, leaning over him and working as if nothing else matters. And that's it. That is all it takes. Even in that state.
Because now that he is conscious, he realizes that he is gazing, and he is suddenly extremely aware of how near you are, how your hands move so smoothly, how your voice remains steady no matter what condition he is in - and yes, that is when he becomes a total disaster.
Initially, he attempts to act normally. Professional, as if this were just another task and you were another medic. But it doesn't take long for everything to fall apart. He makes reasons to return even when his injuries are small, and makes tiny jokes or uncomfortable comments to keep you chatting for a bit longer. And the worst part? He understands what he's doing and how blatant it is, yet he can't seem to stop himself.
What he does not expect is how soon it becomes more than simply a crush.
Because the more time he spends with you, it develops into something deeper. It's in the way he looks for you as soon as he walks into the room, the way he blindly trusts you, and how your presence becomes something fixing rather than distracting.
And then, as they usually do, one operation fails, and he is unable to locate you for a little while. Just a second, maybe two, but that's plenty. Enough for that extreme fear to strike him before he can stop it, enough for him to rush without thinking, searching for you as if nothing else counts until he finds you again.
Because that emotion was unusual, not for someone he had just met, and not for something that was meant to be brief. This isn't simply him being distracted; it's not a harmless crush that he can laugh off later. This is something deeper, something that has been growing since the first time he saw you...
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Grace Ashcroft:
Do you think Grace would be subtle about it? Not a chance. She is a real nerd, absolutely committed to her profession, constantly focused and organized - but what about you? Yes, she's gone. It probably begins when she first hears your voice over communications, and she simply pauses for a second, like - oh. Oh no.
Because she's now paying a bit too much attention, listening a little too carefully, noting how you speak and how you maintain your thoughts, no matter what happens. She's hooked from that point on.
At first, she tries to tell herself that it is nothing but adoration or like a crush. You're good at what you do, so she'd notice. Of course, she'd want to keep you safe, lead you properly, and ensure everything runs well.
That is her job. But then she starts doing things that aren't technically part of her job, like monitoring your vitals more frequently than necessary, leaving your communication line open a bit longer, and providing you updates you didn't ask for simply to see how you react. And when do you do it? Yea... She's staring at her screen with a stupid smile.
It just gets worse as you interact. She begins to recall small details that you say, bringing them up later without even realizing it, and subtly changing missions to make things easier for you, although telling herself it's just efficiency. It is not. She knows it isn't.
Things become chaotic, louder than normal, and riskier as your signal goes out for a brief period of time. She's yelling your name before she even thinks about it, her voice losing that calm, and when you finally react, your voice comes back over the comms as if nothing happened. She genuinely needs to take a breath.
Why that reaction? That was not professional. That was not typical. She is fully aware of this. The rest of the mission goes on, somewhere between listening to your voice, watching you through screens, and waiting for you to respond every time she calls. She fell. Hard.
𝗥𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗘𝘃𝗶𝗹 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀
𝟏) 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐭
Pairings: Resident Evil Characters x Female! reader
Word count: 1.7K
Warning: (nothing, I hope so!)
tags l content: Resident Evil x reader • headcanons / scenario
𝑨𝑵: 𝑯𝒆𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔! 𝑰𝒕’𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒔 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑰’𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉. 𝑰’𝒎 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝑹𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝒆𝒓𝒂, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑹𝑬𝟗 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐 𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒛𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝑰 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒖𝒑 𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑳𝒆𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍. 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 𝒊𝒕! 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉. 𝑨𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈! 𝑹𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 𝒈𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆 🖤
Alcina Dimitrescu
You're the vampire who moved into the village...
Moving to the village wasn't really an option. You just... ended up there. Your "midlife crisis" brought you there
A family took you in. They didn't have much, but they shared what they could, which was enough to inspire you to stay.
You needed to work. When someone mentioned the castle, it was part warning, part joke. Nobody else volunteered. You did. What horrible things can happen to you there?
On your way there, you felt it before you heard it: footsteps or buzzing, more like flies. The daughters discovered you fast. They chased you down the corridors, amused and violent, circling like it was a game.
You could've escaped. Easily. However, you were interested in the stories of the vampires in the castle and wondered whether they were true vampires like you, so you let them catch you.
When Lady Dimitrescu finally showed up, majestic and beautiful, her gaze was immediately drawn to you...
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Bela Dimitrescu
You're a poor villager who sells materials at the market for a living...
Winter made the village quieter and colder - the kind of cold that sank into your bones as you tried to sell your little stuff at the market.
That's when you started to feel watched. Bela only appeared in summer, lingering at the edge of your vision but never close enough to touch.
Sometimes it was laughter brought by the wind, and at times it was footsteps crunching in the snow behind you.
She followed you home more than once, and when she did reveal herself, it was brief: a sharp and mischievous smile, eyes bright with interest.
She didn't hurt you. She just watched, like she was deciding something.
And when winter arrived, she vanished completely, leaving you wondering if she had ever existed at all.
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Cassandra Dimitrescu
You're a maid at Castle Dimitrescu...
There were no better options, so you took a job at the castle. Hunger was worse than being a maid.
Cassandra noticed you almost immediately. She hurt the other maids without hesitation. Screams echoed through the castle often enough that you learned to keep your head down.
With a sickle in hand, she carefully circled you, waiting for a terror that never came. You froze, but you didn't beg. You didn't run.
That stopped her for some reason. As though you were the problem, Cassandra lowered the sickle and clicked her tongue in frustration.
She never touched you again after that day, and nobody else was allowed to.
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Daniela Dimitrescu
You're assistant to the duke...
Working for the Duke meant spending long hours alone, counting coins, organizing supplies, and listening to the truck groan and the wind blow against the walls.
Daniela didn't arrive as her sisters did. She simply appeared one day and never quite left.
She went throughout the shop aimlessly at first, touching things she didn't need and knocking things down simply to see how you would respond.
She said too much, then not at all, letting out complaints one moment and then being silent the next. You immediately realized that listening was safer than interrupting her.
She began to expect it and became angry when you focused on your job instead of her, but smiled significantly when you caught her gaze.
Her emotions shifted quickly. When you were gone for longer than usual, she asked the Duke where you'd been.
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Donna Beneviento
You're the fifth lord...
Becoming a lord happened unexpectedly. You were brought to the village after a successful experiment that surpassed everyone's expectations. Before you knew what that meant, you were summoned to meetings with the rest of the "family".
The tension was obvious from the moment you walked into the room. Lady Dimitrescu was unimpressed, Heisenberg publicly mocked the idea, and Mother Miranda simply watched calmly.
Lady Beneviento sat away from the others. Her hands were tightly folded in her lap, and her veil covered most of her face. She barely moved as the others argued, sometimes shifting her gaze to you.
You noticed it. Every time the conversation became louder, her shoulders stiffened slightly, as if she were shrinking deeper within herself. When the meeting was over, the others quickly left.
Lady Beneviento stayed. She appeared to be about to leave as well, but she paused when you passed her. Little doll tilted her head intently toward you, while the woman in black stayed totally still.
You gave a short greeting. She did not respond soon. But when she did, she spoke softly and carefully. "Welcome to the village."
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Mother Miranda
You're Ethan's younger sister, and you met her while she was "Mia..."
You hadn't expected Mia to act like this.
She smiled too slowly and carefully, her voice sweet but lingering over words in ways that caused your chest to clench.
Something about the way she leaned in, just slightly, sent your mind spinning. You told yourself it was just in your mind...she's just friendly....
But then she started being in contact with you. This wasn't the Mia you knew.
She complimented you on things she shouldn't have noticed and lightly touched your arm, causing you to take a step back.
Mia was flirting, and your heart stuttered with confusion.
And the realization hit you like ice: she was your brother's wife, who just had a baby. And this person standing in front of you was not acting like her at all.
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Karl Heisenberg
You're Alcina Dimitrescu's niece, meeting him for the first time at the lords' meeting...
You'd heard about him long before you ever met him.
During calm times in the castle, your "sisters" talked about the other lords. Usually with mockery and perhaps disinterest. But Karl always came up with a different answer - irritation from your aunt, amusement from Daniela, and something more like caution from Bela.
You realized why the instant you walked into the room. He was already there, slouching in his chair, as if the entire meeting bore him. His hat hid his eyes, but when you came beside your aunt and sisters, his focus switched quickly.
His eyes went slowly over you, his curiosity growing. Your aunt continued to speak as if nothing had happened, but Heisenberg leaned forward slightly, putting his elbows on the side of the bench, as if he had discovered the most amusing item in the room.
A crooked smile tugged on the corners of his mouth. "Well now," he said, "Didn't know Dimitrescu had another daughter hiding in that castle."
Your aunt's look was direct and cold enough to freeze the entire room. But Karl didn't look at her. His eyes were fixed on you the entire time.
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Ethan Winters
You're the therapist assigned to help him after the Louisiana incident...
You first met Ethan on a quiet afternoon, in a little office that seemed far too ordinary for the type of story in his file.
The report discussed the incidence in Louisiana, the house, the missing persons, and the survivors. It was written in cautious, clinical language, yet something about it was clearly wrong.
Ethan arrived a few minutes later. When he entered the room, he appeared drained in a way that sleep probably couldn't repair. His shoulders were stiff, and his gaze quickly scanned the room before landing on you.
He hesitated before sitting, as if he didn't know what he was expected to do here. For the first several minutes, he said very little. Most of your questions were addressed with brief responses or muted shrugs. You did not push him.
Eventually, he murmured that the cops had informed him this would "help." His fingers tapped anxiously against the arm of the chair, as if he were unsure how much to say.
When asked about his sleep, Ethan laughed softly and said, "Not great." Even though he was plainly not ready to discuss what had gone down in Louisiana, he kept returning to your office.
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Leon S. Kennedy
You're the medic assigned to the bioweapons response team he's working with.
You met Leon on a bad night. The operation had gone wrong somewhere in the heart of a collapsing complex, with sirens sounding and the rest of the team scrambling to escape.
When they eventually carried Leon in, he was half-conscious and bleeding enough that the others became anxious.
You didn't have time to consider the reputation related to his name. You simply worked. While the rest of the crew waited nervously, you concentrated on halting the bleeding and stitching up the worst of the injuries.
Leon slipped in and out of consciousness as you worked, rarely reacting other than the slightest low groan when something hurt.
When he finally woke up, the first thing he noticed was you leaning over him, checking the bandages. For a moment, he simply gazed. Then his face became significantly reddish.
You figured it was the fever at first, but he soon glanced aside and whispered an embarrassed thank you under his breath.
After that, every time he returned from a mission injured, he ended up back at your medical station. And every time you got too close to look at his wounds, Leon turned quiet and blushed.
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Grace Ashcroft
You're an FBI field agent, and technically her colleague.
Most of the time, your job looked very different. You were generally assigned to the field to deal with events firsthand, while Grace worked behind the scenes as an operator, guiding missions, monitoring feeds, and keeping agents alive from afar. You had already spoken, of course.
Mostly short communication exchanges or briefings before missions. However, you knew her voice immediately. During a single task, you were listening in via the team's communication channel when you suddenly heard her voice.
Only this time, her voice sounded quite different. She muttered quietly to herself. You instantly noticed she had forgotten to mute her microphone.
Grace was whispering anxious instructions and scrolling through information too quickly, obviously overwhelmed by everything going on at once. Papers shuffled, laptops clicked, and her breathing seemed a little too quick.
For a moment, you simply listened. Then you spoke. "As much as I enjoy hearing your cute stress commentary," you stated gently across the communication system, "you might want to mute your microphone."
The line became totally silent. A second later, you could almost hear her stress as she scrambled to correct it. When she spoke again, her tone was professional, but quieter. Grace was clearly blushing behind her headset.
𝑷𝑺: (𝑼𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚, 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒖𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒅 𝟑𝟎 𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔, 𝒔𝒐 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒐. :)
𝗥𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗘𝘃𝗶𝗹 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀
"𝑹𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏!"
Characters Included
Lady Dimitrescu
Bela Dimitrescu
Cassandra Dimitrescu
Daniela Dimitrescu
Donna Beneviento
Mother Miranda
Karl Heisenberg
Alcina Dimitrescu
Leon Kennedy
Grace Ashcroft
𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞!!! ← Read this firstttt please!!!
𝟏) 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐭
𝟐) 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮
𝟑) 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 / 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏
4) coming soon!
Reblogs are appreciated, comments loved! I’m always happy to talk about ideas, headcanons, or general RE chaos. Be kind to each other, support other writers, and stay simping!
𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞!
🕯️ Fandom: Resident Evil Village / Resident Lover / Resident Evil (whole saga)
💌 Reader: fem / plus-size (specified per post)
🖤 Genre blend: fluff • angst • dark romance • slow burn • smut(g!p) (smut)
⚠️ Warnings: each post will include specific tags before you read
📖 Status: currently writing
In this universe, the village is functioning normally (the lycans did not kill the whole village). Also, for Ethan, Mia is not in the picture :) (also, I'm adding Leon and Grace because of my re9 addiction)
⚠️ Warnings & Boundaries
Please read before interacting!
This blog is 18+ only. My writing often includes mature themes such as:
violence, emotional and psychological tension smut blood and death
🚫 Absolutely no minors interacting. All NSFW content will be tagged #nsfw or #smut
𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 & 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨
Requests: OPEN
- Be polite when requesting; I won't answer demands or spam.- I write only x fem! reader works!- I reserve the right to skip any request that doesn't fit my comfort zone.- I tag everything carefully so you can filter content easily.
I do not write underage content or age gaps involving minors, extreme or degrading kinks (watersports, scat, vore, etc.), bestiality, or heavy gore for smut purposes. Extreme BDSM
If you're not sure whether an idea is okay, you can always ask in my inbox before sending a full request. Or ask me in DM! I'm happy to discuss it with you!
No hate, no harassment, or stealing my work. Please respect boundaries and tags. If something's not your taste, just scroll on.
Reblogs are appreciated, comments loved! I'm always happy to talk about ideas, headcanons, or general RE chaos. Probably slow updates... be kind to each other, support other writers, and stay simping! 🖤
i need fourteen grace ashcroft fics on my desk by the end of the week
The First Date that didn't stay innocent
↪️ Leon S. Kennedy
A/n: Leon's a fucking dork and I love him.
Warnings: unprotected sex • age-gap dynamic (45-year-old Leon × younger adult Reader) • plus-size!Reader • oral sex (f receiving) • penetrative sex • praise kink • size/strength difference • mild possessiveness • Leon being touch-starved and emotional • cursing • unprotected sex •Fingering
It was supposed to be a simple first date.
Dinner, a few drinks, something light and low-pressure. You didn’t expect Leon Kennedy to show up at your doorstep in a sleek black Porsche, hair neat, shirt slightly rumpled, looking both painfully handsome and like he’d spent the last ten minutes giving himself a pep talk.
“You… look beautiful,” he said when you stepped outside.
You smiled shyly, he blushed darting his eyes away from you.
The date is perfect, awkward in a sweet way, full of small smiles and soft laughter. Leon’s sarcasm slips in, but so do those dumb jokes he clearly thinks are hilarious.
“Two cannibals are eating a clown,” he says, deadpan. “One looks at the other and says, ‘Does this taste funny to you?’”
You snort, then let out a small laugh behind your hand, he stares at you like he just witnessed a miracle.
By the time dessert comes, you’re leaning closer without realizing it. His hand brushes yours — accidental, innocent and the poor man looks like he’s going to combust.
And then the sky opens.
Rain slams down in sheets the moment you step outside the restaurant. Leon immediately puts a steady hand on your lower back, steering you toward the car.
“Right...of course,” he mutters. “I’m not driving you home in this. The last thing I need me driving and crashing and us dying on our first date.”
You laugh. “Dying? Are you that bad of a driver." You teased.
"I am an excellent driver."
You roll your eyes, but he’s already guiding you into the Porsche, carefully holding your dress so you don’t snag it.
He’s protective without being pushy.Gentle without being patronizing.And so painfully unaware of how attractive that is.
"but i'm too old for you"
just shut up and bend me over
Valentine's Day Through the Years
Valentine’s Day with AOU Wanda looked like… quiet, tense ambivalence. You sat on the roof of the tower with her, looking out at the glimmering lights of the city, and glancing up to gaze upon the stars that couldn’t possibly shine as bright as she did. When your hand found hers, and you asked her to be yours, she froze up, going quiet on you, and rushing off to her room. She came around to yours an hour later with teary eyes and threw herself into your arms, mumbling apologies and fears. You held her all night, pressing kisses to her teary cheeks, and to your pleasant surprise, she was still clinging to you in bed the next morning.
Valentine’s Day with Civil War Wanda looked like… soft, intimate comfort. Wanda came a long way, and this year, she cooked a whole Sokovian meal for the two of you to share. You went back to the spot you first asked her to be yours and ate under the stars, reminiscing on everything you two shared in this first year together, giggling as you fed each other. You spent the night kneeling between Wanda’s soft thighs, showing your love for her through your mouth’s ministrations. You awoke to Wanda in the same position she was last year, pressed against your side, clinging to you tight.
Valentine’s Day with Infinity War Wanda looked like… sacred, stolen peace. You and Wanda had been hiding out in Edinburgh for the past few months, trying to live normally and ignore the craziness of your colleagues. Being with each other like this was the most peace either of you had ever known. You spent the evening strolling through the quaint town, grabbing a bite to eat, and enjoying each other’s company while keeping your heads down. When you made it back to your apartment, you and Wanda made frantic, desperate love, knowing that at any moment, this peace could be soiled. Wanda laid beside you afterwards, her hands over your heart, emanating red magic as she quietly spoke, “I just feel you. And that’s all I need.”
Valentine’s Day with Endgame Wanda looked like… desperate, joyful homecoming. You had lost Wanda for five years, and you thought she was gone forever. You never moved on, never found another. After the Battle of Earth, you rushed to find each other, and had been inseparable ever since. Today, as with every day, Wanda stuck by your side the whole day, always touching you somehow. She was obsessed with holding your hand, constantly rubbing her thumb against the wedding ring you now wore, and fiddling with her own when you had to do something with your hands. You fucked her deep that night, both of you praying that it would take this time. You were married now, had found a house in a small town called Westview, and now all you needed was a child to make all your dreams come true.
Valentine’s Day with WandaVision Wanda looked like… a perfect, idyllic dream. You and Wanda had everything now. The rings, the house, and now the twins. You had Billy and Tommy carry the breakfast in bed you made for Wanda upstairs, and she was absolutely elated to be awoken by her children. When she came downstairs, she was greeted by the bouquet of roses you bought her, and flung her arms around you in a tight hug. This was all she ever wanted. All she ever needed. After putting the boys to bed that night, you and Wanda stood at your bedroom window, staring out at the stars, just like you did on that fateful Valentine’s Day ten years ago. Wanda didn’t flinch as your hand found hers, and she leaned against your chest with ease, whispering in an almost inaudible voice, “You were once my sadness, and then you became my hope. But most of all, you are my love.”
10000000/10😍😍😍
happy pride from the greatest evil lesbian to ever evil lesbian