#Foot And Nail Clinic

[footclinicuk]

Consider the factors mentioned above, and you will find that the Foot And Nail Clinic is the ideal medical destination to get a Lunula Laser in London. Get rid of your fungal nails and enhance your feet’s aesthetics under the supervision of our experienced clinical podiatrists and chiropodists.

[charterstowers]

Knee Pain Specialists in Richmond Hill - Professional Care for Your Joints at Charters Towers Podiatry

Are you struggling with Knee pain in Richmond Hill and seeking professional care to alleviate your discomfort? Look no further! Charters Towers Podiatry is here to provide expert assistance and comprehensive treatment solutions tailored to your individual needs. Located conveniently at 60 Hackett Terrace, Charters Towers 4820, our clinic is your trusted destination for top-notch podiatric care.

[ianspodiatry]

foot and ankle clinic Thuringowa Central

Welcome to our leading Foot and Ankle Clinic in Thuringowa Central. Specializing in Sports Podiatry, Ian's Podiatry is your go-to destination for comprehensive foot and ankle care. Our skilled team is committed to keeping athletes of all levels performing at their peak. Trust us for personalized solutions tailored to your needs.

[six-of-ravens]

well the good news is, mom had her appointment for the wound on her foot and she doesn't have to have it chopped off it is healing albeit very slowly, and she does have to have some more tests done.

WHEW.

[world0fmadness]

HONEY HAMILTON

lewis hamilton x wife! reader x ( platonic! ) oc daughter

♡ how winnie hamilton / honey came to be!

୨୧ just some really fluffy girl dad stuff with lewis <3

♡ related smau available here, related hc available here and here | view my formula 1 masterlist here

reading music recommendations: no moon at all by julie london - oceans by new navy

♡ you found out you were pregnant right around christmas time!

୨୧ to say you were excited to tell lewis would be an understatement…

♡ you were practically bouncing off the walls, thinking of cute ways to tell him! he noticed how smiley you were but didn’t comment on it, figuring you were just excited for christmas

୨୧ you decide to wait until christmas day to tell him, preparing a little box with a miniature version of lewis’ race suit inside reading “ mini hamilton ” on the back, wrapping it and placing it under the tree when you were happy

♡ eventually, christmas rolls around and you tell him to please leave that gift for the last! he’s a little confused but thinks it’s just something really good ( oh yeah, it is )

୨୧ when he finally gets around to it, unwraps it and opens the box… he thinks it’s a little outfit for roscoe at first but when he really pulls it out and looks at it, you can see the gears turning in his head, the exact moment it clicks and his brown eyes light up like the sparkling lights wrapped around your christmas tree

“ are you serious? oh my god… bloody hell, i thought it was for roscoe… c’mere love ” ( you spend at least five minutes just hugging on the floor while he tells you this is the greatest christmas gift he’d ever received )

♡ when you guys tell the other drivers, they’re all so happy for you! they quickly decide between themselves that there can only be one favourite uncle…

୨୧ this leads to way too many gifts, some things that the baby won’t even be able to use until they’re older!

♡ though it does make you and lewis laugh when you walk into the paddock and are immediately bombarded by drivers giving you wrapped gifts

୨୧ george decides he won after he bought a custom made mini replica of lewis’ race car ( you think he won too, i mean it’s just too cute and unique )

♡ lewis is just the absolute best when it comes to you being pregnant, he sort of really wishes you’d sit on the couch with your feet up and a drink in your hand while he paints your nails but if you feel sad just sitting around constantly, he’ll gladly go on walks with you and roscoe around the countryside

୨୧ once on one of these walks, your foot made a weird movement and almost twisted but he caught you as soon as it happened… he swears he felt his heart stop beating in his chest!

♡ when you find out you’re having a girl, lewis is over the moon! he’d be happy with any gender but he can’t wait to have a little girl and do her hair and spoil her rotten and play barbies with her…

୨୧ you both have a little cry in the car outside of the clinic, just so happy to know your baby is healthy and you’re getting a girl… the crying doesn’t last long though, soon enough you’re craving a milkshake with french fries and ask lewis to grab some takeout on the way home

♡ when you’re giving birth, lewis just feels terrible… he can’t handle seeing you in so much pain :(

୨୧ but he comforts you the best he can, drawing patterns on the back of your hand while you almost break his

♡ when you finally give birth, lewis starts crying right along with his baby’s first cry

୨୧ when he does skin to skin, you ogle him from the hospital bed which he quickly takes note of and sends a cheeky wink over to you

“ careful with your eyes love, we don’t need you getting pregnant again just yet… ” ( you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads across your face )

♡ the absolute hardest thing lewis has ever had to go through was winnie’s teething process…

୨୧ he was a MESS! he didn’t know how to cope

♡ he absolutely hated seeing his sweet little baby winnie in so much pain, knowing there was nothing he could do to help her except keep giving her the ice teething toys :(

“ awh, winnie, i’m sorry, i know it hurts honey, i know… you’re being so strong though hm? my brave girl ” ( you’d make sure to give him lots of reassurance that he’s doing the best he can to help her through it )

୨୧ unsurprisingly, winnie’s favourite cartoon turns out to be winnie the pooh!

♡ she watches it religiously with lewis, constantly letting out airy giggles around her bottle while lewis admires her with nothing but love in his eyes

୨୧ he nicknamed her honey because… well… y’know, winnie the pooh loves honey and she’s as sweet as honey ( not to mention she got his beautiful eyes, brown but almost golden, like a pot of honey ) he thinks it’s pretty straight forward <3

♡ sebastian is a HUGE fan of the nickname, he thinks it’s just adorable and calls her honey bee whenever he comes to visit! he’s her favourite uncle for sure, you guys have trouble getting her out of his arms, she sticks to him… sticks to him like honey <3

୨୧ everytime lewis is abroad for a race, he goes into the city to buy her a new plushie!

♡ it became a ritual between them super early in winnie’s life, he felt horrible for having to leave her for races so he’d bring back a plushie that made him think of her to make up for it and she’d have a piece of him at home whenever he left again

୨୧ her room is absolutely full to the brim with plushies now… she has shelves lining her walls to showcase them! there are at least ten winnie the pooh plushies

♡ when she’s old enough to come abroad to races with him, you do take her! the plushie collecting doesn’t stop there though, he just takes her with him to the stores to pick her own plushie!

୨୧ her absolute favourite places to go are countries with big beaches

♡ she’s a major beach baby! when you took her to a beach for the first time, she was super freaked out by how the sand felt and lewis thought it was adorable… holding her hands and standing her on the warm sand while you cheered her on and recorded from the side

୨୧ but when she got over how different the sand felt and sat down on a towel, she couldn’t stop picking up sand in her tiny chubby hands and watching it fall through the cracks of her fingers

♡ she thinks roscoe on the beach is just the funniest thing ever too, constantly giggling while he attempts to dig a whole in the sand, her happiness only adding to yours and lewis’

୨୧ whenever she brings him little seashells she’s collected, he keeps them! usually he’ll get them made into super nice necklaces or bracelets or just collect a big handful of them and you guys will make it into a cute little art piece to put on the wall <3

♡ he kind of keeps ANYTHING she gives him…

୨୧ if his winnie gave it to him, there’s no way he’s putting it in the bin! piece of string? thank you honey! rock from the driveway? how thoughtful!

♡ all of the random things he’s collected over her toddler years are stored in a big jar that sits on his desk

୨୧ because of how much winnie loves the beach, you and lewis made the decision to move into a house in a beach town!

♡ with the beach basically being in your backyard, you can never get winnie off the beach now… same goes for lewis

୨୧ you’ll walk out of the back door and spot them sitting on a towel together

♡ usually making a sand castle or lewis covering her lower body in sand, moulding it to make her look like a mermaid and taking pictures <3 lewis usually spots you and calls you over

୨୧ christmas time is extremely special to you and lewis since you found out about your little winnie’s existence near christmas and he found out on christmas day!

♡ so you guys go all out for her first christmas! he gets the biggest, most beautiful tree and you decide to make it winnie themed! the ornaments consisting of custom made porcelain winnie the pooh characters and tiny photo frames showcasing pictures from all different times in your relationship… roscoe lays sleeping on the couch in a little reindeer costume

୨୧ lewis holds her on his hip, leaning her up gently and letting her place almost all of them on whilst you take pictures before joining them

♡ when christmas day rolls around, you spend almost the whole day in your pyjamas, relaxing in front of the fireplace! only getting dressed when you go to visit lewis’ parents house for christmas dinner <3 winnie gets dressed up in the cutest little velvet red and black dress with bow in her hair, matching you, whilst lewis wears a sleek but comfy outfit going by the same colour scheme! safe to say his parents were big fans of winnie’s outfit, cooing at her the entire time you were there

୨୧ when the day rolls into night, you guys are home and winnie is put to bed, you and lewis stay on the couch for a bit… just cuddled up with roscoe by your feet, eventually you feel his eyes on you and ask him if he’s okay

“ am i okay? i’m amazing love… just can’t believe i’m here, with winnie and you… i love it, i love you and her so much, you know that? ” ( the soft kisses he placed on your lips after were so full of love, so full of admiration… he was just so content )

♡ you and lewis decided this was the best christmas you’d ever had, just barely beating last christmas because winnie is actually in your arms now

୨୧ lewis and winnie are ALWAYS making you breakfast in bed!

♡ well, lewis is always making you breakfast in bed… winnie is usually just sitting in her high chair at the breakfast counter, letting out high pitched giggles at the mere sight of roscoe trudging around below her feet, lewis leaning over and feeding her tiny pieces of fruit every couple of minutes

“ good strawberry, winnie? yeah? thank you honey, my little food critic ”

୨୧ lewis eventually gets a little tattoo of a honey pot on his upper chest, just above his heart… he says he wanted something that symbolised his love for his honey <3 something that would always make his honey close to his heart…

♡ and close to his heart she is…

lewishamilton and ynln: winnie’s first christmas, filled with nothing but love and presents for our honey 🍯 🎄 🎁

georgerussell ✔️: did she like my present?! i put a lot of thought into it

> lewishamilton ✔️: yeah, she loved it mate! thanks again, yn says thanks as well

> georgerussell ✔️: only the best for my niece 💪

lewynforever: oh my god… she’s getting so big already

> f1lover: right? i remember when they posted that they were expecting a baby 🥹

> lewynforever: time flies…

sebastianvettel ✔️: sending lots of love to you guys and your little honey bee! have a good christmas lewis and yn - sebastian ❤️

> ynln: thank you sebastian! sending many kisses from honey, merry christmas ❤️

[synqiri]

LOVE STORY.

or, the two times he saves you and the one time you return the favour.

PAIRING: diluc x gn!reader

WARNINGS: alcohol, blood

WORDCOUNT: 3.1K || CONTENT: idiots in love, friends to lovers, fluff, healer!reader, reader has a geo vision, confessions

NOTES: this is so cliché i adore him

“alright, that should do it,” you announce cheerily, patting lumine on the shoulder. the golden glow from the after-effects of your powers fade away, and all that’s left from her wound is a faint scar. “how do you feel?”

she smiles. “much better. thank you.”

“we got you a gift!” paimon exclaims, practically vibrating with excitement. “as a gift for always healing us! paimon picked it out herself.”

you watch curiously as lumine produces something from her bag — a cute, little wooden birdhouse to be precise. handmade, you note, with intricate carvings of flowers by its edges. it would look absolutely perfect hung on your balcony. dawn and eve would appreciate the new furniture as well.

“i love it,” you say, thanking them. they really didn’t have to, yet it was touching all the same. “though, as a doctor, the best way you can repay me is by being more careful. please, try not to get hurt so much?”

lumine laughs sheepishly, and you can’t help but sigh fondly. you’d see her in your clinic at least thrice a week whenever she was in mondstadt. thankfully, her injuries were usually rather minor, and you’d always send her off with something cool to drink and a ‘safe travels!’

“i’ll try,” she replies softly, standing as she does. “we’ll get out of your hair now.”

after seeing her off, you slip into the backroom of your clinic and up the stairwell leading to your home. lumine had been the last patient of the afternoon, and you’d hear the bell ring if there was anyone at the front door, so you’d have enough time to set up the new birdhouse.

your two songbirds chirp as you enter your balcony. you click your tongue at them. “i fed the both of you this morning already. no more for today.”

it wasn’t a very big balcony — just enough for a small table and two chairs on one side, a few potted plants and your pets’ furniture on the other. setting the birdhouse down, you head inside to grab a ladder and your toolbox. 

“lumine and paimon got this for you,” you tell them, gesturing to the birdhouse, pushing the ladder against the wall. “remember to thank them the next time you see them.”

dawn tweets in reply. what a good boy. 

he’s coloured a deep and elegant red, whilst eve was the colour of sand and soft dusk. you named them both to match their feathers when you got them a few years back. as a treat to yourself, you remember, to celebrate when you received your vision.

you get right into it. up the ladder, nail and hammer in hand. though, of everything you’d expect to happen afterwards, you’d never expect it to be seeing diluc.

a grin lights up your face immediately, and when he spots you, you raise a hand to wave at him.

“you’re not working at the winery today?” you ask. you have to crane your neck sideways and your head downward to face him, but it works despite the odd angle. 

he shakes his head, arms crossed. “i’ve completed all there is to do. be careful. focus on the task at hand, lest you fall.”

“it’s fine, i’ve got it,” you reply, waving his warning away. you give the ladder a few firm slaps, standing on your toes to lean over the railing slightly. “the ladder’s sturdy enough! i won’t —”

you fall.

it happens faster than you can scream — you lose your footing, stomach colliding into the rails, and instead of toppling backwards, you fall out the balcony. you can hear your ladder crashing, and at least two of your pots shatter. you bring your arms to your head, bracing yourself —

but you don't hit the floor.

“are you alright?”

his gaze is pinned on you, brows slightly furrowed, and you can feel his hands around your body. they're warm. oh my god.

you blink, dumbstruck.

“you’re really strong.”

reality hits you like a freight train, and you practically leap out of his arms in sheer mortification. gods, you're a goner. why in the world —

“— fine! i'm fine! thanks for saving me,” you chirp, beaming, as if it would erase the last thirty seconds of the horrifying ordeal that is your life. you pat down your clothes, sparing a glance at your wrecked balcony. you wince. “probably should've listened to you, huh…?”

“it's nothing. what matters most is that you are uninjured,” he says. his eyes flick over your body, and swear you can almost feel the warmth of it. “what were you doing?”

“putting up a birdhouse — it was a gift from the traveller,” you explain. huffing, you shrug. “i wish she’d be more careful. i’m pretty sure she just throws herself at her enemies half the time.”

he chuckles, velvety and rich. “i’m sure it’s only due to her trust in your capabilities as a healer. the traveller has a keen eye for skill.”

it should be illegal for a man to be this charming. though, before you can reply, a frantic clattering resounds from your balcony, and two distinct bird calls can be heard. 

“dear gods, i forgot about dawn and eve. they must be worried sick,” you murmur, bringing a hand to your face.

flashing him an apologetic smile and a quick farewell, you dash back into your home without waiting for his response.

“thanks again!” you call out to him, waving. “i’ll catch up with you next time!”

(hours later, when you have finally cleared the shattered remains of pottery and soothed your rattled pets, you catch sight of diluc once more. he greets you with a faint smile as he enters the clinic, simply checking to see if everything has been settled and if all is well. 

you could swoon. isn’t he thoughtful?)

night has fallen. the air is crisp and the moon is bright whilst you trek through starfell valley, steps light and a song under your breath. you’re harvesting lamp grass that day, and its ethereal blue glow makes it much easier and much more satisfying to pick in the dead of twilight. they're dawn's favourite snack — he wouldn't last a day without them.

though, you didn’t expect that following the trails of lamp grass would lead you right into the midst of a monster camp.

gods, you curse. it seems as if recently, celestia really wanted you dead. or at least decently mangled. what the fuck.

two mitachurls, a few hilichurls, and at least one samachurl… a mitachurl spots you first. it stares, silent and still, and you stare right back. the thing would catch up to you even if you turned on your heel and fled. you weren’t any good at fighting either, especially not against one with a geo shield.

your body seizes. you suck in a sharp, jagged breath. 

you are so dead.

“stay…?” you say hesitantly, both a plead and a command.

it charges —

— and goes right up in flames.

you watch in terrified awe as the entire camp is set aflame, the raging fire scalding against your skin. stumbling backwards, you trip, and the embers lick at your feet. firm arms snake around your body then, one on your back and the other supporting your legs, scooping you off the floor and away from what was once a monster camp.

you’re heaving, breaths nothing but short, shaky gasps, grip tight on your saviour’s coat. oh gods. you nearly died.

your feet hit the ground gently, and you’re thankful that they do not give way. staggering toward the closest tree for support, you can hear the man follow suit. he’s masked, you realise, but his burning eyes reveal his identity immediately. even in the twilight, his hair is ruby as dawn.

“diluc,” you breathe out, surprised and utterly relieved. “oh my god, diluc.”

“all the monsters have been eradicated,” he tells you softly, and though it is nothing but a murmur, you hear it clear as day. “you’re safe now.”

you burst into laughter, and into tears. it’s absolutely mortifying, yet you can’t seem to stop. sniffling, you accept the handkerchief he produces from his coat, rubbing your eyes and blowing your nose. voice thick, you chuckle. “sorry, sorry… i just — give me a second.”

“take your time,” he says. “you have no reason to apologise.”

you know you’d be eternally grateful for how patient he’s being with you. he gives you all the time in the world to collect yourself, and offers you nothing but wordless comfort. you feel much better already. 

“y'know,” you start conversationally, “this is the second time i've ended up in your arms like that. it's like you're my knight in shining armour.”

grinning, you glance up at him only to note he's removed his mask. what was up with that mask, anyway? you’re curious, so you ask him as much.

he had been infiltrating and clearing out a fatui base in the area, he explains, and how he ran into you along the way. woah. how impressive.

“do you do this a lot?” you ask.

he nods. “i do. the safety and security of mondstadt is one of my utmost priorities.”

you nod along with him, until the pieces slide into place and create the perfect masterpiece of a puzzle. the mask, the vigilantism and the chivalry…

“wait. so, you're the darknight hero?!”

at that, he cringes minutely. a sigh leaves his lips then, and an exasperated acceptance graces his face. “i see you've heard of that moniker as well.”

“who hasn't? don't worry! i'll keep your superhero identity a secret,” you announce proudly, even placing a hand over where your heart would be as emphasis. “my lips are sealed.”

he sighs again, but this time, it’s softer, gentler. “let's go. i'll walk you back to your home.”

though, you don't end up going home. you find out he's headed to angel's share, and it's then and there you decide you deserve a drink too. you had survived enough scares for a lifetime, you think. you part ways at the entrance — for he slips into the tavern through the backdoor whilst you use the front.

kaeya greets you the moment you enter, gesturing for you to sit by him at the bar.

“i'd never expect to see you tonight,” he says smoothly, a charming smile on his face. when diluc enters the scene, his gaze only flickers for a brief moment. “it must be my lucky day.”

you beam. “nah, it must be mine. how have you been?”

the captain buys you your first drink, and you fall into conversation easily. it's been far too long since you've talked with kaeya, you muse, that you’ve forgotten how much you missed being his friend. 

you don't catch how diluc's gaze strays to you time and time again, but kaeya does.

“say, [name],” kaeya purrs, “have you heard of the darknight hero?”

diluc flinches almost unnoticeably. you chuckle. “i have. i've heard donna go on and on about the man for hours. why?”

“nothing much. i was simply wondering what you think of it all.”

the grin that stretches across your face is utterly radiant. your head is propped up by your arm now, your body half-draped along the bar. dreamily, you sigh, “i think he's dashing.”

kaeya throws his head back and laughs.

(later, when you have finally retired for the night, kaeya eyes his brother knowingly. there's a smile on his face, genuine and sly all at once. 

“why, you really ought to thank me, don't you think?”

diluc huffs, drying a wine glass as he does. “there is nothing to thank. [name]’s opinion of the darknight hero is not any of your doing.”

“funny, i don’t recall mentioning if i was talking about them?”

checkmate. diluc scowls, and he knows he's won. his brother glances away, but kaeya knows better than to read his feelings at mere surface level. diluc is smitten — there is no doubt about that.

there would be no explanation for the small, secretive smile on diluc's face in response to your earlier comment otherwise.)

it is nearly closing time when lumine seems to have found herself in your clinic once more. what’s more surprising is the man that shuffles in with her, but apart from being a little worse for the wear, he looked to be alright.

faintly relieved, you turn your attention on her instead, directing her onto a bed. “what’s happened this time?”

“she sprained an ankle,” paimon supplies helpfully. “we were battling the cryo regisvine when diluc came to help us!”

“i was in the area,” diluc adds in, by way of explanation. his arms are crossed, you note, which would have usually been perfectly normal if not for how stiffly he is carrying himself. hm.

“diluc,” you say. his gaze flicks towards you immediately. “i have to talk to you about something later.”

he dips his head in reply, and you make quick work of healing lumine’s ankle, bandaging it up just in case. “be careful with it — an ankle is always easiest to sprain the second time.”

she smiles, saying her thanks, and the pair bid you farewell as swiftly as they had come. you pin your gaze onto diluc then, before he can ask about what you wished to say.

“it’s your turn now, c’mon.” you pet the bed the bed the traveller had just used, tone firm. “on your back. take off your coat too.”

gods, you think, wincing when he does as you say obediently. he reeks of blood.

the wound bad, in all sense of the word. you don’t know how exactly it is that his coat had survived, but it’s apparent the rest of his undershirt and skin had not. a large gash runs from his shoulder to the tail of his back, bruised and bloody with frostbite. he had been caught off guard when the traveller injured herself, he explains.  

“how were you still standing?” you say, horrorstruck. 

your fingers brush against the bruising, and he lets out a shuttered breath. “it is nothing i haven’t endured.”

“but that doesn’t make it okay,” you murmur, and you don’t think he hears you, for he says nothing in reply.

crystals of geo form on his back, encasing the injury with a golden sheen. it would take a while to fully heal, you tell him, as it did for every other major wound. 

“first lumine, now you?” you laugh, though it is out of incredulity rather than genuine amusement. “my heart’s gonna give out at this rate.”

“my apologies,” he replies, pushing himself to sit upright. there’s a smile on his face, a small, rueful one. “i… never thought you’d notice. nor did i expect you to be this concerned.”

just what does he think of you? you instruct him to turn his back to you, giving you easier access to his wound. he doesn’t flinch and doesn’t make a sound when you bring a warm, damp cloth to his skin, but you can tell it’s a near thing. 

“why wouldn’t i be worried for you?” you ask. you try not to let the hurt and confusion bleed into your words, keeping your voice steady and calm. “i know we haven’t been as close since your father… well, i know we haven’t been as close in the recent years but — but i’ve never once stopped caring about you.”

honestly, you couldn’t blame him. ever since crepus’ passing and diluc’s three year disappearance, your relationship with him had never been the same. you had even loved him once when the both of you had been teens, you know, madly, irrevocably. maybe you still do, somewhere in the deepest corners of your heart.

“it wasn’t my intention to slight you. i merely…” he starts, trailing off. 

you prompt him to continue, and he sighs. the crystals have all dissolved now, his wound fully healed, but the tinge of redness on his skin has yet to fade, along with a fresh, blotchy scar. it almost blends in with the rest of the scars that decorate his back, you think.

you offer him a spare doctor’s coat to wear, seeing as how his own were ruined, and he accepts it with a murmured thanks. you can’t see the look on his face, but you don’t have to. you know him well enough to imagine.

“you’ve said it yourself that we’ve grown distant. i admit that — that much of it is my fault. i could never blame you if you no longer consider me your friend.”

so, that’s why?  

“you complete fool.”

he startles, gaze darting to face you, but you’ve already gone and thrown your arms around his neck. his arms come around your waist only after a moment’s hesitation, and you laugh. “all this while — you’ve been guilty? diluc, who do you think i am? i wouldn’t stop being your friend just ‘cuz you were going through some things.”

“if anything, i was pissed when you left mondstadt for years without a single letter.” you sigh, leaning backwards ever so slightly to get a good look at his face. gods, you’ve always loved his eyes. they pierce into yours, burning and bright. “and when you came back, i thought you didn’t like how much i changed, which is why… y’know, we stopped talking as much.”

really, a lot had changed ever since crepus died. you got your vision, quit studying theology (sister rosaria had been rather supportive of that), started studying medicine… your parents hadn’t been pleased, but who were they to object?

“on the contrary, i don’t think you changed at all,” he cuts in, almost immediately. “not in any way that mattered. you’re still…”

“still?”

he huffs, glancing away, as if he were bashful. his tone is impossibly soft. “wonderful.”

oh my god. since when did he learn to be this charming? you laugh, delighted and flustered all the same. 

“for the record, i think you’re wonderful too.”

“i’m glad to hear that,” he chuckles, and you can feel it. that could not be good for your heart. 

you release him from the hug, opting to sit by his side instead. it’s been so long since you’ve felt this light. and it is then your stomach chooses to grumble. embarrassingly loud, in fact. diluc doesn’t laugh, but you know damn well he wants to. he checks the time on his watch. 

“it’s already time for dinner,” he says. “would you like to have dinner at the dawn winery? i know adelinde will be delighted to see you.”

“are you asking me out on a date?” you tease. you wouldn’t mind at all if it was, actually.

and he flushes. you’ve never even known his face could be that red. it’s utterly adorable.

“would you — would you like me to?”

grinning, you leap to your feet, offering him a hand. he takes it without hesitation, and his palm is warm in yours.

“definitely! i accept, by the way. c’mon now, let’s go!”

[ddollipop]

I DIG MY NAILS IN DYNAMITE. . . ! — ( MOIRA O'DEORAIN. )

#. synopsis! — if moira’s going to be forced to work the clinic, she’s going to do things her way: no matter how unconventional her methods may be. (malicious fucking compliance) .

#. contains! — f!reader , explicitly nsfw content , lesbian smut, female on female, dirty talk , slight begging , implied age difference , slight power imbalance , subtle medical setting , oral sex , cunnilingus , fingering , dom!moira , sub!reader , nipple sucking , some wall action , one-sided stimulation , giving preference (moira) , slight praise , sex in the workplace , finger sucking , sort of revenge sex .

#. word count! — 5.1k .

The clinical wing is hardly any of Moira’s responsibility. It wasn’t her idea, she had no intention of utilizing it herself, and the fact that she was being forced to work it alone for no less than ten hours a week was something akin to infuriating. If she didn’t already loathe Angela Ziegler and her fluffed up ideals about peace and prosperity, —she certainly did now. Because this was cutting into her time, and if there was one thing Moira couldn’t stand more than working with incompetent people: it was squandering her waking hours on fruitlessness. It was always the same things over and over and over again. You’d think a building full of well-educated men and women of science would have a better understanding of their own petty ailments by now, but no. . . 

Every slim bout of nausea, every headache onset, every tiny papercut, it seemed, was good enough a reason to come crying to her. And she’d had enough. It’s not to say that you were any more or less annoying than anyone else who’d stopped by that day, but there was something so nerve grinding about your presence, about the way you glanced around the white-walled exam room, that set Moira off.

“What’s wrong with you, exactly?” She questioned, —though it was painfully clear she was only asking out of obligation and was none too pleased to be doing so.

Her stern, uncaring expression almost had you forgetting the lie you’d cooked up while sitting there alone for a good ten minutes.

“I’ve got um. . . A headache and I’m feeling a little dizzy,” you reply.

She notices how uncertain you sound of it, and her eyes narrow at you, regarding you suspiciously.

“Is that a question or a statement?” She asks bluntly, mincing no words in the process.

“A statement,” you answer, tacking on a soft apology that she doesn't care enough about to acknowledge.

“How long has this been going on?” 

“A few hours, maybe.”

“Maybe?”

You’re really starting to wish you could just sink into the exam table and disappear. Even more than that, you’re cursing Doctor Ziegler for putting you up to this, —for deciding that you were just innocent looking enough to play a fools game with this woman before you. You’re certain now that the extra pay is hardly worth putting yourself through this just to see if Moira is really taking her position in the clinic seriously.

“A few hours,” you repeat, dropping the rest; but you know it’s already too late.

She’s annoyed with you. She’s sick of it here in this tiny room, and all she wants to do is put a stop to this ridiculousness and make use of her time her way. . . Which gets the cogs turning in her mind. If she has to be here, Moira’s going to make the most of it, —and what better way than to indulge herself in the sweetest little patient that’s set foot in here all day? It’ll be a bit before her clinic hours are up for now, and she’d much rather spend that time tying up some of her own loose ends than playing into Angela’s surprisingly spiteful hands.

“It’s a bit warm in here, no?” She says suddenly, straightening her back and standing to her full height as she shrugs off her lab coat.

“Uh. . . Yeah? A little, I guess,” you reply uncertainly, trying your best not to stare as she drapes the shed garment over the back of a chair and masterfully unbuttons the top of her white dress shirt.

The fabric is loose, and it sits against her pale skin like silken sheets atop a mattress. For all Moira is known for being: —cruel, sarcastic, brilliant, blunt— you can’t help but wonder why attractive doesn’t tend to make the shortlist. It’s far from the first time something like that has ever crossed your mind, of course, having worked in her vicinity for several months now, but it is the first time you’ve ever felt your insides twist themselves into pretzels at the sight of her.

She’s so tall, and even without the height, her personality alone commands the space she physically takes up. Moira is the kind of woman who doesn’t ask for what she desires, but simply demands it, and there’s something very stirring about that in a way you can’t quite seem to put your finger on.

“You guess, do you?” She raises an eyebrow, throwing you a blank glance.

Her hands come down to grip the edge of the exam table, the crinkly paper shuffling under the new pressure. She’s close enough now that you can feel her breath ghost against you, and somehow, her unchanging expression feels ten times more spine-tingling now that she’s less far away.

“Is there anything you’re certain of, y/n?” She questions, —and heaven help you, the way she says your name has your thighs itching to squeeze together where you sit.

“I-I. . .” You stutter pitifully, lost for words now that she's this close, eyes ghosting around her face, then around the room, just hoping to avoid her gaze.

“You. . .?” She prompts in a surprisingly gentle tone, removing one hand from the exam table to grab your face.

It's not a violent gesture, nor much of an unwelcome one, as her thumb sits on one cheek and four fingers press against the other. She steadies your head with the grasp, forcing the direction straight ahead, and your eyes naturally follow in suit. Moira can feel the way you swallow, watching as your throat moves to push the saliva down, and something akin to dangerous blossoms within her.

“You're a pretty girl,” she tells you. 

Somehow, the tone she uses when she says it makes it feel less like a compliment and more like a statement of fact.

“It's too bad you're such a quiet thing. I'm sure under the right circumstances, your voice is quite sweet.”

Anything you could have thought to say in reply seems to all but die on your tongue or lodge in your throat. A shiver creeps up your spine, tingling under your skin, scattering goosebumps all across your body.

“Do you have any idea how tiring this is?” She asks, standing to her full height again, clarifying quickly: “Working in this clinic? When I, of all people, should be doing something of actual substance. Forgive me if your headache isn't as interesting to me as my own endeavors, —but you must realize how pathetic it is to come crawling to me about something so minute.”

Finally, you work up the nerve to speak back again.

“I'm sure it must be frustrating,” you answer. “I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you, Doctor, I just. . .”

I didn't have much of a say in the matter. 

She sighs. 

“Did nobody ever teach you how to finish your sentences?” She asks, sounding rather incredulous. “Either out with it, or let me put your mouth to some proper use.”

You're not really sure what that's supposed to mean, but it's not as if you have much to say at the moment anyway. Anything you could have mustered up has gone out the window, drained like a pin-pricked egg.

A smirk tugs on her lips at your silence.

“Open,” she directs, a folded index finger sneaking under your chin and a thumb dragging your bottom lip down a bit.

In the moment, you hardly register the command, but somehow you manage to blink yourself back to reality fast enough to part your lips without her having to ask again. (Though asking wasn't really what she'd even done in the first place.) 

“Good,” Moira hums, appearing all too pleased with herself, “it seems you’re capable of following directions.”

Having acknowledged that much, she sneaks that thumb up, letting it pass your lips and nudge at your tongue, feeling the warm wetness of your mouth. You feel yourself burning up, and Moira presses in until the pointed middle knuckle of her thumb is barely ghosting below your cupid's bow.

“Close,” she demands, —and you do, suckling on the heat of her hand, eyes scaling up to her face.

She seems much too delighted by this, albeit in a subdued sense of the word. There’s always been an air of cockiness about her, but this really took the cake and ran with it, like she was so proud to have suckered you in even this deep. It’s then that you’re forced to question whether this is some kind of sick joke, or if she’s truly just that bored here in the clinical wing. It’s obviously not her favorite place to be, but doing all of this on the clock to make the time pass by faster is a little bit of a stretch, even for someone like her.

Moira glides her thumb to and fro, watching the way your lips move with her, still clasped around her digit so beautifully. She thinks to herself that you really are just such a pretty girl.

“Aren’t you just a sweet, obedient thing?” She muses, finally letting her lips curve upward completely.

You hum instinctively, and she can feel the vibration as it resonates from the back of your throat.

“Oh?” She cocks her head to the side, raising a single eyebrow, “was that meant to be defiant? Or perhaps just a correction, —that you’re only this malleable for me?”

She loves the way you look so dazed by every word she speaks, like you’re trying to interpret a foreign language. You’re so mystified by her very presence this close up, as if you can’t decide if she’s real or not.

Eventually, Moira decides she’s had enough and utters “open” again, to which you comply quickly, letting her thumb make its way out from between your lips. Ever the inquisitive woman, she rubs her thumb against her index finger, tapping them together, letting your leftover saliva string between them.

“Y/n,” she murmurs, turning that duel-colored stare directly on you so intently, “—don’t play so coy. There comes a time when every woman must stop begging for the things she desires, and I’m tired of your eyes begging for what your mouth refuses to ask of me.”

Your lips part now, brain convinced you have a solid idea of what you’re supposed to be requesting of her. Though your head is still swimming and a part of you just knows you’re better off leaving things here, as they are, you’re only human. . . So you let your shaky hands come up to grasp at the fabric of her partially unbuttoned shirt, and you pull her inward, not once, but twice, until her face is so close to yours that you’re practically sharing the same breath.

There’s a pause when you don’t make the final move to kiss her, half expecting that she’d have taken over by now, but she offers a low chuckle and snakes a hand up her torso, grasping at your own. It’s gentle for a moment —but only for a moment— before she forces your grip away in a single motion, the other hand wrapping around your free wrist, and pinning either of your hands down against the examination table.

“Go on,” she presses, “stop being so polite. Take what it is we both know you want. Do lions ask nicely before they tear their prey apart?”

You wonder which one you’re supposed to be in this scenario, —the lion or the prey. With the way she’s staring at you, you get the feeling it’s the latter. . .

Closer, closer, you lean, until Moira’s mouth is barely touching your own in a sort of off-handed, almost kiss that isn’t quite coming to fruition. Your neck is craned as far as your body will allow, and you feel the little tuft of amused breath that passes her nostrils ghost against your skin.

“You really are just incredibly novel, did you know that?” She asks, pressure increasing on your pinned down wrists as she finally goes in for the kill.

Her lips are surprisingly soft, and slightly sticky from the remnants of her off-orange lipstick. Even the way she kisses you commands a certain level of respect, and you hope to honor that by keeping up, letting your body react naturally to any and all of her ministrations. When her tongue slips into your mouth, you hardly startle at the feeling, letting her lick and taste as she pleases. The way she does so is like she can’t get enough, —and it crosses your mind very briefly that you may be the first person she’s come on to in quite a while.

Her job is demanding, and overwhelmingly isolating, after all. ..

Having stained your lips enough, both with her bruising kisses and the tangerine-ajacent cosmetics on her mouth, she pulls away for the briefest of moments, only to descend upon your neck like it was glazen with sugar. You can’t help the little gasp that escapes you, or the soft moan that follows, —or the way your hand reaches up to bury the fingers in those fiery strands of hair now that hers are no longer pinning yours down.

“Moira,” you hiss lightly, “—ah.”

Under any other circumstances, you’d have never uttered her name so plainly in lieu of her title, but with the way she was wearing you thin and prying you open with such apparent ease, you doubted she’d care much if you stepped over a line previously drawn in the sand. As far as you could tell, you were already lost at sea anyhow. 

It’s not much of anything, but you feel her smirk against your skin, then murmur: “She does speak.”

You’re on fire, inside and out, burning up so badly you fear there’ll be nothing left but ashes by the time she’s finished with you. Silently, you think it might be best for you to put a stop to this before it ends up going too far; before each of you are drowning so deep there’s no way to break the surface. Your lips part, ready to put an end to it all, —knowing you should. . . But you can’t. Not when she looks you over like you really are just her prey for the taking, for the feasting, the devouring.

“Darling,” she murmurs, tracing the back of her finger down your cheek, caressing you softly, “don’t be so shy. Learn to take what you want without pleading.”

Even then, it’s less of a suggestion and more of a subtle demand.

“I—” you start, but swallow just as quickly.

Sucking in a breath, you let your hands do the talking, gracing the flushed skin of her neck, then ghosting just above her sharp collar bones that peak out from her unbuttoned blouse. Before you have the wherewithal to tell yourself to stop, your shaky fingers begin fiddling with the rest of the clasps, going further down until you see the top of her bra (a simple, black garment, in true Moira fashion.) There’s something so stunning about the way colors lie against her, as if melding into her flesh, bending to her will.

She doesn’t stop you from unfastening the buttons, revealing more of her as you continue downward. She’s got no complaints to utter, no reservations present in her body language, and she sheds the top entirely when the last one has come undone. Moira takes a step back, tossing her shirt onto the small countertop, one of the sleeves dangling over into the sink. You take her fleeting absence from your body as an opportunity to admire her, —the sharp, almost jagged edges she carries around like swords. She’s so tall and slender, so striking in the way she moves as if everything is calculated and she doesn’t doubt for a moment that the world is ready to mold to her every wish and whim.

“Something to say?” She cocks a brow, tone smooth and almost melodic, that hint of an Irish accent clinging to every word.

Your mouth still feels dry, but you force yourself to say what’s on your mind, —even at the risk of coming across like some lovesick schoolgirl.

“I just think you’re pretty,” you answer.

Her lips quirk into another smirk at the compliment, and she runs a hand through her hair, letting you admire the motion.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” she replies.

It didn’t feel kind when you said it, really. . . It just felt true.

“Come,” she beckons, coaxing you off the exam table and closer to the wall, pressing your back against it.

It’s cold to the touch, but it does little to quench the fire still roaring in your guts. What’s more, you’re not entirely sure you want it to stop now anyway. From the corner of your eye, you can see one of Moira’s lengthy arms reach out to tap the middle of the doorknob with a long-nailed finger, popping the lock into place. You assume that signifies a sealed deal of sorts. . . That there’s no going back now; and heaven knows you’re not trying to.

Moira’s hands find their way to your waist, pressing firmly for a bit as she kisses you again; albeit somewhat slower and more intimately than before. It feels more like the kind of kiss you’d give a lover to show affection than one you’d throw at a midday fling. There’s little time to dwell on the thought, however, as she snakes herself between your thighs, dancing over the fabric of your dress pants.

Your breathing hitches a little at the feeling, your skin heating up, and Moira grins to herself before letting her fingers trail upward and curl inward, grabbing at your sweater. Untucking it from your pants, the elder woman pulls it up, looks to you for approval, then finishes the job as she yanks it over your head and tosses it back onto the examination table. The crinkly paper shuffles for a moment, and the sound is almost thunderous over the duet of breaths and heartbeats across the room.

She murmurs something about how lovely you are that you don’t quite catch, —but the real compliment comes from the way her eyes trace across your body, soaking up every inch so earnestly.

When you reach behind her slim back, fiddling with the clasp of her bra, she gives a hum of amusement.

“Eager one, aren’t you?” She asks, voice dripping with the only kind of condescension that tastes so sweet.

“I can’t help it,” you breathe quickly, almost in embarrassment, but still lacking the humility it would have otherwise carried.

You manage to tear the clasp open and the straps on her shoulders slump off. Moira readily tugs them down and sheds the last garment on her upper half, letting your eyes rake over the slight curve of her breasts. They’re not large by any means, but they suit her body so nicely, sitting perfectly on her chest with pinkish nipples you can’t help but think about clasping your mouth around.

She seems pleasantly surprised when you make the first move to do just that, even placing a long-nailed hand on the back of your head, guiding you to her body. As you offer a lick to the left one with the flat of your saliva-laden tongue, she lets out a soft breath, stroking your hair softly as if to encourage you to keep going. You do as she silently asks, parting your lips again and taking her in your mouth, suckling on one, then giving the same attention to the other. She seems to like the way you swirl your tongue, so you do it again, and again, and again, until Moira decides that this just isn’t suiting her fancy any longer.

“Good girl,” she mumbles, even when she’s pushing you away and tugging your bra off with ease.

This time, she doesn’t bother tossing the article of clothing onto the exam table behind her, she simply lets it hit the ground to join her own. Thankfully, the sanitation of the labs, and subsequently the clinical wing, has always been solid as can be.

With a clawed hand, she covers your mouth and keeps your head pinned back against the wall, ducking down to repay the favor. She takes her time reaching your breasts, but it’s hard to mind when she’s busy sucking love bites in a trail down your neck and upper chest. She bites your shoulder, feels you moan against her palm, then does it again to draw the sound from your throat once more.

When she finally takes a single nipple between her teeth, the sensation alone has you seeing stars. Her mouth is so wet and warm, so surprisingly inviting, and she’s so skilled with every little flick. Her free hand works what her mouth doesn’t, careful not to scratch or jab you with her nails. She stays attached for much longer than she allowed you to be, and it crosses your mind that Moira may not be much into the whole receiving end of things. Whatever the case, she looks too pretty like this, with her mouth leaving the rest of her faint lipstick around your nipples and on the column of your neck, for you to think too much of it (or be disappointed by it.)

You really couldn’t tell if all this passion and fervor was born of spite against Angela for setting this clinic up in the first place and making Moira work in it, the general frustration of being away from her own endeavors for so long today, the pent up ardor releasing after a dry spell, —or maybe some mixture of all of that and then some. Whatever the case, Moira wasn’t skimping on a single detail, and you were going to be the last person on the face of the planet to complain about that.

As she unbuttoned your pants and began to tug them down, allowing them to cling around your thighs, you were quick to take over and shed your own clothing at her silent demand. You were thankful you’d worn open-toed heels that day, knowing it wouldn’t have been as sexy if you’d had to have taken the time to slip your socks off during this little process. Moira doesn’t make any moves to mimic you, instead resigning herself to watching and holding herself back from touching.

When everything’s shed, you unconsciously cover yourself with your arms a bit, not necessarily to hide away from her gaze, but out of little more than whatever few shreds of humility you have left.

“Don’t be bashful,” she says firmly, grasping each of your wrists and planting your arms at your sides.

The transition back to the table feels like a blur, —a rush of so much at once that your mind goes a little foggy and the sound of that damn crinkly paper being pushed back to the top, along with the stray clothes, hardly registers above the ache in your core and the coolness of the floor beneath your bare feet. She instructs you to sit, and you do, and when she tells you to come closer to the edge and spread your legs, you do that as well.

“You’re so obedient,” she comments with a half-smile, trailing a finger down the barren skin of your inner thigh, sending shivers across your skin. “We could use more employees like you around here.”

A part of you can’t help but hope, in the moment, that those people never come around, that they never land positions in the lab, just so this endeavor can be your burden to carry alone. This side of Moira is still intimidating, but there’s a softness to be found in the way she looks at you, the way she mumbles little compliments against your skin, —the way she treats you like you’re made of something fragile.

She parts your lips with two of her long fingers, taking a moment to admire the way arousal has slicked your folds up so beautifully. It’s been a while since she’s seen firsthand the impact she can have on a woman, and your wetness strokes her ego more than it probably should have.

The moment the flat of her tongue pressed against you, your toes curled inward and your head fell back, a few breathy moans making your chest stutter. Through half-lidded eyes, you could only watch in bliss as Moira glanced up at you, her mouth suctioned around your needy little cunt, feeling every twitch and licking up every bit of juice.

“Oh my God,” you huff, reaching forward with one hand to grasp at Moira’s hair.

She seems to like the way you vocalize, and the way you grab at her like it’s something natural, even when it really isn’t. Her tongue works in circles, then lines, then a million other shapes and directions in a single moment, and you feel your body quiver from the tension.

A part of you feels pathetic, but it really can’t be helped that she’s already pushed you to the edge. Weeks of work had given you little time to yourself, and what time you had managed had been spent sleeping, eating, or trying to catch up on things you enjoyed in your personal life. Taking care of your more intimate needs just hadn’t really entered the equation as of late, but now all of that build-up was really showing its true colors (and so quickly at that.)

“I—” you suck in a breath, “I’m gonna cum—”

And she reaches around from the top, her arm hooked under your left thigh, pressing the pad of her thumb ever so carefully against your swollen clit.

You toss your head back and bite your lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. Your free hand grasps for one of your breasts, pinching a nipple between your fingers, letting her drive that stake in so fucking deep that you can feel your insides melting away into ecstasy. Her thumb massaging your clit, her tongue swirling around just below, and the utter depravity of having sex with your boss’s most disgruntled co-worker leaves you cumming on her face, muscles releasing all their tension and melding away into this fantasy world with her.

Oh, but she’s not done, —because of course she’s not. The quiver in your thighs isn’t steady enough, and she hasn’t felt you clench around her fingers, hasn’t felt you tug on her hair hard enough to rip some of the strands from her scalp, hasn’t quite had her fill of you just yet.

Moira brings her hand to her mouth, tearing the middle two nails off with her teeth and spitting them onto the ground beside the examination table. That’s probably a lot hotter than it should be right now, but there’s something about the way she tugs them off so effortlessly, grasping them between her canines, that has your core sopping at the sight of it.

“Just lay back,” she requests.

You do, without question, and you hear her offer up a low chuckle that resonates from the back of her throat.

“You’d just do anything I asked of you, wouldn’t you?” She asks, amusement clinging to every word.

“Yeah, probably,” you reply breathily, —and perhaps a bit too honestly.

But she likes that.

Moira pushes your thighs apart like they’re less so parts of your body and more so obstacles getting in the way of what she wants. She stands to her full height for a moment or two, but her back curves downward and she lowers herself over top of you as she flips her hand palm-side up and sinks those two de-nailed fingers inside your cunt. Your accumulated wetness allows for such an easy entrance, and she pauses for a moment at the hilt of her hand to relish in the way your walls thrub around her digits, almost pulsating, begging for more.

If there’s ever been something Moira has been happy to comply with, —it was this. She lets you adjust, but just barely so, and then pulls back a bit, letting the friction elicit a few soft moans from you.

“Fuck,” you whimper, eyes rolling back a bit, cunt clenching around Moira’s lengthy fingers, the ones she knows how to work so well inside you.

It once again seems like every move she makes is calculated and precise, evoking something so primal inside you, unleashing some kind of desirous beast that just can’t get enough of her.

And there you are on this uncomfortable exam table in this God forsaken clinical wing that neither you nor Moira have ever been very fond of, bare back pressed against the weirdly textured leather, dripping and convulsing around the lecherous fingers of the same woman you’ve heard nothing but complaints about from your boss since you first began working under her. You’re sure that if Doctor Ziegler could see you now, she’d have you fired on the spot, —and something about that makes this so much fucking hotter.

You’re whimpering at every touch, so vulnerable for her eyes only. She prods at every inch of your insides she can touch, moving her fingers in time with every little noise that’s ripped from your throat, leaving you moaning like a slut in heat; and the cycle continues until your body has just had more than enough.

“Moira, I—” a breath cuts you off, nails scraping against that odd-feeling leather beneath you. “Please don’t stop, please don’t stop, holy shit—”

She doesn’t stop. She wouldn’t even dream of it when you’re begging like that, when the pretty pussy she’s hammering out with two fingers is just begging for every ounce of her desire and attention.

The knot inside you unravels, and she basks in the way you spasm around her digits, back arching up off the table. Moira lets you ride it out before slipping out, drawing a few lines up and down your glistening slit before pulling her hand away and reaching for the paper towl dispenser that hangs on the wall. She pats her hand dry and silently collects the clothes strewn about the room.

It takes a moment for you to get your bearings, but you manage to redress without making a fool of yourself.

“A word of advice,” Moira finally speaks, “you’re a good time, and I’m sure an adaquate employee, —but acting isn’t much your forte. Next time Angela sends you here to spy on me, spare me the pleasantries and let’s just skip to the good part.”

You can feel your ears burning, but you force a nod anyway.

“Yes, Doctor.”

[all-that-glitters-is-goldfish]

How would you seduce podiatrist Larys?

I think the girlies need to hear this!

Oops! Here's a short story for you.

Title: Dr. Strong

Pairing: Modern!Podiatrist!Larys Strong/Female Reader with foot fungus

You were surprised that the student health plan at Westerosi University had coverage to see an on-campus podiatrist. It was disappointing not to have dental insurance, but your current dilemma involved your toes, and not your teeth.

Your mother drilled it in your head before leaving for school.

Make sure you always wear your shower flip-flops. Those communal bathrooms are bacteria mines! Her voice echoed in your brain as you made your way into the small, brightly lit office where a handsome, muscular, curly-haired receptionist sat, his eyes glued to the computer screen in front of him.

Of course, your mother was right. One time. One time without shower shoes and your big toenail on the right foot turns a shade of Simpson yellow.

Foot fungus. You were sure of it.

And it was your resident advisor who suggested taking a visit to Dr. Strong's office down at the student health clinic.

You hand your ID to the receptionist. The silver rectangular nametag had HARWIN written in bold print. His large hands point to an empty exam room to his left. "Room 4. My brother will be with you in a minute."

The posters with graphic images of foot diseases along the walls made you queasy as you make yourself comfortable, sitting down and taking off your socks and sneakers.

As promised, Doctor Larys Strong entered the room not 5 minutes later, his greasy curls falling over his eyes as he limped towards you.

You felt a pain in your heart, seeing his struggle as it came to your understanding that this job must be personal to him.

"Good afternoon. I'm Doctor Strong. And you must be Miss Y/LN."

"Y/N is fine." You smile, his blue eyes shining brightly as he returns it.

"So what seems to be the problem today?" He flips up the chart in his hand, clicking the back of his pen, already jotting down several notes.

"Well... um..." You place your naked foot onto the stool provided in front of the chair, flexing your big yellow toenail.

His eyes divert to the ground and his cheeks seem to redden.

"Oh god... It's bad isn't it?" You panic. You knew it. Your toe would have to be amputated.

"Well-" Doctor Strong begins, leaning down, carefully supporting his weight on the wooden cane he carried with him. "It's definitely not ideal."

A tear rolls down your cheek. "Are- Are you going to chop my toe off?"

Larys' eyes shoot up to meet yours, carefully examining your expression, unsure if you were being serious. "Chop it-? No! Of course not. I'm just going to prescribe some anti-fungal cream and advise you to keep your feet dry."

"Oh thank god." You breathe out a huff of air you hadn't realized you had been holding.

"Might I be so bold?" The doctor interrupts your thoughts. "As to mention that yellow is my favourite colour." He smirks, causing you to chuckle, a tiny snort erupting from your nose as well.

"Oh..." You twirl your ankle around, examining the infected nail. "It's actually... mine too."

Your heart flutters has he takes your heel in the palm of his hand. "I feel like your gentle foot would benefit from a massage."

"I don't know if my coverage-" You begin.

"It would be on the house." He replies, his nose pressing against the skin and taking a sniff.

You're surprised by his actions, but you admit that the attention feels nice. Cinderella had always been your favourite Disney movie growing up, and though your sneakers were no glass slippers, you had still found a prince.

"Would it be possible if I could take some pictures of your feet... for the medical journal I am publishing, of course. Some before and after shots of the treatment progressing." Larys asks, and you nod shyly as he pulls out his phone.

Your foot still rests in his hand, as he snaps a few pics. Moaning as he does so, causing you to raise an eyebrow.

"Is everything okay?"

He nods. "I've had many patients walk through those doors... but none with feet so... immaculate as yours."

He puts his phone away as he finishes, quickly jotting down some more notes and handing you a prescription pad.

"Apply this cream twice daily and we should start seeing results within the next couple of weeks."

You nod, as he holds out his free hand to help you from the chair. "Follow the instructions closely. We don't want to risk the infection spreading... though a pop of colour isn't the most... horrible thing..."

You feel your face heat up with embarrassment and flattery.

"I would like to schedule you in for another appointment 4 weeks from today."

4 weeks? Could the throbbing between your thighs wait that long for your feet to be touched again?

"Yes, Doctor Strong."

"Please, call me Larys."

Tagging: @pendragora @aemonds-holy-milk @chompchompluke @the-invisible-queer @simp-aholic @worms-on-a-single-stringand @madame-fear as if I haven't traumatized ya'll enough today

[3liza]

yesterday i got the surgery on both my big toes because i had a bad ingrown on one and the other one acts up sometimes so i just asked the podiatrist to do both please, and he gave me a fistbump. specifically i have been telling my useless dipshit asshole GP for months that i have an ingrown toenail, please remove it, and she said idk i think it's just a dirty infection. put some antibiotic on it. well i already have been. GPs can do the toenail surgery she was just fucking with me because she's lazy. fine. so i went to the podiatrist after waiting months for an appointment, not being able to walk for more than a few minutes. the podiatrist says yeah that's an ingrown toenail. what do you want to do about it? and i said, cut the nails out and cauterize them. and he gave me a fistbump. i think they usually have to talk people into the toe surgery but let me tell you, just get it done. you don't want to fuck around with foot wounds.

the podiatrist kept saying things to me like "you seem unusually calm about this" and "you really aren't reacting to this at all are you". it's a sports medicine clinic and i think he probably deals with a lot of older men, statistically the most hysterical and sensitive type of patient you can have. there is nothing a 50 year old man loves to do more than avoiding a doctor for long enough to turn very tiny problems into life threatening emergencies and then whining and complaining through the entire thing. but i wonder sometimes if the preternatural ability i developed in childhood of simply going about my business while in severe pain and fear was ultimately worth the trade off. for someone who may at some point achieve rest or wealth it would probably be worthwhile to experience events non-dysfunctionally but for someone who will die working class and never retire? i think its far more useful to stay damaged.

[urstruly-ghst]

pre-nrc deuce spade + goody-two-shoes! reader

note : as a blowout for the last day of the year, reintroducing deuce spade pre-nrc and his s/o. i need to share my brainrot over this man (i watched grease so my mind went brrr) also might make some vil hcs, i have smth so good in mind swear cw : swear words, mentions of fighting, and delinquent deuce

deuce spade 

Delinquent, fight maker, arrogant bitch– those were the words permanently plastered above his head; none can understand the appeal you see in him. Deuce is always rough in everything he handles; his magic is always powerful and often overwhelming. The way he holds anything ways seems to be broken with his hands, and, of course, his sharp tongue that brought many people to cry. Hell, his stomach can handle heaps of alcohol and packs of snacks. How can one not cower?

You were different from him; you held a good reputation in your town and school and had this composed life. You’re a good student, too good and too sweet. You were like cotton candy personified. News of you even dating the near-dropout, delinquent, and asshole Deuce Spade was compared to blasphemy. 

But that’s only what they see, the superficial shit-faced Deuce, not the sweetest guy you’ve known. While Deuce is an arrogant delinquent, he is tamer than before. You knew what went behind those doors of his somewhat messy home. Deuce was not the best lover and was an even shittier man, but that didn’t stop him from trying. Admittedly, you both started on the wrong foot, having different impressions of each other. But as time passed, you just fell deeper and felt like the cliche character falling for the bad boy of the town. 

Who are you to deny his advances when you notice his reluctant following of your strict orders and demands to stop his street fighting? Or when he went and aced an exam because you said you’d say “yes” to one date? Deuce tried and still would keep trying to be the best version for both his home and you (the new addition to it– you just don’t it yet).

…

If there’s one sight you hate, Deuce and his foul mouth getting bruised from fights he may or may not have started, it wasn’t pleasant, nor was it the thing you want to greet your significant other. Even if he tries to reason with you, you frown, and he shuts up, knowing saying more dampens your mood.

“Deuce.” Your voice, filled with a warning tone and a frown to accompany it as you enter the clinic, makes Deuce shrink in your gaze. He never liked that look. He hated letting you down. Yet, his fists ached to punch that fucker in the face, so a fight had to be done.

You knew that look. While Deuce cowers and shrinks at your stern gaze, he never fails to show his emotions by grumbling and flexing his fists. Sighing, you crouched down and held his cheek, bruised as usual. Slowly looking at you, you saw his eyes glitter with adoration and pride. That damned pride over his fight landed him in the clinic for the third time this month.

“That must hurt. Deuce, are you okay?”

“‘Course. Tough as nails, babe. Not that serious, ya know? Fucker was messing around with your locker, had to give a lesson.” Deuce said with a smirk as if reveling in the violence he did for your sake.

 Oh, by the Great Seven, if he keeps that smirk up, you might allow that violence to seep in.

“Well, I appreciate that, Deuce. But, if you fight someone again, the guidance counselor can–”

“Awe, I know that. I’ll get another boring three-week seminar about how violence is this; violence is that. Ever such a goody two shoes, babe.” You flared up and smacked him in the face. Not a slap that would hurt him more, but to make him know you don’t like his teasing in a situation like this. Deuce just laughed. He leaned in and kissed you gently.

Why are his lips soft when he is a ragged person who got out of a fight?!

Pulling away from the kiss, Deuce laughed at how you still chased his lips afterward. You’re cute and loving; when did he get that lucky?

“Say, since I kind of broke my promise not to hurt anyone, what if I treat you some treats and a ride on my bike? C’mon, know you like it.” You question where your dignity has gone. You usually hold pretenses and be the level-headed one in this relationship, but a simple invite of danger pulls you in, and you’re now atop his bike.

You may have liked him a bit too much. Good thing he wanted you too– much more than you think.

[footclinicuk]

Foot Clinic London is equipped to do it all. But if you are at a crossroads and still not sure which procedure is right for you, then it is time to get in touch and book your visit today. Consult expert doctors and podiatrists at the clinic to assess your situation and help you choose the perfect course of treatment based on your medical history.

[charterstowers]

Alleviate Heel Pain in Charters Towers – Depend on Charters Towers Podiatry, Your Trusted Experts in Podiatric Care.

Are you tired of persistent heel pain that hinders your daily activities? Look no further than Charters Towers Podiatry. Located conveniently at 60 Hackett Terrace, Charters Towers 4820, our expert podiatrists are here to provide practical solutions to alleviate heel pain and improve your quality of life. Let's explore how our dedicated team can help you find relief from heel pain in Charters Towers.

[ianspodiatry]

How to Find the Best Foot and Ankle Clinic in Thuringowa Central: Your Comprehensive Guide

When it comes to our health, especially matters concerning our feet and ankles, finding the right clinic is crucial. Whether you're suffering from a sports injury, chronic pain, or simply seeking preventive care, choosing the best foot and ankle clinic in Thuringowa Central is essential for your well-being. In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore the key factors to consider when searching for the ideal clinic, ensuring you receive top-quality care tailored to your needs.

[beefromanoff]

Project Mockingbird Ch. 9

summary: Charlotte gets out of the infirmary and clashes with Bucky.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: second chapter this week, woooooo! Merry Christmas to ussss! working on the next chapter, hopefully will come out very soon!

tag list: @bangtanxberm @scott-loki-barnes (let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

_______________________________________

The sparring room echoed with the rhythmic thuds of Bucky Barnes's fists against the punching bag. The sound resonated through the expansive space, his sweaty gray t-shirt the only movement in the otherwise empty room as Charlotte walked in. 

It had been four days since the incident at benchmark testing. The first day in the infirmary, she admitted, was warranted. The pain was excruciating, she could hardly get herself out of bed. As hellish as it was, the experience was far from unfamiliar. This whole song and dance was one she knew well, and the hospitalizations were a necessary evil. Or so she thought. 

In the past, when she’d collapse after back to back rounds of fighting for cash or any other means of using her abilities, it was always the same. She’d get a nosebleed, have roughly thirty seconds to find herself somewhere soft to land, and black out. Usually, she’d wake up a few hours later in an unfamiliar hospital, alone. Doctors would examine her charts, tell her she was dehydrated and overexerted, her kidneys barely making it through. They’d use words like septic and nearly fatal and intensive care. They’d implore her to stay, insisting on another round of bloodwork and testing to get to the root cause of this issue. 

Charlotte would smile weakly, making her eyes wide and innocent. She’d thank the doctors vehemently before claiming she was tired, queuing them to leave the room. After a few bags of IV fluids and recovery, waiting on the nurse shift change and for the awful pain in her lower back to subside, she’d sneak out. Sometimes through the service staircase, sometimes through a window. Sometimes, under the cloak of chaos, she’d walk right out. Thanks to her lack of identification or loved ones to come claim her, no one even had enough information to fill out an AMA form for her to sign. 

In her experience, the pain was worst in the first 24 hours. Her back burned, her body ached, her head pounded. She could hardly move or speak without fear of vomiting or blacking out again. Slowly, it faded to a dull ache. In the infirmary, she’d given a horrified Bruce her timeline as she prepared to leave after the second full day. She could see his hesitation to detain her or make her feel trapped warring with his concern at her leaving so soon. Ultimately, it was the lab tech/nurse Maddie who convinced her it was better for her to stay a few more days. Maddie had pointed out that Charlotte never had a chance to do the full round of fluid treatment and thus, had likely never fully recovered. She removed all the unnecessary medical equipment from the room and even brought in lamps to make it feel less clinical. Charlotte obliged. If she was willing to put in so much effort to keep her there a few more days, maybe it would be worth it after all. 

There had been a steady influx of visitors over the four days. Natasha spent almost all her time there, acting as though it were any ordinary day and not her visiting someone in a medical wing. She’d put her feet up on the bed and flip through magazines, reading the salacious gossip out loud. They’d watch movies on the TV Peter had brought in, paint their nails, sit and read their separate books in silence. If words existed to tell Natasha how grateful she was, Charlotte doubted she could even choke them out. 

Peter and Steve were regulars, too. Steve would bring in cards and play them at the foot of the bed, letting her win until he realized he didn’t have to let her do anything. Peter brought in a clunky old piece of technology, calling it a GameCube. He wired it into the TV and showed her dozens of old, pixelated games. 

Ultimately, the four days flew by. Aside from the IV in her arm and slowly subsiding pain in her body, she hardly felt like she was in the infirmary at all. 

Another bonus, she finally understood what was happening to her when these episodes happened. 

“Do you, uh, would you like me to explain what’s happening?” Dr. Banner nervously shuffled his feet in the doorway to her room. He’d just confirmed the last round of her vitals were steadily improving, but seemed to stop himself before he left the room. Steve raised an eyebrow at him, curious but leaving the decision up to Charlotte. 

“Can’t hurt, I suppose.” 

“Okay, great, excellent. Well, this is what we’ve - what Tony and I have determined. I should say, hypothesized. But we’re nearly certain,” He stammered. 

“Bruce.” Charlotte smiled softly. “Tell me what you know.” 

“Right.” He paused, taking a calming breath. “Well…based on your brain scans, the ones we took before we,” He gestured to her nose. “Anyways, they showed something abnormal. It looks like you no longer have the ability to regulate your own physical exertion or pain. Most people have something in their mind to warn them when they’re getting too tired and their body can’t handle any more. Yours was…disabled. So…when you’re exerting yourself, say…fighting or running, you can actually push yourself past your physical capacities and not even know it. Everyone, even Super Soldiers, have a limit. Yours is higher than an average human, but somewhere below Bucky and Steve’s. When you get past that limit, your body actually starts to shut down.” 

Charlotte’s brows knit together as she lowered the playing cards in her hand, giving Bruce her full attention. 

“Everyone’s body has the same response to those things, to overexertion. Your muscles start to break down, protein enters your bloodstream. At some point, your kidneys can’t keep up. They start to shut down, along with the rest of your body. Your heart can’t pump enough blood and oxygen to keep everything running. That’s when you black out. The pain in your back, that’s your kidneys fighting for your life.” 

Wincing, Charlotte shifted in the bed, memories of stabbing back pain flooding through her. 

“So…all that to say, you pushed your body to…well, past it’s breaking point. From the files I’ve seen, you’ve done it over a dozen times now. I’m not sure the circumstances in the past, or if you were aware of -”

“I wasn’t.” She cleared her throat. “I…had no idea. I hadn’t really been…in my body for a while. I thought it was some kind of defect, some side effect of being in and out of cryo. I didn’t know.” 

Bruce smiled softly. “Well, then I’m glad you do now. The good news is you seem to be making a full recovery every time. Your enhanced healing saved your life, time and time again. Without it, you’d be burning through kidney donors like nobody’s business.” 

“I guess it’s only fair that if my enhancements are killing me then they’re the thing saving me, too.” She shuffled the cards in her hands, ignoring the pained look from both men. 

“Well, uh, I’ll leave you to it.” Bruce shifted the tablet in his hands. “Charlotte?” 

She looked up at him. 

“Thank you for staying.” His smile was genuine. “Thank you for trusting us to take care of you. I don’t take that lightly.” 

“Thank you for being trustworthy. I don’t take that lightly either.” She returned his smile. 

Tugging on the hem of her sweatshirt, she strode into the empty room. As soon as Maddie had confirmed her full recovery and bandaged up Charlotte’s arm, IV finally removed, she’d practically sprinted out of the infirmary. The morning was still early, the compound only barely beginning to wake up. Still, she had a feeling she knew exactly where to find the man she wanted to see.

"Hey there, Soldier," she called, leaning against the doorframe. "You're a tough man to find.”

Bucky's movements didn't falter as he continued his assault on the bag, his metal arm delivering powerful blows. He spared her a sidelong glance but said nothing.

“Why didn't you send flowers to the infirmary? I hear that's a thing people do these days." Charlotte pushed off the doorframe, approaching him with a playful bounce in her step. "You know, a 'get well soon' bouquet would have been nice. Maybe something with daisies. They're cheerful, could really brighten up a space."

Bucky grunted, a sound that could have been mistaken for agreement or annoyance.

Charlotte cocked her head to the side as she stood near the punching bag. "What, no witty remark, no winning smile? You really need to work on your bedside manners, Buck."

He finally ceased his assault on the punching bag, turning to face her with an intensity that caught her off guard. "You need to be more careful."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Careful? What are you talking about? I'm fine, good as new. Doc says I'm practically a medical marvel." She flipped her hair over her shoulder, grinning.

Bucky's expression remained stern. "This isn’t a joke. You collapsed during the benchmark testing. Blacked out, on the ground, unresponsive."

She waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, please. Just a little overexertion. Nothing I haven't bounced back from before."

Bucky clenched his jaw, frustration evident in his eyes. "You're not taking this seriously, Charlotte. You're human. You need to take care of yourself."

Her playful demeanor faded, replaced by genuine bewilderment. “I’m human as much as you’re human, Winter Soldier.”

“It’s different and you know it.” He grit his teeth. 

“How?” Her tone cut through the empty room. 

“Because I’m not the one bleeding and collapsing in the woods.” His words were a controlled his, as if it pained him to keep such restraint.

"Buck, what's gotten into you?” She spoke softly, curbing her rising anger. “I appreciate the concern, but you're acting like I committed a crime." 

His voice, low and intense, cut straight through her as he stepped closer and towered over her. "I've seen too many people get hurt, too many people get pushed too far and meet preventable consequences. I won't stand by and watch it happen to you."

Charlotte's gaze softened, her defensive tone replaced by sincerity. "Bucky, I appreciate that you care. I do. But you don't need to worry about me. I can take care of myself."

His frustration seemed to boil over, his words sharp. "This isn't about me worrying. It's about you being reckless. Clearly you can’t take care of yourself, considering this is, what, the twelfth time you’ve done this? Do you even understand the risks? What if you had collapsed somewhere more dangerous than a training exercise?"

“I have.” Her tone was curt. “And I was fine then, too.”

He turned from her, hands on his hips as he paced in frustration.

"Bucky, I didn't expect a lecture. I thought you'd be glad to see me up and about."

He sighed, a conflicted look in his eyes as he turned back to her. "I am glad, Charlotte. I am. But I won't pretend everything's okay when it's not. I can't…lose someone else to HYDRA’s sadistic bullshit."

The weight of his words hung in the air. Charlotte blinked, processing the unexpected intensity of his concern. "Bucky, I... I didn't mean to upset you. I'll be more careful, okay? But you don't have to worry about me. Nothing is going to happen…I’m not going anywhere." She gently reached out and laid a hand on his arm, squeezing gently.

He took a step back, pulling out of her reach. “Not if you keep being stupid and reckless.” 

Charlotte’s eyes widened, hurt rippling through them. She turned on her heel and fled the sparring room, leaving Bucky alone to grapple with the emotions that had surfaced. Taking a moment to breathe, he sat down on the bench and closed his eyes. 

He yanked at the tape on his hands and chucked it across the room. “Fuck!”

______________________________

The evening had settled over the Avengers Compound, casting a tranquil glow across the lake. Charlotte sat alone on the dock, her legs dangling over the edge, staring into the rippling water. It had only been four days, but she longed for the peace and calm of the water. Her first day ‘out’ had been simple. After her upsetting exchange with Bucky, she’d gone for a long walk, not run, through the woods. A late lunch with Nat and Wanda, a few hours keeping Peter company as he worked on homework, and then opted to skip dinner, not wanting to run into Bucky yet.

Steve’s heavy, even footsteps approached, echoing across the water.

"Hey," He greeted, settling down beside her. "You missed dinner. Everything okay?"

Charlotte forced a smile, her gaze never leaving the water. "Just not hungry."

“If you prefer the infirmary food, that can be arranged.” She didn’t crack a smile. Steve tilted his head, studying her. "Hey…you can talk to me, you know. What's going on?"

She hesitated, contemplating how much to reveal to the best friend of the one causing her to lose her appetite. "It's Bucky. We had this...exchange in the sparring room this morning. He was…angry at me.”

Steve's brow furrowed, his confused look making Charlotte wonder if Bucky had even told anyone about that morning. "What? Charlotte, what happened?"

She sighed again, a mixture of frustration and confusion. "I got out this morning and went to find him. He didn’t come to visit me, not once in four days. But that’s fine, I didn’t expect him to. So I was just teasing him, you know, like usual. It was harmless, I thought. And then he snapped at me, telling me to be more careful. He was actually angry at me…I didn’t know where it was coming from."

Steve nodded, a concered expression on his face. "Bucky has a…complicated history. He's been through a lot, and sometimes he struggles with expressing his feelings, especially when it comes to people he cares about."

Charlotte's gaze turned to Steve, seeking clarification. "So, what, he yelled at me because cares about me?"

Steve chuckled. "More than you might think. Trust me, I’ve been on the receiving end of his particular brand of caring many times. Bucky is fiercely protective. He might not always say it, but he feels everything incredibly deeply. With you…I think it’s complicated." He paused, choosing his words carefully. “You’re a friend, a member of the team, but you’re also a direct reminder of his past. I think he feels…responsible for what happened to you.” 

Charlotte opened her mouth to say how ridiculous that was, but Steve cut her off. 

“I know, I told him that’s outrageous. You’re both victims. He just doesn’t see it that way. His guilt runs deep, even now. I think he sees you and feels like you’re in this position because of him. So, when he sees you suffer,”

“He thinks it’s his fault.” Charlotte breathed.

“Right.”

She processed Steve's words, a mix of emotions swirling within her. "But why avoid me now? If he cares, shouldn't he want to clear things up?"

Steve sighed. "Bucky's got his own set of issues. Sometimes he thinks it's easier to keep people at arm's length than risk getting too close. If I had to guess, he’s beating himself up over how he handled things this morning."

“You think so?” 

“Well, considering he didn’t come to dinner either…I’d say I’m not far off.” 

Charlotte leaned back, her eyes on the starlit sky. "So, what do I do? Wait for him to come around?"

Steve smiled, a reassuring glint in his eyes. "Maybe give him a little time. Bucky might not be great with words, but he's got a good heart. He'll come around when he's ready. Just don't be too hard on him. And, if you want my advice, let him know you're there when he's ready to talk."

As they sat by the lake, the conversation drifted into lighter topics, and slowly, the tension that had settled over Charlotte began to dissipate. Steve's insights had provided a new perspective on Bucky's outburst, and she empathized with him. 

Once night had draped its obsidian cloak over the Compound, Charlotte retreated to her room, seeking solace in the embrace of her bed. The plush bedding, the room devoid of antiseptic smells or beeping monitors, the comfort of being able to bend her arm and curl up as tightly as she wanted. As she lay in the darkness, the playful facade she often wore began to wane. Troubling thoughts crept in, threatening to burst the cheerful and plucky bubble she kept around herself as a protective shield.

The weight of her own existence pressed on her shoulders. The unpredictability of her abilities, the lingering shadows of HYDRA's experiments, and the realization that she couldn't trust her own body haunted her. In the solitude of the night, the facade cracked. Tears filled her eyes and soaked her pillow as she silently wept.

_________________________

Morning arrived, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. Despite the sleepless night, Charlotte knew she couldn't avoid the team meeting. FRIDAY had announced throughout their building that there was a mandatory meeting at 8am sharp, taking place in the private conference room on the first floor. Reluctantly, she made her way downstairs where the Avengers had gathered. The atmosphere felt suspiciously tense, and the array of stern expressions mirrored what seemed like an intervention.

Tony and Bruce stood at the front, armed with expressions that screamed 'serious business.' Taking a seat at the table between Natasha and Steve, Charlotte swallowed to keep her nerves at bay. No one had mentioned what the meeting was about, but given that she was included as the only non-Avenger…she guessed it had something to do with her. Peter, Sam, and Wanda weren’t present, but Bucky appeared quietly in the doorway, not taking a seat.

Tony cleared his throat, and with a dramatic flourish, Bruce unveiled a holographic image of a sleek, silver cuff.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the future of mysterious pseudo Super Soldier self-preservation," Tony announced, his tone a mix of showmanship and genuine concern. “We’re working on shortening the name.”

Charlotte's eyebrows shot up in skeptical interest. "I didn’t know you were dipping your toe into women’s accessories.”

"It's a monitoring device, Charlotte.” Bruce cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. “We've been working on it since we saw your brain scans. Just in case…something came up."

Tony continued, "It monitors your vitals and gives you a heads-up when you're pushing past your limits. And if you choose to ignore it, it gets louder and alerts everyone around you."

Charlotte squinted at the holographic display, her arms crossed. "So, what, it’s a babysitting device?"

"In a nutshell, yes.” Tony nodded. “We thought it might give you some peace of mind if you decide to continue training. Hell, even if you leave the compound, it might come in handy elsewhere too. I can imagine this whole fainting thing gets a little tiresome."

She scoffed, her sarcasm not entirely masking her discomfort. "How considerate of you. Does it come in pink?"

“Whatever you want, kiddo.” Tony’s lack of a quippy remark felt oddly sentimental.

Bruce kept going. “It's non-invasive and doesn't interfere with your abilities. Just think of it as…a safety net. We made it small already, but we can put the technology into any kind of vessel, a ring, if you’d prefer -”

Crossing her arms tighter, Charlotte eyed them both with a mix of distrust and curiosity. "And if I say I don’t want it?" She heard a soft, frustrated noise from the doorway behind her.

"It's your call," Tony replied, a rare softness in his eyes. "We're not forcing anything on you. Just think about it."

She whirled to look at Bucky, expression icy. “Was this your idea?” 

“What? No, I-” He frowned, protesting. 

“Charlotte, Bucky didn’t even know we were developing this until after you collapsed, and even then, he didn’t know the specifics,” Bruce held his hands up earnestly. “We all, collectively, discussed the best way to help you and when Tony and I told everyone this idea…we all thought it was worth a try.” 

“Did anyone think to ask me my opinion?” Her tone was flippant, but her body was tense.

“In case you forgot, you were a little incapacitated.” Bucky countered. 

“How would you know? I don’t remember seeing you there, Sergeant.” 

Crossing the room in two strides, Bucky’s hands hit the wood of the conference room table as he leaned across it, his face inches from Charlotte’s. “Who do you think carried you in?”

She swallowed, taken aback. Her face didn’t reflect the wave of guilt that washed over her, but Natasha noticed the almost imperceptible sag of her shoulders. Of course he was struggling, he hadn’t just heard about her collapse, he was the only one around to see it. He was the one who caught her, carried her in. Thinking back to the last few moments she remembered before losing consciousness, and sure enough, Charlotte recalled his pleading eyes as he told her to slow down. She dropped her gaze, breaking eye contact with him, still leaning over her. 

“That’s enough, Buck.” Steve spoke softly. “You made your point.” 

Bucky moved slowly, but he obliged, dropping into the seat across from the trio.

“If…if it helps,” Bruce interjected, rolling up his sleeve. There was an identical cuff on his, thin and sleek, the dark metal casing looking like no more than a simple, masculine bracelet. “I got the idea from this. I made it for myself a few years back,” 

Tony coughed. 

“Tony and I made it a few years back.” Bruce leveled a glare at his friend. “I wasn’t able to control when The Other Guy wanted to make an appearance. I lived in constant terror of losing control and everyone around me having to pay the price. So I made this. It tracks my gamma signature, and if it spikes…as in, if I start to have a Code Green, it gives me options. I can override it, like on missions when extra backup is necessary…or I can trigger the Lullaby.” 

“What’s the Lullaby?” Charlotte’s curiosity beat out her anger for the moment. 

Bruce grinned. “It knocks my ass out.” 

“Technically, it sends a micro-electric pulse through his body to his brain, causing a very short-lived blackout.” Tony explained.

“Which is enough of an interruption for me to get back under control by the time I come to.” 

“And you don’t feel…strange about that?” 

“Not at all. I feel much better without the fear that I’m going to wake up and be told about the millions of dollars of buildings I destroyed.” Bruce smiled sheepishly.

“True story, by the way.” Tony elbowed him. “The single most expensive Avenger, right here.”

Charlotte forced a smile, but it was half-hearted. She couldn’t exactly protest when another one of them was wearing the exact same technology, selflessly protecting the rest of the team, the world even. All of the medical intervention, the technology, all of it was sending a persistent chill up her spine this week. As much as she tried to fight it, the trauma from her past was not so easily hidden. 

HYDRA never sat me down in a conference room to ask me what I wanted. 

HYDRA never brought me magazines and junk food while I recovered.

HYDRA never cared if I recovered at all. 

HYDRA never gave me a choice. 

Somewhere in her internal war, Charlotte felt Natasha’s hand grasp hers beneath the table. Swallowing, she looked at her friend, who gave a reassuring nod and squeeze of her hand. 

“Okay,” She met Bruce’s eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

He opened his mouth but Charlotte cut him off. “But,” She pointed a finger at both scientists. “I have specifications. I would want it small enough that it can fit into the sleeves of the training suits…and it would have to be durable. I don’t want it breaking when I’m sparring, and don’t even think about putting a camera in it, you dirty bastards.” 

“I’ll take it off the blueprint.” Tony winked. 

______________________________

The late morning sun warmed the cold December air. Charlotte, prohibited from training for a few more days, despite her insistence that she was perfectly fine, sat at a table outside the main Compound building. A deck of cards lay scattered before her, her fingers idly shuffling them in a rhythmic dance that mirrored her restless thoughts. She’d gone with Natasha to observe her in some one-on-one sessions with the combat agents, but ended up leaving out of agitation she couldn’t participate.

The compound buzzed with life as agents and team members carried out their duties all around, leaving Charlotte feeling even more annoyed at her lack of participation. Her gaze flicked up from the cards as a shadow fell over the table. Bucky stood there, his expression difficult to read.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, the words carrying a hint of uncertainty.

Charlotte motioned to the empty chair with a half-smile. "Be my guest."

Bucky took a seat, his eyes tracing the patterns Charlotte's hands formed with the deck. Tension lingered in the air, a palpable reminder of their complicated history and the recent incident that had rattled them both.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Bucky cleared his throat. "Look, Charlotte, I get it. Not wanting people messing with your head or your body. It's... hard. I've been there."

Charlotte's gaze met his, her eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and curiosity.

Bucky continued, his usually gruff demeanor softened. "Tony and Bruce, they helped me when I got here. I was…struggling. Thought I could handle everything on my own. But they understand, Bruce especially."

He hesitated, as if gauging her reaction. "I wish I would've trusted them sooner. Maybe I wouldn't have spent so much time fighting myself."

Charlotte absorbed his words, the weight of their shared experiences creating a fragile connection between them. "You're saying I should just let them put that shock collar on me without question?" she mused, a wry smile playing on her lips.

Bucky chuckled. "Nah, not exactly. I'm just saying... consider that they're not out to control you. None of us are."

Charlotte arched an eyebrow.

“I’m not trying to control you and it isn’t fair for me to tell you what to do.” His face was strained, as if making himself speak the words was painful. “I’m sorry for yesterday.”

“Yeah, you were a real asshole.” Her eyes crinkled ever so slightly. 

“Yeah. I was.” 

“I’m sorry you were the one to see it.” 

“I’m not.” His eyes flicked to hers. “I’m glad I was there.” 

“I guess it’s a good thing you’re the slower Super Soldier.” 

Bucky groaned, despite the growing smile on his face. “You try distance running with the weight of a vibranium arm and let me know how fast you are.” 

She laughed, the tension between her brows easing for the first time in days. As her smile faded, she spoke softly. 

“Bucky?”

He met her eyes. 

“Thank you.”

[bearratic]

From: Part 1 & Part 2. With @sanctissimx

As a feind, he loses his temper faster than most, the owner of a fuse so short it only needs a far away spark to be set completely alight. As a demon, Ais will tear you apart for looking at him sideways, not to speak about looking his direction in general, it is always your wrong doing. And as one still half a man, one labeled born in hell, Ais posseses deep predilection. A fondness so tender it can only be reserved for just one. If you were to ask him, he’d call it a weakness and slide it off his shoulder as if it was nothing more than a pest. Yet it will never even near the ground, it clingings to him uninvited, simple vexcation he cannot get rid off. Grained within his mind and muscle for just one out there. One the complete opposite to him, one with purpose, held in higher regard than the demon ever will be. The wild storm in the demon’s mind abruptly subsides as a hand is laid on his waist, he had been distributing rage knuckle after knuckle on what can only be said as-.. used to be a face. He looks up, the subtle fingers form a hold on him as they have been there quite a times before. Each singular time they have a different warmth to them, a different elucidation. Wrapping exactly along the lines of his body to fit and remove him from his own doing.

With the last heated spiting of “Bastard.” From the hellhound through his fanged mouth he lets his inebriated body be guided out. The colder Eridian air knocking on the door of his lungs instantly. A stench he finds it. Even so he scrunches his nose, the doctor next to him cleanses his heat fairly quickly, battling the anger with a scent of rosemary and tyme, wood, elegancy. Ais' ill temper made way for a fanged smile and lowly chuckle instead, had he gone too far once again? It didn’t matter, if it was up to him, he hadn’t gone far enough. Purposefully the demon leans into the hold of the taller Kuras just a more than truly necessary in his state. To him it was the obvious move once their hands were slid and locked into each other, so very careful not to scratch his gentler hands with his sharper nails, acessories that coat his fingers or general warmth they seemed to still radiate.

Not a thing escapes those golden angelic eyes as Kuras simmers down the demon, letting him walk in to a familliar zeal and to what Ais would call- sanctuary. The only one the horned one had ever stepped foot in, and not once. It seems deeply buried within him, known like the back of his bloodied knuckles.

A satisfactory grin as he takes seating, one ecxessive move due to the booze laced legs. Nevertheless, his sanguineous filled eyes just as sharp as before. “Tell me, healer. Isn’t favouritism deeply frowned upon in your field of.. work. Hence I seem to take up most of your precious resources.” The grin on his face holding something amiable canceling any harshness to his words, just like the deep gaze in his eyes. Kuras always seems to have time for him, it did not matter the time of day, nor night. The doctor seems to drop it all for him and he will not help but play into that privelage.

Ais- taking off the rings on his bloodied hand, continues. “For you i’d reach further than top shelf if it were to exist.” The blood splurts lingering on his slowly rising and flling chest, trail up to his neck. Both body parts move in shocking rhythm as he chuckles. “I wouldn’t dare defy any word spoken by you.” The demons’ wider frame taking up a spot in the clinic, casting a horned shadow on the walls behind him. The contrary of how the candles seem to specifically enlighten Kuras’ skin, as if it’s made from utmost expensive sleek material. The slow, burning hunger for a touch was biting within Ais. Just a quick feel, just in case it were to suddenly be shroud in darkness, no longer near, he knows holding on will do more harm than good. No need to get so close, and once again be left with a ghost, loneliness always being the most feared within him.

“Are you playing coy with me, doctor?” He speaks to the other, who seems to have his back to him for now. The demon raises out the untainted hand, the friction of his jewlery clinging gently against each other and it instantly falls back onto his thigh. That need for a touch was becoming increasingly dangerous. Like a wild animal he was still refraining from it. The same hand that would let soulless cary out his every desire, now withheld as if the other would fall apart if their skins did meet. Wouldn’t it be most blasphemous?

As the other had turned back to inspect his wounded hand he speaks. “Kuras.” The demon’s lips barely part when he spoke the others name turning it gravelly. Once again the less injured hand reaches out, this time it goes to the top of the others, feeling the bones within answer to the gentle pressure. Ais’ tongue lingers and waits on the sharp edge of a fang, chosing his next words carefully. “What’s an angel like you to do with a stray. Even within a wretched city like Eridia, there are enough standing above what I am. Yet I always find you next to me,”

Returning his hand he lets the other finish up as needed. His head looking up instead of to what is happening to his wounds. Trailing along Kuras’ neck, jaw, the only sliver of chest visible under his veil like coat. Taking him in, the soft gentler scent of the other tempering with his own smell of smoke and destruction.

"An improvement you say? I don't think I wish to do such a thing." The demon averts his gaze, why is it always with Kuras that it feels like not just two, but many eyes are on him. Why is he the only one that gets the respect and admiration without the use of a word. Those eyes, all of them have the same warmth to them, but it seems to be locked away, only spoken through actions. Missing the blood that seemed to have been left on the side of his mouth from the bar completely, he leaves even such a simple task to the trained medical practicioner. The accepted touch comes in the form of Ais turning back to face Kuras, accepting the hand that reaches out to his mouth though closely followed by the deep crimsons. The wipe, the skin on skin had him feeling vulnerable enough to make the demon clench his jaw. But it wasn't anger, neither fear. It was anticipation, it was the slow feeding of his relentless bottomless hunger. The way his blood goes up towards the doctors mouth, as if a most treassured gift and so it is used. It widenes the rogue eyes, not letting the eyecontact they had made drop for a moent, he’d call it a libidinous move. Returning the half curl of his lips, he leans his head nearer to the others body.

A demon that bleeds like a mortal, it would seem pathetic to most but to Kuras, it seemed to be unequal to all others. The wrapped up hands go to the other’s middle, one on each side as Kuras differs in length, making Ais practically stare at it in this seated position. He moves his legs apart, the heavy worn boots on each side just as well, only lessening the distance between doctor and patient every second. “If you’re asking me to stay. Do you think I will be the answer you’re searching for to fill the daunting silence this place brings you?”

[otherpeoplesheartachept-2]

day 6: That Sort of Love

Agatha's trying to figure herself out, and why she can't seem to love like others do.

Rating: T

Length: 921

Warnings: none

Read on AO3 or below the cut :)

I thought that dating Niamh meant I was normal. 

She's handsome and smart and wears her heart on her sleeve even when she's trying to be a tough prick. She's great at kissing, and sex, and she stopped holding doors open for me when I told her I hated it. I thought I could love her. 

I should love her, but there's something wrong with me. 

I thought dating Niamh, and wanting to kiss her, meant the rest would come to me. But I was right when I said I don't have the right kind of love inside me. I didn't love Simon in the way I was supposed to, and now I don't love Niamh in the way I should. 

It's worse because I know she loves me. She hasn't said it, but she's fixed up a leak in Ebb’s barn roof. (I guess it's my barn now). And she told me she's drawing up plans to fit the bathroom with a claw-foot tub, after I mentioned I’ve always wanted one of those. And who else would Niamh leave the clinic early for just to get a bite to eat?

I don't deserve her. I try to pay her back: I bought her hair-styling products, I put kissy emojis in my texts even though it makes me feel like I’m lying, I moan extra breathy when she eats me out because I know it turns her on. 

But I don't love her. 

People speak of romantic attraction like it's this huge, magical (Normal type of magical) thing, and I just don't get it. 

What's a girlfriend beyond a friend you like to fuck? 

(I know there must be more to it though, asexual people exist, and they can have romantic feelings).

I asked Keris once how she knew she wanted to be with Trixie. She said things just felt different with her. But I don't feel different about Niamh. I like her like I like Penny. (Okay that's a bad example, I definitely like her more than Penny.) I like her like I like Ginger; like I liked Minty. Except I’ve never imagined what it’d be like to sleep with either of them. 

I told Niamh we should break up, because I can't seem to love her in the same way she can love me. She was pissed about that. I know she's insecure about ending up as nothing but an experiment for straight girls. I’m not straight though, I don't feel romantic towards men either. And after trying once with Simon I think it's safe to say I don’t ever want to sleep with a man. 

We didn't talk for two weeks after I said we should split. 

And I cried for most of it. 

I felt so stupid. After all, I’m the one who called things off, I’m the one who said I don't love her. But Niamh’s still my friend, I do enjoy her company. I wish I could be normal for her. 

I turned to Penny, (because who else do I have? I’m not about to go to Simon with my girl problems), told her what was going on with Niamh and I, how I want her, but I can’t make myself love her the right way. I don’t want to build my life around her and get married with two kids, I don’t want to feel like we have to go on dates often enough or we’re failing, I don’t want her to treat me like a girlfriend. 

Penny’s American asked why there had to be a right way to love. I wanted to slap him. I refrained though, and he asked another question: if I’d ever considered I was aromantic. 

And well, no… I hadn't. Seven Snakes, maybe I am. But what does that solve? I can’t very well tell Niamh I just want to use her for sex, can I? 

The American tried to tell me that’s not how it has to work. He’s annoyingly emotionally mature and knowledgeable about ‘alternative’ relationships. 

I thought about what the American said for a bit. And I tried preparing this big long explanation to give to Niamh, but then I got scared and deleted it off my phone. And then one of the goats got a rusty nail stuck in his hoof, and I thought it was infected so I had to go to the clinic. And of course Niamh was the only one that could help. 

She didn’t say anything about us while she examined the hoof. It hurt a bit how coldly professional she was. 

I tried to play along, I wanted to, coward that I am. But I thought about going home alone and feeling the loss of my closest friend for the 14th night in a row. I didn't want Niamh to be a stranger again. So I made myself say something. And then I was saying too much. I started rambling on and on like: I’m not straight and I do like you but I might be aromantic and it’s great when we fuck, and I worry I can’t give you what you deserve but it’s not that I never want to see you it’s just I don’t know exactly what I do want. I know I want it with you though, is that okay? Can you trust me? Can you follow my lead on this?

Niamh said she had to think about it. And she let me kiss her when I left. 

Fair enough. 

So, I guess, now we wait.