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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 13 days ago

Text

Not Without You Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester xf!reader, Dean POV and Reader POV

Summary: A cursed crown, teenagers, an evil goddess bent on revenge, and two best friends who have secretly been in love for years. What could go wrong?

Word Count: 11.7K

Tropes: Angst, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers (Eventual), Cursed Objects, Supernatural Scenarios.

Warnings: Fluff, Flirting, Cursing, Violence, Drama Mutual Pining, A little bit of self deprecation (Dean), Sadness, Angst (it's me are y'all surprised?). KIDNAPPING (or adult-napping?), Older Dean? A little bit of a fix it fic to the ending of Supernatural, Reader is also a hunter but a bit soft, Reader likes to cook and tease Dean, Sexual Innuendo, Sexualish thoughts? Dean might be a little bit OOC.

A/N: Hey y'all I started writing this fic for @chevroletdean's 500 follower celebration! She made the super awesome moodboard pictured above! I'm not going to lie I didn't mean for this to be more than one part, but I couldn't stop.

Internal monologue is in first person and is in italics.

Here In A Forest Dark and Deep, I Offer You Eternal Sleep...

There is a place where the sun dare not go, where shadows slip and curl over smooth rocks glazed with dew, where the river boils and froths with white, and where a snarl of branches twist and tangle overhead.

A place where the wind breathes through the eaves, sending leaves to scuttle and crackle over stone. A place that no one man can find. A place that time no longer touches.

An ancient place deep and dark and full of secrets.

A hidden crag overgrown with grass and vine where darkness writhes, silent, restless, shielded from sun and storm. Waiting in the broken remnants of a forbidden grove lost to time.

She slumbers there.

Forgotten.

Buried.

Nothing more than a myth from a world bathed in blood and silver. The cave rumbles with the memory of times forgotten. The clash of swords, the sharp tang of blood, the caw of the birds that feasted on the fallen, the roars of men scorned, and the cries of despair from the women left behind to waste into nothing waiting for them to return

Still she sleeps.

Enrobed in emerald.

Entombed in cobwebs.

Waiting in the still silence for someone to speak her name and call her forth from this forgotten tomb.

And when the world burns she will claim what is owed her.

Dean POV

Dean couldn't put his finger on it, but something was wrong.

Frankly, in his life something was always wrong, and years of him living out on the road chasing after things that went bump in the night meant that he was usually better at pin pointing directly what that was.

But not right now.

Right now, Dean Winchester felt like a cardboard box that went toe to toe with a semi-truck.

He groans to himself as he stirs from an unfit sleep, feeling the bones of his arms pop as he stretches them above his head, groaning again before settling down into the creaky bed. He'd been up late researching a case, the evidence of which was strewn all over the small motel room he was inhabiting.

Scraps of paper, books, and printed newspaper articles were in different stages of crumple all over the bed and the small table under the front window was covered in papers and stacked high with ancient books, kept company by a week old half-drunk bottle of beer and a greasy bag full of stale fries that stagnated nearby. A broken pen drips black ink from the table in a steady thump, the sunflower shaped stain growing steadily across the musty red carpet.

Dean presses his palms into his eyes, with another groan, the throb of his head like a thunderclap.

Fuck, I drank too much last night.

He had.

Dean was stuck in a rut and he'd thought that by drinking a little more, maybe he'd be able to crack the case that had held him hostage for the past two weeks in the armpit of America, but he still had nothing.

Zero, Zilch, Nada.

The three murders that had caught his attention two weeks ago now mocked him from every angle of the disheveled motel room. He'd exhausted every option, read every page of his dad's journal, called every number in his phone, but no one seemed to be able to find a connection between the three men who were killed.

The only person he hadn't called was Sam.

A frown pulled on the end of Dean's mouth at the thought of his brother. He hadn't spoken to him in… Dean scrunches up his face trying to remember the last time he talked to Sam.

Can't have been more than a few days? Okay maybe a week-

The thought of his brother made a dull ache throb in the center of his chest, the guilt that Dean was trying to ignore coming to the surface when he was still half asleep and vulnerable.

Things were different now.

Dean didn't want to bother his brother with something like this, not when Sam was living the white-picket fence American Dream out west with Eileen who was pregnant and due any day. Dean knew that his brother didn't need the extra stress, Sam had a new job, he was moving on from all of this, and Sam didn't need a reminder of the life he used to have. Not when Sam had a new life that made him happy.

And not when Dean didn't know who he was or what he was hanging on to anymore. Sometimes Dean wasn't sure if he was still chasing after things that other people ran from or after the young man he used to be.

Dean was reminded of that every morning when he woke up, the gray flecks in his hair and beard that had become more prominent, the crows feet beneath his eyes rimmed with dark circles, and the way his back and knees cracked when he stood up. Dean was still in good shape, but lately he was feeling his age more than anything else.

Maybe it was because everyone else was moving on and he wasn't sure who he was anymore.

The lack of sleep didn't help, but Dean had been dealing with it all the way he usually did, by pushing down his feelings into the deep dark hole where they wouldn't see the light of day. The same feelings that began to unravel in the middle of the night when all was quiet and kept Dean from the sound sleep he so desperately needed.

Dean sits up a little too quick and sighs to himself when his head spins. He was in desperate need of coffee, or something to make the hangover stop. He sniffs the air, still not opening his eyes, and runs his right hand through his hair shaking through the blondish-brown strands.

The strong smell of coffee and cinnamon floats through the air making Dean’s stomach rumble.

Shit. I want it so bad I’m imagining it. Oh wait no. Maybe I’m having a stroke. Is that toast?!

"Morning Sunshine." A familiar voice sing-songs. "How'd you sleep?"

Dean's head snaps up to the small kitchenette, while one of his hands instinctively goes for the gun underneath his pillow.

You're standing there with a wide smile on your face, a spatula in one hand, and wearing one of Dean's favorite t-shirts over a pair of blue jeans. Your eyes sparkle with mirth at the sight of Dean, hair mused from sleep, eyes just a little manic in surprise at your greeting.

Dean blinks for a second, not sure if it's really you or if he's still dreaming. The cold metal of the gun shoved under his pillow grounds him. He says your name hesitantly. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood. Thought I'd drop in, see if you were eating trash." You gesture with the spatula to the greasy brown paper bag on the table by the door and the large pile of to-go boxes in the trashcan. "Something you want to confess to?"

"Those aren’t mine officer." Dean cracks an easy grin holding up his hands in surrender, the gun forgotten.

It felt good to smile. Dean couldn't remember the last time he had.

"Still a bad liar." You roll your eyes and turn back to the hotplate. "I'm borrowing your shirt, because it was pouring when I got here and my duffel got wet. And before you say anything, I know, I know I should get a new one, but it's my lucky bag! And my lucky bag just so happens to not be waterproof."

Dean spots your duffle by the front door where it's split open and multicolored clothes erupt out of it. He leans forward to look into his bathroom, catching a peak of your clothes hanging from various places to dry. Something stirs in the pit of his stomach when he sees a collection of bras hanging from the towel rack, and he tries to avoid getting too excited at the image of you wearing them.

Dean and you had been best friends since you were both twelve. His dad and yours had served in the war together, a fellow soldier who stumbled upon the supernatural in his own right. And every few months your dad and Dean's would plop Sam, him, and you in front of a tv in a motel room and go off to get a drink. They'd be gone for hours, while Sam, Dean, and you gorged yourself on junk food and late-night TV.

And despite what Dean thought about girls at that time, you were cool. You knew just as much about cars as he did, you too were obsessed with rock music, you knew how to handle yourself, and you weren't afraid of anything.

As the two of you grew up, you never lost touch. You’d text each other from the road, complain about your dads, exchange mix tapes of music that you’d burned (Dean had a whole box under the front seat of Baby that was purely music you'd given him), shared motel rooms, joined each other on hunts, and you’d call him whenever you could, talking for hours into the night so long that Dean would close his eyes and pretend that you were laying there right beside him instead of miles away.

Dean loved it when that happened. When his mind wouldn't shut up and he needed something to distract him, and all it took was you calling in the middle of the night to send him off into the sweet abyss of sleep while he imagined you laying beside him.

Dean didn't know how you did it, but you always seemed to know when he needed you, almost as if you had a supernatural alarm that went off in your head whenever he was lonely.

Which was a lot especially now that Sam was gone. And usually Dean would try to find someone to occupy his time at a local bar, but lately he hadn't wanted to, all he'd wanted was to talk to you. Every time that something happened, you were right there, the person that Dean always needed when things went to shit.

But it wasn't just in the bad.

Whenever he and Sam were out on the road, sometimes you'd bump into them calling it a 'happy accident,' and Dean and you would lay on his bed at a motel talking and listening to a mixtape through a walk-man, sharing the earbuds just like you used to when you were teenagers lounging in Baby's backseat drinking milkshakes and eating French fries. And when Dean woke up in the morning with his body curved protectively around yours while you curled into him, your soft breath on his neck and his face buried in your hair, it felt right, as if you belonged there in his arms.

But despite everything the two of you had been through, you were just friends.

A thirty-four year friendship and Dean didn't want to mess that up. He'd messed up so many things in his life, lost so much, and he couldn't lose you. You were more than just his friend, you were his family as much as Sam. And Dean knew that his feelings had passed friendship forever ago, but he refused to act on it.

Not when Dean was sure he wouldn't recover if you ever cut him out of your life.

So Dean did his best to pretend. Pretend that he didn't imagine a life with you beyond all of this, beyond all the running, and the hunting. Because Dean would never admit this out loud, but he was tired.

He was so tired and sometimes when the world slowed down and there was only the quiet of the night, the buzz of the whiskey in his system, and the whisper of your voice in his ear, Dean imagined more. He imagined what it would be like if the two of you had something like Sam and Eileen, what that would look like, if it could happen.

Dean wasn't sure that he'd ever be able to have what his brother had. If he deserved that. He'd tried with Lisa and he still couldn't think about her without feeling an ache in the pit of his stomach.

Sometimes Dean wondered if you wanted that too. He'd heard you talk about slowing down in the past, finally settling down, getting away from all of this, but other than a handful of boyfriends that Dean never once got along with (including one whom he broke his nose), Dean had never seen you try.

He wished you would. Not that Dean wanted you to be with anyone else, just that Dean wanted you to be safe, not out along the road God knows where dealing with this shit alone. He'd been doing this as long as you had and he still knew that sometimes he needed help even if he didn't ever admit it aloud or want to.

Not to mention that lately all he could think about was you. His anxiety since Sam left had only worsened and his phone calls to you had gone from 3-4 a week to every day.

Dean needed to hear your voice. He was an addict of the worst kind, but he didn't care. Not when hearing you say his name was like a soothing balm, a cold beer after a long hunt, a hot shower that made each muscle un-tense and unwind, and a strong but steady hand braced against his shoulder.

But being here with you in person, couldn't compare to that feeling.

"But I'm pretty sure this is mine and you stole it." You continue, thumbing the soft fabric at the bottom of the shirt with your free hand, oblivious to Dean's train of thought. "Been looking everywhere for it."

"No way!" Dean exclaims getting out of bed. "That's my Metallica shirt. Got it twenty years ago."

"I remember buying this shirt from a vendor young enough to be my son, who kept mispronouncing the name of the lead singer, while you complained that we were missing the opening song." There's a flash of silver from a knife as you begin to cut up a handful of strawberries with a practiced precision, twirling it in your hand once for show.

"We were missing the opening song." Dean laughs. "And I paid for it!"

"Yes, but you said you wanted to get me something and I wanted to get a shirt before the concert, because who knows what would be left over after!"

Dean only shakes his head at you. "I think you're just getting old Sweetheart. They say the memory is the first thing to go." Dean smirks, while you give him a death glare over your shoulder.

"Say what you want," You point the knife at him in a cute, but threatening way, "but you've had custody of this for twenty years, and now it's my turn."

Dean rolls his eyes, before his gaze sweeps through the small kitchenette and he notices the collection of plastic bags on the counter. It looked like you’d brought enough groceries to feed a small army despite there being only two of you. You always did that whenever you showed up, toting food that Dean wouldn't usually have around. He frowned at the prospect of eating vegetables.

But Dean didn't care, you were here and that's all that mattered. And he also hoped that the large amount of groceries meant that you would be staying with him for a while.

He'd missed you more than he realized.

Sure the two of you talked on the phone at least four times each week and Dean always got a random text from you at sometime during the day, but nothing compared to being here with you.

He approaches slowly, sniffing the air again while he tries to figure out what you're cooking and if he'll eat it. Dean wasn't sure he'd like it. Not that you were a bad cook, but over the past few years you'd been trying to get him to eat a little healthier. Sneaking vitamins into his burgers, making things that had less grease and more greens, and Dean would sigh and eat every bite because you told him to.

Of course you would complain almost as much as he did about eating healthy. You weren't exactly a health food nut and loved fast food, but you knew that Dean rarely got a good home cooked meal and Dean thought it was kinda cute when you'd show up toting bags filled with fruits and vegetables out of the blue talking about A1C numbers.

He stops about a foot behind where you're fusing with a frying pan on the stove, turning over some white object with the spatula.

"Hey." Dean says softly, leaning back on his heels.

You turn around to look at him, really look at him. "Hi." Your smile makes Dean a little weak in the knees.

The hug that follows sets Dean on fire.

You pull him in tight, nuzzling your face into his chest with a happy sigh, while Dean curves his entire body around you. It was moments like this that Dean thought that you were made for him, because there was a little you-shaped nook under his jaw that allowed him to rest his chin on the top of your head while he squeezes you just as tight against him.

The smell of cinnamon and something citrusy comes as he holds you closer, the same perfume you'd had since you were sixteen, the one that you always left behind when you stayed with him. Sometimes Dean found himself using the pillow you borrowed when you left, inhaling the smell of your shampoo until it faded and there was nothing.

When you were with him Dean actually slept, as if just being in your presence made all the anxiety and the memories of the past fade away.

He could feel a melancholic feeling bubbling up in the back of his throat as he holds you, something he can't name, but embraces. Dean feels your hands slowly rub up and down his back in a soothing motion that makes him tighten his grip and lean further into you so heavily that you stumble back a little step.

When you laugh Dean feels like he's in heaven.

"Missed me huh?" You murmur into his shirt, but you don't let go of him.

More than you know.

"Nope."

"Liar." Your body shakes with your giggle as you pull back to look at him, still not completely releasing him. "I missed you too."

"I know. You can't live without me." Dean smirks.

He watches you raise an eyebrow to challenge him.

"Says the guy holding on so tight he's going to snap my spine." You joke, but Dean watches something flash in your eyes that isn't humor, and you gently release him so you can touch his cheek. Your thumb gently traces over his cheekbone, palm cupping his strong jaw.

Dean swallows at the sudden contact, his heartbeat fluttering like a damn teenager, but he can't stop himself from leaning into your hand. Despite your time as a hunter, the palm of your hand is soft, your touch reverent as you cup his jaw, not bothered by the prick of stubble that Dean is sure you can feel.

It was longer than usual. Dean kept putting off shaving, it had been a few days and he was sure that you were clocking the beard.

"I was worried about you." You say with a soft sigh, a worried frown on your face. "You sounded bad on the phone last night, and when I called Sam he said you've been dodging his calls."

"I'm fine." Dean sighs, but he knows that you can see right through him, that there's no point of trying to lie. "And I have not been dodging his calls! He just happens to call at the worst time."

"Uh-huh. Well how come whenever I call, you pick up?"

"Because you have better timing than Sammy, always have Sweetheart."

You roll your eyes at him, but don't move your hand from his cheek. Dean watches your gaze soften as you study him, eyes tracing his features in a way that always makes Dean feel stripped bare, open, and vulnerable.

"Really Dean. How are you?"

He sighs again, debating if he should try to lie again, but he knew that it was fruitless. You knew him better than he knew himself, not to mention you could always tell when he was lying. Your internal lie detector for his bullshit was practically mystical. Dean never understood how you did it, just that he hated it.

Not really.

"Don't try to lie. We both know you can’t do that to me." You narrow your eyes, brow furrowed, but you don't lose the concern that hangs heavy in your gaze.

"I'm a little tired." He admits reluctantly.

"I could have told you that."

"Shut up." Dean snorts out a laugh, but then raises his own hand to touch the dark circles ringed under your eyes. "How long did you drive to get here?"

"Few hours." You shrug.

Dean's frown deepens. Just as you could tell when he lied, Dean knew every tick you had. The twitch of your upper lip, the subtle tilt of your head, the arch of an eyebrow- Dean knew you better than he knew himself.

"Fine, ten but-"

"Are you kidding me? Ten straight?! You should be asleep, not cooking for me."

Damn it she always does this. She always runs herself so thin.

Of course this was also the same thing that you'd said to Dean countless times and he never listened. It was different, he was him and you were you.

You were more important.

"I like cooking for you Deanie." You pinch his cheek with a grin, using the stupid nickname you made up for him years ago. Usually it makes Dean roll his eyes, but not tonight. He missed you so damn much that it makes him smile. "Plus I drank way too much coffee on the way in and I have so much energy. I'm waiting to hit the wall. While you were asleep I also thought about reorganizing your bag, but I didn't want to snoop through your dirty underwear."

"Hasn’t stopped you before." Dean smirks.

"Shut up, I do not snoop through your dirty underwear. Just your clean clothes for shirts that are mine."

"It's not yours and you're not keeping it!"

"It is and I am. Now sit down." You shoo him away to the small folding table that you'd pulled down from the wall and set for breakfast. "I would have woken you up, but you're like a damn grizzly bear in the morning so I thought I'd play it safe and let you follow your nose."

"For the fruity taste that shows." Dean chuckles.

"You can remember the Fruit Loops commercial, but you can't remember to not eat fried food at every meal?"

"Priorities, sweetheart."

“Dean I’m serious. We’re not kids anymore, you can’t eat how you usually do without consequences. You know that cheese looks exactly the same in your arteries as it does on a plate and I-" You continue to chatter, subtly scraping a spatula along the bottom of the pan on the stove, but Dean doesn't hear any of it.

Yeah. We’re not kids anymore.

He thinks to himself as his eyes trace your figure. Dean could still see the shades of the girl he met when he was a boy, the one with the bright eyes that always saw through him and the wide smile that made him feel like his insides were molten lava. The same girl who knew whenever Dean needed her, the same girl that always made sure he was taken care of, the same girl who always had his back, and the same girl that Dean had loved since the moment he first saw her.

Sitting there, watching you cook in the small kitchenette Dean couldn't help but admire the woman you became. Although you were only a few months younger than him, age had been kinder to you than him.

The few gray hairs that wove through the hair you had tied at the back of your head were like braided silver, the curves of your figure softened by a gentle hand, and the smile lines on your face only made you look kinder, softer. Nothing like the hunter Dean knew you were. There were signs of wear around your eyes that Dean didn't like, the permanent dark circles that curved under your eyes a little more prominent this morning, but you were still just as beautiful as the day Dean met you.

And even though you kept saying that it was your shirt, Dean was trying not to focus on how good you looked in his clothes or how it made him think that you looked like you were his.

The thought makes an uncomfortable feeling rise in his chest.

As much as Dean wanted you, there was another part of him that whispered that you deserved better than him, that out there was a man who was worthy of your love, not him. Not someone broken down from years of hunting, not someone who barely knew who they were anymore, and not someone who would only drag you down.

“Dean did you hear what I asked?” You say raising an eyebrow.

“Nope.” He clears his throat, shaking off the feeling that makes his heart sink into the pit of his stomach.

You huff out a sigh as if you're not surprised. “I asked when was the last time you ate something green?”

“Last night.”

Dean watches you narrow your eyes in suspicion. “A piece of lettuce on a burger does not count.”

“It’s green-“

“And I bet you picked it off.”

“It left it’s essence behind!”

“Ah yes essence of wilted leaf. How nutritious.” You huff out an annoyed sigh, but when you turn back to him there’s humor flickering in your eyes. “Here.” You place a plate in front of him. “Egg white omelet with spinach and onions, a piece of bacon, fruit salad, and oatmeal.”

Dean wrinkles his nose in disgust and mashes his spoon down into the oatmeal like a toddler, squishing it around on the plate.

This looks like brains.

“And if you eat it all," You continue as you turn back to the counter for the glass decanter of coffee. "I’ll give you an extra piece of bacon.”

“Real bacon?” Dean perks up at the thought.

“Yep. 100% heart attack inducing, cholesterol raising, pig bacon.”

“Fine.” He grumbles.

“Good boy.” You snort setting down a cup of black coffee to the left of his plate. “You know, Sam didn’t give me any trouble when I used to make breakfast for him too.”

“Sam’s a health food freak. I wouldn’t be surprised if he and Eileen are vegan now.” Dean says beginning to shovel the omelet into his mouth.

He fights the urge to moan out in pleasure. He wasn't expecting it to taste so good. You were always a good cook, but Dean still hadn’t expected this to taste anything like this.

Dean glances up and sees the triumphant smile on your face. "Good huh?"

"It’s okay." He mutters through a mouthful of egg and spinach.

"You're insufferable." You throw a grape at him. "But I don't think they're vegan. Eileen's got the ultimate diet now. None." You sigh mournfully, trailing one hand down to your stomach, squeezing and make a face. "Oh to be pregnant and not worry about gaining the extra weight. I swear I've been trying to exercise more, and it does absolutely nothing-"

"I think you look beautiful." The words slip out of Dean's mouth before he can stop them, and he tenses, fork frozen halfway to his mouth.

"Aww." You lean over to pinch his cheek with a sweet smile. "Thanks Deanie. But no amount of flattery will get you any brown sugar for your oatmeal."

Dean laughs a little too hard for that to cover up his slip, but something inside sinks a little bit when you don't react to his compliment. He wished that you believed him. The uncomfortable feeling comes back, this time pinching just under his rib cage. He hated when you spoke that way about yourself, and Dean noticed that you had started to say things like that more and more as the years crept by.

Making faces at your reflection and making subtle comments under your breath mocking all the ways your body had changed and aged. But the truth was, you were beautiful, always had been beautiful to him. And even though you could never see it, Dean did. He thought that the years made you only look better, aged you like a fine wine as cliche as that sounded.

"Okay. I am going to take a shower and wash the road off, then we can talk shop and figure out how to solve this case." You say walking over to your duffle, sorting through for your toiletries bag.

"And how do you know I haven't solved it?" Dean asks, glancing over his shoulder at where you're bending over your bag.

He's trying not to stare at your ass, he really is, but damn it those jeans are his favorite. Somehow they're worn in just right, accentuating the natural curves of your body and your butt. He swallows the lump in his throat and starts to think about taxes, AI, Clowns, the skin that shapeshifters leave behind- anything to avoid the situation happening in his very thin sweatpants that would leave absolutely nothing to the imagination if his mind kept going down the road it was.

Damn it. Get it together Winchester.

"The beard is kinda a dead give-away." You straighten from the duffle, cocking your hip to the side, and lean back as you look through the smaller fabric bag of toiletries in your hand, looking for something that Dean can't see.

Dean clears his throat, trying not to notice the way your boobs are pushed out from your chest as you lean back.

Sam’s chubby imaginary friend. That ridiculous suicidal teddy bear. Rowena- Okay wait that last one is not helping.

“You don’t like it?” Dean clears his throat.

It’s so hot in here.

“Oh I love it. Very sexy. Like a lumberjack who lives under the highway.” You smirk. “But when I’m done I kinda hope you take one too.”

“Why?”

“Because you also smell like a lumberjack who lives under the highway.”

“I thought I’d commit to the role.”

“Very convincing.” You start to walk to the bathroom, but when Dean turns around to his plate he feels your arms go around him once more. “I missed you Deanie.” You whisper on a soft breath, burying your face in the space between his shoulder and his neck.

Dean inhales another gulp of your perfume like an addict, relaxing into your embrace. It was the first time he could remember in a long time feeling relaxed, probably since the last time he saw you a few months ago, when you were helping him on a vamp case and saved him from a near miss with a twisted piece of metal.

Dean didn't like to think about 'what if,' but you did. And after when the two of you got back to the bunker, Dean remembered you hugging him and refusing to let him go for a while. It took your favorite mixtape that Dean burned for you when you were seventeen and sitting on his bed for an hour after to help you relax, until you fell asleep curled up against Dean muttering things that he couldn't understand into his chest.

He sighs to himself feeling the tightness of your arms around his body, leaning into you. “I missed you too sweetheart.”

Reader POV

"I cannot believe that you couldn't figure out this was a vengeful spirit." You snort, grabbing the shovel that Dean holds out to you.

The half moon above the cemetery bathed the tombstones in a silver glow, washing the concrete slabs white beneath its rays. The wind that sifted through the trees overhead held the chill of winter, rustling the branches, and sending the loose leaves down around where Dean and you were standing at the back of Baby.

It had taken you exactly forty five minutes to solve the case that had taken Dean two weeks. Maybe it was because luck was on your side and a fourth (not so lucky) victim was found this morning, or maybe it was because Dean was well…

You bite the inside of your cheek as you examine your best friend.

Dean looked bad.

You had heard it on the phone last night when he talked to you, sensed it in the way he spoke. The long pauses, the heavy sighs, even the words he was using… you knew that something was wrong.

And it scared you.

It scared you even more when Sam told you that Dean was dodging his calls. That was also never a good sign.

So you packed up in the middle of the night, abandoning the case you were on, and took a ten hour drive to get to Dean. You'd driven far longer for far less, but you didn't care.

When you'd lock picked the motel room door and seen the mess Dean was living in, it only justified the drive. Yes, Dean was usually a little more messy than you, but this was different.

The stacked to-go boxes and bottles of whiskey in the overflowing trash can, the empty beer bottles scattered around the room, the mess of his clothes on the floor, and even Dean himself. The stale smell of him and the beard were dead give aways for you. It broke your heart. You knew that Dean was lonely, had been for a long time, even when he was with Sam at the bunker, but now was worse.

Making him breakfast had made you feel a little better, seeing that he still had an appetite for something that wasn't in a bottle was comforting, but you knew that you weren't going to leave him anytime soon.

You were going to prolong this visit for as long as you had to, to make sure your best friend was okay. Dean was the only person you had left, besides Sam, but Sam was different than Dean. Sam was better at handling his emotions in a healthy way (most of the time), but Dean, no way.

If suppressing your feelings was an Olympic sport, Dean would be a gold medalist a million times over.

Besides, Sam had Eileen now, and that meant Dean was going to have you even if you annoyed him to death.

The thought of you being to Dean what Eileen was for Sam made butterflies erupt in the pit of your stomach. You knew that it was a complete cliché, the stuff of rom-coms and hallmark movies, falling in love with your best friend, but you had.

You can't exactly remember when... Okay you could.

When you were fifteen and Dean and Sam got dropped off at Bobby's, and Dean and you spent the night listening to mix-tapes in Baby's spacious backseat with your legs kicked up over the back of the front bucket seat sharing a milkshake. You remembered looking at Dean with the sound of Open Arms by Journey playing through the headphones and admiring the way the moonlight kissed his skin and how the starlight brought out the flecks of gold in his eyes.

But you couldn't act on it.

Nope, nope, nope.

Dean was Dean. And you didn't want to mess up the thirty four year friendship the two of you had by doing something stupid by confessing that you were in love with him and wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

You did.

The past few years as you'd gotten older you'd been thinking about settling down. Finding something a little more permanent, maybe finally trying to sell some of those paintings you'd been doing since you were a kid. The ones that your dad told you were a waste of time and Dean only encouraged by stealing the good paint and brushes from art stores to support your hobby. The backseat of your Bronco was loaded down with sketchpads bursting at the seams and each time you took a turn, there was always the roll of an oil pastel or a half-empty bottle of watercolor paint flying somewhere beneath the seat.

It would be nice to actually have a place to paint for real, maybe a small house or an apartment where the sun streamed through the open windows and a cool breeze rustled the hair at the nape of your neck while you lost yourself in the brilliant colors on the canvas. Somewhere it didn't feel like you were running around in circles doing the same thing over and over again, somewhere you could build a life with someone…

The problem was the only person you saw yourself building that life with was standing in front of you holding a shovel and a can of gasoline. And you knew that Dean didn't see you as more than a friend.

But could you blame me?

The years had been kinder to your best friend than to you. He'd grown so much from the little boy with the mischievous green eyes into a man with ruggedly good looks, freckles over his cheeks that kept Dean's boyish qualities, broad shoulders, and a sinfully perfect mouth that made your throat tight.

You'd stupidly thought that over the years your crush would go away, but it only grew. And you didn't know how Dean did it, but the age looked better on him than it did on you. The flecks of silver in his hair made him look even more devilishly handsome, the crinkles around his mouth that shown with his easy smile, and the beard.

That damn beard.

Yes, you'd also thought that Dean looked adorable with his hair all mused from sleep, but the beard. You'd been trying your hardest not to stare at him this morning when he woke up. Made an off-hand joke about how the beard made him look like a lumberjack and homeless, but by the stars that beard made your brain short circuit. Not to mention coupled with the signature Dean Winchester smirk and the brilliant shine of his emerald eyes… fuck. It was like a walking Michelangelo sculpture. Each time you captured the planes of Dean’s face with charcoal, lead, or paint never seemed to compare to the real thing.

But you knew that your little crush was the exact kind of thing that could throw a monkey wrench into the most meaningful relationship you'd ever had in your life, so you pretended it didn't exist.

Pretended that each time you saw Dean and he wrapped his arms around you didn't make you feel like you were coming home, pretended that you didn't sleep the best you ever had curled up in his arms at night, pretended that you could not see a future with him outside of all of this with a stupid white picket fence and a baby that had his smile and mischievous green eyes, and pretended that you weren't in love with him.

More importantly, you pretended that being his best friend was enough.

That being said you did allow yourself the indulgence of cooking for and taking care of Dean. You didn't care how much he complained or how much you didn't like salad, you knew that Dean needed to eat a good heart-healthy, home cooked meal once in a while. And you didn't care if you had to force feed it to him.

Dean Winchester is going to live to be a hundred and five damnit!

"Whoa. You don’t get to judge me for this, not with that super sniffer you have glued to your face." Dean pokes your nose with his fingertip. "How was I supposed to smell the differences in the wife's perfume and the perfume of his mistress?"

"Vanilla and Lavender are two very different smells." You shrug, shouldering the shovel.

In hindsight smelling the corpse at the crime scene was probably not your best move, but the smell of vanilla that wafted up when Dean flicked the victim's collar was so obvious you couldn't keep your mouth shut. And after smelling the strong scent of lavender on the victim's wife had only confirmed your suspicion, that he had been cheating on her.

Everything else had fallen into place, finding the newspaper article about a man who had died in the same way as all of the men forty years ago, talking to the man's son who told Dean and you through tears of his father's sins against his mother who had disappeared a few days before his father was found, and following the trail to the town cemetery was the final step in the process.

Salt and burn. Just like clockwork.

Truth be told you were a little bit disappointed on how quickly you solved the case, now you were coming up with excuses for you to stick around with Dean, maybe even go back to the bunker with him for a bit.

You knew that Dean didn't love to stay there as much as he had. The emptiness only reminded him of Sam's life somewhere else, but you were willing to stay there with him forever if that's what it took.

Even if that meant watching Dean charm the pants off every co-ed on the East Coast.

Because that's going to be so fun for me.

"I thought that somebody as slutty as you would be an expert in women's perfume." You muse with a smirk to hide the hurt at the thought of Dean with someone else.

Him going off with Lisa had hurt enough. That had been a long year.

Sure Dean still called and texted, but it was awkward. You didn't want to step on Lisa's toes. She was his girlfriend and he was living with her. The one time that you'd come by to stay with them for a few days had been one of the most awkward experiences of your life.

For one, when you'd showed up Lisa had been surprised that you were a girl because apparently Dean hadn't said anything to clue her in about that. And when you made dinner for all of them as a thank you for letting you stay, the whole time there had been this weird energy sitting in the dining room with the four of you, like a giant purple elephant that you couldn't see, but you could feel behind you squeezing it's trunk around your chest.

The last straw had been when you accidentally overheard a conversation between Dean and Lisa where he was trying to convince her that he'd never been more than friends with you and she didn't believe him.

"Did you just call me a slut?"

"Yep." You reply.

The cemetery was eerily silent. Somewhere off in the distance you could hear the sound of the ocean, the harsh crash of water against sand and the jingle of the ships at the docks in town where the water gently lapped against the strong wooden boards of the seaworthy vessels. The cloying smell of salt came on the wind that pulled almost playfully at your clothes, beckoning you to the darkness of the vast sea in the distance.

"Takes one to know one sweetheart." Dean calls from behind you before he slams shut the trunk of Baby with a loud 'thunk.' "Not all of us are blessed with a super nose. And unlike you I don't go around smelling dead people. I don't even know if there's a name for that fetish. Kinda feels like necrophilia."

"It's a blessing and a curse."

The beam of light from your flashlight brings a yellowish glow over the smooth tombstones, each one beaten soft by the wear of rain and wind.

"My gut says over there." Dean nudges his arm into yours towards the right.

"Your gut couldn't tell this was a vengeful spirit, why should I trust it now?" You raise an eyebrow, flashing the light into Dean's face.

He squints his eyes at the offensive beam, but it does little to make him look ugly. There was nothing that could do that. You were speaking from experience because you'd seen your best friend covered completely from head to toe in blood and guts and you'd still wanted to lay a big one on him.

Maybe there's a support group online for people who are in love with their best friends. Because I should join that.

"One time I've been wrong-"

"Phoenix." You say immediately.

Dean frowns at the memory. "Okay two times I've been-"

"Tallahassee."

"You're just listing state capitals." Dean sighs heavily.

"No, I am listing places in which you've been wrong. If you want I can call Sam to cross reference my sources."

"Don't call Sam." Dean pushes past you and begins to walk to the right with you following behind him.

"So are you going to tell me why you're dodging his calls?" You ask, sweeping the beam over the tombstones again to see if you can find the right person.

"I am not dodging his calls!" He shouts increasing his speed.

"Dean." You gently catch the back of his flannel.

He stops dead in his tracks, but does not turn around.

"I know you." You whisper. "I know when something is wrong. Come on."

There was something wrong, you knew it the moment you picked up the phone last night before you drove ten hours to get to him. Felt it in your bones. The hard part was just getting Dean to tell you.

"Come on what?" Dean half-turns to look at you. There's something lurking in his eyes, a flash of vulnerability that makes your heart break for him.

The shovel you have no longer seems important, so you lean it against a tombstone and tug on the bottom of Dean's shirt until he turns around to face you.

"It's just you and me here. There's no cameras, no canned audience, no one else. Talk to me." Your hand falls on the arm that Dean is carrying the gasoline in, smoothing the fabric of his leather jacket.

He hesitates for a moment, long enough that the wind picks up and rustles through his golden brown hair. It too seemed just a little longer than he usually kept it, and you fought the urge to run your fingers through it.

"I didn't want to bother him with all this." Dean mutters. "He's out there living his life, a real life, something that he's always wanted and he doesn't need me dragging him back into all of my shit."

"Dean-" You sigh. "He's your brother, you're not bothering him-"

This is so much worse than I thought.

"I am." Dean shakes his head. "He's moved on and I'm still here doing all of this and I-"

"Hey." Your hand moves up to cup his cheek before you can stop yourself. The prickle of stubble beneath your hand is familiar, reminds you of when you would wake up in the morning before he did and his chin would be resting on the top of your head while your face nudged into the space between his shoulder and his jaw. The little place against his throat where you always fit. "You're not going to bother Sam by telling him about what you're doing. He loves you and he's worried about you and I am too. And yes he's doing something different, but what you're doing is a life too. It might look different, but what you're doing matters."

Dean frowns a little, but doesn't answer.

"Dean." You say his name, this time bringing your other hand up to hold on to the other side of his face. "Just because you don't work in a fancy office or have a white picket fence does not mean your life isn't a life. It is. Everyone finds their own way. There isn't one carbon cut copy about what life is supposed to look like. No one can tell you how to live it, the only thing that you should care about is if it's a life that makes you happy." Your thumbs drift to his cheekbones gently brushing back and forth in a soothing movement.

"Does it make you happy?"

Dean's question catches you off guard. He hadn't asked you that in a long time and certainly not before he'd had at least one or two drinks. Dean's shovel leans next to yours and he reaches for your wrist, the warm roughness of his palm against the skin comforting.

You think about lying, but you know that Dean will only clock it. You hated how much Dean knew you.

Not really.

"I mean-" You clear your throat. "Lately not so much." Your hands drop from the sides of Dean's face, but he doesn't release your arm. His thumb gently smoothed over the skin on the inside of your wrist, comforting you the way you had comforted him. "But being here with you is making me feel a bit better. It always does."

Why did I say that? That’s way too much-

"Me too." Dean breathes.

Electricity dances between the two of you, curling up your arm where Dean still has his hand around your wrist gently cradling it between the two of you. And you see something flicker behind the warm, familiar gaze of your best friend, a ghost of something that you can't put a name to.

His words reverberate in your head, vibrating through your skin, bringing a warmth through your body and sending the butterflies in your stomach fluttering.

Dean hasn't looked away from your face, his gaze focused as if he's waiting for something, watching for one of your ticks, but he won't find one. Not when Dean is looking at you the way you always wanted him to. You reach out to lay your hand against the front of his shirt, feeling the gentle beat of his heart beneath the palm of your hand.

Is this really happening?

Thunder rumbles in the distance over the sea, a storm brewing, the flash of lightning shattering the spell between the two of you.

"We better um- get this done." Dean clears his throat, releasing your wrist to find the shovel once more. "Don’t want to get caught in the rain."

"Yeah-" Your voice comes out a little high and squeaky. "Right."

The buzz of whatever the hell that was still thrums beneath your skin as you follow behind Dean, looking from tombstone to tombstone, trying to shake it off. And much to Dean's chagrin, his gut was correct, but he doesn't gloat, he just starts digging.

There's a part of you that wonders if it's because Dean is dwelling on what almost just happened- if there was an almost. You still were a little bit fuzzy about that. Your best friend was far from shy, when Dean wanted something he took it.

The silence grows between the two of you as you start to dig, so you decide to break it.

“How about after all this we drive out West and do some recon on Sam and Eileen?” You say, shoving the shovel deep into the hard earth.

“Really?” Dean asks with a grunt throwing a shovel of dirt over his shoulder.

“Yeah. We can stalk him when he goes to work, test out his security system at his house- just like how we used to when he was at Stanford.”

Dean and you had taken a few trips out West when Sam was at college. You'd always wanted to see the west coast and your dad was letting you go solo just as John let Dean solo. So naturally the two of you met up along the road and decided to cause some mischief.

It had been a nice trip, the feeling of the warm sun on your skin, the wind in your hair when Dean rolled down Baby's windows while the sound of classic rock pumped and hummed through the speakers. It was the closet you had come to a vacation, and something the two of you desperately needed. During the day you'd sit nestled in the front seat of Baby with a sketchpad perched on your lap that you didn’t have to hide from your dad, who told you that should be doing something else, something that mattered. At night Dean and you would share a motel room and when you'd woken up Dean was always on your side of the bed with his head buried in your hair, murmuring things in his sleep.

It was also nice to not worry about your dad for a while. He was as hard on you as John Winchester was on Dean, and you'd cut him out of your life a few years ago. Last time you heard from him was a voicemail two years ago telling you that he'd settled down somewhere in Texas and that he wanted to see you, but you couldn't.

Things hadn't ended well between the two of you and it was Dean who had blocked your father from getting closer to you while he shouted things over Dean's imposing figure that made you want to squeeze your eyes shut and turn away from him.

"That was a fun trip." Dean half-smiles.

"It was." His smile is encouraging. You noticed that in the time you'd been here Dean had been smiling more often, but you were still worried at him.

“You’d do that? Go with me?" He sounds hesitant.

"Of course I would do that for you Dean." You nudge him with your elbow. "I’d walk through fire for you, you’re my best friend. I would sing karaoke to 'Girls Just Want to Have Fun' for you." You hesitate. "Well maybe after a few drinks, but I would still do it."

He snorts. "I'd pay to see that sweetheart."

"Mhmm. And this time we'll be sure to bring sunscreen. Can't have you turning into a lobster again."

The only downside of the trip was that Dean had refused to wear sunscreen when the two of you stopped along the road at one of the beaches, and he'd turned the color of a tomato. Of course later when you were slathering him with aloe at the motel, dragging your hands down his arms and over his face, you could feel your own cheeks heating with your blush.

"How was I supposed to know that the sun was so damn powerful out there?!" Dean exclaims.

"Because I told you! You never listen to me."

"I do too listen to you!" He thrusts his shovel down into the earth with an increased enthusiasm, but instead of hitting the earth, there's a loud 'clunk.'

Guess we found it.

"No, you don't." You say as you crouch down to uncover the coffin with Dean.

"You know what? I'm not talking to you for five minutes."

"Toddler." You mutter under your breath. "You're a bit old for the silent treatment."

He doesn't answer and you roll your eyes again.

When the body is salted and burned, the warmth from the fire flares up from the grave, warming the chilled tips of your fingers, but you still shudder in the cold breeze. Dean's jacket comes down around your shoulders so fast you didn't realize that he noticed you shudder.

"Can't have you catching a cold Sweetheart." Dean flashes a signature grin that makes your knees weak. "Come on, let's get back to Baby. We can plan out where we're going on this road trip."

As the two of you make your way back through the cemetery, you see the beam of a flashlight on the other side of lot coupled with the high pitched squeal of laughter as it sweeps across the smooth weather beaten stones. Another rumble of thunder shakes the sky, rattling your teeth and vibrating against your skin.

Dean and you crouch down on instinct, and he makes a hand gesture.

You look at him confused.

The laughter gets closer, the people weaving through the graveyard, running after one another, oblivious to Dean and you.

He makes the hand gesture again.

"What?" You whisper.

He makes the gesture again.

"Dean, this isn't charades. Use your words. I can't understand what you're saying."

He sighs. "I was trying to tell you that it's okay, it's just kids." Dean whispers back.

"You could have just said that, you didn't have to make the gestures. Especially because you're the only person who understands them."

"I am not the only-" Dean huffs out a breath. He turns his head to watch two teenagers run by, giggling and laughing all the way as they do.

"Come on Shawn!" A girl shouts with a cackle lost on the wind, her blonde hair like a beacon, turning silver in the moonlight.

"I don't think we should be here!" The boy who you assume is Shawn shouts back, the beam from his flashlight flickers against his glasses.

"Don’t be such a wuss." The girl yells back over her shoulder. The lithe imprint of her form small and petite a contrast to the boy who stumbles behind.

Dean leans so close to you that his nose is pressed into your hair, his breath a warm exhale against your ear. "You wanna mess with them?"

A shiver travels down your spine with Dean's close proximity and you hope that he doesn't feel it. “You have to ask?”

“Come on.”

You leave your shovels and supplies behind, following behind the teenagers who laugh as they make their way through the lines of tombstones, but then something happens. They vanish.

"What?" You whisper in confusion, sweeping your eyes over the end of the cemetery. It came to an abrupt stop over a cliff that dropped off into the ocean over a thousand feet below. "Did they jump?"

The wind is harsher here, pulling and tugging at your clothes as if inviting you to fly with it, to jump into the darkness beyond and sink into the depths of the black sea below that writhes and splashes.

"This way." Dean tugs your elbow and turns you to a small set of steps that leads down the side of the cliff.

Okay. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Dean and you follow down the steps, unable to hear the laughter over the crashing of the waves against rock below, where the water rubs the stone smooth. And just when you think the steps will end, they twist and curve back into the cliff, depositing Dean and you in a cave.

"I still don't think this is a good idea Kayla." The boy, Shawn says. You can hear the tremor on the edge of his voice.

She obviously doesn't listen to him.

"Hey look at this!" You hear a girl's voice say. "I'm Queen of the world!"

Dean and you peer around the wet wall of the cave.

It's a crypt.

The walls further in are lined with bodies embalmed and wrapped in soft cloth, the musty smell of death wafting out to where the two of you are. Armor, chainmail, swords, and axes sit in neat piles to the left of the room, shining in the dull light of the beams. Various intricate designs are carved into the walls, semi-circles that entwine and tangle over the hewn stone, shining in the yellowed beam of the flashlights.

The two kids from the graveyard are standing just a few feet in front of Dean and you, the boy has his back to you while the girl with the blonde hair who you guess is Kayla stands proudly on a rock wearing a crown.

You're sure that she must have found it a few moments ago, but something about it feels wrong. The crown is made of a silver metal, each point encrusted with emeralds that seem to absorb the light in the room rather than reflect it. Odder still is that for something sitting in a crypt, it doesn't look old, it looks brand new, not covered in the thick layer of dust like everything else in here.

Kayla wears it proudly, posing for an invisible camera. A low hum vibrates through the cave, hidden to the untrained ear beneath the distant rumble of thunder, and the crash of waves outside.

But you can.

"Dean." You mutter.

"I feel it too."

"I'm definitely wearing this to prom! Who cares about that plastic tiarra? This is a crown." Kayla giggles, taking it off to admire it in the light. "Oh look there's something written on it."

Oh no.

Before Dean and you can step forward to shut her up and stop her from pulling an Evil Dead, she begins to read the inscription. You have no idea what language it is, just that this is not good.

As soon as she finishes the last line, every single torch mounted on the walls flare to life without being lit.

Oh shit.

Kayla screams, throwing the crown down to the stone floor, clutching her hand. Her palm is seared a bright red, the imprint of the jewels forever etched into her skin.

"Kayla!" Shawn shouts rushing forward to see if she's okay.

"You just had to do it didn't you!" Dean says not bothering to hide as he comes out from teh mouth of the cave. "You just had to read the inscription off the creepy crown!"

"Who the fuck are you?!" Shawn stutters.

"Well I'd say I'm your worst nightmare, but I'm pretty sure we're about to meet whoever that is." Dean throws a knowing glance at you, but you're not focusing on that.

Because the entire room has gone silent. You can no longer hear the rumble of thunder, no longer feel the power of the storm brewing outside, no longer hear the sound of the crashing waves against the rocky cliff outside- there's nothing.

Just an eerie silence that hangs thick in the air.

The temperature in the room drops, sending a shiver down your spine, and goosebumps puckering against your skin while the hair at the back of your neck stands straight up."What the hell is going-" Kayla begins to sob, her ruined hand clutched to her chest, but Dean shushes her.

Shadows flicker and move around the edges of the cave, shifting into the forms of men and women running together like oil over water, rushing towards the crown that lies a few feet away.

The woman forms from the shades, born of darkness, of flesh and shadow as the dark imprints weave together, twisting and knotting, creating her from nothing.

Her skin is almost translucent white in the firelight, her hair a darkly woven web that tangles over her shoulders, while her eyes glow a menacing green. There is a necklace at the base of her throat, a strong mesh of iron to match the crown on her head and a collection of emeralds each one the size of your little finger.

The corpses that line the wall tremble in their cubbies, the rattle of bone and metal, and the stale smell of decayed flesh filling the room as they stir.

"Holy shit." Shawn gulps.

You can say that again.

Her robes are old fashioned, dark green, woven from strong fabric and imprinted with a twisted silver thread that forms sigils of stars and moons, the garments flowing out behind her on some invisible wind that drifts through the crypt, but only seems to touch her. She makes no move towards you, only watches, her eyes piercing in the firelight.

The sound of the thunder outside is back, shaking the walls of the tomb and making the light from the torches flicker over the cold walls of the crypt.

Dean and you draw your guns at the same time, a reflex given you have no idea who or what she is.

You mentally go through the filo-fax in your head categorizing her into classes of what she could be. Comparing her to things you'd seen along the road. If not for the green robe she could be a woman in white. The way her skin is so sallow you can see the criss-cross of black veins beneath and the way her hair falls over her shoulders. But there's something about her you can't place, some throb of energy in the room that scuttles over your skin like a swarm of cockroaches, feels different than any other creature you've come along.

The woman's form flickers once as if she's not quite in the room with you, the motion sends a rustling through the bottom of her skirts, and the crypt fills with the smell of wet earth and dead leaves.

Dean pushes you behind him, a subconscious action that the woman clocks with a twitch of her bottom lip. Her head tilts just slightly, eyes narrowing a fraction.

We have to get the kids out of here.

"Look. We don't want any trouble-" You begin to say as calmly as possible.

Being diplomatic felt like a good idea right now or at least a good enough idea to buy you some time.

The woman moves faster than you thought possible. There's a terrible flash of green light and you feel an invisible force hit you in the center of your chest, propelling your body backwards through the cave. Dean shouts your name, but it sounds far away. Your stomach plummets with the few seconds of weightlessness, before your head hits the rock wall sending a jolt of pain through your body.

You lay there stunned, listening to the sound of the kids screaming, unable to move for a few seconds. Your mind is hazy, memories of the past slipping into these few moments.

The smell of the Impala, the soft scritch of a pencil against paper, the feeling of Dean's arm over your shoulders, the soothing motion of a paintbrush stroke-

You gasp as you come back to reality shaking your head once, twice to clear itself.

The kids are no longer in the crypt and you guess that the screaming you heard was them running for their lives, instead the woman floats in the center of the room, her hand clasped tightly around Dean's throat. She appears to be examining him, her eyes trace his features, unaffected by Dean struggle to get free.

A cold feeling of fear trickles down you spine, a raindrop in a thunderstorm finding the curves and plains of your back, melting snow against warm flesh.

"Put him down." Your voice is hard, the gun in your hand heavy as you train it on the woman.

She turns to look at you.

The rumble of thunder outside shifts to a higher pitch, a crisp sound, the clash of swords and the roar of a battle-cry merging into the howling of the wind.

"Now." You say.

Her mouth opens, and a language you don't know vibrates through the stale air, the sound of her voice is musical, a soft lullaby. The edge of her triumphant smirk curls back to reveal pearly white teeth, but she doesn't release Dean.

Your eyes flick to where Dean struggles in her grasp, his own emerald gaze focused on you. The fear you see in his eyes is not for himself, you know that. Years of hunting together, you knew that your best friend couldn't care less about himself, not if it meant you were hurt.

"Dean-" You whisper.

You didn't know what to do. You had a hunch that the rounds in your gun wouldn't do anything to her, and Dean and you had left the salt in the cemetery overhead, not to mention the iron knuckles you usually carried were still on the front seat of Baby where you'd left them.

And the lady was covered in iron so you doubted it would do anything to her.

"It doesn't have to be this way. We can talk this out. Just put him down. Please." You say it as calmly as you can, trying to think of something anything to do, but nothing comes.

The woman's smirk deepens. "No, more talking." Her voice slips into something harsher, speaking English through a thick accent.

The ground beneath her feet opens, the sharp sound of stone cracking while the crypt trembles around you, sending you stumbling to the right as the cave begins to tear itself apart.

Before you can do anything, the woman drops into the cavernous fissure dragging a struggling Dean with her.

"DEAN!" You shout, throwing your gun to the side and grabbing for his hand as he's pulled into the earth.

Dean gasps your name, his hand tight in yours, as the woman works her way down his body to hold tight on to his ankles. She hangs there in the space below, smile triumphant, as she playfully tugs on Dean's body as if it's a game.

"I'm not gonna let go okay?" You grunt, tightening your grip on his hand.

The weight of his body and the woman is too much, almost ripping your from it's socket, but you can't let him go. Not when Dean is the only person you have left. The ground beneath your body begins to crack, the stone flaking off to fall into the dark chasm below. You can't see the bottom, the cold hand of fear closing hard around your throat.

Dean says your name again. "It's gonna be okay."

"What?"

"I promise that it's going to be okay."

"I know it's going to be okay because I'm going to pull you up!" You struggle, tugging hard on his arm as you squirm to try and shuffle your body back on the ground, but it only makes more cracks spread and more earth fall into the chasm. "And then we're going to send her back to wherever the hell she came from."

His lips are pressed into a tight smile, eyes flashing with something melancholic you can't place. "Sweetheart. I promise that it's going to be okay. You just have to let go."

"No! I can do it!" You shout back, tears burning and falling from your eyes. "I-"

More of the bodies fall from the crypt into the chasm, disappearing into the darkness around Dean. The ground beneath your body shifts as more of it falls away. And you know at any moment you'll get dragged in too.

Dean looks down at the woman who hangs from his legs enjoying the scene in front of her, her dark eyes glinting as her green robes float out around her, then back up at you. The cold determined look in his eyes familiar.

"Dean please, I can't do this any of this- not without you!" You sob as you see the plan form in his mind. "So no to whatever you're thinking!"

"The only thing I'm thinking is how beautiful you are sweetheart." He flashes a signature smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "And that I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

He lets go, the final flash of his eyes the last thing you see before the darkness swallows him whole.

"No! DEAN!" You scream his name, prepared to dive in if that's what it takes, but the ground closes, shutting up the cavernous mouth that swallowed your friend, smoothing over so that there's nothing left but the cool stone floor of the cave.

Leaving you alone in the chill with the rumble of thunder and the crash of waves against stone, smoothing away the rough edges and taking them out to sea.

A/N: Please don't hate me for the cliffhanger 😅 Or for yah know, throwing Dean into a ravine... I promise that this one will have a happy ending. Eventually?

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think and the comments keep me going! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for the next part please let me know!

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thomaslittlegirl · 5 months ago

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nightmares. thomas shelby

your stepbrother comes back from the war but he is no longer the same.

warnings; tit sucking, age gap, step-cest.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

thomas is not the man he used to be since he came back from the war; that funny and happy boy disappeared and was replaced by one who is always angry, tense... simply blue.

you remember the relief you felt when you saw him arrive back at your home. you remember hugging him with all your might and you remember his big hands resting on your back while he returned you the show of affection. “i'm here now, little girl.”

the changes did not take long to be noticed. thomas became more intolerable to almost anything. he hated being kept waiting, he hated having to do things for others, hated to help; he was even capable of beating up someone if the looked at him the wrong way.

no one comes back from the war the same... and although everyone knew about that saying, experiencing it firsthand with tommy was just painful.

people began to fear him and they were completely right in the world; if there was anything worse than a shelby, it was an angry shelby.

and thomas was always angry.

it was a thursday night when a loud knock woke you up.

the candle next to your nightstand was almost burned out and the flame was moving because of the wind in the room.

you thought that the sound had been part of your dream, and when you were ready to turn over and continue sleeping another knock was heard.

you decided to get out of bed and look for the source of it. you walked out of your room shuffling your feet on the wooden floor. the house was completely dark, it was also cold.

you hugged yourself for warmth and then you heard another noise again; it came from your stepbrother's room.

you didn't think twice before entering the room without knocking on the door; thomas might need help, you thought.

when you entered the man's room you noticed that several of the things that were usually found on the nightstand next to his bed were now lying on the floor, scattered.

thomas was lying on the bed. his eyes were closed but his body was spasming, he moved in the bed with such force that he was throwing all the objects around him to the floor.

you walked near his bed and saw his face clearly. his eyebrows were furrowed, turning his entire face into a grimace of pain; his hands were balled into fists at the side of his body. complaints and murmurs came out of his mouth that you couldn't understand.

“tommy...” you called him.

there was no response from him. you called him again... nothing happened.

you carefully placed you next to him; your knees on the hard wooden floor. one of your hands went to his shoulder and you called again, a little louder this time. “tommy…”

the man opened his eyes and a gasp escaped his throat. one of his hands grabbed yours tightly and you had to bite your tongue to keep from moaning at the pain.

“tommy... it's okay... it's me...”

shelby nodded his head, taking a seat on the bed. he turned his face and looked at you with eyes full of tears.

seeing him like that destroyed you, broke your soul. you felt like someone had hit your entire body with a bat relentlessly.

“it's okay. you are safe here.” your sweet voice came out as a whisper and you saw him nod again.

thomas couldn't hold him back much longer. finally he burst into tears; his body shaking from spasms. his chest rose and fell forcefully, you noticed that it was difficult for him to breathe.

you didn't know what to do, you didn't know how to react. you were afraid that any movement of yours would scare him away or make him worse. but you had to do something... so, with hesitation, you moved a little closer to the edge of his bed and hugged him.

thomas hugged you back, as best he could. he rested his head against your shoulder and stayed there, suffering in your heat. you held it.

“i'm tired.” he said, whispering. his voice still a little muffled. “i'm tired of having these nightmares every fucking night.”

his words shocked you. thomas had nightmares every night? why did he never say anything? why had you nor your family never heard of it?

“do you have nightmares every night?” you asked in disbelief. thomas nodded his head. “why didn't you tell us anything?”

thomas remained silent for a few seconds. “we shelbys are strong.” was all he said, and you felt your blood boil.

why put yourself through all this pain alone? why keep quiet about your suffering and face it without anyone's support, just because of your shitty last name?

you clicked your tongue and decided not to say anything, you didn't want to make things worse.

you stayed like that for a while, hugging your stepbrother. "better?" you asked after a while. he denied. his sobs had stopped but his eyes continued to shed tears and wet the top of his nightshirt.

you felt useless. it hurt you to see him like that.

“please, brother. don’t cry anymore” you asked. thomas sniffed, releasing you.

“i'm sorry.”

you denied. he had no reason to apologize. he hadn't done anything wrong.

you lifted your knees off the floor and ignored the pain you felt in them, sitting next to him on the bed. “is there anything you need?” you asked. “is there anything i can do to make you feel better?”

thomas caressed your cheek gently. his battered hands full of scars and recent wounds only made a notable contrast to the softness of your skin.

your stepbrother looked into your eyes, lowering his hand to now caress your neck. you looked at him, surprised. thomas wasn't usually very affectionate, in fact, he wasn't with anyone... just with you, but he never touched you like that, he never caressed you the way he was doing tonight.

his hand went lower and lower, passing under your collarbones. “what...what are you doing?” you asked him, surprised when his hand reached one of your tits and didn't move away.

“you said you wanted to make me feel better... let me feel better. ”

“but… but you…”

“be good.”

you swallowed, keeping quiet. thomas took your breast in his hand, outlining it. his touch felt strange, it made you feel dirty, vulnerable. two brothers didn't touch each other the way he was touching you... but you didn't try to push him away. you stayed there, still and at his will. letting him touch you however he wanted, as if you were a doll.

thomas's touch was surprisingly gentle; anyone would have expected a shelby to be rough.

you really didn't know what to think.

thomas used his other hand to cup your other breast; now both of his hands were on your tits, caressing and contouring them. your stepbrother pressed them together, wetting his lips when he saw how your nipples had stood up.

“tommy…” you called, quietly, embarrassed. he looked at you, his eyes still filled with tears. you didn't know what to say, you stayed silent, frozen.

thomas let go of your tits, now playing with the hem of your nightshirt.

“let me try them.” he said out of nowhere.

your eyes widened in surprise. "what...?"

“let me put them in my mouth... you said you wanted to do something to make me feel good…that will make me feel good.”

you looked at him stunned. what were you supposed to do? slap him and leave his room in terror? let him do what he wanted? you didn't know how to react.

thomas's hands acted on their own, lifting your shirt until he slid it around your neck, taking it off completely. his blue eyes penetrated yours.

his hands went to your breasts again, and before you could think about how to resolve the situation, he kissed your nipple.

thomas kissed it gently, almost as if he was afraid to scare you away. his tongue outlined your nipple with a maddening softness. his light blue eyes met yours and when you saw how his tears had subsided, you decided to give up.

you surrendered to how good your stepbrother felt sucking your nipple and how innocent he looked with it in his mouth; almost as if he were not twice your age, almost as if the situation were not morbid.

one of your hands went to his cheek and you caressed it gently while the other rested on his neck. thomas let your nipple fall from his lips and smiled at you. “good girl, letting me calm down with her beautiful tits. you're being good, little one. making me feel very good.”

your heart pounded in your chest. you loved compliments... and if they were from your stepbrother, even better.

thomas carefully laid down on the bed, pulling you too until your side was pressed against the mattress, in front of his body. he took your other tit in his mouth and began to suck on the nipple, hugging your waist as he sucked like he was a baby.

shelby was calm now, making sounds of satisfaction as he choked on your tits. his eyes began to feel heavy and you continued stroking his hair, helping to lull him to sleep.

thomas took your nipple out of his mouth and murmured, “maybe tomorrow i can know the taste of your pussy too.”

that night, thomas fell asleep quickly and easily like an angel, sucking on your tits and using them like they were a good pacifier.

no other nightmares bothered him again for the next few hours and maybe, just maybe, you woke up to your beautiful stepbrother giving kitty licks to your pretty and tight cunt, as he promised.

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinder smut #peaky blinders x reader #cillian smut #cillian x reader

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selenitesdawn · 7 months ago

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Temperance (2/3)

pairing: wanda maximoff x female!reader plot: Your best friend Kate convinced you to do charity work in Sokovia with some of your old classmates, including your former bully Vision and his girlfriend Wanda Maximoff, who you inconveniently took too much of a liking in. warnings: 18+ !! minors dni. wanda is with vision... bad words, allusions to suicidal thoughts, angst. mild sexual content. that’s it. i think <3 word count: 2500

: Part 1

Once again, you laid awake at night, thinking about Wanda. Ever since you've met her, she's been the only thought on your mind. Well, not quite literally. Of course you still had time to worry about other things. But as soon as you laid in silence, it felt like your brain was broken. No matter how hard you had tried, in the end it was all Wanda. You were sure that after this trip you'd have to put yourself in a mental hospital. Or at least have a bunch of therapy sessions. How else were you ever supposed to return back to your normal life after you met her?

“Time to get up you fuckers!,” roared Bucky from the ground floor. His raspy voice echoed through the halls of the huge building you were sleeping in. Still half asleep, you turned to the side and looked at the time.

Fucking hell.

You felt like you've been hit by a truck. Before you even had a chance to sit upright, the door swung open.

“Get up, princesses. You don't get paid for lying around.” ordered Bucky, who was still standing in the doorway in his pyjamas.

“Bucky, we're not getting paid at all. Besides, it's only 6 o'clock. Since when do we get up so early?” you replied, obviously annoyed.

It wasn't that you didn't feel like helping anymore. Making a difference was a nice feeling, especially because you felt like you hadn't contributed anything meaningful to the world in recent years. You might as well have not existed at all, you always thought to yourself. The days were all just a blur. But now you were here and everything was different. Getting up earlier also meant seeing Wanda for longer. You didn't quite know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. You wanted to see Wanda. Of course you wanted to see her.

“We are getting paid with love and gratitude, so get up,” Bucky said firmly. He grabbed the first object he could find, in this case luckily a stuffed animal, and threw it at Kate, who was still asleep next to you.

“You too Kate!,” Bucky warned.

“I'm awake!!!,” Kate grumbled and threw the stuffed animal back in a heartbeat, right against Bucky's head.

Wanda and Vision were asleep in the next room. On your first day here, you thought that would be a good thing. At least you'd be close to Wanda. However, Vision wasn't included in your calculations. The first time you heard banging against the wall between your room and theirs, followed by dampened moans, a cold shiver ran down your spine.

No fucking way.

You had met Wanda for the first time less than 24 hours earlier. When you and Kate were standing in front of Vision's luxurious private jet, you almost failed to see the vehicle. You were busy working on your suitcase when you looked up and saw her. Wanda was standing just a few centimeters in front of you, talking to the pilot, when she looked over and smiled at you. In that very moment, your world has been turned around. You don't know if you imagined it, but she wasn't just quickly grinning at you. It felt like minutes were passing, the pilot next to her engrossed in a long monologue. You don't know what he was talking about. All you know is that at some point you had to break eye-contact because it felt like she was starring right into your soul. Almost like she was reading your mind. Since then, it's been all going downhill. Getting up early means seeing Wanda for longer. And seeing Wanda is probably not good for you. You can't bear a broken heart right now. You just wanted to help dogs.

“Vision get your ass up and put some clothes on man, that's disgusting,” you heared Bucky shout from next door.

Why am I still doing this to myself?

By 8 o'clock, everyone had managed to get out the door reasonably fresh. Vision had rented two extremely expensive cars from his daddy money, which you used every morning to drive to an animal shelter in the north. The journey took about 40 minutes. Something that could have been easily avoided if you hadn't had to rent the only available mansion in Sokovia. But who were you to judge.

“Babe, I think I want to drive the Lambo today and give y/n a ride. Please?”

You turned to your right and saw Wanda looking up at Vision with an innocent smile, her arm wrapped around his bicep. You didn't know what to say. Whether you should say anything at all. Why would Wanda want to give you a ride? Does she want to be alone with you? Would you even survive being alone with her? Vision looked at Wanda critically, then his eyes drifted to you.

“Um…sure,” Vision replied, somewhat perplexed. He seemed just as surprised as you were.

“I'm going with you guys,” Kate said almost in the same breath and put her arms around Steve and Bucky.

Of course Kate knew how you felt about Wanda. You told her straight away, otherwise you probably would have gone mad. Now she grinned mischievously at you.

And suddenly you found yourself alone in the car with Wanda. You don't remember how you got into the car, but you could swear your heart was pounding in your throat. Wanda, on the other hand, looked calm. She always looked calm around you, as if nothing could faze her. She had her left hand on the steering wheel, her right arm resting loosely on the center console. You couldn't read her. Not even close. Her eyes were fixed on the road, a small, satisfied smile on her lips. You, on the other hand, were nervously playing with your hands and tried to keep your focus on your surroundings. While you started counting the trees you were passing in a desperate attempt to not lose your shit, you noticed that the ride was already halfway over and Wanda hadn't said a word.

Why did she want to drive with me if she wasn't going to say a word to me? Does she expect me to say something?

But what could you say? You didn't know much about Wanda and you got incredibly nervous around her. It's not as if you had nothing to say. The contrary was the case really. You wanted to know everything about her. What her favorite books are, what movies remind her of her childhood, what perfume she wears. What perfume does she wear? Whenever Wanda was close to you, you felt almost bewitched. Her smell was definitely etched somewhere into your brain. But you couldn't ask that. Sometimes it's better to say nothing than to break something. Something that doesn't even exist yet.

But then you looked to the side. And Wanda smiled at you. You hadn't noticed that you were standing at a traffic light. The first rays of dawn shone into her moss-green eyes and you couldn't think straight. You had to take the chance.

“Hi,” was the only word that left your lips. You said it quickly and energetically, as if you had just met each other randomly on the street.

Wanda smirked and returned a somewhat confused “Hi?,” before the traffic light turned green and her gaze went back to the road.

Great y/n, really great.

After you managed to somehow compose yourself, you tried again. “I-... wanted to thank you. For letting me see the Lamborghini from the inside. That's really kind of you.”

Wanda chuckled, her eyes still focused on the road, “Don't be silly. It's my pleasure.”

Usually either Wanda or Vision were driving the Lamborghini to wherever you guys were needed. But it was always the two of them, alone, together. The rest of you would take the other car. At first you were upset about you and Wanda never driving together. Sure, Kate, Steve and Bucky were probably a lot more fun to drive with. But you were wondering what kind of music Wanda was listening to. If she had a certain playlist she would put on in the car. Now you were sitting next to her and the volume of the music was too quiet to hear much.

“What song is this?,” you asked quietly. It was supposed to come out louder, more confident.

Wanda turned her head slightly towards you again.

“Excuse me?”

You could already feel the blood rushing to your cheeks. She didn't understand you. And now that you had to repeat the question, you realized how stupid it was. You could have asked something, just anything else. Show that you're interested in her. But instead-

“Y/n?,” Wanda asked with a worried look. Her head tilted a little to the side. You were getting so hot it was almost unbearable.

“Sorry, did you say something?,” you asked, your cheeks flushed.

Wanda was silent for a moment and then smirked again.

“Y/n, you were saying something.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I-. Just asked what song is playing. But that was a stupid question-”

Before you could finish, Wanda firmly put her hand on yours. You hadn't realized that you were nervously tugging at the hem of your jacket. Now her hand was holding yours still.

“You don't have to say you're sorry sweetheart,” she said with a calm expression, her eyes fixed on the road again. Wanda lifted her hand from yours and turned the volume up. You immediately missed her touch. How intense it felt. As you looked to the side, you saw Wanda smiling.

“This song is one of my favorites. My brother and I listen to it all the time when we hang out.”

“You have a brother?” you asked, genuinely interested.

“Yes, a twin brother," Wanda replied, her smile only getting bigger. “His name is Pietro. We were attached by the hip when we were kids.”

You spent the rest of the journey talking about Wanda's family and why Pietro wasn't in Sokovia to help the street dogs. Wanda had suggested it to him, but according to Wanda, Pietro has “more important things to do”. It turned out that Kate was right; it was Wanda's idea to come here. As a child, she had always wanted to take all the street dogs home with her, but her parents didn't have the money or resources for a pet. They could barely support the family.

“Today I'm in a position where I can really make a difference. I guess that is all I have ever wanted. Changing something for the better,” Wanda said, her tone carrying sincerity.

“You should be really proud of yourself Wanda,” you responded, the admiration you felt for the woman in front of you written all over your face.

“Thank you y/n. I really appreciate it,” Wanda retorted, placing her hand gently on your knee. Even through the fabric of your jeans, you could feel how soft her hand was. Her index finger began to circle around on your knee and it took a lot of self-control to not let out any inappropriate noise. You bit your bottom lip to suppress your building excitement, your eyes everywhere but on Wanda. You two just had your first decent conversation and you weren't about to let it go to waste. But before you could collect yourself, the hand on your knee lifted and you felt two fingers under your chin. Wanda turned your face effortlessly in her direction. One could think that the look on her face was innocent and sweet. That her thumb didn't intentionally brush against your bottom lip, trying to get a reaction out of you. But you knew better.

“You don't have to hold back y/n. You can't hide from me anyway,” Wanda murmured, her grip on your chin slightly tightening.

And before you could process what situation you were in, your alone time was over. Wanda couldn't even bring the car to a halt, Vision already knocking on the window with a smarmy grin on his face. He had once again shoved a toothpick between his teeth, probably because he thought it would make him look cooler. When Wanda got out without looking back at you, Vision took a good swing and slapped Wanda on the butt. You didn't understand how Vision had managed to pull Wanda. You wondered if Wanda knew how Vision treated you back in school. How could Wanda fall in love with such an asshole?

“Y/n?,” you suddenly heard from your right side. Kate had opened the passenger door for you and was grinning in your face.

“Are you ready?” she asked with a sly smile.

Without Kate, Vision would probably have bullied you into adulthood. But rich people always have to play nice with each other. Being friends with Kate has at least always guaranteed that no one dares to put you down. And somehow she's become your anchor ever since.

“Sure, I'll come,” you said a little frantically and got out of the car.

Today you were just on site, making sure that all the new arrivals were bathed and cared for. It was actually a relaxing job, but your mind was racing. You kept losing your focus when the redhead crossed your path. You tried to stay cool, to pretend that you hadn't been up all night because your thoughts about Wanda wouldn't let you sleep.

“And? How was the ride?” Kate asked excitedly as she sat down next to you on a bench, a little away from the others.

“Good, I think.”

“Good, what else?”

“Nothing more.”

Kate sighed and looked at you critically.

“Come on y/n. You've wanted nothing more than to be alone with Wanda all these days. And now you're saying it was good?”

Kate had this way of not leaving you alone until she heard what she wanted to hear from you. And in the end, you couldn't hide anything from Kate anyway. So you started to tell her. What you talked about, that Wanda told you about her family. And, of course, that her hands had found their way to you. Once again. She's been driving you crazy the last few days. Sometimes it's a light touch on your arm, sometimes a hand on your shoulder, sometimes her hands end up on your hips. You wondered if you were just imagining the magnetic bond between you two. Maybe Wanda was just a touchy person in general. It wouldn't be the first time you imagined someone liked you more than they actually did.

“Well, Wanda hasn't touched me, as far as I know, in the last few days. Or at all,” Kate recalled.

“Do you think I'm imagining things Kate?,” your concern clearly written on your face.

“I don't know y/n. But either way, you should be careful. We don't know Wanda well and I don't want you to come out of this hurt.”

You really wanted to listen to Kate. But deep down, you knew it was already too late. You were too deeply invested in this. Wanda already had you wrapped around her little finger. And it wasn't just you who knew that. Wanda was aware of it too.

: Part 3

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #kate bishop x reader

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songforeddiemunson · 2 months ago

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Haunting in Blackwood Hollow Part 3

An Eddie Munson x F!Reader Miniseries

Series Summary: It’s the year 1991. Eddie and reader check into a rented house in the Appalachian woods, joined by Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin. Unfortunately for our gang, things in Blackwood Hollow are never as they appear.

Tropes: established relationship, Jonathan x Nancy, no mention of the events from ST, smut, comedy, fluff, scares, bit of whump (but nothing too crazy)

Series Warnings: Swearing, drinking and weed use, sexual and scary situations, minors please DNI.

Chapter Three: The Rothschild Tale

Chapter warnings: a sad recounting, historic tragedy, pregnancy loss, missing children, non-major-character death. This is a lot of exposition, so bear with me.

Author's Note: Welp it's been more than a year since I updated this fic, so better late than never! To those who patiently hung in there, thank you for helping me endure a brutal writers block and total loss of inspo because...life. Particularly @tvserie-s-world, who has been so encouraging. If anyone would like to get caught up, please start here.

Word Count: ~3K

PART TWO

Begrudgingly, you had decided to tackle breakfast cleanup, and started gathering up dishes as the others shuffled off to get ready for the day. You weren’t in the best mood, in large part because your sleep had been fraught with weird dreams that you couldn’t quite remember, except for the vague sensation of being pursued in darkness. Your fright from the bathroom window didn’t exactly help in that regard either. You focused on your task, and tried to put all the unpleasantness out of your mind.

Joyce and Jim had decided to host a wedding picnic in the park in the center of town. You had never been to a gender-neutral wedding picnic before, and while you enjoyed the fact that everyone would be able to go to the same party, your introverted side dreaded having to schmooze with so many strangers. You sighed heavily. The idea of having to play extrovert for the afternoon did not elevate your mood.

You were lost in thought as you finished up your task, and were in the process of wiping down the counters when something caught your eye. There was an object on the floor under the counter, peeking out from behind some faded old linoleum. You bent to get a closer look.

Is that a key?

“Hey babe,” you called to Eddie, who was helping you put away the dishes.

He turned to you as he closed a cabinet door. “Yeah?”

“Look at this,” you said, as you reached out to pick up what looked like a small, old cast-iron key, which was rusted and pocked with age. You tipped it into Eddie’s palm.

“That’s pretty cool, it looks super old,” Eddie said. “I wonder what it goes to?”

“I have no clue,” you shrugged. “The door it opens might not even be here anymore.”

“It’s weird that it was just there on the floor. This kitchen looks like someone tried to remodel it a few decades ago, so where has it been this whole time?”

You could only shrug as Eddie handed the key back to you. You tipped it into an unused ashtray that sat on the kitchen counter as you headed toward the shower, soon putting the key out of your mind.

A few hours later, you stood in freshly mown grass, sipping a mimosa in a cute dress, quite the juxtaposition from how your trip had gone thus far. The spring day was sunny and pleasant, and being away from the spooky house lifted your spirits, despite the strange events from the night before.

It was wonderful to see the old gang together again. The “kids” were all in college now. Gone were the days of BMX bike-riding and trick-or-treating, and a new era of cramming for exams had been ushered in. Jim and Joyce looked so happy that it was impossible to feel gloomy in their presence, and you began to bloom under the sunshine.

You were standing off to the side and chatting with Eddie when an older woman with a kind face approached you. She had rosy cheeks and looked to be in her seventies; round, short and cheerful, with short curly hair that was neatly coiffed.

“Well I believe I’ve met everyone here except you shy folks, so I thought I’d come and hassle ya,” the woman said brightly, and she immediately disarmed you. You couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your face.

“Are we that obvious?” Eddie replied, but he was smiling too. “Sorry I’m just… I’m not always great at meeting new people.”

“Oh nonsense,” the woman replied with a wave of her hand. “It’s as easy as pie. I’m Penny. And you are?”

You introduced yourselves.

“There, now we’re friends! That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Penny beamed.

“Penny, if everyone was as friendly as you were, there wouldn’t be any shy people in the world,” you grinned, and she looked like she could pass away from delight at your compliment.

“Oh gosh, isn’t that the sweetest thought. And I agree!”

What started as pleasant small talk evolved into regular conversation, and before you realized where the time had gone, almost an hour had passed. You liked Penny immensely, and wanted to make her your honorary aunt.

“So where are you two lovebirds staying while you’re here?” Penny asked.

You stifled a laugh while Eddie rolled his eyes. “Well,” you started, “that’s a funny story…”

“Never let your friends handle the rental you’re supposed to stay in without checking it out first,” Eddie supplied.

“I don’t follow,” Penny replied with a little giggle.

“It’s this crazy looking, beat-up old Victorian house in the middle of nowhere. On Blackwood Hollow road….” the rest of your sentence was abruptly halted when Penny’s hand shot forward and gripped your forearm.

“Not the Rothschild place?” she asked, and her demeanor shifted from cheerful to serious in the space of a heartbeat.

“I…we have no idea, actually. Why?”

Penny shook her head while you and Eddie exchanged alarmed glances.

“Bad things happened there,” she said. “They should have torn that place down and had the ground consecrated.”

Penny’s tonal switch was highly disconcerting for you. You couldn’t help but chuckle nervously. “What– really? Bad juju or something? Did people die there?”

“Well,” Penny began, “Gideon and Eloise Rothschild did, but aside from that, we can’t be sure.”

“Come again?” Eddie said.

“It’s the ones that went missing, that was the real issue. People thought Gideon was responsible, but–”

“I’m so sorry to interrupt. Can you rewind?” you said with a nervous chuckle. “I’m a little lost.”

“Me too,” Eddie said.

Penny sighed. “Well, I suppose the best place to start is the beginning. Better strap in, this is quite a story!”

“Gideon Rothschild was the eldest son of Mortimer Rothschild, a robber baron and steel magnate who struck it big in Pittsburgh in the 1860s, at a time when America suddenly got a lot bigger due to the railroad boom. Bigwigs such as Mortimer also benefited from the Union Army rapidly building railroads to maintain supremacy during the civil war, so you can add ‘war profiteer’ to the ‘robber baron’ label.

“Like most gilded age families back then, the expectation was that the eldest son would continue in his father’s footsteps and take over the family business. But Mortimer was a miserable man and gave the business to his second son instead, all because he didn’t like the woman Gideon had run off with.

“Eloise Franklin was the woman’s name, and she was neither wealthy nor from a prominent family, definitely not who Mortimer would have chosen to be the future matriarch of the Rothschild family and the fortune that went with it. Naturally when Mortimer said Eloise wasn’t good enough for his family, Gideon took matters into his own hands and the two of them eloped, and they married in the forest with Eloise’s Appalacian clan.

“It’s said that Mortimer flew into a terrible rage, and by the night’s end, Gideon’s younger brother Lewis was now the heir of the Rothschild fortune. Gideon was disappointed but knew which had true value in his life, and that was his bride, not his family fortune. So he took what money he did have left and built a lovely house in Blackwood hollow. Modest, by Rothschild standards, but surely the grandest house those woods had seen thus far.

“Gideon and Eloise lived happily and peacefully in that house for fifteen years. Eloise gave birth to three daughters and two sons, and the family benefitted from Gideon’s shrewd business sense and Eloise’s skill as an herbalist and a healer. The family was not wealthy but they were comfortable, and most importantly, they were happy.

“Unfortunately, rumors started to grow and spread. People started to whisper about how a ‘nobody’ like Eloise could ensnare a man like Gideon, and force him to give up everything for her; murmurings of spellcraft and the like. Now I know that makes no sense; after all, why would a woman go through all that effort to bewitch a man that would lose everything? But there’s not a lot of logic in gossip, and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how ugly people can be to each other.

“I’m also sure that I don’t need to tell you how awful people can be to women, and 100 years ago it was much worse than it is now. They may smile, tip their hat, say all the polite things, but deep down they don’t assign you any real value aside from being a baby-maker and arm candy. Poor Eloise started to bear the brunt of that misogyny, along with some good old fashioned superstition and ignorance.

“It was probably somewhere around 1895 when the threats started. Anonymous letters left in the mailbox, accusing Eloise of witchcraft, and of performing rituals in the woods with her clan, absurd things like that. At first they shrugged it off, and didn’t let it get to them too much. Then things started to progress. A rock through a window. Then a bible with ‘DIE WITCH’ scrawled across its cover left on the porch.

“Gideon had suspected that his pa Mortimer was involved somehow, and one day he stormed into Mortimer’s office in town to give him a piece of his mind. Naturally Mortimer denied everything, but said something along the lines of ‘serves you right for marrying a witch, I suppose.’ That didn’t go over well, obviously, and the two men ended up slugging it out before brother Lewis broke them up. Gideon was ordered to leave and never return.

“When Gideon had returned home that evening, he found Eloise, who was pregnant with her sixth child, in a state of hysterics. She hadn’t seen their youngest son, who was only three years old, in hours. Gideon tried to reassure her that the boy had only run off, and set out to search the surrounding woods for him. All through the night they searched the house, the grounds, and the forest, calling his name. He was never found.”

You audibly gasped, and cold tendrils of dread snaked down your spine. “Oh my gosh, that’s terrible,” you said. Eddie rubbed your back reassuringly.

Penny nodded solemnly. “If only the family’s troubles ended there, but sadly, they did not. Next, it was the family’s youngest daughter who disappeared, then the second youngest-boy. One by one, the Rothschild children vanished without a trace. When only the eldest female remained, Eloise secretly squirrled her away under cover of night, and brought her to her forest clan. You see, there was some small truth to the rumors the villagers so callously spread. The Franklin women were known to have skills with herbs and remedies, and were renowned midwives. More than a few people would scorn the clan in public but secretly visit them for various things. You know, a fertility potion here, or a headache cure there. Most of the curealls they prescribed could easily be explained as herbcraft and simple, benign remedies. But… but they did seem to possess an otherworldly knowledge. Some said they could see your future, others believed they wove spells. I’m sure that’s all nonsense, but sometimes I wonder.

“Anyway, the eldest daughter was a spirited and lovely fifteen year old called Evie. To protect her, Eloise delivered Evie to her people in the forest, and beseeched them to look after her. Of course they agreed, and urged Evie to take the name of her mother’s people and forsake the Rothschild line, in hopes of adding an additional layer of anonymity and protection.

“The lively, happy Rothschild home turned lonely and quiet. The echoes of children running in the halls, or the laughter of them playing on the swings on the front lawn, all fell silent. In her grief, Eloise miscarried her unborn child, and soon fell ill with a horrible fever. Gideon sent for Eloise’s sisters to intervene and save her, but no tincture or poultice could halt the infection that raged in her body, and Eloise ultimately succumbed. Through her tears, one of the sisters cried, “she didn’t want to be saved. She wouldn’t let us save her.”

Penny’s words hung in the air like ice, chilling you to the bone despite the sunshine. A tear streaked down your face. Somehow, the fine spring day seemed less bright, and the breeze that cascaded down from the mountain ridge felt less warm. The story of Eloise Rothschild, a woman condemned for her supposed witchcraft and cursed for her love, resonated with a disturbing familiarity. It felt like a forgotten memory, a whisper from the depths of your soul. But how? You had never even set foot in Tennessee before.

“Babe, are you alright?” Eddie asked, alarmed. “You look pale.”

“Yeah…yeah. I’m fine.” you replied.”i just feel…I don’t know. It’s so tragic.”

Eddie and Penny both nodded.

“It’s a horrible tale,” Penny agreed. “Poor Gideon lost everything. His family fortune, his love, all six of his children. I can’t even imagine enduring all that loss.”

“What happened to him?” Eddie questioned.

“He was rarely seen after that,” Penny responded, sadly. “He became a recluse and stayed in the house, folk say he went mad from the grief and loneliness. He was found dead several years later."

“Oh man, that's awful,” Eddie said.

“Did they ever find out what happened to the children?” You asked.

“No, unfortunately. They were never seen again, and presumed dead. Evie was absorbed into the Franklin clan completely and supposedly remained with them, but nobody knows for sure. But people whispered and rumours spread, as they do. People said that Gideon’s father somehow found a way to curse the family. Some people said that the family was already cursed because of the Rothchild fortune being built on the backs of indentured laborers and being a war profiteer. Other people said that Gideon went mad and killed them all, which is the most enduring theory, the poor man. But no search would uncover any remains, and eventually the trail went cold. The house stood empty and fell into disrepair until someone bought it from the town for a pittance fifty years later. They fixed it up a bit, but ultimately refused to stay there, and they rented it out instead.”

“You know what’s crazy about all this?” Eddie said.

“Hmm?” you hummed in reply.

“My mother’s maiden name was Franklin, and she’s from Memphis. What’s that, like, 50 miles from here?”

Penny's jaw dropped. “WAIT. Are you? Wait–” she seemed to be doing mental math while Eddie stood awkwardly. “Are you Lizzie Franklin’s boy?”

Eddie looked shocked. You started to feel dizzy.

“Yes, I think so,” he replied, simply.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” you said, and then the world went dark.

To Be Continued...

More is coming! As always, comments and reblogs are the lifeblood of every fic writer!

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mrsbuckybarnes1917 · 1 year ago

Text

Request from @imagine-all-the-fandoms: You have a crush on each other but of course don't talk about it. Then one night you enter the living room all dressed up for a date and buck is totally flashed by you, until you ask for his opinion on it. When he realizes this is for another guy he gets all moody and leaves. Then instead of your date, you head to Bucky's room and decide to finally make a move and kiss him and admit your feelings, which leads to sleeping with him and afterwards lots of cuddles and cute Bucky?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: 18+ angsty feelings, some fluff at the end, reader's relationship with an OC, smut, p in v sex without barrier protection, jealous and possessive behavior from Bucky, very minor injury

Bucky Barnes was your best friend. Maybe you might not be his. But how exactly does one compete with Steve Rogers?

Anyway, that was how you felt. Bucky didn't open up to many people, and you felt honored to be included amongst his few trusted individuals. It had been a year ago that you became part of the Avengers initiative. It hadn't taken you long to be accepted as part of the team, become everyone's favorite confidante, in fact.

There was something about you that people trusted, they would open up to you in a way that they didn't to anyone else. Your charms had even managed to weave their magic over one grumpy super soldier. And he was by far your favorite follower.

It had taken a few weeks before he had given in to your spell, finally admitting his love of pancakes to you during one of your midnight snack quests. It was the first piece of personal information he had shared with you and you always remembered it. In fact you'd joined him for a midnight pancake treat on many occasions since that day.

The way you smiled at him lit up his world. Bucky was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He wasn’t the only one. Objectively, people wouldn’t have described you as the most beautiful person or the hottest, but there was something about you that shone, the expressiveness of your eyes, the kindness in your heart and the unknown bounds of your acceptance of others that drew people to you. Your personality was all anyone saw once they spoke to you and it was stunning.

There were times though, when it all became too much for you, listening to people's problems got a little overwhelming. It was these times that you sought out the company of people you trusted, the people who really saw you for who you were, a slightly nerdy introvert. The list was small; it included Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers and your favorite, James Barnes.

There was something about the solitary supersoldier that intrigued you. He didn't spill his problems to you like others did, you'd had to work very hard at gaining his trust but once you had, you felt like you'd discovered a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Bucky had an unexpected depth and his interests were surprisingly in tune with yours. Steve always seemed to be lost in documentaries when you sat down for down time with him and Nat found joy from horror movies which were far from your taste in cinematography. But Bucky was happy to watch a fantasy or science fiction film with you any time, dawn or dusk.

Bucky enjoyed your interests, but it was your company he enjoyed more. You made him feel comfortable, you didn't ask him intrusive questions, you forgave his selective mutism if he was having a bad day, making no irritating attempts to make him feel happier or better as the other members of the team were so apt to do. No, you let him be himself, in fact, you almost seemed to like his sullen silences.

What he liked the most was that you seemed to be a different person when he was around. You seemed more relaxed, the radiant sunshine demeanor that you exuded became muted, as though you knew that he needed a dimmer switch to help him cope. His scowls were far less ferocious when you were around but woe befell anyone who interrupted or invaded his time with you, his face would become dark and his mood would often turn sour. The only person who he would gracefully accept as an outsider to your pair was Steve. In short, Bucky Barnes was in love with you. Not that he would ever let it show.

The only person who could see Bucky’s feelings for you was Steve. He would smile in a knowing way when he walked in on the two of you laughing together, sharing a plate of nachos. He knew from the way you curled up at Bucky’s side that you harbored similar feelings. The only difference for you is that you had convinced yourself that Bucky couldn’t possibly feel the same way. Friendship was one thing, but you couldn’t imagine that he would want anything more than that. One day, when you had seen a female agent flirting with Bucky and he had smiled back, turned on the 1940’s charm that he apparently was famous for, that was the day you’d decided to put your feelings aside and move on with your life.

It was that decision that led to your current situation. A new dress and fancy heels later, you trotted to the common living area to get your bestie’s opinion. Your makeup was perfect, highlighting your prominent features and Bucky thought you looked radiant as you paraded your dress in front of him, seeking his approval. Naturally, you had it, you always had his approval, it didn’t matter what you were wearing.

“Where are you going all dolled up like that?” Bucky looked you up and down, admiring the view.

“Sidney and I are going out.”

“Oh, that sounds fun. You’ve been hanging out with her a lot. It’s nice that you’re getting along with the other agents too,” he smiled. Bucky was always encouraging of you, even if he would have preferred to keep you all to himself.

You laughed. Bucky usually reveled in the sound, but today he would be wishing he hadn’t heard it at all.

“Bucky!” you swatted his arm playfully. “Sidney is a guy. The guy I’m dating. I’ve told you about this.”

“Yeah, Buck, I did.” You pouted, “were you just pretending to listen?”

“What? No you didn’t.”

“Of course not, you said you were going to minigolf. You were so happy because you won.” Bucky smiled slightly at the memory. How you’d come home with red cheeks from the cold and the joy of winning at minigolf.

“That was our fourth date.”

Bucky was quiet for a moment. “Are you dating a woman?” he asked quietly.

“No, Buck. I mean I have, but Sidney isn’t one.”

“Oh,” Bucky mumbled, processing the information you'd given him.

Your sexual history didn't bother him, it was your present that did. Suddenly Bucky didn't want to look at you. Knowing you'd be spending your time with another man looking the way you did. He hated the thought. He wanted you to dress up for him that way, he wanted to be the one who ripped that pretty little dress off your body, he wanted to be the one who got to kiss you, to touch you, to claim every single part of you. But instead he got to watch another man sweep you off your feet.

“Well I better finish getting ready.”

You gasped as Bucky stood up suddenly.

“You're unbelievable,” he muttered, a darkness descending across his handsome features.

“What's that supposed to mean?” you asked, angrily.

“Nothing. Go have fun on your date.” Bucky stormed out without a backward glance.

He left you in the living room feeling lost and alone. Tears sprung into your eyes and your enthusiasm for your night out fizzled out completely. You couldn't understand his behavior, the sergeant had always treated you so well. Had you done something to upset him?

The sadness you felt was suddenly overcome with anger. Whatever it was that had upset him, you didn't deserve the attitude he was displaying towards you. In fact, you were going to tell him just that. But first, you picked your phone to make a call.

“Hey Sidney? … Yeah about that. I'm sorry Sidney. I know you went to a lot of trouble organizing tonight. I was really looking forward to it. But something’s come up here. I can't get out of it.”

You sighed, hanging up the phone. Sidney had been understanding, waving off your apology with such grace. On paper, he was the perfect partner for you, he was handsome, he shared so many of your interests and he accepted you for who you were. But you didn't feel butterflies when you thought of him, your face didn't light up when you spoke about him, he didn't fill you with warmth the way Bucky did.

Outrage still bubbled under the surface as you put your phone back on the dressing table in your room, so you decided to address the person who had caused the issue. You marched down the corridor, your stiletto heels clacking angrily as you made your way to Bucky’s room. As you pounded on the door, it flew open just in time for you to fling your hands up protectively as an object hit the wall beside your head.

Bucky’s eyes went wide as he saw the shock on your face. He had been pacing up and down his room and caught sight of a photo of the two of you smiling at each other. He couldn’t bear to see it anymore, to look at you when you didn’t look back at him that way. He had grabbed the photograph, letting it fly away from him in an attempt to extinguish the anguish he felt.

“Wow, do you hate me that much?” you asked. Your anger evaporated as quickly as it had arrived.

Bucky stood, speechless, as you bent down and picked up the smashed photo frame.

“Be careful,” Bucky warned you, as your shoe crushed a piece of broken glass.

“I know how to take care of myself.”

“And going out with some random man who knows nothing about you is what? … safe?”

“Why do you even care, Bucky?”

“You're my friend, you think I want you to get hurt?”

“What makes you think that I need that from you? I mean, if this is what you think of our friendship.” You held up the broken picture frame as a reference to your comment. A single tear slipped down your cheek.

Bucky had the decency to look ashamed of himself, at least that is how you interpreted the look on his face. What you didn't see was the guilt that bubbled under the surface, the devastation at the thought of losing you to someone else.

“He isn't good enough for you.”

You scoffed. “You don't even know him.”

“I don't need to.”

He approached you slowly and stopped right in front of you. If you hadn't spent months getting to know him, you'd be afraid of him, the way his vibranium fist clenched and unclenched repeatedly. But you knew it was a nervous tic of his, not a threatening one.

Bucky bent down and started picking up the shards of glass, then with a low voice, he mumbled something.

“You deserve to be with someone who knows how special you are.”

Had you heard him correctly?

You crouched down to help him with the cleaning.

“Leave that, I'll do it.”

“Bucky…” You picked up a small piece of glass between your fingers. “What do you mean?”

“You'll hurt yourself.” He took the glass from you.

You wrapped your hand around his wrist. “Bucky,” you whispered.

But Bucky couldn't look at you, that voice inside his brain that blamed himself for the actions of the Winter Soldier was the same one that often told him that he wasn't good enough for you. How could anyone as bright as you care for someone who held such darkness inside of him? He stood up, hiding his expression from you.

You sighed, reaching down to pick up one last piece. But you were hurt and careless and the sharp edge sliced your finger, drawing blood, making you hiss with pain.

“I told you to leave it alone!” He grabbed your wrist this time, trying to examine your wound. “This is exactly why I told you not to touch it. It won't hurt me.”

“I don't understand why you're upset.”

“This isn't deep.” He let go of your arm, walking away from you.

“What do you want from me, Bucky?”

“I don't want you to date him.”

You were surprised but you didn’t let it show on your face. “Okay.”

“Okay? Just like that?” Bucky frowned in confusion.

“Yeah.”

“No explanation needed?”

“I want you to be happy. And if this upsets you, I won't date Sidney.” You sighed, you hated that he had this power over you, that you were willing to give up a chance for your own happiness because Bucky said so. But you knew you would do anything for him, even if you ended up being single for the rest of your life. And it was all very overrated anyway, happy relationships, you didn’t know anyone who didn’t have problems with the people they had attached themselves to. Who needed a family, it was all nothing but trouble, you said to yourself.

“I don't want to lose you,” Bucky muttered.

“Bucky, you'll never lose me.” It felt like you were telling him you loved him without using the actual words. Rising up onto your toes, you pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. “I care about you, Bucky.”

Bucky brought his hand to your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb, wiping away the streak of fluid your tears had left. He leaned in towards you until you could feel his breath against your lips. You opened and closed your mouth, feeling like a goldfish because no sound would come out. The way Bucky was looking into your eyes had rendered you speechless. It almost felt like the love you felt for him was being reflected back at you. You wanted to kiss him but you couldn’t move. His nose brushed lightly against yours and then his lips were pressed against yours. It started out gentle, his mouth against yours, lips moving in tandem, until his tongue sought out yours. The taste of you seemed to ignite a deeper desire inside him because suddenly his arms were wrapped around you, pulling you closer, closer than you’d ever been to him, enveloped in his embrace as his hands roamed over your back, fingers pushing into you through the fabric of your little black dress.

You wrapped your arms tightly around Bucky's neck and as he straightened his back, you were lifted off the floor. The only way for you to support yourself was to wrap your legs around his waist, and Bucky's hands on your ass gave you the encouragement you needed to take this next step. Soon your core was rubbing against his crotch and Bucky stumbled across to the bed, laying you down with surprising tenderness. He knelt down between your splayed legs and smiled at you with an adoring gaze.

“I've wanted this for so long,” he whispered, as though a loud noise might wake him for this dream.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn't you?”

You laughed to yourself, both of you had been so afraid of losing the other that you'd missed out on the happiness you'd sought from each other.

“Do we have to talk about this right now? I want to go back to the kissing,” you pouted.

This earned you one of those rare joyous laughs from him, ones that he often saved for you. You treasured each and every one of these, they were so rare and precious. Bucky captured your protruding lower lip between his teeth, giving it a playful tug before going back to the heated lip lock you'd been engaged in earlier.

Only when he was grinding his hips into yours and moaning that a horrifying thought entered your mind.

“Bucky,” you called his name quietly.

“Mmm?” he hummed, not taking his lips off the spot on your neck that he was sucking enthusiastically.

“Buck… stop.”

There was a pop as the seal of his lips on your neck broke. “Are you okay?”

“I can't…”

“I'm sorry,” Bucky backed away, like he'd been burned.

“Buck, wait,” you reached for his hand. “I mean, I need to talk to Sidney.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Of course, you have a date.”

“Bucky, I need to break it off with him before we… I don't want to be that person. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, sitting down beside you as you pulled the straps of your dress back over your shoulder.

“Can you give me some time to go talk to him?”

Bucky nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak lest his voice betrayed his disappointment. But you knew him well enough to read his face.

“Hey, I'll be back. I promise.” You held out your pinky for him to take.

He smiled and linked his little finger with yours. One of the things he admired most about you was your integrity. You stood up, leaning back for one more quick kiss before you walked away, only letting go of his hand once you both couldn't extend your arms any further. You stole one last look at him before closing the door.

On your way back to your room, you called Sidney, asking him to meet you, before you changed out of your dress and into more comfortable clothes. A heavy guilt settled on your chest, you knew you'd be hurting him but you knew you couldn't offer him your whole heart, not when you knew Bucky was at home waiting for you. The next hour was a difficult one for you, you did your best to be gentle and considerate of Sidney’s feelings as you let him down.

“Look Sidney, I’m really sorry about this, I didn’t mean to string you along.”

“But you’re in love with someone else.” Sidney looked at you with a sad smile.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “How do- what makes you say that?”

“It’s the way you talk about Sergeant Barnes,” he said knowingly.

“I’m sorry.” You turned your head to hide the tears threatening to escape.

“He’s a lucky man.” Sidney leant down and gave you a peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you around.”

You sighed as you made your way back home, still feeling a little deflated about what you’d just done. But a promise was a promise and you didn’t want to keep Bucky waiting. It was the thought of Bucky that stopped you dragging your feet but you made a pitstop in your room to freshen up your makeup.

Before you knew it, you were back outside Bucky’s door and you were pretty certain your heart skipped a beat as you knocked nervously. What if he had changed his mind?

There clearly wasn’t cause for concern because Bucky opened the door so fast, you wondered if he had just been standing on the other side waiting for you. He wrapped his arm around your waist and scooped you into his chest, shutting the door with the edge of his foot.

Bucky kissed you as though he hadn’t seen you in years and you melted into him with a sigh.

“You were gone too long,” he pouted. “I missed you.”

“You okay?” he asked, a tinge of concern in his voice as he ran his thumb along your jaw. “I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

He was right, it hadn’t been easy for you to break off your relationship with Sidney. You never enjoyed hurting other people. You made time for people’s problems, even when you were exhausted, always ready to lend that extra helping hand. Your generosity of spirit was another reason that Bucky admired you. It made you smile, the way he understood your feelings without you having to explain them to him.

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

Being with Bucky seemed to make your problems disappear and your feelings for him surged to the surface.

“Are you sure?” he asked, nuzzling your ear and peppering the side of your neck with tiny kisses.

“Yeah, glad to be here with you,” you hummed, enjoying the way his skin felt against yours.

“You sure you haven't got any more men stashed away that I need to know about?” he mumbled.

You pulled away slightly, just to look him directly in the eye so he knew the sincerity of your next words. “No secret stash. Only you.”

“Just me?” Bucky put his hands on cheeks, putting his fingers under your jaw to tilt your face up to look at him.

“I'm all yours, Bucky.”

You leaned up, puckering your lips for a kiss and he obliged. Locked at the mouth, he led you backwards until your heels hit the edge of the bed.

“Tell me again,” he growled, pushing his chest against you til you were falling backwards onto the mattress.

Only your fall wasn't uncontrolled, Bucky's strong hands had settled on you back and he guided your descent. You grabbed the front of his Henley in your hands and pulled him down on top of you.

“Yours,” you claimed his lips hungrily.

“That's right, mine,” his voice rasped, making you tingle with anticipation.

He pushed his hips against yours, grinning proudly as you moaned in approval.

“You like that, huh?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you heard his belt unbuckling, hearing a clang as it fell onto the floor. He pushed his hand under the seam of your leggings and slid it between your legs. A wanton moan left your mouth as you felt his fingers rubbing on your clothed core.

"Look at you, Doll. You're so fucking wet...and I haven't even touched you yet." Bucky’s voice was low and rumbled through you like thunder.

He wiggled his fingers under your panties and between your folds, smirking into your neck and a gasp escaped your lips. Before you knew it, your eyes were rolling back as his fingers stroked your pussy.

“Bucky,” you whined as his fingers delved deeper.

It barely registered as his vibranium fingers pulled down your leggings and joined its flesh twin on your clit. Your breathing quickened to match the pace that he was pushing his fingers into you. Every push had you uttering a quiet sigh as he caressed your walls.

“So wet,” he hummed. “I’m the only one who can touch you like this. The only one who can make you feel like this, right?”

“Only you, Bucky.”

Before you could enjoy Bucky’s fingers more, they left your body. You whimpered at the loss. His hands went to the fabric around your waist, tugging it down until it was off completely and he used his hands to open your legs further. You tried not to gawk at him as he removed his clothes, layer by layer. It wasn’t as though you hadn’t seen Bucky shirtless before, but watching him strip between your spread legs was making you melt. He knelt down at your core, hands ripping apart your bra before kneading your breasts and rolling your nipples in between his fingers. You moaned out when Bucky pinched your nipples harshly.

“Nothing but you,” you repeated, biting your lip with anticipation.

“Doll, I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll completely forget who Sidney ever was. I’ll give you my love until you’re satisfied. You’ll think of nothing but me.”

“Good. Now let’s make sure that you will never be able to look at that man again without thinking of this moment," Bucky groaned as he began to nibble on your neck.

His lips sucked and nibbled at your skin, marking his territory. He tugged his underwear down his thighs, using his other hand to line his cock up with your entrance. Slowly and sensually, he rubbed his tip against you, getting lost in his own pleasure for a moment, forgetting to remind you who you belonged to. Loud moans escaped your mouth as he slammed into you with hardly any warning.

"Fuck, you're so tight, Doll,” Bucky groaned into your ear. “Feel so good.”

Bucky lifted your legs up onto his chest so your calves rested on his shoulders. He pulled your hips into his and started pushing into you repeatedly, almost mercilessly.

“Sidney only wishes that he could fuck you like this,” he leaned over so his face was up close to yours. “But no one will ever fill you up like I can. No one can make you feel good the way I can. You’re mine, Doll, only for me to have.”

“Buc-” you breathed, barely able to speak.

“What are you?”

“Yours Sergeant, I’m all yours. Promise. Yours. Only yours!” you repeated over and over.

Desperate for your release, you reached down to your clit.

“Don’t even think about it,” Bucky growled. “You come on my cock screaming my name or you don’t come at all.”

Bucky leaned forwards til his face was inches from yours, bending your legs right up to your chest.

"You feel that, Doll? You feel how I fill you up?" Bucky demanded.

You nodded, unable to speak at first. Eventually you gasped out the words, "I feel you, Bucky.”

"And could he ever make you feel as good as I make you feel?" Bucky asked before going back to fucking you hard and fast.

"No Bucky, never,” you moaned.

You could feel your orgasm approaching far more rapidly than normal and Bucky had gone back to marking his territory with his lips on your skin. It almost burned where he was sucking against your clavicle.

“Bu- Buck-”

“Yeah?” He slowed to respond to your attempts at his name.

His lips were only inches away from yours. All you wanted was to meet them, but instead, Bucky bit your lip harshly, making you throw back your head in pleasure as he kept sucking on you.

"That's what I want to hear," Bucky cooed as he finally kissed you.

He buried his face into your breasts as his thrusts became more frantic. His hands snaked around your waist, a surprisingly soft action for all the roughness he’d displayed up until this point. The moans he released into your ear alone would make you come. The feeling of his balls slapping against your ass, cock diving deep inside of you, sent you spiraling.

“Bucky!” You muttered his name, unable to focus on anything but the way his cock and hands worked your body, filling you to the brim. Pleasure completely overwhelming your mind and body.

“That’s right, Doll. You were made for me.”

“Please, Bucky, I want to come!” There was nothing that could stop the cry that leaves your lips, you needed it so badly, you wanted him so badly.

“Do it already,” Bucky goaded. “Come for me. Come because I want you to.”

“Yes Bucky, yes!” You as his words finally pushed you over the edge, his name leaving your lips as you finally reached your peak.

The only thing you could think of was his cock thrusting inside you. Your pussy clenched and tightened around his cock making him release with a grunt and a moan as he coated you in his seed. He stayed inside you, catching his breath, playing with your hair, looking into your eyes with such complete adoration that it almost took your breath away. At least until he pulled out of you slowly, making his cum spill out of you and drip across your abdomen.

“You did such a good job, Doll,” Bucky whispered to you as he softly kissed your forehead. “My pretty girl. You rest now, let me clean you up.”

You pushed yourself up the bed, trying to avoid spilling his seed all over the clean bed sheets. Bucky reappeared quickly with a washcloth and started wiping himself off your skin, parting your legs gently and cleaning over your folds.

“Bucky, I-” you reached out to stop him, suddenly feeling incredibly self conscious about this new level of intimacy. “You don't have to.”

Bucky sat down beside you, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Let me take care of you,” he murmured, voice filled with tenderness.

He finished up and lay down beside you, giving you one of his looser fitting t-shirts which you slipped over your head gratefully. You tucked yourself into his side and rested your head on his shoulder, sighing as his fingers fluttered over your thighs and over the curve of your ass.

“Was that okay?” he whispered into your hair, his warm breath blowing against the bare skin on your neck.

“It was amazi-.” You started answering but your voice was interrupted by a loud growl from your stomach.

“Still hungry, huh?”

You blushed, hiding your face in his warm sturdy chest.

“Want to grab some dinner. Can't have my best girl starving.”

A warmth spread through you at his words. “Maybe in a bit? I don't want to move yet. Is that okay?” You looked up at him.

He smiled down at you, placing a small kiss at the tip of your nose. “Perfect.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fan fiction

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honeyxbunny99 · 6 months ago

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Sandor Clegane~ The Bitch and The Hound pt.10

Sandor raced through the city, determined to find his princess. His surroundings were in stark contrast now to the world of death and men on fire he’d only just left behind; silent except for his own boots on the slick pavement. All the important women would be shut up inside a cellar in the castle— that’s where she should be— but he knew she had been left behind with the hungry dogs. At last he came to the kennels and looked in her window first. He looked in every window and called her name but could not find her. That kennel master! The one who got her eye. He rattled the gate in frustration and tried to focus among the barks and snarling. If the kennel master wasn’t there, he must have been waiting somewhere in the city to watch for a breech in the wall; a signal to release the hounds. If (Y/n) wasn’t here then he seemed a useless character. Maybe she was dead. No, no no! Little finger! Sandor recalled a passing insult from Joffrey after his small counsel meeting.

~He had walked out of the room with a smug smile and looked up at him.

“Your bitch is about to finally put herself to good use, what do you think of that?” Sandor had said nothing at the time, only wearing his usual neutral expression. “Littlefinger has presented me with an idea that I think will work out well for everyone… Maybe you can even fuck her again, if you don’t spend all your earnings on drink.”

When Joffrey finally turned his head to walk away, Sandor sneered and thought of crushing it with his bare hands. He continued on with his duties that day and the next, checking on (Y/n) when she was asleep to ensure she had not left. Perhaps it would have been better for her to become a whore, but he despised the thought and felt a strange gratitude to her that she had chosen the hounds over the whorehouse. Then Anna had dragged him there urgently, though as soon as he knew it was something wrong with (Y/n) he had truthfully charged ahead of the girl. When he heard her voice that day, he heaved a sigh of relief. After the state he’d left her in that night though, he figured she must have gone with Littlefinger. The bastard had finally gotten what he wanted.

A gentleman might have settled on the decision that (Y/n) had made her choice, and was at least safe, but no one ever accused Sandor Clegane of being a gentleman. He marched forward in the rain toward the brothel that must have housed her.

After scarfing down all your food and drink, you looked closer into your colorful new room. There were dresses in the ornate wardrobe— all more revealing than anything you’d worn prior— lots of bottled fragrances to choose from, and makeup that would suit your complexion. If you looked at the shiny objects hard enough, perhaps you could actually believe this life was what was best for you. A room without windows, another locked door. A much prettier cage than before, you considered, throwing yourself back on the plush comforter, but a cage nonetheless.

Your eyes closed and you realized just how tired you actually were. Bringing your knees to your chest, you held yourself like a child and drifted off to sleep easily. Peace did not last long for you unfortunately. You awoke to the sound of swords clashing and women screaming. They got in! They’ve breached the wall! You leapt up out of bed and raced to the farthest corner of the room. The door was locked but how much would conquerors care about that? A locked door is so much more tantalizing than the many open ones they’d find leading up to yours.

“Where is he?!” You could barely make out a man’s voice through the door.

More women screamed and wept and you hyperventilated, looking for something to protect yourself, or end yourself, with. The sound of boots and slamming against walls grew louder and you finally picked up the small chair at the vanity and threw it at the mirror, shattering it.

“Unlock it!” Just as you feared. All the beautiful women out there but the beast only wanted what he could not have. You picked up a large shard of glass and cornered yourself again. You watched your hand shake as you held the makeshift weapon out in front of you. As you heard keys fumble into the lock you whimpered and turned the sharpest edge of the glass against your throat.

“Leave me alone!”

“It’s alright, (Y/n)..” You recognized Littlefinger’s voice, but it did nothing to quell your fear. He’s going to let them in!

“You said you would protect me!!” You cried desperately, yelling in surprise when the door burst open, the razor point in your hands digging into the soft flesh of your neck and drawing blood.

“Aye, and I will.”

Sandor Clegane pushed the smaller man into the room and kicked the door shut behind him. His blade was already extended and drenched in blood. Petyr fell to the floor and turned slowly onto his back to look up at The Hound.

“Now, Clegane, let’s not be hasty… It was (Y/n)’s decision to come here, I only welcomed her with open arms.”

“Did he touch you?!” You knew the question was for you though his angry eyes never left the coward on the floor.

For a moment you were too stunned to speak, too stunned to move, too stunned to breathe. Suddenly his eyes found yours for a second and it released you from your stillness. You felt the pain at your neck and lowered the mirror shard, realizing you had clenched it so hard in fear that it had made 2 slices across your palm. “No,” you tried to answer honestly in spite of your breathlessness. “No he didn’t do anythi—“

“Anything aside from rescuing a damsel at her most distressed, I assure you.” Sandor’s boot came down hard on Baelish’s chest, sending the man gasping for air. “It was you that put her there! You with your incessant talking—your trading secrets! It’s as if you put her there by your own hand and you expect us to be grateful?! I ought to cut off your hands!.. I think I will!!”

You had watched his eyes grow wilder the more he spoke and you could hardly recognize his handsome features caked in layers of blood. Really you weren’t sure why you did it, your only thought was to stop the violence and get him out of there. “Wait!” You charged forward, but Sandor had already brought his sword down and severed the hand of Petyr Baelish. You screamed and Petyr could only stare as the blood poured out of his wrist. You covered your mouth in shock but Sandor quickly grabbed your arm and pulled you over the body.

“We’re leaving!”

A guard emerged from one of the rooms in the hall and cut the arm that Sandor was dragging you with. He turned and fought and eventually stuck the man to the wall with his sword. You had the opportunity then to run or hide but you didn’t. You waited for him to look at you and take your hand again and when he finally did, you followed. The whores cowered in their rooms, holding each other as they watched the pair of you run out of the brothel. You understood why they were terrified of him. Any sensible woman would be. As he guided you over the bodies he’d left in his wake, you did not feel terror. You felt almost a sick sense of honor. All this brutality to get to me. My protector.

As you stepped out into the night air you were surprised to find it raining. It was like a jolt to your senses and you finally squirmed your way out of The Hound’s grasp. He looked back at you, waiting for some explanation or fight. “Where are we going? Has the war ended?”

“The war’s over alright; we lost. We’re going somewhere that isn’t burning…” He reached for your hand again but you yanked it back.

“Anna. Where’s Anna?” “How the fuck should I know?” “So you expect to leave her behind to be raped and tortured by the Baratheons?! They burn people alive, Sandor!”

“She’s not important enough to be burnt alive-“ you walked up and slapped him.

“I’m not leaving without her!” “Well I’m not leaving without you!”

With that assurance you started on your way toward the servant’s chambers in the Red Keep. Sandor grumbled but followed behind, watching your back. The city was still surprisingly quiet; no soldiers invading or patrolling— only the sound of heavy rain and dogs howling. Maybe she’s at the kennels to check on me! You decided to make a sharp turn in that direction and when you could finally see it, Sandor grabbed you from behind.

“(Y/n), we can’t be here! They’re going to come when all my men are dead and I can’t fight them all! We have to go now!” You looked up at him, heard the desperation in his voice, and nodded the smallest bit, tears springing to your eyes. “I’m going to the stables, just stay right here alright?” He moved your body so that you were crouched behind a vendor stand and then ran off.

With only your own company now, the screams were much louder. Littlefinger was right— from this spot you’d have the perfect position to hear the agony of war. You peeked your head up when the dogs started barking again, and your heart sank when you saw Charlie sneaking around the kennels. He grabbed the iron key ring from his pocket and you heard him shush the dogs in vain. “(Y/n)?” He called into the kennel, watching for the kennel master all around him.

“Charlie!” You called out, standing up a bit and waving so he could find you.

His eyes opened wide and a smile graced his boyish features when he saw you. He reached into his other pocket and pulled out an apple, holding it up proudly in the light from inside the kennel. You giggled and emerged from the stand finally, beginning your walk over to him as you heard the clip-clop of horse hooves from the direction Sandor ran off in. You were overjoyed to see him! Maybe he could go with you, or tell you where to find Anna.

“Did you really think we’d leave you behind?! Nah, we still love you!” He joked, tossing you the apple. You caught it and smirked at his cheeriness in spite of the literal war around him. “We’ve got to hurry though, Anna’s already—“

“Behind you!”

You warned in horror as the Kennel master ran out of the shadows and immediately clubbed Charlie on the back of the head with his baton.

“No!” You cried out, horrified.

Charlie instantly dropped to the ground and you raised your hands in defense. The crazed man struck again, flinging both your arms into the bars of the main gate. You screamed in pain and crumpled to the floor. You were powerless as you watched the older man strike two more blows to Charlie’s head and face. “Think you can steal from me, boy?!”

You heard Sandor run up behind you and kill the horrid man, but you could not take your eyes off of Charlie’s broken face.

“Oh my Gods, Oh Gods Charlie I’m so sorry! Please! Please! You’re alright!”

You couldn’t feel the pain in your arms any longer as you crawled to cradle him in your lap. His eyes were wild and filled with blood and his whole body spasmed in your arms. “Look at me, please! You have to look at me! You have to be alright!” You sobbed, lying to yourself that if he could only find your eyes, he would heal. He had to heal! He had to grow up and tell jokes and fall in love and run away with you and Anna!

“Charlie??” Your lip quivered and your face scrunched in horror as you adjusted his head to sit better on your leg and brushed his dark curls out of his eyes. “Please, I’m so sorry!”

His eyes finally drifted to yours and you tried to breathe and smile for him. “See, you’re going to be okay!” The seizure began to slow, his muscles relaxing, and you held him tighter in your arms, laughing exasperatedly in relief. He breathed out the first letter of your name and you nodded. Then he went still. Horribly still.

Your eyes scanned over his entire face and you shook his shoulders gently. “Hey…” you whispered. “Hey..” a little louder this time as the tears filled your eyes again and the buzzing in your ears returned. “Charlie wake up.. w-wake up…” you whimpered, looking down at his lifeless body.

You looked up at Sandor, who was stood over the dead kennel master. He looked back at you with an indiscernible expression.

“Help him.. Y-You have to, have to help him!” You sobbed. “I can’t.” He said after a moment of silence.

“Fuck!” You cursed, head dropping onto the boy’s chest as you rocked him back and forth.

~“What about when I’m older? You can be my second… my last maybe.”

“Sure Charlie… When you’re a man I’ll kiss you.”

“You said I’d stay a little boy forever!” “Well when you’re older and I’ve decided you’re not monstrous, how about then?” “S’a deal!” ~

You wailed at the memory and pulled the boy even closer to you. You begged the Gods for mercy, though they never seemed to hear your prayers. He did not deserve this, and you could not stand living with the knowledge that it was your fault.

“Fuck are you doing here?”

You heard Sandor’s voice above you and recognized a horrified gasp that could have only belonged to Anna. Still, you couldn’t look. You brought your head up to look over Charlie again. Freckles and brown eyes, cloaked in blood.

Never again would you see his cheeky smile.

Never would he grow up to be a man, or live a life out of the servitude he loathed so much.

~”There are people who care about you, (Y/n); me, Anna, your family, and yes even the hound! If you stay here you’ll die!”~

He only ever wanted the best for you. He was going to set you free, knowing the risk.

~“I think you’re great, (Y/n)…”~

Your fingers brushed through his tangled curls for the last time and you sniffled.

You’re not monstrous, Charlie…

You stroked his cheek with your thumb and leaned down to plant a kiss on his cold lips. “I love you too, Charlie.” You confessed when you pulled away. You adjusted slowly to give him as much peace as possible and felt Anna’s hand guide you to stand straight. You laid eyes on Charlie’s killer and the buzzing turned to ringing once again. You were deaf to anything Anna or Sandor might have said. Instead, you picked up the baton from the ground where the master had dropped it and stepped over his body. Sandor had stabbed him through the gut long ago, and you were sure the death had been painful. You hovered for a moment before releasing all your rage. It’s not enough. You swung the baton back again and again, hammering it into his face. Every crunch of bone was a small relief and you screamed, falling to your knees and hitting him until your arms felt like gelatin.

“He’s dead, princess..”

You opened your eyes and saw what once was a face was now a pile of red and gray mush. You dropped the baton and walked away on weak legs, not daring to look down at Charlie again. Instead you saw Anna ride up on a black horse and stall next to the one Sandor had brought. You didn’t have to think or speak or move anymore; Sandor lifted you up and laid you on the horse. You were grateful because you weren’t sure how alive and capable you were right now. You were watching the scene from a bird’s eye view, and you could return to your body even if you wanted to.

As Sandor mounted the horse behind you and adjusted your body, you replayed the events of that night. You had never seen such atrocity. Never committed such violence. Yet behind you was Sandor and Anna. Ahead of you was the sun rising in the distance. You rode to an uncertain future, and prayed the pain would remain in King’s Landing.

A/N: a small chapter, but I wanted to get something out before I didn’t have time. I’m moving house this weekend, but I will try to make time to continue the story sooner rather than later. At least they’re together again, right?.. Right?

#game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #rory mccann #sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #the hound x reader #sandor clegane smut #the hound smut

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mywitchyblog · 8 months ago

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"Introduction to Shiftcraft: Merging Witchcraft and Reality Shifting"

So, I’ve come up with this concept called Shiftcraft—it’s basically a mix of traditional witchcraft and reality shifting. You know how witchcraft is all about using energy, spells, and rituals to influence things? And then there's reality shifting, where people believe they can literally transfer their consciousness to other realities? Well, Shiftcraft blends the two to make the whole experience of shifting to different realities more powerful and effective.

What Exactly is Shiftcraft?

At its core, Shiftcraft takes the best parts of witchcraft and reality shifting and combines them. In witchcraft, you're working with energy—whether it’s personal, natural, or cosmic—using rituals, spells, herbs, crystals, and all that. Reality shifting is newer and focuses on moving your awareness from our reality to another, like your "desired reality" (DR), through specific techniques like meditation or visualization.

By bringing these two practices together, Shiftcraft creates a way to make shifting easier and more meaningful. You’re not just using your mind, you’re adding in the energy work, tools, and rituals from witchcraft to boost the whole process.

The Two Main Elements

Witchcraft is all about controlling energy and intention. It’s deeply connected to nature, and people use rituals, spells, candles, herbs, and crystals to make things happen in both the physical and spiritual world. Some key practices from witchcraft that tie into Shiftcraft include:

Spell casting for focus and intent

Rituals to connect with natural forces or celestial events

Herbalism & crystal work to enhance energy manipulation

Sigils and candle magic to anchor your intentions

On the other hand, Reality Shifting is all about moving your consciousness into another reality, often a specific one you desire (like a perfect version of your life, a dream world, or even fictional universes). People use techniques like:

The Raven Method, where you meditate and count backward to slip into a new reality

Visualization and scripting, where you imagine your DR or write out detailed descriptions of it to make it more "real"

The Pillow Method, where you set intentions while you sleep

How Shiftcraft Brings it All Together

Shiftcraft is about using the magical elements of witchcraft to supercharge reality shifting. Here’s how:

Focused Intention and Energy: In both witchcraft and shifting, your intention is everything. With Shiftcraft, you enhance that focus by using spells, symbols, or crystals to sharpen your visualization and intent when trying to shift realities.

Energy Work: Witchcraft teaches you how to work with energy—whether it’s from nature, yourself, or even the moon. You use this energy in Shiftcraft to align yourself more easily with the reality you're trying to shift into, making the transition smoother.

Symbols and Rituals: Witchcraft uses symbols and objects as anchors for intentions. In Shiftcraft, you can use things like sigils or crystals that represent your DR to strengthen the connection. You might even do specific rituals, like lighting a candle or meditating on a symbol, to focus your energy before trying to shift.

Routine and Practice: Both practices need consistency. So, in Shiftcraft, you build a routine—maybe every night, you light candles, meditate, and practice a shifting technique. Over time, this structure helps strengthen your ability to move between realities.

Empowerment Through Belief: Witchcraft is big on believing in your personal power. In Shiftcraft, this belief is super important. You need to believe that you can actually shift and that you have the ability to explore these other realities. Confidence makes a huge difference in both magic and shifting.

How You Can Use Shiftcraft in Practice

If you’re into reality shifting but want to take it further, Shiftcraft offers some cool ways to integrate magical practices into your shifting:

Spells for Shifting: You could create spells that specifically help with shifting, like spells for mental clarity, better visualization, or opening a portal to your desired reality.

Altar for Shifting: Set up a small altar dedicated to shifting. You could place crystals, candles, or objects that represent your DR. This acts as a physical space to anchor your intentions and focus your energy.

Sigils: Create a sigil (a magical symbol) that represents your desired reality. Draw it out, meditate on it, or even place it under your pillow to keep it active in your subconscious while you try to shift.

Moon Phase Work: If you want to time your shifting with nature’s rhythms, you could sync your practices with the moon phases. For example, the full moon might give extra energy for manifestation, while the new moon could be good for setting fresh intentions.

Herbs and Crystals: Some herbs (like mugwort for dreamwork) or crystals (like amethyst for psychic protection) can help with altered states of consciousness or spiritual journeys. You could make teas, burn incense, or set up crystal grids to enhance your shifting attempts.

Why Shiftcraft?

The idea behind Shiftcraft is that it gives you more control and power over the reality-shifting process. Rather than just hoping to shift, you’re combining magic and energy work with shifting techniques to increase your chances of success. You’re drawing on centuries of witchcraft practice to make something more modern—reality shifting—even more effective.

And of course, Shiftcraft encourages doing this ethically and with self-care in mind. It’s important to approach it with respect for the energies involved, and also take care of your mental and emotional well-being.

In the end, Shiftcraft is all about empowering you to explore the boundaries of reality and consciousness, using a blend of the old and the new. It’s a tool for those who want to dig deeper into their shifting practice and make it even more powerful.

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avocado-writing · 1 year ago

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Recently started play BG3, only on act 2 right now lol. I found your blog because this shit is my current hyper fixation and I love your writing. I was wondering if you could write how the BG3 cast would react to Tav haveing hanahaki disease.

Love you're writing!

Astarion

Oh, when he notices, he feels an odd lurch in his chest.

You’re in love with someone? Who? It had better be him, he’s put effort into seducing you.

When he works out that he’s the object of your desire he’s over the moon! And then… ah. But it is a disease after all.

A lot of intense emotions flow through him. Of course he loves you, he’d be a fool not to. But can he admit that to you? Open his heart enough to let you in?

He sees you hacking up blood red roses and thinks, gods, if a few simple words are all this will take to solve it, why wouldn’t he?

He sits down next to you as you wipe your mouth, all awkward angles and longing gazes. Not his usual suave self at all. You go to ask him what’s wrong, and he blurts out that he loves you like he’s under duress.

You blink, amazed if slightly mortified by his tone, but then your lips curl into a smile. When you kiss him your mouth tastes of rosewater. Never does another petal pass your lips, and never does Astarion regret his confession.

Gale

When he sees you bringing up Sussur petals, he panics. It’s affecting your magic after all. Slowing your spells and causing lethargy in your casting.

He throws himself into research. Night and day he’s in his books looking for a cure. He rarely sleeps any more. Not until he comes up with a solution for you.

You’re getting worse and he’s being driven mad by it. If he could find out who you love he could help, but he simply has no idea…

Silly wizard has no idea the solution is right under his nose. Always has been. Because of course he loves you too, wants nothing more than to hold you and have you as his.

It takes the rest of the camp pointing it out to him before he realises, and doesn’t know how he could be so dense�� but he knows he’s the luckiest man in the world if you love him.

He confesses in the middle of your coughing fit. The petals stop immediately. He would seal the look of adoration you give him into his heart forever.

No more Sussur. No more problems. Just joy.

Wyll

He’s seen this a dozen times in his youth. Time and time again people have perished from their courtly love in a flurry of flowers.

When he sees it happening with you? Oh, he knows immediately what is happening.

Doesn’t believe you’d be in love with him… but then he sees the loving looks you give him, the softness in your eyes. It clicks into place rather quickly.

And when he realises, you best bet he’s making a move to cure you.

An immediate embrace. A kiss where he tastes the petals on your lips. Your eyes are wide, but your throat is clear.

“I love you,” he states, no hesitations, just facts. There will be time for great romance later, but right now he just needs to make sure you’re safe.

When he’s certain your condition is cleared, no more coughing, he embraces you long and lovingly. Tells you what you mean to him. And when you plan your wedding… there will be no flowers.

Karlach

Panics when she finds you coughing petals. She might have been in Avernus for the past decade, but she knows hanahaki when she sees it.

Corners you one night and begs you to tell her who you’ve fallen for. She’ll help you confess!! After all, how could anyone not feel the same about you? Anything is better than this, this purgatory of petals where love is being kept secret.

Your smile is wobbly when you tell her there might be a time span on this person’s love. She thinks, oh, Gale? Because of the orb?

It takes a moment for things to fall into place. The way you look at her. Like she hung the stars.

“Oh, fuck. It’s me isn’t it?”

You go to leave, she grabs you and holds you back. Pulls you into a kiss. Only stops to tell you that she loves you. Goes right back to kissing.

It’s then she decides not to die. To find a way to live with you, even if it means returning to hell. How could she abandon you, when you love her so much?

Lae’zel

She is so utterly confused when you start hacking up petals. Is it a disease? Some sign of weakness? It is certainly nothing that a gith has ever experienced, nor would fall foul of. They are too strong.

Lae’zel mocks you at first, like she mocks everything, but it’s in order to hide how much seeing you suffer hurts her. She is a fool to have affections for someone so weak.

… isn’t she?

One night she corners Gale (quite intimidatingly) and gets him to inform her of your condition. He tells her all about hanahaki, and she says she must find out who you are in love with and get them to return your affections.

Gale blinks. “Lae’zel… it’s you.”

Oh.

It takes her a moment to digest this. She leaves Gale abruptly (“goodbye then?”), finds you, and drags you to privacy.

“I have been told to cure your disease you need a confession of love. This is my confession.”

The petals do not stop as you cough. With a small smile, a little smug, you tell her she has to be more specific. She huffs and you laugh.

She tells you she loves you in every language she knows. It works.

Shadowheart

The most perceptive of the bunch, Shadowheart knows you are in love with her from the moment you cough up Night Orchid petals.

It’s not subtle that you’re sweet on her. But she doesn’t say anything in return - she’s a sharran, after all, and doesn’t know how you fit with her future of being a dark justiciar.

And then… she finds selûne, and it changes. All of it. Especially her view of you. She can open her heart without fear now and she wants to welcome you in it.

She takes you aside one night. Sets up dinner. A bottle of the wine you shared on that first night by the cliff. Takes your hand and tells you she loves you, as easily as if she’s commenting on the weather.

You stop coughing. The petals cease. Your face lights up. She knows she wouldn’t change this for the world.

#gale of waterdeep x reader #Gale of waterdeep x tav #Astarion x reader #astarion x tav #wyll x tav #wyll x reader #wyll ravengard x reader #my writing #Long post #bg3 imagine #Gale x reader #Gale x tav #lae'zel x reader #lae'zel x tav #karlach x reader #karlach x tav #shadowheart x reader #shadowheart x tav #companions x tav

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sourpatchys · 2 years ago

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Daryl Dixon Headcannons

Sfw❤️ nsfw❤️‍🔥

The NSFW content is targeted towards an AFAB reader (like myself) however, I’d be happy to do an AMAB version if anyone is interested!

❤️.

Daryl is always watching you. The guys favorite hobby is just being able to see you in his field of vision.

He definitely doesn’t show public displays of affection, PDA is not something he’s comfortable with, and if you were to kiss him in front of a bunch of people he might even get a little upset, simply because he doesn’t want to share that part of himself with anyone but you.

However! He doesn’t hold back when it comes to hand holding. This guy loves feeling your touch and being able to physically hold you in a way that tells him you’re safe.

Usually he just wraps his pinky around yours, if he does full on hold your hand it’s almost always accompanied by two squeezes that mean “I love you”.

That’s usually how he tells you he loves you, he’s not super emotionally available, two squeezes is all it takes. On your arm, your leg, hand, even the top of your head on a few occasions.

He did NOT ask you to be his. Absolutely not. You just kinda were one day.

Back at the prison when he and Merle had come back, Merle made a pass at you and Daryl told him to leave “his girl alone”.

You didn’t object, and that’s how it became official.

That’s not to say Daryl can’t be romantic. He definitely can be when he wants to.

He’s constantly leaving you flowers he finds that remind him of you, and sometimes he even scribbles down a note telling you why.

You always have to be comfortable. If it were up to him you’d live on a cloud.

When you two are alone he finds himself mindlessly running his fingers through your hair, it always calms him down.

And yes, he secretly loves it when you do it back.

It’s actually not secret at all.

You two will argue. He’s a gruff guy and you can be stubborn.

He has a hard time apologizing to you, he hates that he even has to. It can take days before you guys are on speaking terms again.

If you’re the one who has to apologize, you’re pretty quick with it once you can tell he’s ready for it. He’s not a super forgiving guy, but when it comes to you, he always hears you out once it’s over and done with.

Contrary to popular belief he won’t ever stop you from doing something you want to do. Even if it is dangerous.

He trusts you more than life itself. And if you think you can do it, he’s going to be your biggest supporter— but that’s not to say he won’t try to go with you.

He is a jealous guy though. He has a hard time believing he deserves you sometimes, so if someone looks at you wrong or gets too close, he’s quick to shut that shit down.

Negative thoughts are usually what causes the most issues between the two of you. He tries to run away from you a lot, and you refuse to let him.

He was never big on writing much of anything until you two got a little more serious. He had all these thoughts and feelings but he was afraid to tell you out loud, so he started writing little bits and pieces and leaving them in your stuff for you to find.

You love how scrawly his handwriting is.

It took you a good few minutes to even be able to read it the first few times, but eventually it came to you like second nature.

Sometimes you leave notes for him too, you know how private he is, so notes are the best way for you to tell him you love him.

He keeps the first note you ever wrote him on his person at all times. Seeing the words “I love you” written down in your handwriting never fails to keep him going, especially when he has to be apart from you.

Daryl Dixon is a bed hog.

Once he got comfortable sleeping with you, he started sprawling out like a starfish.

He refuses to admit it. He actually tried to convince you that you were the bed hog instead.

You learned to love it after a while.

❤️‍🔥.

Sex was not something that came naturally to Daryl. As crazy as he was before the world fell apart, he was never actually sober for any of his flings, one night stands or short term relationships.

He basically learned everything from scratch with you.

He NEVER initiated sex. Maybe he’d touch your arm or grab your thigh in a suggestive way to try and get the ball rolling, but he absolutely refused to do anything if you didn’t catch the hint.

Daryl, is in fact, a boob and thigh man. Regardless of how big or small your breast and thighs are, he can’t stop himself from staring.

When you ride him it’s like his brain turns to mush. He completely forgets how to act.

When you’d suggested it he almost dismissed you, no WAY was he going to enjoy being pinned down like that.

But oh boy did he.

Sometimes, when the two of you were alone, he felt like a teenager again. It kinda pissed him off how wrapped around your finger he actually was. He’d never felt this, undying attraction towards anyone before.

He’s not vocal during sex at all, maybe some grunts here and there— he finds the noises embarrassing.

If you’re making a lot of noise he also gets embarrassed from that.

“Shut the hell up, woman!”

Recently he’s just started putting his hand over your mouth instinctively.

You do in fact make the noises just to have a laugh, you think it’s adorable when he’s embarrassed, and you don’t get to see it very often.

He absolutely loves going down on you, the feeling of your thighs around his head and the sight of your breasts going up and down with each breath you take really gets him going.

Obviously running around during an apocalypse doesn’t exactly leave much room for deodorant and regular showers.

He’s very embarrassed about it— and will NEVER admit it out loud— but he’s really attracted to your natural scent.

So the lack of personal hygiene will never make him stop wanting you. If anything it makes him want you more.

That’s not to say seeing you cleaned up isn’t a turn on though. That first night in Alexandria when you got all cleaned and dressed up borderline has him in his knees.

He’s a gentle lover— unless you ask him not to be.

He’s aware that he’s a pretty strong guy, and he knows his limits. But if you’re into being pounded like no tomorrow— he won’t turn you down.

It might take awhile for him to get used to the idea, but seeing how absolutely crazy you get takes all his concern out of the window.

He does NOT have a daddy kink.

If you have past experiences he wants to hear about them.

Because of how jealous he is, he needs to know how you were treated before so he can make sure he doesn’t better.

His goal in life is to keep you alive— and make sure you never want another man ever again.

#daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixion x reader #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #twd daryl #twd #daryl dixon headcanon

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longing-for-the-past-times · 2 years ago

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wisdom teeth

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

word count: 1,472

synopsis: Simon comes home from a mission only to find you in bed, sick and in pain. Your wisdom teeth are coming out and he does his best to care for you

notes: as always, i suck at writing a good synopsis; inspired by this request- not proofread, hope you enjoy :) ; and yes, when two of my wisdom teeth decided to come out in the world last spring I could barely open my mouth without being in pain- I hope no one else has to go through what I did

warnings: a little too self-indulgent? fluff

masterlist

Simon knew something was wrong when he spent nearly an hour nursing his cup of Earl Grey, and you hadn't joined him yet. While it wasn't unusual for you to sleep in sometimes, it was still the morning after he'd returned from a mission and you would usually be fussing all over him. Ghost knew he was being irrational, but with each passing second his mind couldn't help but spiral into darker and darker thoughts. What if he had done something to upset you? You didn't greet him last night either - merely cuddled against his chest when he joined you in bed - was it something he said on the phone? Or rather didn't say? Didn't he call you too often? Or perhaps you might have met someone else..?

"'m sorry, S'mon. I might spend'he day'n…"

A small curse left his lips as he shook himself out of his thoughts. The tea had long gone cold by the time he eventually got up from the table and threw the remnants down the kitchen sink. His stomach was basically growling, protesting at the prolonged hunger it had been objected to, yet Ghost did not head for the fridge or the cupboards: he may have drunk his tea by himself, but, when he was home, he would never have breakfast without you by his side.

So instead, he headed for the bedroom, quietly opening the door and half-entering the room. He had to squint as the blackout curtains were still obstructing any ray of sunlight that might have entered inside otherwise, his expression morphing into a frown upon hearing the faintest of groans coming from the bed.

Traversing the room in two steps, he laid on the carpet, by your side of the bed, gently placing a hand on your forehead. His heart dropped at the foreboding feeling of you having a fever, too focused on the situation at hand to notice the soft way you began to rub your head against the cold skin of his hand.

Ghost, on the other hand, did not realise the cause of your distress. Seeing you in pain was causing him pain too and his tired mind, still set on the military mindset he had instilled during the last mission, was looking for a culprit.

"feels so good, love", you mumbled with your cheek still squished against the pillow, your eyes involuntarily making contact with his.

You've been together with Simon for more than two years and sharing an apartment for a year now, but the sight of his handsome face, unconcealed by any mask or balaclava, still left you out of breath and at a loss for words. That morning was no different, his worried expression filling your heart with even more love and joy towards him, so much that you swore you could feel it burst at the seams. You relished in the soothing sensation of his palm being pressed against your flushed skin, but at the same time, you couldn't help but smile at him in an attempt to reassure him you were fine.

In fact, you weren't. And you forgot that, at least for the last few days, any movements that involved opening your mouth, no matter how minor, were instantly accompanied by sharp waves of pain, coursing through your entire being. So, for the hundredth time that week, your smile was quickly replaced by a pathetic whimper and a hand helplessly pressed against your cheek, as if it would make the pain go away.

"Who did this to you? Just say the word and I-"

His concern was so raw and real that it made your heart melt like it was a chocolate bar left in the sun. You had missed his overprotective attitude and the scary dog privileges it brought with it and in that moment, the realisation that all of it was back hit you hard. So hard that in fact, you started laughing- your loud chuckles quickly turning into sobs of pain as your jaw was protesting against the sudden movements.

Your eyes were closed in an attempt to dull the pain that engulfed your entire face, but you could feel Simon's distress rolling off him in waves. So you blindly reached for the phone and opened the notepad application, typing in what you were unable to say out loud at once:

"Wisdom teeth are coming out."

Stopping dead in his tracks, Simon took a moment to assess the situation. A rush of relief surged through his veins as it was all clear then- the prolonged sleeping periods, the fever, why you couldn't open your mouth without being forced to close it immediately after. A selfish part of him was relieved that it was something he could physically deal with, and his protective instincts really started to kick in.

Pulling the curtains was not a solution as the brightness of the daylight would only make you feel more overwhelmed, but the room still needed some light- and the bedside lamp was not a solution as the bulb would have also been too bright. You would also need something to calm you, but not pills because they would interfere with the painkillers he also made a mental note to get and-

"I can practically hear the wheels turning in your head, love! :)"

He had to squint to process the text when you shoved the phone into his face, his lips curling up at the sight of the smiley face you typed at the end. Urging your face to morph into something that remotely resembled a smile, you extended a hand towards his face and caressed his cheek with your thumb, in what was meant to be a silent confirmation that he was on the right track and nothing that he would or wouldn't do would upset you in any way.

"I'll be back in 30 minutes at most!", he solemnly declared as he pressed his lips against your forehead, a small tendril of hope bubbling in his chest upon the feeling of the fever starting to fade away. "Why don't you try to get some rest until I come back and then we'll see what we can do!"

You could only nod in confirmation as he pulled another blanket from a drawer and draped it over the one you already used, making a show out of tugging you in.

---

When you woke up again, the pain wasn't entirely gone, but the air in the room had somehow shifted. It took you a moment to bounce back into reality, your eyes slightly widening at the faint light that illuminated the previously dark room.

Fairy lights were hanging over your head.

And the soft notes of a piano song could be heard from outside the room.

"How are you feeling, love?", Simon's deep Manchester accent resounded somewhere in your proximity, and you almost jumped out of bed when you realised he was once again sitting on the floor, half leaning against the bed. His mask was, once again, out of sight, and his blonde strands of hair were tousled, likely from the many times he kept running his hands through his hair. Your eyes involuntarily stopped on the faint scar that split the left corner of his lip in half and, for a brief moment, all the pain and distress you found yourself in were gone, your heart filling with an overwhelming amount of love and adoration towards the man standing in front of you.

"So I brought you some painkillers, but before we try them I suggest a cup of this calming tea mix I found at the store-"

The sentence was left hanging in the air as you shook your head in disbelief and cupped his face in your hands, planting a soft kiss on his lips. If Ghost was caught unawares by your sudden display of affection, he did not let it show, but instead, he laced his hands against your neck and deepened the kiss, closing his eyes at the close contact you found yourselves in. Loudly expressing his feelings was not one of his strengths, and deep down he could not believe he had managed to find someone like you, who could understand him so well.

"Welcome home, Simon!"

"I think I'm feeling better already…", you quietly mumbled once you broke the kiss, your lips gently brushing against his cheek. Closing your eyes as well, you grazed your nose against his face, finding comfort in his scent. He may have been home for a day, perhaps he took a shower too, but the distinctive smell of gunpowder, mixed with sweat and cologne, was still there. And you did not mind it at all.

That time your jaw did not hurt as bad as your mouth curved into a smile.

#cod ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #call of duty imagine #ghost fluff #amy writes #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost x you #ghost x y/n #simon riley x you

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cautiouscrab2eletricboogaloo · 4 months ago

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I might get hunted for sport but I gotta speak my truth

Phoenix loves Mia.

No, not romantic love. To say Phoenix loves Mia romantically would be doing a disservice to their friendship. He loves her like a friend, but it was a deep, unrelenting love. He would trade the whole world if it meant keeping her happy and safe. Yes, Phoenix Wright loves Mia Fey.

She saved his life, truly. In a time where his judgement was so clouded, his mind so misconstrued by a woman whom he thought cared for him, she fought for justice. She saved him and was there for him. A good friend, a good lawyer.

But Phoenix…he latches onto people who give him the time of day. He falls hard, and he falls fast. Hell, he chose a career because of what a friend did for him in grade school. Thus, Phoenix joins her law office. Every day he discovers new quirks about her; the way her bangs fall into her eye, the name she gave her plant. And every day, he loves her more and more. Like a dog to its owner, she beckons, and he follows. He loves Mia.

But, as we know, Mia dies, quite brutally might I add. How did Phoenix truly feel, stumbling upon the dead body of his boss, his best friend? Did he fall onto his knees, sobs escaping his lips as he tried, and failed, to look away from the terrible scene? Did he restrain himself from brushing her bangs out her eyes one last time? What was he thinking when he felt the last bit of warmth leave her body forever? Because, damn it, Phoenix loves Mia.

No. He loved Mia.

And was that love part of what drove him to save her surviving half- her sister? Did he see the young child sobbing, a girl who he didn’t recognize by sight or by name, and knew she was to be protected? Even before all the blackmailing, did he knew he had to save her? He had to, for Mia…for himself.

Because we know guilt had to have eaten him alive through it all. How often, I wonder, would Phoenix stay up at night, thinking about how if he had just done things differently, Mia would still be here now? So maybe out of guilt, but most definitely out of love, he saved Maya. And he kept saving her, because the girl had a knack for trouble.

And maybe along the way, he found love for Maya too, but never as hard and as strong as he had felt for her sister. Nothing could compare. Mia was this unwavering figure in his life; the unstoppable force to his immovable object if you will. Maybe, a better way to put it, he liked Maya, but he loved Mia.

And is he truly awful for coming to that realization? Maya was hurt just as hard, if not more by Mia’s death. That was her sister, after all. But I digress, Phoenix loved Mia, and he liked Maya, and he hates that Maya is too small to ever fill the hole her sister left in his heart.

Would Phoenix catch himself walking to his office in the morning, expecting her presence? Would he forget to water Charlie, thinking Mia had done so earlier in the day? How often is it that he receives good news and she’s the first person he wants to tell?

Or perhaps, on the long stretches where one of the Feys didn’t channel her spirit, would he, in the dead of night, stare at Mayas sleeping form and try to pretend it was Mia? Maybe for a moment he could fool himself into thinking that her darker hair was a trick of the light; that her too short stature was just him remembering her wrong?

Because, by god, Phoenix loved Mia Fey, and perhaps he always will. But Mia is gone, no matter what spirit medium channels her that day.

#phoenix wright #mia fey #maya fey #ace attorney #character study #phoenix wright ace attorney #i cried while writing this #they make me so ill

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fourraccoonsinacoat · 18 days ago

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Sunday Snippet

Tagged by @vspin to share some WIP snippets. Let's go!

[WIP - One-Shot from a "First Time" ask] Emperor damn him for even thinking the question, but how the hell was he supposed to leave her? When his summons from the Lord Inquisitor came, how was he supposed to let her go knowing he’d never hold her again? The mere thought of it caused a cold ache to wrench tightly in his chest, and Heinrix’s arms reflexively tensed around Visenya – careful not to wake her, yet needing the reassurance of her body flush against his. He pressed his face into her hair, the comforting smell of her reminding him of sunlight and wildflowers from that day on Janus when she’d stared awestruck at the first forested world she’d ever seen. Eyes bright. Beautiful. Heinrix closed his eyes, as if the act of doing so could hide them from the world beyond their shared bed. He knew it was shameful to want such things, and yet he still did. There was a part of him – a small, selfish, terrified piece he was disgusted with himself to even acknowledge – that hoped he might die before he was forced to leave Visenya’s side. He’d already experienced the grief that followed heart-rending loss, and he’d barely managed to put himself back together in the aftermath. He honestly didn’t know if he could survive being ripped asunder a second time.

[WIP - Mongrel Hearts, Chapter 17] In her absence, Heinrix’s thoughts had lingered on Visenya more than he’d like to admit. He’d find himself walking the ship’s corridors late into the night, avoiding his restless sleep under the guise of keeping a watchful eye on the activities of the protectorate. Where his mind used to busy itself with speculation over current Imperium events, or theorizing about how best to achieve mission objectives, Heinrix now caught himself preoccupied with musings about the Lord Captain. Whether she too wandered the corridors in these silent hours, as she was sometimes known to do. If she did, he never ran across her. And so Heinrix did his duty. He wrote his reports, checked in with his agents, followed up on various investigative tasks and requests – including an encrypted enquiry for more details related to the Port World of Rallion and its military and security records. The strange corpse found on the lower decks remained unidentified, and getting any information from the Calixis Sector through the Maw was going to take considerable time – if communications made it through, at all.

Gently tagging @plethomacademia @lilac-lich @icasticonoclast @amasec @avas-poltergeist @eregar @lamortwrites @chronurgy @lizziemajestic @cawyden-gaming and anyone else who wants to share!

#i'm sure I need to edit some of this #just over here chilling in the angsty end of the pool #join me #snippet sunday #heinrix van calox #heinrix x von valancius #heinrix x rogue trader #rogue trader #rogue trader fanfiction

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captainpondlilly · 1 year ago

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Okay! The Gilear plush has arrived. This is my best attempt at all of his lines. Two have been unintelligible to me, and several are pretty long and fast which made it hard to follow.

My search history is.. hospitals near me, foot stuck in object, head stuck in object

You're low, he's low, It's Gilear's day baby!*

A guy on the street kicked me in the nuts as hard he could

I don't like "lunchlad"

Help me to understand what I have done to deserve this

My horoscope says "today is a good day to die motherfucker"

I ate a quick cup of yogurt on the way over here to bolster my spirits after I changed, I'm ever so sorry

What do you mean "When" life gives you lemons

I went to apply for the guidance counselor position but I was usurped by a drug dealing werewolf named Jawbone

In my haste to put the armor on I buckled the leg plate and think I clipped the tip of my penis against one of the leg plates and Everytime I move it feels like it might fall off so I ASSURE you demon I have no pride to speak of!

In highschool I was voted "Most Likely To Get Pushed Out Of A Tree"

My car was repossessed by the ride share app that I was working for

It's actually a good thing that no one came to my birthday party because the bounce house flooded and was swept out to sea

I just discovered that *all* of my emails have been going to everyone's spam

Unfortunately I have been banned from that hot air balloon service not because of anything that happened to me in particular but the guys who run it just sort of know my whole deal

Mmm this yogurt tastes like *potatoes*

I asked the woman at Home Depot why my plants kept dying and she said it seemed like they were reaching away from the sun

I've found out recently that one of my shoes is so filled with mildew because a pipe in my bedroom is leaking and I've developed a fungal infection in my foot which I didn't know was possible for elves to get

I don't think that I've ever "Peaked" in that we started neutral and have been going downhill ever since

I am currently trapped in a storm drain. The bottom half of me is above the ground, the other is below

Another Own Goal for Gilear Faeth, yes

Everyone knows you eat 7 spiders in your sleep every year, but I have a bunch coming into me the backway

My sandcastle I'm afraid was destroyed, as I was about to finish it, the tide came in and with it a man holding a bazooka who shot me and killed me

I know you're not going to believe this but Ive just been kicked by a snake

I found out the hard way that people can legally reject status as an emergency contact

The title of my autobiography is going to be Gilear Faeth: Please Stop

On my way here I was carrying a large bowl of Italian wedding soup which shattered on the ground in front of me and several of the small pasta balls rolled through the cracks and alerted vermin to my presence. I've since learned after a trip to the hospital I am deathly allergic to the sting of millipedes which is a way of me saying I need someone to come down to the hospital and pay for this. There is a doctor holding a gun to my head and now that I think about it this clinic is in the back of a storage unit and I think have gone to the wrong place

he said and I quote "he'd stomp my goon ass" if I ever got on his bus again

Gorthalax it was very nice to meet you, you've made a cuckold of me

We're the throw up boys!*

I've been informed that the brownies I consumed were laced with cannabis and rat poison

I am completely unprepared for the perils ahead and am deeply frightened, I'll go get the coffee

A gorilla monster punched me so hard in the back of the head I died

Today I have been hit by 3 scooters

Everytime you squeeze my hand it breaks several small bones

My imaginary friend as a child ghosted me because he said I was too depressing

Do you want me to go back? I warn you, it will break me

Can I interest you in an herbal soda? You must understand I am an intern at a ponzi scheme*

When I go to sleep at night I dream of a world where I might be able to walk through a field without stepping on a rake or gopher hole

If anyone needs me... I will be surprised.

If it wasn't for bad luck, Id have no luck is both true and what was written upon the billboard I crashed through

I wonder if any of these will feature in Junior year 👀

*Thanks to @cappa-cappa for telling me the lines I wasn't able to make out!!

#d20 #dimension 20 #naddpod #bahumia #brian murphy #emily axford #brennan lee mulligan #gilear faeth #siobhan thompson #lou wilson #ally beardsley #dropout #spire #fantasy high #fantasy high freshman year #fantasy high sophomore year #fantasy high junior year

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cyber-dump-171 · 8 months ago

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Chapter 5: Call a doctor!

Objection! Stand your ground! Marvelous! (Twisted Wonderland x Reader)

← Chapter 4 | Masterlist | Chapter 6 →

Word count: 6.5k.

WARNING: brief mentions of injuries, and various diseases.

Note: We're starting with Heartslabyul's arc!

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You awoke while the night sky was still dark, gray clouds blending together as they covered the round silver moon. Your skin feels cold to the touch, and the tips of your fingers are numb from the freezing weather.

As your teary eyes scan your surroundings, a vague feeling of disappointment combined with dread grips your heart. Despite everything you experienced the day before, a small voice in your brain had convinced you this was a dream. A bad nightmare, fueled by stress and sleep deprivation from your insomnia, had created this elaborate and fucked-up scenario.

Unfortunately, the small blades of grass that prickle your back tell you that you're still trapped in this world with no way to go back to your home.

Feeling the sleepiness leave your body, you groan as the bones of your stiff back crack loudly as you stretch your arms above your head, and like a chain reaction, your movements inadvertently wake your other two roommates who were snoring soundly next to you.

Fígaro is the first to open his eyes, slowly removing his right hand that had accidentally landed on your stomach while tossing and turning in his sleep. Man, he moves a lot. While he sleepily runs a hand through his tangled locks, Yuuken rises next to him, some dry leaves and twigs stuck into his hair as he rubs his eyes using his fist. “Mornin',” he grumbles with a yawn, and you both reply with an incoherent string of words along the same greeting.

You kick off the heavy sheet; your skin feels sticky and oily from exposure to the dirt and the ungodly heat emanating from Fígaro. “Somebody has the time?” the Finnish man mutters beside you, turning to his side as he snuggles further into the pillow. Yuuken drowsily stares into the distance, ignoring the conversation. “I’ll go check,” you reply with a yawn.

Your legs feel like jelly as you get up and wobbly make your way to the Ramshackle dormitory to check the hour ticking away on the miraculously still-alive wall clock you found yesterday during your “cleaning” spree. As you grumpily open the dilapidated door, you encounter three particularly annoying faces.

“Ooooooh, good morning, child!” the chubby ghost greets you happily, the other two semi-invisible dumbasses behind him giggling annoyingly as if the prank they were playing was so hilarious. Too tired to argue with them, you push past the cold figures and squint to see the clock hands moving behind the dirty, yellowed broken glass. 4:18 a.m. Well, at this point it might be best to just start the day… you highly doubt you’ll be able to go back to sleep.

“Awwww, leaving so soon, friend? We hope you come back alive! The dust misses you,” mocking laughter echoes through the rotten walls as you leave the house without looking back, you feel something pulsing in your brain trying to give you an unnecessary headache. You’ll deal with the ghosts when you return, for now, it’s best to get a move on.

The howling wind from last night has died down to a light breeze, but the temperature has dropped considerably, as little puffs of warm steam leave your mouth with every breath you take. Judging by the dead leaves littering the ground and the bare branches, this place is either in the middle of autumn or approaching winter.

Unfortunately, as you return to your makeshift campsite and feel the sharp wind cut against your skin, you're made painfully aware of the lack of sweaters, as your world was still in the middle of summer when you were abducted. Shivering from the cold, Yuuken steals the blanket that was lying on the ground, wrapping himself in the fabric to protect himself from the air. Fígaro doesn't seem to mind the temperature, lying in a star position while looking at the sky.

At this point, it's best to start the morning routine.

So the three of you unanimously decide to check the “lost and found” first for any kind of warm clothing or other items that might help you get through the next few days. Since Crowley covers food and water, you suggest using your first paycheck to buy some underwear, toiletries, and maybe some cleaning supplies. You want to avoid repeating the events of the previous day and be able to sleep comfortably in a bed without worrying about bugs or dirt.

Fígaro adds, with a yawn, that to speed up the process of getting more money, it would be wise to sell any valuables you have with you, such as jewelry and watches, unless they have some sentimental value. You gently nudge the Kendo student walking sleepily beside you, pointing out the sad expression on the Finnish man's face as he stares at his decorated fingers.

Though you and Yuuken quickly intervened that he shouldn't feel pressured to sell his valuables, the blond man simply shrugged you off, having already taken off most of his jewelry except for a silver ring with a small chalcedony stone that sits on his index finger.

“Thank you for your concern, both of you, but most of these were from sponsored merchandise or gifts from acquaintances. This is the only piece that is very precious to me,” he whispers as he lovingly looks at the ring. Without much thought, you step forward and deposit any loose jewelry that you had little to no attachment to, only keeping a black leather wristwatch that you bought with your first salary.

While it hurts to sell what had been hours of part-time work, at this point surviving and seeing your family and friends are the only thoughts that drive your decision. Yuuken seems to think so too, as he drops a sterling silver thumb ring on the pile.

Fígaro stores the jewelry in a well-worn cross-body bag he found in one of the sheets the ghost had used to prank him the night before. It had seen better days, with pieces of fabric torn off in various places and several indentations on the black leather straps from stress. Although the blond man complains about the quality, he insists that it will work. He gives you a small smile before gently ushering you to continue your path.

The rest of the way is quiet, except for a few yawns and some brief but awkward banter. Back inside the huge building, you lead your two roommates to the library, remembering the twists and turns on the map you examined yesterday.

You highly doubt that you'll be able to find so many clothes or useful materials in there, after all, the "lost and found" is usually a big cardboard box that the secretary sticks under the desk, right?

You were dead wrong.

As the friendly ghostly librarian led you through the room where the bookcases were so high you swore they touched the roof, the last thing you expected to find was a utility closet labeled “lost and found”. Even more impressive was the fact that every single shelf in there was filled to the brim with various items.

“Feel free to take anything. Most of these articles have been in here for over a year and no one has come to claim them. I'm sure you'll make good use of them!” with a cheerful farewell, the sweet ghost disappears, leaving the three of you staring at the room with open mouths and owlish eyes.

“Well then, let’s give these things a good home,” Fígaro states as your hands and fingers begin to dig through the shelves, picking out various items, examining them, and either taking them or putting them back in their place. You're able to find four sweaters in good condition that could help protect you from the cold.

You end up taking other items like a scarf, a (surprisingly) clean water bottle and a thermos, a portable sewing kit that was missing a few threads and needles, and a small fiction book. But the most valuable item of all, and the one that you could hardly believe had not been claimed by anyone to this day, was a tablet with a shabby charger attached to it.

“I call dibs!” you announce quickly before grabbing the rectangular device, feeling like a gremlin as you chuckle mischievously and eye it like a piece of gold. Yuuken lets out an “aw” behind you, disappointed that you beat him to it, while Fígaro gives you a dirty look, questioning your behavior before shaking his head with a chuckle. “I think we’re good, I don’t know what else to take,” the Kendo student mutters under his breath while doing one last look over the shelves.

“If we’re missing something, we’ll make a mental note and return here. But, we should get a move on, or else we won’t have time for breakfast,” you indicate while gazing out of a nearby window, observing as the twilight merges with the sunny colors of the sky. “Goodness… let’s first head to the showers.”

As you hurriedly leave the library, Yuuken and you exchange some jokes while Fígaro quietly laughs at your childish banter. You fail to notice a pair of green eyes curiously examining you from the dark. Again.

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You’re absolutely, 100% sure that what you’re currently doing is illegal.

This has to violate some type of law, right? You're well aware that Crowley could potentially be sued for violating child labor laws, especially since even though you're 17, your parents have to sign a contract and the crow can only make you work a certain amount of hours.

Also, even though you have some first aid certifications, you don't have a medical permit to work, much less administer medication. Holy crap, you don't even have supervision! What if you screw up?

Well, the headmaster of this institution didn't give a damn, because after showing you how to work the system, he gave you a comforting pat on the shoulder and quickly left the infirmary.

You feel a little nervous as you’re left alone in the office, but you lift your spirits as you promise to do your best to take care of the students.

And here you are. The warm, bitter liquid touches your lips as your fingers type away on the tablet’s screen, opening a new email account. It's a moment of peace since you began your shift, and by God, you never imagined how reckless some students at this place could be. You expected them to be more rowdy than usual for an all-boys school, but treating over twenty different injuries in four hours is a cause for concern.

It started pretty normal, with headaches and scraped knees that weren't that big of a deal. Just some medicine and a note to rest and avoid exercise for the day. Then it went up a notch when two students in white and red suits stormed into the infirmary, holding their hands as they'd suffered first-degree burns while making tea. All that was needed was to place the reddened skin under cool water, apply and prescribe petroleum jelly, and bandage the wound.

And then it got weird.

A boy had crashed into a tree while riding his broom and required help removing the splinters. Then, two students were suffering from the effects of a faulty spell and needed to be prescribed a special concoction (thank whatever deity for the digital medical encyclopedia installed in the infirmary's computer). Another student was accidentally turned into a monster during a fight, and you had to subdue the creature until the spell wore off.

And now, you're currently dealing with a person who has contracted "fisherman’s fever" from a failed experiment performed in potionology class.

The device in your hand vibrates as a shrill but catchy tune plays over the speakers, indicating the timer is up. You place the dark green ceramic coffee mug that has the cringeworthy inscription "Adulting is hard AF" on the white desk and take a look at the potion brewing in the glass pot.

According to the medical encyclopedia, to treat the disease, the scales that appear on the person's skin must be delicately removed using a sharp object. Then, to cure the internal effects such as the transformation of human blood into cold blood and the appearance of gills, the person must drink a special tea made with a bizarre combination of ingredients three times a day for a week.

You sigh softly, the scent of mint and mandrake permeating the air as the rays of the morning sun stream in through the window, adding some color to the gray infirmary. As your weary eyes watch a series of hot bubbles appear and quickly burst at the inner corners of the pot, you grab the metallic spatula spoon and carefully stir the liquid, which has taken on a muted cyan hue. A voice behind you coughs, drawing your attention, but you keep your gaze on the tea.

“Is he going to be okay?” the student's friend, whose name you learned is Kyle Blackwood, asks from the side of the bed, worried eyes watching his friend's tanned skin turn an awful shade of pale green.

After straining and then pouring the scalding liquid into a ceramic mug, you approach the stiff bed, avoiding the metal bucket on the side with the remnants of the shiny green scales you removed with a scalpel nearly half an hour ago. You softly nudge the shoulder of Hyde Sage, the sick student, to wake him up from his stupor.

“He'll be fine so long as he doesn't skip his tea. If he gets worse, like his skin turning blue or you see some gills on the side of his neck, take him to a hospital,” you indicate with a stern tone, hoping that the threat of a hospital visit might scare the first year into not skipping the medicine.

Unfortunately, the rumor that you and your roommates are magicless people spread faster than you had expected, as such, some of the students you had attended decided to disobey your instructions, refuting under their breath that what would you know, being from another world and without magic.

You are grateful for your interactions with customer service that you gained from your many part-time jobs. Despite being bad and even traumatic memories, you learned quite a lot on how to deal with stubborn people. This was no exception; instead of giving in to the anger or being intimidated by their comments and mocking grimaces, you kept a neutral expression and listed all the possible side effects of what would happen if they didn’t get their injuries or sickness treated.

Of course, you never lied, after all a small wound can develop into a catastrophic disease. It worked most of the time, their faces turning pale at the large list of infections and illnesses, and they quickly snatched the medicine from your hands, consuming it as fast as they could before they exited the office. Some quietly thanked you, others didn’t say anything.

Other times, when they were particularly argumentative, they were scolded by friends or classmates who brought them into the infirmary, telling them to shut up and just take the pills. You silently thanked them with a small smile, and they returned the gesture with a nod.

As you place the mug on a nearby table, both Hyde and Kyle let out a gasp as their eyes widen at your words. Still, many of the students are relatively nice or are too preoccupied with schoolwork to bother you or deny the treatment, such as the two teenagers sitting in front of you. Sensing their distress, you shake your head, gently patting Hyde's shoulder to ease their panic slightly.

“Don’t worry, it’s a worst-case scenario. Your fever has gone down, and your skin is starting to return to its normal color. Just, make sure to not skip the tea,” your lukewarm fingers gently press against the student’s forehead, a sigh of relief slips past your lips as you feel the earlier fever has subsided. Your free arm slides under his back and pushes, silently instructing him to sit up.

Kyle jumps at the opportunity to help him up as well, fluffing up the pillows and tucking them behind his back to make him more comfortable. As you hand the freshman the hot cup and tell him to be careful, you chuckle to yourself as you watch his nose scrunch up at the strong smell. “Bottom’s up, bud. Unless you want to become a fish.”

Hearing your words, he panics momentarily before judgmentally staring at the rather viscous liquid and bringing it close to his lips. As soon as a drop sneaks past his open mouth and lands on his tongue, Hyde physically recoils, a shiver shakes his shoulders and makes his skin crawl. He almost places the mug down in disgust, but pushes forward, remembering how much a trip to the hospital costs. Kyle gingerly pats his back as a sign of support and comfort.

Meanwhile, you return to the desk, moving your attention to the enormous metal cabinet that houses a variety of pills and medicines. You crouch down and open the compartment underneath, the door sliding open with a loud, unpleasant squeak, giving way to rows of glass bottles of various sizes and other medical paraphernalia.

Your fingers brush gently against the various containers as you calculate how much liquid is left in the pot. After a few seconds of mental calculations and the clatter of glass, you successfully locate and pull out a bottle to store the remaining tea; your ears perk up as you hear the clink of a ceramic object on a table and the rustle of sheets and clothing.

In one swift movement, you uncork the bottle, place the strainer over the opening, and begin to pour the liquid into it with ease. You unconsciously hold your breath as all of your mental concentration is focused on avoiding spilling as much as possible, although a few drops do escape and gently run down the side of the crystal. Two pairs of footsteps approach you as the last few drops of the tea land inside the bottle.

“This should give you 7-8 cups of tea. Drink it at a temperature of 65°C and don't let it cool down, it will lose its effects,” you screw the cap on as tightly as you can to avoid spills and turn around, running into the two students. Hyde's complexion looks much better, and a small smile is now appearing on his face instead of a terrified expression.

Gently, you hand him the bottle and your free hand grabs two small notes you wrote while the tea was boiling. One has a checklist written in blue ink, while the other is a more formal sheet of paper. "Here are the instructions on how to make the tea and this is your excuse to skip the rest of your classes today, deliver it to the headmaster. Then, return to your dorm, set the alarms for your tea, and try to rest today to regain your energy."

Both students nod eagerly at your instructions, gently taking away the notes from your tired hands. You’re relieved to see Hyde in a much better condition than when he arrived, remembering Kyle's panicked yells as he dragged him to the infirmary office. He was limp and couldn’t stop shivering, his skin was clammy and his eyes were constantly rolling to the back of his head. As you dismiss both of them, you’re taken aback when the two of them suddenly bow with big, happy smiles on their faces.

“T-Thank you very much, Mx. (Y/N)!” you scratch your head sheepishly at the way Hyde addresses you, not expecting such a reaction. “Don’t mention it… just doing my job. Also, (Y/N)’s fine. No need to be so formal,” the two return to their original positions before nodding merrily. As they walk towards the door, they wave again, the crimson and yellow ribbons tied to their left arms fluttering slightly as they move.

Soon, the door to the infirmary closes softly, and the office is plunged into a comfortable silence as the footsteps and lively conversation of the Scarabian students fade into the distance. You sigh as you lazily throw yourself onto the swivel chair, which creaks loudly under the sudden weight, and bring your fingers to massage the temples of your forehead.

‘That should be patient number #21… I better fill out the form and get to cleaning if I want to finish opening my accounts.’

Your hands land on the gray keyboard that sits in front of you, several of the letters blurred or missing, showing the constant use of the device. The monitor comes to life as you move the mouse, the cursor hovering over the “+” symbol and opening a new window, displaying an empty patient form. Without wasting a second, your fingers tap out different combinations, forming words to fill the empty boxes.

Time passes; outside, the birds chirp a happy tune and the clouds dance in the sky as you click the “Send” button and a message appears on the screen informing you that the form has been successfully accepted. As you stretch your arms over your head, your bones cracking stiffly, the rectangular device that’s been sitting idle for nearly an hour vibrates and the screen turns on to reveal a new notification.

Beyond satisfying your dire need to consume technology and geek content, the tablet is a key factor in your survival. In an unfamiliar world, where you don't know its customs, let alone its politics, the most important thing you need to do is nourish yourself with information on how to navigate this new labyrinth. Therefore, the moment you reset your device to its factory settings, you opened several accounts on various social media sites.

Strangely enough, many of the sites looked like bootleg copies of the ones you had back at home, right down to the bizarre similar yet different names. You almost burst out laughing when the words “MagiCam” appeared on the screen, immediately understanding what the application should be about. Thankfully, this also meant that you'd be able to navigate it much more easily since the UI was the same as Instagram’s.

In the brief respites of peace you’ve had during your turn, you’ve also understood a little more about how Twisted Wonderland works. Feeling calmer now that you know more about Night Raven College and the island where it resides, you then examined the world map and learned about the various continents of this world and who inhabits them.

You’ve also started to delve deeper into the magic of this world, but the concept still feels rather foreign and confusing, so, you’ve decided to wait until you’re in a calmer environment to pay closer attention to the details. Still, in your opinion, you’ve made good progress, and you make a mental note to share this information with your new roommates when you reconvene at lunch or later in the day.

You throw your head back, and the upper half of your body languidly lies against the chair's comically small backrest. You still feel a bit sore from yesterday's events, even after taking a hot (almost boiling) shower and replicating some of Yuuken's stretches. It also doesn't help that you've been running around for most of the morning.

You're tired... you want to go home.

As you stare blankly at the false ceiling, your mind wanders to the dark places you tried to avoid yesterday...

Will you ever be able to go home? Are your parents okay? Is Momoko okay? How long have you been gone? Does time pass differently here than it does in your world?

... Are you actually dead? This world feels so real, but you can't help but wonder…

Thought after thought flashes through your mind, as the earlier feeling of dread comes back with a biting force, stabbing at your stomach and tearing at your brain, making you feel sick. “Stop,” you silently beg to yourself, wanting the cursed string of detrimental questions to just end. And yet, your inner self continues to produce more and more, completely ignoring your desperate pleas.

Fortunately, you don't get to lose yourself for long as you're jolted awake by a hasty banging on the door to the infirmary. It startled you so much that you nearly fell out of the chair, the tip of your shoe smacking against the underside of the desk, followed by the clanking of glass, reminding you of the dirty dishes you didn’t wash. “D-Doors open!” you stammer with a shaky, feeling your heart pounding against your chest as you wobble out of the chair.

In a matter of seconds, the door opens, and a familiar man with orange hair peers in, his eyes widening in surprise as they fall on your figure. You instantly remember him from the entrance ceremony, a phantom feeling of warmth still lingers on your shoulder.

“The fu-!? H-Hey! Long time no see~!” he attempts to mask his shock with a cheerful tone before opening the door further and standing awkwardly at the entrance. “Um… do you know when the nurse is coming back?”

Without saying a word, you raise your right hand and point your thumb at yourself, swaying slightly back and forth, making the lab coat you wear over your navy blue sweater rustle. “I’m the temporary nurse. Do you need help with something?” even though his face is one of happiness, you notice that he is nervous due to his pale complexion and a slight tremor in his hands.

“O-Oh… Cool! Uh…” the orange-haired man stutters, sticking his head out of the room once more and whispering unintelligible words to someone standing outside. The exchange continues for a few more seconds, each one more confusing. Finally, with a frustrated groan, he returns and opens the door wider. “Sorry for that! We need a consultation!”

A bit weirded out by his behavior, you silently point toward one of the beds, ushering him to enter the room. You hope this consultation will be fast. As he opens the door wider and signals for the other person to come in, you turn around back to the computer and quickly open an application that pulls out a screen showcasing the list of all the students of Night Raven College.

As a precaution, before you can do a consultation or even prescribe medication, you must ensure the student isn’t allergic to any specific ingredients, takes some type of chronic medication, or has any important medical history. That way, you avoid any mishaps and save yourself a possible heart attack and a phone call to the hospital. Thankfully, the school has a nifty medical system that allows you to check for these kinds of things, all you need is a name or ID number.

Behind you, the shuffling of feet and the hushed voices weirded you out even more. ‘What’s up with the secrecy?’ Ah well, time is precious, and you want this consultation to be over quickly, so there’s no point in beating around the bush. With your gaze still focused on the screen, you click on the search bar and speak to the people. “Alright, what’s the name of the patient?”

As the question leaves your lips, a tense silence follows. You suddenly don’t dare to turn around, an uneasy feeling settles itself in the pit of your stomach as you wait for the answers. As the clock on the wall quietly ticks away the seconds that feel like minutes, somebody finally clears their throat and speaks. “Uh… Riddle Rosehearts.”

An eerily familiar voice speaks out, and you promptly turn around to watch a guy with green hair and glasses enter the room, a small and thin arm slung around his broad shoulders. And you feel the world fall apart and tear itself at its core as a head of red hair wobbles beside him, gray, piercing eyes turning to observe, widening at your figure before a recognizable scowl etches at his face.

"What in the Seven's name are you doing here?" fucking great, the last person you wanted to see, the tiny tyrant has come back to torment you again. Was the yelling match of yesterday’s night not enough for him? You take a deep breath, repeating to yourself that you won’t win showing your annoyance; you need to be a professional. Instead, you simply shrug your shoulders, maintaining an apathetic expression.

"Beats me, dude. Ask the crow man, not me," as you quickly type in his name into the application, Riddle scoffs as he’s helped to walk further into the room. "Do not address the headmaster in such a way. Have you not been taught to respect your superiors?" you roll your eyes at his comment, focusing more on his medical profile as he settles in one of the beds. Good, everything seems in order.

You don’t waste much time, reaching over to one of the desk drawers and pulling out a black bag containing a diagnostic kit and a clipboard with an empty consultation form. “I have, thank you very much. But I find it justifiable to insult the man who thought it was a good idea to stick me and the other two inside a dilapidated house,” you reply, slightly irritated as you place the stethoscope around your neck and head over to the bed.

The orange-haired man, whose eyes were intently focused on his phone’s screen, suddenly perks up at the mention of the house. “What!? Are you living in Ramshackle? I thought they were going to demolish that thing,” he mumbles the last part sheepishly as you pull a chair over to where the three men are standing.

The green-haired guy perks up at the name of the dormitory, his worried eyes suddenly landing on you. “How did your night go there?” you glance away from the prying eyes, scratching your cheek as you remember how stiff your back still is. “Awful, we ended up sleeping outside… Anyways, what's up? What are we dealing with?” although the orange-haired man seems more interested in hearing about your night, Riddle interrupts the conversation with a sharp cough.

“I'm completely fine. I just contracted a simple cold,” he remarks nonchalantly, covering his mouth with a gloved fist. However, even though the boy tries to pretend that he's fine, you notice that his chest moves up and down rather quickly, his cheeks are also slightly flushed, and small beads of sweat trickle down the sides of his face.

‘Difficulty breathing... I can cross out asthma, anemia, and anaphylaxis since his allergy chart is clear. A common cold wouldn't have him panting this way unless he overexerted himself with a clogged nose... Hmmm, it could be some kind of respiratory infection, but I need more details…’

Before you can intervene, however, the green-haired man shoots a glare at the housewarden as he angrily crosses his arms, his pose resembling a mother scolding her child. “A simple cold? Riddle, you were puking your guts out just a few minutes ago and you can barely walk!” he reprimands with a frown, and the redhead simply clicks his tongue in frustration. “As I said, I'm fine. It's nothing I can't handle.”

You jot down your observations and the glasses man's comments on the clipboard, nodding quietly as your brow furrows. “Besides the vomiting and shortness of breath,” — you feel slightly insulted as you notice Riddle’s eyes monetarily widen in surprise at your last observation. Man, he thinks you’re not capable, huh? — “Are you feeling any discomfort or other symptoms?” at your question, the housewarden ponders for a few seconds before his hand drops from his mouth. “Just a stomach ache.”

“Is the pain mild or severe?” the man shakes his head, placing a hand on his abdomen to indicate the source of the disturbance. ‘I can also rule out hepatitis at the moment. Seems to be from the core.’ “In between,” you simply hum at his response as you take more notes. “When did the symptoms start?” you finally raise your head to meet him, taking notice that he has difficulty keeping his eyes open.

He takes a deep breath and a hand shoots up to massage his temples. As you’re about to recommend he lays down on the bed and you’re three steps away from dialing Mr. Crewel, he speaks. “A-About two… no, one hour ago. I just feel dizzy. I’m fine,” he keeps repeating the last sentence as if to reassure the people in the room, but honestly, it makes you more nervous.

“Well, it might be a stomach bug rather than a cold. I’ll check your vitals before we move to treatment,” you announce before standing up and silently motioning for Riddle to remove his blazer. As you put on the earpieces of the stethoscope, his shaky and clammy hands pull off the piece of cloth, the glasses man stepping in to help. “Oh, my bad. I didn’t ask for your names.”

The orange-haired man jumps at the opportunity, flashing you a dashing smile as he holds up two fingers to his face, forming a peace sign. “Hey, hey! I’m Cater Diamond, but you can call me Cay-Cay!” he announces cheerfully, winking in your direction. ‘Well, what a charmer.’ You make a mental note not to call him that nickname, you'll just stick with Cater.

You simply wave back as you take a seat in front of Riddle and look in the direction of the green-haired man, who nods at you. “Trey Clover, vice housewarden of Heartslabyul. Good to meet you,” he replies as he flashes a small smile, though his gaze shifts to worry as he looks back at Riddle. An annoyed cough from the tiny tyrant interrupts your greeting.

“If we’re done with idle chatter, I would like to get out of here and return to my duties as soon as possible,” he grumbles as you simply roll your eyes and adjust the stethoscope. “Alright, alright. Take a deep breath,” you command in a toneless voice as you hook a finger around the collar of his shirt and harshly pull down, revealing a patch of milky skin.

A furious blush spreads across Riddle's cheeks as he short circuits for a second, a million thoughts racing through his mind as he feels your lukewarm fingers poking at his chest. He finally comes down to earth as he feels the cold nip at his exposed skin and he swears he feels on fire. “W-What’s wrong with you!? A-A warning would’ve been nice!” he shouts, almost slapping your hand away if it wasn’t for the glare you threw him back.

“Damn, you go, Riddle, getting some action,” Cater quietly giggles as he covers his Cheshire grin using his phone, which causes the housewarden’s face to turn even redder. “Shut it! Say a word of this and I’ll have your head!” the orange hair chokes on his laugh at the last words of the red hair. All of a sudden, the preppy attitude of the man is drained alongside the color from his face, instead, it’s replaced with an awkward laugh as he gingerly scratches the back of his neck.

‘What the hell is that reaction?’ Sure, the phrase elicits a rather daunting reaction from anyone who hears it, but, to pale at such words? That’s quite suspicious, but you frankly don’t want to stick your nose in the business of people who are already aggressive to strangers, especially when it comes to the tiny tyrant. You also don’t have the energy to bother, unless it becomes a bigger issue.

“My bad, sorry. But, you need to calm down or else I won’t be able to measure your heart rate,” you retort between your teeth, drawing Riddle's attention back to you. “Calm down!? Easier said than done! Are you even sure you know what you’re doing?” his booming voice does nothing but irritate you as you tighten your grip on the stethoscope. “Yes, I do. Now, shut up and let me do my job.”

About to respond angrily to your comment when he's stopped by a warm hand patting his shoulder, Trey giving him a small smile as the cold chest piece of the stethoscope touches his skin. The housewarden reluctantly agrees and gives you a nod. “Take a deep breath,” you instruct again in a low voice, listening carefully to Riddle's worryingly slow heartbeats. Each time you hear a “thump”, you draw a line on the clipboard resting on your leg, mentally counting up to fifteen; the entire room holds its breath as you remove the device after a while, your lips tightening as the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach returns with a vengeance.

‘Only 14 beats… this is bad,’ you swallow dryly as you waste no time calculating his heart rate, multiplying the number of beats by four and silently thanking your 12-year-old self for choosing first aid classes over rowing at summer camp. Unfortunately, the fleeting feeling of accomplishment soon fades, replaced by anxiety as you watch the number from the equation over and over again. “Holy shit…”

“Is everything alright?” you accidentally ignore Trey's worried voice, too consumed in your panic, as you run back to the computer and check Riddle's medical profile again. Again, he has no hereditary diseases or disorders, and his allergy chart is empty and clear. His normal heart rate, listed under his blood type, shows he has 75 beats per minute, so why the hell did your calculations show his current heart rate is 58 bpm? That's below average!

‘Is it bradycardia? It could be that he just developed it, but that doesn’t explain the vomiting or rapid breathing… Perhaps he has arrhythmia? Did I make a mistake in my calculations?’ you turn around to address the trio, wincing as you observe a powerful shiver shake Riddle’s body. ‘Whatever it is, I don’t have the proper resources, much less the adequate experience to deal with this.’

The red-haired man irritates you, his attitude is obnoxious, but there’s no way you’re letting him die here. “I’m calling an ambulance. Riddle’s heart rate is worryingly low and his conditioning is worsening. He needs professional attention.”

The three men's eyes widen in pure surprise, the shock is so severe for Riddle that he starts coughing loudly, the green-haired man next to him jumps in fright at the sound, but quickly concentrates on calming him down, gently patting and rubbing his back.

Cater reacts the fastest, shaking his phone with a pale face as he looks at you, terrified. "I'll call them!" he types restlessly on the keypad as you approach the bed to help Riddle get comfortable and calm his reaction.

But strangely, before Cater can even press the call button, a hand shoots up from the bed and rips the phone out of the orange-haired man's hands, causing him to choke on air, startled by the sudden movement.

It was Riddle.

“NO! I’M NOT TAKING ONE STEP IN THERE! I’M COMPLETELY FINE!”

… Huh?

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