#it might not objectively be the best night sleep in the world

[heretherebewolves]

PSA:

There's literally nothing better in the world when insomnia is approaching 40 hours awake, and you get snuggled in against a bare chest and a tangle of legs and an arm around the waist.

I love you both. So much.

[leclace]

the sound of eyes

p l o t : Oscar steps in the new season focused on a single objective: win the championship. But a girl who sees the world like he never has will mess everything up for him.

w a r n i n g s : deaf!reader, sexual harassment (for a short moment)

w o r d c o u n t : 4.2k

n o t e s : this is a VERY ambitious project, as each chapter will follow each race for the whole 2025 season! i am not personally deaf, i tried to portray it in the best way possible with researches, but if anyone has tips pls send them in asks!!

t a g l i s t (for future parts too) : @dark-night-sky-99 @eugene-emt-roe

I - AUSTRALIA

You had never gotten over your fear of the dark.

Even after you had now become a young adult, being alone in a dark room made your body freeze. And it had become a problem since you had gone to live alone, and at night you were inevitably forced to turn off the lights and venture all over the house with such slow, uncertain steps that it only ended up making things worse.

At least, however, you had ended up learning her house, you had known the sudden corners, the floor tiles sticking up, the scratches on the parquet floor that pointed to the bathroom. In the room where you were staying in those days nothing was familiar to you.

It was deep night when you decided you could not sleep with all those shadows reflected on the wall that looked like anything but tree leaves. You got up from the mattress, abandoning the warmth of the blankets, to reach out and press the light switch. When everything in the room was visible to you, you resumed deep breathing.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you did not know what to do. Lying in bed trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep was getting on your nerves, but taking a walk around an unfamiliar city seemed even more stressful. You were in balance between two choices, and each way you leaned you saw a terrible idea. What had you come to Melbourne for, though, if you remained locked in your room observing the country from the outside? You were certain you were making a huge mistake, but for a moment, you decided to turn off the thoughts swirling around in your head and finally take some risks after a lifetime of protecting yourself from whatever edges might burst your bubble.

You therefore grabbed your room keys, greeted the kind girl at the front desk who smiled at you even though it was past midnight, and found the warm wind on your face as soon as you stepped outside the hotel. You looked around; colored lights lit up a city that still did not even think about going to sleep. Still not entirely free of fear, you took a random direction, just to go - even you did not know where.

Your legs guided her to uncertain places as you concentrated on assimilating everything you could observe. You were so focused on looking upward at those buildings that seemed to touch the stars, or downward, where there was water so dark that it was almost indistinguishable from the sky on the horizon line, that you did not notice the small group of boys next to you.

They had been flanking you for a while, trying to be heard, to no avail. They were exchanging strange faces at the fact that this little girl could not hear their very clear voices in the night. When they realized they could not get your attention with words, they stood in front of you, interrupting your steps.

You noticed them only then, and your eyes widened in fright. You took an instinctive step back and clasped your arms to your chest, watching their faces; there were four or five of them, they seemed to be a few years older than you, and their faces did not look at all welcoming. You could also tell they were from there because words formed on their lips that you easily recognized, but they spoke several people at once and with their mouths distorted into a strange smile, so you could only catch a few of them. Mainly, you recorded whistles and words such as “beautiful,” “night,” and, mostly, “hey!

The boys were beginning to think the girl was mute, not having made a single sound since they had surrounded her. Usually girls would burst in mutters of excuses or declines, but you seemed to not have speaking abilities. They recieved a confirmation when they observed your trembling hand rise to your ear and then move your index from left to right.

You were panicking because you did not know how to get rid of them. The only way you could communicate with them was to let them know that you could not communicate. But at your gesture to warn them, the boys only burst into seemingly hearty laughter. You frowned: what was so funny about a deaf person? The laughter froze your blood even more: if you had an uneasy feeling before, now you really had the instinct to turn and run away. But you were aware that in that way you would only be signing your death warrant, as not even in your most impossible hopes could you outrun five big men.

You slowly slid your tongue on your lips, which were beginning to tremble with anxiety; wrong move, for you saw the eyes of the small group get darker, and almost all of them stopped laughing. One of them took a step forward, causing you to take an ensuing step backward. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest as you saw the others take example from the first one and move closer and closer. You went on for a short while in this step-forward-step-back game until one of them reached out his hand to trap your wrist in it.

You took a sharp breath and began to feel the adrenaline coursing through yout blood. You tried to wiggle your arm to free yourself from the big guy's grasp, but in vain, because the force with which he was holding her was so strong that it left a mark. At the sight of the helpless girl, the strange smile returned to the group's face.

Your eyes began to fill with tears. You tried hard to hold them back, because you knew how these things went, your mother had explained it to her: the more desperate you are, the more the malicious ones enjoy it. You didn't want to make them enjoy it, so you clenched your lips and pushed back your tears.

You were getting ready to fist fight, when the boys' gazes shifted from you to something behind you. In their eyes, you glimpsed alarm and wondered what on earth could make them react that way. You also turned in the direction of their gazes, and noticed another boy walking with quick steps toward them.

He was much taller than they were, and there was a furious expression on his face that would make any sane person run away. In fact, you felt the grip on your wrist loosen, and she sensed the boys behind you striding away.

“What are you, animals? Leave now!” was what you could read on the boy's lips. The thugs did not let him repeat it twice; you, again facing them, smiled with satisfaction as you saw them walking away hurriedly, their heads down and their hands in their pockets.

Standing side by side in a dark, empty street, only you and the mysterious boy, your savior, remained. You met his gaze and offered him the biggest smile you had, your chest full of relief and gratitude. You brought your open hand to your chin, close to your lips, and dropped it, moving toward him.

The boy did not seem to notice your gesture; he was still looking into your eyes. You raised the inner corners of your eyebrows, not understanding what the boy was looking at. Let him not be a madman like those others, you prayed internally.

“Not even a thank you?” the boy finally broke the silence, with an almost embarrassed smile. You frowned and blinked quickly, confused - you had signed a thank you beforehand. Then you sighed when you remembered that basically no one spoke sign language.

You bit the inside of your cheek to figure out how to talk to the boy, who was beginning to get confused himself. You had an idea and raised your palm signaling him to wait while you searched in your bag for your phone.

Finding the phone, you opened the notes app and wrote down what you wanted to say to the boy. "I signed you “thank you” earlier but you didn't notice" you wrote, and showed him the screen, but before he could read you added "I'm deaf."

The boy's eyes scanned the phone and his expression turned into a stunned look. You were used to a surprised reaction; surely he would immediately start treating you as if you were some kind of kid. They all did. Who knows why they associated not being able to hear with less intellectual ability?

The boy looked you in the eyes again, but without shaping an expression as if he were looking at a lost puppy, as was usual of people. He simply asked you, slightly exaggerating the movements of his mouth, “When did you sign it?”

"When I brought my hand to my chin" you wrote in the notes.

The boy smiled again. “I didn't see you. You're welcome then,” he said, still making unnaturally dynamic and slow movements with his lips.

Smiling, you opened the notes again. "There is no need for you to talk in that strange way."

He wrinkled his nose and sighed, shaking his head. “I knew I shouldn't have done it, but it seemed like the most convenient choice.”

You understood that he had thought to make things easier for you by spelling out every word he said, but that he was not sure that this was how one communicated with a deaf person. You still appreciated the effort he had put into it. You wrote on the phone: "For me reading lips is like speaking for you, it comes naturally to me, I don't need facilitation."

After reading, he nodded. You saw in his autumnal eyes a curiosity toward you, but it went beyond your deafness. He seemed intrigued by you as a person. And indeed, he continued to ask questions. “Do you really understand absolutely everything?”

You shrugged. "Some words I've never seen or read before, no. Not even some accents."

“Let's see if you understand my name, then,” proposed the boy with a slight smile on his lips.

You nodded, beginning to get curious about the boy herself. When he said his name, you narrowed your eyes. It was a name you had never seen anyone pronounce, not even on TV. Puzzled, you tried to write down what you understood. "Occa?"

The boy glanced at the screen and a giggle that seemed faint to you escaped his lips. With gentle hands, he grabbed your phone and asked you permission to take it. You nodded yes.

When he handed it back to you, in very large letters it said OSCAR. You tilted your head to one side and burst into silent laughter in disbelief too.

The boy, Oscar apparently, crossed his arms over his chest. “You never heard that?”

You shook your head. "Not at all. It has a funny sound to it."

Oscar made a mock indignant face. “Excuse me? Let's hear yours name, then!”

It took you a short time to write it down, but you watched it for a while before handing him the phone. Giving Oscar your name meant giving him a piece of you.

“_____.” Oscar pronounced your name with a serene seriousness on his face. He was aware, too, that the two of you had now established the basis for a bond, by which yoy both seemed intrigued.

Despite your experience just before, you had not had even a wary thought about Oscar. You could not recognize exactly what in him made you feel comfortable; the fact was that you had the impression that you could be guided by Oscar even with your eyes closed, which was a big deal for you, sight being the sense in which you placed all your trust. You began to let your guard down, relaxing your shoulders and legs, but always imagining your mother spelling with her lips well, “Don't trust anyone.”

Oscar tilted his head to meet your gaze, which had drifted off into an undefined distance as you reflected. “And what are you doing all alone, in a foreign country, at…” he pulled the phone out of his pocket, ”…two in the morning?”

You blushed a little, remembering how stupid your idea had been. Tightening your lips into a guilty smile, you resumed typing on the phone. "I couldn't sleep, I know it was a dumb idea. I brought it on myself."

Shaking his head, Oscar stepped closer to you. “It's those morons' fault, not yours,” he offered yoy a reassuring smile, which made the blush fade from your cheeks; you were relieved that Oscar didn't think you were unconscious. You returned his smile immediately.

You both were silent for a few moments. Thinking about it, the silence must have been really oppressive for those who perceived it, but it had no effect on you. You took advantage of the stillness to observe Oscar's eyes; it was your favorite thing to do, because you could tell much more about a person from his eyes than from his speech. Words are a dirty game, which can conceal infinite purposes. Eyes, on the other hand, could conceal nothing from you. At that exact moment, you seemed to catch a nascent idea shimmering in Oscar's pupils. “Since you're here, would you like to see a place I know?”

The proposal startled you for a moment, so much so that your thumbs froze on the phone screen. Oscar's expression was inviting, and it clearly screamed an innocent exhortation to trust. You took a sharp breath, carefully contemplating your choices. You avoided Oscar's gaze to look at the blank page of notes. He had given you no reason to distrust him until then; in fact, he had even saved you. Your whole body was urging you to accept, and even the thought in your mind telling you not to was clouded - your goal for that trip was just to risk a little.

When Oscar read the word yes on your phone, he smiled slightly and motioned for you to follow him. He made sure to walk beside you so that he could see you and talk to you at any time. He led you through the city streets, smaller than the ones you had walked so far, seeming confident in his steps. For those fifteen minutes of walking you both remained silent; you could feel your heart beating with trepidation. You werebtrembling with eagerness to see the place Oscar had spoken of and with the adrenaline rush that the unknown sent through your blood.

Finally, Oscar stopped and glanced at you curiously to see your face. You were intent on reading the sign of the club you had stopped in front of; it read “retro lounge bar.” You turned to Oscar with a bemused smile, to which he responded with a nod of his head as if to say “wait and see.”

The door revealed dark wooden walls and tables when Oscar opened it to let him and you in. All faces immediately turned to inspect the newcomers, putting you in such awe that you sought refuge behind Oscar's back. But you noticed that the gazes of the men seated at the tables did not stop on you; on the contrary, after eyeing Oscar their expressions turned from suspicion to surprise, and they immediately took to talking incredulously with their neighbors.

You frowned: what was so strange about Oscar that an entire bar was amazed? The men's eyes did not leave you both all the way to the bar, where Oscar casually spoke to the waiter, asking something that you could not understand, because you still kept yourself sheltered behind him. So you also did not understand why, instead of staying to wait for the drinks you were sure he had just ordered, Oscar walked to the back of the counter, making sure that you were always behind him.

You crossed the kitchen amidst contented greetings from the cooks. The strong, pungent smell of alcohol made you, not exactly used to being in environments filled with it, wrinkle your nose. The few times you had drunk, you had done so with your cousin, in your aunt's basement, and it was only cheap limoncello, basically lemon juice.

Seeing you were struggling, trying your best not to make a disgusted facial expression, Oscar put his hand in yours, gently, your fingers barely touching, to rush you somewhere else. He led you to another door, which opened to a long flight of stairs. You struggled to match Oscar's pace while climbing up; he seemed like an athlete compared to you... no, actually he just seemed like an athlete.

Once the physical activity was finally over, you scoffed in relief. You were, once again, facing a door; Oscar turned to meet your confused gaze. Smiling softly, he asked: "Ready?". You immediatly nodded, watching the door. Oscar pushed the door a little, and the air, now colder, ran through your hair again. You stepped out together on what you now understood was a terrace.

Above you, you were towered by the dark sky, with not even a weak twinkle of a star. You were disappointed, for yoy thought the sky would have been way prettier. Trying to conceal your dissatisfaction, you avoided Oscar's gaze and looked in front of you: your mouth dropped open. You were wrong, the sky was not above you; the stars were shining in the skyline you saw stretched out in front of you. That was Oscar's surprise spot.

You turned your whole body to him, who had stayed behind you to let you enjoy the view. Your mouth was still open to show him her wonder. The corners of Oscar's lips turned up and he mouthed: "Pretty, right?"

While you slowly spun on yourselt to not miss any millimeter of the view, he moved closer to the edge and jumped over the low walls, sitting comfortably with his legs inside of the terrace and his back facing the void underneath. The girl he just met was shifting her gaze left and right continously, with the widest eyes he had ever seen; it seemed like you were getting drunk off that sight. Has she never seen a city from above? Oscar found himself wondering, but he was grateful for your probable inexperience, as you were a fun and intriguing view.

Oscar was not left alone admiring you, though; you finally brought your gaze back to where he was, and when you saw him in that position, your eyes narrowed again. You quickly moved to his side, furrowing your eyebrows. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, as if you were deciding whether to say something or not, and Oscar noticed you were in visible distress.

"Don't worry," he shook his head with a smile, just then catching the reason for your change in behaviour, "I'm not going to fall."

You kept your brows furrowed, not trusting at all but still not saying or writing anything. Oscar was finding a way to convince you he was fine, you could see it by the way his eyes travelled up, left and right a few times. "I do much more dangerous things usually, y'know?" Oscar resorted to affirm.

You now raised your eyebrows and tilted your head, reaching for your phone. "That's not really reassuring" you typed, your mouth distorted in a bewildered smile.

Oscar rubbed his neck with an hand. "Yeah, but I mean, at least you know I know what I'm doing". You nodded with fake persuasion, ironically complying him.

"You can try too". You saw Oscar's lips shape the sentence, and immediately, your breath got caught in your throat. Just the thought of exposing yourself to such a dangerous situation made your legs shake; what would your parents say? No, you couldn't risk that much, your body literally wouldn't allow you to. You took a step back, distancing yourself from the danger, like you had always done in your life. You knew the rules: everything that could go wrong, will go wrong.

"Nothing will go wrong," Oscar broke the silence he saw you spiraling into, "I'm here next to you."

You parted your lips slightly as Oscar's words sank through your chest. You felt a warmth permeate your body, and then expand all around, making your view clearer. Suddendly, your legs stopped shaking, and, keeping your eyes locked with Oscar's, you laid your hands on the low wall.

Oscar watched with content as you took a deep breath and jumped just high enough to sit right by his side, while you repeated all over in your head "I'm here next to you, I'm here next to you, I'm here next to you".

You felt the wind just underneath you, raging and trying to drag you down with itself, but you had never felt more stable. You weren't sure why, but your chest was basically empty of fear; his words had filled you with a strenght you didn't even know you had, and now you gripped the wall trying to keep it inside you.

With a huge smile, Oscar put a hand on your shoulder to give you more security, as he saw yoy was pushing your limits. "See? It's alright."

You pushed a big puff of air out of your mouth, followed by a clear, joyful laugh. Oscar stopped breathing for a moment, the sound inebriating his brain; in a few seconds, he decided if he was on the verge of dying, your laugh would have been the sound he'd want to hear to die happy. He cleared his throat and removed his hand from your shoulder as if it was burning.

You shook your head like you couldn't believe what just happened. As if you just remembered something, you rushed to grab your phone. "So, superman, what super-dangerous activity do you do on a daily basis?" you teased him with sincere curiosity.

"Oh, um..." Oscar seemed to struggle with words.

"Is it a secret? Are you in the FBI or something?"

"No, no!" he chuckled, "it's just... have you ever heard of Formula 1?"

Much to Oscar's relief, your eyes lit up and your jaw dropped. "No way! My father used to make me watch it all the time. So, are you like a mechanic?"

"Worse," Oscar grinned, his cheeks flushing a little.

Your eyes got even wider. "Don't tell me I'm talking to an F1 driver right now."

He just nodded, awkward and proud at the same time. He never knew how to deal with fame. "In the flesh."

Like you had just connected all the dots, you pointed a finger towards him. "That's why all the men were checking you out! And why they let you up here!" You began to feel embarassed, suddendly not seeing herself as worthy of his time. "Why are you here?"

Oscar shrugged, looking up to the sky. "The first race week just ended, but I... uh... it didn't quite go as I expected, so I couldn't sleep. And here we are."

You nodded in understanding, feeling sorry for him. He seemed really disappointed in himself. "There are still 23 other weeks, right?" you attempted to console him.

He lightly smiled watching your phone's screen. "Right."

"I've never attended a gran prix, but I've always enjoyed watching the races with my dad." You wrote, trying to hold a conversation without feeling overwhelmed by the fact you were face to face with an F1 driver, but it wasn't easy at all.

"Come with me to the next one, then" Oscar spit out without thinking, and immediately froze. The proposal came to him so intinctively it surprised even him.

You, though, was a thousand times more surprised. You literally chocked on air in shock and your eyebrows shot up on her forehead. No answer came out in your mind, you were just speechless.

Oscar realized he may have overstepped a little, but the idea did not displease him at all. The more he thought about it, the more he wished you'd be in the paddock next week. You filled him with such a pleasant feeling he was sure you would have a positive effect on his performance as well. He did not want to step back from his proposal.

He made sure he locked eyes with you. "Next week, in Shangai. It's a pretty city. You won't have to pay anything."

You did not see even a trace of a smile on his face. He was being absolutely serious.

You tightened your lips. For the whole night, Oscar had done nothing but help you overcome your fear of the unknown. You let him guide you, and with just a few words, he did what you couldn't do in 23 years. I'm here next to you. You just climbed on a wall hundreds of meters in the air, what could travel in a foreign country with a stranger be compared to it?

Oscar's tense shoulders dropped in relief when you slowly nodded.

[fel-09]

Smoke Without Fire

Tommy Shelby x reader

1.5k words

THIS was for- @cillianfanpage1

You irritate Thomas the most, even though you are his best friend.

The silence of the office pressed on my ears. The dim light of the lamp spread lazily across the desk, where your head - yours - rested among the chaos of documents.

You hadn't slept last night. Insomnia had clawed at your temples, gnawed at your nerves, and now you were haunted by the weight of fatigue.

You came here almost on autopilot. Thomas rarely objected to your presence, especially since you'd been linked for years-a friendship tested by time and gunpowder. You'd been in this office more often than at home, and now you were sitting at his desk with your hands folded under your head, trying to get a few minutes of peace.

The door opened without a knock. You didn't even flinch, too tired to react.

- What the hell is wrong with you? - Thomas's voice cut through the silence, soaked in the slight hoarseness of a man who smokes more than he should.

You opened your eyes slowly, lifted your head, and looked at him with the same tiredness that the world looked at you with.

- Didn't get much sleep," you mumbled lazily, dropping your head in your hands again.

Thomas came closer, clearing an ashtray and a couple of unnecessary papers off the table, and sat down across from you.

Thomas stepped into the office, the smell of tobacco and expensive whiskey slightly displacing the stale air

You didn't move, didn't react to his appearance, continuing to lean half-asleep on your arm.

He stopped beside the table, his cold, attentive eyes searching your face. In the dim light of the lamp, the dark circles under your eyes were visible, the tension in your features all too apparent. You looked like you hadn't slept in days.

Thomas frowned. He knew you too well not to notice that something was wrong.

Without a word, he leaned closer, and then, with the same relaxed, almost lazy confidence he'd always had, he pinched your cheek. Not hard-more in a teasing way, as if checking to see if you were conscious at all.

- Don't you even speak? - His voice was low, calm, but there was a slight sneer in it. - You look exhausted.

You barely moved, opening your eyes, but you couldn't even find the strength to be indignant. Only sighed, lowering your head back down.

Thomas grinned, looking down at you.

- If you're going to sleep in my office, you might as well lie back," his fingers slid lightly to the back of your neck, covering it with a warm palm.

A barely perceptible movement, and your head fell gently into his lap. The fabric of his pants was warm, pleasant to the touch, and the hand that was still on your head slid lazily through your hair, lingering in a hesitant gesture.

You were too tired to protest. Maybe on another day you would have pushed his hand away, maybe even snickered in response. But now... now the warmth of his palm and his steady, barely perceptible breathing were the only things that seemed real in this endless, hazy sleeplessness.

You moved faintly, and then, without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your face against his stomach. The fabric of his vest was slightly rough, smelling of tobacco and something tart, faintly sweet-perhaps whiskey, perhaps something strictly his.

It was nicer this way. Calmer. To feel him near, to feel his warmth, to let himself forget, if only for a moment.

Thomas paused for a second, as if assessing the situation, and then slid his fingers lazily down your back, as if casually.

- I'm not saying what? - his voice sounded low, vibrating slightly beneath your cheek.

You didn't answer right away, only inhaling his scent deeper, gripping your fingers a little tighter on the fabric of his shirt.

Tommy stared down at you in silence, studying your features with the same nonchalance that had been his shield for years. But you knew him too well. You knew that this calmness hid a familiar anxiety that he was in no hurry to bring out.

He ran his fingers gently through your hair, running them through the strands with an unexpected gentleness. The gesture seemed machine-like, but there was more to it than he was willing to admit.

- You haven't slept at all? - His voice was steady, but you still sensed the same underlying concern in it.

You inhaled the scent of his clothes deeper, smelling tobacco, whiskey, and something subtly familiar. The fabric beneath your cheek was slightly rough but pleasant, and his hand in your hair moved lazily, soothingly.

- You look like death," he added dryly, still sliding his fingers through your hair.

You snorted, not even thinking to lift your head.

- Thanks for the compliment, genius," you mumbled, lazily pressing your fingers into the fabric of his vest.

Tommy hummed, the corners of his lips trembling faintly. He continued to run his hand over your head, moving as slowly as if he didn't realize what he was doing.

- You're welcome," he replied calmly, his palm covering your back.

You reached your hand to his cheek, sliding your fingers lazily over his skin. The movement was relaxed, almost absent-minded, like you weren't fully aware of what you were doing.

- Maybe I should sleep with you more often. - You muttered, not opening your eyes. - You're warm, and you'll make me fall asleep faster.

Tommy sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, and then, without another word, he picked you up and sat you on his lap. You didn't resist, just made yourself comfortable, resting your head against his shoulder. You were even more comfortable now, his warmth enveloping you, making your eyelids feel heavy.

He slid his gaze over your face, pressing his lips together. You were blunt, often saying things that others would think twice about. And that annoyed him. It wasn't because he wasn't used to you - in all the years of friendship, he already knew you intimately. It was just that your careless antics sometimes made people think too long about the meaning of your words.

Like when you'd once languidly told Arthur that he had the best shoulder to sleep on.

Tommy only snorted then, but if one looked more closely, one would have noticed his jaw tense.

And now you're throwing those words in the air again without thinking about how they sound.

- Is that so? - he stretched out, his voice sounding lazy, but his gaze remained attentive. - I'm being used, then.

His hand continued to stroke your back, moving in a slow, measured motion. The gesture was hardly caring, but Tommy wouldn't admit that out loud.

- Yes," you said with the same directness, not thinking about the consequences.

Tommy froze for a second, his jaw slightly tense and his fingers nervously clenched on your thigh.

This woman was unbearable.

You always said things as if you didn't realize their double meaning, or you did, but you didn't care at all. Tommy couldn't tell whether it was your carelessness or the ease with which you managed to throw him off balance that annoyed him more.

Sometimes he thought the only way to deal with you was to just throw you out the window.

Perhaps on another day he would have done so. But today... Today you were tired, half asleep, your weight barely felt in his lap, and your breathing was even, calm.

He sighed softly, still squeezing your thigh, then slowly loosened his fingers and went back to the soft, lazy movement of his palm on your back.

- God damn it," he muttered, shaking his head. - You're going to drive me to my grave someday.

You frowned, looking at him with slight suspicion, but then a cheeky smile touched your lips.

- How do you know that's not my target? - You stretched lazily, lifting your head slightly to look into his eyes.

The cup of his patience was already nearly full.

That damn girl... She played with his nerves too easily, too quickly finding buttons that made him either irritated or sighing heavily, trying not to strangle her right now.

He didn't answer right away. Just looked at you with a long, testing look, then pressed his lips together and pulled you a little tighter against him, as if trying to figure out if this conversation was worth continuing or if it was better to keep silent for the sake of keeping his own peace.

- Did you ever think that sooner or later I wouldn't be able to take it? - His voice was quiet, almost lazy, but there was a subtle threat in it.

You only grinned, making yourself comfortable, as if he wasn't holding back from shaking you good. to give you a good shake.

- One more word, and I promise I'll hang you upside down and watch you suffer," he muffled, tsking your hair off your shoulders.

You didn't even flinch when his fingers slid down your neck, gently tucking the strands back. You just smirked, feeling him exhale irritably.

What can I say, he offered to cut them short.

Time passes, people change, women cut off their hair, and you... You're still walking around with that long damn hair.

And it annoyed him.

Not because he found it impractical, not because he thought you'd be more comfortable with a shorter haircut.

He just wasn't going to admit that he liked that hair.

To another woman, he would have easily complimented it. Maybe even allowed himself something more soothing. But not you.

He knew how it would end.

Your sly grin. Your words, spoken with that damning tone:

"Does the big boy love my hair that much?"

No. He wouldn't give you that opportunity.

You didn't take your gaze away from his eyes, as if looking straight into his soul. There was no fear in that gaze, not even a hint of remorse. Just lazy interest and a drop of something barely perceptible, but annoying as hell.

Then you slowly, almost lazily, ran your palm over his cheek.

- Good boy," you said quietly.

The silence in the room was instantaneous.

Tommy froze. His eyes went wide, like he wasn't sure he'd heard you.

- What the fuck? - He asked quietly but clearly threatening, his fingers tightening on your shoulders.

You only smirked, and then, out of spite, you laughed loudly. Your laughter echoed around the room, and it finally broke his patience.

- I swear I'm going to strangle you," he muttered, starting to shake you by the shoulders.

You were still laughing, not trying to break free, and he gritted his teeth harder and harder until he realized that the only way to stop it was to just let you vent your devilish energy.

But damn it, next time he'd really throw you out the window.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, reaching closer, as if instinctively seeking his protection. Your movements were slow, almost unconscious, as if you were afraid that if you did it too quickly, he'd pull away, break the moment.

Thomas didn't move.

You pressed against him, tentatively, as if testing to see if he would allow it. Then, finally surrendering to fatigue, you rested your forehead against his chest, feeling his warmth through the thin fabric of his vest.

He was strong. Warm. So... alive.

You exhaled.

- I know... I love you, too," your words came out quieter than a whisper.

Thomas froze.

His whole body, which until then had been tense as a compressed spring, suddenly stopped resisting.

You weren't kidding.

This time there was none of your usual sarcasm, none of the snide tone or the easy, lazy mockery with which you usually threw him off-balance phrases.

No.

You sounded different.

Quiet. Tired. Almost lifeless.

Thomas closed his eyes.

Shit.

He wasn't good at this. Didn't know how to handle moments like this. Didn't know what to say, what to do.

But his body responded faster than his thoughts.

Slowly, as if surrendering to something inevitable, he leaned over and, without thinking, buried his nose in your shoulder.

His breath was hot, and his hands, which had recently been nervously gripping your shoulders, were now stroking your back. Slowly, lazily, as if trying to reassure you that everything was okay.

The room was silent.

Only the even, calm breathing, only the barely perceptible movement of his fingers, only your shared warmth.

You know.

He doesn't smoke in her presence.

He just... doesn't feel the need.

[thomaslittlegirl]

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.

[selenitesdawn]

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

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

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.”

[songforeddiemunson]

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!

MASTERLIST

[mywitchyblog]

"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.

[honeyxbunny99]

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?

[avocado-writing]

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.

[sourpatchys]

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.

[longing-for-the-past-times]

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.

[cautiouscrab2eletricboogaloo]

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.

[captainpondlilly]

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!!

[cyber-dump-171]

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.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

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?

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Tag list:

@rotknox @agaygothicmushroom @sherryclover @mielle-estelar @yuriluvr2000 @Shironakuronatasa @yourlocalhot-simp @stvrbrighttt @tearsofgenshin @mewmew-dream @lehn2206 @coleisyn @ama-ewe

[thebestbooksaround]

This is a Buddie fic rec list where "one of them isn't a firefighter" That makes me warm and happy every time I read them <3

Part 1 || Part 2

Exploding Coffee Machines by inkinmyheartandonthepage (@inkinmyheartandonthepage) | 9k | General

Buck couldn’t be blamed for falling in love with his neighbour. He was powerless against the Diaz boys and wanted nothing more than to be swept up in their everything. Buck thought that Eddie felt the same, that their feelings of more than just being platonic best friends was mutual. Buck had been hopeful that Eddie inviting him to his boss’s house to meet his friends and co-workers meant that they were taking a step in the right direction.

A step that now Buck was going to be late for OR Buck gets burned at work and worries that he's blown his shot with Eddie when he runs late to meet his friends.

What is Love For $2000? by fayevian 17k | Mature

On the screen, the camera pans down as they introduce the contestants. Mary, on her 3rd day winning streak, is a dowdy teacher type. Center stage is occupied by a graying man with loopy handwriting named Auggie. And all the way to the right is… Evan. Damn. --- One night when Eddie can't sleep, he discovers the hottest Jeopardy contestant of all time (objectively). With the "help" of his team and his fairly good working knowledge of Twitter, they devise a plan to get Evan (from Jeopardy) to slide into Eddie's DMs. It works surprisingly well.

i like you so much (it's kinda gross) by brewrosemilk, stardustbuddie (@gayhoediaz) (@wh0re-behavi0r) | 10k | Explicit

Buck Buckley (@/firefighterbuck): @/eddiediaz I’ll never be able to tug your hair now, huh?

Eddie Diaz (@/eddiediaz): @/firefighterbuck It’s against the rules, anyway. You don’t look like a fighter, though. What situation would we be in that would make you want to tug my hair?

(Or: Eddie is an MMA fighter and Buck thirsts on twitter.)

you make the world taste better by farfromthstars (@buckactuallys) | 11k | Teen

They follow the room numbers down the hallway until the last door on the right. It’s slightly ajar, and when Eddie knocks politely, it opens further.

“Hey,” a cheerful, male voice says. “You guys are early!”

When Eddie spots the source of the voice, he nearly swallows his tongue.

The man is tall, with broad shoulders and huge arms, a sunny smile on his face that looks so genuine Eddie can’t help but smile back. There’s a splash of pink over his one eye, his hair is just the slightest bit curly, and his eyes are startlingly blue. He’s also about 80% legs, and leaning on a cane to walk.

Belatedly, Eddie remembers that he should say something too, not just stare at this guy approaching them.

“Uh,” he starts eloquently. “Sorry. This one was getting impatient at home ~ Newly arrived to LA, Eddie decides to take his son to parent/child cooking classes. The instructor is so much more than he expected

stupid people. by brewrosemilk (@gayhoediaz) | 160k | Explicit

New in Los Angeles, and having recently admitted to himself that he's gay, Eddie figures that hiring a sex worker might be a good way to keep his private life cut off from his job and his son. A way to keep things from becoming too complicated.

It works. For a while.

your dreary mondays by hammersmiths (@henswilsons) | 33k | Teen

“Wait, you need a sitter?” Chimney says. Eddie nods. “Maddie’s brother got back in town a few nights ago, he’s looking for work.”

Eddie frowns. He doesn’t know much about this mysterious brother of Maddie’s – doesn’t even really know much about Maddie, either, aside from being Chimney’s girlfriend – but he’s pretty sure every time he’s been brought up in conversation it’s not been particularly inspiring. “Is this the brother who flunked out of college because he spent all his tuition on a motorcycle?”

Chimney colours a little. “Um. No?”

or, Buck babysits Christopher and Eddie is—fine about it, actually.

one single thread of gold (tied me to you) by heartbeatdiaz (@heartbeatdiaz) | 4k | Teen

Eddie doesn't know much about Chris' science teacher, except that he's his son favorite and apparently knows everything there's to know. ( Those were Christopher's words. )

So when he enters the classroom, expecting an old man dressed nicely but a little old-fashioned as the science teacher, his whole life crashes to a halt.

"Evan?" The man who's leaning against the desk, looking at some papers, suddenly startles and looks up at Eddie with wide blue eyes.

"Holy shit," It's what the man says after spending at least a minute opening and closing his mouth. or; Eddie met Evan when he was a bartender in Peru and Eddie was on vacation with his cousins. They had a one night stand and Eddie woke up the next morning to an empty bed and a disappointed heart. Just for the same guy to end up being Chris' teacher years after.

always glad you came by foxwatson (@eddiediazes) | 5k | Teen

Buck is the incredibly kind but incredibly straight bartender at Eddie's local gay bar. Eddie is trying very, very hard not to be pathetically in love with him, and is failing miserably.

“Hey, you’re back,” Buck had said, greeting him with that sun-bright grin, and Eddie had yet again been reminded why he’d started questioning his sexuality.

“Well, I get one night off a week. And tonight I could really use the drink.”

Buck’s brow had furrowed, and he got Eddie his favorite beer without even asking again what it was. “You need to talk about it? Assuming I read you right and you’re the kind of guy who talks to a bartender instead of a therapist.”

Eddie had winced theatrically. “Ouch. That obvious, huh?”

“Hey, man, you’re the one that told me you started coming here on your coworker’s advice. Feels like something you’d get from a therapist, if you had one.”

see the stars with my morning eyes by trippedandfell (@trippedandfell) | 3k | Teen

“So,” Buck announces, sitting down between Hen and Chimney at the concessions stand. “I think Eddie’s trying to get me to sleep with him and his fiancée.”

or: Eddie calls Lucy his partner. Buck extrapolates.

walking on sunshine by fallingthorns (@fallingthorns) | 5k | Teen

“Shut up,” Buck grumbles at the dog. “It’s not a crush.”

Buck walks out of the room, out the backdoor, and into the yard, trying to ignore his large and judgmental dog following behind him.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Buck tells him as he gets the hose out to start watering his plants. “Keep it to yourself.”

“Who are you talking to?”

Buck startles and drops the hose, doing a quick 180-degree turn and coming face-to-face with Eddie. He’s clearly standing on something, elbows folded over the top of the fence and chin resting on them as he looks at Buck. His expression looks almost fond and it kind of makes Buck want to both preen and die of embarrassment. -- Or, the one where Buck owns a doggy daycare, has a large dog with an attitude, and is hopelessly in love with his new neighbor.

Under Any Roof by moncuries (@moncuries) | 10k | Teen

Eddie Diaz does not need a noisy neighbor on top of all the shit he's trying to work out.

But he does make really good mac and cheese. -- “You know,” And Buck is meeting his eyes now. They’re uncannily blue. Like Kool-Aid or popsicles. “If you want, I could show you what I get up to up there?”

What? WHAT? Eddie feels heat spread from the tips of his ears to his toes. No way had he just gotten propositioned before sunrise in the decrepit hallway of their apartment building. “Um. No.” He backs up until his calves brush the door to 101. “Thank you, really. But no.”

my house of stone, your ivy grows by stayeven (@demieddie) | 7k | Mature

When Eddie resigns himself to buying sex toys in person—despite the popularity of online ordering now—he expects to be embarrassed and overwhelmed. What he doesn't expect is to leave with a crush on the employee with captivating blue eyes.

and we can stay all day by trippedandfell (@trippedandfell) | 3k | Teen

“So let me get this straight,” Hen says, once she’s stopped laughing at him. “Your nerd crush-

“-Evan Buckley,” Eddie miserably interjects.

“Your nerd crush,” Hen repeats, waggling her eyebrows. At the kitchen table beside her, Chimney is grinning like Christmas just came early. “Read your drunk tweet and then sent you animal facts via DM?”

or: Buck's a zoologist. Eddie's pretty sure he's in love.