"Welcome to my (blog). Enter freely, go safely and leave something of the happiness you bring".
This is a sideblog dedicated to writing fics (multi fandom). My main blog is @ceirinen
ABOUT ME
I'm Clau.
I can speak Spanish and English, this is my second language so my fics might contain mistakes. Sorry in advance if you find any of them!
Everything I write is fiction, not based in real life. I don't intend to offend anyone or their families. I totally respect their personal life and privacy. As I said, it is fictional and sets in an alternate universe.
If a post is marked with ( * ) it means that it contains smut or mature content. Please, if you are a minor, don't interact with those ones. There's nothing I can do about it, just read something else. I'm in my 20s and all the characters in my fics are adults too, as well as fictional.
I write with a female reader in mind but I think that some of my works could be read as gender neutral.
WHAT DO I WRITE ABOUT
Cillian Murphy & his characters | Jonathan Crane (Batman), Robert Fischer (Inception), Neil Lewis (Watching the Detectives), Jonathan Breech (On the Edge), Emmett (AQP2).
Peaky Blinders | Tommy Shelby, Arthur Shelby, Isaiah Jesus.
Attack on Titan | Levi Ackerman, Eren Jaeger, Erwin Smith, Zeke Jaeger, Reiner Braun, Jean Kirschtein, Armin Arlert.
EXO | Sehun, Suho, Baekhyun, Xiumin, D.O.
The Boys | Homelander.
Brad Pitt's characters | Tyler Durden (Fight Club), Cliff Booth (Once Upon a Time in Hollywood), Floyd (True Romance), David Mills (Se7en), Ladybug (Bullet Train).
Others | DPR Ian, Alain Delon.
Teen Wolf | Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale.
Twilight | Garrett, Edward Cullen, Carlisle Cullen, Jasper Hale.
The links to the masterlists are below. Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy!
MASTERLISTS
Cillian Murphy & Characters
Peaky Blinders
EXO & DPR Ian
Others (multifandom) | Alain Delon, Once upon a time in... Hollywood
Fight Club
Attack on Titan
DC comics
Teen Wolf, Twilight & Shadowhunters
FIC REC
Sometimes I make monthly rec lists for the fics I read, here are the ones I've made so far:
Dec 23 | Jan 24 - Feb 24 | Jan 26
aot fic rec list | and reblogs with the tag #aot fic rec
WIP
Here's my WIP list at the moment, in case you're interested!
Summary: a recurring dream has been haunting you for months, slowly guiding you to Forks.
Warning: nothing, mentions of blood but in the context of vampires and Twilight.
A/N: English is not my first language.
Words: 1.8k
MASTERLIST
The dream was always the same.
You were in a forest. It was dark, the tall trees blocking the moonlight from filtering through the branches. You were on your own, or at least, that's what you used to think. The only light came from a neon sign in front of you. The glowing crimson letters formed a word, but every time you woke up, it slipped from your memory. All you could ever remember was that it was a long word, and that it started with an "r".
What did it mean? You had no idea. Did you ever want to know? Probably not. You'd been trying to ignore it but every single time you fell asleep, you ended up seeing that stupid word only to wake up and forget what it meant. It had been like this for the last four months.
A soft snore next to you suddenly brought you back to reality. Where were you? Memories from the previous night flooded your mind, now you just had to piece them together. You remembered the bar. The guy and his friends. The flirting. The alcohol...
Sure, your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and the room smelled faintly of sex, sweat and blood.
Shit. Not again. Please, not again.
The thought almost made you jump out of the already messy bed, which was just a dirty mattress on the floor. You turned to stare closely at the man lying next to you. He'd been snoring just moments ago, hadn't he? That had to be a good sign, he should be alright. But the scent of blood was too strong.
He looked pale, with deep dark circles under his closed eyes. The sheets were tangled around his legs, stained with a dark brownish substance. Dried blood. You swallowed hard, you couldn't help it. Then you saw the wound where all the blood had come from. It must have bled through the night.
Surely, it had been one hell of a night... though he wouldn't remember any of it. The wound just looked like a regular cut. Nothing to worry about.
You got out of bed after making sure the guy was alright, moving with such grace that the mattress didn't even shift. Looking around, you found your clothes and boots. Once dressed, you paused for a second, trying to listen for any signs of someone else in the house. Two other hearts were beating. They had to be this guy's friends, probably still high or too hungover to even open their eyes.
As you moved around the house, your footsteps made no sound. This was something that always freaked anyone you'd ever tried to live with. You're too quiet. Make some noise. You're scaring me... Needless to say, those attempts at a stable life never worked out. Maybe that was why you liked exploring people's houses, to see what it was like to live in one place, to wake up in the same bed everyday, maybe get a chance to make friends.
But that wasn't your life.
So you kept walking like a ghost, soundless.
In the kitchen, a rancid smell made you scrunch up your nose. Clearly, basic hygiene wasn't a priority in this household. But they were just a bunch of young men, what could you expect from them?
Opening the fridge turned out to be a very bad decision. A wave of rotten food odor hit you and almost made you gag. You shit the door immediately. Why had you opened it in the first place? It's not like you were hungry. Not after last night, at least.
Something rattled upstairs. Time to get out of there.
You made your way through the house with ease, your feel barely touching the wooden floor.
In the living room, another guy was fast asleep on the couch, drooling, with a half-smoked joint in one hand and the other resting over his flaccid dick. The sight was pathetic. You were more than ready to leave that shithole, but something caught your eye.
On top of the coffee table was a bag of white powder, some of it spilled across the surface. You didn't need to be a genius to know what it was. Next to it was a bunch of crumpled bills.
You took the money without hesitation. Of they had enough to buy that much coke, they could manage.
The cold breeze welcomed you the moment you stepped out of the house. You stood there for a while, thinking. Now what? The best option was to leave the city, find a new one and then disappear again. You'd become nothing more than the ghost of a girl in the memories of those who had crossed paths with you.
Yes, that would do.
You started walking, no destination in mind, just walking. After all, you had become a nomad.
~
When you opened the front door of the diner, an old lady greeted you with a smile. The contrast between the cold outside and the warmth inside made you feel nauseous. Or maybe you felt like throwing up because of that word, the one you couldn't even remember, yet couldn't get out of your head.
It followed you like a death sentence. Like some inescapable fate. The moment you closed your eyes again, it would be there.
You sat down in one of the empty booths, as far away from the other patrons as possible. Since you weren't hungry for human food, the only thing you ordered was plain black coffee. After your third refill, the old waitress left s homemade cookie on the table.
"I didn't order this," you muttered under your breath, pushing the plate away.
She pushed it back. "I know, sweetheart. It's on the house."
She smiled, a map of wrinkles unfolding across her face, telling decades of joy, and returned to the other side of the counter. There, she began brewing a fresh pot of coffee while softly humming along to the song playing on the radio.
You tried to tune into her thoughts.
Sometimes, if you weren't drunk or high, you could slip into people's minds and hear what they were thinking. If you focused hard enough, you could even see things that might happen. Your mind was like a radio station, constantly catching the signals of other people's thoughts.
It could be an image, other times a word, perhaps just a feeling. Most of the time it was too brief, only a glimpse into their minds. After a few failed attempts, you finally managed to catch a glimpse of what she was thinking. You reminded her of her daughter, who was now old enough to have a family of her own and lived two states away. It had been three years since she'd last seen her. She hadn't met her youngest grandchild yet, and that made her sad.
You pulled out of her head when things started getting too emotional. Not the right moment. Your fingers crumbled the cookie into a small pile of chocolate chip dust. Absentmindedly, you poked around inside the patron's minds. Nothing interesting.
You closed your eyes for just a second and sighed. When you opened them again, the dinner had changed.
The lights were out.
It was true the day hadn't been particularly bright, it was cloudy after all, but you swore it had still been daylight when you walked in. Looking out the window, all you could see was absolute darkness. You turned around but there was no one else. Where had they gone?
Something red glowed behind you and deep in your gut, you dreaded it, whatever it was. Actually, you didn't even need to turn around to know what it was. You already knew. It was a neon sign. A single word starting with an "r".
From the corner of your eye, you noticed someone sitting next to you. Her hand clamped around your forearm, tight as an iron trap. Guilt seized you, it always did, every time she came. There was no need to look at her to know her eyes were covered by a white film, her skin far too pale, drained of all color.
Because you couldn't stop drinking her blood.
She appeared from time to time, never letting you forget. Never letting you move on. Wherever you went, she followed. The worst part was, you didn't even know her name. Only that she was young, beautiful, and had the worst luck in the world the day she met you.
Her lips remained sealed but you could hear her voice in your ear. It had an echo, as if she were speaking from the depths of s cave or through a phone with bad signal. Every sound she made felt like her vocal cords had been ripped out long ago.
It took you a moment to understand what she was chanting. She kept repeating the same word over and over again.
FORKS.
FORKS.
FORKS.
What did it mean? Why wouldn't she leave you alone? You'd made a big mistake, that was true but it had been years and still, the remorse never left you. The dead girl gripped your arm harder, as if trying to tear it off.
She opened her mouth to reveal a black hole, from were a shriek came from. The sight made you feel like you were falling into an abyss.
But you weren't falling. After a few blinks, your vision focused on the shattered cookie spread across the table. You were back in the diner. The radio was playing a different song and the coppery taste of blood lingered st the back of your throat.
You touched your nose and upper lip, feeling something wet. Your fingers came away red. Shit. A nosebleed. It happened sometimes when you overused your abilities, which was strange, because you hadn't pushed yourself that far.
Suddenly, the waitress was at your side again. She was asking if you were okay but her voice felt distant, too far away to make out. You pushed past her, maybe too roughly, and stood up. Digging through one of your coat pockets, you pulled out a crumpled bill and tossed it onto the table. Then, you stormed out.
At least one thing was clear: you had to go to Forks. Whatever the word meant, you knew deep down that you'd find the answer there.
You tried to ignore the feeling, to push it to the back of your mind, but you couldn't help the intense fear creeping in. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end the moment you took the decision to head to Forks.
That fic only has two more parts to go before it's finished. I have the next one ready; I just need to finish the last one, but with work and everything else going on in my life, it might take me a while.
You had started working as a barmaid at the Garrison a few months before the Shelby brothers returned from France.
At first, the idea of quitting crossed your mind, but you had no other option and needed the job. You had to take care of your little brother; it was just you and him. You had practically raised him since your mother passed away during childbirth, and after your father went to France at the beginning of the war, never to come back. The boy was all you had left.
Once the Shelby brothers returned, your situation changed. You stopped having problems with certain clients, mostly drunk men, simply because you were a young woman. Deep down, you suspected that the Peaky Blinders had something to do with it. Not that it bothered you – now you could walk alone at night, and no one would dare look at you the wrong way if they wanted to keep their eyes.
Out of the three of them, Arthur was your favourite. Sometimes you wanted to hold him in your arms like a child and whisper to him that everything was all right. Other times, when he was high or drunk – or who knows – you avoided him as much as possible. But he always treated you well, and more than once you had caught him gawking at you from across the pub.
Your next favourite was John, who always flirted with you. You weren’t sure whether he was serious or if he flirted with everyone, but you were sure of one thing: you didn’t want to become the mother of all his children.
And then there was Tommy. He was quite scary; every time he directed his cold blue eyes at you, it made you want to run away and hide. Something about him screamed stay away. He usually ignored you and he only spoke to you to order another bottle of whisky or rum.
-
That afternoon, the pub was quiet. You looked up when the door opened, and saw Arthur. He smiled at you like he always did, running a hand through his hair as he headed towards the small back room he always occupied with his brothers. After drying some glasses, you walked towards the room, wiping your hands on your apron.
Arthur didn’t notice your presence; he was focused on what seemed to be a drawing on a piece of paper. From your position, you couldn’t see what it was. You knocked on the doorframe a couple of times, making him look up. A look of panic crossed his face, but it only lasted a few seconds – long enough for him to fold the paper and slip it into his jacket pocket.
"Excuse me, Mr Shelby, I didn't mean to bother you. Would you like me to get you something to drink?" you asked quietly, surprised by his reaction.
“Just call me Arthur, love. How many times have I told you?”
“Many times,” you whispered, smiling. He nodded and looked at his watch, frowning slightly.
“It won't be long until they arrive. I think I'll wait for them.”
You were about to leave to go back behind the bar when his voice made you turn around.
“How is you brother?”
You paused for a second, considering your answer. “Sammy is fine – just a few scratches.” Your brother and Finn were friends, and they liked to get into trouble together. A couple of days ago, they had come home covered in mud and blood. Neither of them wanted to confess what they'd been doing to end up in that state. “If they're such troublemakers now, I don’t want to think what they're going to be like in a few years.”
Arthur laughed and lit a cigarette. He agreed with you.
-
From behind the bar, you could observe Arthur through the window overlooking the small room. You approached slowly, careful not to attract attention. Once again, he was focused on drawing something – but what could he be drawing? He didn’t seem like that sort of person; as far as you knew, he was interested in boxing, not art.
“I didn’t know that you liked drawing, Arthur,” you commented, causing him to fold the paper again and hide it from your view.
“I don’t. As a kid, I liked it, but I’m not really good at it now.” He excused himself. His cheeks were starting to turn pink.
You leaned over the window and stretched an arm towards him, wiggling your fingers. “Can I see it?”
Arthur shook his head, and a few strands of hair fell over his temples. You felt the impulse to reach and put them back in place with your hand, but didn’t.
“It’s not great,” he muttered sheepishly.
You sighed. He reminded you of a little child. “Fine, you don’t have to show me. But even if it’s not great, if it makes you happy and you enjoy it, it's worth it.”
Arthur nodded and opened his mouth to speak when a familiar face appeared in the room and sat next to him.
“What are you talking about with her?”
“That’s none of your business, John!” said Arthur, pushing his brother in the shoulder. They were playing, you thought.
Someone clearing his throat brought you back to reality. On the other side of the bar was Thomas, staring at you with his usual icy eyes.
“Sorry, Mr Shelby. What can I do for you?”
He pointed to the bottles behind you and turned to join his brothers. You quickly grabbed three glasses and one bottle of whisky and followed him. While you poured the drinks, you could feel John’s eyes roaming over your body, along with the familiar smell of their cigarettes.
-
You left them to discuss whatever they needed to. It was almost closing time when they came out, Thomas nodded at you and left the Garrison. You continued cleaning the bar, tired after the whole day.
“Hey, do you want me to walk you home?” asked John, looking at you with shining eyes.
You smiled politely at him and shook your head. “It’s alright, John. I can walk on my own, like every night.”
Then Arthur appeared next to his little brother and patted his back. “Let’s go, John. She’ll be fine,” he said, turning to look at you directly in the eyes. “No one will dare touch her. By order of the Peaky Blinders. Good night, love.”
“Bye, Arthur… and John.”
-
After that, the only space left to clean was the small room. So you started with it, picking up the glasses and the empty bottles, as well as emptying the ashtrays. When you tidied up the seats, something caught your eye. Slowly, you moved closer and reached for it.
It was a folded piece of paper. You recognised Arthur’s handwriting and your name.
With the tip of your finger, you traced the letters before unfolding the paper. You couldn’t help but smile at the little drawing. It was rough and simple – definitely not great at all, similar to the way children draw. But it was recognisable: the tiny figure wore your clothes, your apron, and had the same hairstyle you always wore to work.
Arthur had drawn you, and even if it wasn’t a masterpiece, it warmed your heart. Carefully, you folded it again and put it in your cardigan pocket.
Despite his fame, you could tell that Arthur was a good man – a man who had come back from France changed. But of all the men who returned from the war, was there anyone who remained the same as the one who left?
Tonight, pretend you're an acrobat | Nightwing x reader
Summary: Dick feels a bit burned out, but this time, you let him know you're ready to catch him if he falls.
Warnings: he is sad here, a tiny bit of angst, mostly emotional. No use of y/n.
A/N: can be read along with this, the roles are reversed. He comforts you there; here, you’re the one comforting him.
Words: ~ 500
MASTERLIST
The wind cut sharp across the rooftop, tugging at Dick's Nightwing suit. Blüdheaven was quiet — for once. It was the kind of hush that settled after a storm, when everything feels too heavy to move.
He knew you were behind him before he heard your voice and the soft thud of your boots. In that subtle shift in the air that always made him want to turn around — because it was you.
But he didn't. Dick stayed crouched at the edge, watching the city blink and breathe. His knees ached, his hands were scraped from the last fall, and his ribs were still protesting from a hit he took three nights ago. The list goes on.
You spoke first. "You're bleeding again."
He smirked, just a little, and shrugged.
You weren't smiling though, and he could tell. Dick didn't have to look at you to know you were frowning — that soft, sad concern that made him feel like he had already failed. Like he was hanging by a thread and pretending it was a tightrope.
He finally turned.
There it was — that look in your eyes. The kind that made him feel like he wasn't an acrobat at all, just a man too afraid to come down.
"You keep doing this," you whispered, stepping closer. "Running yourself raw. Hiding behind the mask, pushing everyone away."
He laughed — but it was hollow, brittle. "I don't push. I protect."
"No. You push. You shut down. You pretend you can carry everything and everyone and still walk out of it whole." Your hand found his wrist, gentle and warm. "You don't have to be everything all the time, Dick."
There was something sharp in his throat now, something clawing to be said. But he swallowed it back, the way he always did. He had worn that smile, played the part, mastered the art of balance and silence. He'd learned how to leap without falling — but never how to land.
"You make me want to," he said quietly. "Be everything. Be enough."
You blinked, startled. "You already are."
He shook his head, eyes flicking to the skyline.
"I'm not. Not really. I've spent my whole life swinging between shadows and expectations. Batman's legacy, the Titans, this city... and now you."
Your fingers tightened around his.
"I'm not asking you to be perfect," you said. "I'm just asking you to let me in."
The city didn't move, but something in him did. Dick stepped closer, his forehead pressing to yours. It wasn't much, but it was the most he had let anyone see in weeks.
"I don't know how to fall," he murmured.
It made you smile, barely. "Then don't fall. Lean instead. I'll catch you."
And for the first time in what felt like forever, he believed it.
MEET ME ON THE ROOFTOP | Nightwing x reader - Summary: you feel safe in his arms.
TONIGHT, PRETEND YOU'RE AN ACROBAT | Nightwing x reader - Summary: Dick feels a bit burned out, but this time, you let him know you're ready to catch him if he falls.
Warning: nothing, maybe a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, soft Nightwing. No use of y/n.
Words: ~ 700
MASTERLIST
The night in Blüdheaven was a canvas of neon lights and shadows where skyscrapers were scented with the recent rain and stray cats peered out from the alleys, looking for something to eat or a dry spot to rest, at least for a while.
You could easily be one of them, currently sitting on top of an abandoned building, observing the latent chaos of the city down below.
"To see him is to worship him... To know him is to trust him," you muttered under your breath.
It was a quote from a book you had read a while ago, The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. The first time you read those words they didn't make much sense to you, but the moment Dick entered your life, they got stuck in your head. A constant reminder of him. You used to repeat it like a mantra.
He landed silently on the rooftop, as if summoned by your soft words, wearing his Nightwing suit. Black and blue. Despite the suit and the mask, you'd recognise him anywhere.
It was the way he moved.
When you looked at him you didn't see Nightwing the hero, you saw your Dick. The sharpness of his chin, the broad shoulders and the bluest eyes in the whole city, seeking yours in the darkness.
"Do you always speak like that or is it only when you're soaking wet on an empty rooftop? Let me tell you something, it looked like one of those aesthetic music videos from the 90s," he joked, warmth and softness evident in his voice.
You turned to look at him.
The faint light coming from the street lamps reflected on the material of his domino mask, now wet. Something in his eyes shone brighter than the stars above. You couldn't help it, you simply adored this man, there was nothing to do about it and the worst or best part was that he knew it.
You didn't respond to his comment. Deep inside, you were hoping he wouldn't have heard you but it was done now, so never mind.
"When you're here, the city doesn't seem so scary," you whispered instead. After a pause, he sighed.
"Fear feels different when someone faces it with you," he said smiling softly and getting closer to you.
Then, he extended his hand to you, not in a heroic gesture but as a bridge. A silent declaration implying that as long as you were together, there was nothing to be afraid.
But the truth was, there were many things out there that made you shiver. Life was uncertain and the chance of him never coming back was always present. Every night. There were plenty of reasons to be afraid.
Although all of that was true, you took his hand. The rough fabric of his glove contrasted with your delicate skin. In an instant, his hand had engulfed yours.
And this time it was you who was trembling but not from the cold, you were trembling with relief. Dick leaned towards you carefully, shielding your body from the rain.
You leaned against his shoulder, feeling the weight of his protection enveloping you. "I don't know if I can keep running away from who I am," you muttered.
Dick tried to see your face. He saw it shining with droplets of water that could be tears or rain, so he put one of his arms around your shoulders and pulled you a little closer to him.
"You don't have to run away," he murmured on top of your head. "You know that you can be yourself with me. Always."
You craned your neck to look at him and Dick was met with your big eyes. He got closer and kissed you. It wasn't a wild kiss, it was a kiss that said I see you, I accept you and I'll stay, no matter what.
More than ever, the book quote made all the sense in the world. You trusted that man with your life, he would hold you wholly and unconditionally.
The city still kept its secrets, hidden behind the constant rain, although you no longer felt the weight of the shadows. There was only the warmth of his body next to yours and your breaths mingling together.
It's been like two years since I made a list of the fics I had read during the month. Here's a new one.
There's no need to say this, but be nice to the authors and read the warnings in each fic. Also, if you are in this list and don't want to be, let me know.
Armin Arlert (Attack on Titan)
WHEN DID YOU GET HOT? | nerd!Armin Arlert x fem!reader by @p4radaze
NERD GONE VIRAL | nerd!Armin Arlert x fem!reader by @cinnasite
IN YOUR ORBIT | Armin Arlert x reader by @moluvies
Bruce Wayne (Batman)
LAZY DAY WITH HUSBAND!BRUCE HEADCANONS | Bruce Wayne x fem!reader by @patientofarkhamasylum
ARE YOU MY MOM? | Bruce Wayne x reader by @autnmun
THE WRONG MAN'S WIFE | Bruce Wayne x f!reader by @catbayunthestoryteller
Clark Kent (Superman)
BIG PROBLEM | Clark Kent x reader by @bettyvick
GRAY PANTS | Clark Kent x reader by bettyvick
AFTERCARE? | Clark Kent x reader by bettyvick
LET ME IN | Clark Kent x reader by @barbienextdoor
KISS THEM GOODNIGHT TOO! | Clark Kent x reader by barbienextdoor
CLARKS CAPE | Clark Kent x reader by barbienextdoor
CLARK AND WHO? | Clark Kent x Wayne!reader feat. Dick Grayson by autnmun
SOFT LAUGHTER, SOFTER MOUTHS | Clark Kent x neurodivergent!reader by @lazysoulwriter
Cliff Booth (Once upon a time in... Hollywood)
TOOL SHED | Cliff Booth x fem!reader by @cassie48
NOWHERE NEAR MALIBU | Cliff Booth x reader by @callme-holly
I'M NOT IN LOVE | Cliff Booth x reader by callme-holly
Derek Hale (Teen Wolf)
TOUCH | Derek Hale x reader by @victorian-goth25
LIAR LIAR PANTS ON FIRE | Derek Hale x reader by victorian-goth25
HOME ISN'T ALWAYS A PLACE | Derek Hale x reader by @ideasihadbutdontlike
RISK | Derek Hale x reader by @velvetcloxds
Dick Grayson (Nightwing)
THE EQUATION OF DISTRACTION | Dick Grayson x reader by @jellyfishsthings
FAMILY CHAOS | Dick Grayson x reader by jellyfishsthings
STICK THE LANDING | Dick Grayson x fem!reader by @antistellars
A CONFESIONAL IN BLUE | Dick Grayson x fem!reader by antistellars
Jason Todd (Red Hood)
THE ONE WHO TALKS BACK | Red Hood x reader by jellyfishsthings
A SHEAR DISASTER | Jason Todd x fem!reader by antistellars
YOUR MOM WILL MAKE YOU SOUP LATER YEAH? | Jason Todd x reader + platonic!Damian Wayne x reader by @shisuni
RAINY NIGHTS AND SECRET FIGHTS | Tyler Durden x fem!reader - Summary: it's late and it's raining like it will never stop. You have nothing to lose so you call Tyler to pick you up. Little did you know he needed to receive that call more than you. | 1.5k
I LIKE THE WAY YOU KISS ME * | Tyler Durden x fem!reader - Summary: you find Tyler in the most unexpected place, your cousin's wedding. Of course, with him there things couldn't be easy. | 1.9k
IN LOVE WITH A FANTASY | Tyler Durden x fem!reader - Summary: you meet Tyler Durden at a very strange time of your life. / PART 1 | 1k - PART 2 * | 1k - PART 3 | 1.3k - PART 4 * - PART 5 - PART 6
The Narrator
HOPPLÖS | The Narrator x reader - Summary: you go to IKEA with him. | 700
INSOMNIA | The Narrator x reader - Summary: a sleepless night leads to a quiet, intimate moment in the kitchen. Through simple touch and gentle words, he finally rests in the safety of being held. | 500
Summary: a sleepless night leads to a quiet, intimate moment in the kitchen. Through simple touch and gentle words, he finally rests in the safety of being held.
A/N: English isn't my first language.
Warnings: nothing, it's a fight club fic but there's nothing explicitly related. A bit ambiguous. Also, I don't use y/n.
Words: ~ 500
MASTERLIST
The only light in the kitchen comes from the fridge.
He's sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. His eyes are wide open, as if blinking were a luxury he couldn't afford.
When you walk in, he doesn't say anything, just stares at you in the dim light. Maybe he's wondering if you are another illusion brought on by too many sleepless nights.
Because once again, he hasn't been sleeping. At all. And it's quite concerning at this point. There are dark shadows under his eyes and a subtle tremble in his fingers.
"You're awake," you whisper.
Despite the softness of your voice, it seems to break the previous silence. It makes you feel guilty, like committing a huge crime against the quietness of the night.
He nods without really looking at you now. "I'm trying not to be."
So you make a decision right there. You sit next to him and pretend it's not at least a bit strange to find your boyfriend awake, in the dark, in the middle of the night while sitting on your kitchen floor when you only wanted a glass of water.
"I want to sleep, but my head won't shut off," he explains once you're settled by his side, giving him some warmth.
His voice comes out distant, as if instead of talking to you, he were talking to an echo inside of him.
But you get it. More than you'd like to admit.
"Come here," you tell him opening your arms.
He hesitates but finally lets himself fall towards you, on the edge of collapsing. His head rests like a heavy weight on your chest and his body is as tight as an electric wire.
It takes you a moment to realise that he's holding his breath.
You run your fingers through his hair. The movements are slow and rhythmic, almost trying to comb all the chaos away.
Instead of talking to him about counting sheep, you talk about small things such as the sound of rain against the windshield on a long road trip. Or the smell of freshly brewed coffee even when you despise the taste of it. How the sun feels on your skin in the early morning.
He listens.
Little by little his breathing changes. His body stops tensing and fighting.
Despite not falling asleep right away, for the first time in days, he closes his eyes without fearing what's waiting behind his eyelids.
You're there, holding him. Being his safe place even when the world seems to be falling apart outside of your apartment.
"...thank you" he mutters.
You don't reply, just running your fingers through his hair while yawning. You keep doing it until his body fully surrenders against yours.
Derek Hale: certified heating pad | Derek Hale x fem!reader - Teen Wolf
Summary: you are on your period and so far, it's been awful, but luckily your boyfriend is a werewolf with pain relieving powers.
A/N: English isn't my first language.
Warning: nothing.
Words: ~800.
MASTERLIST
"Are you okay?"
Derek's low voice made you open your eyes. The loft door closed behind him with its characteristic sound. Like the door in a horror movie. You groaned softly while lying on your side, wrapped in a nest of blankets. Also, you were wearing one of Derek's oversized sweatshirts. Well, oversized only when you wore them.
"No. I'm dying, but in a fancy way. Thanks for asking though."
Derek dropped the keys in the cute bowl you had placed next to the front door a few months ago, despite him saying it was useless many times, and walked to the sofa. He had a special way of moving, as if he were ready to ambush prey or take a nap, you never knew. When he reached you he stared at your body with his brows furrowed, almost evaluating the damage.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm on my period," you muttered bitterly, burying your face into the pillow. "Everything hurts. My soul is crying and my organs are having a rave inside of me."
He remained silent. You were upset, like every time you had your period but look at the bright side, at least you weren't expecting a tiny human. Or a tiny werewolf.
You kind of were expecting an uncomfortable 'oh', some paternalistic comment about being a woman and ovulating like one of your ex boyfriends told you once, or even for him to simply stay quiet.
Instead, Derek got closer and knelt next to you. He caressed your forehead tenderly, with a softness he rarely showed.
"You're a bit warm, and paler than Stiles when someone mentions he has responsibilities."
"Thank you, I feel beautiful," you replied with all the sarcasm you could gather in your current situation. "And I'm not sick, just menstruating, you know?"
Derek shook his head and sighed as if he were facing an unstoppable mystic force. Somehow, he was.
"Does it hurt that much?"
"As if my uterus wanted a divorce from the rest of my body and burn my house down in the process. Yes. A lot."
Derek seemed to think about it for a few seconds. Then, he got up from the floor with a swift movement and sat next to you on the sofa. Carefully, he moved away the blanket to introduce one of his hands inside of the sweatshirt, placing it over your belly. It felt nice and warm. But also, the gesture was so delicate that almost felt strange coming from him.
You were shocked.
"What are you...?"
"I'm a werewolf," he simply said.
You glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. "I know."
"I can absorb physical pain if I touch it" he explained. "Not all, but enough of it."
"Is that real or are you making up new abilities just to impress me?"
He turned his head to the side. "Do you want to feel better or not?"
You nodded slowly, feeling his hand against your skin, firm and warm. It was weird but not in a bad way. A soft warmth started to spread through your belly like a magic hot bag but better. It was as if the pain were starting to dissolve.
Now your muscles, tense for hours, started to loosen too.
"Oh...." you murmured, surprised. "That helps. How do you do it? Are you a human heater? Derek Hale: premium edition" you made a gesture in the air with your hands while speaking.
Derek snorted, only half amused. "Shut up," he added, but he wasn't mad or anything. Just happy to make you feel a bit less miserable although he wouldn't say it out loud.
"No! Why did you never tell me you could do this?! You could have saved lives in high school, such a great business. Think about it."
"I didn't know you were this dramatic on your period."
You huffed.
"I'm a tragic poem with legs, Derek!"
For the first time since he arrived, Derek smiled. A real one. A soft, real one.
"You're being silly" he said very quietly, if he hadn't been sitting next to you, you would have had trouble hearing.
"I know, but now I feel less like a zombie. Thank you."
After exchanging a glance, silence came back but this time, it was comfortable. Derek didn't take his hand away and you didn't ask him to. He remained there with you, giving you warmth as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Then, on the verge of falling asleep, you muttered something.
"Hey, Derek."
"Hm?"
"If one day I have to choose between you and ibuprofen, I'd probably choose you."
"Just probably?"
"Well, ibuprofen doesn't grunt when I complain too much."
One day of peace. Is that too much to ask? | Derek Hale x reader - Teen Wolf
Summary: Derek is having the worst day of his life. Again. You're there to witness it (and accidentally worsening every moment).
A/N: English isn't my first language!
Warning: nothing, Derek just has bad luck here but is kind of funny.
Words: ~ 600.
MASTERLIST
Derek Hale didn't ask for much in life.
He just wanted to wake up one single day without the loft ceiling leaking, without Scott calling him at 4 am with another supernatural crisis, without a coyote stealing his clothes while he was in the forest, and without spilling coffee for the third time that week.
Of course, that would be asking too much.
"What's wrong with the fucking plumbing now?" he grunted as a drop of cold water hit the back of his neck. He moved away with a hiss, wet and annoyed, wearing that everything-bothers-me face he always had.
You appeared at the most inappropriate moment.
"Derek? Are you taking a shower with your clothes on?"
"No. The ceiling is leaking. Again."
"Oh, yeah. It does smell moldy in here. I got you some coffee" you said, handing him the cup like it was some kind of consolation prize.
Derek took it cautiously, as if he were expecting it to explode or something. And, as if the universe were conspiring against him, the lid hadn't been placed on properly. A direct splash to his favourite shirt.
You stood frozen. So did he. The only difference was that you wanted to burst out laughing and he wanted to burn down the nearest coffee shop.
"You know," he said slowly and tense, with the Alpha voice he used when he was on the verge of either shifting or screaming. "I just wanted ONE day. One damn day."
"I know, I know. You've had a very typical Derek week."
"What does that mean?"
"It means your aura probably scared the plumber, the forest hates you, the coffee has a personal vendetta against you and someone should buy you a good luck talisman, or at least an emotional umbrella."
He stared at you. You smiled, with that charm that would usually melt him. Derek just sighed, as if you were somehow carrying part of the weight of his daily misery too.
"I'm going out. I need some fresh air."
"Do you want me to go with you?"
"No. Yes... I don't know."
"Then it's a yes."
Five minutes later, you were walking through the woods. Which, judging by his expression, was already a mistake.
"Don't say 'at least it can't get worse', okay?" he muttered.
"Why?"
"Because every time someone says that, a wendigo appears. Or a kanima. Or my uncle Peter. It's the same thing."
"Touché."
Suddenly, a crow shat on him. Right on the shoulder. You both stood there in silence. It was like a slow-motion scene.
"... Okay. That was objectively funny" you said, covering your mouth.
Derek didn't move. He just looked up at the sky, completely done, and murmured with dangerous calm:
"I'm setting these woods on fire."
"Do you want me to shoot the crow?"
"No. Yes. No, I don't care. I want to sleep for three days straight and not be bothered by things with claws, wings or sarcasm."
"Am I included in the last group?"
He glanced at you sideways and although he was trying to keep his brows furrowed, his lips trembled slightly.
"You can stay. But only if you bring dry towels and some coffee that doesn't try to kill me."
You smiled and took his hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze.
"Deal. We can also do an exorcism in your loft. Something in there is obviously against you."
"I've suspected that since day one. I think it's Stiles."
"The loft is haunted because of Stiles?"
"Yes. Somehow, everything he touches ends up cursed."
Despite the dried coffee on his shirt, the crow shit on his shoulder and the ceiling of the loft nearly collapsing, Derek laughed. Just a little.
And as far as you were concerned, that was already a supernatural miracle.
Summary: reader is silently struggling with an ED, Carlisle notices.
A/N: English isn't my first language. Also, this was a request but I did it my way.
Warning: the reader is dealing with an eating disorder. It's pretty subtle, but it might still be triggering for some. Take care of yourself and skip it if you need to!
Words: ~ 900.
MASTERLIST
Carlisle has been watching you for a while.
In fact, it's been several months since you started working at the hospital, first as an intern and eventually as a resident.
It's clear how much you've improved during that time. Your demeanor is much more professional and the way you handle unexpected situations with such composure is truly impressive.
Still, the stress and pressure of the job have begun to take a toll on both your body and your mind. You try to ignore it, to pretend nothing is wrong, but it is obvious. Especially to him. After all, he's a doctor... and a vampire. Not that anyone know that, not even you.
Carlisle notices it in the way your uniform hangs loosely on you. It used to fit your figure perfectly, but lately it bunches awkwardly in odd places making your body appear smaller, almost fragile.
That fragility is also present in your hands. You have beautiful hands, or at least he thinks so and he's seen many over the centuries. But you have knuckles that stand out a little too sharply now, and they tremble with increasing frequency.
A few gentle knocks on the door pull you back to reality.
You lift your head, it had been resting on your hands, and glance up to see who it is. Carlisle is leaning against the doorframe, looking at you with those golden eyes. He's serious, a slight frown on his face, which only makes him look more handsome than he already is. Even under the hospital's harsh fluorescent lights, he looks like he stepped out of a modelling agency while you resemble a zombie every time you catch your reflection somewhere.
"Everything okay?" He asks in a soft voice.
You stare at him, blinking slowly. You're tired. It's your sixth day in a row working an overly long shift, but you've had three coffees. What could possibly go wrong?
"All good" you reply very quietly. Your voice is barely louder than a whisper. Your human colleagues probably wouldn't have heard you but he does.
Still, you're not okay. Carlisle hasn't seen you eat anything since your shift started, just like it's been for the past few weeks. Yesterday, he saw you take a bite of your sandwich before you put it away again. And the day before that, you only had an energy bar.
Are you getting enough sleep? It doesn't look like it. You've got as many dark circles under your eyes as he does, you could easily pass for another member of his family.
If only it were that simple, just including you, taking care of you... but it's not that simple. So Carlisle settled for staying close. He doesn't want to scare you.
What if you find out what he really is and it horrifies you? His true nature. It doesn't seem likely, but one never knows.
You have an old copy of Dracula by Bram Stoker lying next to you, facedown. Its covers are worn, the corners of the pages bent after being read hundreds of times since your teenage years.
It's kind of funny, when you think about it. You are reading about a fictional vampire while a real one is right next to you.
You were trying to unwind for a while during your break, but the lines started to blur, the words losing their meaning. Your head aches. Maybe you should drink some water. Or eat something.
"Have you eaten yet?" Carlisle presses. "I didn't see you go with the others to the cafeteria."
You shake your head slowly. Even that small movement makes you nauseous.
"I had a coffee not long ago. I'm not hungry."
Liar.
The constant hollow feeling in your stomach tells the real story, and it makes you a little angry. Why should he care if you've eaten or not? You don't interfere in his life. No one's ever seen Carlisle eat or drink anything and no one goes around questioning him about it.
You stand up from the couch in a bad mood. You pick up the book, closing it without checking the page you were on. Not that it matters, you've read it so many times you practically know it by heart. Carlisle steps aside to let you pass, but the moment you're next to him, he reaches out and grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks.
You keep your face turned away, not wanting to look at him. He can feel the warmth radiating from your body. He hears your heart pounding too fast, like it's fighting to keep everything running. Then, he says your name out loud. And when you look at him, it's like you get a little disoriented. He's too perfect.
"Hey, if you need to talk, I'm right here. Anytime."
You swallow hard, though your mouth feels as dry as a desert. Your gaze flickers to his lips, then back to those golden eyes.
"Sure. Thanks."
He finally lets you go, and you shoot down the hallway like a whirlwind.
You're not entirely sure why you agreed to go to IKEA with him in the first place.
Maybe because he asked or because you wanted to believe that two people walking through a showroom together means something. Some sort of ritual. It almost feels like a rehearsal for a life you'll probably never have.
He walks beside you, pushing the empty cart and it is kind of symbolic. As if it had a heavy weight, carrying everything the both of you weren't saying.
You pass next to another perfectly curated living room. It is the kind of place were people don't scream at each other over toothpaste caps or have existential crisis. The display labeled LÖVACKEN promises that only for $69.99 and the willingness to pretend, you can have peace.
A perfect life.
"Do you think we need a lamp?" He asks, gesturing vaguely to a slim lamp with a name you can't even pronounce.
After a few seconds in silence you shrug. When you speak, your voice comes out a bit too harsh.
"Do you think we need a lamp?"
He sighs and the sound is so familiar that it makes you want to scream into a pillow. There are plenty around. It is half boredom, half something else. Something more sad.
But this is the game, isn't it? Every couple in IKEA is having a fight in disguise. Arguments are wrapped in scented candles, passive aggression printed in Swedish.
"We could use one" he continues. "For that corner."
Both of you know that there is no corner.
There is a mattress on the floor and a pile of laundry that neither of you want to claim, an empty fridge and a coffee mug that migrates between rooms like it is trying to scape.
Still, you nod. "Sure, the corner."
You keep walking past dining tables that can seat eight despite the fact that you have never had more than two persons in your apartment at once. You stare at the spice racks, as if you cooked. All you have in your kitchen is that old wall art that is already peeling.
He stops in front of a bookcase.
"KALLAX" he reads out loud. "Sounds like a medication".
"For repressed resentment" you mutter.
He actually laughs, not big one though. Just a puff of air and a curl of his mouth. It makes you wonder if he is really here with you or if part of him is somewhere else. Somewhere darker, with someone louder.
It isn't something you want to ask.
Instead, you sit on one of the display beds without even caring anymore to read it's name. MALM, probably. The words all blur together at this point. He sits beside you.
"IKEA is depressing" you say as a fact.
"That's the point" he adds, looking straight ahead.
You don't say anything for a while. It is better to sit in a fake bedroom under fluorescent lights and pretend that the world is not quietly unraveling behind your eyes.
"Do you ever think about buying all this shit? The whole setup... to start over".
You turn your head to look at him. "Wouldn't change anything".
He nods at your words. "Yeah but still, I don't know. Might be nice to have a drawer that closes all the way".
The light from the fluorescents give him a sick look, the dark shadows under his eyes seem more purple than ever and his cheekbones seem to be more accentuated.
You lean your head on his shoulder and it feels fragile, real. Like touching something that might break or explode at any given moment but choosing to do it anyway.
"We could build something" he says quietly and you can feel the hairs on top of your head moving as he speaks.
"Not from here" you whisper, closing your eyes.
"No" he agrees. "But maybe... something."
Although you are not sure what that something means, you squeeze his hand and for a minute, it feels like maybe that is enough.
JUST STUDYING | Stiles x reader - Summary: a late night study session with Stiles.
Derek Hale
ONE DAY OF PEACE. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK? | Derek Hale x reader - Summary: Derek is having the worst day of his life. Again. You're there to witness it (and accidentally worsening every moment).
DEREK HALE: CERTIFIED HEATING PAD | Derek Hale x fem!reader - Summary: you are on your period and so far, it's been awful, but luckily your boyfriend is a werewolf with pain relieving powers.
TWILIGHT
Carlisle Cullen
COLD HANDS | Carlisle Cullen & reader - Summary: you are Bella's sister. One night you end up in the ER alone and Carlisle is the doctor on call. You don't know he is a vampire though.
GOLDEN | Carlisle Cullen & gn!reader - Summary: you're silently struggling with an ED, Carlisle notices [requested].
Garrett
NOMAD | Garrett x fem!reader - Summary: a recurring dream has been haunting you for months, slowly guiding you to Forks. | PART 1
