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rahuratna · 6 days ago

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Written for the prompt 'Scars' for Nanami Week 2025!

Contents: [Grey/Assassin Nanami x Reader] Mystery, suspense, romance, action, canon-typical violence.

Synopsis: It's just another bustling evening at the local fair, until a man in a red pinstripe suit appears at the ticket booth for the Ferris Wheel, plunging you into a world beyond your wildest imaginings.

WC: 9036

Animals in the midnight zone

When you own the world

You're always home

Get your hands dirty, roll up them sleeves

Brainwashed or true believers?

Buy flash cars, diamond rings,

Expensive holes to bury things

I'm machine, I'm obsolete

In the land of the free,

Immortality

~ If I had a Tail (lyrics by Queens of the Stone Age)

The first thing that you notice is not him, but the ravens.

It is the second evening that the city fair has run, down here at the harbour, and you are manning the ticket booth to the Ferris wheel when you spot them.

Elbows leaning on the greasy edges of the cramped booth, the scent of old take out and cigarette smoke all but ingrained in the ratty leather seat behind you, you pause, chin rising from where it has been resting on your palm.

The ravens gather in fluid rows, a restless line of darkness that shifts and flows when one of their number unfolds its wings or lets out a cry that echoes out over the glimmering water.

The fair is beginning to fill up, more and more people drawn in by the scents of candy floss and popcorn, roasted nuts, toffee apples and the chime and electronic buzz of the rides and game stalls. None of them register the line of watchful avian eyes from the buildings across the way.

Two young girls approach the claw machine close to your booth. You look them over and light up a menthol. They eye the plush bear within, before their combined gazes flick towards you, then back at each other.

The unspoken understanding of youth.

You can’t say that you miss it.

Smiling insincerely, you blow smoke in their direction. They offer the kind of condescending expressions teenagers seem to have singular mastery of before heading away from the claw machine.

Your gaze is drawn back to the ravens, compelled by some unknown magnetism. You wonder if any of those empty eyes have yet landed on you, here in your booth. If they did, they probably wouldn’t find you very interesting.

You don’t find yourself particularly interesting.

“May I have a light?”

Eyes widening slightly, you turned to the man who had appeared beside the window. You’d never heard him approach, never sensed his presence until the smooth baritone came rolling over your ear, like an encroaching high tide that catches you unaware.

Now that you were looking at him, you found him singularly compelling.

Tall, blonde hair styled back with surgeon’s precision. He was wearing a dark red pinstripe suit, in a manner that somehow didn’t seem ostentatious or sleazy, a black shirt beneath.

The jacket and trousers sat on him in a way that seemed tailored to perfection, but you noted the slightly rumpled collar, the wearing at the elbows, the creases at the knees that made it seem as if he’d worn the same clothes for a few days.

As if the suit wasn’t enough, there was the eyepatch, and the ragged scar that ran down from where the dark suede strapped into place over his left socket.

Wordlessly, you produced your lighter, the blaze small, defiant, beneath the fluorescent gleam of the stall signs further along the row. He placed the cigarette lightly between his teeth and leaned forward.

In the warm, flickering glow, you could see that he was handsome, in the style of a skyscraper marked for demolition, a marvel of architectural symmetry and clean lines, now inhabited by the ghosts of former glory. He was striking, and yet not, a subdued and staid presence, a hint of some raw edge beneath.

You took him in, the clear-cut jaw, the hollowed cheeks, the dark leather gloves and the ashen ring beneath the single good eye, the one that flicked up to catch your stare as he leaned back, inhaling deeply.

Hazel eyed, long lashed, his glance gentler than you expected.

How incongruous.

He turned his head to blow smoke away from you. A true gentleman.

You tucked away your lighter.

“You here for the Ferris wheel?”

He nodded in reply, and you jerked a thumb at the sign beside the booth.

“It doesn’t open for another hour. You can buy your ticket and check out the rest of the fair, if you want.”

“It’s fine. I’ll wait here.”

You opened your mouth to dissuade him, but then changed your mind. There was a certain quiet weight to his words, as if he never said anything he didn’t mean.

Shrugging, you leaned your elbows on the window frame again, content to pass time with him. Even if he didn’t talk much, it was slightly less boring than watching the world go by.

Above you the sky darkened gradually, the prismatic glow from the rides scattering out over the striped awnings of the stalls. Shrieks and shouts started to echo across the harbour as the rollercoaster started up, the more vocal making their fear and delight known.

A large group passed by, one of their number shoving another, and an outraged cry reached your ears as popcorn skittered across the ground, into the puddles at the base of the pinstriped man’s shoes.

You sighed.

“Kids.”

Turning to him, you raised your chin, thin tendrils of white snaking up from between your lips.

“Got any kids?”

“No.”

“Lucky you. You passing through? Don’t look like you’re from around here.”

“You could say that.”

Hmm. A mysterious one.

That was fine. Edging information out of someone while appearing unconcerned was one of your more practiced skills. Pity it wasn’t something you could include on your CV.

“Fair gets busy this time of year. You’d think people would want to stay indoors in this cold, but they come out in droves.”

He remained silent, and you thought that perhaps his particular well of conversation had run dry, but he spoke after a pause.

“I like the cold. It keeps me awake. When I visit the city, everything looks … clean and crisp. I can see the shadows more easily.”

A poet’s soul, dressed up as a vintage mafioso. Ever more intriguing.

“Your work keep you up late? You look like you need more sleep.”

There was a keenness to the way he looked at you at that moment, far less distant.

“You’re the second person who’s said that to me.”

“Only the second?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

You give him a slow once-over.

“All right. Maybe not.”

He didn’t smile, but for the first time you spy a hint of amusement in that marble countenance.

“I’ve always been work oriented.”

“What, like a salaryman?”

“You could say that.”

“You don’t look much like a salaryman.”

“I don’t?”

“You look like you work out.”

“You’ve never met a salaryman who exercised?”

“I take it back. It takes a special kind of muscle training to fall asleep standing up.”

“I’ve certainly done that.”

The lull in the conversation is pleasant this time, and you stub out the glowing butt of your cigarette in the take-out carton lid you’re using as an ashtray. He follows the motion with his gaze and you raise an eyebrow.

“Judging me for smoking menthols?”

“No. Just curious.”

“Nothing complicated. Just prefer the taste.”

“Interesting.”

“Now you are judging me.”

You handed him the lid. He took it with a small nod of thanks. Watching him as he tapped out the white-grey residue, you noted that there were leather straps concealed under his jacket, drawn tight against the broad shoulders.

“You have a particular liking for the Ferris wheel, or what?”

“It’s better than the other rides.”

“Adrenaline not your thing?”

His attention was now fixed on something else, and you followed his line of sight, towards the ravens that still lined the top of the building opposite.

“Weird, isn’t it? We don’t usually see them in such big numbers out here.”

“How long have they been there?”

“Dunno. They could have been there since opening time. Does it matter?”

“Not really. Not now.”

There was something about the way he said this that made you frown.

The ravens seemed to be growing more restless, waves of them breaking away, circling and returning to the amorphous mass they formed on the rooftop, almost as if they were a single organism, tasting the air.

You checked your watch.

Another half hour before the ride was due to open.

Clearing your throat, you stepped back from the window.

“Hey, I’m gonna go grab coffee and a snack. Maybe you want to come with? The stalls get really packed in a bit.”

He regarded you with that same steady, temperate gaze, but you felt, in that moment, the shift that occurred between you two. Not hostile, not exactly, but something far more subtle. It was the gaze of a predator that falls on another, not intended for the hunt, the cellular switch of a tumour from benign to malignant.

He acquiesced with a nod, and your feelings were confirmed. Pinstripe man had his own reasons for following you.

Strangely, you felt less panicked than you thought you would, under the circumstances.

You’d been witness to it for years; the clientele who frequent the Ferris wheel in this particular fair weren’t the run-of-the-mill kind.

Here, there were no affectionate couples looking for a private, picturesque moment over the gleaming waters. There were no families looking to rest tired feet for a moment, in a space safe for the youngest children.

Oh, no.

Here the Ferris wheel opened later to welcome a stream of quietly conversing individuals, wearing the kind of clothes that marked them as old money. Young, old, men, women, they bought their tickets, barely sparing you a glance, and made their way in ordered groups to each cubicle that swung down.

You could only imagine the sheer number of shady business deals and covert contracts that had taken place in the comfortable reaches above the bustling fair, in sealed chambers far from prying eyes and wagging tongues, from the press and the tabloids, the shadowy clans that had been rumoured to hold the kind of power that swayed entire economies.

It wasn’t as if you were not a part of it. Your employers paid you well to man the booth with utmost discretion, to fend away unwanted customers, to ensure that the right people ended up in the intended cubicles. You had a reputation for closing your eyes to that which should remain unseen, and keeping your mouth shut.

You’d known, from the moment he’d appeared, that pinstripe man would be classified under the category of ‘undesirable, possibly dangerous’, and that you should have headed him away immediately.

Still, you’re not quite sure about what had prevented you from taking the initiative. If you’d given the signal, he’d have been met with some … truly deadly company once he'd left the fairgrounds. This was the protocol you followed in case of emergencies.

And yet … you couldn’t do it.

That singular aspect of pathos that hung about him, a great, once-noble beast watching the slow decline of his own future into a red-hued sunset, stayed your hand.

You wanted to try to convince him to leave, to end the course of action you thought he might take, but first you had to be sure. His evasiveness told you that the warning had to be delivered regardless of what you knew about him, which was nothing at all.

Exiting the booth, you kept your hands visible at all times, your movements slow and easy. The cover over the front window was now pulled down, and the door locked behind you.

Not that there was much to be pilfered from your small office. The money exchanged at the front was merely a formality, never meant to generate actual profit.

Pinstripe man fell into step beside you, his stride confident and straight-backed. You could tell that he must have long experience with this kind of setting.

It wasn’t the shrinking, watchful nature of someone who leaps at shadows, more the prowl of a true hunter, one who knows the game.

The food stall you lead him to is less crowded, probably because of their greasy fries, but the coffee and pastries are decent. You purchase two sets, for both of you, waving away his offer to pay.

“I’ve got this. It’s not every day I treat someone else.”

The walk back to the booth was a slow one. People faded into the edge of your vision like pastel-shaded spectres, the noise and bustle slowly giving way to the crunch of his patent leather shoes on the loose gravel, the rustle of his silk-lined coat in the whipping wind.

Surprisingly, he spoke first.

“Why haven’t you asked my name?”

In spite of the way your shoulders reflexively tensed, you shrugged.

“Sometimes people like to keep things private.”

“Do you?”

“I suppose. It doesn’t help to form bonds where they’re not really necessary.”

The weight of the words was belied by the casual delivery. The time for your warning seemed ripe. You rolled your tongue against your teeth, easing away some of the coffee’s bitter edge.

“The Ferris wheel’s not all it’s cracked up to be, you know. Just a couple of turns and your time’s up. If you want my advice … head over to the revolving restaurant across the harbour. Food’s good, and the view’s better.”

The bastard laughed. Actually laughed.

It’s not what you were expecting, rich and full-throated, the catch at the end speaking of a man who was not fully accustomed to expressing easy humour.

“Is that what this is about? You brought me out here to bribe me with pastry?”

The surge of fury inside you was equally unexpected.

You hadn’t taken such liberties in years, and his dismissiveness grated against your nerves. Inhaling deeply to calm yourself, you pressed a finger into the lid of your cup.

“Is there a reason I should have to bribe you? One would think that basic self-preservation would kick in and get you out of my sight.”

“So now we’re finally speaking openly?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“Is this what you’re supposed to be doing? I thought there’d be some kind of button you’d press under the counter to alert your illustrious employers.”

“If that’s the case, then why am I not dead?”

“Because killing indiscriminately is not what I’m here for.”

His voice was gentle, almost chiding, but you knew better. He was simply letting you know, as a courtesy.

“My name is Nanami.”

“I didn’t ask. You – “

“I’ll have to incapacitate you, of course,” he continued, conversationally. “Whatever your role in this, I would prefer that you didn’t suffer extensive and unnecessary injuries.”

The pastry was now crumbling in your grasp, as you stood there, surrounded by laughing fair-goers, children and families, lovers and friends. None of them turned to look at you, or seemed to sense the dire nature of what you were discussing.

Surreal as this confrontation was turning out to be, you had to regain control, somehow.

“You know I have to do my job.”

“Please don’t.”

The humour vanished, replaced by something earnest, an appeal. You turned to face him fully, taking in the exhaustion that, you now realised, went so much further than a few nights without sleep.

Neon pink, blue and orange lights slid across the side of his gaunt cheek, then out of range, leaving no warmth behind.

He seemed like he’d been warm once, before whatever circumstances landed him here.

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be dressed in a red pinstripe suit that hides bloodstains with ease, or drinking cheap coffee from a flimsy paper cup.

“Why?” you hiss between your teeth.

“I suppose there’s no harm in explaining the basics. There’s a certain … family I want to meet. One of many families, actually. They’ve been using their money and influence to ensure that the children of rival clans are sent on higher risk missions. Ensuring a power imbalance in their favour.”

“Children? Missions?”

“It doesn’t matter what kind. Suffice to say, they’re highly respected in the … world I used to belong to. I’ve even done work on their behalf, on occasion. And today, I’m here to put a stop to their operations. To end it permanently.”

“And what? You think they’ll just listen to you?”

He regarded you with that same endless patience.

“No, of course they won’t listen to me. They know who I am. They’ll probably try to kill me on sight.”

“You really – “

“The ravens.”

“What?’

“Up on that building. You think they’re there by choice?”

An icy sensation crawled along your arms, the prickle of unseen eyes, and you took a step back.

“Are you joking right now?”

“No. I wouldn’t joke about this. I’ve … seen someone who worked with birds before. Crows. So I know the method. They don’t have her skill though. Not nearly enough to stop me.”

You couldn’t make sense of most of what he was saying, but there had to be a reason he was telling you. He didn’t seem to care that you didn’t understand, more a passing on of some unknown message, for who, you had no idea. He spoke like a man dictating his last will and testament, so you knew that he did mean every word he said.

There’s nothing else left to do. You were not paid for, or equipped to deal with this, and to be frank, you were the one who’d placed yourself in this position.

That single eye took you in with something resembling pity, as if he’d looked at many others the same way before, many who had tried to stop his implacable purpose. There was a crook in the set of his mouth, not quite a smile, no. A smile should light up a person’s face, not dredge up all the remembered pain they carried with them.

Your mouth opened, then froze on the warning you wanted to repeat. His hand was on your elbow and something vast and indescribable, electric and sharp, was flooding your senses.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t process coherently in any form what was occurring in your own body. All you knew was that all motion, every voluntary muscle, seemed to suddenly be beyond any form of control.

Your knees buckled, but his grip on you was incredibly strong, lodging firmly under your arm and dragging you upright.

You heard him murmuring something about a fainting spell, and then he half-carried you past a few sympathetic onlookers, back to the ticket booth.

Staring straight ahead, you battled the panic that raged in your gut, threatening to overwhelm you. Throughout the short trip, Nanami offered small snippets of advice, to breathe evenly, keep moving, eyes forward, it wouldn’t be long now.

He fished the keys from your pocket, where he’d evidently watched you place them, and unlocked the rickety door, lugging you in after him. The ticket booth was tucked away in a position that was barely visible to passers-by, only noticeable to those specifically looking to ride the Ferris wheel.

Nanami lowered you onto the chair, tilting your head back with a finger, ensuring that you could breathe easier.

Your eyes rolled sideways to meet his, a last-ditch attempt at making an appeal, even if it was a wordless and futile one. He met your gaze, acknowledging the message, but all you saw was that singular, resigned resolve.

In the shadows, he crouched by your side and waited.

It wasn’t long before the first arrivals appeared before the window to your booth, knocking lightly. You could hear the slight tone of confusion in their voices at the sight of the closed shutter, but you knew that this wouldn’t stop them for long.

The Ferris wheel was operated from a separate control room further in, and the ride would start and finish as the technician had been instructed beforehand.

As you expected, your exalted customers didn’t hang around for long. Your role was to simply direct them to where they needed to be, and to keep an eye out for groups that belonged together.

The great gears and engines hummed and grated into motion. Somewhere behind you, the colossal ring started to move, inching forward at first for the test run. Fear and anxiety reared within you again, but your struggles were futile. Your body remained immobile.

You weren’t sure what he’d hit you with, but you assumed that it was when he’d placed a hand on your elbow. There had been no sting from a needle, but that wasn’t the thought uppermost in your mind right now.

Nanami’s body uncoiled from beside you, and he started to prepare for whatever confrontation he had foreseen.

He removed his jacket, folding it with practiced neatness and draping it over the arm of your chair. The leather straps over his shoulders were now revealed for what you’d suspected when you’d first seen them; a holster of some kind. With a deft motion, he undid the buttons at his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves, end over end, in small, precise folds.

The dim light filtering through from around the edges of the shutter illuminated the play of corded muscle on those powerful, wiry forearms, littered with pale scars. He produced a vial of some kind of powder from an inside pocket of his jacket, dusting it lightly over the surface of the leather gloves.

You realised that he was humming in low fashion, not loud enough to be audible through the shutter.

Your stomach squirmed in protest once again, breathing growing heavier. In spite of the years you’d spent as part of this world, you’d never seen a fully fledged assassin prepare himself for slaughter.

Nanami straightened, working a knot from his neck, swinging his shoulders from side to side. You heard the slight crack that heralded a release of tension, and he sighed, the sound a man might make when rising from his desk after a full day’s work.

It was now, right before he headed into the most perilous portion of the night, that he seemed most relaxed, almost as if the sanctity of his own life was barely a concern.

And then, unbelievably, he lit up another cigarette, with your lighter. He must have taken it when he’d relieved you of your keys to this place.

Smoke pooled into the space above your head and he waved it courteously away from you.

“You can tell them that I caught you unaware,” he continued, as if the conversation had never been interrupted by your immobilisation. “That I gained entry from the back and knocked you out. They won’t question it, knowing who I am. It’s not like you’re here to be part of security. I know that each of the families come with their own bodyguard.”

That was an understatement. The families who frequented the Ferris wheel on specific dates hired some of the best private security in the business. There was no question that a lone man, however skilled, would be facing something of a suicide mission going up against them.

Your time to give warnings was over, however. Nanami finished his cigarette, stubbing it out carefully in the small lid that still sat at your elbow.

For a moment, his face was close to yours, that single eye, green and gold, a tranquil forest at the heart of a bustling city, held you within its gleaming centre. You could smell him, the traces of cologne, as clean and mellow as his voice, nearly overpowered by tobacco, leather and something sharp and metallic.

“Thanks for the light.”

The door to the booth opened, letting in the chill night air, closing again gently, and he was gone.

Immediately, you tested the limits of your movement. Sensation had slowly been creeping back into your right calf, and you could now shift it slightly against the cold metal of the office chair leg.

The seat creaked and spun slowly under your efforts, but it seemed that your upper body wasn’t complying as well as your lower extremities.

The rickety chair, which you’d been reminding yourself for ages to replace, tipped over, bringing you down hard on the greasy floor. Your temple struck the edge of the small step and then, crushing darkness.

You awoke, groggy and with a powerful throb in your head that did not bode well. It took you a few minutes to register that the noises you were hearing came from outside the booth, and were not just a product of the loud ringing in your ears.

Screams. Sirens. The distant creak of protesting metal and the crystalline shatter of glass.

One elbow braced on the floor, you raised yourself slowly, wincing.

The side of your face felt warm, unpleasantly so, and a brief exploration of the area revealed that a thin, sticky trickle of blood had run down from your brow into your collar. The cut itself was thankfully small, but you had a feeling that bruising would make itself evident before long.

A long, slow blink and immediate memory returned to you after a moment.

Nanami. The way you hadn’t been able to move your body. The Ferris wheel. The bodyguards.

Inhaling sharply, you sat up, clutching your head and swaying. You weren’t sure if it was the aftereffects of whatever he’d done to you, or the fall, but you needed to move with care.

Catching hold of the revolving chair, you dragged yourself upright. The world spun once more, and you scrabbled for the handle of the door to the ticket booth. Cold air rushed in, shocking you to full awareness.

Outside, chaos reigned.

The shadowy shapes of people raced past, their voices rising through the air like tendrils of smoke from many fires.

Stalls had been abandoned, the ground littered with the detritus of a rapid evacuation. In the distance, the static crackle of loudspeakers and blaring instructions sounded out. A cordon was probably being executed at this moment.

You must have been out for longer than you’d thought, because you realised that you were witnessing the stragglers, the last ones to make a mad dash for the exits.

You thought of the warning you’d given Nanami just a short while earlier, the one about self-preservation, and uttered a small, humourless laugh before heading in the opposite direction.

You were not sure what you intended, or what you’d accomplish by going there, but there was some magnetic compulsion that drew you, helplessly, to where the cacophony of combat was loudest.

The Ferris wheel.

On a normal night, the giant circumference of the wheel was a slow-moving constant, outlined by gently pulsing lights that gave it an almost dream-like quality.

The steady march of the gears and the muted roar of the engine room nearby formed a backdrop to most of your nights here, that was as familiar as the rush of traffic on the street outside your apartment.

Tonight, that had all come to an abrupt end. One man had single-handedly upset the balance.

Your eyes widened in disbelief as you rounded the corner of the engine room.

There should be no rational explanation for any of this. Everything he’d said to you, everything that hadn’t made an iota of sense, came crashing up against your mind like the crest of a giant wave.

Colour. Movement. Sound.

The prickle of some alien energy under and all along your skin, suddenly familiar.

The Ferris wheel was damaged beyond repair, that much was evident. Several of the booths had crashed to the ground below, the faint pop and spark of severed cables visible from above the mangled steel.

The entire angle of the wheel on its axis was wrong, looming with precarious intent over the area populated by a few stalls and the smaller carpark for employees.

Your eyes travelled up the wheel, to where the intense flashes of bright light made you squint.

Those weren’t electric lights.

There were more shadowy shapes, people, as you came to see, who were moving up there. They were outside the booths, crawling along the sides of the Ferris wheel, clinging to the giant spokes and struts.

A faint cry exited your throat as you stumbled forward. If they fell …

All further thoughts of emergency services and your anger at the delay of any form of rescue was rapidly shot to hell when your vision adjusted fully, allowing you to see exactly what was occurring up there.

There was a battle playing out on the wheel, one like you’d never witnessed before.

Some of the figures weren’t helplessly clinging to the metal poles. They were leaping, twisting through the air, treading the atmosphere as if some invisible force formed a tangible barrier beneath them.

Edging closer, almost forgetting to draw breath, you eventually made out the figure of Nanami.

His blonde hair gave him away, the intermittent glimpse of red from his trousers allowing you to follow him with greater accuracy.

When you spotted him, he was hanging from an upright strut, one gloved hand and the flat of one foot planted against it. Something lanced out of the darkness at him, a vivid green projectile that missed his cheek by inches. Nanami’s neck curved back to its natural position.

He’d dodged it.

Then, he let go of the strut.

The scream died in your throat as you watched him slide down the length of the gleaming white metal, shoes striking up sparks as he went. Three shapes detached from those still hanging from the wheel and followed him.

You recognised the bald head and towering form of Kuroi, retainer of the Watanabe family. There, honing in from the left, was Yayoi, recognised in the underworld as a master of hand-to-hand combat and more than one form of martial arts. Directly below Nanami, was a bodyguard you only knew by sight, dark-haired, rangy and athletic in build, wearing a white and orange tracksuit.

For all of this time, you’d known them as fearsome fighters, trained and honed by military experience in some cases. You hadn’t any inkling that that they might be … whatever this was, what Nanami obviously identified as in his own way. Their movements were anything but natural, as if you’d wandered into the realm of some fantasy.

You’d laugh, incredulously, but the fight you were witnessing was anything but amusing.

They were aiming to kill.

That much was evident in the almost animalistic instinct by which they dodged and weaved, weapons drawn, inflicting the kind of damage that had rendered the Ferris wheel a ragged, sharp-edged skeleton of its former shape.

As you watched, Yayoi darted in, cutting across Nanami’s path. Her palm, outlined in some kind of glow, struck the space where his foot had been seconds before. He somersaulted right over her head, grasping the strut as he swung his body around with stunning strength and agility, his kick catching her in the throat.

You heard her choked cry as she backed off temporarily, but then Kuroi and Tracksuit were closing in from either side, the former wielding a giant, scythe-like weapon that came rushing down towards Nanami’s midsection with terrifying speed.

The intended bisection never occurred.

Nanami drew his own weapon from the holster on his back, and you saw now that it wasn’t the firearm that you’d expected. It was a strange blade of some kind, wrapped in a mottled cloth, the dark patches standing out against their pale background.

As diminutive as it seemed in the face of Kuroi’s scythe, he deflected the swing, temporarily knocking the larger man off balance.

Tracksuit flung open his jacket and your jaw dropped when you spotted the swirling void where his chest should be.

From this deeper darkness, three darting shapes launched towards Nanami. He pivoted on the top of one of the remaining booths, which swayed precariously under his weight. The projectiles swerved mid-air, tracking Nanami like missiles, and you saw that they were outlined in that same viridian light.

They were ravens.

The connection in your memory snapped into place. You still didn’t understand the full implication, but those ravens that had flocked on the rooftop of the office block opposite had most probably originated from Tracksuit.

Instead of dodging, Nanami stood his ground.

Something began to rise from within him, illuminating his frame in that same strange glow. You took a step back as a thrumming resonance echoed through your own body, a reminder.

This was probably how he’d incapacitated you earlier. Not some kind of narcotic, or other tranquilizer. It was this energy that had pulsed through you in that moment, robbing your muscles of free motion.

And now, it was building to incandescent fire throughout his form, leaping out along the blade which he wielded like a most natural extension of his arm.

The mottled weapon came down in a wide arc, slicing through the darting birds. They dissipated in shimmering fragments in the night air.

No ordinary ravens, then.

Nanami was given no respite, however, as Yayoi and Kuroi had re-grouped, narrowing in on him once again.

Yayoi leapt high, right at the moment that Kuroi’s scythe swept in a low crescent. Nanami dodged the attack, but Yayoi twisted her torso, vaulting off the pole section of Kuroi’s weapon. Her momentum propelled her directly over Nanami, her leg straightening and coming down in a spectacularly executed axe kick.

He couldn’t dodge it.

Her foot connected with his shoulder with a sickening crack, and you covered your mouth, your gorge rising in response.

You were not sure what it was that gave you such a strong reaction. Perhaps he’d formed some unknown connection to you through the energy he’d used earlier. Perhaps it was something deeper, more primal, like watching a pack of hyenas circling a wounded lion, jaws snapping as it backed into a corner.

You had very little time to process that thought, however, because Nanami’s reaction was almost too fast for your eyes to follow.

Instead of escaping their range, he moved forward, into it. He tossed his blade high into the air, away from him.

Tracksuit yelled a warning, but it was too late.

The uninjured hand shot through the air, grasping Yayoi’s descending ankle. Brilliant pools of energy flared to life, circling Nanami’s feet like water as he anchored himself to the roof of the booth and he swung around, injecting his own force into her momentum to cast her to the ground below.

She struck with shuddering impact, lying broken and still in the steaming crater that had formed in the tarmac.

By the time your eyes, wide and bloodshot, had risen to Nanami again, you saw that Kuroi had swung the scythe again, the blade slicing into the blonde man’s side.

Again, Nanami defied all expectations with a reckless grace that showed no consideration for his own safety at all.

He grasped the end of the scythe, holding it within his own flesh as Kuroi’s eyes widened in shock.

Then something fell into Nanami’s hand.

The flat-edged cleaver, still in its spotted wrapping, came down as he completed the motion. With devastating precision and impact, it carved Kuroi right down the middle, blood fountaining out in a hot crimson wave, splattering over the rusted struts.

The tall, bulky frame of the bodyguard struck the wheel on the way down, landing beside Yayoi with a sound that didn’t bear thinking about.

The remaining opponent, Tracksuit, had now taken the route of caution, his face pale and determined, lit sparingly by the flashing lights from below. He crossed the diameter of the wheel, giving Nanami a wide berth.

It became evident to you now that Nanami had an intended destination. Even now, as his left arm swung uselessly at his side and his black shirt gleamed as it soaked through with blood, he made his dogged way towards the remaining two figures who shouted profanities across at him.

They must have been members of the Watanabe family, you realised. There were five of them expected today. You assumed, with a shudder, that the other three had been dealt with already.

Nanami edged out along the horizontal spoke that led to their booth, a man on a metal tightrope. He never slipped, never faltered, even as his position exposed him to attacks from the steadily approaching bodyguard from below.

Tracksuit inhaled deeply, chest swelling to unnatural size, and the jacket fell open again. The ravens emerged from the void once more, this time in staggered formation. They shot towards Nanami, poisonous green darts, aiming to knock him from his perch, to lance through his flesh and strike where his injuries pained him most.

In spite of it all, he made steady progress, batting away each spearing form with the flat end of his blade, or striking them with a blow that distended their bodies before they disintegrated like before.

It seemed to you that the whole flock had been summoned, circling, dropping, arching around to strike again if he missed, but Nanami’s resolve held firm. Even with his existing injuries, the slices and stabs aimed his way by errant beaks and claws, there was a drive that seemed to push him forward, always forward.

Although you couldn’t see his face clearly from the ground, you knew what kind of expression he’d be wearing.

By now, he was almost at the end of the strut. Tracksuit had amped up the attack, drawing the ravens together in a tunnel that surrounded Nanami, the deadly whirl of their rotating shapes gaining speed.

Making a sudden mad dash, Nanami raised the blade, the screams of the two men hanging from the booth ringing out as he severed the cables holding their rickety lifeline in place.

The booth dropped and you dived back behind the engine room as the deafening crash and screech of deforming metal reached your ears. Bolts, gears and twisted bars rolled and skittered across the ground past you.

Chancing a peek around the corner once more, you saw that neither of the victims had escaped. An arm protruded from beneath the wreckage, and the other body must have been further in.

Nanami surveyed the damage from above, the wind catching his hair, buffeting the fabric of his trousers. His face was in shadow, but he’d obviously confirmed his kill because you saw the small, tired nod of acknowledgement.

He was not out of the woods yet.

Tracksuit had made a last-ditch attempt to stop the fall of the booth, but his ravens had not been able to snatch the Watanabe from certain death. He was probably new to the game, hesitant in a way that Yayoi and Kuroi had not been.

Not that it had helped them.

You could see the strain on his face, the glimmer of sweat and the harsh rise and fall of his chest. He was not as badly injured as Nanami, but he was afraid, and running out of stamina, it seemed. Nevertheless, he made one last ditch attempt, pulling out all the stops.

Behind Nanami, a vast cloud of ravens, enhanced with that same, eldritch projectile energy, dove down from the sky. Their movement widened, forming a spiralling vortex, a tornado of rushing wings and watchful, glassy eyes.

Nanami raised the cleaver high above his head, standing eerily still for a moment.

Lit from below by the powerful, flashing emergency lights and the distant shift of red, blue and white from the law enforcement vehicles, he seemed so completely and utterly isolated in that fractured sliver of time.

Then, he jumped.

The ravens came with him.

At first, he was completely enveloped in darkness, but then he carved straight through the cone of feathered spirits, a blinding arc of electric blue, the cut as clean as shears through sable silk.

A great cry, the voices of a thousand mingled together as one, tore through the empty grounds of the fair. Nanami, impossibly, hit the ground feet first, seemingly undamaged by a controlled jump from that height.

All around him, the fading bodies of the vanquished ravens fell to the earth and disintegrated almost instantly.

Nanami straightened, his good hand pushing against his knee with some effort.

Somewhere, through the narrow passage leading to the small carpark, feet pounded frantically at the pavement. Tracksuit, it seemed, knew full well when he was outclassed.

You could only applaud the wisdom of his decision. You’d never witnessed anything like tonight, but it was the stench of death, foul, animal and heavy as iron, that would cling to the vivid scape of your memory.

Nanami hadn’t noticed your presence yet, and if he did, he was ignoring it. There was certainly no threat you could offer someone like him, as badly injured as he seemed to be. Turning slowly, he made his way towards the harbour wall.

Sinking to a crouch in the shadows, damp seeping into your shirt, you bit your lip.

You could leave this place and never come back.

Nobody would be any the wiser. Even if you’d been spotted with Nanami earlier, you could explain that you’d been threatened, under duress to comply with him.

There was absolutely no need to muddy the waters of your role in all of this.

No reason at all.

Closing your eyes, you strained to forget the man you’d spent a little over an hour with, the curve of his lips around the cigarette, the honeyed warmth of his glance, the shift of silk over leather, the gentle strength of his hand beneath your arm.

You thought, haltingly, of his bitter smile, the lines that deepened, then vanished, at the corners of his eyes. You thought of how he’d looked, standing above the destruction he’d wrought, a bloodstained monarch surveying an empty kingdom.

Alone. Always alone.

Rising from your crouch, you made a decision, one you didn’t pause to rationalise. It was more instinct than anything else. In this new world that had opened before your eyes, there seemed to be little else that counted.

Starting at a light jog, you soon broke into a run as the ticket booth came into view. Flinging open the door you’d exited just a short while before, you tugged open the metal hatch on the wall, grabbing the first aid kit within.

It was very basic, certainly not enough on its own to deal with the full impact of his injuries, but it would buy him enough time to seek proper medical attention.

The bag knocked against your side as your ran back, heading in the same direction he’d taken. There was no way he’d gone far in his state, or at least, that was the logic your mind asserted. After everything you’d witnessed tonight, you were beginning to have your doubts.

What if he was already beyond your reach?

The thought of never seeing him again should have given you comfort, but then, little else made much sense.

You placed a firm hold on questioning your desperation, determined to simply reach him for now.

And there he was, sitting on the harbour wall, like a man who’d had too much to drink and had decided to contemplate the waves beyond. You knew that his situation was far more dire.

You approached him, with the air of an animal handler facing a new beast in a small enclosure, an unknown quantity. He turned slightly, seeming to recognise you by the sound of your footsteps.

His voice was lower, slightly hoarse, the bone deep, permanent state of exhaustion he seemed to suffer from further compounded by the gravely tone.

“Of everyone at the fair tonight, I’d least expected you to finish me off.”

He turned, the half-smile vanishing when he beheld the first aid kit in your hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re hurt.”

“You need to get out of here. I’m going to assume you’ve seen what happened – “

“I saw most of it.”

“Then why would you – “

You scratched furiously at the side of your face, where the dried blood was now beginning to itch something fierce.

“Look, I’ve been asking myself the same question and I … I just won’t. I’m going to help you. Leave it at that.”

“If they find out – “

“Who’s going to tell them? Nobody saw me. I’ll just say I was knocked out the whole time.”

Your excuses sounded even more flimsy when you voiced them out loud. Nanami remained silent, before turning back to the waves. You took that as a form of permission.

Keeping your movements slow and steady, as you had earlier, you seated yourself on the wall beside him. The stone beneath you was slippery and damp, but far enough away from the dock to be safe.

Nanami was flexing the fingers of his injured hand, slowly and gingerly. It must have been a dislocation, effected by the strength of Yayoi’s kick, which he’d managed to fix on his own.

Your thoughts immediately travelled to the bodyguards, their bodies cooling on the tarmac not far away.

It wasn’t that you felt no empathy, only an understanding of your respective roles in the circles you all moved in. If either of them had survived, they would have slit your throat without hesitation once they’d learned of your actions.

That’s the way it went. No hard feelings, nothing personal.

The front of Nanami’s shirt was already open, and your eyes widened when you noted the slight glow around the edges of the wound. Even if the change was incremental, it seemed to be closing.

The edges were no less jagged and raw-looking, though. He still needed antiseptic, some basic stitches, a tight wrapping to prevent excessive bleeding. Your time in the employ of certain persons in the underworld had taught you the basics of field treatment.

You laid out the rudiments in a straight line, the rubbing alcohol, the thread and needle, the sealed bandages and surgical pad in their airtight packaging.

“Turn to face me.”

He complied with no protest, and you got to work, avoiding the gaze that inevitably fell on you.

“This is going to burn like hell.”

“I know.”

The words weren’t empty, coming from him. He stiffened only for a moment as you quickly swabbed the wound with alcohol, a hiss escaping from between his teeth.

Then, his muscles relaxed noticeably under your probing fingers, the mark of someone who had long experience with being stitched up. He clearly knew how to make the process easier on himself.

“I’m no expert at this, you know. You’ll have to find some place to help treat your injuries.”

“I have my contacts. I’ll find them.”

“Then what were you doing?” you query sharply, a lot braver than you felt. “You were just sitting on that wall, like you were waiting to – “

He didn’t reply to your outburst, a small mercy.

You sterilized the needle and thread, pinching the edges of the wound together. When the steel point pierced flesh, you winced slightly, but he didn’t.

As you worked, your eyes couldn’t help but wander. Nanami’s torso, like the glimpse you received of his arms earlier, was covered with the marks of battles like the one you’d witnessed. His skin was pocked with small dents, the raised edges of scar tissue more palpable in some areas than others. Many of the scars were shiny, stretched thin, and others were darker in colour, as if he’d been subject to burns of some kind.

Rising over the fabric of his trousers, just above the remarkably clean ‘V’ that his pelvis formed, you could have sworn that he bore what looked like the bite mark of huge, canine-like jaws.

Otherwise, Nanami’s form seemed like that of a man who’d eaten well once, and taken good care of himself. Broad-shouldered, narrow in the waist, the curve of his pectorals and the ridges of his hard abdomen were covered in fine golden hair that brushed with terrifying intimacy against your fingers as you sewed him up.

You wondered again what had brought him to this point, to this precipitous existence that always hovered on the verge of extinguishing finality. You wondered why he seemed to treat himself like a tool, a machine meant for a single purpose.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

His words were soft, barely audible over the lap of the sea against the great struts of the pier.

“Oh, really?” Something about the steady motion of your hands had calmed your nerves, restored some of your old panache. “You can read minds too?”

“I’m happy to say that that’s not on my list of skills.”

“So I’m just that transparent?”

“You are.”

“In what way?”

He was silent for a while longer before he spoke again, and there was a strange fondness in his voice, one that almost stilled your hand.

“You remind me of someone.”

“Just how many people are stitching you up on the regular?”

“It’s the opposite, actually. The one you remind me of gave me this scar.”

You snipped the end of the thread, before your eyes travelled slowly up to where he was pointing. His finger was slowly tracing the edge of the eyepatch over his right eye.

“Who was it?” you whispered.

“A boy who tried to save me. He hasn’t given up, you know. Even now, when it’s absolutely useless to try.”

“So … he took your eye?”

“He confronted me. We fought. I wanted him to see who I truly was, and he was forced to drive me back.”

You inhaled deeply before swabbing the raw red line on his abdomen, sealing the edges with surgical tape.

“And yet he still wants to save you?”

“He’s doomed to fail.”

Even as he said the words, you sensed the momentary hesitation, that hollow, ceaseless tide of loneliness inside him that beat against everything he touched.

“Maybe he doesn’t believe that.”

“His belief makes no difference. It is illogical.”

“You’re gonna talk about logic when you’re slinging spells around like Gandalf?”

“I wouldn’t call those spells.”

The sterile cotton pad was carefully removed from the plastic package, placed over the wound after one final swab, some antiseptic applied to the inside. You weren’t really considering your next words.

“It’s far simpler than you think.”

“It is?”

“He sees something in you that can be saved.”

“And that’s why you’re helping me?”

You caught his gaze, held it.

“He took your eye, but not the rest of you. That speaks for itself.”

Nanami didn’t reply, but there was a slight easing in the set of his shoulders, a release of some kind of tension, visible in the almost-smile that would translate to a laugh on another.

As you quickly wrapped the bandages tight around his torso, he raised his nose to the air, scenting something only he was privy to.

“It’s time for me to leave.”

As if on cue, the muted hum of a motor carried across to you on the water. Someone was approaching the dock. So this was what he’d been waiting for.

You weren’t completely happy with the bindings, but they’d have to do for the immediate future.

Nanami stood slowly, testing his own body, and looked you over.

“In a few minutes, they’ll be here.”

“The police?”

“No. Others. Like the boy I was talking about.”

“How will I know who they are?”

“They’re the only ones who’ll be allowed in. Why do you think it’s taken this long for emergency services to respond?”

“But – “

“Listen. They’re going to drop something called a veil over the area. You’ll know it when you see it. You won’t be able to leave immediately. Tell them what we decided on. That you were my hostage. I kept you trapped, left a message with you to pass on. That you were too scared to move from the office when you heard the commotion outside, until now.”

Nanami hesitated for only a moment before taking your hand in his own. You offered no resistance, the scene as surreal as the conversation you’d had with him outside the coffee stall.

His fingers were roughened, still sticky with blood, but they felt warm around yours, his grip strangely reassuring. Before you were able to register his intention, he raised your hand briefly to his lips, the heated press of them sending an involuntary shudder through your frame.

“Now that’s a liberty I wouldn’t usually take, but I suppose this is one of occasions where it’s called for.”

For the first time, he smiled without that edge of pain, and your ability to breathe momentarily deserted you.

He was a killer, and a dangerous one at that, and yet, in that moment, you caught a glimpse of the man he must have once been.

Unbearably kind, the kind of man who’d task himself with the work that he considered too base for the hands of others.

“Take this.”

A small slip of paper entered your grasp. Turning it over, you raised an eyebrow. It was a coupon for a bakery in the city, a handwritten address on the back.

“The boy I told you about will be among those here tonight. Give this to him. Tell him it’s my message.”

“How will I know him?”

“He has pink hair. You can’t miss him. Tell him … to get the casse-croûte. It’s my favourite.”

Before you were able to think over it further, Nanami tugged you toward him, lifting the loose edge of his shirt. He dragged the fabric down, against the side of your face, smearing you further with the congealing blood.

“Just insurance. You’ll see a medic when you’re outside the veil.”

“What is a veil supposed to – “

Your words cut off as a heavy darkness descended over the fairground. Above you, something spread through the atmosphere, as if a giant hand had poured a vessel of pure midnight over an invisible dome.

The veil.

You did indeed recognise it, now that it was visible.

Nanami was already half out of your view by the time you lowered your gaze, striding out across the pier.

The coupon crumpled slightly in your hand as you watched the night swallow him, the boat waiting below like a vessel steered by a phantom hand, ready to bear him out into the strange world he’d emerged from.

He did look back, just the once.

You realised that he'd never returned your lighter.

23 notes · View notes

ginnsbaker · 2 years ago

Text

the follow up

Summary: Sequel to 'prophylaxis'. Wanda's follow up appointment with you, her dentist. Includes ice cream, Vision playing matchmaker and Wanda's questionable taste in music

Word count: 3k | Warnings: None. Tooth-rotting fluff. Pun intended.

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader | Platonic Wanda Maximoff X Vision

Author's note: Let's pretend that the Sokovian accords resolved itself without Tony and Steve divorcing | P.S couldn't resist inserting a T.S. lyric (sorry not sorry)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Wanda Maximoff is strapped to a chair.

Again.

Fortunately, it's not because she'd been caught behind enemy lines or had to be restrained because of those stupid accords that nobody really cares about except Tony and Steve.

No, Wanda Maximoff is at the dentist's office.

Again.

Okay, so, she’s not strapped per se, but the patient bib she wears over her clothes certainly feels like one, especially when that chair starts to tilt back as soon as you nudge the adjustor with your foot. It's like being bound in place, just without the actual restraints.

Her lips are dry, and her heart is beating just a little too fast, but not from fear this time. It's a different sort of edginess that Wanda feels, especially when you lean in too close to her face to check her molars. Your face is just inches from hers, eyebrows strewn in concentration and eyes focused. Wanda tries to look away, but there's nowhere to look except the ceiling or into those scrutinizing eyes.

It also doesn’t help that you smell absolutely incredible. Last week, you smelled like raindrops on petals. Today, you smell like cinnamon and vanilla, and she finds both scents comforting and addicting.

“So, Wanda,” you say, your voice calm and gentle, “How have you been taking care of your teeth since the last visit?”

“Uh, fine,” Wanda tries to articulate the words properly but all that comes out is a garbled “ahhh fuh”. You don't mock her in any way; instead, you display an expert understanding of your patients' speech patterns.

“You've been brushing and flossing?”

Wanda nods.

“Good girl,” you say, and even though your smile is hidden behind the mask, she can still see it in your eyes. They crinkle at the corners, and it just sends something warm and happy in Wanda’s chest whenever she sees it.

But there’s nervousness, too.

In fact, a lot of things about you make her nervous. After all, your kind used to be the bane of her existence.

You turn away to prepare the necessary tools, and Wanda's mind starts to wander. How many patients do you see in a day? Are you always this nice and charming to them?

Are they also nervous around you? Or is it just her?

“Alright, Wanda,” you say, turning back to her, your eyes kind and understanding. “Let's get started. Just a small pinch, and you'll feel a little numb.”

She nods again, and the procedure begins.

As you work, you talk about mundane things and the new plant you acquired over the weekend. You also talk a little about the Avengers compound and the unique experiences that come with being their on-call dentist, especially with a synthezoid who insists on getting their teeth checked.

Wanda answers more freely now, her initial hesitation gone. She finds herself enjoying your company–enjoying this dental appointment, of all things–and even laughing at some of your anecdotes.

Finally, the fillings are in place, and you help her rinse her mouth.

“See?” you say, patting her shoulder. “That wasn't so bad.”

Wanda beams at you, feeling quite proud of herself. “No, it wasn't. Thank you.”

“There are still three more that might need fillings, but we can schedule that for some other time. Don’t want you to get overwhelmed,” you add with a cheeky wink that has Wanda unwittingly clutching the armchair tightly.

You carefully set your tools down on the tray, giving Wanda some room to breathe. Right then, the numbing effect of the anesthesia begins to fade and Wanda winces, her hand instinctively coming up to her jaw, fingers massaging the area where the discomfort is blooming.

Seeing her reaction, you recall the ice cream you'd thoughtfully stashed away after she’d confirmed her appointment.

“Feeling a bit tender there?” you ask, moving towards the small refrigerator you keep in the room. “I have just the thing.”

Wanda looks at you curiously as you retrieve a container of Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia ice cream. Her eyes widen, and she exclaims, “How did you know this is my favorite?”

You blush as if you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. You hadn't expected Wanda to notice the specific flavor of the ice cream, let alone comment on how suspiciously perfect it was that you picked her favorite.

“Well, I may have called the Avengers compound and asked around,” you say, sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck. “It was Vision–was it?–who knew. Said you always choose this one.”

You extend the tub of Cherry Garcia to Wanda, and as she takes it, your fingers briefly brush against hers. Both of you pause at the unexpected touch, a small gasp escaping her lips. You quickly shift your attention to the utensil drawer, pulling out a spoon and handing it to her. But instead of digging in immediately, she hesitates, glancing up at you.

The white mask you're wearing has kept your full face hidden throughout the appointment, and now, she'd be utterly disappointed if she never gets a peek at your face, which is partly the reason she agreed to come here in the first place.

Wanda Maximoff can’t have that. After sitting through an hour in that torture chair, she needs to be rewarded. And not just with ice cream.

“Would you... would you like to share it with me?” she asks hesitantly, trying to be subtle–

“I'd really like to see your face, just once.”

–and then failing at subtlety half a second later.

You blink, surprised at her straightforwardness, and feel a deeper blush spread across your cheeks. Her request is unconventional, yes, but it's also earnest and endearing. Slowly, you reach up and remove the mask, unveiling the smile that Wanda's been so desperate to see.

“Well, I do have quite the sweet tooth, so I couldn't possibly refuse.” you say.

You sit side-by-side on the coach, your knees touching ever so often. You occasionally find yourself pointing to Wanda's lips, indicating where she needs to wipe away the stray cream. Wanda blushes at your attentiveness, but she can't help but appreciate the caring gesture.

Wanda truly wants to prolong this moment, this unexpected opportunity to have you all to herself. But as delightful as the company is, ice cream has its own rules, and it's not much enjoyable when it's melted. So, despite her desire to make the moment stretch on, the ice cream is finished in under ten minutes.

Staring at the empty tub, the idea that she might not be the only one to experience this side of you fills her with both reassurance and a hint of envy. Wanda can't help but wonder if there's something special about the connection you share during these brief appointments, or if your comforting demeanor is simply part of being a skilled and compassionate dentist.

Either way, she wants to do something with you that would set her apart from all your other patients.

“Um, so,” she begins, fumbling with her words, her eyes darting around the room before landing on yours. “I was thinking, you know, if you're not too busy or anything, maybe we could... do this again? Not the dental part!” she quickly adds, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I mean, maybe dinner, or a movie, or whatever you like? If you want to, of course.”

You look at her with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape, as if you're trying to catch the words that just slipped out of her mouth. Is it a date? Is it just a friendly outing? Regardless, it's not typically professional to see a patient outside of the clinic, especially one as renowned as Wanda Maximoff.

“Wanda,” you start. “You’re interesting, funny, and truly amazing.”

You watch as Wanda’s face becomes hopeful, which makes you want to strangle yourself for what you have to say next.

“But I’m sorry, I can’t. I have to consider the professional boundaries that I need to maintain.”

Wanda's eyes widen momentarily, and then she quickly masks her disappointment with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Oh, of course, I understand,” she says, her voice light, but not quite reaching her eyes. “I shouldn't have asked. It was silly of me.”

But you can see the hurt in her eyes, the way her shoulders slump just a little, the way her smile doesn't scrunch her nose the way it normally does. She's trying to brush it off, to act like it doesn't matter, but you can tell that it does.

With that, your time together draws to a close. You ask Wanda if she wants to schedule another filling for her remaining molars, but she merely shakes her head, telling you she'll have to think about it. Her eyes avoid yours, and her voice is distant, a clear indication of how your rejection has affected her.

You watch her walk away, a part of you wishing you could call her back, and another part knowing that you made the right choice.

It's the first time you experience a profound sense of loathing towards your profession as a dentist.

You wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t invite you back next year for another routine check-up.

Which makes your predicament the following day all the more baffling.

One second, you're tending to a tall, blonde, seemingly ordinary man in your dental chair, going through the routine motions of preparing for a check-up. You turn your back for a moment to prepare your tools, lost in thought and still reeling from yesterday's encounter with Wanda.

When you turn to face your patient again, your heart skips a beat, your hands freezing in place.

The man is no longer blonde and ordinary but bald and a striking shade of red.

In a snap, it’s another Avenger in your hands.

You clear your throat, forcing a smile as you approach the chair. “Mr. Vision,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I wasn't expecting to see you here.”

Vision is ready to correct you with your use of ‘Mr.’ but then he tilts his head, deciding he likes the title next to his name.

“It's my pleasure to see you, Doctor,” he smiles at you, sitting perfectly still.

You blink at him, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that a synthezoid–one who technically doesn't even have biological teeth–is sitting in your dental chair. You can't help but wonder if this is some kind of joke or if Wanda sent him to kill you.

When you continue to stand unmoving in your position, Vision says, “I’m here for a check-up.”

Huh.

Okay?

You reach for the mouth mirror and probe, tools typically used for human patients, and hesitate for just a moment.

How exactly does one perform a check-up on a synthezoid?

Vision seems to read your uncertainty, his crystal-blue eyes meeting yours. “I assure you, I have all the components you would find in a human mouth,” he says.

You nod, beginning to understand. Gathering your focus, you proceed to perform the unusual check-up he's requesting. As you explore his mouth, you find yourself fascinated by the impeccable craftsmanship that went into creating Vision. Every tooth, every gum, is a perfect imitation of its human counterpart.

You find yourself feeling a little jealous of his orthodontic assets.

As you continue the check-up, he starts to share some stories, his voice even and clear despite your probing.

“You know, Wanda once fed an alley full of stray cats during a mission in Bucharest,” he says, a soft chuckle in his voice. “We were on a surveillance assignment, and she noticed them, all huddled together, looking hungry. Before I knew it, she had conjured up bowls of food for them all. It was quite a sight.”

You pause, caught by the image of Wanda surrounded by furry, adorable kittens. “That sounds adorable.” you reply, moving on to examine his upper molars. 'Cute' was the word on the tip of your tongue, exactly what you meant to say. But you know as well as anyone that finding a patient cute is off-limits.

He continues, “Yes, Wanda has a way with things. Once, back at the Avengers HQ, she'd make her dinner portion smaller so the guys with big appetites could eat their fill. Even Natasha, who's quite the cook, found it a stretch sometimes to satisfy the team's hunger.”

And then as he drones on about Wanda, you slowly begin to piece together what's really happening here. Vision isn't just in your clinic for a check-up.

He's talking up Wanda.

To you.

As if Wanda even needed talking up.

All you could think about was the brunette with her soulful green eyes and a smile that makes you go weak in the knees. Your heart skips a beat at the very thought of her.

But it's not just because Wanda is your patient that you rejected her. There's the awe and reverence you feel towards her as an Avenger, a symbol of justice and freedom, a hero who seems to belong to the world more than to any one person. And then there's the raw, personal part of you, still healing from a toxic relationship that ended only six months ago.

And as Vision concludes his tales of Wanda by sharing how she's the only one patient enough to show him the ropes of what being human is, you see through his carefully crafted façade.

He's here to bridge the gap, to make Wanda more accessible, more human in your eyes. He wants you to see her not just as a public figure but as a person with feelings, quirks, and simple kindnesses.

And more than that, he wants you to realize that you're an idiot for saying no to someone as wonderful as Wanda Maximoff.

“You’re not really here for a check-up, are you?” you smile at him knowingly.

Vision looks at you, his synthetic eyes almost mischievous and for a while you forget that he isn’t human.

He pauses for a moment, as if considering his next words, and then he smiles back.

“No,” he finally says, his voice carrying a hint of both humor and sincerity. “I'm not.”

He then continues, his tone turning thoughtful. “Wanda has been... sulking. For hours, locked up in her room listening to ‘Lips of an Angel’ on repeat. She told me before that I am her 'best friend,'” he says, the term slightly foreign in his mouth. “I looked up what that means, and it included helping her be happy.”

Apart from the reveal of what kind of music Wanda listens to, you feel Vision’s words tugging at your heart strings. Well, at least until he says–

“Natasha explained to me that Wanda is being, as she put it, 'emo' because she got rejected by a possible... sexual mate.”

You'd choke on your water if you were drinking one.

That's not what you expected him to say, not in the least. The sentence hits you like a left-field curveball, utterly disrupting the flow of the conversation. It's so... so... un-Vision-like, and yet, here he is, stating it as matter-of-factly as he might describe the weather.

“Given that, I would like to ask you to reconsider going out with my ‘best friend’.”

You're still coming to grips with everything that's just happened. Vision, Wanda's “best friend” here in your clinic, attempting to play matchmaker. What he's asking isn't small, but the way he's asking, the care he's shown in understanding human relationships, his concern for Wanda's feelings–it all makes you pause.

You think about what you were doing on your computer last night, googling Wanda’s name and trying to find out all you could about the young Avenger.

Finally making a decision, you look up at Vision squarely in the eye.

“Would you happen to know Wanda’s email address?” you ask, fiddling with the lapels of your white coat. “And also her phone number?”

“Oh, thank god,” Natasha sighs as she hears Wanda hit pause on the 46th replay of Lips of an Angel.

Yes, 46. Natasha had made Vision count, and that doesn't include the ones he missed when she urgently dispatched him to you to remediate the Wanda situation immediately.

She hears someone whistling a tune coming from the hallway and is surprised to see Vision, apparently adopting Steve's habit in his eagerness to act more human.

“Mission accomplished?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.

Vision stops whistling, a look of satisfaction in his synthetic eyes. “I believe I made some progress. Our friend has promised to think about reconsidering the decision.”

“Just think about it? You were gone quite a while for a 'maybe.'”

Vision pauses, his head tilting slightly. “I believe I was able to present Wanda in a way that may help our friend realize her feelings for her.”

“You think she has feelings for our Wanda?” Natasha's voice betrays her surprise, and she can't quite catch herself using the word ‘our’. She continues, slightly flustered, “I was thinking maybe she'd just indulge Wanda's crush for a while, then befriend her, so as not to completely shut her down.”

“I observed her vitals while telling her about Wanda, and all the signs point to yes, she has feelings for our Wanda,” Vision answers, thoughtfully echoing Natasha's use of ‘our’.

She smirks, leaning against the wall. “Well, let's hope your efforts pay off. I can't take another 46 replays of that song.”

Vision stoically considers Natasha's last statement. “Actually, Agent Romanoff, I must disagree. I could listen to another replay. Technically, it's a well-composed song.”

Natasha's face twists into a look of mock disgust. “I swear, if you start advocating for boy bands next, I'm holding Wanda personally responsible.”

“I'll consider that when expanding my musical repertoire.”

She waves a dismissive hand, still grinning. “Just don't start singing in the shower. We've got enough noise in the mornings as it is.”

Around the time that Wanda has just hit pause on the Hinder hit that has been playing on loop, a notification sounds off her laptop.

She quickly turns her attention to it and clicks on the email that has arrived from your clinic. Inside, there's a referral letter personally written by you, referring Wanda to another colleague of yours.

You no longer want to be her dentist, the email makes that clear. Somehow, this hurts more than your rejection of her yesterday.

Before she can fully process the referral, her phone buzzes with a call from an unknown number. She hesitates, before deciding to answer. “Hello?”

“Hi, Wanda. It’s Y/N. F-From the clinic?” you breathe out in a rush, the words tangled with your nerves. Wanda takes note of how your voice sounds over the phone–deeper and more intimate against her ear.

She takes a moment to reply, still a little thrown by the referral. “Oh, hi. I just read your email,” she says.

“Yes, about that…” You trail off, pausing as you try to find the right words. “I was thinking, instead of discussing that over the phone, maybe we could talk about it over dinner on Friday? If you're free–”

“I’d love to,” Wanda quickly accepts, her heart threatening to jump out of her chest.

You try to suppress a chuckle, grateful that Wanda can’t see your cheeks turning a rosy pink.

“Great! I'll pick you up at seven?"

“Seven it is.” Her reply is soft, almost shy. You say your goodbyes, both of you grinning to yourselves as you both hang up.

Back in her room, Wanda stares at her phone, a broad smile on her face, touching it as if it's your face.

She presses play on the song once more, not as a lament but as a triumph.

Much to Natasha’s dismay.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #vision #steve rogers

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inameating · 5 months ago

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TOKYO GHOUL CHARACTERS GOING OT THE DENTIST listen i dont fucking know if these people (well not rlly) go to the dentist i dont know how ghoul teeth work but im treating this with my knowledge of dentistry which is limited to the fact that ive been quite often the alst couple months so in short trust me bro real ones know i love stypid hcs so here is some the dentist question has only been raised by one person on reddit 10 years ago so im just going to treat this like ghouls are human people who go to the dentist

starting with the quinx girl if u think shirazu goes to the dentist ur dumb. he walks in and the receptionist goes 'aww are you here to get your veneers fitted?' because he has sharp teeth like when ppl get their teeth shaved for veneers i think .. his teet h probably yellow as FUCK im not saying that hatefully i just think he forgets to brush his teeth sometimes .. thts all

mutsuki is probably scared of the dentist or maybe im projecting but i jsut think he is . and thats ok.. (he doesnt go) (but his teeth r fine he brushes thrice a day and prob uses floss and mouthwash)

urie goes to the dentist i reckon .. probably uses those whitening toothpastes too .. idont think hes afraid of the dentist but i think he'd get that kind of 'ugh do i have to' feeling everytime an appointment is coming up

saiko might go to the dentist if its a pretty girl who can bring all her tools to her bedside! so no she doesnt but she makes sure to pick food out of her teeth

akira mado has never missed a dental appointment and i strongly believe that . every 6 months . she opens her mouth and it hurts to look at bcos they are WHITE not whitened but just like naturally white . shes probably the healthiest person in that institution tbh

ui either goes to some posh dentist with super comfy waiting room seats OR he goes like once every 4 years . i choose to believe the former bcos he probably would be upset to have 'smoker teeth' ... he probably hates the taste of mint though but still uses mint toothpaste and breath mints cus hes an idiot

hairu!!!!!!!!! she probably has those trendy toothpastes that r in diff flavours in the cute pastel packaging, i saw them on tiktok . she probably has flavoured floss and like pink mouthwash aww😭choosing to believe she dyed her hair pink and she is just cutiecore as fuck by the way . she probably brushes her teeth twice a day because she doesnt want them to get bad . aww aw ... also she probably is on really good terms with her dentist and probably texts them like theyre her buddy . she probably goes a normal amount so like once a year maybe once every 9 months

juuzou hates brushing his teeth . which is bad because he likes sweets!!!! id like to think that hairu would give him a toothpaste to try (while internally praying he does so because his breath fucking reeks) and i think he'd be ok with it . i think he'd keep forgetting but he'd try to make a routine of it at least every evening (god forbid he tries to take up even more time getting out of the door in the morning) . juuzou has also many several dentists . shinohara encourages him to go and then eventually drags him into the chair and they always end up having a 'juuzou you cant just keep biting shit' talk

i cant think of any more yap ill make a part 2 maybe

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kekaki-cupcakes · 1 year ago

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Heeeey

I just saw a tiktok that said Percy "I hate bullies" Jackson soo can I ask for a fic where the reader is new at the camp and is harassed by an ares kid or an aphrodite kid and Percy help them ?

Not necessarily a romantic story, I just thought it would be sweet

you may have broken me out of my writing slump lol. thanks for the platonic ask <3 <3 <3 I miss those lol. enjoy!

Percy defends reader from the camp menace

»»————-　★　————-««

You walked up the grassy path, bag over one shoulder. The rich green strawberry field stretched out to your right, filling the valley with the smell of summer and fruit. The air was warm too, and you’d like to fall asleep in the flower rings after the stress of the day.

Clouds drifted like fairy floss. You had a bandage over one arm where the feral ‘harpy’ had got you, but other than that, and a healthy dose of fear, you were unharmed.

A good outcome for a monster attack, according to the blonde boy who’d wrapped up your wound before sending you along to a purple haired girl called Lou Ellen, who dragged you around the dangerous summer camp, pointing out where all the death traps and instant coffee makers were located.

And now you were here, standing outside the little wooden shack by the Infirmary where you’d started, with a handful of massive golden coins the horse man had given you, that matched the sun in the sky. Hopefully they sold sunscreen in the camp store.

You pushed aside the beaded curtain and peeked around, sneakers squeaking on the floor. You were going to have to duct tape the sole of your shoe back on as well, since that feathered little bitch tried to swallow it hole.

You shivered at the thought, and stepped though.

The first thing you noticed was the wind chimes and sparkly glass dream catcher looking decorations hanging by the windows and from the roof. A few racks of orange shirts and hoodies were lined up on the far wall, past the ice-cream fridges and boxes of toiletries.

The scratched up bag you had with you, filled with lip balms and headphones and snacks and one hoodie, wasn’t enough. So you picked out a spiderman toothbrush and a stick of deodorant, opting to not get any gum in case it was magical, after reading the price tags to discover the currency was called drachmae’s.

Why did the ancient Greeks have to make everything so complicated? Couldn’t they have just chilled out?

Empty necklace strings hung off hooks nailed into the wall. You brushed them aside to get to the shirts. Lou had said you needed a few, considering how often things tended to get incinerated. The shop had your size, thankfully in English, so you took two. A boy with a pink bow in his hair and a name tag reading Mitchell walked past with a stack of jars.

You approached the bench with your arms full of supplies, and dumped them. “...Uh excuse me?”

Someone bumped around behind the bench and after a few crashes, a brown haired boy popped up. There was a bandaid over his nose, and he held a hand out. “Pleased to meet you.”

You squinted at him for a moment, and then shook his hand. “Hi.”

Something else crashed on the other side of the shop. A winged horse trotted behind you, opened the ice-cream freezer with its teeth, took out a Callipo, shut the glass door with a hoof, and then left. You turned back to the cashier. “Just these please.”

He took all your things and ripped the little white paper tags off them, folding up your shirts really badly. Then he started counting the white tags. Really slowly. He mucked up, somehow, and then started again. “Two, five… wait, no, four…”

The windchimes bumped against each other as your annoyance grew. You stuck your hands in your pockets. He kept counting. You only had four things! You were glad you hadn’t added a packet of gum to the pile.

You picked at the bandage on your arm. It was still hurting a little.

Mitchel finished putting the jars on their shelf, and turned back to the staff only door. “Oi! Jackson! Where’d all the incense go?”

“Seven… eight and a half…” The cashier guy finally finished, and punched the numbers into the cash register. Finally. He grinned. “Cash or card?”

There was no eftpos machine. What was his problem? All you wanted to do was eat dinner with your new family, find a bed, and go to sleep. And get some painkillers. And wash all the monster blood off your hands. You bit back a sigh, and reached for the bag of coins in your pocket.

It was gone.

You felt your face heat up as you checked the rest of your pockets and then your bag you knew definitely didn’t have a hole in the bottom. Your eyes prickled, and you told them off silently.

The boy behind the bench just stared at you with a smile.

“Uh…”

The staff only door banged open. The boy in the doorway glared at the cashier with alarmingly bright green eyes. There were a lot of people in this camp. You really needed to learn names. “Oi! Connor! Stop fucking with people!”

“Fine,” the cashier, Connor, huffed, and tossed your bag of coins back at you.

You caught them, glared at him, and then dug through it for the right amount to give to him. Eight and a half, how were you supposed to give him half a coin?

Green eyes stomped around the umbrella and also nunchucks stand, reading the cash register. He read it about three times.

Why could these people not count?

“Connor you fuckwit,” green eyes scoffed, tapping at the buttons. He searched through the tags again and then took seven of your coins, all while you stood there and wished the ground would open up beneath you and swallow you whole.

His tag read Percy. He handed you your things, and then a lemonade icey-pole from under the bench. You took it cautiously, and watched as he grabbed Connor’s ear, and dragged him out of the camp store.

You were left alone in there for a second, so you zipped up your bag and left quickly.

“Please no! Not the toilets!” Connor screeched, as he was shoved back down the path quickly.

Percy cupped his mouth as he yelled. “Clarisse! Come beat up Connor!”

You opened your icey-pole.

»»————-　★　————-««

#pjo fandom #pjo #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #percy jackon and the olympians #Percy Jackson x reader #percy jackson headcanon #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x gn reader #percy jackson x you #Percy Jackson platonic

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pumpkinsy0 · 18 days ago

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Y’know what? Why does Soda get all the good things in life? And he’s pretty too?? It’s just greedy.

I shall now request Soda being cursed…with crooked teeth headcanons!

hes not cursed!!!! u leave him alone,,,grrr

•w soda having crooked teeth idk y but i promise u i can see him having buck teeth w it!! ppl always said he looked like a squirrel for it (especially when he eats)

•soda having buck teeth n being sought after would absolutely make steve feel better about his own teeth, like he wasnt alone there. bonus points if sodas teeth r more crooked than steves bc then soda jokes that his teeth make steves look better in comparison

•steves teeth r crooked naturally and sodas is too but his is also the result of a lottt of injuries lmfao

•hes very insecure about his teeth but always tries to not let that show. he feels as if his teeth ruin his look and byyyy god if he could pull them out, he wishes he could. alas he cannot so its best to make light of it, cant let one thing mess up his whole image

•he would rather someone love him in spite of his teeth than bc of it, those teeth r not him damn it!!!!! which this does work out for him bc many ppl do love him in spite of his teeth, he loves trying to distance himself from his teeth

•he takes his dental hygiene very seriously, he associates crooked teeth w bad dental hygiene and knows others do the same and he refuses to follow their shitty expectations!! he brushes and flosses frequently, his crooked teeth r still pearly whites. this could make him late for work a lot but heee doesnt care. even in his “worst” traits theres huge good from it, sodapop patrick curtis everyone hes like gods perfect child

•is he insecure about the bite marks he lives in his food??? yes BUT SOMETIMES IT LOOKS SO WONKY ITS FUNNY

•when he runs his tongue against his teeth he finds it relaxing, im not explaining this one further

•he only feels comfortable smiling while showing his teeth in front of the gang. whiles hes working he sticks to smaller smiles, the girls can try to get him to smile harder at them but it woonnttt worrrkkk

•sandys the only girl he knew that fully loved his smile, he actually almost didnt ask her out in fear that his teeth would throw her off

•he and steve try at home remedies to try and fix their teeth

•his teeth impacts how he talks, he hates it and feels like its soooo obvious, but ppl just think thats how he naturally sounds, like theres nothing making him sound that way, so he just goes along w it. theres been moments where he goes to pony to try and help him speak more clearly, wasnt working however so he just gave up there

#sodapop curtis

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flawless-peach · 9 months ago

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That Girl Guide

this is in no way me trying to tell you how to live your life. I just thought this would be a fun way to help people explore different ideas and maybe give some inspiration if someone is feeling overwhelmed by the aesthetic. I great way to romanticize your life is to get inspired by a preferred aesthetic.

01. Hygeine

with hygeine it is important to remember just because society says something is necessary doesn't mean it is. This can be things like shaving and teeth whitening.

wash your face at least every night. this is not necessarily referring to a double cleanse with moisturizer, because those can take time to find one's that work and adding in several products at once makes it hard to identify what works and what doesn't. In this case I just mean go in with a gentle soap and wash off any grease and dirt off.

Floss your teeth. This is something that is incredibly important for the long-term health of your teeth. I personally find that I have to use plastic flossers because otherwise I won't floss. Do the best you can where you can.

Brush your teeth. This on is quite obvious, but one thing that is incredibly helpful when you're going through a depressive episode or something is to keep a toothbrush by your bed. In college, when I barely even went to classes, I kept an old plastic water bottle and a toothbrush by my bed, so I would at least brush my teeth 2 a day since I wasn't leaving my bed

Perfume and deodorant regular application of these really elevates your appearance. I personally love syncing these scents. My boyfriend recently bought a nice cologne that goes perfectly with his deodorant, so in the morning the scents aren't trying to compete as much.

02. Hair

this is hard to provide tips on because different hair types need different things so in this case i will just provide some styling tips

Know your hair type. For people who have straight hair, having to find your hair type never occurred to you, at least it didn't for me until I had to help someone learn to take care of their curly hair. But know your porosity and things makes taking care of your hair much much easier.

Split ends only lead to more damage it's better to go ahead and get it trimmed. I am sorry to say this, but cutting your hair at home really is not the move, it is better to just go into your local Great Cuts, or whatever, and just get the $10.00/$15.00 trim. If you absolutely can not get that cut your hair with sharp scissors, best if they are for cutting hair and having someone help you make it even.

A trade mark look of That Girl / Clean girl aesthetics is simple is more so hair styles that have minimal accessories is popular along with slick back looks as they make the hair look well maintained.

Slick back styles are great, especially in a busy week where you haven't had a chance to wash your hair yet. This is very versatile you could pull your hair back into a bun or put it in a ponytail, etc. if you have shorter hair you can slick your part and pull it in to pig tails or leave it pinned behind your ears.

if you have shorter hair styles like the 90s curtain bangs (leaning into the Old Money looks), pairs great with the elegant simple style associated with this aesthetic.

If you want to dress it down and look more casual claw clips and things like that is a great way to keep your hair out of the way while still looking like you put effort into hair even if it was minimal

This is just a side note, mostly for Americans who maybe feel really disconnected from their culture/ancestors look into the way they would style their hair. Theirs will be the most like yours, so they know things you may not, trust your ancestors ^^

03. Makeup

Makeup is in no way a necessity for the It Girl look, but some people like to wear it so I wanted to include it for those people

Look at yourself objectively, see what features you want to HIGHLIGHT, by highlighting your features, it will naturally minimize the ones you want to hide. By doing this, I was able to accept those features a lot more than when I was trying to hide them. I even learned to embrace them and even start catering to those features.

I highly suggest looking at Dear Peachie on Youtube for learning the basics. I found them to be incredibly helpful. They include other things besides makeup but I have only watched their makeup videos so far. It's a great place for beginning to understand the makeup styles that look best on you

In this aesthetic minimal makeup, or "No makeup," makeup is incredibly popular. I don't use foundation most days and instead rely on my blush, eyeliner, and my concealer on the days I wear makeup.

04. Skincare / Bodycare

I've decided to combine these even though a lot won't overlap, but some will.

Exfoliating is great for your skin it unclog pores and helps your largest organ keep you healthy, however exfoliating can also be really harsh I suggestion doing this only once a weak with a natural exfoliation if you have sensitive skin ,i have found that works best for me and my mom, however everyone skin is different so you will need to play around with that. Your face skin is more sensitive, but your body also deserves to be taken care of. Just because it can tolerate it doesn't mean it needs to.

Shaving is entirely optional and not something anyone is required to do. But if that is something you like, always prep your skin, especially though things like exfoliating gloves or something like that to help get ride of the dead skin to get a clean shave to miminimize the chance of ingrown hair and "strawberry legs"

05. Clothes

this is mostly just a list of staples that can be useful for most aesthetics but are incredibly useful for That Girl aesthetics.

plain tees, i suggest at least a black and white. some people may benefit from other colors like brown or beige, but it depends on your lifestyle and preference ^^

plain black slacks. I like mine to be on the softer side but I like the thick pressed ones for more professional interviews and things.

jackets are incredibly useful when dressing up and dressing down depending on the material and style of the jackets. I have an old jacket from my great-grandfather that is worn briwn leather that works well for dressing down business casual to more casual attire. But adding a blazer over a more casual outfit can dress it up.

Jeans are complicated because i am from the south in a very blue collar family, so I think everything goes with jeans. For jeans that fit the That Girl aesthetic, I would suggest looking at jeans with as close to no holes as comfortable. Dear Peachie also has a video over identifying your body type.

#aesthetic #clean girl #motivation #vanilla girl #routine #photo collection #that girl #peachy days #it girl

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seat-safety-switch · 2 years ago

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You might be surprised to hear that every arena of human endeavour has weird perverts who try hard to rattle the cage of normal, hard-working people. For me, it's obviously my vast collection of rattle-trap Malaise Era semi-destroyed vehicles. I've always been interested in meeting freaks in other industries and hearing long diatribes about extreme technical details that I don't really care about, so when my cousin finally retired from his job at the newspaper, I lifted his "Press" pass from his bedroom dresser when he thought I was having a heart attack at Thanksgiving dinner.

Turns out I didn't really need to do that, because my dentist is one of those freaks. One of those accidents of geographic proximity brought him to me, and we became fast friends once we each realized what the other had to offer. Dr. Incisor (not his real name; also potentially not a doctor) had a thing for fixing the absolute worst mouths that he could find. Years of working a boring suburbanite dentist clinic had taken their toll on his sanity: fill this cavity, lecture about flossing, do that root canal. Nothing truly ambitious, not at all like the dentists he would read about as a boy in bicuspid-adventure novels.

His deal was simple: he'd pay me in nitrous oxide, under the table. Finally, I could return to the drag strip and beat my rival, Steve "Nipples" Hemingway, in the eighth-mile with the help of a gaseous power-adder blowing its way through the rings of my exceptionally low-compression Slant Six beneath the dimpled hood of one of my many shitrods. In exchange, he expected me to bring to him what he called "project mouths."

If I could locate the worst teeth in the city, and drag them before him, he wouldn't even charge them for dental work. He would, however, broadcast it on his live Twitch channel, which it turns out violated a whole shitload of medical-privacy laws. I told him from the start that he should have dressed up like a cartoon lion, or at least used an anime girl vtuber, but he insisted that the "cowards of medicine" face him on equal footing as he descended into the molar (and moral) hells I placed before him.

I'll never forget his frenzied, angry screaming as they dragged him off to prison for malpractice. Don't worry, I stayed behind to make sure the clinic nitrous tank was safely discharged. Don't want any firefighters showing up. Those folks can be real freaks when they see a cool oxidizer-involved fire.

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ablinkntime · 7 months ago

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@perditos // from here

Had she ever once been to a dentist in her life? No. But she had had her wisdom teeth extracted during her stay in Sinister's "care". After all, the twisted scientist had crowed with such delight, tooth pulp was a valuable resource for DNA. And she didn't need those teeth, they'd just be troublesome later in her life, didn't she feel special contributing to the future of mutantkind by such a simple "donation"?

Victor would feel the shudder that ran through her as the memory surged up to the surface -- she wavered on her feet, almost shouldered her way out of his grip, but it wouldn't do any good. He would never let that kind of thing happen to her again, and besides it wasn't like mad science like that was common in this timeline. Not unheard-of, of course, all three of the boogeymen of her past had managed to either follow her here or simply already existed… But whoever he took her to, it wouldn't be them. Just some guy in a white coat. Maybe balding, if she was lucky.

"Mister Creed…" She almost whined, the expression a mixture of frustration and fear. "I don't… I don't know…" Her tongue probed and she winced again; it had gotten worse, she'd been managing it just fine, but there was only so much brushing and flossing did to repair the damage done by prior neglect and malnutrition. It was a wonder she hadn't lost a couple already.

Her shoulders sagged and she sighed, nodding. "Alright. As long as I don't have to go by myself…"

A girl her age shouldn't need her guardian with her for something as simple as a dental appointment -- but they both knew how necessary it would probably be. Shifting close, she tucked herself against his chest briefly, hugging him as far around as her arms would go, before stepping away to head up the stairs to change. About twenty minutes later she came back down -- unlike her more typical, somewhat revealing attire, she was entirely covered from the neck down in a turtleneck and leggings, and what could only be a flannel stolen from Victor's laundry wrapped around her, functionally long enough to be a dress. Judging from the scent, not only had the theft been recent, but it hadn't made it through the wash cycle quite yet.

Her nose might not be as good as his, but some scents were comforting even to the weakest olfactory.

#ic ⧫ yeah. that's me. miss marvel #perditos #v: daddies don't let your babies grow up to be x-men

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bigdumbbambieyes · 2 years ago

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dental hygienist smut based on this post for @wickedlydevious jfnfkfnf 🤍🦷

Steve wouldn’t call it a kink, or even a fetish, because he’s never had an erection while cleaning anyone’s teeth.

So, it was maybe a sort of twisted conditioning that his boyfriend has put upon him.

Because Steve’s had weird sex before. He once fucked a girl who needed to have all of her teddy bears watching, which had been eerily strange and he’d not called her afterwards, but Billy was weird in a sexy kinda way.

Like, whenever his boyfriend felt particularly lazy or even drunk, he’d pepper a kiss to Steve’s neck and cheek and ask in a mumble: “Can you brush my teeth?”

It wasn’t weird to Steve because he did this for a living — he cleaned teeth!! He flossed and scraped and swished people’s mouths in order to afford a living. Seeing as it was how he’d met Billy, the ask wasn’t too weird or out of left field.

So, he complied. He watched Billy sit himself on the counter and close his eyes, almost zone out, as Steve carefully brushed those pearly whites (which Steve was still angry about because Billy was perfect in all ways, which of course included his naturally straight teeth, the bastard).

But, there wasn’t anything sexual about it. He’d tell Billy to spit and his boyfriend would lean to the side to do that into the sink, and Steve would brush again. He’d even get Billy to swish with mouthwash after.

It was like that for the next few occurrences, until one night, when Billy was particularly touchy.

Wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist and pulling him in, keeping him close. Playing with Steve’s hair at the nape of his neck, staring into his dark eyes, half-lidded.

And no matter how far Steve put the toothbrush, Billy never gagged.

Steve, as usual, had reached for the mouthwash when Billy stopped him and looked into his eyes, leaned in, until their lips were almost touching, and he’d whispered, “You wanna make a mess outta my mouth now that you’ve cleaned it?”

Dubiously, and maybe dumbly, Steve had asked, “How?”

And Billy, in that low timbre, had replied, “Want you to spit in my mouth before I go down on you," he wet his lips with a little swipe of his tongue, "Want you to cum in my mouth and watch me swallow it…”

And, well.

Cool, minty kisses peppered Steve's lips and neck in the next moment, a hot palm at the front of his sweats, getting him harder and harder as Billy sucked and bit love bites onto his skin. Steve sighed out a moan, pulling Billy off of the counter and watching him kneel, his blue eyes so dark as they peered up at him. It's beautiful how Billy's cheeks flush whenever he's aroused, hot all over as he pulls Steve's sweats down and still staring up at him even as the slick tip prods at his chin and mouth.

Billy's mouth opens, tongue sticking out; expectant.

Steve leans down and does as his boyfriend wants, spitting right onto his tongue and murmuring, "Good boy."

As always, Billy moans and takes Steve into his mouth, his mouth hot and wet and clean as he sucks and licks around the tip of Steve's cock, his eyes fluttering closed as he takes him deeper and deeper, until Steve can feel the flutter of his throat.

"Fuck," he sighs, grabbing onto the counter with both hands as he slowly pushes deeper, watching his boyfriend carefully and feeling warm hands on his hips.

Slowly, together, they fuck Billy's mouth and throat; the soft hums and wet clicks of his boyfriend's throat making his balls draw up tight, stuttering out Billy's name in warning.

He pulls back, just enough for the tip to stay in Billy's mouth, resting against his tongue as he cums, his jaw dropping with a long groan as he watches Billy pull back even further, suckling at the tip of his oversensitive cock until Steve breathes out a laugh and pulls away fully.

"Let me see," he murmurs, staring down at the blond.

Billy opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, covered in white, and Steve spits on it again.

And with a moan, Billy brings his tongue back into his mouth and swallows it, pupils blown wide as he shows Steve it again, pink and clean once more.

With a desperate huff, Steve pulls his boyfriend to his feet and shoves him towards the bedroom.

The next time Billy comes in for a cleaning at the office, Steve has to will away his erection with thoughts of cavities and gingivitis.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #listen y'all #this is new for me too okay #AKNFGKNF #I hope this is at least funny #lemon #bambiwrites

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auspicioustidings · 2 years ago

Text

Lost Boys

3. Repenting

Summary: Horangi and Price both investigate the new girl a little more.

The author accepts that this is now going to have to be an OC because this is going to wind up being too many chapters and be too convoluted.

Words: 2.4k

CW: Dubcon bordering on noncon (that cw is going to be on all of this even when the chapter may not feature it)

Look, if they had drugged the food then she would just have to be drugged. It had been years since she had eaten such a decadent meal, the meat tearing beneath her teeth like it was candy floss. The sensation brought with it a flash of something, a memory or a dream. Her teeth sunk into the thick flesh of the throat of some animal, a feral growling in response. Maybe her little food fairies should have left her some bourbon if that was the kind of day she was going to have, dark and twisted in her head.

She liked the shirt at least, it was merch from a band she quite liked. Had almost gotten to see them live once. Maybe she'd keep it. She would have stayed with just the shirt and underwear on only it meant she kept catching sight of her practically maimed thigh. Much like with her neck, she didn't really remember it happening. Had they drugged her? She tried to figure out how, she hadn't taken anything from them.

Not much she could do to confirm or disprove anything, so she just pulled on some jeans, shoved sunglasses on and parked her ass out on a lawn chair sat on the crumbling porch, soaking up the sun as if it might cure this not hangover.

"Had fun last night new girl?"

She reluctantly peaked open one eye, lowering the sunglasses to get a look at who was talking to her. This town really was a melting pot she thought, taking in the Korean man with the amused eyes. He had a ragged scar running from his chin up through the right side of his mouth, another set on his left cheek that looked like a claw had been dragged there. That should have been the most notable thing about him, but in her current state the first prize for that went to the set of six packs he was holding. God she could use a drink.

"Turns out it was pretty forgettable actually" she drawled, having expected this kind of comment. Not like she was lying, anytime she tried to remember in detail what happened after cumming her brains out on that motorbike it was like a fog settled thick and heavy over her memories.

The man chuckled, swaggering up onto the porch with the grace of a big cat and sitting on the top step, leaning back on his arms. She considered him for a moment before simply replacing the sunglasses and leaning back to bask again. She could have kissed him when she felt a nudge against her fingers and found he was passing her a beer. When she took it he placed a hand over hers on the bottle and brought it to his mouth, popping the cap with his teeth and looking right at her all the while. Fuck this dude was weird. Everyone here was weird. But as long as he was content to lounge in the sun and split beers with her she wasn't too bothered. Not like she was particularly normal and it helped that the exchange had given her a pleasant rush of heat deep in her belly.

"König took quite a liking to you, thought he might break right through those chains."

"You work the sideshow?"

"Yes. They call me Horangi, it means tiger."

She looked down at him as he showed off his incisor, dragging his tongue across it. It was sharpened. She could not believe she had not noticed it before, even worse that she hadn't noticed he had something in his eyes. They were yellow.

"Ouch, whatever you did to manage that must have hurt."

"It did."

"Looks cool though."

He grinned and clinked his bottle to hers.

"The giant will at least settle if I can bring him back a name of the little mouse he is so taken with."

She snorted in an unladylike fashion at the idea of being thought of as a little mouse to anyone. The man had seen her for all of 20 seconds, hadn't even spoken to her. She was fairly certain if he saw her here, lounging looking like an absolute bum, drinking beer in the afternoon and internally talking herself out of maybe going for another round with the troublemakers because my God what she remembered had been a sort of absolute feral that had probably awoken something in her, then he would swiftly choose to forget about her existence.

"My government name is actually a state secret. I worked Coney Island before coming here, they used to call me Preacher," she said wryly. That nickname had stuck to her and never went away after she had lost her temper with a group of people who kept trying to convert all the attraction goers. They had promptly stopped when she had, let's say, converted one of their flock. Honestly he had seemed to thoroughly enjoy the conversion, was praying and everything.

"That must be a good story."

"Oh it is, but it's classified."

He grinned up at her like a cat, maybe one that was having fun playing with a mouse. He was having fun with her actually. He had never known the 141 to keep one of their meals alive, but he fully understood it now. Corrupting the innocent and then eating them alive lost it's shine after a while, but this girl? Oh she was dancing a delicious line between innocent and corrupted. Tough little thing, she'd not break straight away, they could take their time with her. Take her apart painfully slowly and let her fight against the fear that would inevitably start to consume her. He mused that it may be worth rocking that uneasy alliance their sideshow had with the blood suckers to take her for themselves.

"You should come see the show sometime, we are a lot more interesting than some cowboys."

"Do I get a freebie?"

"Maybe if you help us find God little Preacher we'll be inclined to waive your fee."

She laughed at that. Honestly she was relieved. This place was new, there was no way to tell how the other workers would react to some new ride operator sleeping around with the troublemakers on her first night. Boardwalks were a city unto themselves most of the time. Sideshows, the games, the rides, the beach, the shops, the troublemakers; they were all their own communities that clashed and crossed with one another. Back home it had nearly caused a blood feud when one of the sufers had shacked up with the boy running the shooting game.

"In that case I'll have you all on your knees repenting in no time."

They sat like that until the sun started to go down and she took off the sunglasses, working their way through beers and amusing themselves with flirty banter inbetween a companionable silence. Luckily she now had more than enough food that she could share snacks throughout the hours. She was pleased she had made a friend. He was pleased he had memorised her laugh so he could think about it later when he fucked his fist. Or maybe he would rile König up enough to do the hard work for him, whisper into his ear that the little mouse was called Preacher and she wasn't the least bit afraid of him yet.

Preacher for her part was relaxed enough that she didn't notice when Horangi tensed, nose twitching, before standing up.

"Better get to work little Preacher, they'll never make as much money without their tiger to scare everyone."

"Thanks for the beer, it was nice to meet you Horangi. I'll be around tomorrow, probably going to try work a day shift."

Her brows furrowed slightly when those yellow eyes of his seemed to catch something in the distance. She couldn't see anything. She was so busy trying to figure out what he was looking at that she was taken fully by surprise when he leaned over her and butted his head against her throat, rubbing against her.

"It was wonderful to meet you too, see you tomorrow."

With that he took off and she was left absolutely flabbergasted and feeling very much like Ghost had been justified calling her a slut from the way her body had reacted to it.

John Price thought himself a patient creature, truly he had to be to keep his little band of animals together. He knew from the moment the girl had put a hand on him that she was theirs. They needed a plaything, some little pet to dote on. Kyle had told him that when Simon and Soap had returned to the den near morning, the former quietly satisfied and the latter loudly excited, they had said they had left her alive and put her to bed. The three of them wanted to go to her again, he had told them no. They needed to back off, let her simmer a little, let him burrow under her skin as someone she could trust before they really started terrorising her. He would start now, stumble across her home while out walking Riley and strike up a conversation. Act the part of the concerned older man at the state she was no doubt in.

He considered setting fire to that plan when he watched the shifter drag his scent across her neck, taunting him with a claim against her. Perhaps he had been letting the sideshow get away with too much recently for the tiger to be this brazen. Maybe if he threw the girl down and fucked her right now on that porch it would hammer home the point that she was theirs. If it had been any of the others they would have done it as well, not as experienced with control as he was.

"Hi boy! Who's the prettiest dog in the world? Is it you? Oh yes it is, it is you isn't it" she cooed, lavishing pets and scritches on the German Shepard that had bounded onto to porch.

What a day she was having, full of good food, tipsy and now a visit from a dog to boot? Ten out of ten if she was honest, the sleepiness she had been feeling all day only making her feel soft and fuzzy around the edges now. She caught sight of boots coming onto the porch and looked up to find the man from the video store looking at her with a very cute nervous smile.

"Sorry about Riley here, he doesn't usually go running off like that. Seems he likes you."

"Oh no worries at all sir, he is more than welcome to run off to me anytime" she replied, cooing at the pup before standing up properly. "It was Mr Price right?"

Sir, now Sir he could work with. It sounded fantastic spilling off of her tongue.

"John is fine sweetheart."

Sweetheart, now sweetheart she could work with. Getting this handsome man on side would only be beneficial for her in the long run, she bet he was influential with the other shop owners.

Price had been hoping for a pretty little blush from her at the endearment, pushing a little when he didn't get it.

"What happened to your neck? It looks sore" he said, a picture of concern as he reached a hand over to brush his thumb gently over the larger of the marks. Soap if he had to guess for that one, it was messily done. When he eventually took her, when she got to the point of begging him to, he would bite into that delicate flesh with much more finesse. He didn't need to mark her up or rub his scent against her, his claim on her would be her own desperation to please him.

"Ah right, my neck" she sighed, probably a little too tipsy to be having this conversation with this well to do probably very conservative gentleman. "To be honest with you, it's just bad taste in men John."

There wasn't a lie she could think of that wouldn't sound like one, so she opted to just tell the truth of things in as tame a manner as she could and hope that he wasn't about to start lecturing her on pre-marital sex being a sin. It would be a shame if he turned out to be like that, she got decent vibes from him. Protective, kind.

Still no pretty little blush. Arrogant thing wasn't she, admitting what she had been doing the night before to him without any shame. It made his blood run hot, thinking of all the ways he could get her there, how hard he would have to push to have her flushed and ashamed. He lost himself in the thought for a moment, only realising when she gave the faintest whimper at his thumb now pressing into the bruise. That little noise of pain and the way her eyes went liquid staring up at him had him hard. Control John, control.

"They treat you like that again you come find me sweetheart, I'll fix you up. Been told I give a mean massage" he said, swiping his thumb past the bruise again before taking his hand away.

Oh God this absolute dilf was flirting with her. He was offering her a future massage. If Preacher was connected to any sort of God she thought They must be a very good one to send her this absolute treat. Come on, get it together girl, no soaking through your underwear over a bloody thumb brushing against a bruise. What was wrong with her today? She wasn't usually this restless.

Price knew she was going to be fighting against the residual venom in her system from the way she was reacting to him. He'd have to remind Simon and Soap to properly fuck that out of her next time, make sure she wasn't still feeling that extra little bit pliant that had her allowing someone who didn't own her rubbing their scent up against her. He shouldn't fault them really, they weren't used to keeping someone around after feeding from them and by the way she wobbled a bit they had certainly given it their best effort.

"Noted, although I'm not sure I intend for there to be a next time."

"Atta girl. C'mon Riley, I'm sure Miss...?"

"Oh, I just go by Preacher."

"I'm sure Miss Preacher will visit the shop again soon."

It was only when she tasted blood that she realised she was biting her lip hard watching him go. My God she needed a very cold shower and at this point possibly a fucking muzzle.

#cod lost boys au #mhairiwrites

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