#please enjoy my hasty cut and paste job here

[critter-of-habit]

New stickers and prints are up! RedBubble or INPRNT

[koqabear]

hit me with your killshot, baby (C.YJ)

Summary:

It was a small, quiet town you had decided to move into. One that you could help with any healing or magical needs. What you didn’t expect, however, was to face a demon too powerful for your own good. The worst part? Seems like he’s gotten attached.

Yeonjun x reader/ demon!yeonjun x witch!reader

Genre: fantasy, enemies to ?? thriller(?), angst if you squint me thinks

Word count: 3.0K

Warnings: general physical fighting/violence, mentions of scars, burns, bones breaking, knives, blood, fire, descriptions of pain (let me know if I should add anything!)

a/n: This might get another part if it gets a good response <3 Writing fantasy is rlly fun for me as well, I’m so glad that this is the story that got me out of my writers block lmao

comments and reblogs are always welcome and much appreciated, hope you guys enjoy! <3

Disclaimer!! Absolutely nothing about this story is accurate or real, anything and everything that mc the witch does is made up!

It was about three in the morning when you got the call.

“Hello?” You said, eyes squinted as you had just been woken up from your sleep. The line remained silent for a moment, leaving you to wonder if this was a scam caller. You spoke again, only to hear hasty footsteps becoming louder, presumably running towards the phone.

“Hello?!” The voice called out, the loud exclamation causing you to jolt awake. “Oh my god, oh my god!” Their exasperated voice rang through your line, and you stood to get properly dressed, already anticipating their request.

“Where do you live?” You asked sharply, grabbing the keys to your car and waiting for their answer. They stuttered out their address, the sounds of the rain coming into your ear. They were now outside.

“Please come quick, this spirit has been bothering me for weeks now, I could have sworn they were harmless-“ they cried into the phone, only to get cut off by your stern command.

“Leave your home. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

They agreed, their voice quiet and shaky, and you hung up, beginning to drive to your new task.

It was no secret your town had a problem with the supernatural. That was the whole reason you lived here.

‘The town witch’ was what they called you. You remember moving to this small town the moment you turned eighteen, the rumors of the paranormal town beckoning you to help. With potions and incantations by your side, you were the best damn thing this place had ever gotten. But that was six years ago, and you were young and naive. The scars and burns that riddled your body only served to prove your progress, marking your place in this town permanently.

You sighed, your grip on your steering wheel weak. You were, after all, the only help these people had. Late night calls like this were beginning to become much too common recently, leading you to wonder if something, or someone, new was beginning to pester this poor town.

You arrived at the house, the thunderstorm only helping to provide a stereotypical atmosphere for you to work in. You got out your car, pulling your coat tightly against your body, the wind around you strong enough to hinder your footsteps.

The two story home before you rattled in protest, the front door swinging open the moment you got close enough. You felt your heart begin to race, beginning to question if this was truly worth it. It seems that whatever had been pestering the homeowner was no small ghost. Walking inside, you were met with the dark and empty home, the hardwood floor beneath you creaking in protest as you carefully walked around, the house seemingly calming the moment you entered.

You breathed in slowly, attempting to steady your mind as you surveyed the house, recalling what the homeowner told you before hanging up. This had been going on for a while, but it seems that it only recently became too much for them. Whatever was in this home really liked the attention.

Before you were able to take another step forward, you were thrown off your feet, slamming into the wall to your left, the many picture frames and decorations falling before you with a loud crash. The door slammed shut, and you covered your head, bracing yourself as you felt the glass shards begin to be directed towards you.

It’s here, and it’s angry.

Just as the chaos around you finally dulled down, you were met with the sight of the trophy shelf in front of you beginning to shake, your eyes widening as you began to run. You muttered a quick incantation to help shield you, the dull sounds of impact that began to pound against your shield only serving to make you run faster.

The hallway in front of you suddenly seemed never-ending, it’s violet wallpaper becoming harder to see the more you ran. Was the house layout always like this? The hallway suddenly ended, leading you to an open room, quickly recognizing it as the living room. The lights suddenly flickered on, disturbing your concentration as you noticed a shadow walk past one of the doorways.

Seemingly knowing you perfectly, the spirit took this small wavering to throw a book in your direction, narrowly missing your face as you ducked to the side, only to get knocked to your knees as you felt a kick to your back, your disturbed concentration causing your spell to be broken.

You turned around in a haste, summoning your shield once more as you unsheathed the knife you had in your coat pockets.

“Show yourself!” You barked out, standing up as you surveyed the room. “I know you’re here.”

Silence.

The howling wind outside stopped, the flickering lights suddenly still at the sound of your voice. You gripped the handle of the knife harder, trying to not let the exhaustion seep into you. The lights began to slowly dim, a lit ember flickering in front of you, only to be followed by many more, swirling into a raging fire directly in front of you. You jumped back at the heat, the familiar sight making you frown in anticipation.

“You look tired,” the voice said, as smooth and elegant as you first remembered it, “Maybe I could fix that.”

Standing in front of you was no other than Yeonjun. Clad in black, his dark eyes stared into yours as he towered over you, his platform boots shining underneath the dull lights, his hair slicked back and pushed away from his face save for a few strands that hung to frame his face.

“Yeonjun.” You said, a feeling of anger stirring inside you the longer you stared at him

“It’s so nice to hear my name come from you again,” he sighed, taking a step toward you, only for you to step back in retaliation.

Yeonjun was none other than the first demon you tried to expel when you first came here. You had fought with every single potion and spell you spent years perfecting, only to leave hospitalized and unsure that he would return. However, as the years passed and no sign of him appeared, you had assumed that you had succeeded in your battle against him, any signs of hauntings or poltergeists disappearing after that day.

“You,” you snapped, everything finally piecing everything together. “You’re behind everything that’s been happening recently, aren’t you?” You took another step back as he began to laugh, throwing his head back as if you had just told him the funniest thing in the world. Slowly, he calmed himself down, his eyes playful as he took his sweet time responding to you.

“Maybe, why?” He said, beginning to walk towards you slowly. You held your ground, concentrating on keeping your shield steady, they grip on your knife tightening. He stopped centimeters away from it, the aura of the shield humming as his clothes grazed the perimeter, shocks emitting on impact.

“I missed you, you know,” He muttered, head leaning towards you teasingly as he stood just far enough to not be blasted away from your shield. “It wasn’t fun hopping from town to town, trying to mess with other witches that resided there. They were just too…”

“Weak.”

You were barely given a moment before the sight of Yeonjun’s bright eyes filled your vision, the feeling of a scorching heat overtaking your senses.

Yeonjun had trapped you in a ring of fire.

A pretty small one, too.

Slightly panicked, you looked around for any place you could escape, the memories of the last time you got so close to Yeonjun warning you to get as far from him as you could, only to find that it was just you and him, trapped in a space that wouldn’t even allow you to shift backwards.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice taunting as he waited for your next move, “Claustrophobic?”

The weapon in your hand began to heat up, your mind working its hardest to form a plan that would work and let you come out alive. You already knew what this fire around you would do; It wasn’t a simple flame, and the scar on your chest that throbbed painfully in this demonic presence was enough proof of that.

The moment you had healed from your first encounter with Yeonjun, you had put all of the knowledge you had acquired from experience and older, more experienced witches into putting a weapon that would help you with violent demonic problems like him. It had taken you weeks of pure isolation and meditation to engrave the correct energy into the weapon, afraid to make any mistake that could lead to something drastic. By the time you were finished putting the last few touches on the weapon, (a protective incation; the words engraving themselves in fine print letter by letter as you poured the last of your energy into it,) you could barely stand, landing yourself at the house of a medic that specialized with witches.

“You’re lucky that you managed to come out of this with just drained energy,” He had told you one day, standing next to your cot and handing you a homemade medicine; its taste was horrendous, but it did the job.

“I’ve dealt with witches, succeeding or not, that had come out in a much worse condition. You’re very powerful, that much I can tell.” He confessed, his face sobering as he remembered why it was that you were there, “Whatever it is that you’re dealing with, I wish you luck.”

And now here you stand, the results of all your hard work and patience vibrating the more you concentrate on defeating the demon in front of you.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to try and hurt me with that,” Yeonjun laughed, watching the way your grip tightened the moment he landed his eyes on it, your knuckles turning white with the force, “You know your little knife can’t hurt me, right?”

While it was true that regular knives were nothing more but toys to him, you knew that what you were holding was not a regular knife.

But he didn’t.

You remained silent as you stared at him, quirking a brow to silently challenge him. He scoffed, rolling his eyes at your demeanor.

“Giving me the silent treatment now?” He said, pausing for a moment before looking back at you, “Fine. You think you can hurt me with that little kitchen knife?” With a single movement of his hands, the fire dwindled, going down until it was no more,

“Go ahead. Give it your best shot.”

You suppressed a smile.

Yeonjun was a lot of things. Strong, powerful, smart, hell, he was a bit attractive too.

But above all, he was cocky.

Slowly, and as subtly as you could, you adjusted your stance, your eyes never leaving his, ready to let your shield down to attack him.

“No games?”

His lips quirked up, his hands coming up to his sides to show you his full vulnerability.

“Fair and square. Here, I’ll even let you make the first move.” His pitch black eyes twinkled with his signature playfulness, his thoughts displaying to you loud and clear;

I thought you were smarter than this.

You fought the urge to scoff, and instead surveyed him for a moment, stepping back to give yourself a bit more room. He watched intently, his body language open and relaxed, clearly not threatened by you.

You lunged forward.

Before Yeonjun could move away, you swung your knife towards him, your stomach sinking as you missed your target, his neck, and sliced at his face instead. His head turned to the side, a hiss emitting from him as he turned back to you, the slash on his cheek burning into his skin, going deeper into his face as he began to bleed.

Except that wasn’t blood that came out of his face.

A thin liquid, pure black and mixed with the poison of your blade, trickled down his face. Slowly, he brought up a hand to his cheek, touching tentatively at his wound, observing the black substance that poured out of him, before turning back to you.

“Come on, you little vixen,” he groaned, the nickname that he called you from your first meeting rolling off his tongue smoothly, “Not the face!”

Cocky bastard.

But now that your first move was over, Yeonjun took a minute to crack his neck, the black liquid trailing down to his neck as he slowly rolled his head back, pausing for a second before straightening up, smiling at you sweetly.

“My turn.”

Right as you were going to activate your shield once more, Yeonjun ran to you, landing a solid punch to your stomach, sending you flying to the wall behind you, the wind being knocked out of you on impact as you crumbled to the floor. Looking up, you saw him lunge at you once more, mumbling your incantation for your shield, successfully knocking him back at the last second. Tumbling backward, Yeonjun layed on the floor as you slowly got back up, using the wall behind you as support, the wild and unhinged sound of Yeonjun’s laugh echoing off the walls.

“Oh, my little vixen,” he began, sitting up as he watched you regain your composure. “I missed this. I must admit, you have gotten stronger.” Standing back up slowly, you felt the room slowly heat up. You shifted, knowing what it was that he was about to do next.

“It’s exciting.”

Running towards him, you did your best to avoid the trail of fire that was now after you, ready to swing your knife at him as you got closer. Just as you were close enough to him, you swung towards his neck once more, the predictable movement allowing Yeonjun to step aside, only to get a kick to his chest, successfully knocking him down and allowing you to dive down, the fire that was about to pierce the center of your back flying instead to the wall in front of you, the loud boom barely covering Yeonjun’s scream as you dug your knife into his shoulder.

“Fuck!”

You towered over him, straddling his waist and putting as much weight as you could to keep him down. His hands immediately reached up to clasp over yours, attempting to pull the weapon out, only to have you retaliate by digging it into his skin more, his cursing filling up your ears as he struggled against you.

Your jaw clenched and you felt yourself begin to sweat, the same ring of fire from before beginning to enclose around you slowly with no signs of stopping. Your hands began to burn underneath Yeonjun’s touch, obviously his doing as he seemed to concentrate on attempting to scare you off with the same fire that landed you on the brink of death from your first encounter.

But you refused.

You refused to allow the demon to live any longer, to continue to terrorize innocent and defenseless people in your town, or in this world at all. And now that you had him under your grip, your hands struggling to successfully behead him, you weren’t going to let a little bit of pain scare you away.

Your hands began to numb under the heat of his skin, popping noises emitting from under his iron grip. He was attempting to break your hands, to render them useless, but with the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you pushed on, biting back your own groans of pain and trying to concentrate on your current task, and nothing else.

“Come on my vixen, give it up,” he said, his voice laced with pain and false confidence that he attempted to use in order to make you believe that he remained unaffected. But as your knife inched towards his neck, piercing through his skin and emitting a loud sizzling sound, you knew that it was all a bluff by the way he winced, a low grunt of pain escaping him.

“I really don’t want to hurt you, you know,” he confessed, the ring of fire snapping angrily at your legs, the heat making you want to faint from overexertion. But you continued to push on, much to Yeonjun’s annoyance. “Fine, you asked for it.”

He screwed his eyes shut, the ring of fire slightly calming down, along with his iron grip on your hands. Just as you were about to take this chance and behead him, you felt something coming.

You turned around.

A ball of pitch black fire, resembling a pure void, flew towards you.

It all happened so fast. Throwing you off of him, Yeonjun staggered away from you, watching silently as the void of black washed over you, your screams of agony causing him to look away, the slightest bit of pity washing over him.

This was it, wasn’t it?

You couldn’t move as this void of fire washed over you, a feeling as though every bone in your body was being broken and you were being turned inside out coarsed through your system, your screams ripping through your throat, the wish for death appearing in your heart.

But right as you felt as though you were going to black out, it stopped.

And Yeonjun stood over you.

He watched as you lay there, completely paralyzed with pain. It took a bit before you began to breathe again, your chest barely rising, the air flowing into you causing you pain. Slowly, you opened your eyes, Yeonjun’s face inches from yours, the dark liquid from his wounds dripping onto you.

“I almost feel sorry,” he whispered, his lips grazing yours. You tried to hold on, to finish your job, but the very effort of having to breathe exhausted you beyond belief. Slowly, he pressed his lips to yours, the kiss more of a half hearted apology as he lingered there for a second, his lips still against yours. His mind reeled at the feeling, and he pulled away, a soft smile on his face as he slowly brought his hand down, hesitating before caressing your exhausted face slowly, spreading his own blood on your face.

He grinned.

“I look forward to our next battle.”

And he was gone.

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you collapsed.

[nanamixxkento]

“never letting you out of my sight” (Nanami x Female Reader)

Rating: T

Content Warning: Referenced past sexual harrasment from an authority figure

Word Count: 2,002 words

A/N: this is my first time writing for the JJK fandom! Please be nice ✨

You had gone with Nanami to the mall to grab a bite before heading for Jujutsu High to meet Gojo and Itadori.

Nanami was not in charge of you, and you’d long since graduated Jujutsu High. He tended to act more like a friendly guide and yet, unbidden, the ‘sensei’ honorific would slip out despite your intentions sometimes.

Like now.

Nanami didn’t look offended, he rarely did. He simply regarded you out of the corner of his eyes, body lax. “I have to wonder, do I really look like a teacher figure all that much? I didn’t think so before you and Yuji.”

And you’d almost stammered with embarrassment as you apologised.

“I sure do hope it’s not a bossy attitude on my part,” Nanami mused, sending you into another round of hasty but heartfelt apologies.

“Relax, y/n, I’m just messing with you,” he cracked a small smile. “I think it’s cute.”

Cute. The word thundered in your ears for a moment as your stomach swarmed with butterflies. You mused that it would be wholly inappropriate to respond with ‘I think you’re cute’ and refrained from making that comment.

Instead, you said: “Please don’t tease me, Nanami-san.”

“Ah,” he said lightly, with an airy chuckle. “I’m starting to think I prefer sensei. Maybe it’s growing on me.”

Nanami led you up the escalators, eyes scanning cursorily around. The mall was unusually crowded for this time of the week, but you should still be able to grab what you needed in time before your meeting.

You weren’t really paying attention to your surroundings, your entire focus taken by Nanami’s commanding presence. That was your first mistake.

Your second mistake was pausing by the elegant display of evening gowns to admire the sleek, black dress on the mannequin. Nanami, in his unique brand of kindness, suggested you stay behind to take a look while he ordered your food.

Unfortunately, you were too busy dwelling in the warm, fluttery feelings this man inspired to notice just who else was in the shop.

The familiar voice reached you several long minutes into your trip, sounding just a few racks away.

Your entire body went cold, and instantly numb as you recognised the nasally tenor of your ex-boss. Blood rushed loudly in your ears, and for a few moments that felt like a small eternity, fear left you too paralysed to even move.

This was the man that had tried to ruin your life and very nearly succeeded. The man who had abused your need for a job to get away with doing whatever he wished. The man who had ... who had ...

Your eyes stung with the memory of  hot, clammy hands on your shoulders, touching you without heed to your feelings or consent.

The voice drew closer, slamming you into your body with another jolt of trepidation.

You did not want to see him. You never wanted to see him again.

Spinning around, you dashed behind another rack, heart hammering. He was sniggering loudly with someone on the phone, bringing back more unpleasant memories of all the times you’d ask him to stop being inappropriate only for him to laugh loudly, like your request was silly. “Y/n we’re friends,” he would say condescendingly. “This is what friends do, no?”

You turned another corner, trying to make it to the exit unnoticed, when in your haste you knocked over a mannequin. You stood frozen, shocked and mortified, as you stared at the mess you’d made.

That was your third mistake.

“Y/n?”

It would be wholly undignified to start crying, wouldn’t it? You thought cynically as you slowly turned around to face that monster.

You refused to waver, to show your fear. “Yes?”

“It is you!” He cried, taking a step closer and instinctively making you take a step back. “Long time no see!”

He took another step forward, which you mirrored again by taking a step back. His face was twisting into an ugly smile that barely hid the underlying sneer. “Come on now don’t be like that, is this how you treat your friends? Come on and give me a hug, sweetheart.”

You opened your mouth to snap at him, to say ‘over my dead fucking body’ when a gentle palm settled over your shoulder.

You barely managed not to jump.

“Y/n,” Nanami’s self-assured baritone washed over you. The sudden all-encompassing relief it bought nearly toppled you off your feet. “Your food is starting to get cold.”

Looking at him made your heart shake. He had an unreadable expression on his face, a slight pinch to the corner of his mouth. He must’ve read your fear in your eyes for his features hardened as he turned to regard your company. “And who might this be?”

Opening and closing your mouth, you floundered, no words passing from your lips but for the hesitant mutter of Nanami’s name.

Your ex-boss, in his usual arrogant fashion, nearly sneered at Nanami as he addressed you. “Aren’t you going to tell him sweetheart?”

It was enough to set your blood boiling with anger. With Nanami at your side, the fear receded to allow indignation to take its place. “Don’t call me that.”

Nanami’s hand tightened imperceptibly on your shoulder.

Your ex-boss didn’t heed your wish. “Aw don’t be like that, sweetheart—“

“I think,” Nanami said icily, cutting him off. “That she just told you to not call her that.”

The frigidness radiating off him made your ex-boss straighten and regard Nanami curiously.

And then a sick smile slowly spread over his face, his eyes taking in Nanami’s suit, his hand on your shoulder, his expensive watch and finally his eyes. “Ah,” he said like it all suddenly made sense. “He’s your new boss isn’t he? Gone to play toy to another man, y/n? Does he treat you better? Does he pay you better to use your—“

You gasped as Nanami smoothly stalked forward, grabbing your ex-boss by his meticulous oriental-tie and yanked him closer, nearly lifting the man off his feet.

“Okay, let’s make one thing clear here,” Nanami said, voice unwavering but body coiled with what you recognised as anger. “I don’t know who you are. Frankly, I don’t give a fuck who you are. But this conversation is over. Turn around, and walk away. I won’t give you another chance.”

You watched as your boss glared at Nanami hatefully for a long moment as your heart raced and raced, and more butterflies—and crap, maybe some arousal too—flooded you.

But then his hateful gaze settled on you and he opened his mouth to no doubt make another scathing remark.

Sooner than he could talk, Nanami’s long fingers were framing his jaw and forcefully directing your ex-boss’s gaze back to him. “Don’t even look at her.”

Your ex-boss finally relented, yanking Nanami’s hand away and stepping back to fix his suit. “Fine,” he spat. “I hope you enjoy your useless toy. Pathetic.”

You and Nanami watched him walk away silently. There was shame now as the anger receded.

What did Nanami think of you now?

You stared at the toppled mannequin, the death grip you had on your bag, and finally to Nanami, who looked more than a little ruffled now that your ex-boss was gone.

He turned to face you, and you opened your mouth to apologise, “I’m—“

“Are you okay?” He grit.

You blinked. “Um. Yes. I think. Are ... are you okay?”

He didn’t look okay. He looked angry. You couldn’t even remember ever seeing Nanami angry. “No,” he said shortly. “Who was that? What did he do to you? Did he hurt you?”

The barrage of questions left you a little dazed. You had no idea how to even answer but you attempted to anyway, stuttering under Nanami’s gaze. “That was ...” you swallowed thickly. “He was my ex-boss.”

You hated how it came out as a weak whisper, but you hadn’t wanted to utter his name ever again.

Your mouth opened and closed over all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t—all the things you never told anyone about. Nanami watched you struggle for words, and his expression only darkened. “Y/n. Did he hurt you?”

You stared at your feet as shame nearly overwhelmed you and you choked out, “Yes. But I— I let it happen— I had no choice, I needed the money, I couldn’t just— and he wouldn’t ever listen when I said to stop—“

With a jolt you realised you were crying, and with another jolt you noticed Nanami loom closer.

A gentle hand cradled the back of your head and pushed you into Nanami’s study chest, not quite a hug, one you could easily break if you wished to.

“I’ll kill him,” Nanami vowed softly, the icy softness still there but overshadowed by the gentleness of his tone. “I will.”

You shook your head, shuddering as your arms snaked around his middle and you unabashedly buried your face in his shoulder. “Please stay.”

“I’m here,” he soothed, still speaking in a hushed tone you’ve never heard before. “You’re okay. You’re safe now. I promise.”

The security of his presence washed over you again, tempting your knees to give out.

“I won’t ever leave you alone again,”  he added, stroking the hair at the crown of your head. “Would you like me to cancel our meeting?”

You shook your head mutely. “I’ll be fine,” you managed to croak and reluctantly broke from his embrace to wipe hastily at your tears. “Sorry I ruined your shirt.”

He glanced down distractedly at the small wet spot on his dress shirt. “Don’t be silly,” he chided. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner.”

“You couldn’t have known,” you whispered, wiping at your eyes one final time and taking a settling breath. “We can go now if you want.”

He studied your face closely for any signs of deceit. “We really can cancel the meeting,” he said slowly. “Gojo would understand.”

You bit your lip, tempted. You still felt shaken and unfocused and all you wished for was to go home and curl under your covers.

Nanami apparently took your reluctance as an answer for he immediately whipped his phone out. He sounded strange as he spoke to Gojo, his words short and his tone barely keeping the anger out.

When he finally ended the call, he looked at you. “Would you like me to take you home now?”

“Um,” you said, embarrassed yet again but feeling warm to your toes. “I... I would prefer it if I didn’t have to be alone so soon.”

Nanami simply nodded. “Very well.”

You stared in surprise as he offered you his hand but you took it with only a moment’s hesitation, feeling his large palm completely engulf yours.

“I told you,” he said in answer to your silent question. “I won’t leave you alone again. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Now you were sure you were blushing as he led you out of the shop, hand in hand, uncaring for the toppled mannequin or anything else. His grip on you was firm but not tight, and he radiated safety with every step until all the poisonous feelings bled out of you.

“Y/n?”

“Mhm?”

“You would tell me if someone bothered you again, wouldn’t you?”

There was no resisting the smile now, tentative and affectionate. “Yes.”

“Even if that someone was me.”

You looked at him, surprised.

He elaborated: “If I ever do anything that makes you uncomfortable, you have to tell me.”

More warmth flooded your chest. “I will.” You promised.

He squeezed your hand, raising it. “Is this fine?”

“More than fine,” you admitted, face warm. “Really, Nanami-sen—err, Nanami-san.”

A humorous smile softened his features. “You know what? I don’t think I mind that honorific too much. Not from you.”

And it made your heart skip a beat. “Why not from me?”

“Easy,” he said, and turned to regard you with a rare affable expression. “Because you’re my favourite.”

[coldmilkcreamery]

all rights reserved.

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: jung sungchan x male reader 🌹

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2045

𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: sungchan lends you a pair of jeans a whiff too tight and immediately regrets doing so.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴/𝘀: a lot and i mean a LOT of pet names, also, cringe 😬

𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝘆 ⭐️

𝗮/𝗻: sooo, we’re back ig! and oh my god did i enjoy writing this and how perfect the gif i found is for the story just made it all the more entertaining 😂😂 so hope you enjoy!! we’ve had this in our drafts for suuuuchh a long time but we only found it in ourselves to post it now :p ahaha, consider this a comeback of some sorts?

> 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 <

-

“God I’ve missed you.” Sungchan says with bated breaths as he nuzzles his chin against the crook of your neck from across the driver's seat.

“Jesus Sungchan, it’s been less than 12 hours since you last saw me.” You giggle as he presses his lips against your jaw.

“You even had dinner at my—” He cuts you off, grabbing the back of your head and pushing your lips onto his. “—place.” You weakly continue.

“Shhh.” He says, halting your speech, laying a finger on your lips as the rest scramble to unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Sungchan.”

“Shhhhh.” He slurs, even longer this time as the seatbelt springs up to your shoulders before disappearing into the seat.

A gentle kiss takes the place of his index finger on your lips. Sungchan’s tongue rams into yours and both of your lips vibrate as mewls spew from them.

“Sungchan, we should stop.” You chuckle, pushing him off of you. “We’re in a car.” You add, succeeding your hasty and intermittent breaths.

“Fine.” Sungchan obliges, his lips pressed into a petulant pout as he shuts down the engines.

You look at the parking space ahead, the headlights forming strings of yellow in the fast-paced rainfall. He reaches over to twist the key digging into the steering wheel, knocking over a cup of coffee in his path.

“S-Sungchan, honey?” You quiver under the gush of liquid making waves over your jeans.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Sungchan’s palms slide up his face and into his scalp. “Are you hurt baby boy?” He drags his words through pressed lips.

“I-I’m fine.” You stutter as he babies your cheeks with his palms, rubbing and squeezing them, his doe eyes staring into your slightly irritated look.

“Do you have an extra pair?” You ask, reaching behind your backrest for a towel.

“I do actually.” Sungchan beams, ripping his hands off of your cheeks. “Renjun left one at my place, I was going to drop it off one of these days, but I suppose you could use it.”

“Renjun’s!?” You howl. “That’s not gonna fit me!”

“They’re a little baggy on him, so they’ll just be a bit tight.” He replies, as he takes the towel from you. “Here, let me.”

Sungchan watches you with a lidded gaze as his hands stroke your thigh, which took the brunt of the spill, with a towel. He makes rounds in the area before roaming your inner thigh and ultimately wandering to your crotch.

“Don’t.” You bite back with a squinted glare, catching his tongue slip out of the crevice of his lips to dampen them. “My god Sungchan, less than a day since you last saw me, less than a day.”

“Not my fault my little baby boy’s such a hottie.” Sungchan briskly winks, his petulant tone sugarcoats the obscenity of his remark.

“Just give me the pants.” You restlessly reach your hand out. “And I’m not that short, you’re just a giant.”

“Here you go baby.” He cooes as he catapults the pair into your palms, garnering a soft and whiny ‘thank you’ from you as you reach for the tab of your zipper.

Your fingers stall its teeth as you sit the pants beside your lap. Catching a set of eyes from the corner of your sight, your head creeps up towards them.

“What are you waiting for?” A voice emerges from the pair of eyes staring at you.

“N-nothing, it’s just that,” You pause, rubbing the back of your neck.

“What?” Sungchan inches closer, wrapping his arm around one shoulder.

“You’re staring at me.”

Sungchan bursts into noisy and unrestrained peals of laughter, occasionally shaken by his head making swings backwards. He plants his hand on his puffing abdomen as he tries to stifle his laughter.

“I’m your boyfriend.” He manages to cough out in his wheezing fit. “If anything, I’d like to see you remove even more than your pants.” He adds, shooting you a perky wink, tugging at your cheeks again.

“I—” You stammer, eyes wide as your cheeks burn red.

“Aww, is my precious pumpkin getting shy?” Sungchan interrupts you, pursing his lips and furrowing his brows as he pinches your cheeks. Again.

You slap his hand away, inhaling sharply, retracting a fist to threaten a punch. Two fingers from each hand hook into the waistband of the pants as your legs squirm into the pair.

“Ok, I’m done, let’s go.” You pant for air as your feet pop out of the bottom hems. A lewd smirk surfacing Sungchan’s lips narrows your eyes at him.

“What now?” You let out a raspy groan.

“Nothing.” Sungchan brings a fist up to his lips, to shield his grin. “Just, a little tight don’t you think?” He snorts, eyeing the jean’s stretched seams and the creaseless bulge ballooning from under its fly.

“You bi—”

“I don’t mind though.” He giggles, his fingers making another voyage to your cheeks before being swatted away by your hands.

“You look good.” Sungchan’s eyes flicker up and down your body as he lightly bites at his bottom lip. Little did Sungchan know that he wouldn’t be the only one to think so.

Had he known how much attention the fit of Renjun’s pants would draw, he would have very much rather wasted the little money left in his wallet to buy you a pair. Not that he thought you didn’t already have one though.

Sungchan coughs out an exasperated huff as you stroll past probably the third group of women he’s caught ogling your lower body since you got to the shopping district.

You and Sungchan come across yet another woman. He catches her passes at flirting, tucking hair behind her ears, shy smile, looking down, discrete grooming and shoots her a stringent glare.

His wrist curls into the palm of your hand and his fingers snake onto your knuckles as he hauls you away from her. You look at his hand and tighten your grip on it.

“Sungchan, babe,” You call out smiling, prodding his shoulder as you take notice of his glum frown. “sweetie.”

“Dude.” Your voice is raised slightly and your nudges get heftier with the silence. “Hyung!”

“Y-yes babe?” His voice is shaky as he glares into the distance.

“What’s wrong?” You reach up to rub his back. “Why the long face?”

“Nothing baby.” Sungchan’s flexed brows and firm pout let loose. His expression softens as he briskly looks to you with a delicate smile.

“I’m hungry, let’s go have lunch.” He urges, dragging you to the food court, this time stringing his whole arm around yours so that your elbows are touching.

“Okay.” You reply, curling your forearm up and cuffing Sungchan’s bicep in your hand on the way to a restaurant.

“I’ll get that for you.” One of the workers by the counter approaches your table, picking up a couple of baskets and the checkered, oil stained liners on them.

“Thank you.” Sungchan’s eyes crinkle as he rests his forearms on the now emptied table. Looking over the screen of his phone, his smile dissipates.

Her eyes wander to your lower half. Her cheeks burn red as she brushes chunks of hair on either side of her forehead behind her ears.

Here we go again, Sungchan mentally groans..

“I-I’ll get going.” She squeaks, waddling back to her counter to dispose of the trash.

Sungchan manages to grab hold of pieces of tissue. His fists clench on top of the table, fingertips digging into his palms and ripping the paper towels.

“She better.” He mumbles, lower lip jutting further out as the rigid edges of the ripped up tissues peer out between his fingers.

“What was that hun?” You furrow your brows at him, eyes emerging from the top of your phone.

“N-nothing.” He stammers, his twitching eyes locked onto the back of the waitress as teeth grit behind his adhered lips. “Why don’t we order our food?”

“Sure.” You smile. “I’ll place our orders.”

“Wait what?” His eyes widen, jerking to you as you get up to approach the counter. The curve of Sungchan’s frown deepens as he watches you approach the busser who cleaned your table a while ago spiral into a flustered mess.

He stares up from under strands of hair at the both of you. Acute giggles spray out of her toothy smile. She brushes chunks of hair from either side of her forehead behind her ears as she hands you a pen to sign your receipt.

She was trying to flirt. With his boyfriend.

And to make things worse, she wasn’t even trying to be discrete about it. Sungchan’s pouted lips tremble, going agape as he watches the girl eye you up and down in a way only he’s supposed to.

His palms land on the armrests of his chair as he elevates from his seat. You arrive at your table with a tray of food, stopping Sungchan from standing up.

“Sungchan.”

“Hello! You there?” You wave in front of his eyes as you rest the tray of food on your table.

“U-uh yeah? W-what?” Sungchan stammers.

“You want anything else?”

He grins weakly and shakes his head, looking back at you. He sits back down, now staring blankly at the swiveling cubes of ice in the paper cup in front of him.

“Here’s a cup of water and the coffee you ordered.” The same girl from the counter squeals.

She slips on her heel which causes the tray in her hands to dip on one side, spilling water from the collar of your shirt down to its bottom. A scoff spews from Sungchan as he catches the knowing smirk form on her lips.

“First my pants and now my shirt.” You sigh, looking at Sungchan as your arms hover over the wet patch of your shirt.

“O-oh I-I’m so sorry!” She covers the smirk at the bottom of her face with her hands. “Here, let me wipe that for you.”

A blank and expressionless smile materializes from Sungchan’s expression. “It’s no big deal, let me do it.”

“N-no sir, let me, it’s my job.” The girl bows only for Sungchan to help her torso up which causes her to flinch slightly.

“No, please, I know you’re busy, let me.” He exhales deeply, seeming to bite his teeth at the last few words.

“But sir—”

“Listen to me while I’m asking nicely.” He whispers maliciously, tilting his head and raising a brow over his twitching eye, causing you to flinch this time.

“Let me do it. And while I’m at it, I want you to pack our food for take out, and Get. Away. From. My. Boyfriend. Got it?” Sungchan seethes, staring her down with a wide-eyed glare.

“Follow me.” Sungchan rasps, after ripping the packed up leftovers from the girls fingers.

Both of your brows raise as a squeak jumps from the girl’s throat. Your lips curve into a lopsided smile to stifle your laughter. You now know why Sungchan had been acting so weird the whole day.

Sungchan’s always been the clingy, protective, cannot be alone for more than five minutes type. It does annoy you at times but on occasions like this, it really shows how much he loves you.

“To where?” You ask, continuing to suppress potential laughter.

“I’m buying you a pair of pants.” He continues, glaring into the distance squeezing your hand in his. “And a new shirt.”

“Why?” You question blankly.

Sungchan’s eyes flicker to you before jolting away. “A-aren’t you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all.” You taunt.

“B-bu—” Sungchan stammers.

“But what?”

“I-I—”

“You what?”

“I-II just don’t like how every girl we pass by stares you up and down like you’re some piece of meat.” Sungchan whines, lips firmly pressed together.

“Jealous much?” A smirk balloons from your lips.

“O-only I should be allowed to look at you like that.” He whines, looking down with a frown.

Heaving a sigh, you succumb to your own laughter. “Love you babe.” You coo, pinching Sungchan’s cheek.

“You’re mine and only mine, you know that right?” Sungchan grabs you into his embrace, sliding the back of his fingers up and down your jaw.

Wrapping your arms around his nape, you gently peck his lips and smile into his eyes. “All rights reserved.”

-

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙚𝙙: 02.23.21

𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙: 02.27.21

[liptonsbabe]

The light is coming [B.W]

Bill Weasley x Lexington! reader

Chapter 1

Summary: The power of the Dark Lord shakes the entire magical community to its foundations, no one is safe as Lord Voldemort  is so strong and the boy who lived becomes weaker; The magnanimous Order of the Phoenix is in dire need to gather all its members and even to recruit wizards beyond the borders of the community.

Albus Dumbledore knows that amidst the reign of darkness, the light will return to restore all that it took and bring with it extraordinary powers, even if it leaves an aftermath that cannot be erased. The Order of the Phoenix will need all the help it can get, including the help of the mythical (Y/N) Lexington.

Harry Potter's parents were not the only ones killed by the hands of Lord Voldemort.

Word count: 1.8K

Warnings: none

A/N:Hi! A new Bill’s fanfic for you all. This story is finished so if you like this part let me know so and i’ll update as soon as i can! Again, reader’s last name is Lexington but is just for the plot of this story 

English not my mother language so please don’t kill me. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: The Order Of The Phoenix

Charlie and Bill Weasley had returned from their jobs abroad with the only purpose of duly serving the Order of the Phoenix commanded by Albus Dumbledore. For Bill it hadn’t been a sacrifice to return home, things in Egypt were not going at all well and he only asked for his transfer to an English office to work and at the same time help the Order. It wasn’t the same for his brother Charlie, cause he had to leave all his errands in Romania along with all his beautiful dragons.The journey to Grimmauld Place had been complicated cause, despite not missing anything from the countries they were returning from (with the exception of Charlie's dragons) they could quickly get used to the quiet, anti-Voldemort pace of life that the English magical community was vitiated by.

Both brothers were welcomed by their mother Molly Weasley, with tears in her eyes she hugged them as tightly as she could inviting them into the farthest room possible. Bill remembered Grimmauld Place very vaguely, the only time he set a foot inside the house was when Dumbledore asked him to help him clear the rooms and turn them into curse free spaces where they could quietly discuss classified Order business.

No matter how many times they cleaned that place, the old house of Black would always remain with that grayish appearance and the musty smell of worn wood. Sirius didn't seem to have any intention of renovating its fallen parts - of which there were quite a few - but seemed to enjoy watching the house fall apart. Be that as it may, Bill thought that any place was a good place to plan the crazy moves Albus Dumbledore had in his head.

The room was filled with people Bill had met before through letters his mother sent him informing him of the Order's progress, Dumbledore thought the best way to gain the upper hand against Voldemort's dark army was to recruit wizards who were willing to give their lives to protect the magical community. Surprisingly more people arrived than Bill could have imagined in addition to all those wizards and witches who had already been part of the association for years.

Taking a seat by the door, Bill and Charlie recognized the silhouette of Nymphadora Tonks. Not that it was very difficult to recognize her as her short, straight, bubblegum pink hair stood out among all the others. The metamorphmagus managed to acknowledge the newcomers sending them a warm smile before gluing her gaze on the door.

Charlie elbowed his brother's shoulder

“Dumbledore and his crazy schemes making us come here just for the Order business....”

“It was necessary," Bill cut him off, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, "Do you even know what's going on with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, don't you?” Charlie shook his head “it’s a real mess and you'd know it if you didn't spend so much time with your dragons.

“Don't bring them into this”

“They're some of them now?”

“Yeah, we got a shipment of Peruvian Vipertooths in this month and oh, brother, they're beautiful!”

“Wait” Bill frowned ”Those things doesn’t eat people?

“well yes, but that's only part of their diet, they also feed on goats and cows. We keep them in a cage near the forest because that species was supposedly exterminated after being considered dangerous to wizards and muggles alike, but I think they're beautiful”

Charlie's eyes sparkled and Bill couldn't help thinking that he was the odd one among his siblings. His admiration for dragons frightened him even though he found it adorable at times.

“You know, I'm not surprised you're still single. Knowing you as i do, you'll end up marrying one of those dragons or in the worst case, eaten by one”

Charlie didn't like his older brother's comment.

“What about you? As far as I know, you're not dating someone either”

Charlie's sudden criticism made him clear his throat and settle better in his seat. When they looked over at Tonks, they noticed that she was still staring at the door. Charlie hurried him to answer his comment.

“I met someone” His brother's blue eyes widened, amazed “I mean, we met in Egypt, she was traveling and we only went out a couple of times, nothing important.

“That's what you always say, William” Charlie looked at him mischievously ”No one seems to be good enough for you, huh? Or are you still thinking about someone since our childhood?”

Bill knew what his brother was trying to do and immediately shook his head. He had had this adolescent love for a girl who had left to France without anyone knowing the reasons why. Bill was totally hooked on her, yet the disappointment of her being thousands of miles away from him had broken his heart in a way he couldn't explain. Charlie knew about it, because he was the only one of his siblings who was old enough to understand; still, that didn't take away from the fact that he made fun of her misfortune a couple of times.

“Shut it”

Albus Dumbledore brought an end to everyone's conversations after standing up and clapping his hands a couple of times to get their attention. With a sincere smile, Dumbledore dimmed the lights in the room to reveal dozens of candles levitating all over the place. Bill fell silent and looked at the man

“I know that most of you here had to pause your activities just to attend this extraordinary meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, and for that I want to thank you," Dumbledore smiled at them, "We are fully aware of what is happening in the magical community thanks to the terrible presence of Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore ignored the shrieks of amazement from the audience “That leaves me with the advantage of not having to explain what is obvious to you, so the important thing about this assembly is to make it clear that, despite the magnificent increase in our membership over the past few days, we are still in the minority against the Dark Lord's ranks”

The murmurs grew louder and louder, causing Dumbledore to ask for everyone's calm.

“This doesn’t mean that your help is in vain, what I am trying to say is that we need more wizards and witches to join the Order”

“Where will we get more people?”Asked a witch wearing a yellowish hood on her head, "People are afraid, they're not going to join the Order just like that”

“We'll try to convince them," Dumbledore said calmly. "Of course, all of those who want to join will have to undergo proper training.

“So you're asking for more Aurors?”Minerva McGonagall asked. Professor Dumbledore smiled broadly

“Indeed”

The hubbub in the room intensified for a couple of minutes before Albus Dumbledore called for silence. Bill agreed with everyone that this was sheer madness. It was practically impossible for aurors to enter something as sensitive as the Order of the Phoenix - with the exception of Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody, Bill thought those two were insane - without them reporting every movement of Order members to the Ministry. Yes, the aurors were the best trained people for this kind of work, however, they were the hardest to convince

“Why don't we just make Harry a part of the team?”Asked  Sirius from the middle of the room. Molly Weasley let out a shriek of indignation.

“What are you talking about? Harry's just a boy!”

“Molly, please, the boy knows more about this situation than any of us put together!”

“Even so, it's still dangerous for him”

“It is for everyone. I don't see what difference it makes if Harry is in on it, that way he'd have more support from the Order and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would stay away from him”

-If it is true what Sirius says," Dumbledore interjected, "It's no less true that Harry can't be a member of the Order yet. Not until he fixes the problem he has with the ministry after he used magic in front of a Muggle trying to ward off the Dementors that are getting closer and closer to non-wizards. Right now Harry should be being moved to this place to stay at least until the new school year begins.

“And in the meantime what are we going to do?” Severus Snape asked. Bill raised his eyebrows, noticing how Nymphadora Tonks raised her hand to give her opinion.

“I hope this isn't too hasty, but I've been sending some letters to Beauxbatons College in France in search of a response from the Aurors. It is well known that none of them have been willing to give us their help, but this afternoon I received a letter from one person who is willing to help us in any way she can," Tonks looked at everyone before continuing, "I know that one person doessn’t represent a great addition to our ranks, but I am absolutely certain that she is our best option”

Bill's eyes flicked from Nymphadora to Dumbledore repeatedly. He had that strange feeling that Dumbledore knew who she was referring even though she hadn't said the name yet. Dumbledore nodded a couple of times asking Tonks to continue. She cleared her throat

“She should be here soon”

“We’ll wait patiently”

Dumbledore's nod wasn't necessary cause seconds later the door flung wide open letting in the light from the main corridor. Bill glanced at the newcomer noting your expensive French clothes and your perfectly coiffed hair in a ponytail. His breath quickened as he took a close look at your face and recognized those features he remembered from when he was a teenager. A quick glance at Charlie was enough to confirm that what he saw was not an illusion.

The whole room rose to their feet, and as you entered the room raising your hands to the sky, the room was filled with a bright light that caused everyone to take cover before it blinded them permanently. Bill caught a glimpse of Tonks' pleased giggle before you reached Dumbledore giving him a handshake as a greeting while keeping the light alive with your opposite hand.

Your wand was in your jacket pocket and from your hands an endless fountain of light gushed forth, bringing peace to the members of the order.

The mythical (Y/N) Lexington didn’t needed a wand to have magic.    

[lovelylogans]

the warmest hello (to the coldest goodbye)

once a spy, always a spy forever, forever the warmest hello to the coldest goodbye remember, remember -spies are forever, the tin can bros

warnings: undercover spy work, mention of weapons, drugging someone into unconsciousness/giving someone a roofie, essentially the start of an enemies to lovers fanfiction

pairings: virgil/logan, offscreen roman/patton

words: 4,465

notes: this is for day 7 of @analogicalweek! the prompt of the day is “free day” and i have decided to write a combination soulmates and rival spies au! please enjoy!

⁂

Not that Virgil would admit it, but, like literally every other marked person, he's tried to imagine how he might meet his soulmate. He just didn't ever spare any thought on what he'd do if it happened on the job.

His official cover to his friends (which was mostly his cousin Roman and Roman’s husband Patton) was that he was an analyst—he was always vague about what exactly it was he analyzed, but since neither of them were particularly mathematically inclined, and both were maybe a bit too trusting for their own good, they took him at his word.

Even when he was sent off on various unusual "business trips.”

It’s not like Virgil’s mark is very specific about when and where it’ll happen. Virgil knows that variations of "sorry about that” make for a large percentage of common soulmarks. 

There’s protocols in place, of course, but Virgil had never really paid attention to those classes while training to be a spy. The Lewis clause is the kind of thing Virgil didn’t pay as much attention to, because it didn’t seem as useful as understanding the technology or how to make a cover. The Lewis clause is what to do when someone meets a soulmate on the job—there are specifications for if the soulmate is a target, a team member, or an enemy.

Virgil hadn’t really cared at the time. He’d kick himself for that later.

Any number of meetings occurred accidentally—knocking something over, bumping into someone, or, like his cousin Roman's soulmate did, take Roman's coffee thinking it was his own hot chocolate. They got married two winters ago, just so they could serve hot beverages in cold weather.

He thinks the iteration stamped in black along his left inner arm, "I'm very sorry about this," with the addition of "oh no, it's you” tacked on at the end of his makes it likely that whatever he says will, A, likely be first, B, be somewhat unique, or unique enough to be immediately recognizable, and C, be in the aftermath of some kind of accident.

He ends up being partially right. What he says is first and it is somewhat unique. What his soulmate apologizes for is no accident, though.

Virgil does undercover work, sure, but it's very rare for him to enter the James Bond style locale he's at today, and that he’s been working for the past couple months; the marble ballroom he's circling is dripping with gold chandeliers and matching heavy, velvet curtains that accent the floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s a string quartet in the corner, barely audible over the chatter of rich socialites. Virgil, deeply uncomfortable in his white-tie attire, is circling the room in an attempt at looking like he attends charity balls all the time.

He sucks at it.

As if on cue, his earpiece crackles to life.

"How the fuck did you ever qualify to be a spy?" Janus, his tech man and eye in the sky, snickers into his ear. "Your acting skills are horrendous. If you auditioned for The Room right now, they wouldn't let you into the cast.”

"Fuck off,” Virgil fake-coughs into his shoulder.

"Christ, at least try to look like you're mingling, not like you've stalked the target here."

Unable to stop himself, he glances toward the target he's meant to be watching.

The target, who is so staggeringly wealthy it could make Virgil, who is trying to pay off his student debt on a spy's salary (not as high as one might think) burst into tears. Or, much more likely, start ranting about the myriad flaws of capitalism. If so inclined, he could honestly probably steal the amount of money necessary from one of her offshore accounts, and it would be as unnoticeable as someone taking a penny from him.

Mary Lee Truman is standing amidst a flock of suited men, like a dove amidst a flock of dour crows; her dress is slinky silk, a shade of champagne that glimmers rose-gold in the right shade of light. She’s standing leaned to one side, her hip popped out and an arm crossed over her stomach, a crystal-cut champagne flute dangling in her fingers as if she was born to hold one.

Her husband, Lee Truman (fuck if that wasn’t confusing, it was really easier to think of them by their codenames) is off by the bar, seemingly getting himself another drink. 

His eyes stray to Mary Lee again; he can tell a couple of the suits are hired muscle, bodyguards, which makes sense, as the Trumans are allegedly a massive crime family, doing their dirty dealings in plain sight. A couple of the suits he recognizes from dossiers; one is a business partner of Lee’s father, who might not even know what the Truman family really gets up to; one absolutely knows what the Truman family gets up to, as Virgil’s read his rap sheet and knows he’s been in and out of jail due to his assignments from the mob.

There’s one suit there that really doesn’t seem to fit the mold of either category.

For one thing, he’s around Virgil’s age; for another, he isn’t rippling with muscle. Not that he doesn’t look fit; his well-tailored suit shows off his broad shoulders, his biceps, his lean waist. He’s dark-haired, and pale, and blue-eyed, and he’s standing next to Mary Lee with a look that Virgil would think of as dour, but now that he’s looking closely, the blue-eyed man looks almost... calculating.

This man wasn’t in the dossier.

Almost everyone at this ball was in the dossier.

Virgil looks away from Mary Lee and the handsome man, and instead decides to start taking up Janus’ advice; he slowly moves through the room.

Well. He's doing it to get closer to Mary Lee, but sure, he can attempt to mingle.

He traverses through the room, his fancy shoes clicking on the marble floor, mindful to not step on any dress hems—he has it easy, as his directive was simply to wear his white tie with his hidden weapons, his ear piece, and his lapel pin that records everything he's seeing. The women in the room provide the only splashes of color outside of the black suits and white shirts of the men, the gleaming marble, the gold- accented glasses and dishware. Even what little art he's seen follows that color theme -- white marble busts, abstract black and white paintings in their gilded frames, a gold statue outside the front steps, as if to greet the partygoers.

But the women of the party aren't beholden to this strict color scheme. Gowns of pink chiffon, red lace, blue taffeta, deep violet velvet, Virgil passes them all, keeping one eye out for rose gold silk.

He ends up instituting himself in a ring of people listening intently to an art history professor talking about the architectural significance of his building—he introduces himself with his cover name, James Walker, to the man next to him, who Virgil already knows is a Truman cousin. He gives a fake first name too—he says his name is Alex, when Virgil knows it’s really Bruce. Okay. Something to take note of.

He listens to the art history professor talk about art deco with just one ear, the other straining to eavesdrop on Mary Lee and her suits.

“Do you think our beneficiary approaches?” Mary Lee murmurs to the blue-eyed one, the one that wasn’t in the dossier.

“Oh, I know he does,” the blue-eyed man says to her. He has a pleasant British accent, the kind of voice that would be right at home on a nature documentary calmly narrating the eating habits of wolverines, or something like that. “According to all my research, our previous beneficiary is no longer within our purview. A new one will have been instilled in hasty time. As a matter of fact, I believe I would be able to point him out to you right now.”

Mary Lee sighs, a little, and the man continues talking about their charity. Virgil’s mind races. He knows the Truman’s “charity work” almost always acts as a sieve to run dirty money through, so what would it mean, that they got a new beneficiary? A new target, maybe? A new directive?

Either way, this is almost definitely some kind of code they’re talking in. He tunes a bit more into the art history professor’s impromptu lecture—he’s taking a brief tangent into talking about Tamara de Lempicka—as he ruminates on that particular conversation between the blue-eyed Brit and Mary Lee.

Then he ends up in conversation with an elderly woman beside him, who wants to know who he is—James Walker, I run a business a state or two over, I’m interested in diversifying my assets—and if he’s been to any art museums in town. Both he and the man he is meant to be have not, but it turns out she’s a curator and has numerous suggestions for him.

He also knows this woman, Ida Kelly, has been paying into the Truman business for quite some time, and has potentially ordered hits using the Truman’s muscle.

“Madam,” a suited waiter shows up at her side, as if on cue, and hands her a small glass full of what looks like a gin-and-tonic.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” she says, taking her drink immediately.

The waiter turns to him. There is a singular champagne flute on the tray. “Sir.”

“I didn’t order anything,” Virgil says stupidly, before he realizes that almost everyone here is taking champagne flutes off of trays, and he supposes this waiter just wants to clear his before he has to double back and get more. “Oh, all right.”

He takes it. It’s a delicate, crystal-cut glass. He’s almost a little afraid that if he holds it wrong, it’ll break.

“Really, we’re doing an Impressionism exhibit, and it is positively divine,” she says.

Very suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder, emanating warmth through his suit and Virgil jumps, a little—he hopes whoever it is didn’t feel one his knives. Or, God forbid, his gun.

He turns to see no one, when a hand touches his opposite arm, and he turns again. It turns out to be the blue-eyed Brit, who is staring only at Ida, brushing past him, allowing his hand to trail down Virgil’s arm, touching his hand as if to say, please stay there, I do not want to bump into you.

At such a close range, Virgil can smell his absolutely incredible cologne, see his defined jawline, the way his blue eyes gleam.

Ida brightens. “Darling!”

“Ida,” the Brit says warmly. “I visited that display myself, it was simply wonderful.”

“Oh, you’re too kind,” she says, clearly drinking up the praise. Virgil looks between them, feeling even more awkward than he has all night.

“Wait a goddamned minute,” Janus murmurs in his ear, after such a long stretch of silence that it makes Virgil jump again. There’s the sound of rapid typing.

“A victory!” The man says, lifting his glass—it looks to be full of whiskey. “A toast, to your latest triumph.”

“Oh, now,” she says, but when the other surrounding suits start lifting their glasses, Virgil lifts his, as well.

“To Ida Kelly,” the Brit says. “One of the finest artistic minds to walk the earth at our time!”

Virgil takes a sip of his champagne at the same time as everyone else; another woman in a deep green gown with a shawl edged in feathers takes Ida’s arm, rhapsodizing about the Impressionism movement and the latest event that her art gallery had put on.

It takes about a minute for Virgil to notice his vision going blurry in the corners.

It takes him about ten seconds of blinking hard and rubbing his eyes, hoping to clear it, to stumble over his own two feet.

It takes five seconds for Janus’ voice to buzz to life in his earpiece, urgent, “Virgil, get out of there, get away from that man, that’s Lo—”

It takes him about two seconds after that to notice that the blue-eyed Brit is looking at him with an expression clearly lacking remorse.

It takes him about half a second to realize the finger tapping one shoulder, his hand at his hand—the same hand that had been holding his champagne flute. He hadn’t been looking at his drink. The Brit had made him turn away from his drink.

The Brit put something in his drink.

Virgil’s been made.

“Good God, man,” another suited man says, when Virgil stumbles over his own two feet, “had enough of the bubbly, have you?”

Virgil ignores him; even as his vision is growing blurrier and blurrier, his eyes are intent on the Brit, staggering towards him, and he doesn’t even really know why. He’s been made, he should be running, but—

"Did you just fucking poison me, you fucking asshole?" Virgil slurs, and his sudden lack of physical control resoundingly answers the question before the Brit can; the arms that catch him before he can full flat on his face are muscular and warm. He’s distantly aware of the crystal-cut grass slipping from his hand and shattering on the marble.

The warm, muscular arms are more pressing than that. And, for a dirty rotten criminal who has probably killed people, the man is quite handsome. His bespectacled face swims in Virgil's vision.

"'I'm very sorry about this," he says smoothly, before his eyes widen in alarm. "Oh no.”

As Virgil is on the verge of unconsciousness, he hears, "It's you."

His last three thoughts before he slips under: did he just fucking say what he thought he said, then, good God his eyes are so blue, then, fuck, I should have paid way more attention to the Lewis clause.

⁂

Virgil is aware of three things as he wakes up: one, he feels like he has a dreadful hangover. Two, he’s pretty sure he’s in a plane or train or car or something moving, which makes him feel motion sick.

Three, he’s been stripped of his earpiece and his weapons.

He blinks his eyes open slowly, squinting; it’s night time, but even the low light is making Virgil’s eyes hurt.

This is a limousine, he can tell that much off the bat; the partition is closed, the glass tinted as dark as it legally can be, the interior leather light-colored, the bar fully stocked with different sodas and crystal-cut decanters full of various liquors, which makes him wince in memory of the champagne.

He feels like shit, but when he looks over and sees the blue-eyed Brit—his soulmate—his soulmate who had fucking drugged him and was working with the mob—it makes him feel even shittier.

“Ah,” his soulmate says. He’s sitting with one ankle resting on his knee, a squat glass of whiskey in hand. He has glasses on now that he hadn’t had on before. Also, his accent is no longer British; he’s got a nice Italian lilt to his voice, now. “Good. You’re awake.”

Virgil stares at him. He doesn’t say a word.

“I’ll admit this,” he gestures between them, “rather put a cinch in my plan on how to deal with you.”

“Would you have killed me?” Virgil asks. His voice comes out a croak. “If we weren’t...”

He trails off.

The man’s eyebrow arches, before he shrugs, and rolls up his sleeve. His soulmark is in the same place as Virgil’s—stamped across his left inner arm, in the spiky handwriting Virgil only uses in his personal notes, not the more uniform one he writes reports with.

Did you just fucking poison me, you fucking asshole?!

Undeniably a matching soulmark to his.

“My parents were quite bemused by it, when it showed up,” the Brit—or American?—the blue-eyed—his soulmate says. “I suppose we have our answers now.”

“Do we?” he says. 

The man takes a sip of whiskey. Then, he says, “Your predecessor was FBI. Are you the same?”

Virgil tenses. The man rolls his eyes again.

“Please,” he murmurs. “For an organization meant to be secretive, your lot are quite obvious when you trade moles in and out. One comes in, goes out, and coincidentally someone new is knocking on the door within the week. It’s absurdly simple to pinpoint who’s reporting back to your government. So. FBI, CIA, military...?”

“Who gives a fuck,” Virgil says.

“One should know what one’s soulmate does for a living, shouldn’t they?” he says. “This is a very unique situation. I’m simply trying to find out—”

“What do you do for a living, then?” Virgil snarls. His head is pounding, his mouth is dry and it tastes dreadful, his soulmate is an asshole working for the other side, and he’s being carted off to God knows where. This day is one of the worst of his life. Why couldn’t he have had a nice little café meet-cute, like Roman had had?

The man smiles at him, not particularly kindly. “I diversify.”

Virgil pulls a face, because he knows that’s poking fun at his cover.

“What,” Virgil says, “poison people on Monday, go to Ida Kelly’s resort on Tuesday, with a fun little Friday jaunt of killing people who cross the Trumans?”

“I’ve never actually been to the museum Ida Kelly curates,” the man admits. “It was an easy way to insert myself near you, to put it in your drink. And for goodness’ sake, it wasn’t poison.”

“Roofie. Drug. Whatever.”

The man’s eyebrows pull together, in a rather petulant expression. “I designed that myself, you know.”

“Well, it’s shit,” Virgil snaps. “I feel like I have the worst hangover of my goddamn life.”

“Yes, that was part of the design,” the man says, and offers him a glass of water.

Virgil stares at him. “Seriously.”

“No trust between soulmates?” He says.

“Yeah, well. Fool me once.”

The man shrugs, putting down the glass of water into a cupholder, before digging out a sealed water bottle. Virgil takes it and places it into a cupholder near him. No fucking way he’s accepting any food or drink from this man.

His lips quirk up into a smile.

“Where are you taking me?” Virgil says, ignoring the way that smile makes his heart pound.

“That rather depends,” he admits. 

“On?”

“Well.” He says. He uncrosses his legs, planting both feet on the floor. “I’m assuming that now the man in your little earpiece—he was rather rude—is aware that you have been, what is it you say? Made?”

Virgil nods.

“Well. Now that he, and therefore your employer, knows that you are made, you won’t be poking your nose into Truman business anymore, will you?”

Virgil grits his teeth. “Not undercover.”

The man ignores that. “And I know that no matter which you work for, the Lewis clause has been adopted across every arm of that government, and as such you’ll be prohibited from any mission that might bring you into contact with me.”

God damn it. How does he know the spy lessons better than Virgil does?

And then it occurs to him: Janus knew that man. He warned Virgil to get away from him, to get away from Lo—

He rolls this information around in his head. The Lewis clause isn’t exactly a widely advertised part of being a spy; there was a whole trilogy of novels that got adapted into secret agent movies, years ago, that concerned opposing agent spies coming to face each other again and again, and the secondary soulmate agents teamed up together. Which the Lewis clause would prevent, but the public who went and read those novels or saw those movies wouldn’t know that. 

So either this man—Lo? Lo what?—either knows a lot about spies, because he’s one of those know your enemy types, or...

Or he sat down and learned about the Lewis clause the same way that Virgil did, except he actually sat down and listened. Maybe he defected, maybe he’s dirty? Or maybe Virgil’s just overthinking it.

Look. Virgil’s got a lot of questions here. Chief among which:

“Where are you taking me?”

“Away,” the man says vaguely, looking at him. “Are you gay?”

Virgil gapes at him.

“I’d be perfectly fine with a platonic soulmate, but for the sake of disclosure, I am gay.”

“For the sake of disclosure,” Virgil repeats disbelievingly, and pinches the bridge of her nose, rubbing it. God, his head hurts terribly. 

“Bisexual, or pansexual, perhaps?” He prompts. “Asexual? Or... you could be straight, I suppose.”

“Ugh,” Virgil says reflexively, then shakes himself. “I’m not—okay. Fine. Yeah, I’m gay too.”

“All right,” the man says, as if noting it. “What’s your name?”

Virgil snorts.

“What?”

“Okay, I don’t—” he gestures to the limousine around them. “Again, you just drugged me. I don’t know where you’re taking me. You probably would have killed me if I hadn’t said those words.”

The man makes a moue of distaste.

“Or had someone kill me, I don’t know,” Virgil amends. “Either way, you’re working with that family, who I’m assuming aren’t pleased at having a spy getting caught trying to work himself into your ranks, so I’d rather you not know all that much about my life, thanks.”

“It’s not like I’m asking for your,” an infinitesimal pause, as if he’s wracking his brain, trying to remember something, “social security number or anything. A name.”

Virgil stares at this man. Lo—. Lo something. Lochlan? Loyd? Or was it a codename?

“Yours first.”

The man pauses.

“You drugged me,” Virgil says.

He smiles at Virgil. “Will you hold this over my head for the rest of our lives?”

The rest of our lives. Yes, that’s meant to be the fairytale ending for soulmates, isn’t it? A nice little meeting, the swell of overdramatic violins in the background, falling into each other’s arms and forming a life together. That’s the popular answer.

More and more recently, though, people have been advocating for choice; that soulmates are not always the best person for you.

Virgil doesn’t know which camp he and this man will fall into, just now.

“Yes,” Virgil says quietly. “Yes, I think I will.” 

The man sets aside his whiskey.

“Logan.” He says at last, and his accent has changed again; it’s vague, almost indecipherable, but if Virgil had to guess he’d say Midwestern American. Virgil wonders if it’s his real one. “My name is Logan.”

Logan.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Since discovering you’re my soulmate? I haven’t lied to you at all. Not a word.”

“Except for the accent.”

Logan laughs.

“Habit, sorry. It’s a long story that perhaps the man screaming in your earpiece will be able to tell you one day.”

Virgil jolts with surprise. “You know—?”

He cuts himself off before he can say Janus’ name.

“Reputationally,” Logan says, and, as strange as it is, Virgil believes him. In this, at least.

His soulmate’s name is Logan.

“Virgil.”

Logan smiles, his blue eyes glittering. “It’s nice to meet you, Virgil.”

There’s the sound of a soft knock on the partition, and it lowers; Virgil can’t see the driver.

“Sir? We’re here.”

“Right,” Logan murmurs, shaking himself. He reaches into his jacket and withdraws an envelope, offering it for Virgil.

Virgil hesitates.

Logan rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I’ve laced it with anything. I’m holding it with my bare hands.”

Virgil huffs, but he takes it, opening it and pulling out a thin piece of paper.

It’s a commercial flight ticket to Washington, D.C.

“Why D.C.?” Virgil says quietly.

“Most of those organizations are based there,” Logan says. “Is it too far a jump to assume that you are, as well?”

It is actually too far a jump; it’s not even remotely close, he lives in an entirely different part of the states. But. To be fully honest, he doesn’t want Logan to know the state he lives in, and therefore the state that Patton and Roman live in, until Virgil knows if he can be trusted or not.

Logan opens the limousine door from inside, revealing they’ve pulled up to the local airport.

“What, no private plane?”

“I assumed you wouldn’t trust that,” Logan says with a shrug. “The Trumans may be powerful, but you know as well as I that manipulating a flight of this nature is well outside their purview.”

Logan’s right, he absolutely wouldn’t have trusted that, but. This limo’s pretty swanky. For the time he wouldn’t have been obsessively running over every crack and seam in a private jet and interrogating the pilot, he probably would have had a pretty swell time.

Virgil swallows, looking up at Logan. “There are programs, you know? If you wanted to be a witness. Be in service to—”

Logan smiles at him in a way that’s almost pitying. “I left that life behind a long time ago.”

Virgil looks to the airport, then back at Logan.

“Will I see you again?”

Logan shrugs again, almost delicately. “Who’s to say?”

Virgil nods, once, and he says firmly, “I’ll see you later.”

Logan grins at him. “Not if I see you first.”

Virgil slips out of the limo, slams the door shut, and, with what feels like Herculean effort, manages to get into the airport without looking back to see if he can see Logan through the tinted glass.

He does exchange the ticket for another that’s an hour and a half later, though. He’s not a total idiot.

He gets through security pretty quick, and sits in one of the incredibly uncomfortable chairs, his brain pounding with his headache, the questions swirling around in his head making it even worse. Virgil puts his head in his hands.

He just met his soulmate.

His soulmate is working for a mob family.

He just met his soulmate.

His soulmate is apparently smart enough to specifically engineer a roofie.

His soulmate, though!

Janus knows his soulmate. Janus recognized his soulmate.

His soulmate knew about the fucking Lewis clause.

Was his soulmate a spy too? Was his soulmate in deep cover? Had he betrayed his organization? Was he a good person, or had the universe seen fit to hitch Virgil to someone awful?

How had Logan gotten entangled with the Trumans in the first place? Why wasn’t he in the dossier? 

Where was Logan even from? Did he like coffee? Hot chocolate? What had he studied in school? What was his favorite food? If they were normal people, would he have asked him on a date and not drugged him and dragged him off in a limo? 

Who was Logan?

Whatever the answers to his questions are, though. Virgil knows himself enough to know that he isn’t about to let this case go. Not the Trumans. Not him.

Lewis clause be damned.

[aerynwrites]

Husband - Javier Peña x Reader

Author’s Note: Ugh I LOVE Perdo Pascal, and his role in Narcos has me WEAK. so here is a little one-shot? fic? idk what you would call this lol. But here you go, I hope you all enjoy this little request I got! Love to hear from you all as always! (Sorry for any grammatical errors, I’m writing and posting this in between classes so I didn’t quite have time to like triple check lol)

Request? Yes! based off this request: How about a one-shot where Agent Pena or Agent Whiskey (your choice) takes injured reader/partner (who is secretly in love with him) to hospital.  He lies and tells them he is her husband so that he can stay with her.  When she wakes up, the nurse says something like, "Your husband went to get coffee, but he held your hand all night and kept telling you how much he loves you."  (Requested by anon)

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: blood, violence, fluff.

/////

While you had been an agent for the Drug Enforcement Agency for almost 10 years now, you were completely caught off guard for what awaited you at your assignment in Columbia. Not only was there bribery, treason, and just down right morally questionable circumstances, there was also Javier Peña. When you were assigned to move to Columbia to help the DEA take down Escobar, you had met Steve Murphy the minute you stepped foot into the country. He was kind enough to escort you back to the Embassy and give you the official tour, as he called it. Everything had been going well, but then Javier Peña showed up and, as his presence usually entails, he dampened the mood.

“Another rook?” he said, hands on his hips as he looked you up and down, eyes filled with disapproval.

Murphy let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, “Javier, meet (Y/N) (L/N), Senior DEA agent.” He said pointedly.

You squinted your eyes at the man in front of you, completely turned off by his hostile and frankly rude demeanor, and you opened your mouth to speak, but Javier cut you off.

“Well she’s not a senior agent down here Murphy,” he looked from Steve to you, “And I don’t need another person to babysit and translate for. One is enough,” he all but hissed.

You took a threatening step forward ignoring Murphy’s hand on your upper arm, “I’ll have you know Agent Pen͂a,” you emphasized these words, your Spanish accent shining through as you said his name, “I grew up in New Mexico, and my parents are from south America, so I think I can handle myself just fine. With or without your help.”

Your words were dripping in venom, and Javier had to keep the surprised look on his face at the revelation of your background as well as the fluttering of his heart as your accent slipped through. Not that he fond that attractive or anything…just surprised. Yeah, just surprised.

Javier hadn’t moved in in, hands still on his hips as he let out a sigh, “Whatever. I’m just going to go ahead and assume you’re all in on this operation,” he relents, “We have a lead on the whereabouts of some Narcos connected to Escobar, we have a possible safe house location.”

You didn’t waste a second before you were grabbing your holster and leather jacket and brushing past the two men towards the door, “Well what are we waiting for, let’s go!” you called.

Your eagerness to dive into your work had Javier and Steve casting a glance at one another before shrugging and following you out the door.

* * *

That was forever ago. At least it felt like it was as you fell from the second floor of one of Escobar’s known homes and plummeted to the ground. It had been several months, almost a year since you had joined the hunt for Escobar in Columbia, and you all had made considerable progress. Despite several setbacks with M-19, the police, and even Escobar himself, you all were closing in. And along with your continued search for Escobar came the inevitable close relationships with your partners. You had grown to see Steve as somewhat of a brother to you, weekly dinners with him and Connie becoming a regular occurrence. They helped ease the pain and homesickness you felt being away from your friends and family for so long. It also provided an environment in which you all could just relax and forget about the days work, opting instead for wine, local food, and beer, a familiarity you had missed since moving. However, your relationship with Javier was nothing but confusing. He had slowly but surely accepted you as his partner, acknowledging your capability in the field and fearlessness when it came to doing more questionable parts of the job. However, that was as far as it seemed to go, which was difficult for you because you had grown to feel more for the man than just a platonic relationship. As horrible as it seemed to you, the feeling of love and adoration slowly crept its way into your heart the more you were around the hardened DEA agent. You had been hard pressed to reject his more intimate advances one evening when you all were at your apartment eating pizza and just relaxing after a hard day’s work. He had flashed you one of those toothy charming grins, and less than subtly suggested what he wanted. However, you, not wanting to get trapped in a meaningless friend with benefits relationship, turned him down. No matter how much it pained you, and he never asked again. However, he seemed to distance himself more after that, and it frustrated and saddened you. Was that all he saw you as? A conquest to take, and once he found out you weren’t giving it up you were worthless to him?

For some reason that night, the night with the pizza and hasty rejection, was the only thing playing through your head as you fell through the air and hit the ground with a painful thud. The Wind was knocked from your lungs and you knew instantly you had broken several ribs as you could not draw in a full breath. You and Javier had climbed the stairs to the second story of the house and when checking the last room a left behind Narco had burst from the closet with in, and before you could react he had fired a shot directly into your shoulder before roughly shoving you through the open balcony doors. You vaguely registered a panicked shout of your name followed by another gunshot before you tumbled over the railing and to the ground below.

Which is where you were now.

Blood pooling around your neck and shoulders as you lie gasping for breath on the warm dusty ground of the backwater property of Escobar’s mansion. Your head was throbbing painfully along with your chest and leg. You couldn’t even think properly to try and figure out what had been injured in the fall. You just kept struggling to breath as tears slipped from your eyes, both from the pain and the now ever-present fear of death. You hear two sets of rapid footsteps approaching you and opened your eyes to see the faces of Javier and Steve hovering over you, expressions of panic and fear creasing their features.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve muttered as he knelt down, “What happened?” he demanded from Javier.

“Steve just shut the fuck up and get help over here now!” he exclaimed.

Steve just nodded and ran off to make a call as well as request help from the police there with you all. Javier knelt next to you and pulled your hand in his own, brushing your hair back in a comforting manner, causing you to close your eyes at the small distraction from the pain.

“Hey, look at me,” Javier gripped your hand tighter, and you opened your eyes to look at him, “Don’t go to sleep,” at this point he had started to remove his button up shirt, leaving him in only a white undershirt, and pressed it firmly to the still bleeding wound in your shoulder.

You let out a cry of pain as more tear’s escapade your eyes, the pain was excruciating and your eyes were getting almost too heavy to keep open, but you did.

You looked over to Javier who was now trying to asses your other injuries, “I’m sorry,” you mumble, “I should’ve been paying attention.”

At your words Javier snaps his gaze back towards you his heart clenching as the words left your mouth. You just got thrown out of a window and were currently bleeding out, and you were the one apologizing? He just shook his head and returned his hand to the side of your face, brushing the tears away with his thumb.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. You just stay awake – stay alive,” he insisted.

If you weren’t half unconscious, you would have sworn you heard desperation and a slight fear in his voice as he said those words. But before you could dwell anymore on the fact, Steve ran back over to the two of you.

“Come on Peña, we have to move. Medical help is no where to be found, so our best bet is just driving her there ourselves.”

“Fuck,” the man above you muttered before looking down at you apologetically, “I’m sorry (Y/n), but we have to move you.”

Those were the last words you heard before you felt him slide two arms underneath you and life you from the ground. You didn’t even let out a cry of pain before darkness consumed your vision.

* * *

“Hey! We need help! We need help right now!” Javier called out to the staff as him and Steve burst through the doors of the hospital, your unconscious form still held firmly in his grasp.

The next few moments were a whirlwind of commotion as the nurses and doctors jumped into action, quickly moving you onto a gurney and rolling you into the back after listening to what happened from Javier. He watched, for once feeling completely helpless, as he watched you be wheeled past the doors and into emergency surgery. Both him and Steve sat in the waiting room anxiously waiting to hear something about your condition. Javier could hardly keep himself in his seat as he switched from sitting to pacing, then sitting again, then standing and asking the nurse if there was any word, then sitting again. It was making Steve even more anxious.

“Will you sit the hell down?” Steve finally blurts, “Please? God, you’re making me more anxious pacing around like that,” he finished, leaning his elbows on his knees and letting out a sigh.

Javier turned on Steve ready to make a snarky remark but stopped himself short when he saw how awful Steve looked. He was being selfish. He wasn’t the only one who cared about you, he knew very well the sibling-like bond you and Steve shared and felt himself deflate slightly as he plopped in the chair next to his partner, running a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry, I just- “he stopped himself, taking a deep breath, “I’m just worried about her.”

“And you think I’m not?” Steve shot back, “She’s not just your partner you know.”

Javier let his hand fall from his face and onto the armrest of the chair, “I know that, it’s just that I- “he stopped himself, pursing his lips to keep the words from coming out. He wasn’t sure he was ready to reveal those feeling yet.

“You what?” Steve pressed.

Javier opened his mouth to respond but the entrance of the doctor stopped him short.

“(Y/N) (L/N)?” the doctor called out your name, which prompted both Steve and Javier to jump from their seats.

“Is she okay?” Steve asked frantically.

The doctor gave them both a kind smile and tucked a clipboard under his arm, “She is going to be just fine,” both men let out sighs of relief and wait for the doctor to continue, “She had three broken ribs, but they didn’t puncture her lungs so it will just be uncomfortable to move and breath for a few weeks. However, the gunshot wound to her shoulder and her broken tibia will keep her out of commission for at least a few months. That means no field work agents, I mean it.” The doctor look pointedly at both men.

“Can we go see her?” both of them asked simultaneously.

The doctor adjusted his glasses and looked down at his watch a frown tugging at his lips, “Well unless either of you are immediate family, I can’t allow that. Visiting hours ended four hours ago.”

Before Steve could say anything, Javier took a step forward, “I’m her husband! Just married last week,” he smiled, hoping his usual charm will help him out in this situation.

“You’re her what?” Steve’s shocked words caused the doctor to give the men a suspicious look.

Javier just reaches an arm around Steve and pats his back more roughly than needed, a fake smile plastered on his face, “I know, I can hardly believe it myself,” Javier’s voice drips with faux happiness, as he squeezes his partners shoulder begging him to play along.

Before Steve or the Doctor can say anything else, Javier is walking towards the door and holding it open, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to see my wife now.”

The doctor gives one more cautious glance to both men before leading Javier back to your room. His eyes immediately fall to your sleeping form and he feels a lump form in his throat and his heart clench at the sight of you. He doesn’t even hear what the doctor says as he takes in your form. White bandages wrapped around your shoulder peak out from under the baby blue hospital gown as well as the sling that rests over your arm. He also notices your right leg is casted from just below your knee all the way down to your foot and is elevated on some pillows. By the time he has pulled a chair up to the side of you bed and holds your hand in his, the doctor is gone.

* * *

The dryness of your mouth is the first thing you notice when you wake up. followed quickly by the beeping of a machine and the shuffling of papers. You open your eyes more and take note of the dimly lit hospital room and your newly bandaged wounds and casted leg.

“Good Morning, sweetheart,” a feminine voice meets your ears.

Your eyes move to find the source of the sound and are met with a short petite nurse in green scrubs standing at the end of your bed flipping through papers on a clipboard. You open your mouth to respond but it’s so dry you can hardly get any words out. The nurse, who had looked at you briefly, seemed to notice your predicament and quickly poured some water in a little paper cup before handing it to you. You swallow the entire cup in two gulps, and sigh in relief as you lay back into the pillow, the movement flaring pain up the side of your neck.

“You are one lucky woman,” the nurse says as she takes the cup from your hands.

you close your eyes and try to adjust yourself to sit up more, “Yeah, I’m just glad it wasn’t any worse. Because trust me, I’ve had worse.” You chuckle dryly.

You glance around the room and are immediately aware of the absence of your partners, and you frown slightly. Had they not stayed? You felt your heart clench at the thought of your own friend not staying to make sure you were okay.

“Was there anyone that came in with me?” you ask, “Two men, a tall blonde and then a shorter brunette?”

The nurse’s eyes seem to light up at the mention of your partners and a large smile comes across her face…what was her deal?

“Oh yes! Your partner Steve said he was going back to fill out some reports and then your husband just left to get some coffee.”

Your eyes widen, and if you had still been drinking water you would have surely choked, “My husband?”

Her smile widens as she looks at you, pulling the clipboard to her chest, “Oh yes, he was a nervous wreck waiting to hear word from the doctor on your condition. And since he was let in the room, he hasn’t left your side,” she notes, and she leans in slightly to whisper her next words, “He really love you, you know. When I would come in to check your vitals and such he would constantly be whispering of how much he loved you and how he couldn’t lose you…” she lets out a forlorn sighs, “It’s endearing really, I wish my husband was like that.”

You couldn’t do anything but stare at the nurse as you soaked in the news, she just told you. but before your mind could catch up and respond, Javier walked back into the room, coffee in hand and the nurse excused herself, sending you a wink on the way out. Javier met your eyes and his own widened at seeing you awake. But he tried to keep his composure as he walked over to the side of the bed and sat in the chair still resting there.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, genuine concern in his voice.

You rest back into the pillows, not sure what to say. Because physically you felt okay, most likely thanks to the pain medication, but emotionally you were confused. Confused at what the nurse told, confused if she was telling the truth. So, you just shrug, choosing not to answer.

Javier doesn’t seem to like that answer because his hand falls to yours and he runs his thumb over your knuckles, “Are you in pain? Do I need to get the nurse back- “

“No. No Javier I’m fine, I just- “you paused not sure how to continue.

Javier sets his coffee down and leans back in his seat now, hand withdrawing from your own, “It’s just…. what?” he asks, a curious expression settling on his face.

You pick at the hospital blanket absentmindedly, not prepared to talk about this subject but knowing that it needs to be discussed.

“The nurse told me some things,” you begin, “Some things you said while I was out. Some rather…intimate things.” You finish finally, looking to the man sitting next to you.

He seems to freeze in his place, mouth dropping open as if saying ‘oh’, before it snaps shut and he seems to be at a loss for words. Which, for him, was very unusual.

“Did you mean them?” you ask quietly, not sure if you want to know his answer.

He’s quite for a moment, and you’re sure he’s about to reject you. tell you they meant nothing and that he was just afraid of his partner dying. So, your mouth starts to move before you can stop it.

“Never mind, that was a dumb question. I know you were probably just worried about me dying. I was so stupid to think that you could like me back. I know that’s not your style and- “

“(Y/N)- “

“in this line of work its never a good idea to- “

“(Y/N)- “

“get into relationships and I’m sorry if I-“

“(Y/N)!” Javier’s raised voice stops your rambling, “Stop. Just listen to me.”

You snap your mouth shut, lips pressing into a thin line as you wait for him to tell you off. But you unclench your jaw when you feel his warm hand gran onto your slightly cool one. You look up at him again and are shook by the soft and almost loving look he gives you as a small smile tugs at his lips.

“I was terrified when I saw you go over that balcony,” he admitted, “And I was even more scared when you passed out in my arms. I was so scared you were going to die in this hospital and I would never get to tell you how I felt,” as he stops speaking he brings your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it softly before placing his other free hand over yours encasing it in both of his still very warm hands.

You felt tears burn at the back of your eyes at the meaning of his words, you were so sure you had pushed him away and that he could never feel the same way as you. so, to here this, it was a lot.

You squeezed his hand gently as you looked at him, “You remember that night you brought over Pizza and beer?” he nodded, “And you tried to get into my pants?” you let out a little chuckle as he groaned and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly but nods again.

“I thought I pushed you away,” you admitted, “I thought that you had only gotten close to me so you could add me to your list or whatever.”

“No (Y/N), that’s not what happened, I thought I had pushed things too far,” he explains, “I thought you wouldn’t want to be around me again because of that. I though its ruined things.”

You shook your head and squeezed his hand again, “Well, that’s good to know,” you smile, “Because when you quite hanging around me after that was when I realized…” you paused.

“Realized what?” Javier asked, heart pummeling against his chest at the words he expected to come from your mouth.

“That I love you, more than just a friend or partner,” you finally admit, eyes dropping from his own to look at your still intertwined hands.

Javier didn’t say anything at first, and when he pulled his hands from yours, your heart fell to your stomach. Did he not feel the same? But before you could voice your concern his hands came to the sides of your face as he leaned down to place a heated and desperate kiss to your lips. You kissed back instantly and, out of instinct, went to reach your hand up to card through his hair, but a sharp pain in your injured shoulder caused you to let out a gasp of pain.

“shit,” Javier pulled away instantly and looked over you worriedly, “Did I hurt you?”

You let out a pained chuckle as you rested back against your pillows, “No, I just got a little too excited, and I don’t think my shoulder appreciated it.”

Javier gave you a mischievous smile before leaning closer to you, “I can kiss it better.”

Before you could respond he placed a tender kiss to the bandages over your injured shoulder, then a soft kiss just below your ear, then finally a much gentler meaningful kiss to your lips. You responded and you both stayed like that for a moment before he pulled away and sat back in his chair, your hand held in his securely.

“Did it work?”

You smile and nod, “Yes, I think it did, husband.”

He let out a loud laugh at your little joke and scooted his chair closer to your bed, resting his hand near your head and stroked your hair affectionately.

“I think I could get used to that,” he whispers.

You smile and kiss him one more time before nodding, “Me too.”

////

Permanent Tags: @lord-wolfgen @petalduck​

[random-imagines-blog]

No Matter What You Say {Tony Stark!Mentor x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: @lunchawx Wordcount: 2070 Summary: After taking the entrance exam for Midtown High School, you receive a special guest.

New York, New York. The most populated city in the United States just got bigger by three. You were already settled in your new room which looked out upon your small backyard where there was barely enough room for a bird bath let alone actual lounging space. But it was still better than the apartment that you had in your old city, which didn’t have so much as a balcony. It didn’t have superheroes or supervillains tearing up the streets either, but you weren’t in Manhattan so it should be alright - right? You looked out your window, seeing the back of another house, and then another house, and then another house, and then another house - so it wasn’t like in the movies, not exactly.

“You ready for the test?” Your father asked, standing in the doorway. That’s the real reason that you were here. Your parents had such strong belief in your intellect that they up and moved from your normal life with your best friends, to this place where 'you have so much potential to succeed’. Because apparently your old school wasn’t good enough. Didn’t have as good a reputation as Midtown High.

Because nothing spelled fun and social life like a high school filled to the brim with smug geniuses.

“Considering you’ve been making me study for two weeks straight, yeah, I think I’m good,” You said, your voice filled with attitude. “I could have spent that time with my friends before you just plucked me up and dropped me here, but you know. Studying. So much more fun.”

“You’re not going to be making friends here if you keep that up,” Your father said. Always the optimist. A real silver lining kind of guy. Oh, we’re not going to end up dying in an alien attack on New York city like those other people did because Captain America took care of it!

Yeah. He sure did. And left the city with billions of dollars of damage and quite a few lives lost. Great job superheroes.

“Yeah, because I really wanted to come and be friends with the characters from Gossip Girl,” You grumbled. Your dad rolled his eyes - finally, a sign of human emotion that wasn’t just happiness. “Are you going to get out so I can get ready or are you just going to stand there?”

He held his hands up in surrender and left you to get ready. Midtown High School. Home of the brightest young minds in New York City. Even famed Tony Stark went there, and was a large sponsor of the school, and would apparently stop in for lectures sometimes. You knew which days that you were planning on skipping then.

-

There was a knock on the front door while you and your parents were sitting around the table pushed into the kitchen since the house was too small for a dining room, enjoying breakfast. Your father was the most relaxed out of the three of you, munching happily on toast, while your mother was too nervous to actually eat and was just clinging onto her coffee mug like it was her only tether to this earth. You were just eating, not caring either way about the test results which you should be getting today. In fact, that might have been the mailman.

“I’ll get it,” Your mother said, getting out of her seat so fast it fell over. You laughed at that, and dug your spoon back into your cereal, getting the sugar rush you needed to start the day. You could hear her voice grow louder and more excited. “Oh, please, please, come in! Come have a seat. Y/N! Honey! Can you come into the living room please?”

“Oh god, is it one of those prissy schools where the principal comes and welcomes you themselves?” You groaned. You were still in your pajamas, having no plans of leaving the house today, and now you were expected to greet a guest. This whole New York thing was not working out.

“Won’t know until we go find out,” Your father said. Never ending optimism on this guy. You certainly didn’t inherit that. You let your spoon fall back into the bowl and followed him out into the living room. Your first thought was that this guy was impeccably dressed, so unless the principal of Midtown was extremely rich, this probably wasn’t him. And then you noticed the facial hair - that probably was a hundred and fifty dollars from a good barber. That hair, colored to cover grays, obviously. Then it finally clicked in who exactly was sitting on your couch.

“Tony Stark - I mean Iron Man! I mean - Tony Stark!” Your dad said, his jaw dropping. “Can I get you anything? There’s a fresh pot of coffee, or I think we might have a beer somewhere...”

“It’s nine in the morning,” You said blankly to your father and walked past your parents to sit in an arm chair across from the couch so you could get a better look at your guest. Ironman was in your living room, and he was seeing you dressed in your pajamas. At least this was something to write to your friends about. Everything else had been boring so far. “No one needs a beer at nine in the morning.”

“I’ll take a coffee,” Tony said, as if he was at a cafe ordering from a waiter rather than in someone’s home. Your father ran to get it, nearly tripping over his own feet, while your mother came and stood beside you. You looked up at her, furrowed your brow and shook your head. She was acting so weird. Both of your parents were. Guess it was up to you to be the adult here?

“Cool, so while you have my dad running around like a chicken with his head cut off...” You said, leaning back, crossing your arms in front of you. “Why is Tony Stark in our living room? Unless you think we’re some sort of bad guys - which we’re not. Though they would probably say the same thing.” You just really couldn’t think of a reason, and he clearly wasn’t just going to spit it out.

“Well, I came to deliver the bad news, and the good news for myself,” He said with a little clap, and leaned in close, catching your eye. “The good news is that you got the second highest score on the entrance exam that Midtown High ever received.”

A mug broke from the kitchen as Tony’s voice carried to your father who was coming back with the coffee. The cup had slipped out of his hand and had broken into small pieces, the hot liquid getting all over his shirt. “Shit,” He said, looking at himself, but only worried about that for a second. “The second highest in their history? Y/N! We knew you would get in but that’s amazing!”

“So what’s the bad news?” You asked, not getting your hopes up.

“You’re going to have to take another test right here and right now with me watching to make sure that you weren’t cheating,” He said with a smirk. “We don’t have much tolerance for that.”

“Ahh - alright, bring it on.” I said. He continued to look smug as he opened a briefcase and took out a piece of paper and a pencil. Even the pencil said Stark Industries along the side, and was in the Ironman colors. “Seriously?”

“It’s all I got.”

“Of course it is.” I picked up the paper and looked over it. The question were similar to the ones that were on the exam I took, but not the same. I laid it back down on the table, and was about to press lead to paper when he stopped me by clicking his tongue.

“I’m going to have to ask these parents to leave the room. Just to make sure there’s no cheating going on. And that coffee, if you don’t mind?”

My parents hid out in the kitchen, picking up the broken pieces of the mug and mopping the floors. There was no music, no television, no devices allowed, just in case I found a way to cheat. It was a bit insulting, really. He was watching you like a hawk. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” You asked, filling out a math equation. “They probably could have sent a teacher to do this, don’t ya think?”

“If you get these right, then I have a counter offer for you.” He said, and then narrowed his eyes. “No talking. Finish the test.”

“Jeez, okay, okay, I’m working on it.” You continued to work, finished it up, signed the paper and then handed it over. “No way I could have cheated, right?”

“None that I could tell,” He didn’t take the piece of paper, just motioned for you to set it down onto the table. You shrugged and did so, and then he picked it up, scanning through it. He took a pen out of his breast pocket, and started to write things down, following your lines of thinking. He removed his sunglasses from his face, ran his hands through his hair, and looked at you. Really looked at you. It made you uncomfortable.

“Well?” You asked about the test.

“Perfect, and no signs of cheating. Guess there’s only one thing left to do then. Hey parents!”

You sighed, glad that it was all over now. You were expecting him to just give you and your parents the papers to sign and then you would be in Midtown High. All to fulfill this great potential that your parents said that you had inside of you. And yet still, all you wanted to do was go back home to where your friends were. You’d rather work in a grocery store and still be able to see them rather than live in the big city, become rich and only deal with snobs. Your parents came back into the room, and stood on either side of you, beaming proudly. They never thought that you cheated, which you guessed was a good sign of their faith in you, even if it was a bit annoying that they were the reason you had to take the stupid exam in the first place.

“I want to offer you a mentorship, working under me, for Stark Industries,” Tony said, his tone already showing that he was expecting for you to say yes. “We’ll work around your Midtown schedule. I’ll send a car to pick you up, bring you to be after class, and you’ll get first hand experience in the best workplace in the world. I’ve got some papers here, just need the parentals here to sign.”

“Uhh - no thanks,” You said, shaking your head and stood up. “I mean, I’ll go to Midtown, great, but I don’t want any sort of mentorship.”

“Excuse me?” Tony asked.

“Hey, let’s not be hasty-” Your father would start.

“Don’t embarass us in front of Mr. Stark...” Your mother started.

“I’m not looking to work for you in the future, Mr. Stark. No offense. But I’m not really planning on doing this whole tech stuff when I graduate. I just wanna go to school, come home, talk to my friends and not have the added stress. I appreciate it and all but-”

“Is y/n being serious?” Tony asked, bypassing you and looked towards your mother. She shook her head quickly.

“Just a shock,” She reassured in your behalf. “Y/n will be more than happy to take the mentorship. Won’t you, sweetie?”

You looked up at her. Her nerves were frazzled. This was all that she had ever wanted for you. And then you looked at your dad, who looked a  bit more caring about all of this. About you.

“It’s your choice,” Your father said. “But you earned this opportunity. It’s not going to come again, and you might regret giving it up.”

Ugh.

You nodded reluctantly. Your parents started celebrating. Tony said he would take that beer now.

Looks like you had yourself a mentorship.

[snowflake-of-destruction]

Imagine Roxas’s reaction to seeing Axel shirtless when he started getting buff for the first time

Enjoy the distraction of the evening and Roxas and Sora bonding, and be warned of language and reference to adult situations.

"Can I complain to you about Riku for a second?" Sora asked. It was perhaps not the ideal time to start a new conversation as Roxas was in the process of landing the gummi ship in a clear spot of grass in the courtyard outside the entrance to the keyblade academy at the Land of Departure, but that was how Sora was, keeping things in and then letting them explode forth at times that often seemed odd to others, but were simply the breaking point to him.

"No, I require at least ten minutes of complaining about Riku every week,"Roxas deadpanned, guiding the ship down between two others already parked. "You know the time table. Three minutes without air. Three days without food. Seven days without busting Riku's silver dusted balls."

"Gold," Sora chirped, unbuckling his restraints and going for the door.

"I'm going to regret this," Roxas sighed, half to himself as he followed suit,  "But...what?"

"Gold medal," Sora grinned. "Everything in that area is nothing less than first place." 

"Strongly disagree." Roxas screwed up his face in exaggerated disgust.

"You have no way of..." Sora complained as they started up to the castle.

"Please, can we get to the complaining?" Roxas cut him off.

"It's official even. The council of judges, me and Data Sora judging pictures saved on my gummi phone, awarded him the blue ribbon. I tied it..." 

"I will give you all the munny in my munny bag not to finish that sentence." It was pretty clear to Roxas that Sora was torturing him on purpose for crimes of his past lives. Sometimes he still hated his other.

"Then I suppose you don't want to hear about the ribbon cutting ceremony either? Or, well, it was more of a ribbon untying ceremony. I'm not usually good at tongue tricks like the cherry thing so I was kind of proud of myself that I managed to..."

The pattern of hasty interruption of an oblivious or happily malicious Sora continued. "For the love of sea salt ice cream, Sora, I'm begging you to stop before I hurl."

"What were you talking about before?" Sora blanked and grasped at straws of stray thought. "Tortillas?"

"What? Why would you think that?"

"It was taco night when I came up with the ribbon ceremony."

"You were going to tell me how much Riku was annoying you."

 The enlightened glow of remembrance entered Sora's eyes, but the spark of happiness at conquering his brain only lasted a moment before Sora was collapsing against the doors of the castle academy, playing up the drama of whining, "Riku is driving me crazy!"

"That's more like it! Tell me all about it."  Roxas was perhaps a bit overzealous in his support, judging by the look Sora shot him, so he tried a more nonchalant and less gleeful tone, "You'll feel better."

"He keeps looking at me like I'm going to disappear in front of his eyes. He's woken me up in the middle of the night to make sure I'm still breathing. He keeps tripping me up in battle because he's started diving between me and the Heartless, like all of a sudden I can't take care of myself. I know why it's happening, and I know he means well, but I'm not sure how much longer I can take it. Do you have that problem with Axel?"

Now, he and Axel had to work through some anxiety about being separated again. It had taken a lot of long talks, time, and trust exercises, to work through them, but now Roxas could help Sora with Riku's issues from the point of view of someone who had been there before and gotten out. Or he could just make a joke. "Well, I'm afraid he'll get caught in a strong wind one night and snap in half, but I'm trying to keep myself rational. I mean I can stick unwound hangers in his clothes to try and create a brace from something more substantial than his limbs, and I can put a bell on him so I don't lose track of him when he turns sideways, but after we take all the precautions we can, all I can do is tell him to be careful lifting his keyblade so it doesn't break his arm, and look at the positive. He and Jack Skellington wear the same size jacket and being able to trade clothes with  the King of Halloween is pretty cool."

"What are you talking about?"

Roxas steeled himself to be drawn into a serious talk anyway, taking a spot leaning against the doors alongside Sora and putting a hand on his shoulder, dearly hoping someone didn't open the door from the other side and send them sprawling. "Listen, I picked a ridiculous example, but the same principle applies. Take measures to keep each other safe--simple ones that don't stop you from being able to do your job-- talk about what his fears are, and then just try to find silver linings and agree to live your lives. You guys are going to be okay."

"Oh yeah, I know that,"  Sora dismissed, shaking off his hand. "I was just letting off steam. Riku's actually being really sweet. I just need to make him realize what he's doing before he finds a way to sacrifice himself again to keep me safe. What you said about Axel doesn't make sense though. He's ripped."

"He's a twig," Roxas countered with a scoff. "He's got the muscle mass of the jelly creature from Monstropolis, and looks like it the time it let me suck it into a large straw to make Boo laugh. I love him but he's a scarecrow. My stickman scarecrow, and I love him, but let's be realistic."

The light of dawning realization lit Sora's eyes once more, and Roxas found it a bit unnerving. He was definitely missing something. "...Haven't you visited Axel since he started training with Terra?"

"No, this is my first visit, to see Terra confer the master title on him." Master ceremonies had become a big thing now, a little pomp and circumstance to make it seem more important, Roxas guessed. Riku had missed out. Too bad for him. "He was on a journey of the soul as well as the body...Whatever that means. Terra didn't want me distracting him."

"That's what makes it more fun. When I went to retake my mark of mastery at Yensid's tower...Wait a second, Terra ordered you to do something and you just listened?" Sora's pursed lips and glaring eyes spoke more of tantrum throwing toddler than betrayed friend.

"He's a master," Roxas answered simply, though it wasn't respect for orders of a master that held him back. He could have been a master too, if he wanted, if he felt like he needed the validation of being recognized by the others and wanted to jump through hoops set up by Yensid or Aqua or even worse options. He had been named master of the keyblade by the Organization, that was enough. He and Axel had agreed they would help guard the worlds but they wouldn't play into the ranking game. Axel had changed his mind, and Roxas respected that, but he felt no compulsion to join him.

"You never listen when Riku tells you to do something. He's a master too."

"Master, my ass."

"No, master of my..."

"Why do you have to be like this?" Roxas groaned, sliding to the ground.

"Don't get pissy just because you haven't gotten laid in months."

"I didn't visit because Axel told me not to. We've been doing the long distance thing. We've done it before for stretches, like when he and Isa were working on their first book,"Roxas answered Sora's original question, loudly, to change the subject.

"But you've talked on the gummi phone?"

"Every night."

"With video?"

"Is this going back to a weird place you never leave?"

"I live in the gutter now!" Sora confirmed happily, before going back to neutral. "No, it's a serious question. Have you gotten a good look at Axel recently?"

"Same loveable bozo sleeping in a fuzzy zip up adult onesie that makes him look like a Meow Wow  he's always been. "

"You haven't seen him out of the onesie?" At Roxas's exasperated look, Sora defended himself once more. "Legitimate question."

"Some nights I don't even see him take down the hood. He has a voice for Meowaxel."

"And you were griping about the ribbon ceremony. Your sex story is much weirder."

"We don't have phone sex," Roxas's pining despair outweighed his distaste for discussing this kind of thing with Sora who was a dog that never let go of a bone without making a joke about boning. "We have an agreement. He almost crashed a gummi ship once."

"You...while he was driving?" Sora looked impressed and Roxas felt a rare flash of shame.

"New idea?" He pushed through and said the words as if they were a crack of his own.

"Great idea!" Sora's face split into a wide grin and Roxas apologized to Riku internally, the only way he ever did so. Sora grabbed his former Nobody's arm and dragged him to his feet. "Come on. We're going to spy on Axel sparring with Terra. They have a routine. Terra wouldn't deviate from it even knowing people are arriving for the ceremony tonight."

"I am always down to see my baby light someone on fire," Roxas followed Sora down the hill, pliable and, frankly, excited to see Axel as soon as possible.

"Baby? Blech." Sora pulled a face that lasted maybe half a second and rang false while it did, thrilled and supportive as always to see Roxas showing a soft spot, but attempting to play some of Roxas's own attitude back at him.

"Your pet names for Riku are worse...and you should not prove it by listing them." Roxas tacked on the latter part hastily, leaving no room for Sora to start his reign of terror anew.

" There are several riffs on Dream Eater that would make you wish you were as smart as me," Sora huffed, "But that's not what we're here for." He held Roxas back for a second with a thrown out arm, and glanced around the last bend in the hill. Roxas could hear sounds of exertion. Satisfied with what he saw, Sora withdrew the restraining arm in favor of waving his hands like a cheap magician as he ordered Roxas to, "Feast your eyes!"

Roxas ignored Sora's theatrics and stepped around him, only to stop short when he ended up following the other man's order despite himself. His eyes were feasting and there was an entire buffet in the form of Axel, stripped to the waist and hair up in a messy bun with damp loose tendrils stuck to the back of his neck, twisting away to avoid a strike by Terra (in his weird black spandex shirt like always, showing off for who the hell knew or cared) and using the momentum to whirl the rest of the circle and carry out his own blow, the flex and spring back of newly defined muscles Roxas had missed the development of covered by freckled skin that didn't quite make the definition of tan but had been cultivated into a tone more golden than ghost pale translucent on display. The first dish was broad shoulders that had always  been there, but no longer existed just to make clothes hang smoothly like they did on a clothes hanger now that they were attached to the freshly carved meat station--arms that bulged and Roxas was going to declare illegal to ever hide under bunched neon fleece or a thick black coat again. He'd call Axel's new abs the salad bar because he wanted to charge like a bull and then start grazing, but they could also be the drink station because there was definitely a six pack there much more appealing than the beer Hayner had developed a fondness for, and Roxas was remarkably thirsty looking at them. Axel's waist was still comparatively small (Dorito. Delicious. More buffets should include snack food on the side. Jokes weren't over. The man was a snack.) but then there was perhaps the most shocking addition of all had popped into existence below it.

"Bite the buns and have a popsicles for dessert," Roxas whispered under his breath, awed, unable to even be embarrassed by half consciously daydreaming out loud because his eyes had continued their journey and found out there was now meat on the stork (too long to be chicken) drumsticks Axel walked around on.

"Think he's safe from the wind now?" Sora taunted.

"Time for you to leave." Roxas shook himself out of his daze to return fully to the present.

"What?"

"Run up to the castle," Roxas gave the same order in new phrasing as he walked on ahead and waved to Terra, yelling, "Time to leave."

The scene that ensued was bordering on comical as Terra froze, caught off guard and was smacked full in the face with head turning force by the flat of Axel's keyblade, an act that was accompanied by an apologetic, "Oh shit!" and widened eyes that spoke to Axel trying to cut his actions short but being unable to stop the blow, just lessen it. Terra stumbled and Axel reached out to steady him, but then appeared to change his mind or become irrevocably distracted halfway through as Roxas's presence sank in fully. His keyblade disappeared in a shower of sparks, Terra fell, and the lovers ran to be reunited. 

Roxas found himself lifted off the ground like he weighed nothing and his soul left his body, leaving him not responsible for the happily sighed word that he used to greet Axel, "Arms."

[arrow-guy]

Broken Flock (11/??)

Summary: It’s been two years since you uprooted your life and left to figure out who you really are, leaving behind Bucky and Clint with little more than a note as a warning. Now, New York is calling your name and it’s time to go home. How will Clint and Bucky react to your return, and how will the time have affected your relationship?

A/N: Okay I’m actually kind of really excited about this chapter. I feel like it got away from me a little bit for a sec there in the first half. That being said, I really love the end of this chapter, and I hope you guys will as well. Please enjoy!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Pairing: WinterhawkxReader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Discussion of human experimentation (not in depth), Discussion of politics (the Accords)

Part 10

“I didn’t expect to be stuck in a conference room for this.”

“Trust me,” Steve says. “I didn’t think it’d come to this either, but-”

The door bursts open and everyone turns to look. General Ross stands in the doorway, hands behind his back. He looks too smug for my liking. If I weren’t so sore, and if I knew I wouldn’t get in trouble, I’d wipe that look right off his face.

Steve groans. “We had a change of plans.”

“Ah, so good of you to join us, Ms. (Y/L/N),” he says. He strides through the room to stand at the head of the table and address us. “I was beginning to wonder where you’d gone.”

“Last I checked, I don’t answer to you,” I snap. “None of us do.”

“You dropped off the map for a good two weeks.”

“I was kidnapped.”

“Even so-”

“What the hell is this about?” I cut in. “Because I was under the impression that this meeting concerned myself and the Avengers alone. Not you and your little government issued lackeys.”

“You’re awful hostile for someone speaking to her superior,” he ground out.

“Who, me?” I glance around at everyone in the room. “I’m a civilian and the Avengers are a private organization. I don’t work for you, Ross. None of us do.”

“You will,” he says. “When the Accords are put into governmental procedure.”

“See, I don’t know if you’re ever going to make headway with that little project of yours.” I shuffled around in my seat before leaning on the table. “Considering the fact that you refuse to work with one of the biggest players in this, who knows how many signatures you’ll get.”

“To what do we owe the displeasure, Thaddeus?” Tony asks.

Ross’ eye twitches. “You missed your deadline.”

“We were a little preoccupied in finding (Y/N),” Steve says. “As she said, she was kidnapped. You would know this if you’d read any of the correspondence we sent you concerning this.”

“And we wouldn’t be in this position if you’d quit running in circles and rejecting any kind of amendments we suggest,” Bucky adds. “We’ve been trying to work with you on this for months, yet you never seem to be able to make up your mind on what you want from us.”

“He wants complete and total control over the Avengers,” I say.

“Excuse me?” Ross grinds out.

“I said, you want to control the Avengers,” I repeat. I look to Natasha. “Did I stutter? I don’t think I stuttered.”

“Not that I heard,” she says.

I look Ross dead in the eye. “Do you need me to speak up? Or would it be helpful if I just signed instead?”

“(Y/N),” Steve warns.

I glare at Ross, but sit back in my chair. “Sorry.”

“You’re not in trouble,” Steve says. “But I don’t want you to say anything incriminating.”

I simply nod and keep quiet. Steve gestures to Tony, who stands to face General Ross.

“We weren’t planning on announcing this today, but we’ve given your proposal some serious thought, and we’ve decided to turn you down,” Tony says.

“You’re what?!” Ross hisses. “You can’t do that!”

“Can’t we? Because we’ve been operating independently for the past two years, and things seem to be going just fine. The only major incident we’ve dealt with since Sokovia-”

Ross interjects, “Which was your fault, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“Shut the fuck up, Thaddeus,” I snap. “You don’t get to interrupt people just because you’re a General.”

Clint snorts and I squeeze his knee in a silent plea for him to be quiet.

Tony clears his throat. “As I was saying, the only incident we’ve dealt with since Sokiva has been (Y/N)’s kidnapping. And we managed to find her just fine, no thanks to you.”

“And,” Natasha says. “If I’m remembering correctly, we’ve been fully functional since S.H.I.E.L.D. went under, even without asking for any assistance from the likes of you.” She tilts her head to the side and folds her arms. “And yet you expect us to just hand ourselves over to you.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?”

“No,” I say. “I think we understand perfectly. You think that the Avengers have too much power. The only way that you can see to ensure no one gets hurt is to put a leash on them. And I can see where you’re coming from, and your care for the public, if you can even call it that, is commendable. But this ass backwards, roundabout route you’re taking is absolutely fucking absurd.”

“You said you’re not part of this team!”

“I did, but I never said I didn’t have any kind of stake in whether or not the Accords are approved. I have powers, remember? I’m directly affected by whatever kind of legislation is put in place because of those Accords. But you could never understand that, because you’ve only ever seen people like us as power hungry egomaniacs. But look around.” I gesture to the room. “No one here asked for what we got. Bruce and I were accidents, Steve was a scientific crapshoot, regardless of how successful, Bucky was kidnapped and brainwashed and experimented on without his consent, Natasha and Clint’s backgrounds are questionable at best, and Tony was blown up by his own bomb. His first suit was built out of necessity, not curiosity or the need to seize power.”

“(Y/N)...” Bucky murmurs. He takes my hand and squeezes it gently.

“By all means, work with the Avengers. But quit acting like you’ve got the moral high ground, because all you've done is set up roadblocks and refuse to compromise in any capacity."

Ross looks down his nose at me. "You've got a lot of opinions for someone so vehemently against being part of their team."

"Well, you’re ready to imprison any single powered person who doesn’t sign, simply because you deem us to be threats.” I narrow my eyes. "But last I checked, you can't arrest someone for having opinions."

"Maybe not, but you certainly seem to know more about the Accords than what's been made available to the public-"

"We've kept her up to date with the proceedings," Steve says. "She has every right to know about something that would change the way she lives her life."

"That's not a decision for you to make."

Steve simply shrugs. "You never said anything about our discussions being confidential."

“Why you-”

“You do see the position you’ve put us in, right?” Steve presses. “We’re trying to work out ways to protect our loved ones, powers or no, and still do our jobs, but you keep blocking every single suggestion we make. You want us to cooperate, but you make it impossible.”

“You say that as if you’re not trying to bend the Accords to work for you.”

“No,” Tony says. “That’s what you’re doing. Your unwillingness to collaborate with just proves (Y/N) right. You don’t want to work with us. You want to control us. Because we’re not predictable, and that scares you and your little government buddies.”

Steve rises from his seat and stares Ross down. “See, we’d be happy to work with you. But that means working with us.”

Ross tries to protest, but shuts his mouth when Bucky stands abruptly. Bucky’s glare can only be described as glacial. No one says a word.

Ross shifts closer to Steve and Natasha shoots up from her chair. Clint, Tony, and I follow suit. I shake out my wings to make myself look bigger than I am and squint at General Ross. He’s startled to find all of us resisting him and turns back to Steve, only to find him with a similarly cold expression and his arms folded across his chest.

“If you’re not going to work with us,” Steve says. “I suggest you leave.”

“Fine.” He looks around the room at each of us. “But I will be back.”

“Until you’re ready to compromise, you’re not welcome,” Tony quips. “But we’ll gladly escort you out.”

Ross seems to know he’s been beat and makes a hasty retreat. His lackeys follow him from the conference room and down the hallway, back to whatever they arrived in. When I’m sure they’re gone, I sink back into my seat and cover my face with my hands. My heart is beating out of my chest and every ache from two days earlier is back with a vengeance.

“Are you okay?” Clint asks, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

I nod and turn to press my face to his shoulder. “Too much excitement for one day, that’s all.”

Clint hums in agreement. “I don’t think he’ll be back for a while.”

I laugh. “Of course he won’t, he got stared down by a room full of Avengers. He probably shat himself as soon as Nat stood up.”

“Of course he did,” Clint grins at Natasha. “She’s terrifying.”

Natasha snorts and Clint tries to make another joke to actually make her laugh. Steve watches them and I wait till I can catch his eye to say something.

“Is it safe to assume that wasn’t part of the plan today?” I ask.

Steve sighs. “No, it wasn’t.” He glares at the door. “General Ross seems to have a bad habit of showing up when he’s least wanted.”

“And ignoring anything he doesn’t want to hear,” Tony adds. “I swear, we sent him at least three notices about the delay, and he just ignored every single one of them.”

“You seriously put off negotiations to find me?”

“Of course we did, (Y/N),” Tony says. “You’re family. You know what we do for family.”

I frown. “Drop everything.”

“Exactly.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, we did.” Bucky takes my hand. “We weren’t going to leave you behind after everything we did to find you last time.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I blink them away and whisper, “Thank you. All of you. Really.”

“There’s nothing to thank us for,” Natasha says. “Don’t argue with me about this.”

I laugh, but sniffle a moment later. “Okay, I won’t.”

“You wanna tell us why you actually wanted to meet?” Clint asks.

“Right,” Steve shifts in his seat. “We believe that we’ve apprehended everyone involved with your kidnapping, (Y/N). They’ll be tried and probably sentenced before the end of the month.”

“Oh, wow.” Surprised, I look between Steve and Tony. “I forgot how quickly you work.”

“We put in a rush order for our favorite Sesame Street character,” Tony says.

I laugh. “So I’m Big Bird now?”

“Well, you’re smart, you care about your friends and family, and you’re nice. Well…” He gestures vaguely. “Most of the time.”

“I’ll take it.”

Tony hums. “I started looking into Hoffman’s research, and it’s pretty grim stuff.”

“Oh?”

“A lot about genetic mutation and splicing animal DNA with human. From what Banner and I have found, she’d been doing this for a long time, and getting away with it, too. Based on her notes from the last five years, you’re her most successful experiment, and she didn’t even know you existed until six months ago.” He sighs. “I won’t go into too much detail, but the plans she had… she’s bad news in every sense of the phrase.”

“I got lucky, then.”

“I didn’t want to say that, but yeah. You did.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). You shouldn’t’ve been mixed up in any of this in the first place.”

“It’s not your fault. She would’ve caught up to me eventually. It’s not like ten foot wings are easy to hide.”

“All of that aside,” Steve says. “They’ll be going away for a long time. The rest of their lives, if we can manage it. They won’t be able to get to you ever again.”

I nod. “What’ll you do about Ross?”

“If we can manage it, we’ll keep pushing for reformed Accords. None of us want to be limited in what we can do, but it was easier to operate when we had the power of a government agency or two to back us up.” Steve shrugs. “If he can’t agree to that, we won’t be signing.”

“And you’re all cool with that?”

Tony nods. “We’ve argued over this for months, and getting your insight as someone on the outside helped as well. We’re not backing down from this.”

“Good. There’s no reason to roll over just because some dickhead bully demands it. He needs your support on this. He’s blind if he can’t see that.”

“Our thoughts exactly,” Steve says.

“Has she been cleared to go home yet, though?” Clint asks.

Steve nods. “She’s good to go as early as tomorrow morning.”

“Great,” Clint says, his relief obvious in his voice. “Simone has to go out of town on Saturday and without her, there’s no one left to dog-sit.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and Tony makes makes a joke about Clint’s loyalties lying elsewhere. I can’t pay attention to any of it, though. My thoughts keep straying back to what it’ll be like to be back in my apartment and away from the rest of the team. I can’t help thinking that it’ll be a little more peaceful, especially with the constant sounds of the settling apartment building around me.

Bucky squeezes my hand and I shake the fog from my head. “Hm?”

“You okay?”

I try to reassure him with a smile. “I’m fine. Just trying to plan what we need to do to get ready to go tomorrow.”

“We’ll head out bright ‘n early tomorrow. Okay?” I nod and he kisses my forehead.

“You’re sitting in the back, Clint.”

“What? You know I get carsick.”

“You don’t get carsick, you just don’t like the legroom in the back.”

“Can’t help that, Bucky, I’m a tall guy!”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You know (Y/N) needs the front seat. She can’t sit normally because of her wings.”

Clint scowls. “Then let me drive.”

“Hell no, you’re a nightmare behind the wheel.”

“You’re no fun!” I clear my throat and both men look to me and smile. “Hey! You’re finally up.”

I shake my head. “I was up an hour ago, I just wanted to make sure I had everything.”

“Oh, right.” Clint strides across the driveway and takes my bag from me. “We were just-”

“Squabbling,” I laugh. “I know. It’s what you two do best sometimes.”

“We can do other things too,” he mumbles.

Bucky shakes his head and joins Clint and I. “Ignore him. He’s just grumpy because someone called about a burst pipe in the basement.”

“Oh shit.” Clint scratches the back of his neck and I place my hand on his arm. “Have you called someone yet?”

“Yeah, they already showed up, but it won’t be a cheap fix.”

“It’ll be fine, I’m sure. We can get it sorted out when we get back, right?” He nods and wanders off to pack up the car.

Bucky hooks his arm around my waist and I tilt my head up to kiss his cheek. “You’re looking better this morning,” he says.

“I slept really well last night. Probably has something to do with you two.”

“You give us too much credit, (Y/N).”

“I don’t think you give yourselves enough.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “I’ll go get the car set up.”

“Okay. I’ll be over in a minute.”

I stand back and watch them move around the car. Clint scoops up two more duffel bags, I assume they’re his and Bucky’s, from beside the car and places them in the trunk. Bucky puts the passenger seat down and I can see him roll his eyes when Clint sidles up beside him and says something close to his ear. Clint laughs when Bucky pinches his side and I can’t help smiling.

It suddenly hits me how thankful I am that I have both of them. I don’t know what I would do without them, or even where I’d be right now if they weren’t in my life.

My smile slowly slips away as I realize that I love them. Different from when we first met and more than I did when I left.

My heart flutters and I press my fingers to my lips, just letting the realization wash over me. I’m not scared. Just peaceful. This feels right.

“You okay, (Y/N)?”

I refocus and meet Clint’s eyes. “Hm?”

“You were zoning out,” he says. “Are you feeling alright?”

I smile. “I’m good. Nothing to worry about.”

“You sure?”

I nod and approach the car. “Mhm.”

He wraps his arm around my shoulders and kisses the top of my head. “Okay, good.”

“Help me into the car?”

“Of course.” He grins and gestures to the open passenger door. “Your chariot awaits.”

----------

Part 12

How’s that for an ending? I’m pretty fond of it, personally. I promise this isn’t the grand ending, but we’re getting close, I think. But for now, we know that the reader loves her boys, and that’s what really matters.

I’d love to know how you reacted! I always love knowing what you guys think, so please comment, reblog, like, and/or shoot me an ask!

If you’d like to be tagged in future chapters, please let me know!

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[faulty-writes]

Those headcanons about the ineffectual villain soulmate, would you please do some sequel headcanons? I think you mentioned once where maybe a cop or another hero would get tired of the reader making a nuisance out of themselves and then try to seriously hurt or kill them, so the boys save them.

[ I think I know what you are talking about. These headcanons right here. I enjoyed writing those, so hopefully this will be fun to write as well! I hope you enjoy! Do you guys prefer long or short headcanons because I wrote too damn much. Haha. ] 

Tenya Iida 

Being associated with the hero Ingenium could prove to be dangerous for any villain, however, you found that he had a certain charm about him. Very proper and straightforward. But you always had to watch your back, knowing that if any other villains knew about your connection to the turbo hero. It would cause trouble and despite Ingenium's efforts to try and change you. Steer you onto the path of heroism, you continued to refuse. Soulmate or not, you wanted to be a great villain. One that everyone would take seriously, though even Ingenium didn’t seem to fully believe your capabilities. 

So you had decided to try and prove the hero wrong, your latest scheme involved kidnapping the young child of a Pro Hero that happened to be rising in the ranks. You had tied the child up and though their crying was rather annoying, you stood on top of the tallest skyscraper you could find and grinned to yourself as you held your phone up and proceeded to make a live video. “That’s right! It is I, the villain you failed to take seriously! Well, what about now!?” you grinned as you held the child over the edge by their shirt collar. “Come now! Pathetic hero! Or your child shall suffer!” you threatened with a devilish grin. 

When the hero showed up, it was a rather messy battle that you knew was being filmed live on television and while various other heroes arrived to contain the scene. You were almost sad Ingenium wasn’t among them, especially because you had ended up dropping the child as you tried to fight against the hero, though unlike your past experiences. It seemed this hero was out to kill you, but you managed to escape when they made the choice to save their child. But your injuries had slowed you down and the authorities apprehended you, after going to the hospital you were locked away in a cell. 

Of course, no true villain can be kept behind bars and you made a hasty escape. Once more roaming the streets. News of your jail break immediately went up on the news and heroes began patrolling the streets to locate you. Like before, you expected Ingenium to arrive on the scene, instead you were greeted by the same hero whose child you had stolen and it was clear they were not happy with your behavior. 

“Hah, try your worst hero. You might have beaten me before, but this time you shall be the one on your knees.” you threatened, not hesitating to charge at them. However, they were quick and it seemed they memorized your fighting style as they proceeded to dodge every swing and kick. “Stand still!” you growled, trying once more to land a hit. But, it was clear you were outmatched and when you felt their fist collide with your cheek, you yelped. Your jawbone felt as though it cracked and the taste of blood filled your mouth. 

You whimpered as you tried to push yourself back up from the ground, but instead, you were greeted with the hero's foot colliding with your stomach and your body skimmed across the ground. You felt fresh cuts and scrapes oozing as you struggled to get up once more. “What a pathetic villain, I’ll be doing a favor by ridding this world of your existence.” the hero threatened and before you could react, their hand wrapped around your throat. 

You knew it wasn’t a villain’s place to feel fear, but with those fingers tightening. Cutting off your oxygen, you couldn’t help but feel scared and you hated it. At a hero’s mercy, yet another cruel reminder you couldn’t be the villain you wanted to be. But almost as if a miracle, you heard a voice break the tension. “Halt! I insist you release them and step away! For I...will not allow you to cause any harm to the one I cherish.” your eyes widened as you recognized it was Ingenium and for the first time, the idea of being saved by a hero made you smile. 

Ingenium had taken care of the so-called hero that attacked you with great haste, however, you ended up blacking out. Leaving your fate up to the hero that claimed to be your soulmate, of course, Ingenium could never leave the wounded behind and when you opened your eyes, you found yourself in the hospital. Ingenium was sitting by your side and gave you a warm smile, “I am very glad to see you are awake! I was hoping I could see your rather...beautiful eyes once more.” he said, and though you were a tad suspicious what would happen next. You managed to hold a conversation with Ingenium, but it led to a question you didn’t expect. 

While Ingenium had tried countless times to get you to turn sides, become a hero instead of a villain. He was shocked to know that a hero had done something so disgraceful to you, yes a hero’s job was to stop villains. But intentionally going in for the kill was unnecessary. “You are quite admirable in your efforts, that drive to not surrender, to not weaver to the troubles that interfere with your goal are unshaken. However, I am fearful that another will try and harm you,” he confessed before he reached over to take your hand. “Please..reconsider your path and...join me as my sidekick...” he said with a firm tone as if you had no choice but to agree. 

A villain...turned sidekick. Would that be reasonable? It was clear Ingenium would not give up and honestly, in your injured condition, you couldn’t argue. You knew there was a chance you’d end up in jail after you were released from the hospital, was Ingenium trying to save you yet again? Nearly losing your life had scared you, but heroes too risked their lives every day. Yet, you knew Ingenium would protect you from suffering such a fate. You found yourself hesitantly agreeing, though you were a little weary what the future would lie ahead for you. 

Izuku Midoriya 

Since you met the number one hero, Deku. Your life had been slowly changing, for better or worse you weren’t sure yet. But you cursed yourself because of your inability to actually hurt Deku, no matter how hard you tried. He had checkmated you and it was frustrating. Deku seemed to be the only one that took you seriously and you wanted everyone to treat you with that same respect. So you made a plan to attack the Hero Appreciation Festival. Surely that would get others to understand just how serious you were about being a villain. 

You had planted several bombs underneath the ground of the festival and when the timing was right, you set them off. It was almost a joy to hear those screams and watch as the heroes scurried around trying to fix the situation. It was a joyful sight, yet you almost expected to see Deku. It was a little discouraging he hadn’t shown, perhaps you needed to step up your game. Of course, you had managed to become a member of a villainous gang. They were recruiting new members and though they had laughed at you when you first wanted to join. Upon revealing your plan for the Hero Appreciation Festival, they seemed to change their mind. 

However, you might have left out a few details. For when you returned to them. You were greeted with severe punishment, maybe it had been unclear that your attack would be...explosive. But you quickly learned what it meant to be outmatched by villains who thought nothing of it as they pressed a knife to your already beaten and bloody throat. “Useless villain you are, pathetic even...one less member means nothing to me.” one of them said just before you felt that sharp metal press harder against your throat, creating a cut. A small amount of panic came as a thick line of blood began oozing down, soaking into the collar of your shirt. However just as they were about to drag it across your neck. The ceiling caved in and there stood the tall shadow of none other than Deku. 

“Deku!” you couldn’t help but exclaim the man’s name, hero or not. He was the only one that you seemed to trust and the only that would show up to save you. He looked at you with a smile before narrowing his eyes on the group of villains. “I’d suggest you...put that knife away,” he warned, but like most villains. They did not take the hero seriously and began to laugh at Deku’s warning. “Well...alright...have it your way,” he said before he kicked off the ground, leaving behind a large dent filled with cracked pavement. Your eyes widened as the blurry image of Deku closed in on you and before you realized. The villain that had the knife to your throat was smashed into the ground and you, in turn, were cradled in Deku’s arms. 

You hated to admit it, but once the battle was over and Deku had taken you to his apartment to patch you up. You felt nervous and a strange feeling seemed to weigh you down, was this the feeling of guilt? Deku had placed you in his bed and though you were expecting him to take you the police. Deku had instead pulled up a chair and looked at you with a serious glance. “Mind telling me why you were a part of that gang? You know...you...you deserve so much better than that,” he said and while you were shocked at his words, you ended up confessing why. Because no one took your villainous acts seriously. 

Deku seemed to understand, “That might be true, maybe you’re not the most feared but...y-you...you’re still amazing and I’m happy I arrived on time if anything happened to you...” he trailed off and your eyes widened, if anything happened to you what? No one would miss a villain, would they? You gasped when Deku rose from his chair and leaned over you, his hands pressing against the top of yours. “Well...maybe I can explain it better...this way...” he said as he leaned in, you found yourself backing up before you hit the headboard. Effectively trapping yourself and sucked in a breath as you felt the hero's lips press against yours. 

Mirio Togata 

Despite your best intentions in trying to work alongside Lemillion, your so called soulmate. You felt too awkward as if it wasn’t your calling. Despite Lemillion encouraging you every day, it was nice to hear such words but you just couldn’t keep up this act of heroism. Lemillion seemed to take notice of this, “What’s wrong, sunshine? Aren’t you happy with me?” he questioned with a frown, and while you almost wanted to lie. You confessed that you weren’t cut out to be a hero and wanted to leave. But Lemillion had tried to prevent you from doing so which resulted in you trying to attack him, but you couldn’t match up to his strength. 

Still, you managed to make a hasty escape and proceeded to try and resume your villainous ways. The easiest and quickest thing to do was to rob a jewelry store, of course, that was also tricky. With heroes patrolling the streets and citizens that might interfere, but even if you got caught. At least word of your evil deed would spread, still as soon as you broke the window to the jewelry store. An alarm sounded and you cursed before grabbing a handful of gems and rings. You ran out of the store and proceeded to climb onto the roof. Of course, several citizens gathered outside the building and pointed as you stood above them. 

Though you didn’t often find yourself second-guessing, you took a step back and scanned the crowd. Wondering if Lemillion would show up, but you shook your head. No, you didn’t need him. A growl escaped you and your hand reeled back before you threw the jewelry you had stolen. You heard some citizens shout and for a moment, you wondered if you had injured them with the jewelry you had thrown. You curiously stepped closer to the edge and looked over, however, that proved to be a mistake when a rock came. You yelped and stumbled back, holding your bleeding nose. You ended up missing your footing and fell to the ground below.  

As if it wasn’t bad enough to have fallen from a roof with a bloody nose, the wind had gotten knocked out of you when you hit the ground. But that didn’t stop the “innocent” civilians from kicking you when you were down. You cried out when you felt a surge of pain course through your sides from their abuse, further impacting your current inability to breathe. You tried to crawl away but let out another struggled sound as someone stomped on your hand. The taste of iron filled your mouth and you let out a whimper before one of the civilians was pulled back. You heard several gasps before you weakly looked up at the shadow that now loomed over you. They got down on one knee and reached their hand out, “Are you okay, sunshine?” they questioned. 

It was almost stupid for you to have felt safe when Lemillion scooped you into his arms, you could recall the way he glared at the civilians, “Not to be rude or anything, but no one is worthy of protection if they beat on the innocent. That includes my sunshine, you need to leave punishments up to the Pro’s.” he warned before walking off, you found yourself burying your face into the crook of his neck and he didn’t seem to mind, but you were a little concerned as to where he was taking you. But as soon as you saw a tall building with the words “Big Three Agency” you realized. 

It was strange to think an Agency would have a recovery wing, but in a way it made sense. Even heroes got hurt, but you kept quiet as Lemillion sat you down on the examination table and allowed the nurse to work on you. Once your injuries were patched up, the nurse ordered you to lay down as some of your ribs had gotten bruised. “I know that you want to be a villain and maybe being a hero isn’t your thing. But that's no excuse to put yourself in danger like that. What those people did was wrong but...what you did was wrong as well.” Lemillion said, crossing his arms. You almost wanted to roll your eyes, but deep down you knew he was right. 

You stayed in the recovery wing for a few days, Lemillion would come to see you every day. Honestly, you were almost glad for his company, that is until the day he decided to yet again remind you that you were his soulmate. He reached to grab your hands, placing a kiss on each one. “I know you may not believe this, but...I love you, villain or not, and...I’m sorry if this seems kind of harsh. But I can’t allow this to happen to you again.” you frowned, knowing where he was going with his words. “So I’m going to tell you...I’ve decided to give you a job here at my Agency. You’ll be safer and...” he paused and leaned over to hug you. “I’m not giving you a choice...” he said, but you were forming yet again another escape plan in your head. 

[diyunho]

The Joker X Reader - “Ghost Driver”

When The Joker says you’re his, it means you’re essential to him because he needs your services for his own gain; it literally has zero affectionate connotations. Turbo is The King’s Ghost Driver and although she’s a legend, her life is far from perfect.

Part 2

“Where’s all your stuff?!” Frost asks since the apartment is pretty much empty.

“Gave it to Adam,” you sulk. “He wouldn’t sign the divorce papers so I gave in; I don’t even care… I’m glad he’s out of here.”

Jonny gazes at you in silence, a million words rushing through his mind and The Joker’s henchman can’t articulate anything close to what he would like to vociferate besides foolish small talk:

“How are you holding up?”

“Not sure… I don’t even know what the hell happened to us…It used to be so great and then he started making comments about my weight, gossiping with his friends behind my back, then cheated… I couldn’t handle it,” Y/N confesses although Frost is already acquainted with the dreadful story of her crumbled marriage.

“Not what the hell happened to us,” he decides to underline his personal opinion. “I think the question should be what the hell happened to him: you didn’t do anything wrong. And I believe you look perfect,” he mumbles the last sentence.

“What was that?” you search the fridge for his favorite soda.

“Nothing... nothing…”

“Here you go,” you offer the cold Fanta to a distraught companion.

“Thanks, Y/N. Here’s the money for tonight,” he gives you the envelope. “As usually, half now , half after the job is done.”

“OK,” you accept the terms without issues because it’s how The Clown Prince of Crime pays for your services. “Jonny, why is there an extra thousand dollars in here?!”

“Ummm…” the man tries to find a reasonable explanation yet Y/N can’t accept his strategy.

“Should I text Mister Joker and thank him for the bonus?”

“Nope,” he bites on his lip.

“I appreciate it,” you return the extra cash to Frost. ”I’m fine. Really.”

“Well…” he takes the bills and stashes them in his wallet, “… let me know if you need anything, alright?”

“I promise I will, “ you smile. “I swear on my Turbo honor,” the joke makes him smile also.

“Hey Y/N… I was thinking… maybe one of these days, if you feel like it, we could… and it’s entirely up to you, no pressure… maybe you would want to… ”

Frost’s phone keeps ringing and he retrieves from his suit’s pocket, annoyed about the interruption.

“It’s Audra,” he huffs while declining the call.

“Might be important,” you sort of urge him to answer.

“Meh, I doubt it. She will chew my ears off regarding our relationship that ended 3 months ago. I’m not interested,” he strolls towards the exit due to another pressing matter he has to attend. “I have to go, Mister Joker has a meeting soon; I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

“See you,” you wave and lock the door when your cell alerts of an incoming text from The Joker.

Downloading two pictures… Pictures?!

“Oh…my… God…!” you hold your breath when the first image depicts a totally naked King of Gotham reflected in the mirror at his gym and squeal when the second one shows a close up of his mid-section.

“Oh my God!” you burst out laughing as you admire the unexpected missive. “Heeeelllo Mister Joker,” you mutter and actual phrases pop up on your screen.

“I sent these to the wrong number, Y/N. Ignore and erase them!”

“Of course, sir!” you immediately reply with no intention of doing it for the moment.

Why?

The hilarious error shook you up from apathy and it’s worth saving those pics for a bit longer since you can’t remember the last time something got your attention after the messy divorce.

***************

11:49 PM

The Joker is the first one to get in the car next to you, firmly clutching to his suitcase full of diamonds freshly stolen from “Diamond Emporium” store on Glissan Avenue. You notice the other goons sneaking to the cars deliberately positioned around nearby streets for tonight’s robbery. How come J doesn’t go with them?

The dilemma is simple:

The green haired menace typically arrives with his regular crew when he plans heists but has Y/N pick him up after the job is done.

“Hi Mister Joker,” you greet your employer.

“Hey,” he acknowledges your presence. “Did you delete the pictures?” The Joker gets straight to the point.

“Yes,” you lie and tell the truth in the same time: you erased the whole body image but kept the close up one for future reference.

“Good. What did you think?” the hasty interrogation prompts a careful chosen response.

“You look very…,” and you pause in order to find the correct term since a tiny mistake could set him off. “… Healthy, Mister Joker.”

“I do,” he huffs quite pleased with your statement.

You wish to add more but Frost and the new hire squeeze in the back seat awaiting orders.

“You’re in luck kid,” Jonny places a box filled with precious gems at his feet. “Your first assignment and you get to meet Turbo.”

The young man opens his mouth in amazement as you move the fingers from your right hand in the air instead of a proper introduction.

“You’re Turbo?! I thought you’re a guy!” Nick blurs out and Frost punches him in the head, displeased with the observation.

“Sounds empty,” you growl while The Clown snorts.

“My Ghost Driver A GUY??!! Ha-ha-ha-ha!” the unnerving, screechy noises make the newbie shrivel up. “Turbo, A GUY!” he continues to amuse himself before giving Nick a psychotic glare.

“I’m…I’m so sorry, I meant no disrespect,” he nervously stutters especially since J called you “his”.

The poor bastard’s oblivious about what the label implies in The Clown’s universe: when The Joker says you’re his, it means you’re essential to him because he needs your services for his own gain; it literally has zero affectionate connotations.

“Where the fuck did you find this buffoon?” you chew on your gum, irritated.

“He’s Richard’s nephew,” Jonny sucks on his teeth.

“Uncle Panda is infinitely smarter,” Y/N barks at the revelation.

“I’m truly sorry,” Nick apologizes again and you cut him off.

“Save it!... … I hear sirens,” you slowly inhale and The King calmly articulates:

“I forgot to mention I accidentally triggered the silent alarm.”

Translation: he did it on purpose.

You snicker at the first lights blinking in the distance, excited to have some fun after stressing so much in the past weeks. The vehicles belonging to the gang scatter in different directions as you step on the gas pedal, accelerating towards the numerous police cars answering to the 10-64 code.

“That’s my girl!” J cracks his neck, already hyped at the adrenaline rush burning his veins: The Ghost Driver is perfect to offer him what he craves and she always delivers.

That’s why Turbo is his.

************

4:37 AM

“Hi…Mister…Mister Joker…” you attempt to talk without slurring.

“It’s Ella,” his girlfriend snarls.

“Why…where is he?” you guzzle down half of glass of wine, adamant in having a chat with your boss.

“Well, after you two had a merry time being chased by cops all over town, he came home and now he’s sorting out the diamonds,” the woman bitterly reports.

“I wanna talk to him,” you sniffle and drink some more alcohol.

“You just saw him. I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow.”

“I’m sure it can’t!” you shout. “I just received important information he’d be i…interested in,” you finally make it through the whole sentence.

Ella stomps in the living room, vexed at your behavior.

“It’s Turbo,” she shoves the phone in his fingers. “The bitch is wasted!”

“What did you call me?!” the appalled Y/N is about to burst when The Joker’s deep voice resonates I her ear.  

“Yeah?”

“Sir,” you correct your bitter tone. “I h-have very important news!”

“I’m listening,” J ignores his woman as she cusses you out.

“I have to tell you in person, sir. Let’s go on a date and I’ll reveal the entire shocking...”

“Huh?!”

“I have crucial information…”

“Quit repeating yourself!” The Joker interrupts. “You’re not making any sense. Go to sleep and we’ll catch up after you sober up.”

“But I wanna go on date Mister Joker,” you gulp the rest of the wine and prepare for a fourth round.

“Why, because I look healthy?” J mocks and Ella sighs, not understanding the odd conversation she’s witnessing. “… …. … Hello?”

A loud thud, then dialing tone at the other end of the line.

“I think she passed out,” The King of Gotham concludes, not particularly worried at the sudden halt of your monologue.

***************

3 Days Later

The late meeting is almost done: the buyers already purchased the diamonds J had for sale, among them your ex-husband Adam that has a small crowd gathered next to him; he’s supposedly famous for his crappy attitude enjoyed by jerks sharing the same ludicrous humor.

“You know I’m sensible when it comes to challenges and I couldn’t grasp why she doesn’t want my help in shedding a few pounds. What’s the harm in that?! I love curves but sometimes I don’t, ya’ know?” he winks and the group laughs.

The Joker is arranging money in duffle bags, his concentration diverted by the impromptu comedic performance. What the heck are they yapping about?

Frost is certainly in a foul mood: J can guess his trusted henchman is worked up since the usual chilled Jonny can’t control his anger.

“What’s wrong with being voluptuous, hm?” he addresses Adam and it clicks for The Joker: this is about Y/N.

“Nothing at all,” he smirks and the laughter around the room dies out because not too many dare screwing with Jonny Frost. “I was merely emphasizing that if a woman can’t lose weight, she’s doomed. Y/N lost me, how is she going to get another stud if she…”

“Perhaps she’s not interested in pieces of shit; definitely had her share!” Frost grumbles at the absurd remarks.

The Joker has no clue about what’s going on, yet he won’t deny today’s entertainment is far from boring.

“Give me a break!” Adam scoffs. “Who’d sniff her tail if she refuses to get skinnier? Ooohhh, wait a minute, we might have an admirer,” he arrogantly slides your cell out of his coat. “I was browsing her pictures and what do you know? A gentleman sent Y/N a picture of his junk three days ago. I am deeply sorry, my bad. She does have somebody sniffing her tail. What kind of loser sends images of his dangling goodies to another dude’s wife?!” 

“Ex-wife!” Jonny sneers whilst J’s calculation leads to an easy verdict: you kept one pic.

“Whose junk is this?! Is it yours?” your estranged spouse accuses Frost without any evidence.

“It’s my junk,” The Joker’s serene revelation makes everyone freeze: they have no idea how to react at the puzzling escalation of events.

Is he bluffing?!

“I wasn’t aware I require permission in order to text whatever I desire to whomever I want.”

Awkward silence and Frost approaches Adam, boiling with indignation.

“Why do you have Y/N’s phone?”

Your husband doesn’t have a chance to justify his action: Jonny’s punch throws him to the ground, immediately followed by his unsettling ultimatum.  

“You son of a bitch, what did you do to her?”

Your former husband gets on his elbow ready to attack when The King’s stern inquiry stops his motion:

“WHERE.IS.MY.TURBO?”

****************

After 1 hour

Frost lifts you higher in his arms while you keep wheezing, trying to regain control.

“I’m sorry…I attacked you,” the weakened Y/N whispers. “I thought you were Adam...”

After being abducted and left to starve for the last 3 days, you had one clear purpose: to kill the guy that did it. Adam surely crossed the line with his despicable plan of making you lose weight: he creeped in your apartment, kidnapped you and took you to his home where you were chained in the cellar until Jonny found you. The basement was dark and you couldn’t see, that’s why you used whatever strength you had left in order to attack the individual responsible for your misfortune.

Turned out it was actually a rescue party although Frost is now the proud owner of a beautiful bump courtesy of Y/N.

“No problem,” Jonny takes you to his SUV, carefully laying you down in the passenger’s seat. “How’s your head?” he wipes the dried blood on your cheeks since Adam knocked you out unconscious while you were talking to The Joker after the heist.

“I’m OK,” you start crying, mostly mad at yourself for being such an easy prey, yet you didn’t see it coming.

“You know… It’s OK not to be OK,” Frost opens a bottle of water and gives it to you. “I’ll take you home, you can take a shower and I’ll have the doctor come for an emergency evaluation. Are you hungry?”

“I’m so hungry,” tears stream down your face and Jonny has a great proposal.

“I’ll order some food and if you want me to I can stay with you. After you feel better, we could… and it’s entirely up to you, no pressure… maybe you would want to…”

The Joker rolls his eyes, deciding to emerge from the shadows.

“Wow, this is painful to watch. Frost believes he’s still in high school: basically he’s asking you on a date. There, done. No need to beat around the bush. Jesus!” J scolds about a subject he shouldn’t mess with. “I have a heist next week, you better be good to go by then!” he gestures at the confused duo. “If you’ll excuse me, I have my own date to honor. We’re done here, yes?”

“Yes sir,” Jonny replies for both, unwilling to split hairs with The Joker and his obnoxious aberrations. “Here’s your cell,” he returns the item to you and you snatch it, relieved. You seem to have an outburst of energy as you unlock the secured folder.

“Where’s Adam?”

“I don’t know, we had an altercation at the warehouse then he scrammed,” Frost reports, ogling a strange looking Y/N typing on her phone.

“He won’t be able to hide,” you grin and send the attachment to The Joker.

*************

“We’ll be late for dinner,” Ella kisses The Clown. “I’m not a 100% positive why we had to waste precious time and come for her,” she pouts and drags him after her towards their vehicle.

J’s phone chimes and he stops in his tracks, not expecting a message from you seconds after the encounter.

“Mister Joker, you were very generous to share pictures with me.

Allow me to do the same.

Your Turbo.”

Imagines downloading and he’s not sure what to do when pics appear one by one: frames taken by the private investigator you hired to follow Adam when you suspected he was cheating. The bastard was diligent, but he was eventually caught in the act three days ago.

Who’s the woman he’s with?

The Joker’s Queen.

“What’s wrong?” she frowns at the visible switch in his temper.

The Clown ruthlessly slams Ella against the hood while her cell also receives a text from Y/N:

“Who’s the bitch now?”

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me on Wattpad and Ao3 under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[staytiny-yaps]

hey! saw you were new-ish n wanted to request something! could you do Sirius with a badass reader? who absolutely does not put up with his shit? like plays quidditch and is notoriously the bad girl! if they get together or not is your choice, i just love me some pining boys

A/n: I most definitely can! Sorry this took so long hun xx Hope you enjoy and again, all feedback and/or constructive criticism is welcome, but please be polite 🧡

Servant-hood

The first round of quidditch tryouts in their fifth year was coming up and Y/n and James were to choose the new members.

While James was excited about this job, Y/n L/n was wracked with nerves; what if she didn't pick right and let the team down?

Nevertheless, they were nerves that she wouldn't let show.

She was a badass, she couldn't let weakness show, but keeping all her nerves bottled up was making her a lot shorter with people than she usually was.

Especially a certain Marauder that tended to put her on edge even when she wasn't filled with anxiety.

Y/n finished pulling on her boots and shrugged on her robes, heading down for breakfast with her friends.

"You just need something to take the edge of Y/n!" Axel told her as they entered the great hall.

"Don't tell me what I need Lucas." She snapped and he shook his head.

"Don't call me by my last name." He quipped back and Lola laughed.

"Besides, there's not much that helps that I could use three days before quidditch tryouts. I need my head about me." Y/n reasoned as the three of them took a seat at the Gryffindor table.

"Oh no Y/n, I can get us some Firewhisky for tonight. It'll help you relax for now and you'll be perfectly fine on Saturday." Lola told us and Y/n opened her mouth to agree when a voice came from behind them.

"I don't understand how you lot even got into Gryffindor. Listen to yourselves." A shrill voice rang out.

The trio turned around and glared at an auburn haired Marlene McKinnon.

"I don't remember asking McKinnon. Now move along before one of us kicks your arse again." Y/n growled.

"Yeah, because any of you could beat Marlene." Dorcas came to her defence and Axel rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh.

"Do you need a little reminder of what happened last time?" He threatened and Y/n and Lola gave innocent smiles.

"Whatever, don't mess the team up for Gryffindor, L/n." Marlene rolled her eyes, but walked off a little sheepishly.

"That was oddly gentlemanly of you, Axel," Y/n rested a hand on his forehead as they turned back to their food, "you feeling okay?"

He grabbed her wrist and pushed her hand away.

"Shut up." He muttered, a blush tinting his cheeks.

Lola gave him a knowing look and he only shook his head.

"Ello Y/n." An obnoxious, deep voice sounded.

"Dear Merlin, it is impossible to have a peaceful breakfast around here." Y/n complained and pointedly ignored the call.

"C'mon Y/n, don't be like that. I'm beautiful, you're beautiful, it just works." Sirius Black wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind as he spoke.

"Get your arms off me, Black, before I break them." She spoke stiffly through gritted teeth.

He retracted his arms so fast, you might think he was genuinely afraid of her pulling her wand on him.

"Let's not be hasty here. I only came to ask a favour." Sirius held his hands up in surrender.

"What makes you think we'd ever do you a favour Black?" Axel spat, venomously, shifting an inch or two closer to Y/n.

"No no, you've got it all wrong. I only want a favour from our dear N/n here." He patted her head and she slapped his hand away.

"Don't call me that. What do you want?" She hissed and he chuckled nervously.

"The quidditch trials are soon. I really want to get on the team. Please, please teach me?" He asked and Y/n shook her head.

"No way. Get your buddy Potter to do it."

"He's busy and I only have three days!" Sirius protested desparately.

"I'm busy!" She argued and he stared skeptically.

"With what?" He questioned.

"With a life." And with that she turned around and went back to her food.

Sirius turned on his heel and walked away defeatedly.

"How'd it go?" Remus asked as he joined Sirius on the walk out of the Great Hall.

"She's never gonna notice me Moony! It's hopeless." He rubbed his hand over his face as he spoke.

"It's not hopeless." Remus started only to be cut off.

"It is! She has no interest in me! All she cares about is those stupid friends of hers. What do I do Moony?" He stopped walking and shook his friends shoulders.

"Well let's start with not breaking my neck," Remus began, pushing Sirius' arms away, "and there's clearly only one option."

"There is?" Remus shrugged and nodded.

"Beg."

🔸️

Later the same day, Y/n sat by Axel in Transfiguration.

She was leant back in her seat with her feet on the table and her hands behind her head, Axel doing the same, but instead of supporting his head, he was doing his work.

Something hit the back of her head and she turned to see a balled up piece of parchment on the floor by her chair.

Looking around she saw Black pointing and gesturing to open the note.

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the front, only for another piece of parchment to hit her moments later.

She whipped her head around and brought her feet to the floor with a glare only to see Sirius with his hands clasped together, frantically mouthing 'Please!'

She reached down with an exasperated sigh and grabbed the ball.

She uncrumpled the note and read over it.

'Please L/n, I'll do anything. Name your price.'

She gave a smirk to Axel and scribbled something down on the parchment before balling it back up and throwing it back.

"Miss L/n, Mister Black, something you'd like to share with the class?" Professor McGonagall snapped.

"No, no not really." Y/n said simply, putting her feet back on the desk.

"L/n and Lucas would you please get your feet off my desks." Though as she spoke, she knew her mistake.

This was Y/n and Axel.

"No can do Prof." They declared in sync before snickering a little.

McGonagall opened her mouth to reply, but closed it again, knowing her attempts were going to be futile.

The class was nearly finished anyway.

As they walked out of the classroom Sirius yelled Y/n's name through the crowd.

"You go ahead Ax, I'll catch up with you later." She pushed him forward with her arm and turned to face Sirius.

She smiled in a fake-sweet manner, "Yes?"

"Your price! Servant life?" He exclaimed, demanding explanation, flailing his arms about dramatically.

"Yes. You do what I say for the rest of today and tomorrow, and I'll train you up on Friday in time for the tryouts on Saturday." She walked at a fast pace as she talked, not even looking at him.

"Really?" While it sounded awful in theory, it would give him an excuse to hang around the girl he's been harbouring a crush on for the past two years.

"Everything I say."

"You aren't gonna ask me to kill someone are you?" He joked and she glared at him.

"Come find me at lunch Black. Have some salad on my plate for me, and some pumpkin juice." She began to walk away and he grabbed her elbow.

"Is that all?" He asked when she faced him.

"Now that you mention it, I have Lola's spare skirt in my bag," she reached in her bag and passed it to him, "be wearing that, with no robe on top or tights underneath."

He gaped at her as she began to walk off again.

"We have the next class together!" He called out and she laughed.

"I won't be there, Servant."

🔸️

Y/n sat with her friends on the couches in the Gryffindor common room.

"Lola, I thought you said you'd get us Firewhisky?" Axel pointed out from his place at Y/n's side.

"Oh shit, I forgot." Lola brings her palm up to her head and flops onto the floor.

"Don't worry guys. All in good time." Y/n chimed in and they looked at her suspiciously.

Only moments later Sirius stalks through the Gryffindor common room holding a bottle that's had all the labeks ripped off.

He hands it to Y/n and she gives him a dismissive nod.

"One more order for tonight, Servant. Go up to Axel's dorm, make his bed and then bring down two of his hoodies." She pointed up the stairs to the boys dorms and he groaned.

🔸️

The next day Axel busts into the Marauders' dorm with an evil grin, at the crack of dawn.

"Sirius Black! Y/n's waiting downstairs and she demands your presence immeadiately!" He yells, spurring the boys to wake.

"Lucas, breakfast only just started!" Sirius protested and Axel only shrugged.

"Guess no quidditch training for you."

"Okay, okay!" Sirius leaps out of bed, wearing only sweatpants and sprints his way down the stairs.

Y/n was curled up in Axel's hoodie and a fluffy blanket that she must've brought from home.

For the school's bad-girl, she looked strangely sweet and innocent, half asleep in a fluffy blanket.

Sirius heart swelled and he felt a blush creep up his neck, seeing her so vulnerable.

"Go get me and my friends breakfast from the hall and bring it up here Black. Breakfast in front of the fire for us!" She ordered and he blinked.

Her strong, sharp voice was so at odds with the way she was laying on the couch, firelight sparkling in her eyes.

"And, since you couldn't be bothered putting a shirt on before you came down here, you can't put a shirt on when you go down there." She added and he pasted on a smirk.

"Like what you see L/n?"

"Don't test me Sirius Black or I'll break all your fingers with my eyes closed." She spat and Sirius turned away so she wouldn't see his frown.

"Right, well, I'll go and... get that for you."

🔸️

Friday afternoon, after classes, Y/n headed into the common room in search of Black to get to his training session.

She walked in and found him talking to Lupin on the other side of the room.

She began to shout his name, then silenced herself when she caught wind of his conversation.

"Moony I agreed because I thought it'd give me a reason to stick around with her, but she keeps sending me away on missions. If I didn't fancy her so much I would not be going through so much just to get a training session." Y/n gaped.

He fancied her?

She's never heard of anyone fancying her, except Axel, who is so painfully obvious about his feelings.

Sirius Black got on her nerves, he was annoying and loud and only thought he was funny.

So why did her heart flutter at the thought of his feelings?

"You fancy me, Black? That's the revelation of the century." Both boys jumped and faced her.

"Y/n I-"

"Come on Black, it's time for your training session." She cut him off with a small, but genuine smile for once.

His heart beat into his throat and his face felt like it was on fire.

They began to walk down to the pitch side by side and when the silence was almost unbearable, Y/n spoke up.

"So, you know the rules of quidditch right? You just want to get better?"

"Y-yeah. What... what were you thinking?" He curses himself for stuttering and Y/n smirks.

"I was gonna start with staying on a broom. Then catching and throwing a ball, then maybe hitting one with a bat. We don't need a new keeper or seeker, so we'll focusing on the chaser and beater positions." Y/n laid out the lesson plan and for a moment she didn't seem like, smoking, drinking, putting-her-feet-up-and-doing-no-work Y/n.

She was so passionate about quidditch and surprisingly committed to helping Sirius do well.

"Why do you hate me Y/n?" Sirius blurted out and covered his mouth.

"What? I don't hate you."

"Then why do you act the way you do?" He asks and she sighs.

"It isn't easy for me to make friends so I stick with the ones I have. And I have a temper, certain people tend to get on my nerves fairly easily. You with your group of Maroidies or whatever you call yourselves-"

"Marauders." Sirius corrected, but quieted at her warning look.

"You're really loud, your idea of mischief is annoying pranks and you flirt with anything that crosses your path." She finished and you could say his mood was significantly lowered.

They reached the quidditch pitch and Y/n glanced at her broom then Sirius' empty hands.

"But when you're by yourself, not showing off with those other arseholes, you aren't too bad Sirius." He looked at her to see a smile on her face and his heart stumbled.

She called him by his first name, with no add-ons, in a nice way.

"Now, last order of your servant-hood. Go in and get yourself a broom so we can get started before dark." She nodded towards the tent.

Sirius raced towards the school brooms with a bright, goofy grin covering his face.

[hysterialevi]

Eitr | Chapter 9

Fanfic summary: In an alternate universe where the Raven Clan is wiped out, Sigurd ends up being rescued by the son of a Saxon ealdorman, and is tasked with being the boy’s new bodyguard. Upon meeting the boy’s father however, Sigurd soon realizes that the ealdorman is responsible for his clan’s destruction, and secretly plans for revenge while hiding behind the guise of a Norse pagan turned Christian.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male OC

Author’s note: Real quick, I just wanna say thanks for all the kind messages/comments you guys have been sending me on tumblr and AO3. I really enjoy writing this fic, and it makes it all the better when I know you’re enjoying it too. So thanks again for the support. Means the world to me <3

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

FORANGAL CASTLE

THE DINING HALL

“I’m afraid there’s no shortage of Danes in Wedenscire, Aegenwulf.” Raedan said as the two conversed across the table. “Over these past few weeks, I’ve been seeing more and more of them crawling all over the place. It’s almost as if they’re migrating like a bloody flock of birds. It makes you wonder whether these Danes are local, or if they come from somewhere else.”

Aegenwulf took a sip from his goblet. “No Dane is local to England, my friend. They are all invaders; all outsiders.”

Bishop Hundwerth raised his cup in agreement. “Very true, my lord.”

Raedan furrowed his brow. “Well, unfortunately, regardless of wherever they may hail from, it seems that the Northmen have planted their roots rather deeply in our lands. I doubt they’ll be leaving anytime soon.”

“Any ideas on how to get them out?”

The thegn shrugged. “You know the vikings as well as I do. Those bastards are as fierce in political dialogue as they are in war. It won’t be easy to drive them out of this kingdom. The only language they understand is battle.”

“Then we would do well to keep our tongues as sharp as our blades.”

Lady Moira joined in. “Please, Raedan. Save the discussions of politics for the war room, and let us enjoy this meal that Aegenwulf’s people have been kind enough to prepare for us. We’ve all had a long journey, and I think we’d like a moment to rest.”

Her husband stepped down from his conversation, letting out a sigh. “Ah... forgive me, my love. My head is filled to the brim with warfare nowadays. I fear I have forgotten how to engage in casual chatter. But you’re right. We’ll have plenty of time to worry about all that later. For now, let us feast on this fine food that they’ve lain out for us before I become some bare-chinned ponce.”

The ealdorman chuckled. “Still the same Raedan, even after all these years.” He raised his goblet. “To your health, old friend.”

Raedan smiled warmly at that. “Thank you.” 

Clinking their cups together, the two Saxons engaged in a friendly toast and downed the rest of their drinks, merrily enjoying each other’s company.

Meanwhile, Edric and the twins sat at the other end of the table and talked with Moira and her children, sticking to their own conversation as the food slowly vanished from their plates. 

The gathering wasn’t quite as riveting as Edric would’ve liked, and Algar’s presence at the table admittedly worried him somewhat, but it was still more enjoyable than being stuck in the war room all day. He had grown tired of the constant debates and discussions of death, so it was a pleasant change of pace to take a break from all that.

He only wondered if Sigurd would decide to join them.

“So tell me,” Moira said, delicately cutting into a piece of meat, “how have things been in Forangal? Everything is going well, I hope?”

“As well as they can be, I suppose.” Edric replied. “Our people are strained due to the war, but we’re doing our best to push through it.”

“That’s good. And how have you been faring, Edric? I’ve spoken to your siblings quite a bit already, but you and I haven’t had the chance to catch up. Are things well for you? I imagine you’ve acquired an abundance of new responsibilities now that you’re older.”

The young man chuckled. “An understatement. These days, I spend most of my time joining my father’s side at the war table. If things keep going on like this, I may even join him on the battlefield soon.”

Edlynne cocked her head at him. “I certainly hope not. I’d feel much better knowing you were safe within Forangal’s walls.”

Henry gave a timid nod of agreement. “As would I. You’re dear to us all, Edric. I’d hate to see you thrown into the midst of all the chaos out there.”

A sour look spread across Moira’s face. “Well, it definitely doesn’t help when you have a Norseman wandering around the castle. Are you certain it’s wise to keep... oh, what’s his name -- Sigurd here? You’re sure you can trust him?”

Edric had a feeling this would come up sooner or later. “I know you didn’t get the best first impression of him, Lady Moira, but I assure you he means no harm. He is a good man.”

“I just think it’d be best if you found a man of Christ to protect you,” she countered, “rather than someone from such a questionable background. I mean, where did you even find him?”

Edlynne jumped in. “We didn’t find Sigurd. It was a fisherman in Agenbury who saved his life.”

“Saved his life?”

“Aye,” Edric said. “He was wounded when he washed up on the shore; barely breathing, in fact. A man named Wilfred rescued him, but his treatment wasn’t enough to keep Sigurd alive. So, we brought him back to the castle in order to let Linette take care of him. He’s been eager to repay us for our help ever since.”

Moira’s expression flattened with skepticism. “Hmm. Well, as long as he’s doing his job. Still, I’d advise you to be cautious. The vikings aren’t known for having a protective nature, after all.”

Edric decided to stifle his frustration for the moment. “...Of course, my lady. I--” he paused for a second, perking his head up in interest, “--well, speak of the Devil. Here he is.”

Turning around to face the door, everyone in the dining room brought their attention to the entrance upon hearing Edric’s remark, only to find Sigurd himself strolling through the archway. 

He wasn’t wearing any armor like he normally did on a day-to-day basis, and it appeared as if he actually made an effort to clean up. There didn’t seem to be a speck of dirt dotting his face, and a fine tunic had replaced the shell of metal that usually covered his body.

Edric beamed brightly at Sigurd, welcoming him with a smile.

“Sigurd! You decided to come.”

The viking took a hesitant step into the room, clearly feeling a bit uncomfortable. “I did.”

Edric gestured to the spot next to him. “Well, have a seat then. I’ll pour you a drink.”

Walking past the guards as he ventured further into the hall, Sigurd’s eyes briefly flicked to the opposite side when he noticed Gjuki slipping in through another pair of doors, sticking to the shadows. The room had gone completely quiet ever since their arrival, but it didn’t look like anyone had caught on to what they were doing just yet.

Odin willing, it would stay that way.

Sitting down beside Edric at the table, Sigurd quietly observed the people around him and shifted awkwardly in his seat, admittedly feeling incredibly out of place. Even though he was more familiar with Forangal’s occupants nowadays, he couldn’t deny that Raedan’s family put him on edge -- even with Edric at his side.

They were nothing more than a set of new faces to Sigurd, after all. Raedan’s name meant nothing to him in this war, and it was obvious that his wife wasn’t too fond of him either. 

He supposed he would just have to get used to it.

“You’re very tall.” Sibley suddenly said, breaking the silence.

Edric poured some wine into Sigurd’s cup, chuckling at the comment. “He is, isn’t he? A proper giant, this man. Still, you look nice this evening, Sigurd. You clean up better than I would’ve expected.”

The compliment allowed him to relax a bit. “You think? I guess there is hope for me, after all.”

“So it would seem.”

Moira’s beady gaze instantly locked onto the viking. “...Ah. Sigurd. You and I met briefly at the main gate yesterday. I must admit, I’m surprised to see you here after our... introduction. What brings you here tonight?”

“Edric invited me.”

“Did he?”

The young man spoke up. “Yes. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

The woman’s lips pursed in annoyance, and she threw a side glance at Sigurd. “No, of course not. So long as he minds his manners.”

The viking returned the comment with a glare. “The same could be said for you, my lady.”

Edric froze at the retort, already regretting this situation he had created.

“Sigurd...!” He whispered in a cautionary tone.

The other man let out a quiet sigh, deciding to hold himself back for the moment.

“...Forgive me,” Sigurd apologized, his voice stiff with reluctance, “I fear I can be rather... hasty with my words sometimes.”

Moira’s stare only seemed to sharpen in response to the apology, but she decided to drop the conversation nonetheless. Despite her husband’s silence, she could see that Raedan was unhappy with her animosity towards Sigurd, and she did not wish to cause a scene in front of her children. 

Algar, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more amused by the display.

“Have no fear, Lady Moira,” the housecarl joked. “Sigurd may look intimidating, but in truth, he’s about as harmful as a newborn pup. You and your family will be just fine.”

Initially, Sigurd planned to ignore the taunt and simply carry on with his meal, but once he noticed Gjuki approaching Algar from the shadows, he knew he had to keep the man’s attention away from him, lest they both be killed.

“Is your life so devoid of purpose that you must resort to taunting me all day, Algar?” He asked, distracting him. “Or is this simply a new hobby of yours?”

Algar chuckled. “Struck a nerve, did I? I apologize. It’s unbecoming of me to attack a man who’s already down. After all, I know you can scarcely lift a sword these days.”

“Neither can you, it seems. It appears that your foes have a habit of... getting back up.”

Edric finally snapped.

“Enough, both of you.” He said firmly, setting his cup down on the table. “Is it so hard to look past your differences for one night? I invited Sigurd here because I trust him as a friend. He is here at my behest, and I would not see him disrespected. Now, please...” Edric let out a breath, “...no more bickering. We’ve got plenty of that outside of these walls already.”

Backing down from their heated altercation, both Sigurd and Algar decided to put the matter to rest for now and quietly returned to their meals, still eyeing each other from across the table.

Meanwhile, Gjuki gently snuck a hand into the pouch hanging from the housecarl’s belt and quickly patted around it, only to take out a peculiar-looking object once he found what he was searching for.

It didn’t resemble any key Sigurd had ever seen in his life, and the shape was undeniably rather odd, but the bard seemed to recognize it, so he assumed it must’ve been the same one mentioned in that mysterious note.

Gjuki gave the viking a subtle nod and began heading out the door, beckoning Sigurd to follow him once he had the chance.

“Sigurd?” Edric said privately, tearing the man’s gaze away from his hidden friend.

“I-- yes?” He replied, his tone now coated with a hint of urgency. “What is it?”

The nobleman examined him for a moment. “...Are you alright? You seem... distracted.”

Sigurd brought himself back to the current gathering and pushed his thoughts to the side, attempting to conceal his eagerness to see what Gjuki had discovered.

“I’m fine, Edric. Just... tired from the day is all.”

The Saxon didn’t seem to notice Gjuki. “Well, I don’t blame you. I know things have been tough for you lately. But put all that aside for now. Tonight, we feast. Let us cast aside our worries, and simply enjoy the evening.” He raised his goblet in the air. “To our loved ones, and the hope that we may see them again someday.”

Sigurd smiled at Edric, picking up his drink. “Skål.”

Tapping their cups together, the two of them emptied their goblets in a lively toast and carried on with the night, doing their best to stay in high spirits despite Algar’s presence. Even though Sigurd was mainly there to act as a distraction for the housecarl, he couldn’t deny that he genuinely found joy being in Edric’s company.

The man was just... everything he wanted. He made Sigurd feel like he mattered. He made him feel safe.

There were many things the viking found himself worrying about nowadays, but with Edric there to help guide him through it, Sigurd honestly wished he could’ve stayed in Forangal a little longer. And that frightened him.

These people were supposed to be his enemies; his targets. They were the ones responsible for the destruction of his clan, and yet... Sigurd couldn’t bring himself to hate them.

Of course, he wouldn’t object to seeing Algar’s head on a pike -- and he had his own grudges to hold when it came to Aegenwulf -- but everyone else in the castle struck him as no more than regular civilians. They were just other human beings trying to survive in this godforsaken war, and a part of Sigurd’s conscience shriveled up in remorse at the idea of harming them.

They didn’t deserve death, nor did they deserve Eivor’s wrath. But Sigurd knew that without the chance to witness their compassion face-to-face, his brother would be less inclined to show them mercy.

He would have to find some way to bring them to an understanding. He had no doubts that Eivor’s wounds remained fresh after everything that transpired in Ravensthorpe, and the last thing Sigurd wanted was to be caught in the middle.

There was good and bad on both sides of this battle, and he prayed he’d be able to make Gjuki see that. That man was the one thing keeping the brothers in touch, and in the end, Eivor’s impression of Forangal depended on him.

He was the only reason Eivor had any idea of what was happening in Wedenscire, and Sigurd could only hope that his messages weren’t being twisted with malice. 

Otherwise, he dreaded to imagine what awaited them in the future.

~~~~~~~~~~

ONE HOUR LATER

SIGURD’S CHAMBERS

Stepping gently through the lengthy corridors, Sigurd followed the amber glow of the flicking torches as their flames danced softly against the walls, dimly lighting the floor so that he could see where he was going.

It had been a few minutes ever since the feast ended, and Gjuki all but vanished from the dining hall after stealing the key, but upon taking his leave, Sigurd found a note telling him to return to his chambers.

He didn’t know if something was wrong, or if the invitation was a trap, but regardless of what awaited him in the near future, Sigurd knew he’d have to face it eventually.

Everything he and Gjuki had worked for thus far was riding on this plan, and if something had gone awry, he wished to figure out what it was sooner than later. There was no telling what would happen if Algar learned of their schemes after all, and the last thing Sigurd wanted was to be caught with his hands tied.

“...Gjuki?” Sigurd said quietly as he walked into his quarters, opening the door as subtly as possible. 

There weren’t any guards patrolling in the vicinity at the moment, and most of Forangal’s people seemed to be asleep by now, but the viking still wanted to be cautious. Algar could’ve been lurking around somewhere in the shadows for all he knew, and he didn’t fancy the idea of bumping into him again.

“Ah, there you are, Lone Wolf,” the bard replied from Sigurd’s bed, free from the confines of his helm. “I thought those Saxons would never let you go.”

The other man shut the door behind closed him, keeping his voice low lest it seep out into the corridor.

“You found the key, yes? Did anyone notice you on the way out?”

Gjuki smirked, holding the key in the air for Sigurd to see. “Not a single soul. It’s as if I was never there. Honestly, the most difficult part of the theft was having to endure Lady Moira’s bleating. How anyone deals with that woman is beyond me.”

Sigurd sighed. “Well, I’d rather take her over Algar any day. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is you were able to find the key. Do you know where to use it?”

The bard stood up from the bed. “I have yet to find an exact location, but there is enough in Algar’s note that I should be able to track it down. Apparently, this crypt of his is somewhere near Forangal, but hidden well enough that most people simply stroll right past it. It’s difficult to find even when you know what to look for.”

The viking stepped next to Gjuki, observing the key in his hand. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Gjuki thought for a moment. “Hmm. Not much, I’m afraid. All I would ask is that you proceed with your life as compliantly as possible. Do what the Saxons say. Follow their commands. Keep your head down. I know it’s... an unfavorable approach, but if I’m going to rummage through Algar’s belongings and find out what he’s hiding, I’ll need you to make sure that his suspicion stays low.”

Sigurd nodded, admittedly somewhat annoyed at the thought of having to take Moira’s insults without fighting back. “...If that’s what you need, then I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Sigurd. I promise, I’ll return to you as soon as I discover something. Just keep an eye on that pier I mentioned. When I’m ready to meet you again, I’ll light the brazier. I think it’s best if we go over Algar’s secrets in private.”

“Understood.”

Gjuki slipped the key back into his pocket, striding towards the door. “Good. Then I best be off. In the meantime, I’ll also prepare for Broder’s return.”

The viking raised a brow. “Broder? Who’s that?” 

“Oh, I never told you his name, did I? Forgive me. He’s a Dane aiding me in this investigation. He too comes from East Anglia. I sent him back to report to Eivor on the day I first met you, but I imagine he’ll be making his way back now. I’ll tell him of what you and I have accomplished here.”

A thought suddenly crossed Sigurd’s mind, causing him to stop Gjuki in his tracks.

“Wait, Gjuki. Before you leave...”

The bard glanced over his shoulder. “Hm? What is it, Lone Wolf?”

“Earlier, back in the courtyard, you told me Eivor was planning to attack Forangal Castle. That he wanted revenge.”

Gjuki nodded. “Yes, but it’s going to take some time. He’ll need more allies before he can muster the strength necessary to assault this fortress.”

A concerned look spread across Sigurd’s face. “Well, when you get the chance, let him know that there are good people here. Tell him that not all of them deserve to be killed, and that not everyone here is our enemy.”

The other man chuckled and crossed his arms. “...You truly believe that, don’t you?”

Sigurd shrugged, confused about Gjuki’s reaction. “And why shouldn’t I? Is there something you know that I don’t?”

The bard lowered his voice to a whisper, speaking in a manner similar to that of a snake.

“I see the way these Saxons look at you when your back is turned to them. I see the way they mock our gods, and twist your mind. They would lock you in a cage next to their dogs if they could, and yet, they chain you with an illusion of friendship because that’s the only thing that’ll keep you from retaliating.”

The viking shook his head. “You have the wrong idea, Gjuki. Even though there are some people here who would see me dead, there are also those who would defend me. Like Edric and his siblings.”

The bard laughed. “You don’t even realize that you’re being indoctrinated, do you? I know you care for Edric, but he is not your friend, Sigurd. I heard your conversation with him in the courtyard. You haven’t even been here for a month and he’s already asking you to convert to Christianity. Don’t you see what he’s trying to do? He’s trying to turn you into a thrall.”

Sigurd placed his hands on his hips, growing somewhat concerned about Gjuki’s paranoia. “No, he isn’t. Edric asked me to consider Christianity, yes, but he’s not forcing me into it.”

The other man wasn’t convinced. “...Not yet.”

Gjuki looked Sigurd directly in the eye, practically piercing through his gaze.

“Listen to me carefully, Lone Wolf. Even though I know my words will carry little meaning in a time like this, I still think you need to hear them. Before I met your brother, I was a slave to a Dane called Rued who used to reside in East Anglia. He was an argr rat, and spoke with a forked tongue. He did the same thing that these Saxons are doing to you. He displayed enough brutality so that we would stay in our place, but offered us the occasional ‘reward’ to keep us obedient. He was our friend from time to time, but mainly our oppressor.”

“This...” Gjuki continued, gesturing to the room around them, “...is your reward. And that...” he pointed to Sigurd’s suit of armor, “...is your leash. So take my advice. Break free from the binds that they have put on your hugr, and be ready to strike when the time comes. These Saxons are nothing more than vipers, and you’d do best to remember that. Trust me, I would know.”

Putting their conversation to an end, Gjuki decided he had said enough and began making his way out the door, leaving Sigurd with one last piece of advice.

“I know none of this is your fault, Sigurd, but do not forget where you come from, nor what started all this. You are only here because the gods were kind enough to spare you, not because these Saxons wanted you to live. So the next time Edric offers you his friendship, remember, his father would’ve killed you in a heartbeat if everything went according to plan. A hatred like that doesn’t disappear just because you raise a sword in his name.”

Gjuki pulled the door open, suddenly trapped in an uncommonly dour mood.

“Farewell for now, Sigurd. I pray that the gods will be merciful in the days to come, and I hope that you and Eivor will be able to reunite soon. It isn’t too late to recover from this mess yet, but time waits for no one. And it certainly won’t wait for you.”

[adarlingwrites]

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who's willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

VII

September 20, 2277.

Percy paces around in the room, looks for something to write on, then settles on the couch again. “Charon… you were saying something about your orders from General Chase in your dream. General Chase was a prominent figure in the Sino-American War 200 years ago. My God, were you there during the Battle of Anchorage?”

Hearing ‘Anchorage’ felt like wires crossed in my brain. The itch in my brain when I saw her in the stealth armor for the first time started to make sense. Anchorage is where I first saw it, worn by enemy troops. Crimson Dragoons, some of them snipers, just like her. My throat feels tight, and I cannot answer. I just nod.

“Charon, I won’t be asking about the details of the dream, but was the dream showing a traumatic event? Like, someone dying, or you getting hurt?”

“Yes. It’s... weird,” I manage to rasp. “There are some parts that I know did not happen recently. Then, there are events which happened within the past week.”

“I see. Did you feel like you were living in that moment again, instead of being at my house, on this day?” she asks me, and I nod. She continues to scribble on the piece of paper that she found.

“Any idea what might’ve triggered it?” she asks me, and I shrug. “Anything? Like a sound, or an object that reminds you of the event?”

I pause for a second. I remember the feeling I had looking at the power armor in my room before my body forced me to sleep.

“The power armor, in the room you gave me,” I tell her, and her eyebrows perk up. “I think I used to wear one of those.” Percy puts her pen and paper down, and stands up.

“I’ll refrain from discussing it further unless you want to talk about it, but holy shit,” Percy exclaims, running a hand through her hair, back turned from me. “I’m so sorry for exposing you to that, if I only knew…” Percy sits back down and her eyes drift to her stealth suit that she stripped for maintenance. “Did my armor remind you of Anchorage too?”

“Yes,” I tell her the truth.

“I’ll stop wearing it, if it makes you relive those memories. I’ll remove the power armor from your room too.”

“I appreciate it, but your armor does not upset me, miss. Please, keep it. You have a higher chance of surviving combat situations with it.”

Percy sighs. “If you’re sure that it doesn’t upset you, okay.” She clears her throat when she realizes the professional facade she’s been putting on slipped off.

“Anyway, I’ve yet to observe arousal and mood symptoms, but, Charon, you’re showing symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder,” said Percy after a few minutes of tense silence, who’s now looking at the book she was occupied with earlier. “I still need to observe you further. I don’t want to make a hasty diagnosis. If you do have it, I can assure you that it’s possible to get better, and I can help you.”

“It is not necessary, miss.”

“You can’t keep saying that whenever something concerning is happening to you,” the mistress scolds me. The dog jumps between us and starts burying his head on my lap.

“Miss, it is not your responsibility to look after my well-being. It is my own. You should not concern yourself with such things.”

“As someone who’s training to be a doctor, I just can’t ignore someone who’s clearly in need of professional help. What kind of doctor would that make me?”

“As my employer, however, it states in the contract that it is not your responsibility. You would know that if you’ve read it in its entirety,” I argue back, and Percy’s frustration grows. She rubs her hands against her face, and throws it up once again.

“But I- what if we weren’t… Why is it so hard to talk to you?”

My throat hitches at her outburst. This is the first time she raised her voice at me while I’m under her employ. Percy sags in front of me, eyes wild in her frustration, but it isn’t anger I am seeing in her face. Frustration. Worry. Sadness.

“If you think having me in your employ is more than you bargained for, you can sell my contract.”

“Wait, no! No. I can’t do that. I can’t just sell you like, like a rifle or-or a piece of armor,” Percy exclaims, holding her forehead with one hand.

“You are not selling me, miss. I belong to no one. You will be selling the ownership of my contract that entitles the holder my services in combat, and my full loyalty.”

“You’re not making it sound any better. Plus, we’re straying from the topic.”

Putting her legs on the couch and crossing her legs, she turns to me.

“How do I put this in a way that you’d understand? Charon, you and I are lucky that this happened in the safety of my home. I can’t have you slipping into an episode in the middle of the wasteland. You won’t be able to protect me, or yourself. You'd become a liability instead of an asset.”

“I think I understand now. Very well. I shall allow you to treat me,” I tell her, and she gives me a sigh of relief. I look at her expectantly, and she gives me a questioning look.

“What?”

“If you have any procedures to do, I’m allowing you to do so.”

My mistress rubs her face. “This isn’t like the time I patched up the wounds on your back, Charon. This process could take months, or even years. It’s a gradual thing.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t feel the need to.

“But we can take small steps. Just one thing at a time,” she continues, a slight smile on her face. Percy picks up her book again, and scoots a little closer, the dog nestled between us.

“Do you have any hobbies? Things you do for fun or leisure?” she asks me, that expectant look on her face again. I pause to think. I couldn’t answer. “None.”

“None? You do nothing in your spare time?”

“I wasn’t given the luxury of having ’spare time’ by my previous employers, miss.”

Percy’s shoulders sag further. There’s a look on her face that I haven’t seen in anyone in a long time. Pity. Most people would have fear on their faces when they see me. Not this one. She smiles. She feels worried for me. It relieves and overwhelms me at the same time. But pity? I don’t need it. Especially not from an employer. My function is to serve them.

She must’ve realized the look on her face, because she clears her throat and shrugs her shoulder. “Well then, we have plenty of time to look for activities you’ll enjoy.”

As my mistress continues to flip through her book, Dogmeat perks his head up and gives my ruined face a lick. His fur is no longer as dirty as it was when he found him. Probably Percy’s doing. I couldn’t stop myself. I ran my rough hands on his head to pet him, and the dog started wagging his tail. I glanced at Percy, and she was looking, that smile on her face again, and looked away just as I saw it. She clears her throat and flips to a page.

“Let’s start with grounding techniques.”

December 26, 2277.

It’s the day after Christmas. I can’t remember if I even celebrated it before the war, but Percy’s father insisted we stay with him to celebrate. Percy pulled me aside and told me that her father is religious, and though she never was, she still celebrates religious holidays with him and asked me to play along. My mistress looked uncomfortable and on edge the entire time. Though James was all smiles the entire time, there’s a scrutinizing look on James’ face; Percy shares the same look when we talk to strangers. It makes me feel wary.

Hours before James’ death, I was returning from an errand Percy gave me when I can vaguely hear her argument with her father from another room, muffled by the walls of the memorial.  I wasn’t supposed to listen to a private conversation between a father and his child but I heard my name being mentioned by the doctor.

“Persephone Zhou! That is malpractice! And you’re living under the same roof too?!”

“He has no one else! What, just because I patch him up and I help him cope with his problems -” Percy’s. Her father cuts her off before she can finish.

“Honey, you are Charon’s doctor. And from what you’ve told me, you’ve been providing him services as a psychiatrist too. I can’t even find the words to describe how unethical this… dalliance of yours with him.”

“Dad! Oh my God, we’re not in a relationship! Where are you even hearing those rumors?!”

Though the mistress had been good to me, I can imagine the look of disgust on her face when her father suggested such a thing. Ghouls and smoothskins don’t do relationships, no matter how kind a smoothskin may be. That’s just the way things were.

“I’m sorry, Percy. Word travels fast. I’ve heard some concerning rumors about you and your ghoul friend.”

“Dad, if I did stay in the vault and became the head physician because you left and they killed Jonas, would I be disallowed to pursue any sort of connection because I’m the only doc in that hole? I’d be married to the job like you were after mom died? Is that it?”

“The circumstances are different and you know it. The vault is a very insular community so we had to rely on each other for social support. It would die out if its members did not reproduce or adapt to changes.”

“Dad, you’ve been in the wasteland. There’s just pockets of settlements here in DC, and doctors are scarce. Psychs and people training to be one are even scarcer. Would you call it unethical if they pursued friendships or fell in love with someone who they patched up so many times from being shot at by raiders? Or someone they counseled from all the violence in the wasteland? Jesus, dad, the American Psychiatric Association doesn’t even fucking exist anymore. It’s in ruins. I can even take you there.”

“Watch your language! I didn’t raise you to be disrespectful, Persephone.”

“I’m sorry. But how I say it doesn’t change the fact.”

“The fact is it’s still highly unethical. There are still institutions that exist that teach medicine and they would not approve of your point of view. How did you think I became a doctor?”

“I’m not arguing with you any further, dad. I’ll go run your errands now.”

“Fine. But we’re not done talking, young lady.”

December 27, 2277.

It’s two hours past midnight. Percy’s screams and the sound of her baseball bat crashing against the metal of an old car echo through the scrapyard.

Only after accompanying the scientists to the Citadel, getting in a fist fight with a Brotherhood paladin for almost not allowing us inside because of my presence, and locating a thing called a GECK on the Brotherhood’s computers, did she finally allow herself to grieve her father. And she grieved hard.

At the sound of the bat snapping, she let out another scream and threw the broken weapon across the threshold. On her hands and knees, her glasses fell from her face, then she bruised her knuckles punching the dirt. Only then did I intervene, gently holding her arms and keeping it to her side. To my surprise, she doesn’t thrash or fight back. She froze for a minute, before curling into a ball and crying out as she settled against my chest.

The events that led to James’ death play over and over again in my head. If I hadn’t slowed her down…

“Percy, may I say something?”

She looks up to me, nodding, fresh tears staining her cheek. Her lips are trembling. She finally allowed herself to cry.

“I slowed us down. If I had overcome my episode faster, we would have gotten back to the rotunda and prevented the incident. It cost your father’s life. If you should punish me, or sell my contract, I will accept-”

“No!”

The word came out of her mouth as a broken cry.

“Don’t blame my dad’s death on yourself, Charon. It’s the fucking Enclave’s fault, and no one else’s. You- we, we did the best we could,” said my mistress, sniffling.

“I understand.”

She draws closer and puts her arms around my neck, and my brain misfires at the gesture. It’s like someone set me on fire, but it doesn’t hurt. I had carried and held her before, but nothing like this. My heart was jumping to my throat. Warm against me, she buried her wet face at the crook of my neck. Another sob wracked her body and before I could think, my arms pulled her in an embrace, stilling her.

This isn’t the first time she sought comfort from my presence. She did so every time there were thunderstorms. I never dared to touch her, though a part of me wanted to draw circles in her skin and watch it bounce against my finger instead of flaking off, like mine does.

This is the first time I allowed myself to hold her too.

We remained like that for the next twenty or so minutes, then Percy breaks the silence.

“Charon.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t ever leave me. Please?”

“I’ll stay by your side as long as you will have me.”

Her arms stiffened in response.

“Are you saying this just because of the contract, or do you mean it? Please. Be honest.”

There it goes again. My breath hitching in my throat. I didn’t know how to respond. My mistress looks at me expectantly with her bloodshot eyes.

“It doesn’t matter.”

She pulls away from the embrace, and she doesn’t look at me as she picked up her glasses and collected herself. Dogmeat, who was terrified by her venting, finally sidles up to her side again and licks her hand. Percy pets him and embraces him in return, burying her face in the mutt’s fur and planting kisses on his forehead.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wonder what that would feel like every time Percy does it to the dog.

On the way to Megaton, she tinkers with the radio on her Pip-Boy, and a broadcast neither of us ever heard before comes in.

“Charon.”

“Yes?”

“I need to go home.”

When we arrived at the entrance of Vault 101, only then did I realize that she didn’t mean her house in Megaton. She let out a shaky exhale as the heavy vault door started to open after she put a password in the terminal.

“Welcome to my childhood home.”

[moody-bloosh]

congratz on finishing finals! (◕ᴗ◕✿) 💝💝 can i request either a continuation of the prosciutto yandere cheating or cheating prosciutto trying to win his girl back? 💝💝

Anonymous said: hello! i would like some angst if u dont mind! Prosciutto cheats on his s/o who’s also a part of la squadra then s/o leave the team

Thank you! I’m proud to tell you all that I finished strong and I got myself that 3.8

hope you two don’t mind that i combined your requests bc mmm they were both so spicy uwu 

Anyway, now it’s time to suffer so please enjoy this angst

watering dead flowers (Prosciutto)

The letter you turn over to Risotto is written with a hasty hand, so different from your usual, easy, free flowing script. It is damp, he notes, as he takes it from your shaking hands. He tells you to stay and to please sit.

“You don’t have to go this far.”

You blink in surprise at Risotto’s choice of words. The way he was looking at you as if he wanted you to at least, reconsider. His words manage to give you pause.

By leaving, you would not only be turning your back on Prosciutto. You would be turning your back on the whole gang. Certainly, this gave you some cause to reconsider just the slightest bit. You would miss them all bitterly. But was that enough to tide over the waves of heartbreak you were still drowning in?

You mull over Risotto’s words for a second, you really do. But when you stepped into his office, you had already made your mind and you vowed to yourself that you would not take no for an answer. No matter how convincing the capo could have been.

“For a good chunk of my life, everything I did was for him, for his sake,” you explained as you slowly stood up, without his leave.

Yes, you could not let your resolve waver. Though your voice was hoarse and your eyes were red from all of your crying last night, you managed to plaster on a smile. Because even though it was difficult, even though it was painful, you wanted to start off your new beginning on the right foot.

“This time, I want to do something for myself.”

Without waiting for your former capo’s response, you bowed and thanked him for everything, then you promptly escorted yourself out.

You see him, leaning by the door on your way out, trying to look carefully nonchalant as he lights a cigarette. Normally, you would snatch those things from him, you’d been trying to get him to drop the habit but now you could care less about him.

Still, your pulse quickens as you step closer to him, you fear that he will hear the traitorous, erratic beating of your heart as you come closer. You fear that if you were to look into his eyes, your resolve would crumble. So you avert your gaze, you train your eyes on the door in front of you.

He doesn’t say anything, just takes a long drag of his cigarette as you leave.

Even though you should be used to it, his silence hurt. You remind yourself that this was nothing new.

When the door slams behind him, Prosciutto finally exhales. Walking through the cigarette smoke, he finds a position by the window where he can observe you unnoticed. He stands there for a few seconds, the sight of you driving away imprinted into his mind, before he finally leaves.

Thank God you hadn’t noticed your suitcase hidden behind him.

Truthfully, he had considered slashing the tires of your car. But that would have been too obvious and it wouldn’t have done anything good for him in the long run. Stealing your luggage, important things of yours meant that you were guaranteed to come back for it. You would have to ask him very nicely to return your things and when you did, he would certainly find a way to get win you back.

In the privacy of his own room, he opens your suitcase and selects some choice fabrics. Your favorite scarf, a cherished sweater, a beloved shirt, and he tucks them all way somewhere. That way, even then, you would have to keep coming back to him. Petty, pathetic, but this was all he could do.

That night, he holds your sweaters close and he breathes in your scent. You would come back and he would do everything in his power to win you over again.

He can hear your voice now, soft and sweet.

“Goodnight, darling. I love you.”

It has been a month since you’d left and you showed no signs of caring about the whereabouts of your missing luggage. The fact that his plan failed soured his mood immensely. The fact you would rather deal with the loss of your precious clothes than see him again felt like an earth-shattering punch to his gut.

There was a foul look on his face as he sat beside Pesci in the restaurant with the rest of the team. He had not even touched his food, too busy concocting another plan to win you over.

He couldn’t - no, he wouldn’t let it end like this.

Enjoying his teammate’s distress and intent on further annoying Prosciutto, a roguish look settled on Formaggio’s face as his tone betrayed something mischievous, “since _____ is free now, maybe I should have done what I wanted to do all those years ago…”

“Manners, Formaggio,” Illuso snickers, “remember the 3 month rule, we still have 2 more months before _____ is officially free.”

“Whatever, it’s not like Prosciutto minds, after all-“ Formaggio’s words trailing off as he acknowledged the downright murderous look in his teammate’s eyes, “heh, what’s with that scary look, huh, Prosciutto? I’m right, aren’t I?”

Pointedly ignoring the way Prosciutto’s jaw clenched, Formaggio persisted in his goading.

“If you like something, you gotta hold onto it, right? I mean, if you’re going to be mad at someone-“

“Enough,” Risotto cut in, annoyed. “Not another word about this.”

“I was only joking,” Formaggio said, shrugging haphazardly.

Whatever fucked up sense of humor Formaggio wanted to impart were lost on Prosciutto as he stormed out of the restaurant. His fists clenched so tightly, he was drawing blood from the soft of his palms. Formaggio’s words had more of an effect on him than he wanted to admit. But perhaps, he had already admitted more than he would have like when he made his swift exit.

That damned Formaggio.

He knew it well. He was the one who messed it all up. If you were to seek your happiness elsewhere, with someone else, he had no right to complain.

Already images of you with his teammate filtered through his mind, xxpressions that would have only been for him, a voice only he had been allowed to hear once, if they were to be witnessed by someone else…

He slams the door of his car with a little more force than necessary and rests his head on the steering wheel. It was not supposed to be like this. He was presumptuous enough to think that by the end of the month he would have you in his arms again.

Even though he knows that he lost the right to call you his long ago. When he had let go of your hand and foolishly expected you to stay put like a dumb little doll, blind to his infidelity.

He knows well, how shameless it is of him to have expected you to stay, how selfish it was for him to want you back after how terribly he treated you.

“I loved you wholeheartedly, Prosciutto. That’s why I have no regrets now.”

Yes, you were right. Because regretting was his job.

He brings down the visor, so he could pore over the photograph of you he’d tucked away in there. The photo of the two of you, smiling as you held each other, blissfully unaware of the sad future awaiting the two of you. His heart aches, as he runs his fingers over the photograph, trying to remember how it felt to hold you, how it felt to touch you.

He understands now what he must do if he wants you back.

You knew sooner or later that he would show his face around your apartment. You were just thankful that he had taken his sweet time. You’d known that it was him the moment you pulled up to the curb and saw his car parked two blocks away. Did he think you wouldn’t recognize it? Just like the day you left, he was leaning against the door of your apartment. He was smoking, though once he caught sight of you, he quickly put it out.

“_____.”

“Spare me the dramatics,” you sighed, pushing past him. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired.”

“Wait,” he said, grabbing your hand to keep you from leaving. You catch the almost imperceptible tremble in his lips, the way his eyes flicker with an emotion you don’t want to understand. The sight of it is almost enough to make you pause.

“Please,” his voice is barely above a whisper, “hear me out.”

You scoff, so was this how he intended to win you back? By throwing away his precious pride? Interesting. If this was how he was going to play then you were going to milk this for all it was worth.

“Why should I? Don’t you have other people to attend to?”

“I know I hurt you, I know what I did can’t be forgiven.”

“If you know this, then why are you here?”

“Because I love you.”

The audacity of his words. You couldn’t help but let your mask of indifference drop. Hearing his foolish reasoning, you try to pull away from his grasp. His touch suddenly felt disgusting to you.

How dare he?

After making you suffer through his affairs, spending your nights sobbing as you questioned why you weren’t enough, why he took it upon himself to seek another’s company. He’d come to this realization only now? Really, you didn’t know what you were expecting. But it certainly wasn’t this.

“Even now, you want to lie to my face,” you hissed, “how shameless can you be?”

He held onto you tightly. He let you go once, he wasn’t going to do so again.

“Please, give me another chance.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fine, then look me in the eyes and tell me that you don’t want to see me ever again.”

“Fine,” you huff in agreement, finally extricating yourself from his touch. You were going to shove him off of you too for good measure, surely that would knock him down a peg or two.

It was easy. All you would have to do was hurt him, hurt him and make him feel a fraction of what he did to you. It would be so easy.

Look him dead in the eye and say it.

Say it.

“I…” I don’t ever want to see you again. I hate you.

When you looked into his eyes, those beautiful eyes of his that you’d spent countless afternoons getting lost in, you found that the words you wanted to use against him falling flat and useless on your tongue. Your bottom lip trembled as you gazed in his eyes, silently cursing your heart and your memories for betraying you at such a crucial time.

Really, really.

Why did he have to make it so difficult?

Your shoulders slumped as you hands came to rest upon his chest, unable to really push him away from you though you desperately wanted to. So instead, you pound on his chest, a futile attempt at hurting him. All the while you call him names, ‘asshole, bastard, cheater, I hate you.’ Before you know it, before you inch away from his touch again, his hands wrap around your wrists.

“A good man would let you go,” he said, holding you close enough that his breath tickled your ear, “but there’s just one problem with that, _____.”

A pause as you look up at him, your teary eyes meeting his icy blue ones.

“I’m not a good man.”

And then his lips are on you, greedily drinking in what little affection for him you have left. You try to push away from him though you know it is futile. You’re trapped once more in his web.

Your tears fall in earnest, just as your lips part. His touch is featherlight as he gently wipes away your tears.

“Please, let me make it up to you,” he begs.  

I would spend the rest of my life making it up to you.

“You need to be careful with me,” you warn him bitterly. “I’m not easy. I’ll leave you if I get even the slightest notion that you’re cheating on me again. And I won’t care even if you grovel.”

“I understand.”

You looked up at him again, your eyes still watery as you considered the way he was looking at you. Really, he was so unfair. But then, you were the fool who was sincerely considering on giving him a second chance again.

“You’ll have to earn my trust again,” you tell him. “And I won’t make it easy for you.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

Tentatively, he let go of your wrists in favor of snaking his arms around your waist. You do not protest, finding yourself leaning into his touch. He sighs as he holds you tight in his arms.

“I missed you.”

You take a moment to compose yourself, before you find yourself hesitantly hugging him back.

“I…missed you too.”

Oh, you missed him. You really did. But you couldn’t get rid of the feeling that there was something you were missing.

Ah.

“I want my suitcase back too, you asshole.”