#this is a desperate ploy for followers so I don’t look like I just started this account an hour again

[relenafanel]

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mxtx collection is coming along! I’m waiting for the special edition of Heaven Official’s Blessing (vol 8) to arrive. I’d pre-ordered it but it came in damaged. #mxtx #tgcf #mdzs

Reposted from my Instagram account.

[blasphemecel]

Michael Kaiser, Alexis Ness — Ego Death

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader, Alexis Ness/Reader WORD COUNT: 1.4k TYPE: Rivalry, Tension WARNING(S): Canon-typical football derangement, canon-typical overreaction NOTE: This is a part of the dog walking-verse again it's getting out of control

They swap you in not long after Shidou’s goal.

You’re in a good mood when you step on the field, of course, like you always are. Noa doesn’t like the way you play, but you’re always in the games in the end. Your unbalanced mind chooses to interpret this as an acknowledgement of your greatness, which gives you a funny feeling. Kind of like a high.

And your target is Ness, as usual. You find yourself standing next to him, excitement bubbling in your stomach. “Let’s give them hell, ok?”

“I’m tired of telling you everyday, we won’t be doing anything,” he says, irked by your persistence. “You’re not my ace! Get it through your thick head.”

You continue grinning, giddy for what you have planned. “Ness, do you see the future I see?”

“I don’t know what your delusional imagination has come up with, but I bet it’s something stupid.”

“Whatever. When someone’s mind is closed, you just need to pry it open sometimes.”

Ness maintains his upbeat demeanor, but it’s nothing more than a mask. He intends for his words to cut into you, though he knows you won’t care. “You always talk nonsense and then call everyone else myopic for not understanding you.”

“I guess. I mean, if that’s how you see it,” you say.

After relenting, you glance at Kaiser, who’s not saying anything, just frowning. His attitude has been getting worse the longer this Neo Egotist League event has been going on. Isagi must be wearing him down.

That’s a nasty face he’s making right now. You want to watch it get worse.

When the game starts, you do your typical movements, as if you’re trying to go on the offense. You make an earnest attempt to evade the defenders marking you down whenever you get the ball, but it’s mostly a ploy. What’s important is to get the positioning right for what you’re about to do, so you keep track of where everyone is, where they’re going to run next, and try to use your approach as a lure to adjust it all to your liking.

Is the misery settling in? Does it bother Kaiser how he’s struggling to stand out right now, and against this competition, for maybe the first time in his life? Is Ness frustrated because his passing courses are so limited like never before? You’ll need to create an opportunity for this desperation to turn into a slip up you can exploit. A moment of urgent, careless thinking, more likely to give into instinct rather than a clear-minded aspiration…

You can’t leave it to coincidence, though. You break through with one-two passes from Hiori. Karasu follows, hot on your trail. Defenses are tight, not leaving any room for a sensible breakthrough.

“Always flittin’ about like a damn fly,” Karasu says. “Yer annoying.”

“And you’re a hillbilly.” You’re close to the penalty area, and you realize things have aligned well now, though you try not to let it show on your face that you’re scheming something. The next step requires meticulous execution. You manage to keep the ball in your possession against Karasu, but you can’t drag this out.

The exact moment you have enough space to move, the ball goes up in the air and you take on a shooting stance. Rin jumps into your field of vision as you thought he would, blocking the path with his foot, trying to get in your way. “You’re so damn predictable. It’s-”

In what looks like a show of godlike reflexes, but was actually premeditated all along, you reveal the feint, sending the ball flying to your desired spot, somewhere behind yourself and near the arc. Rin doesn’t even finish his critique of your performance out of incredulity.

You snap your head around to watch with an ecstatic grin, goosebumps breaking out across your skin in anticipation. Even by your standards — quick and precise with your aim — this was an abrupt and forceful pass, enough to catch the recipient off guard.

Ness doesn’t have much time to think it over by the time he realizes what’s happening, what with three defenders blocking Kaiser and two more hovering near Ness himself. So, he pulls his leg in and obeys the instantaneous reaction-

“Yes!” you scream, elated at your success. Your vision comes to life — Alexis Ness scores Bastard München’s first goal.

Despite kicking the ball, Ness seems surprised by this development, staring at you in a confused daze. He doesn’t even bother putting on a pretense of feeling annoyed by your interference. He’s not the only one perplexed. While it’s surprising enough that he scored, what’s even more shocking is the fact that you made an assist. A deliberate one, with this outcome as the intention.

“See, Ness,” you say, gesturing ahead with a manic expression on your face, before you begin making your way towards him as if to celebrate. “You make your own magic.”

He is trembling. Ness never considered himself interested in getting a point by himself, and as of recently to make any plays separate from Kaiser at all, but it is undeniable that he’s excited by this, and he’s sure the afterwaves of energy will linger in his system for a while. But he’s still dumbfounded. “Why…?”

“Let’s play together,” you say. “You shouldn’t shackle yourself to one option like a coward. There’s no need to be scared of making a choice.” Your gaze strays from him and instead moves over his shoulder where you see Kaiser glaring at you with pure hatred from a distance, but you recognize the expression as a farce, hiding feelings of hurt and betrayal and paranoia. He really is sensitive deep down. It’s too much fun poking at that kind of thing. You continue looking at him while you continue, “After all, everything’s possible.”

“But…”

“Ness, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Kaiser approaches with crossed arms, and his scowling is so intense, you feel like he’s trying to blow you to smithereens with his pathetic display. Ness flinches away from him regardless, maybe ashamed of his transgressions. Usually Kaiser treats your encounters together with a sort of levity, but his patience has been stretching thin for a while. “What do you think you’re doing? I thought you don’t help anyone besides yourself? The hell is this?”

“Ness, don’t be scared of him,” you say with a smirk. “You let him do most of the thinking, but you’re not dependent on him. It’s up to you most of the time if he gets a good shot in, not the other way around.”

Ness’s eyes widen at your words. Good. You want to watch him develop a sense of identity. It’s been too many games and you’ve been antsy. You want the satisfaction of being the catalyst to his evolution. How will his real ego manifest?

“I’m talking to you,” Kaiser grits out, grabbing you roughly by the collar of your jersey and leaning down to invade your personal space to the best of his ability as a last ditch attempt at intimidating you, blocking your view of Ness. The corners of your lips quirk up even higher, clearly not taking him seriously. The fuck is he gonna do? Whine at you until you die of boredom? “Look at me and stop pretending I’m not here!”

“When an emperor loses his last lackey, I consider him dethroned.”

His grip on your shirt tightens in response. So temperamental and easy to mess with, it’s almost cute. “Ness won’t switch to you over this. Besides, that was your orchestration. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say. “He’ll resist it at first, I’m sure, but there’s no going back after this. He’ll start seeing me and Isagi as viable passing options, and then curiosity will get the better of him.”

Kaiser pushes you away, but his anger doesn’t seem to be simmering down. You stumble a little, but it’s not even enough to make you lose your balance and land on your ass. “I’ll make sure you plunge so deep into despair, you won’t want to touch a football in your life ever again.”

“Ho ho ho.” You laugh fakely in an exaggerated voice, clasping your hands together behind your back, pleased with the way this is going. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You’ve caused a great sense of unsettle within your favorite player out of the New Generation World XI. How long ago was it when you first saw him through a screen? Now he’s standing in front of you, and he’s disturbed, and you’re getting under his skin, and you’ve just completed the first step in your plan to steal his loyal midfielder. And he even wants to crush you! You’re so happy, you can’t help but continue to grin.

Yes, today is another beautiful day, like always.

___

It's never that serious

[azulera]

Hi! If you're still taking request I would like a Kylian and black reader blurb inspired by "Lovers & Friends" the usher song. :) :) :)

Way Back

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x Black Reader

Words: 1.2k

Notes: not very confident about this one :/ don’t know why it’s been so hard for me to write about kylian lately, but c’est la vie. and anon i hope you like

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The park where Kylian had asked her to meet was deep in the design district and crowded, but she'd found a clear spot on a bench near a tall, bubbling fountain. It was 9am, far too early to be awake and in the sunlight after the night of expensive white attire, multi-syllabic drinks and dancing they’d had, but since she’d known him, way back in the stuffy hallways of the lycée, he’d been an early riser. The text itself had come into her phone with a seriousness uncommon to her usually buoyant, playful, friend: I need to see you, to talk. Her stomach had turned as she read it, exhilarated and uncertain, but it wasn’t like she could say no.

No more than five minutes later, the crunching sound of wheels on asphalt pulled her eyes from the brilliant display of water. It was Kylian’s car maneuvering into the lot, and as he parked, he motioned to her out of the window. When she approached, the window slid down completely to reveal his smiling face, freshly shaved and smooth, and tan from the Miami sun. He was stupidly handsome, she thought, even when he should have been still jet-lagged and hungover.

“Ça va?” He asked, pulling her into a side hug through the window, with a kiss on both cheeks. She tried to read it as the normal greeting that it was, and ignore her stomach’s fluttering.

“Ça va, Ky. What did you want to speak about?”

“D’accord, straight to it.” He laughed, his dark eyes creasing in the corners. “Come on, get in. We will talk in the car.”

She met his gaze a moment, and watched as his own tracked slowly down her body and back up. Her eyebrows sprung toward her hairline. The earlier apprehension started to shrivel, and the “no-BS” attitude that had sustained a decade of friendship threatened to return.

“Excuse me?”

“What?”

She shifted her weight to one foot. “You’re looking at me like I’m a piece of meat.”

“Mais, non, I’m just, looking.” He denied, smoothing out the neck of his t-shirt. “Last night was a little bit wild, no? I want to make sure you are okay.”

It was a viable excuse, but the anxiety twisting up her insides wouldn’t stop showing on her face. She couldn’t fight the feeling that, as was custom in their friendship, he was joking with her, that this entire meeting was a ploy to build her hopes up, only to bring them down in a pathetic crash.

“Putain, je vais pas te mordre. Why do you look so scared?”

“I don’t know,” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Kylian.”

He sighed out harshly from his nose, turning his head, and her mind flashed to last night, when her friend had completed the same gesture while he had her pressed up against the side door of his car —the very same car she stood in front of now— both their eyes wide and breathing hard into one another’s mouths. The moment came after a night of flirty bantering that wasn’t unusual between them, but that couldn’t explain the heat in his eyes as he followed her through the party, or the hand that drifted lower and lower along her back while they danced and mingled with acquaintances. She’d excused it at first, blaming the loosening effects of alcohol on his straight and narrow system, but that moment, pressed body to body, mouths a desperate decision’s length apart, and his palms burning their prints onto her hips, crossed any of the lines that kept them on the correct side of friendship.

She wasn’t sure now that they, or if she, at least, could travel back to the other side.

“What? Do you mean about last night?” He asked.

“I mean, are we going to pretend?”

He bit his lip, but maintained eye contact, letting the question simmer, and deepen, knowing that the memory playing in his head was the very same as the one looping in hers. Her face and neck began to feel warm, and she forced herself not to touch the spots.

“You did not like it, then? What we did. Or, what we did almost. You did not want it.”

“It’s not that–“ She started, fingering one of the strands spilling from her quickly-done top knot. The jolting feeling of “Is this really happening?” rocked through her again. “I just want to know why.”

“And you are sure you don’t want to do this inside? Where we have some more, privacy?”

He looked around the park still filling with joggers and dog walkers, and she also became aware of how it might look, should someone stop and recognize him, or even worse, if they caught any snippets of the words being exchanged.

Still, she shook her head “no”. It was firm, and the wisest choice, knowing that the second she got another view of the car door, or trapped in the confines of his passenger seat, her resolve would melt like an ice-cream cone left on the pavement. His smooth words, his sweet smell, the fact that she would be within his arm’s reach - if she wanted any chance to reinstate their fraying boundaries, the conversation had to happen here.

“Okay, comme tu veux.” He leaned forward onto the window frame, his forearms flexing, and she held on to his every word. “Bien, last night, tu sais, you looked– beautiful. You do, always, but at the party–” He blew air from his mouth, and licked his lips. “And so many people came up to me, and they assumed that you were mine- I mean, that we were together. And I liked it. It felt, je sais pas, right.

Then, all through the night, it made me think. How you are the person I have the most fun with. How you know me so well. How we are compatible like – I mean, je veux dire, it is not until this trip that I realized–”

“Realized what?”

Her body flushed while he spoke, a battery of emotions blitzing through her, making her palms sweat in the morning’s rising heat, and the back of her neck tingle. Her chest, however, was heavy with the weight of the one thing she hadn’t allowed herself to want.

“‘Cause, I don’t understand. You had all these thoughts, because you liked how I looked? Or because other people thought we looked good together? That’s not – I don’t think that’s enough. If that’s all it is, physical, we should have just kissed, done whatever last night, and been done with it.”

“But, I want to do more than kiss you, Y/N. That’s why I did not. I want … I think … I want to try. If you want to.”

She knew what he meant without him spelling it out; just as she understood that this was him putting everything – the awkward adolescent fumblings and every longing look, joint off-season vacation, and pre-match phone call since then – out there, on the table, a cue for the pretenses and fears she’d built up to fall away.

“Are you serious about this, Kylian? We’re meant to be …” She took a step closer to his vehicle, her voice a murmur, and her eyes still stuck to his like he’d glued them there. There was nowhere to run, and, from the softness she read there in his look, there was no need to. “Yeah. Yes. I want to.”

“Ouias?”

She nodded, scared that more words would break the delicate thing taking form between them, which still didn't feel real. He had leaned further out of the window, but his next words reached her as if in slow motion.

“Last night I wanted you, amour. So badly. But all this time, I’ve needed you, I think. Even if I did not know it.”

“Prove it.”

The words flew from her without permission, but his eyes widened at the challenge, then burned. It lit a fire in her body the rest of the way down.

“Come here,” He crooked his fingers, the same cheeky smile on his mouth that had been there in the stuffy halls of the lycée, but now with something more meaningful, something reciprocated, in it. And just as back then, the door pulled open, and she found her way to him.

[docwritesshit]

The Ink feels right

Blurb: You rarely felt comfortable, and barley when it was needed. Nothing helped, and in a moment of desperation, you decided to draw on your skin, without realizing someone else could as well

Type: Fluff, bits of angst if you squint. Soulmate AU

Word count: 3.2k

Pairing: Sun Wukong x reader

Authors note: This was just a self indulgent x reader honestly. I rewrite this so many fucking times too-

Ick, that was the best you could do to describe whatever the hell you felt. The feeling of just… ‘no’ was ever present in ways you couldn't pinpoint in any other word or phrase. There were days that you felt the need to scratch at your own skin, gauging at the itch that laid deep within your bones that would not let up no matter what you did.

You tried to distract yourself, you did. Drawing, burying yourself in your work, reading, sewing, taking up any and all projects that made your hands busy. But the ick was still there. And don’t even get started on the intrusive thoughts.

They were the shadows that creeped in the deepest corners of your mind, taking your brain full force, making you want to get rid of your own body. That just made the raking across your flesh ten times worse. This wasn’t your body, not this monstrosity. It was too much, too much all at once. And it made you worry.

At first, your parents grew worried at your constant scatrching of your skin, sometimes drawing blood. Being paranoid, they did many charms and spells, thinking it was a curse that needed an exorcism. But it never went away. So they thought it was a demon, plunging you into training at the ripe age of seven, teaching you self defense and combat through spells and taking advantage of your environment, It made you quick on your feet, and made you busy, but the ick was still there.

Nothing worked for you. You changed your wardrobe dozens of times, thinking the change of fabrics could help. You went on and off perfumes and fragrances, but the result was the same. You wanted to scream to the heavens what were you missing? Was this just a ploy? A game? Some trick to entertain the court above?

It got especially worse today. You were alone in the study, looking over maps for a voyage your cousin would be taking when the ick grew, and the thoughts came. Your whole body felt it was on fire, the thoughts in your mind felt like it was consuming you. You groaned, taking the quill in your hand and swiping it across a document, then on your arm in desperation. You stilled yourself, and looked down.

The ink made a wide, splattered line that swerved across your skin. You bite your tongue, cursing. An old tale came to mind, one your parents gushed about endlessly.

When a celestial becomes of age, there was a small chance there was one person there for them in the world. That one person would share many experiences with them, their triumphs, their failures, their highs and lows. Until they found them, the only thing they would share was the skin across their body.

Your parents phrased it as your body was the canvas you and your bound shared, and together you could make the most beautiful masterpiece even when you were apart. It sounded like you got punished for being eternally connected with someone.

You sighed, getting up from your seat to wash up in the bathroom when you felt more pressure on your arm. You looked down, seeing the ink line transforming into a sea, then a boat was slowly being added, sails fluttering in the wind. You stood in shock, in bewilderment. Was this the person you were bound to? Why did it feel fo foreign yet so… relieving? The ick dissipated a bit, the pressure of the phantom pen keeping it at bay. You stood, witnessing the boat gain a captain, a small monkey with a crown on it’s head, holding up a sword towards a forming sunset. It was enchanting…

A small print followed below the drawing, big and scrawled.

“Thanks for the inspo! I was bored for a bit now”

You stared at the message for a solid ten seconds, before rushing to the bathroom and scrubbing your arm raw to get rid of the masterpiece, watching as the black tinted water swirled down the drain. You waited a few moments for a new message to appear. When none came, you walked back to the study. You would deal with this at a later date.

And… that later date came within the next few hours, when intrusive thoughts began again along with the ick. You groaned, tossing and turning in your bed. You prayed that it would pass, trying to clear your mind, focusing on the feel of the silk sheets underneath your fingertips, but the shadows clawed their way into your thoughts again and again.

You gave up, tossing the blankets aside and going to your desk in the corner, grabbing a pen and your journal, thinking you might as well try and write the thoughts down so they don’t bother you as much. That was the plan anyways, until the pen dripped onto your hand as you tapped it to get an idea going. You began to reach for the rag you kept for times like this when the phantom sensation came back. You looked down to see a ghost pen connecting the ink dots, creating constellations.

You froze again, witnessing as your ‘soulmate’ sketched out a cliff and another monkey looking up at said stars. The shadows retreated back to the corners of your mind, the itch dissipated again, almost fully. You traced your fingers over the constellations, catching yourself smiling. You shook your head, and stalked back to bed. You would deal with this in the morning.

In the morning, you found another note from the ghostly artist using your sin as a sketch pad.

“Most say the constellations are the most beautiful sights to see, but I’d say the stars pale in comparison to you ;)”

You pity the poor training partner your parents set you up with that day, as they got the brunt of your anger and rage and flusteredness. By the end of it, they were struggling to stand, legs wobbling and leaned on the instructor for support. You made sure to send some of your personal remedies and a note as an apology when you calmed down.

Over the next few days, you avoided excessive contact with ink or anything that might get on your skin. You made it a habit to wear long gloves when documenting routes and annotating maps. During training, you convinced your agents to have a barrier around you to not get any dirt or, gods forbid, blood on your skin that would prompt whoever was bound to you to be concerned.

It was night again when it became too much for you. The itch deep within your bones grew more and more, causing you to pace in your room, fidgeting with your rings to stop yourself from raking your nails across your skin. You didn’t want to, still trying to get through the night without even touching a pen, but you relented.

You picked up your pen again, throwing caution to the wind and started with a line. The line became curved, then another line followed. You drew and drew, the itching burn, cooling bit by bit as the doodle grew more. When you woke up from your inky splotched daze, you saw roses and thorns decorating your forearm. You sighed in relief, and made your way back to bed. Then the phantom sensation began again.

“HOW DARE YOU HIDE THESE BEAUTIFUL MASTERPIECES!!! Who knew I had such a talented soulmate?”

You blushed, your brain clearly not kicking in when you responded.

“Well, I didn't want to bother you creating your own masterpieces.”

When you read what you wrote, you smacked your forehead. You really were sleep deprived huh? You could feel your bound write back quickly.

“Oh so you do know how to write! I thought you were just learning with all the ink getting on your arms. But, thank you for the compliment, but I rather enjoy your art as well.”

You bit your lip, tapping your pen to your chin. Should you respond? You already wrote back once, shouldn’t that be enough?

“I like yours better honestly, you make art from my mistakes.”

“Oh those? I was glad for the distraction honestly.”

“Well, I’m glad to be a ‘distraction’ then”

You felt no other phantom sensations after that, determining your artist was too tired to be bothered for much longer. So, you drifted off to sleep. In the morning however, you found a new addition to your sketch, a butterfly with a peculiar wing pattern sat on top of one of your roses, along with another note

“I hope you don’t mind, but I just wanted to release at least one of the butterflies you give me”

Without meaning to, your ‘distractions’ became more frequent to your bound. The nightly ritual of you giving them a line, a few sketch’s their way, and falling asleep as the phantom sensations guided you to your dreams instead of the shadows ever present to your mind.

You caught yourself smiling as the quill dripped ink on your hand, but you let it be. Your parents caught onto your elevated mood, seeing the weights fall bit by bit. They witnessed your forced smile to court officials come easier, your eyes regaining the sparkle they missed. They questioned it, but all you said was you found a way to get rid of the ick for the time being. They were elated, celebrating with a feast of your favorites. You smiled with them, subconsciously rubbing your sleeve where you could feel your bound make another doodle.

And when you were assigned to go down to the mortal plane to see who this new successor to the Monkey King was, you accepted it with little resistance. You needed to get out of the palace anyways.

And oh, was he the Monkey King's successor. You could see the aura around him from blocks away. Honestly it was a miracle that he hadn’t been jumped all day by some sort of demon.

Oh, the heart of gold he wore on his sleeve as well. You could tell he was a fan-boy the minute you mentioned Monkey King to him while talking about going to see the new movie. His ramblings warmed your heart, but you were here on business, not pleasantries. Until the Ick came back.

Sitting in a lone booth waiting for him to come back after some deliveries, you pulled out a marker you started carrying around in cases like these. You started a small line on your palm, going to your wrist, creating vines that wrapped around the veins visible. Your doodling came to an early end when MK entered the restaurant again, joining you in your booth.

“I’m glad you caught me right before my break! What did you want to talk to me about again?” He asked. You smiled, hiding your art with some glamor.

“Nothing too bad, I assure you. I am with the Jade court, and they just wanted to send me down here to see who this Monkie Kid was.” You explained, resisting the urge to look down at your palm when you could feel the artist on the other end add onto your drawing.

“Oh, well- I mean- Um-“ The poor kid got flustered so quickly, a pink blush dusting his cheeks already. You chuckled, covering your smile with your hand.

“Don’t fret please, you seem like a good kid.” You tried to calm him down.

“Oh, ok. Well, I’m still training with Monkey King and I’m still learning.” He said, his hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his head. You hummed in acknowledgment, recalling how recently he had gotten the staff. His eye then widened, standing up in a panic

“SHIT MONKEY KING- I forgot we had training scheduled like fifteen minutes ago-“ He scrambled out of the restaurant, presumably to change out of his work uniform into a more appropriate sparing outfit. You rolled your eyes. Yep, he was definitely the chosen student of Sun Wukong.

You could feel your little artist stop drawing, taking the chance to look down at your palm again. You smiled, seeing flowers and fruits sprout from the vines you drew. A small note attached as well.

“I‘ll make sure to get a bouquet more beautiful than this drawing, cause nothing can be more beautiful than you <3”

Well, they had gotten a lot more cheesier with the pick-up lines you noticed. The bell above the door to the restaurant made your ears perk up, turning your head and almost fell out of the booth.

“Hey Pigsy, is the kid still here? He and I had training and he still hasn’t shown up”

The cook on there other side of the bar gave a grunt, pointing upwards with his ladle.

“Bud got distracted with deliveries and talking with customers. He’s changing upstairs.”

“Great! That means he’ll be here any minute now!”

The form he took to walk around the city wasn’t too suspicious, wavy ginger hair slicked with a bit of stubble on his chin to account for his fur. You got up, hoping to sneak out the front as he continued to talk with Pigsy, reaching for the handle when he looked over at to see who was leaving. Even with your glamour though, he could still see your celestial form.

“HALT!”

You froze, fingertips grazing the doorknob to your escape. He strolled over, scrutinizing you. You squeezed your eyes closed, praying that he won't try and fight. You knew he was protective of his pupil, and knew he wouldn't take kindly to anyone with malicious intent close to him.

You cracked your eyes open again when you felt his claw grasp at your hand. You pulled away on instinct, pulling it close to your chest. You looked up to see his eyes widened, a small smile lining his lips.

“Now this wasn’t how I expected we would meet.” He commented. You raised up an eyebrow, moving to take a step away when he held his own hand up, letting his glamor down to reveal vines and flowers painting his palm and wrist, along with the note and heart he left behind.

You purse your lips, turning your back to him and pulling out your marker, adding a question mark to the fingertip of your pointer finger. You had experienced some demons and celestial beings trying to pose as your bound, glamorizing their own markings to match yours. You simply added on in secret to see if they were lying, and today was no different.

“You know that’s just going to show up on my skin right? Why a question mark? You could have at least done something funny,” The Great Sage Equal to Heaven said. Your blood froze, turning your head slowly to see that indeed, the question mark was on his pointer finger as well. You looked up at him still rambling on the wasted potential of your symbol for him to try and glamor on his skin. You wanted to combust right then and there, your brain processing you were bound to the menaces to the celestial heavens.

He stopped himself, tilting his head when he noticed your inner turmoil.

“Uuuuhhh, you good?”

You sped out the door, sprinting down the street. You weren’t dealing with this right now.

But he was. He followed after you in his hawk form, above you at every twist and turn you took. You stopped to rest at a bench when he popped up next to you.

“Gotta say, you got a pair of lungs on ya!” He announced, collapsing next to you. You scooted away, the ick coming back now. You huffed, mindlessly scratching at the back of your hand. Wukong noticed, seeing your nails rake across the skin made goosebumps rise. He grabbed your hand again, stopping the motion. You looked up at him, and pulled away from his grasp again.

“Sorry, force of habit.” You mumbled. He furrowed his brows, looking down at his palm that held the art you and him made. He cracked a smile, tracing the vines you sketched.

“I wasn’t lying when I said you were good by the way.” He commented. You chuckled, looking at your own palm.

“Yeah I know.”

He looked back over to you, his tail slowly inching closer to you. You sucked in a breath, debating whether or not to run away again. But the itch grew, and it was becoming unbearable. You sighed, taking out your marker again and placing it in his hand.

“Please draw again.” You pleaded. He raised his eyebrows, but obliged. Taking your arm in his grasp, he began lining out his own staff, and you exhaled slowly as the itch ebbed away. He stole glances, seeing you relax more and more as he drew. You could feel the eyes at the side of your head, and decided it was too far to go back now,

“What is it?” You prodded. You felt the marker become still, the felt tip against your arm. He looked your way again, locking eyes with you.

“Why did you run away?” He asked. You hummed, the words rolling in your mind not forming coherent sentences that would be nice fir anyone to hear. But you did your best!

“Because you aren’t who I expected to be bound to. Though I should have guessed by the amount of monikes you draw.” You deadpanned. He pursed his lips, shoulders shaking in resistance to the laughs building in his chest. A few chuckles escaped, soon a fit of giggles followed. You chuckled yourself, feeling a little lighter.

“Ok, I'll take that, Not on the best terms with the bosses above.” He stated, continuing with his drawing. You hummed, relishing the relief that was flowing through you.

“Hm, well that’s an understatement.” You muttered. That got another chuckle from him. He looked back down at you and his gaze focused on your hand, still with the vines and flowers staining your palm. He locked eyes with you, stilling his hand again.

“Why didn't you draw sooner? And why did you ignore me?” He asked. You froze again, recalling your first contact with each other. You exhaled again.

“To be honest, the line was an accident. But when you drew, it felt… right. The only thing that was right with my body, and I hated it. So I ignored for a while, but… well I call it the ‘ick’. It’s like an itch that I can’t scratch and it gets worse with intrusive thoughts. Anyways, it came back not long after though, and I decided to draw on my skin to see it would help since it did when you drew. It did, and you continued to add on, and it just felt right for once.” You rambled, Wukong holding onto your every word.

He smiled down at you, finishing the last details of his staff before turning towards you, reaching his hand out.

“Well, if it felt so right, what’s wrong about it?” He inquired. You looked at him, and grinned. You accepted his hand, and he pulled you into a tight hug. You melted against his warmth. You guessed dealing with it now wasn’t so bad…

[lillotte17]

I keep waffling back and forth about what I think actually went down at the end of the last episode.

I know without a doubt that there is more layers to this than what we’ve been shown. It is incredibly suspicious that we don’t actually see the talk between Aziraphale and the Metatron, and we only have Aziraphale’s word about what was said between them. That, and my little author brain hears the line, “Does anyone choose death?” and automatically wants to paint it red and underline it three times.

Something Happened.

But I can’t decide if I feel like Aziraphale was tricked, or that Aziraphale was threatened.

(under a cut bc omg this got long, oops)

On the one hand, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time Aziraphale has been duped. He is especially susceptible to it when someone praises him and makes him feel important. He craves affirmation and purpose, and he is used to looking to Heaven to fulfill those needs, even if they never really met any of his hopes or expectations. If there was going to be a ploy that got him back into Heaven, “you can fix everything forever and bring your SO, too” seems like the exact sort of deal to pull him in.

Evidence in support of being tricked:

-Aziraphale’s genuineness, especially when he starts edging towards desperation. That “I need you!” was tinged with real panic.

-He is (usually) not a very good liar, he typically only gets away with it with angels who happen to be even more guileless than he is.

-I am certain that getting Crowley reinstated as an angel so they could be together was literally his dearest wish at one point. Whether or not it still is might be debatable.

-The fight follows the same pattern that all of their fights seem to. One or both of them storms off, and then Aziraphale pouts until Crowley misses him enough to come back and they patch things up. Only this time there isn't the opportunity for reconciliation.

-The fact that he does seem waffle for a few moments at the end when the Metatron comes back into the bookstore and asks if there is anything he needs to take with him. He’s clearly staring out the window at Crowley and grasps at the excuse of not wanting to leave his bookshop unattended, more like someone who feels like he might actually have a choice in these proceedings than someone who just had to push away the person they love to keep them safe.

On the other hand, the idea that Aziraphale would just blithely run back to Heaven and believe that they would want to give him a big bag of candy, the love of his life, and a huge promotion when they literally tried to execute him a few short years ago feels like a stretch, even for his usual level of gullibility. He absolutely still believes that Heaven is better than Hell, and he misses being a ‘certified’ angel with assignments to ‘do good,’ but thinking that he would trust Heaven and the Metatron so implicitly on such short notice with no real proof of their good intentions seems almost insulting to both his intelligence and his character growth from season 1. It would make much more sense (to me), if he pushed Crowley away intentionally, knowing that if Crowley thought that one or both of them was in some sort of danger, he would fight it tooth and nail, and quite possibly get erased from existence in the process.

Evidence in support of being threatened:

-He clearly did NOT want to go to the coffee shop with the Metatron, nor did he seem particularly excited about the alleged offer afterwards until he got back into the bookshop and started talking to Crowley. He was visibly uncomfortable in the Metatron’s presence the entire time, which is a little strange for someone who genuinely believes that the Metatron has just offered him his heart’s deepest desires.

-The alleged deal on offer is just TOO perfect. It’s exactly the sort of thing pre-armeggedidn’t Aziraphale probably daydreamed about in the bathtub surrounded by rose-scented candles. Exactly the sort of “too good to pass up” deal he would make up to tell Crowley why he was leaving, because it sounds exactly like what he’s always told him that he wanted.

-The fight was flawless. He didn’t JUST tell Crowley that he decided to take a position with Heaven again. He lumped Crowley in with the rest of Hell as ‘the bad guys.’ He insinuated that in order for them to be together, Crowley would have to become both an angel AND his subordinate. He refused to engage with any counter-argument Crowley offered. The bitter-sounding 'I forgive you,' after the kiss. This wasn’t just tripping over an unknown stumbling block in their relationship, this was falling down a flight of stairs face-first and hitting absolutely every step on the way down. Everything was framed in the worst way possible. And personally, I cannot reconcile the idea that Aziraphale, who has known Crowley since before time itself began, would somehow believe that Crowley would not only agree to this deal, but think that he might actually be excited about it. Crowley's resentment of Heaven is one of his strongest and loudest opinions. There is no way that Aziraphale doesn't know this about him. Every phase of their conversation almost feels designed to wound.

-Aziraphale is not only unsurprised by Crowley’s confession, but he doesn’t even seem especially pleased to hear it. This season, Aziraphale has made several less-than-subtle implications that he is operating under the assumption that he and Crowley are already an item, even if they haven’t actually put an official name to anything. He immediately corrects Crowley in episode 1, saying that the fragile peace they created belongs to both of them, it’s an existence they are sharing and enjoying together. Similarly, he insists that the Bentley and the bookshop belong to both of them, even if they each only own one on paper. The amount of casual touching has gone through the roof. When he asks Crowley to dance and drags him to the dance floor, giggling the whole way, that is not the demeanor of an angel pining after someone he hopes will return his affections, that is an angel who already knows that his feelings are reciprocated, and is absolutely giddy at the idea that they have an excuse to do something romantic like dancing at a ball. I cannot believe that the same angel who gasped and grabbed onto Crowley like a lifeline as he watched Gabriel and Beelzebub get the sort of happy ending he's always hoped for, would hear the love of his life offer to be an 'us', and answer with anything less than enthusiasm, or at least an admonishment that they are already an 'us'. Instead, he sort of just...dances around it. Turns it back towards the idea of returning to Heaven without even acknowledging the fact that the person he loves more or less just asked to spend eternity together. I know they both have bad habits of talking over each other and not really listening when they think they know what's best, but that is...quite a significant dodge. How do you skim over something you've been waiting to hear for at least the last hundred years, if not longer?

-I have seen the claims that Aziraphale looks like he is about to say 'I love you,' before changing it to 'I forgive you,' but the moment that always catches me is right after Crowley turns away. He does this shaky sharp inhale of breath and his mouth moves in what seems to either be, 'no' or 'don't', but he reels it back in. He swallows it down, and looks completely miserable about it. And just...why? Why not call after him? Why not chase him to the door? Sure, he's stubborn, and he has his pride, but the love of his life is leaving, and if Aziraphale really wants Crowley to go with him, if he really believes that going to Heaven would make both of them happy and safe...why not push harder for it? Why not break out the 'I love you's and the 'I want you to be safe', or even the 'I want to see you as happy now as you were before you fell', if that's what he really thinks being an angel would do for Crowley? Yes, I know, 'Communication Problems', but a lot of those walls come crashing down when you really think you're going to lose something. That's why panicked OTP confessions when one half of the pair is grievously injured is a Thing.

-The elevator smile. Everyone has their theories, of course, but my favorite was summarized with "it is a lovely day in Heaven and you are a horrible goose angel." That is the face of an angel who is heartbroken and FURIOUS, and has every intention of making it absolutely everyone else's problem. He doesn't look happy, but he does look satisfied. 'It worked. Crowley got away. He got away.'

~~

I know it seems like I have a lot more arguments for the latter than the former, but it's one of those maddening situations where like...I know which one it would be if I was the one writing it, but sometimes the curtains really are just blue. And sometimes people who know each other well, and love each other with their whole hearts, are still stupid about things and fight and say things they don't mean. Sometimes people take the bait. Sometimes people get tricked. Sometimes they lose what they love the most while trying their best to hold onto it. Either theory makes sense. Either premise could lead to a satisfying and happy ending when machinations are revealed later. I trust that Mr. Gaiman knows what he's about. Hence the waffling.

[zoubissoux]

party favours

summary: your best friend robin is in a bit of a pickle, and who else to help her out is there, but you? did she forget to mention eddie munson?

word count: 2.6k

warnings: mentions of drugs, drug use, FLUFFFFFFFF

“seriously, robin. if i wanted to be arrested for drug possession, i could think of a million other ways to do it.”

“really? you?”

you closed the lid on your flute, sitting snug as a bug in a rug within its case. “really. me.”

robin scoffed as she threw her trumpet with little care into its case, shutting its locks with a click. “for some unknown reason,” she eyeballed, looking you up and down, “you make that very hard to believe. besides, you’d really be doing me a favour here. you owe me, remember?”

“remind me?”

“last month when you skipped band practice to go to the mall? i had to tell mrs. blancher you came down with the craziest case of diahorrea?”

your fellow bandmates were slowly filing out of the music room, the blanket of chatter slowly leaving with them. hoping to escape this ploy you were very obviously being dragged into, you threw a handle of your backpack over your shoulder and grabbed your instrument off your chair. “you sure that was a favour?”

hurriedly grabbing her things and following close on your heels into the hallway, robin was growing desperate. “okay, okay, okay. i know it might not have been the best excuse, but i did it out of the goodness of my own heart! doesn’t that count for something?”

“okay, whatever. why can’t you just go get it yourself? i don’t understand why i have to go for you.”

“because i just so happen to have a shift at the video store with steve and won’t have time to do much else before the party.”

you rolled your eyes.

“pretty please? please, please, please do this eensie weensie little thing for me?” robin clutched her hand’s together so tightly that her knuckles were almost white, eyes scrunched closed in prayer.

despite not being friends for a very long time, you had to admit that your soft spot for robin ran pretty deep, as much as you liked to hide it. “alright! okay,” you sighed in admission. “i’ll go see munson.”

lunch was a sort of organised chaos - one that you never really had to think about beyond getting your food and walking to your usual table near the windows. if you really focused and examined your peers’ seating arrangements, you might be able to find some sort of hierarchy, but admittedly you were more interested in the food in front of you.

robin came into your field of consciousness with the grace of a baby deer, slamming her lunch tray onto the clear space of table next to you and making herself comfortable on the bench seat. “ah, how we meet again!” she laughed, nudging your shoulder.

“very funny, rob.” you laughed in response, nudging her back. “study period got you on the ritz again?”

“you know it. but something else has been nagging me even more, believe it or not.” she sighed into her meatloaf before downing a heaped spoonful. oh no, you think, i was hoping she forgot about that.

“i have.. almost this sixth sense.. that you’re avoiding the the task i so graciously handed off to you yesterday.” she raised her spoon at you, eyes reduced to slits. “am i right?”

you shrugged, quietly picking at the mystery meat in front of you. “i haven’t forgotten, don’t worry. just.. waiting for the right time.”

as if thinking the same thing, you both turn your heads to peer at the table a few from your own.

eddie munson was quite the character. ever since you started at hawkins’ high as a freshman and first seen him in the flesh, you had held a sort of fascination with him. you’ve always preferred keeping your head down and keeping to yourself, it’s always been easier to handle the lack of drama when you’d always been sort of… forgettable. the main character in a filler episode type of personality. but this boy never seemed to care what others thought of him - the mischevious smile that never failed to reach his eyes, that playful glint in his eye; it was enough to piss people off, but you found yourself a little jealous of his reckless abandon. your memory of him doesn’t pale in comparison to how he appears in front of you now, it only created a clearer picture.

although you couldn’t exactly tell what he and his friends were talking about, you could still hear the echoes of his voice travel across the cafeteria and see his arms wildly gesticulating something to the boys sitting around him. if you hadn’t known any better, from this angle he looked a bit like an excited kid (albeit, a kid two years older than you).

as if he could feel your gaze on him, he whipped his head around to look in your direction. he caught you staring long enough to throw you a questioning look. you continued to blankly stare at him before being ripped out of your reverie by a painful pinch from your neighbour. “eks-nay on the staring-ay, doofus.”

you quickly realised that you were basically staring all googly-eyed at eddie munson and were caught in the act by none other than the aforementioned party. “fuck. FUCK.” your hand flew to your brow to shield yourself from his view as you began to closely examine your meatloaf.

robin sounded exasperated, joining in on your stealth mission. “you better hope he doesn’t charge extra after that stunt you just pulled.”

“surely not? besides, its not like he’ll remember who i am.” you sneak a peek back at his table through your fingers to see if he was still looking your way. huh. “okay, coast is clear. he’s gone.” it seemed a bit strange that he had just disappeared, but you decided not to question it and count your blessings.

“i swear to god, it feels like the universe is throwing obstacle after obstacle at me in the revelation that i might have some fun tonight.” you let out a breathy laugh at robin’s epiphany, resting your head on her shoulder.

“god, you’re telling me. i never knew this would stress me out so much. i haven’t even asked munson to meet yet!” you let out another giggle, too slow to realise that your friend had gone stiff.

“what do you mean you haven’t asked munson to meet yet?” you lifted your head to meet robin’s raised eyebrow.

“well, i mean- i was going to do it later.. like at last period, or something? isn’t that how it works?” something tells you that no matter what you said here was the wrong answer.

“y/n…” robin shook her head. “at least give him some notice! i bet ten dollars we will not be his only customers today and his services will be in high demand. you have to ask him now. like as soon as possible.”

you found yourself at a loss for words. just as you were about retort back at robin for not giving you any sort of direction, an unfamiliar voice answered for you.

“ask me what?”

eddie was standing right behind you and robin. dear god.

robin was the first to turn around with a sheepish grin. “heeey, munson.. we were just talking about you.”

you gulped, hoping that the floor would just swallow you whole and you wouldn’t have to sit through this interaction any longer.

“yeah i figured. saw your friend checking me out all the way from my table,” he smirked, turning his attention toward you.

his indignance seemed to awaken a little fire within you, causing you to sit up straight and look at him dead in the eye. “i… was not.”

eddie let a small chuckle escape his lips. somehow your feigned confidence served as an invitation for him to make himself comfortable on the bench seat next you. turning his body toward you, he rested his chin in his hand and grinned maniacally at you. “so, what did you want to ask me?”

seeing the infamous troublemaker up close was a lot more pleasing to the eye than you originally thought. you didn’t exactly have the luxury of time to inspect his every feature, but you knew that roguish sparkle in his eye belonged to him. besides, his cocky act was enough to piss you off a little bit. “for weed, munson.” you decided to mimic his smile, resting your own chin in your hand. “were you hoping for something else?”

“honestly? yeah,” he moved closer, testing your resolve. your faces were nothing but a breath away from each other; it took everything in you not to shuffle backwards into the safety of robin. “but i can be patient.” his brown eyes flittled between your eyes and your lips so quickly you could have imagined it. he suddenly stood up and stepped away from the table to take a bow. “i shall be seeing you at the park bench in the woods at 4pm, m’lady.”

“oh.. okay.” you both sat there watching eddie, dumbfounded. it was as if what just happened was a hallucination - he shot you a wink over his shoulder as he left the cafeteria and disappeared into the hallway.

you turned to robin to get some look of reprieve, only to be met with a gaze that said i told you so. “could’ve been worse, right?”

there was a notable chill in the air; the leaves were yellow, orange and red and while some of them held on for dear life, most of their fellow leaves created a colourful palette on the forest floor.

counting the leaves one by one was the only thing holding you together right now. all that was running through your head - or rather, that you were trying to distract yourself from thinking about - was how you embarrassed yourself so collosally at lunch. what were you thinking? what was that whole thing? eddie is kinda weird.. isn’t he? well, it explains a lot of what you’ve heard and seen thus far.

oh man, who cares anyway? you think to yourself. it’s not i’m ever going to speak to him again. it’s not like he’ll remember me beyond whatever happened today.

you stretched your jumper sleeves over your hands and scrunched the material up in your palm, obscuring any lingering cold breeze that dared to slip through.

yeah, it’s fine. i’m so fine. i’m just going to do the deal, head to the party and forget any of this ever happened.

“hey-“

so enrapped in your own thoughts, you didn’t expect to hear a voice coming from behind you, sending you flying up from your seat with a yell.

“woah, sorry. didn’t mean to scare you.” eddie stepped back with his hands up, one still being occupied holding a small metal box.

you took a second to gather yourself before sitting back down. “it’s fine. sorry about that.” you were trying to push out the thought that you have just embarrassed yourself for the second (or was it third?) time in front of this guy and you weren’t sure if you could handle another stint of this.

the table seemed like an awfully interesting subject of focus instead of the drug dealer who was now circling back to sit across from you. from the corner of your eye, you could see eddie trying to hold back a grin, his lips pursed into a thin line. just my fucking luck. ugh.

“so-“

“well-“

you lifted your head to look up at him to find a familiar pair of brown eyes looking straight back at you. you couldn’t help but mirror the grin eddie projected, and before you knew it, you both burst into laughter.

“god, sorry! i’m a bit of a nervous mess, aren’t i?” you giggle sheepishly, scratching the back of your ear.

“understatement of the year,” eddie chuckled, playing with the latch on the little box. “we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. just say the word.”

the wall you created around yourself softened to clay at his comforting words. maybe he wasn’t so scary after all? or is that just what he wanted you to think?

“thanks, but i’m good.” you nodded to yourself. “how much does thirty dollars get me?”

“maybe enough for a small family of 4?” eddie answered back in disbelief. “didn’t peg you as the type.” he raised his eyebrows at his container, leisurely collecting the goods together.

you almost corrected him, but your curiousity got the best of you. “the type to what?”

“oh i don’t know,” he threw his hands up. “the type to buy a pound of weed out of the blue?”

“thought this was a ‘no questions asked’ kind of transaction?” you raised your brow, causing eddie to bite down his lip bashfully and continue to carefully scoop the leaves into a little bag for you. “but you’re right, munson. it’s not for me - it’s for robin and her other friends.”

“oh yeah?” he pressed the bag shut along the suction closure at the top. “big party tonight?”

“you haven’t heard? it’s at patrick’s house on cornwall.” eddie looked at you blankly. “patrick mckinney? on the basketball team?”

“ah, that explains it.” you and eddie exchange packages; three ten dollar bills for a medium sized ziploc bag filled with little balls of green. “you haven’t heard? those assholes are allergic to freaks. not that i care to get to know the monkey living in their empty skulls.” he looks down at the money in his hands for a beat, before shuffling it back into the box.

“well… i wouldn’t say you’re a freak.” you squeezed your lips together. as best as you tried to keep to yourself, it was definitely hard to ignore the bullying that went on. it wasn’t fair to the hellfire club to keep taking all the ignorant insults thrown their way. over a board game? and music? are you serious? you couldn’t believe people were so dense.

“really?” you had piqued eddie’s interest. maybe that moment in the cafeteria earlier wasn’t a one off occurence. “what would you call me?”

you looked at eddie. really looked at him. from his wild curly hair, brown eyes shimmering with curiousity, mischevious grin, all the way down to the chunky rings he adorned - he looked nothing like a freak. he was cute, you’d admit it to yourself, but never to him. “i would call you… interesting.”

“hm!” he smiled widely, nodding to himself. “well, you might be the only one who thinks so. thanks.”

without even touching them to check, you could tell your ears were burning bright red. “anytime, munson.”

sitting across from each other just smiling had you both fidgeting with nothing after a few minutes. “well, i guess i should be going.”

“oh. yeah. sure,” eddie seemed to be caught up in his own thoughts until you started getting up. following your lead, he awkwardly waited for you to gather your things before he joined you on the walk back down to the parking lot.

“is this not a violation of customer policy or something?” you joked, hiding a grin.

eddie looked over at you, metal box jingling in his arms as he walked beside you. “maybe,” he shrugged. “gotta say, our hr department sucks.”

you giggled, covering your mouth as you did. “i kinda wish you were coming tonight.”

“really?”

you have no idea where this sudden rush of confidence came from; it was a total 180 from earlier today. explaining this stir in your chest after such a brief interaction was bound to sound ridiculous once it left your mouth, so you decided against it. “really.”

eddie did little to hide the grin spreading across his face. “maybe i could make a quick stop on the way home.” he looked over at you, brown pools of hope clouding his eyes. “do you need a ride?”

[velvetcloxds]

MUTUAL ATTRACTION| S.B.

Pairing: Sirius Black x Plus Size Fem!Reader

Word count: 2800 words.

Warnings: Bullying, negative body image, negative comments about body, mentions overweight/plus size reader being bullied, degrading nickname for reader

Summary: Reader doesn't believe that Sirius Black truly likes her, thinking that his interest in her is part of some joke to embarrass her for being a plus sized girl. Sirius finds out why she feels this way and attempts to convince her otherwise.

A/N: This is completely self-indulgent, so feel free to scroll past it if it's not for you. Mxx.

“Shove off, Sirius,” Y/n mumbles, the words meeting the ears of a rather confused Sirius Black as he treads out of the classroom behind her. He scoffs lightly as he falls into step next to her.

“Why are you always so mean to me, love?” He muses with a light tone, lightly brushing her shoulder with his own. “Truly, if you continue on like this, I may just think that you don’t like me and give up,” He notes, earning a side glare from her as the pair slip past some first years rushing towards the class they just exited.

“How close are we to that happening?” She questions quickly, pausing briefly at a pileup by the stairs. “Just a general timeframe for the sake of my sanity?”

“I think I could hold out a bit longer,” He confirms, and she shakes her head with a soft sigh.

“You’re that committed to this ploy?” She asks him softly, the crowd starting to move again as a professor guides students into the right directions.

“What ploy?” Sirius asks, brow raised as he stares down at the girl.

“This ploy,” Y/n explains, gripping her books in her one arm as she gestures between her and Sirius. “Convincing me that the great Hogwarts player has somehow decided to court me,” She further explains, rolling her eyes at the boy who holds a confused stare. “I’ve been at this school for six years, Sirius. I’ve outlived all of the pranks, all of the bullying and all of the weight jokes, even this one specifically. And though, to be honest, you’ve held up much longer than the other bastards at this school, it still won’t work.”

“There seems to be a rather large miscommunication happening here, love,” Sirius defends, just barely catching a glance of Y/n’s glare before she starts walking away. ‘I’m not trying to prank you, Y/n. There is no ploy,” He announces as he starts following her. She scoffs. “I like you, is that honestly so hard to believe?” He questions carefully, a hand delicately gripping her elbow to keep her from stepping into her next class. She extends a shy glance at the gentle gesture before carefully pulling away.

“Yes,” She notes plainly, not even sparing Sirius the briefest look before disappearing into the steady stream of students heading to potions.

Sirius lingered for a mere moment before walking to the Gryffindor common room in a haze, shutting the door behind him in a rush as he waited to be acknowledged by James and Remus, currently studying for their DADA quiz.

“She doesn’t like me,” Sirius announces as he falls onto his bed, his friends looking up from their work as he does.

“Who?” James questions, shoving his textbook to the side at the newfound excuse from studying.

“Y/n,” Sirius clarifies and lifts his head to look at his dark-haired friend. “I don’t get it, I’ve been a complete gentleman,” He notes and both James and Remus scoff playfully, locking eyes to share a knowing look. “What was that?” He asks, lifting himself to lean back against his headboard. “What was that look?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Remus answers, also sliding his textbook close, folding his arms over his chest.

“I think what Remus means to say, is that you are the furthest thing from a gentleman poor Y/n will find,” James offers with a sly smirk and Remus looks down to hide a small smirk tugging at his lips as well.

“I’m offended,” Sirius muses with furrowed brows. “Utterly scarred by your insinuation,” He adds with mock hurt and shakes his head when the boys laugh in reply. “Besides, it’s not my adventures with the girls that worries her, I think it’s my adventures with you bunch that’s making her question me.”

“I don’t blame her.” Remus says as he refocuses his attention on his books. “We aren’t exactly the posterchildren for antibullying.”

“Why does that matter?” James asks before Sirius could and Remus sighs, lifting his gaze once again to explain.

“You’ve been practically stalking this girl for a month now and you’re telling me you haven’t noticed how she steers clear of Lucius Malfoy and his friends,” Remus shakes his head. “He has been bothering her for years.”

“That bastard,” Sirius mumbles and drags a hand through his hair. “Why?”

“Well take your pick, she’s a Hufflepuff and a muggleborn and as of lately, he’s been enjoying pointing out that she’s a plus size girl in a sea of smaller girls.” Remus explains which earns a slow nod from James who is now realizing how obvious Y/n’s misfortune has been.

“Wait, you’ve noticed this too?” Sirius asks with a pointed glare at James. “Why haven’t anyone said something to me?”

“Hey, it’s not our fault you’re this oblivious.” James points out and Remus nods slightly.

“Well, bloody hell, I don’t blame her either,” Sirius sighs softly, sinking back onto the bed again. “She probably thinks that I’m just another asshole taking a turn to make her life horrible.”

“Well, do you really like her?” Remus asks to which Sirius nods quickly, hair falling around his head as he moves against the bed. “Then prove her wrong.”

With Remus’ words echoing in his head, Sirius makes his way to the class he left Y/n at, a slight skip in his step due to his newfound knowledge and his plan to not only prove his intentions are pure, but to put an end to her struggle.

“Watch out,” A voice whispers behind him and he pauses, looking back to see his friends stumbling after him.

“What are you doing?” Sirius questions, pulling a hand through his hair as the boys still in front of him.

“Helping,” James explains, patting the raven-haired boy on his shoulder as Remus joins him in leading Sirius on his mission.

Y/n was unaware of the three boys heading towards her current classroom, she was however very much aware of the blonde boy that was in the same class with her at the very moment. Lucius whispered something to the boy at his side, his eyes never leaving hers as a soft laugh echoed from the group surrounding him. He musters a sly smirk as he moves to wave at her slowly. Y/n looks down at her textbook, hand shaking slightly as she adds another ingredient into her cauldron, stepping back just in case an unexpected reaction follows.

“Are you okay?” Lily Evans asks from her side. Y/n tilts her head when she hears the sincere question coming from a girl that may as well be a stranger. She nods slowly.

“I’m fine,” She replies too quickly, Lily stepping closer towards her just as another fit of laughter echoes from Lucius’ side of the classroom, a slight frown tilts into Lily’s lips as she watches the scene unfold, Y/n seeming to grow more anxious as Professor Slughorn announces the end of the class.

“Do you want me to walk out with you?” She asks, settling a hand on Y/n’s shoulder causing her to tense under her touch. Y/n frowns, closing her textbook as she turns to Lily.

“I’m fine,” Y/n repeats her earlier statement, managing a small smile before walking to the door and out of the class in a hurry, her books tightly pressed against her chest as she hears a group of determined footsteps following her, not even noticing the curious gaze of Sirius Black as she passes him in a rush. She pauses for a mere second to consider her route before turning the corner that leads her to the Hufflepuff common room, knowing that even if Lucius does catch up with her, he won’t be able to follow her inside.

“Y/n…” Lucius muses, his mocking tone slicing at her nerves as the hall around her starts to clear, her pace picking up as her heart beats in her throat.

“Where are you going, Piggy.” Another voice chimes in, laughs filling the air as a result of the comment. Y/n tightens her grip on her books and takes in a shaky breath, considering hiding in a cupboard or classroom, trying her luck in finding the room of requirements, but a sharp hand pulling her back empties her head of plans and thoughts, panic shivering though her body as her books drop to the ground in a loud thud.

“He asked you a question,” Lucius notes as he breathes into her neck, pulling her hands behind her back to keep her from running. “Answer him,” Lucius demands, not needing to raise his voice, the closeness of his body against hers fulfilling his flare for fear.

“To the common room,” Y/n admits, voice controlled as she looks at the ground, slightly struggling against his hold.

“Trying to skip out on our daily meetings?” One of his friends ask and Lucius smiles against her ear.

“Pity,” Is all he says as he loosens his grip, throwing her to the ground next to her books where she shuffles back towards the wall, desperately looking around for an escape, the boys making sure to surround her in a way that she couldn’t identify a single one. Lucius removes his wand from his robe, smiling as he points it directly as her, eyes dark as he considers which spell to begin with.

“Step away from her,” A voice commands and Y/n’s eyes shoot up, meeting the beautiful pair of brown ones first before she carefully rakes her gaze over the other two boys standing next to him, wands in their hands. “Now!” Sirius adds coldly the sharp shout filling the entire atmosphere. Y/n flinches at the guttural laugh dripping from Lucius lips. He looks from the girl on the floor to the boys in front of him and grins.

“How sweet,” He notes, bending down slowly where he reaches forward and settles a strong hold on Y/n’s chin, forcing her to keep still as his fingers pinch into her skin. “Defending her honour,” He laughs again. “You’re a few years too late, Black.”

“I know,” Sirius admits, voice forced as he tries to control himself. “But you’re done,” He steps forwards, paying no mind to Lucius’ friends turning to point their wands at him instead. “You’re done hurting her and scaring her, you’re done trying to dim that light,” He pauses briefly as he stills but inches from Lucius’ face, his eyes meeting with Y/n’s for a second as he shakes his head at the soft tears that roll down her cheeks before looking at Lucius. “I will not leave her side, not for a second.”

“But if he does, she’ll have us,” Remus declares from behind him and James nods in agreement. “And Lily and Peter and Marlene and every other person that we know will have her back.” He adds and steps closer to Y/n as well, James moving with him as they shove past Lucius’ friends and still next to Sirius.

“Get her,” James instructs, and Lucius moves aside, grinning still as he mockingly lifts his hands in surrender, his friends doing the same. Sirius wastes no time as he moves towards her, hands carefully latching onto her shoulders as he gently guides her to her feet, removing one hand to gather her books. Y/n avoids the boy’s gaze, numbly wiping at her cheeks to remove evidence of briefly cascading tears as she stumbles slightly.

“Go,” Sirius demands calmly, hands sliding down to the small of Y/n’s back as he faces Lucius, his cold tone earning a surprised reaction from everyone. “And spread the word too, Y/n is under the protection of the marauders, if you cross her, you cross us,” He notes simply, Lucius’ friends nodding quickly before collecting themselves and scurrying away. Only Lucius pauses as he extends another sly smile towards the girl in question.

“Very well,” He comments lightly and shrugs. “I’ll see you around, little Piggy,” He offers with a wink before walking away, Y/n’s hands nimbly grabbing hold of Sirius’ arm to keep him from going after him.

“Are you okay?” Remus questions when he meets the girl’s gaze, she nods slowly in reply.

“You guys didn’t have to do that,” She notes, reluctantly stepping away from Sirius and taking her books from his hold. She shakes her head. “I appreciate it, I truly do. But all you’ve done is shift his attention and tactics to you,” She explains and the boys nod, small smiles tugging at their lips as they look at Sirius who hasn’t removes his gaze from her for even a second.

“We know,” James confirms and shrugs. “But you’re important to him, which makes you important to us,” The dark-haired boy states plainly before tapping Remus’ shoulder, silently inviting him to leave.

“Thank you,” Y/n almost whispers, loud enough for the boys to hear though as they leave her and Sirius with kind smiles and gentle shrugs.

“I didn’t know,” Sirius informs her not missing a beat. “I’m an idiot for not noticing, but I swear I didn’t know.”

“I know,” She sighs, shyly looking down to her feet as his gaze intensifies on her face. “I also know that you’re not like Lucius Malfoy, despite your questionable activities with those friends of yours.”

“I wish I could’ve put a stop to it sooner,”

“It wasn’t your place to do so,” She notes and then shakes her head when she realizes how forward it sounded. “I meant that I could’ve done it myself. I know the spells and to be honest if that didn’t work, I could have just sat on the boy,” She jokes lightly, expecting Sirius to smile only to be met with a rather misplaced frown.

“You thought you deserved it?” He asks after a lingering second and she nods. “It that why you refuse to believe that I truly like you?” She nods again, slower this time, eyes back on the floor as an embarrassed tint of rose meets her cheeks.

“I don’t like myself very much, Sirius Black and I’d be damned if I tried to pretend that anyone could like any part of me when I can’t even do so myself,” She moves her hands to fiddle with the corners of her books. “There’s a lot not to like, is all, and I mean that literally,” She gestures to her body. “There’s a lot,” Sirius scoffs, tilting his heads as he looks down at the girl in front of him, quite unused to this level of honestly.

“You are a phenomenal girl, Y/n,” He notes honestly and moves a hand to her arm, fingers sliding down over her robe to intertwine with hers. “I can’t possibly explain to you what I see when I look at you, but you clearly need some enlightenment," He smiles softly. "I see the dimple on your right cheek when you laugh at Dumbledore’s comments, I see those worn-out band shirts that you wear when you’re studying in the library after everyone has left, I see that little twinkle in your eyes when someone asks you for help with their work, I see how excited you get when they have croissants at breakfast and I see how fragile you look when you’re staring up at the candles in the dining hall alone. I see you, more than you see yourself maybe, but I have yet to see a single thing that hasn’t made me completely and utterly mad about you, Y/n.” Sirius' voice is almost a whisper, his adoring tone causing a bashful smile to sink into the girl’s lips as he waits for her eyes to meet his.

“You like me,” She notes softly, more to herself than to him as she looks down to where his thumb is moving rhythmically across her hand, the movement causing shivers to tickle through her body.

“I like you,” Sirius clarifies, other hand lifting to the crook of her neck, delicately shifting the hair away from his fingers to caress her skin, keeping her in place so she doesn’t look away again. “And I’ll like you enough for the both of us for now, but I will not let another day pass without reminding you just how relentlessly extraordinary I find your very existence,” She smiles, nodding almost mindlessly as she steps forward, not quite ready to kiss the boy just yet, but yearning for the softest touch as leans into him, her books against his chest as his hands remain where there are, only shifting to be sure she’s comfortable against him. She smiles into his shirt, allowing the sweet sensation to consume her when he places a delicate kiss to the top of her head.

“I like you too, Sirius Black,” She announces carefully, tugging numbly on the hand that is folded around hers. “I like you too.”

Hi there, more of my work can be found on Wattpad under @mjoubertt. Mxx.

Masterlist 

[writethelifeyouwant]

Always With The Scissors

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader / Dean Winchester x Reader / Sam x Dean Rating: 18+ Tags: sloppy seconds, voyeurism, angst, objectification of women, slut shaming, dirty talk, cum play, pining!Dean Word Count: 2.9k  Created for: @spnkinkbingo​ - Objectification | @negans-lucille-tblr​ - Man Crush Monday: Sam and Dean / Two for Tuesdays: Smangst / Sinful Sunday: Sloppy Seconds  A/N: Super big congratulations of 7,000 followers!! You deserve every single one and many many more ❤️

Dean has a very specific kink. He knows it makes him sound a little creepy... okay, a lot creepy – okay, he is actually a full-on creep – but he never cums harder than he does when he's inside a girl his little brother's just fucked. And it’s not that his brother has awesome taste in girls and Dean is just jealous and wants in on the fun too. It’s not even that he has a big kink for sloppy seconds. It had never appealed to him before they started playing this sick sort of game they’ve been playing since Sam decided he was over Jess enough to start sleeping around again (he knew Sam was nowhere near ready for another relationship).

Dean remembers eyeing up a petite little thing at the bar once and then noticing Sam checking her out not too long after. Ever the gracious big brother, and not creepily concerned with Sam’s sex life, Dean figured he’d bow out and let Sam take the swing at this one — but then Sam caught Dean looking at her too, and tried to back down to let Dean have at it. Dean couldn’t have that. So he suggested the ploy that got them where they are now, they play Rock Paper Scissors for the chance to shoot their shot; Dean always loses Rock Paper Scissors.

The part of the night they hadn’t anticipated was the girl they’d been ogling spotting them playing a game for the chance to fuck her, and suggesting that they don’t need to choose, they can just take turns. That had been the game changer.

Listening to Sam fuck her stupid through the wall of the motel room is seriously hot, and Dean has to fight to keep his hand out of his pants the whole time he sits waiting, hearing Sam grunt out filth that he never imagined he’d hear from his little brother’s mouth. And when Sam lopes back through the adjoining door between their rooms with sex ruffled hair and a smirk, with a quick aside of ‘She’s all yours’ before he ducks into the bathroom for a shower, Dean swears he feels his knees go weak.

Quick as he can, he makes his way into the ‘sex room’ as he decided to call it in his head, and found the girl laying in the centre of the bed, legs draped open, playing with the cum leaking out of her pussy. Dean has to grab himself through his jeans, scared he’ll come on the spot if he doesn’t cut himself off.

“You gonna fuck me or what, big boy?” The girl leers at him, and Dean strips down like he’s being timed and slots himself between her thighs and pushes home in one go. He finishes embarrassingly quickly, with Sam’s cum sloshing around his dick and leaking into his mouth where the girl had painted it on like lip gloss. He devours every drop.

Dean catches Sam’s eye from across the bar and nods towards the girl he’s picked out as a target. It’s a college bar, so Sam does the approach, seeing as he's the one who looks like he could still fit in here. Dean drops himself in a chair and watches Sam work, proudly — he’s the one who taught the kind everything he knows after all. He watches as Sam charms her easily, gets her a drink, asks if she wants to come sit down and motions to the table Dean’s sitting at.

“Dean, this is Y/N,” Sam introduces her, smoothly pulling out a chair for her and pushing it back to the table — a true gentleman. “Y/N, this is my brother, Dean.”

“Hey there,” Y/N smiles at him easily, and Dean can tell they’ve picked someone up for a good time.

“Hey yourself, sweetheart,” Dean gives her a wink and leans in closer. “So, Sammy tell you how we’re hoping this night’s gonna go?”

“He did,” Y/N nods and shoots a smirk at Sam, who reciprocates, and Dean feels his guts churning. “Said the back seat of your car was real comfy too,” she grins mischievously.

“Sam even puts a blanket down most of the time, real class act,” Dean laughs, gulping down more of his drink.

“Wow,” Y/N is sarcastically amazed, “you fellas know how to treat a lady right,” she sounds bitter but Dean can tell she’s joking. She wouldn’t have followed Sam over here in the first place if she wasn’t.

“We try our best,” Sam grins at her charmingly, and Dean can see Y/N melt a little looking at his baby bro’s eyes — he can’t blame her.

Several drinks later, Y/N starts getting handsy with both of them, and Sam suggests they think about moving their little party of three outside. They show Y/N out to the car, Dean opens the back door with a flourish and she slides gracefully inside, glancing back out with a hungry look in her eyes. “So, who’s joining me?” she flutters her lashes seductively, like we need any convincing, Dean thinks to himself.

“Sammy,” Dean grunts, making a ‘come here’ motion with his hands and then holding one out flat and the other on top in a fist in preparation. Sam sidles over to Dean, gait smug, like he already knows he’s gonna win and get first crack at Y/N — which of course he is, because that’s how Dean likes it. He holds up his hands in a mirror of Dean’s, and eyes not leaving each others’ they both beat their fists against their palms. 1, 2, 3.

“Ooh,” Sam hisses in mock sympathy when they look down and see Sam’s ‘rock’ beats Dean’s ‘scissors’. “Always with the scissors, Dean,” Sam gives him a condescending pat on the shoulder, like he doesn’t know what Dean’s doing, and maybe he doesn’t, Dean thinks. Maybe Sam truly doesn’t realise how fucked up I am.

Dean turns to head back into the bar as Sam slides himself into the backseat next to Y/N, but he stops in his tracks when she calls out the window — “Sure you don’t wanna watch, handsome?” Dean freezes, the possibility of actually getting to see Sam fuck this girl, not just imagine it, is more intoxicating than the drinks he’s downed tonight. To actually see Sam, stripped and vulnerable, losing himself inside some cunt… Dean had never even considered that as a possibility before, but now that the thought is in his mind he needs it, craves it. He spins on his heel, looking back at Sam, inwardly praying that his little brother will be gracious enough to grant him this one thing.

“I don’t mind,” Sam smirks, eyes darting back to Y/N and raking down her body. “If she wants you to watch her get used like a little fucktoy, she can have that.” Dean is back by the car in a heartbeat. Sam pulls the back door shut as Y/N climbs on his lap and starts kissing him, while Dean checks around furtively and slides into the front.

Y/N moans start to fill the small space of the car’s interior as she grinds enthusiastically down onto Sam. Dean watches Sam run his hands down her back and up under the hem of her skirt.  He wishes Sam would take her skirt off so he could see Sam’s hands on her ass, see his  fingers tearing into the lace panties that Dean had gotten a glimpse of when she slid into the backseat earlier on. They pull apart and Y/N pushes Sam’s shirt up and over his head, messing up his hair, before she runs her fingers through it and holds on tight, earning a pleased groan from Sam. Dean catalogues that knowledge for later use – not that he thinks he’ll be in a position to test it out on Sam, but it will be a nice detail to add to his tragic imaginary Sam, the one that knows how sick he is and doesn’t care.

Sam’s hands sneak up the back of Y/N’s top and Dean watches as he removes her bra with practiced ease, and he nods to himself – respect. Sam must be feeling her up now because his arms have disappeared to her front and she’s letting out some pretty little whimpers and arching into his chest. Y/N pulls her top off, then reaches for Sam’s jeans, undoing the belt, button and zip quick as she can. Sam pushes her off him and she sprawls to the side, facing Dean now, and her eyes seek him out.

Her chest is heaving, her breasts shuddering with each rise and fall of her chest, and Dean spends a moment taking in her body, appreciating the curves, before he notices her hands have snuck beneath her skirt and she’s clearly touching herself while she watches him. Dean flushes, reaching down to adjust himself in his jeans. “Enjoying the show?” she winks at him, and Dean nods wordlessly.

“Get back over here, and let’s give him a real show,” Sam grabs Y/N and drags her back onto his lap, still facing Dean. She straddles him and rubs herself over his crotch. Sam snakes his arms around her waist and pulls up the front of her skirt, so Dean can see Sam’s cock thrusting between her thighs, against the glistening satin and lace panties she’s wearing. Dean feels his dick leap in his jeans, and he reaches down to adjust himself again before he decides to just give in and let down his zip, pushing his hand inside his boxers to fist himself out of the material. “Wanna see me fuck her?” Sam grunts, eyes flicking up to catch Dean staring at their grinding hips.

Dean feels his cock leak across his fingers at Sam’s words. “Fuck yes,” he groans, stroking himself harder. “Fucking give it to ‘er Sammy.”

“Want me to give it to you sweetheart?” Sam breathes against Y/N’s neck, tucking her hair tenderly behind her ear and nipping at her earlobe. She squeezes her eyes shut and whimpers, Sam’s way with words clearly affecting her. “Gonna be a good little slut and take my cock? Let me use you up and then hand you over to my brother to finish you off?”

“Fuck, Sam please, please, just use me,” she pulls her panties to the side and tries to get Sam to slip inside her but she can’t quite find the angle, and she whines, desperate and frustrated.

“Wow, for someone who just wants to be a set of holes you sure are needy,” Sam growls and gets his cock in the right place and pulls her down his shaft slowly. “Thought you told me inside you’d let me do whatever I want to you, and you wouldn’t put up a fuss?”

“Just fucking fuck me already, please Sam,” Y/N is begging, grinding down onto Sam’s cock like a whore.  

Sam finally stops teasing her and follows through on his promise to use her. One of his hands comes up to wrap around her throat while he uses his other arm to keep her body pressed close against his, and he punches his hips into her hard, without abandon. Dean nearly chokes every time he catches a glimpse of Sam’s cock, bare and shiny with her slick, before he pushes back into her. It’s better than he could have imagined, watching Sam actually rail into a pussy instead of just hearing it through some flimsy drywall. It’s much easier to picture what Sam would look like fucking into him now that he’s seeing this.

“She feel good Sammy?” Dean is horrified to hear how strained his voice is when he speaks. He sounds like a goddamn girl with how fucking breathy he is.

“Uh huh,” Sam fucks into her quicker, like Dean’s question has spurred him on. “So wet, can feel her soaking into my thighs,” he moans. Dean refuses to let out the whimper that’s trying to escape his throat. “Gonna be even wetter for you,” Sam continues, leering up at Dean through his lashes, chin looped over Y/N’s shoulder. “She’s gonna be all messy when I’m done with her. But you like ‘em like that dontcha? Like ‘em strung out and used up?”

“Fuck,” Dean does almost whimper.

“Oh god,” Y/N whines, dropping her hips down in earnest against every one of Sam’s thrusts, and she snakes a hand down her front to start rubbing over her clit.

“Oh you wanna cum, do you? Think you earned that yet?” Sam bites against Y/N’s neck and bats her hand away from her core. “I think you’re gonna have to do a bit more before you get to cum. Gotta let me cum in you first, huh? Then you’re gonna be a good little cocksleeve for my big brother to get off in, and then, maybe, if you’ve been a good girl, we’ll make you cum.”

“Fucking hell,” she moans heavily, dropping her head back onto Sam’s shoulder. “C’mon then fuck me, want your cum inside me, please,” she whines, voice piercing in the small space.

“Yeah, that’s what Dean wants too,” Sam smirks, but he’s not looking at Dean now, he’s got his eyes closed tight and his head buried against Y/N’s shoulder. Dean thanks fuck for that, because when he heard Sam say that he knows Dean wants him to cum inside Y/N, Dean thought he was going to die of embarrasment. Obviously he wanted that, and in the back of his mind he knew Sam must know that he likes fucking the girls second, but they’d never talked about it. What did Sam think about the fact that Dean got off on fucking his little brother’s cum back into whatever warm body they’d picked out that day? He must be okay with it because they keep doing it.

Dean’s existential crisis is cut short when he hears the tell tale gasp and cut off whine that means Sam is cumming, and he looks up just in time to catch the  pure fucking bliss on his little brother’s face. His eyes flick down to where Sam and Y/N are joined and he watches, mesmerised, as Sam pulls out, his cock laced with the white of his release.

“Open your mouth, bitch,” Sam grunts, and shoves Y/N off his lap and onto her hands and knees so she can suck the cum back off his cock. Dean’s breath catches in his throat, desperately hoping she doesn’t swallow.

When she pulls off of Sam with a wet sound her mouth stays open and Dean can see the cum slipping from her lips. He reaches over the seat impulsively and grabs her hair, yanking her towards him and slamming their mouths together. Dean sucks her tongue into his mouth like he wants to bite it off, and he can’t keep in the moan that bubbles up from his chest when he tastes the bitter edge of Sam’s spunk on his tongue.

“C’mere,” Dean grunts against Y/N’s lips, dragging her over the top of the seat. It’s not graceful, it’s not attractive or sexy, it’s born of the intense desperation Dean has to feel something hot and wet around his dick, and when he pushes into Y/N’s cunt he knows he’s not going to win any records for stamina tonight. She’s tight, but it’s an easy fuck because she’s so so wet. Dean can feel Sam’s cum squeezing out of her every time he fucks in, pushing the creamy liquid out around his dick and grinding it into his jeans. They’re going to be ruined but he doesn’t give a fuck because this feeling is always worth it.

Y/N’s head is buried in the crook of his neck and Dean’s forehead is smashed into her shoulder as they cling to each other. Dean jumps when he feels hands on his shoulders, because the fingers are facing the wrong way for them to be hers – they’re Sam’s. He leans across Dean to kiss Y/N roughly, then yanks her head back by her hair, holding her out in front of Dean so they can watch her tits bounce while Dean fucks into her mercilessly.

“What d’ya think Dean, do we let her cum?” Y/N whines at the words and Dean can hear Sam smirking. “You’re gonna cum anyways aren’t you, you fucking slut. Gonna squeeze his cock real good for me? That’ll make you a real fuckin’ whore won’t it, going home with two guys’ loads in that pussy, huh?”

Sam’s taunts are cruel and mocking and fucking hot and Dean has never had to listen to Sam’s dirty talk while he was actually fucking something and he can’t handle it. He stills inside Y/N, gasping as he pumps his release inside her, mixes it up with Sam’s. Y/N is shaking around him and Dean thinks she must have cum too but honestly he’s so far gone he can’t even tell.

When Y/N climbs back over the seat to find her clothes, Dean stays put, still trying to catch his breath. He hears Sam open the door and walk her out, back to the bar. He shakes himself from his reverie and rushes to tuck himself back into his boxers. His jeans feel sticky, and they probably are ruined but he still doesn’t care. It was absolutely worth it.

We’re All Mads Here: @vulgar-library​ @tintentrinkerin​ @negans-lucille-tblr​ @fandomfic-galore​ @petitgateau911​ @schaefchenherde​ @kickingitwithkirk​ @little-diable​ @laxe-chester67​ @kassyscarlett @austin-winchester67​

All SPN: @cemini-winchester @akshi8278 @stoneyggirl @deandreamernp @lyarr24 @lovealways-j 

[spirit-small]

The following is a Ratattorney Special Presentation, which I'm choosing to call Phoenix Wright: Ratattorney in "The Tiniest Turnabout (Part I)". It's inspired by and heavily based on @sa-gt-tarrius' The Tiniest Turnabout, which has the distinction of being the first ever piece of Ace Attorney G/t content I consumed that didn't come directly out of my own brain. So to pay tribute to it as well as Sal's own The Ratattiniest Tourneybout, here it is now, the crossover event of the century. If you have not yet read The Tiniest Turnabout, I highly recommend doing that before returning here, it explains the facets of the case in much more depth than I've chosen to, on account of this being written with the assumption of familiarity. It's also just really fun and well made and I highly recommend it in general.

What had started as a desperate ploy to stay out of jail had morphed into a "Fine, Just One More Time To Save The Show" only to now leave Phoenix wanting more. Craving more. Now that he knew it was possible for him to stand in court (well, stand on Maya standing in court) he couldn't wait to sink his teeth into another case. Most borrowers never got to be this close to feeling like a bean, to really do something that mattered, to actually, really make a difference. And now that he'd done it twice, well. It's not like he had any intention of stopping.

Maya, on the other hand, while she reveled in the grift, was definitely concerned that Mr. Edgeworth might be onto her little charade. But, then again, he might not be that bad, right? Like, he did help a little towards the end of the trial, and nobody who could get that heated over a Steel Samurai debate could be an evil man. Unless they were a magistrate, she supposes.

Still, she did find a certain thrill to it all. And they made a great team. So, she figured the best course of action was to ride this wave as far as they can go. It was kind of hilarious to her just how easy it was to impersonate a lawyer, which, according to Phoenix, is actually a felony. But can you really go to jail if you do something for the bit? She thinks she could talk old baldy down if she used the classic quirky girl defense.

The best way to avoid arousing suspicion is, of course, owning it. The city and the airwaves are plastered with her face. “When You’re Arrested, What Do You Fey? I Want Maya-ttorney!” is her slogan. Very clever, in her opinion. Nick disagrees, but what does a borrower know about marketing?

They had recently taken the case of one Lily Putian, and it was time for Maya’s favorite part of every case - investigating the crime scene. Especially since in this case, it was somewhere she’d probably never get to see otherwise. The laboratory of Dr. Mike Roscope was typically off-limits to the public, and if there’s one thing Phoenix and Maya love, it’s snooping around where they don’t belong.

“Huh. So Dr. Roscope was a microbiologist?” Phoenix reads the case file as Maya flips through it, barely skimming it.

“Guess he woulda been real interested in you, huh, Nick?” Maya laughs and pokes him a little.

“Oh, come on, I’m not that small.” Phoenix pouts.

“You’re pretty small.” Maya carelessly shoves the files into her bag and looks around the room. “Woah... what do you think all this stuff does?”

“I don’t know, probably just tests and measurements. Maybe one of these makes coffee?”

“Oh, come on, Nick, have some imagination!” Maya bounces over to a mysterious machine. “I’m gonna guess this one is... a portal! To like, the moon. Maybe Jupiter.”

“Maya.”

“Nick.”

“That’s a fax machine.”

“...oh.”

“We have one in the office.”

“Why? When was the last time anybody used one? When you were my age like a hundred years ago?”

“Mia said she didn’t like online.”

“Hrmph.” Maya crouches down and points at another machine, pressing a button on top and seeing it activate, now roaming around the floor. “This one’s gotta be like... an advanced military drone! A weapon to surpass metal gear! I bet if I press the other buttons it’ll pop out like huge missiles and bombs! Maybe it plants land mines as it moves around!”

“That’s a roomba. And this is a crime scene, I really don’t think you should’ve turned that on!”

“It’ll be fiiiiiiine.” Maya stands back up and stretches, placing Phoenix down on the desk next to the outline of the victim. “Here, you investigate all this stuff and I’ll go play with more of these funky machines!”

“Be careful, please? You don’t know what this stuff might do.”

“I thought you said it was all boring stuff?” Maya raises an eyebrow.

“It is, but you could start a fire, or a gas leak or something, and I don’t want you destroying all of my potential evidence.” Phoenix walks around the desk, reading the papers strewn about haphazardly. “Geez, this place is a mess...”

Warning: maximum energy capacity reached

“Uh... Nick?” Maya backs away from a now-loudly beeping machine.

“What did you do?”

Exceeding max energy capacity. Current level: 101%. Please discharge.

“Nothing! I... I don’t think?”

“Well undo it!”

“How?!”

Current level: 105%. Discharging excess energy. 3… 2…

A flash of light. And Maya’s nowhere to be seen. Phoenix gasps and rushes toward where she once stood, climbing over stacks of books and important-looking documents, finally finding himself with just a gap of a few feet between him and the machine. He looks around it, looking for any sign of what may have happened, a label, or anything. But all he sees when he looks down...

Is an unconscious, borrower-sized Maya.

Phoenix quickly finds a cable running from the desk to the floor that he can rappel down and rushes toward her.

“Wake up... come on, Maya, wake up...” He shakes her. “Oh no, this is all my fault- Maya, please! Wake up!!”

“Mmmmmrnn... Nnnickk...?” Maya’s eyes open, only for a moment, before closing again. Phoenix helps her up, half-dragging half-walking, when suddenly... he hears it. Footsteps in the distance. Nobody but them should be this close to the lab, which means it can only be... no. Not now. He should be thankful, he supposes, for his extra sensitive borrower hearing. It’s better he gets the advance warning than... not.

“Come on, Maya, we gotta hurry, we don’t have much time.” Phoenix rushes her out of the exposed walking area and under a shelving unit tucked away in the corner. It’s full of scrap metal and various electrical components, not much that should be of interest to anyone investigating, he should hope. After all, he didn’t give this area a second look, so why should...

Edgeworth. Why is he here? Didn’t he get enough earlier? Phoenix lays Maya down in the corner and moves to the edge of the shelf to watch Edgeworth. He investigates for a few minutes, and Phoenix can’t take his eyes off of him. He’s considering just... running out there and asking for his help. They were friends once, right? He helped him. He could do it again. And clearly, Maya needs help. Phoenix doesn’t know what happened, whatever that machine did to her... she’ll probably need a bean’s help to undo it.

But... then again... He’s not the same person he was when Phoenix knew him. Something changed him in the last 15 years, and the ruthless demon prosecutor is probably the last person a borrower should go to for help. And sure, maybe a big part of why he’s continuing this whole lawyer thing is to find out what it was and maybe even help him, possibly even reconnect with him... but is this the time?

“Nnnnn... Nick? Wh... where am I?! Why are you so bi-” Before he can even decide, Maya regains consciousness. Phoenix rushes over to her, covering her mouth with his hand and shushing her, pointing at the impeccably-tailored but terrifyingly-large shoe of Miles Edgeworth, oh so conveniently walking right in front of their hiding place. He gives her a stern look and she gives him back one of a mix of fear and confusion.

Once he’s out of what they hope to be earshot, Phoenix and Maya both let out a breath they didn’t even realize they were holding.

“What the hell happened to me.” It’s a statement, not a question. “What. The hell. Happened to me?!” Maya whispers. She wants to yell so, so badly but the fear of a towering prosecutor has left her without release.

“I-I don’t know! Just... stay here. I’m gonna go...” Phoenix clenches his fists, takes a deep breath and lets it out. “...talk to Edgeworth. See if he can help.”

“No.” Maya grabs Phoenix’s arm and holds it tight. “No! You can’t!”

“Rrgh- Maya! Let me do this! I can't help you, but... but maybe he can. This is a bean problem, caused by some sort of mean bean machine, and... the only other people that could help are all still suspects to me. What if I hand you over to a killer by mistake? You think they wouldn't take the chance to dispose of the only one who could actually convict them? Edgeworth has access to the machine, and at least hasn't killed anyone.”

"That you know of!"

"I'm sure of it. Edgeworth's not a killer. I'll believe that til the day I die."

“Which might be today if you go out there!” Maya looks up at him, tears forming in her eyes. “It’s my job to hide you from him, and I’m gonna keep doing that, even if we’re the same size now!”

Phoenix looks at her, then out toward Edgeworth, and back at her. He sighs and sits down next to her. “Alright. Alright. We’ll figure something out... we’ll find another way through this.”

[sondepoch]

No Time Left | Xiao x Reader

Xiao + "Lie to me, then."

Xiao closes his eyes, hating how even now, you stroke his knuckles with the pads of your thumbs, hating more that he'll one day never be able to feel this sensation again.

MASTERLIST

Request a character or a ship and I’ll write an angsty drabble ^^

It’s always been like this.

You, running forward at full speed. Him, desperately chasing behind, watching as you push on further and further away. 

“You’re joking,” he whispers because that’s what this has to be, right? Some sick, twisted joke that can’t be real because if it is—if it is real, then—

If it is real, then Xiao doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, cradling his hands in yours. “But we have time. Baizhu said that I still have two months to live, and I’ll only start to grow weak in the final days. There’s still so much time for us to spend together, so—”

“So much time?” Xiao lets out a broken laugh, turning his eyes towards the midnight sky as if asking Celestia above why this had to happen to him, why this has to happen to you. “For every second you’ve breathed, I’ve lived a hundred years. Two months is nothing,” he spits. “There’s no time left.”

You keep quiet at that.

Xiao closes his eyes, hating how even now, you stroke his knuckles with the pads of your thumbs, knowing that he prefers this physical intimacy to any spoken words. He hates that he, a mighty adeptus, can be read so easily by a human. Hates how he knows he'll miss this same sensation when you’ve been handed to the God of Death in two months.

“I can bring you to Cloud Retainer,” Xiao says, pulling you closer to him. “He has cures that will make you immortal, so—”

“I don’t want that,” you whisper. “I don’t want to cheat death.”

No, of course you don’t. Because ever since Xiao met you, you’ve always refused that kind of assistance, too busy being a stubborn adventurer that declines all help from the magical spirits of Teyvat. You’re the kind of fool who likes to ignore preferential treatment, who purposefully evaded Xiao on your travels so you could experience the real world without the strength of a thousand spears by your side—a brilliant ploy until you ended up backed against a cliffside by enemies, pushed to the brink of death until his golden eyes caught sight of your figure falling to the ground where even then, you refused to whisper his name.

Xiao opens his eyes, and there’s nothing but pain in the twin ambers as they stare at you with longing.

He was fine with you evading him in the past, comfortable with you sprinting away because he knew that eventually, somehow, somewhere, he would find you. There would always be a way to catch up with that godly speed of his, and there was nowhere he couldn’t find you.

But now, you’re going to go to a place he can’t follow.

“Please,” he mumbles, pressing his forehead to yours. “Don’t be stubborn about this. Your pride is nowhere near as important as your life.”

“But my humanity is,” you respond, and when you speak to Xiao in such a voice, strong and confident and determined all in one, the adeptus finds it hard to believe that you’re carrying an illness best known for stealing its host’s strength. “And we promised. When we began this—whatever this is—you promised me that you wouldn’t ask me to give up my humanity to survive. It—it was a contract, Xiao. You can’t go back on that.”

“A contract?” The adeptus laughs a broken laugh, much too bitter and wholly unsweet. “The God of Contracts is dead. My master’s will has no bearing here.”

A long pause.

“He left me, just like you plan to.”

You say nothing.

Your grip is robust as you hold Xiao’s hand, the bones beneath retaining their strength of structure, but now that the adeptus senses the elemental flow within you, he can sense how it moves at a more languid pace. 

The disease is far progressed, he realizes abruptly, suddenly struck with the realization that the two months you proclaimed to have was a gross overestimate. There truly is no time left.

“I love you, Xiao.” You lift a hand to his cheek, and it’s unfair how you stare into his eyes with a gaze so expressive that it seems to capture the whole world within it: Xiao’s whole world, all of it orbiting around the life-filled pupil shining black in the center. “But you deserved to know. Soon, I’ll be gone, and you’ll have to start thinking about—”

“About what?” the man counters, beginning to feel defensive. “I refuse to busy myself with unneeded thoughts while you still walk this land.”

“No, Xiao.” Your lips are pursed and your eyebrows are scrunching up the way they always do when you get frustrated with him, when you’ve made up your mind and you’ve just begun to set on changing his. “You can’t pretend I’m not going to die. It’s—it’s part of life, part of me being human, and I’m not going to let you live a lie in my final months—”

“Why not?” Xiao wants his face to flare with anger, but the way your entire expression abruptly softens tells him that he’s doing a poor job of conveying it. Damn the bloody tears that have begun to stream down his face—and curse them for daring to do so when he’s given them no permission. 

“Listen, I know you aren’t used to death, but—”

“I am used to death,” Xiao snarls, but it makes him look like more of a wounded dog rather than the illuminated beast he is. “Every single person I’ve ever cared about has died on me, but never have they chosen to—”

“I’m not choosing!” you blurt in response, and now you’ve finally begun to look properly angry. “I’m—I’m a human, Xiao, and I belong to a human world. I know you love me, but I won’t be me if I let you give me an adeptal cure.”

And that’s the awful truth of it, isn’t it?

Xiao fell in love with someone he knew would leave him. It would have been too kind if he fell for another immortal, or even a human who could be tempted to obtain the same longevity Xiao has; of course, something in him made him fall in love with you, one of the only humans in the world who was destined to die.

“Please,” he whimpers. Pathetic isn’t it? A distinguished adeptus, slayer of thousands of demons, begging at the feet of a human. “Please let me take you to a healer. You can live. We can live. I just—I just want—”

“I can’t.” Your kiss is featherlight against Xiao’s forehead. “I don’t want to be immortal, Xiao, and—”

“You don’t have to be immortal,” he croaks. “Just not mortal. Just live long enough for me to love you some more. I just want to—”

“No, Xiao. I want to die a human. Deep down inside, I think you want that, too.”

“No!” It’s the first time he’s raising his voice at you, but he can’t calm himself down now. “I want you to be alive! That’s what I want!”

And then Xiao sobs. It’s the ugliest sound he’s ever heard, raw and primal and nowhere near as devastating as the pain he feels in his heart, but you don’t move, simply holding him close until he’s just barely trembling with the aftershocks of his misery.

“We have time, Xiao. We still have time to be happy together.”

“There’s no time,” he responds. “No time unless you take a cure.”

“A magic cure?”

“An adeptal cure.”

“I won’t.”

“Please.”

“I can’t, Xiao.”

“Please.”

“I’ve given you my answer. There’s nothing else to say.”

“Lie to me, then.”

And wouldn’t that be so sweet? For him to get to believe, even for a short second, that you might not slip from his fingers?

A troubled look crosses your face, worried and hesitant and pained all at once—and then Xiao can’t help but wonder if this would even be the first lie because you’ve certainly known about this illness for a long time. His mind races back to when you finally stopped avoiding him, calling his name for the first time and claiming a change of mind that had brought you to want to get to know the adeptus who spent so long chasing you whenever you crossed paths, an exchange that took place right on the brink of Liyue’s border, just outside that awful snake-bearing doctor’s hut where he—

Xiao banishes the thought from his mind.

“I won’t lie,” you say, brushing his hair back. “You love me because I don’t lie to you.”

It’s a true statement, but Xiao can’t decide right now if he hates that or loves that about you. Because for all his affections, the weeks he spent watching over you while you stubbornly declined his help and the months he spent chasing you when you ran from him after and the years he then spent thinking about you at the forefront of his mind, he can’t stop you from dying just like everybody else. 

Pathetic. It’s pathetic. 

When Xiao next looks at you, he understands that you were never the mesmerizing blessing he thought you to be. No, you were nothing but a curse, meant to plague his heart now until the end of time as retribution for everything he’s ever done, everything he will do when this cruel world steals his last sliver of happiness away.

[crsjunkyard]

January Embers (Part 3)

The Sun Also Rises Series (ao3), Momentous Beginnings, A Study In Pink, January Embers (1), (2), (3), (4)

Little fun fact for ya, this chapter get's its name from a Jack Kerouac quote. "I got all my boyhood in vanilla winter waves around the kitchen stove."

Length: 4.5k

Summary: You and Viktor settle in to your new normal, learning what living together has in store.

Chapter 3: Vanilla Winter Waves

Two boxes, everything you had left fit into two boxes.

You were drained, wanting nothing more than to curl into a ball and sleep the evening away. But you couldn't help feeling a little bit of lightness. That small inkling of hope telling you, maybe this would make you stronger, maybe the best was yet to come.

Your ruminations were put to an end by the soft groans of pain coming from Viktor’s direction.

Why now, of all the times, why now. He knew why, of course. This was a day of overexertion in the bitter cold catching up with him. The throbbing spasms were here to remind him of his place, to keep him from getting too comfortable.

Throwing himself into the worn armchair, he prepared to ride out the pain. Sharp breaths coming through his clenched teeth, he looked over to see you hovering close by.

“I will be fine in a moment, I just- it’s always like this during colder times, It will pass,” he winced, sounding unconvincing even to his own ears.

“Let me help,” you insisted, crouching down to eye level beside him.

“Really, it will pass- there is nothing to be done,” the words strained through his locked jaw.

“At least let me try,” you pleaded.

Something about the desperation of your tone caught him off-guard. Viktor usually opted to waive off whomever offered assistance with his leg, unless it was absolutely necessary. He would rather grit his teeth and muster through it. Truly believing he was saving himself and someone else, someone who probably was only offering out of propriety, an awkward amount of physical contact.

But this was you- knelt down and looking at him with those unfairly expressive eyes. You wanted to help, not because convention dictated it, but because you hated to see him suffer.

“What did you have in mind?”

If he expected you to accept his help, it was only fair to open up in return.

You were silent for a moment, plans formulating in your mind of how best to go about things. So pleased that he was willing to accept assistance, you skipped over explanations, instead jumping to a single command.

“Take off your pants.”

“Ex- excuse me?” he stammered, jaw hanging open loosely.

“I need to be able to touch your leg without anything in the way, and it would probably be more comfortable than rolling them up, so… take your pants off,” you insisted, deciding it would be most efficient to breeze past the embarrassment of your request.

Viktor eyed you warily, moving to follow your instruction nonetheless. The clanking of his buckle sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet apartment. You waited patiently for him to shimmy the pants halfway down before moving forward to peel them off.

You found yourself appreciating the bareness of his legs. They were pale, and long, and lean, and- you should really stop staring because it was a very inappropriate time to do so. Still you couldn’t help but notice his thighs were thicker than you’d expected, sinewy corded muscle, pleasantly smattered with dark hair.

“I’m starting to wonder- if this was merely a ploy to divest me of my pants?” his grin was strained, but had a playfully boyish edge that sent your heart fluttering.

“Sorry, I was just- thinking about where to start,” you feigned.

“Don’t let me stop you,” his palms opened in invitation.

Moving forward, you rubbed your hands together vigorously to warm them before beginning at a tentative pace. You tried to recall the attachment points for the tendons in the area, taking extra care to begin lightly before increasing pressure. You soon found a comfortable rhythm, recalling the information with ease as your confidence grew.

He recognized what you were doing, having studied enough anatomy and musculature therapeutics to identify a familiar pattern in your movements.

“Where did you learn this?”

“Oh, well y’know- we’ve been studying biomechanics, this isn’t really much different,” you replied distractedly, tongue peeking between your lips in focus.

“Yes it is, you’re demonstrating an in depth knowledge of the musculature and connective tissue that make up the lower limb, we studied nothing of the sort.”

“I did a little extra reading-” you trailed off, more preoccupied with making your way further down the joint of his knee.

“A little extra reading?” he pressed curiously, watching you tenderly knead the tension from his calf.

Viktor loved your hands, they were warm and strong and so sure. He’d catch himself lingering on them a bit too long, whenever you were gesticulating wildly or scribbling down notes. They were so capable and- well they were quite big, but he found he rather liked that about them too.

“I noticed you seemed to be having a bit more trouble, and I wanted to do something,” you moved down to gently roll out the soreness of his ankle. “So I went to the community library, but they weren’t very helpful,” your face wrinkled in annoyance.

“No, they wouldn't have what you’re looking for. You’d have to go to-.”

“The academy library,” you finished his sentence.

“Then I assume you know what my next question will be,” he looked at you expectantly.

“You’re wondering how I got access to the academy library?” Viktor confirmed your answer with a nod.

“I ran into Professor Heimerdinger outside the community library, he noticed I was- well I probably looked a little pissed off, but we got to talking and I mentioned what I’d been looking for,” your strong grip moved to the top of his foot, massaging out the overworked ligaments.

“He said there were some books in his office I could borrow, so we walked there and chatted a bit and I borrowed a few books, they were very informative,” you finished recounting the story, now pressing along the arch of his foot with measured upstrokes.

Finding a particularly tight knot, you circled forcefully with the pads of your thumbs until you heard a satisfying pop. In his gobsmacked state, Viktor was not prepared for the sharp jolt of pleasure, and let out an unrestrained groan.

“I was not aware you and the Professor knew each other,” he was shocked, to say the least.

He and Jayce had intentionally kept you out of the conversation whenever checking in with Heimerdinger. Not really knowing if they were permitted to be teaching you, and knowing for certain it was against protocol to have you in an active and dangerous lab such as theirs.

“He’s a regular at the bakery, comes in a few times a week to buy a dozen cardamom buns.”

“Oh,” was all he could muster in response, still reeling.

“Is that a problem?” you asked, brow raised in challenge.

“No, no- I apologize, you simply took me by surprise,” he insisted. “I suppose it makes sense now- I recognized your technique from a book the Professor had given me, I’d forgotten how well it actually works.”

Viktor's leg was feeling better than it had all season, much of the throbbing pain mellowed to it’s normal stiffness, giving him some blessed relief.

Something about what he’d said didn’t sit right with you. He was just going to sit there and ride it out, how much pain did he tolerate simply out of habit?

“Just because you can endure something doesn’t mean you should. I would be happy to do this every night if you’d let me, you deserve to be comfortable.”

A sharp pang ached within his chest, and Viktor had no doubt you meant every word. He let himself imagine, only for a moment- Coming home from a long day and, instead of sitting through the waves of pain, you were there- with your strong grip and sweet smiles.

“It’s always been like this, there’s always been something wrong with it, for as long as I can remember,” he wasn’t sure why, but he wanted you to know.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, you’re just different.”

You finished massaging, but didn’t stop touching him. Gently smoothing up and down the bare skin with outstretched fingers. Starting at the ankle and making your way to his knee before dropping back down and continuing the sequence.

“Yes, well this may be one of the few times I wish to be ordinary, but I suppose it can’t be helped,” he gave a wistful shrug, curling in on himself ever so slightly.

You cupped his tender knee with both hands, each thumb caressing gently across the patella, as if it were a treasured possession.

“I wouldn’t want you any other way,” your voice was fierce with conviction and he saw fire in your eyes.

Viktor had never felt more profoundly accepted in all his life.

*******

You had fallen asleep. It was still early in the evening, and the low hanging sun cast a dim golden glow through the window.

Halfway into one of the boxes you’d let out a jaw aching yawn, and Viktor suggested a bit of rest might be helpful before continuing. It didn’t take long until you were snoring softly into his pillow.

Feeling somewhat refreshed after your impromptu massage, Viktor decided to make use of the time. Now that you’d agreed to stay, he really needed to figure some things out. First he would clean, the apartment was due for a good deep cleaning anyways.

He gave up on being quiet after the first hour, realizing nothing short of a funeral procession could wake you. It took longer than he expected, now that you were here to stay he saw every coffee ring, dust bunny, and dirty sock with laser focus.

But it was worth the effort, after all- he wanted you to be comfortable in your new home. It did feel real yet, you weren’t here for the evening, you hadn’t accidentally fallen asleep at his place again. This is our apartment.

He didn’t have many things in the bathroom, but he consolidated them nonetheless, making sure you had ample drawer and counterspace. Next was the wardrobe- which was admittedly quite full, but he had an idea.

His tiny bedroom was crammed with bookshelves, but inside it was a small closet- half filled with poorly organized odds and ends. It would be yours, he decided, once it was empty of course. This part of his evening took less time than anticipated, and he was lightly sweating but very pleased when he finished clearing things out.

Venturing back to the main room he saw you were still fast asleep, limbs sprawled out oddly but looking peaceful as ever. His attention was drawn to your small collection of possessions, he debated for a moment before deciding to take a glance at what you’d already unpacked.

Viktor saw a small stack of clothing, it all looked light and breezy- he recognized the familiar shade of pink nestled amongst other colors. At least that dress survived.

There were several books, some he recognized- but a few he didn’t. I wonder how many the Professor gave her? A stack of leather-bound journals sat nearby, but he didn’t dare open them, no matter how badly his fingers itched to flip through the handwritten pages.

You had quite a large music collection, but no turntable. It must not have made it through the fire. Hmm- you seemed to enjoy big bands and sultry baritones, good to know.

His final step was to clear a shelf for you in the sitting room, arranging some of your things in what he hoped was a pleasing manner. Viktor couldn’t help the flutter of nerves as he looked around the room, hoping he hadn’t overstepped- hoping you would be happy with his efforts.

*******

You woke up slowly, wiping the drool from your cheek before stretching languidly. It was dark outside, and the comforting smell of Viktor’s sheets made you feel safe and cozy.

Rolling over you saw him in the sitting area, leaned back in the recliner flipping through the pages of a worn book. You recognized it as one of your own, an old novel filled with fantasy and adventure.

Taking stock of the room, that wasn’t the only thing you noticed. It was clean- tidier than you’d ever seen the place actually. Then you began to pick up on little things, there were two coats hanging by the door, a second bedside table adorned the previously empty space on your side of the mattress- your small stack of summer clothes sitting on top, and- oh.

A broad smile lit up your face upon seeing it. The long shelf you remembered being crammed with spare parts and loose pens, now housed your few precious items, proudly displaying them to the rest of the room.

You were touched to see he hadn’t moved anything that wasn’t already unpacked, though you wouldn’t have minded either way. It made you more secure in your decision to stay, he really wanted you here- and was willing to make the effort to prove so.

“Enjoying the book?” you called out, Viktor gave a startled jolt at your voice.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t wake until morning,” he said, shutting the pages.

You moved to the sitting area, settling down on the soft rug with a blanket wrapped around you.

“Thank you,” you looked around the room, a happy little grin lifting your cheeks. “For making space for me.”

“Of course, it was no trouble,” he was feeling a bit bashful under your attention. “There is one more thing, if you’ll follow me…” he stood from the chair, leading you to the small adjoining room.

“I cleared this out for you, I know it isn’t much- but I wanted you to have a space of your own,” he gestured to the empty closet.

When words failed, you instead pulled him into a tight hug, swallowing around the lump in your throat. He returned your embrace, feeling warm and off-balance.

You went off towards the kitchen, Viktor trailing behind- watching as you opened the icebox, scanning it’s contents. Then you proceeded to open every single cupboard, taking inventory of his sparse kitchen supplies. Getting this kitchen into shape is going to take a bit of work.

Viktor yawned sleepily, and you were reminded of the most pressing issue at hand, the one you’d both been dancing around- the bed. Sure you had already shared it a handful of times, but those were different circumstances.

“Would you like-”

“What do you think-”

You both spoke at the same time, words tumbling over each other.

“Go ahead,” you insisted, wanting to hear what he had to say.

“I will take the couch, and perhaps sometime this week I can have another bed delivered?” It would be expensive, but he wanted you to have a bed of your own. Well- what he really wanted was to have you in bed next to him every night. But it didn’t feel right, suggesting that you should share- this was a new dynamic and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel pressured.

You scoffed. “Viktor you’re not buying another bed, I can take the couch or…” you bit your lip, nibbling on it thoughtfully. “We could share?”

It was an entirely different thing, he reasoned, if you were to suggest it yourself.

“I would not be opposed to sharing, if you are sure?”

“I like sleeping next to you,” you answered honestly, rewarded by the crooked smile gracing his lips.

Getting ready for bed was strange, an undercurrent of tension ran through the air as you and Viktor moved around each other. It was a lifetime ago that you’d woken up in his arms. You were usually so comfortable with one another, but now everything felt fragile and new.

Sliding into bed after him, you switched off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

It wasn’t a particularly large bed. You both lie on your backs, side by side- a hot line of contact running from shoulder to hip. You couldn’t help but squirm, trying to find a better position. How do we usually sleep? Why can’t I get comfortable?

“Okay,” Viktor huffed, “Perhaps we try this-” he lifted an arm, snaking it around your shoulders- pulling you closer to nestle against his chest.

“Better?” he asked.

“Mmhmm- thanks,” you nestled into the embrace, his arms tightening their hold as the two of you drifted off to sleep.

*******

For once, you’d woken before Viktor.

At some point in the night your positions had switched- and now his gangly limbs wrapped tightly around you, long arms encircling your waist. His head pillowed on your chest, and locks of fluffy auburn hair tickled your throat.

You loved his hair, it was beautiful- thick and glossy and so soft. You especially loved the way it would curl around his ears, giving a messy and unkempt edge to his perfectly polished persona.

Nose buried in the tresses, you inhaled deeply. He smelled of black licorice and sugared lemon, you couldn’t get enough.

“Are you- smelling me?” Viktor’s voice was rough with sleep, and the words curled pleasantly around his thickened accent.

You’d already been caught, so why not embrace it?

“Yes, I like the way you smell,” you said plainly, giving an exaggerated sniff behind his ear.

Feeling his silent laughter reverberating against your side, you couldn’t help but join in- feeling a little ridiculous.

“You are very strange,” he mumbled into your chest.

“I know,” you let out a put-upon sigh. “Sure you want to deal with me every day?”

“Very much so,” he curled further into you, fingers passing over a patch of bare skin on your hip.

“Let’s go back to sleep, it’s still early anyway,” you suggested.

Viktor hummed in agreement, soothed back to sleep by the lazy grazing of your fingers through his hair.

*******

The peace couldn’t last forever, although you did get one blessedly carefree day to lounge around the apartment, getting used to the constant presence of one another.

You had big plans for today- a trip to the market for all the things that desperately needed replacing. You had just gotten a seasonal bonus and were feeling a little reckless.

Viktor had been summoned by Professor Heimerdinger for a progress report on recent hextech developments. Usually Jayce would attend as well, but he had opted to accompany you instead, saying something about needing the quality time.

You were excited to spend the day with Jayce. Sure, your relationship with him was of a different nature than with Viktor, but that didn’t make it any less precious. Jayce was caring and optimistic, and- at times quite hilarious.

Watching Viktor collect his things, you felt a slight twinge. He bid you goodbye with a nervous smile, shutting the door behind him- and you couldn’t help but feel his absence fill the entire apartment. He just left and I already miss him, I’m hopeless.

Waiting for Jayce to arrive, you busied yourself making a list of the things you’d hoped to find today. Some of them necessities, but others you simply wanted to brighten up the apartment.

It didn’t take long for you to realize Viktor was somewhat… utilitarian. You weren’t extravagant by any means- but you knew what you liked, and you knew how to make a comfortable home out of whatever means available. After all, when life got hard where could you feel comfortable if not at home?

He deserved more than the bare necessities, he deserved a place to feel warm and loved, a place he could feel safe in.

A few knocks and a walk later, you and Jayce were strolling along the pier, perusing the various wares.

The foreign imports sector was by far your favorite place in Piltover. A colorful smattering of small carts and storefronts- usually owned by the kindest merchant families. Different smells wafted out into the air, all wrapped together in something spicy and wholly unique to the city.

“So, uh-” Jayce began awkwardly, “How are things going?”

“Things?” you question, teasing him a little.

“Ugh, you know what I mean, things with you and our dear tortured genius.”

“Oh, that-” you were happy, so incredibly happy. How could you not be when you’d woken to Viktor's hot breath fanning between the valley of your breasts.

“I guess that smile on your face is all the answer I need,” he gave your shoulder a playful nudge.

Now that it was on your mind, you couldn’t help wondering what this thing you had with Viktor was. Only knowing for certain that you would protect it at any cost.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted quietly, hoping he would understand.

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret… he doesn’t either.” Jayce wrapped a heavy arm around your shoulder. “And it doesn’t matter anyways, just do what feels right.”

As simple as the words may be, they struck a chord.

“That is- surprisingly helpful,” you thanked with a quirk of your lips.

“Hey, I’m not just a pretty face,” he joked, before excitedly dragging you into an Aurmian chocolate shop.

*******

Viktor was nervous.

It wasn’t meeting Professor Heimerdinger that made him nervous, not exactly. He’d spent many long nights assisting the man with research, and countless days following him around to meetings- fielding overeager students and inquisitive councilors alike.

No, there were other forces at play making his palms clammy with sweat.

For one, he was grappling with the realization that you and the Professor not only knew each other, but were on- what he considered, very friendly terms. The Professor did not bring just anybody back to his office to borrow books. If he knows you, what else does he know?

Another thing, he didn’t customarily lead their hextech presentations. Viktor was always prepared, always had all the right sketches to pull out, or a neatly written stack of notes to refer to. But Jayce was usually so overeager that Viktor let him take the lead, preferring to wait for his partners searching glaces before stepping in with supplemental information.

This would be good for him, the nerves would subside and perhaps next time he would be more outspoken. Hextech was quickly becoming just as revolutionary as he’d imagined, it was time to get over his reservations quickly if he was to keep up.

“Good to see you my boy, come in- come in,” Heimerdinger was cheerful as ever.

“Hello Professor, It’s just me for today, I hope that’s alright?”

“Of course, it’ll be nice to have a chat- just like old times!”

“Eh- yes, where did you want to begin?”

“Ah, straight to business as usual,” he said jovially. “I do have a few proposals from councilors… you know they’re chomping at the bit to get in on the ground floor.”

Viktor rolled his eyes, he didn’t have much respect for at least half of Piltover’s high council, and he was certain an even higher percentage of them had no respect for him.

“Come, let’s take a seat,” leading him to a large workbench resting in front of the warm fireplace. “I trust you have some plans for me as well?”

The next few hours were spent in vigorous analysis, and Viktor forgot entirely why he’d been so nervous in the first place. He’d also forgotten how enjoyable their discussions could be- the yordle had quite a brilliant mind.

Viktor learned a few requests from the councilors meant in depth plans- plans of how he and Jayce were to develop hextech to benefit the prosperity of Piltover. There was much debate on this subject, he was adamant that a balance must be struck. Hextech was a dream to make life better for those who struggled, he wouldn’t see it used as a tool to increase the wealth of elites.

When most affairs were in order and a few compromises had been struck, Viktor felt- confident. He was pleased with what had been accomplished here today, and his first thoughts were of how excited he was to discuss it with you and Jayce.

The further along your studies came the more engaged you were with their research, finally having a foundation of knowledge to base some understanding on. Viktor could admit, he really wasn’t expecting you to advance as quickly as you had, you were becoming quite formidable.

“In all our years together, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that particular look cross your face,” the professor observed, pulling Viktor from his daydream.

“After a meeting like ours there is much to think about,” Viktor began collecting his papers, ready to get home- to get back to you.

“It wouldn’t happen to be a certain young lady on your mind?”

There it was, what he’d been anxiously waiting for all afternoon. He should've known Heimerdinger was probably just waiting for his time to strike, the man had always been one for theatrics.

“Ah- yes, I hadn’t realized the two of you were acquainted, until she mentioned you a few evenings ago,” he tried remain suave in the face of his returning nerves.

“She’s a lovely girl, and quite the talented baker.”

“Yes, she is.”

“And I was beginning to wonder if you would ever take a protegee of your own, it seems you’ve finally found someone suited to you- even if it’s a little unorthodox,” the professor let out a pitchy chuckle. “But I should have expected nothing less from you!”

So he does know, the surprise must have easily read on Viktor’s face.

“Protegee?” his brows pulled together in confusion.

“What else would you call it?”

Viktor disliked the implications of the dynamic. You weren’t his protegee, and he certainly wasn’t your mentor. You were… well, you were his- friend. Jayce is my friend and I don’t wake up wrapped around him in the morning.

“I understand what you may think but it’s not so, eh- formal. She wants to learn so I teach her, Jayce helps as well,” that was as best as he could describe the situation without further confusing himself and the Professor.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d known, that we were teaching her in the lab,” he decided to go ahead and broach the subject, now that they were openly discussing things.

“Oh Viktor, ever since I found you in that clocktower- you’ve been alone. Then suddenly you’re joined at the hip with a charming young lady, you don’t get to my age without noticing a few things.”

“And- you’re alright with this? All of it?” Viktor held his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“If she can keep up with you, my boy, she must be something special,” a knowing twinkle glinted in his wide set eyes.

“You have no idea,” Viktor smiled- it was private and warm, and his former mentor was struck by how the boy’s features softened, making him look achingly young.

Good, he deserves to be happy- and she will certainly keep him on his toes.

“However, I’ve probably let this slide for too long,” Viktor felt he’d been doused with cold water. “If she really wishes to remain alongside you in the lab, something must be worked out.”

“What did you have in mind, Professor?”

*******

Viktor heard you before he saw you, the sounds of your enigmatic laughter combined with Jayce’s loud voice echoed through the apartment's front door.

The two of you were sat at the dining table, surrounded by heavenly smelling bowls of something he didn't quite recognize, and so engrossed in conversation that you hadn’t heard him arrive. He decided to wait a moment- watching and listening.

“Then, right as he’s bent over trying to get the door unlocked,” Jayce’s arms waved around playfully as you watched on in amusement. “Boom there’s Mel, shining her light right at us.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, wondering how they managed to get out of that one.

“And you know what he says?” Jayce pauses dramatically.

“Tell me,” you insisted.

“He says- Wait a minute- this isn’t my room?”

A surprised snort left your lips, and you both began to cackled like hyenas, feeding off each other's laughter.

“It’s not as though you were offering much help in the face of Councilor Medarda,” Viktor interjected, making his presence known.

You looked up to see him standing on the threshold, lips curved into a fond smile.

“You’re home!” leaving your seat at the table, you greeted him with a brief hug. He couldn’t help but notice, you smelled intoxicatingly delicious, like warm spiced vanilla.

“Are you smelling me,” you asked teasingly, in a hushed tone that only he could hear.

“You smell different,” Viktor blurted, before realizing he might have expressed himself incorrectly. “A good different- what I mean to say is, you smell very nice.”

A deep blush crept up from under his collar, your warm vanilla scent making him feel hazy.

“It’s a new perfume, I got it today,” you whispered, looking up at him in a way that was most decidedly indecent.

“Come on, we brought spiced meats back from the market, and I’m dying to hear about how your meeting went,” you ushered him to the table.

He halfheartedly listened to you explain the various dishes on the table- all the while looking at you with something akin to wonder in his eyes.

*******

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Northern Exposure | Something in the Air

❄ Part 1 of the mini-series ❄

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); violence, creepiness on part of our boys, predatory behaviour, Bucky’s an asshole, they’re all too lonely and too desperate, mistaken identity.

This is dark! fic and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Pairings: Sam Wilson x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, A Bad Time x Reader

Series Synopsis: You’re a nature photographer stationed up north but the arctic isolation comes to an unexpected and unpleasant end.

Note: I started this ages ago and finally got the energy to finish, it’s four parts and provided my life doesn’t continue to fuck around I should have em all up in the next days. Also as always, cracking away at all the other fics I’ve hooked you into.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The days were short and the nights long. So far north, time seemed not to exist as you chased the fleeting sun with your lens. Your existence was only demarcated by the fortnightly delivery of supplies left at your door as you were often out pursuing an elusive snow fox or wakeful owl. The world seemed small up here and you felt like the only person left alive.

Perched up on a branch precariously, you teetered as you focused your camera at its end. It was the perfect composition, snow blurred in the background as you focus on the scratching along the bark, the remnants of some owl or smaller critter. An abstract in your series, certainly, but interesting nonetheless. Besides, your editor would be happy enough with the close up you’d captured of a reindeer, its antlers the focal point of the shot.

Content, you climbed down, barely keeping yourself from slipping entirely down the trunk to a crash landing. Back on the ground, your boots sank into the snow, halfway up your calf, and you capped the lens of your camera. You tucked it under your parka and glanced around at the sparse grey trees.

Your eyes flew up as you heard a snap in branches not far from those you stood beneath. You held your breath and listened. It might be another opportunity. The early flight of an owl. You followed the sound, your steps muffled by the snowy carpet below. But that natural silence of the arctic returned and you ended up searching for air. Not a noise.

You sighed and turned back to look at the horizon. It was growing dark and you were best to return to your little cabin before long. It would be a moonless night and without the silver guardian above, it would make a nocturnal trek even harder. As you took a step, it seemed to echo and you stopped again. Your ears perked up and you shifted your hat to hear a bit better. 

There was nothing. You frowned and turned. Only the snow and the trees against the greying sky. You shrugged off your unusual paranoia and carried on. You took the treacherous path back to your remote habitat. It was just you and your cameras; you and the north. An assignment you’d loathed at first but come to cherish. Isolation had a keen way of introducing one’s self to them.

You stepped up onto the small porch, the aluminum roofing and the tarnished and dented siding made it seem like little more than a lost shed. There was a single room inside, a small bed with a woven blanket, a wooden counter with an old basin and a stove top run on gas. The out house was further back, hard to find in a storm, but as long as you counted your steps, you rarely got lost.

You pushed through and turned the wooden latch that held the door shut. You untied your boots on the salt-stained rubber mat and left them there as you hung your damp, cold parka and shed your thick snow pants. You took off your hat and gloves and left them on the small shelf beneath the hook.

You took out a can of chili and dumped it in the small scratched pan. You lit the burner and sat on the single chair built of logs as you waited for it to warm. The wind swept up outside the shuttered windows and you shivered. You went to the small woodstove and twisted the iron handle of the door. You carefully built a fire as the smell of your dinner filled the cabin.

You left the door of the stove open to heat up the place and turned off the burner. You moved the pot onto the counter and took a bowl from the cupboard. A distant clatter sounded from outside. You frowned and kept yourself from grabbing the pot. You sighed as the noise repeated.

Several times before the wind had torn open the outhouse door and slammed it back and forth throughout the night. One time, it had been a curious bear. You hoped for the former as you shoved your feet into your boots and haphazardly pulled on your jacket. In and out. You’d secure the door and be back for your dinner before it got cold.

Outside, the sky had almost darkened entirely. You clicked on the flashlight you kept by the door and shut it behind you. You stomped down into the snow and squinted at the circle of light as you rounded the edge of the house. You neared the outhouse and sighed as you found it locked up tight. It couldn’t have been your imagination; you’d heard something.

You huffed and turned back. You swept the flashlight back and forth as you searched for a creature sneaking around or whatever item the wind had tried to carry away. There was nothing. You followed your footprints back to the house and climbed up the steps. 

The door was open and you noticed the much larger puddled footprint on the porch too late. The fire had been snuffed and the single lantern was dead. Your wrist was grabbed as you tried to angle the flashlight around the room and you were drawn inside and pinned against the door. 

A cold barrel pressed to your chin and your eyes widened. Your arm was twisted up until the flashlight blinded you and lit the unfamiliar face before you. You blinked and shook your head helplessly.

“Quite the hiding spot,” The deep voice added to the icy nip of the air.

“What--”

“Don’t try to act dumb. It might’ve worked with Wilson but not me.” He snarled and you released the flashlight as you tried to wriggle free. “Stop!”

The light fell to the floor and bounced as he wrenched your arm up and pushed the gun harder under your chin.

“I have orders to take you alive… if I can,” he sneered, “doesn’t mean I will.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you grunted as he had you on tip toes against the wall, the flash light rolled on the floor and sent shadows around the room, “I’m not… I’m not whoever you think I am.”

“Save it, Ursa,” he hissed and pulled you away from the wall, gun still taut to your skin, “0r should I say Astur.”

“No, no, it’s not me,” you pleaded, confused as he turned you away from him and angled you towards the bed, the muzzle now pressed to the back of your head. “I’m just a photographer. You’ll see. Look through my stuff. It’s just cameras and photos. It’s--”

“Shut up,” he pushed on the back of your knees with his, “on your stomach.”

You got down, barely able to see and unwilling to resist with a bullet waiting behind you. He pushed you into the mattress until you were still. He pulled back the gun and planted his knee on your back as he held you down. He holstered his firearm then pulled your arm back behind you and then the other. He used a zip tie to secure your hands there before he did the same to your ankles.

He carefully stepped back and you turned your head to watch his shadow. He didn’t bother with the flashlight as he closed the door. Then he turned and kicked the light so it cracked and the bulb died. He sat in the chair, it groaned dangerously under him.

You could see little of him as all light was gone but for the sudden glow of a screen before him. You only saw the glint of his blue eyes before he put it against his cheek. You turned onto your side and he growled.

“Don’t even think of moving,” he warned. “Hey,” he spoke into the speaker. “I just sent the coordinates. Target secured.” He listened, “by morning?”

He pulled the phone away and dimmed the screen. You could only hear the wind as he sat there and you sensed his unwavering gaze in the dark. With your jacket undone and your boots untied, you felt the draft that blew through the cabin walls. You shivered and he let out a thick breath. A snarl almost.

“I really don’t know what’s going on,” you said.

“Shut up,” he snapped.

“I mean it. You have to look. Look around, you’ll see,” you pleaded.

He snorted and didn’t move. You rolled your eyes helplessly and another chill ran through you.

“Please--”

“I already looked. When you were out climbing trees,” he intoned. “I saw the photos. Very thorough reconnaissance.”

“What? Pictures of birds and snowflakes?” You uttered. 

“You’re good. That whole innocent ploy is convincing,” you heard his boot drag over the wooden floor, “almost.”

You deflated, your wrists chafed and your teeth chattered.

“You gonna wait all night… for whoever that was?”

“I’m tired of telling you to shut up.”

“You leave me like this, I’ll freeze to death. You too.”

“I won’t,” he said, “you might.”

“You said you had orders.”

“Circumstantial,” he countered.

You exhaled deeply and bent your legs as you tried to curl into yourself. He tutted and stood, the floor creaked. The stove door whined and you heard the iron poker against the kindling. He mumbled as he relit the fire and stirred it until the biggest log caught. He rose and set aside the poker and resumed his seat. 

The fire’s amber haze limned his figure in the dark. His broad shoulders were wider than the back of the chair, his long hair poked out from beneath a wool cap, and his hand formed a tight fist on the arm. He leaned his head back and sniffed.

“There,” he said sharply, “nice and cozy.”

You wiggled on the bed, trying to get comfortable. You pulled on your wrists and ankles and only caused your hands and feet to throb. You grunted and relented, resigning yourself to lay listless atop the thin mattress.

“You’re wasting your time--”

“I’m about to shove your sock in your mouth so I suggest you shut the fuck up,” he barked.

You gulped and closed your eyes in surrender. Well, maybe his friends would realise his mistake. Or maybe they’d just add to your predicament.

❄

You didn’t really sleep, you languished. The man didn’t either. You could tell. He just watched. Frighteningly patient as the night critters made a ruckus outside. He barely even moved as you fidgeted, your shoulders sore and your legs cramping. 

Then there was a sudden change that even you felt. A heavy pair of boots climbed up onto the porch and the handle jiggled, the door stopped by the wooden latch. The man rose and crossed to the door. You heard the subtle brush of fabric and metal as he pulled out his gun. He pulled open the door slowly, at the ready, the slightly lesser dark seeping in.

“Sooner than I thought,” the man greeted his comrade. Your heart froze as another set of footfalls followed. A third man entered behind the second.

“Jesus, why are you sitting here in the dark?” The third man asked, “there a light or something?”

“She’s on the bed.” The first man grumbled. “Only a rifle hidden under there. I already disarmed it.”

The sudden electric glow of the lantern bloomed to life. Your eyes slowly adjusted as you stared at the three men. There were all big, all broad-shouldered, all stood like soldiers as they communed around the only chair. The third, the one who’d clicked the lantern on, neared you.

“She’s putting on a front, but--” the first man began and the third one raised his hand to silence him as he knelt by the bed.

He had a kind face, his brown eyes were warm, and the finely trimmed goatee lent him a sense of lightheartedness. His expression however was hard and turned to confusion then disappointment as he held the lantern close and grabbed your chin, turning your head back and forth.

“Not her,” he released you and stood, “fucking Christ, Bucky. It’s not fucking her.”

The second man snorted, “really?”

“It’s gotta be--” the first insisted, “the gun--”

“For hunting,” you said dully, “not that I do much of that. I use it to scare away the wolves.”

“Shut up.” He snarled and crossed his arms as he turned his back to you, “you’re sure?”

“I wouldn’t forget the woman who nearly slit my throat. Twice.” The other said, “and really? A single rifle? You think that’s all she’d have?”

“She has photos too. The bunker, due north. She’s got dozens.” The first insisted.

“Bunker?” You whispered.

“I’m not going to tell you to shut it again,” the man turned as he raised a hand and the blond, the one who hadn’t said much at all, caught his wrist.

“Hey,” the other man warned, “she’s innocent. She probably has no idea what she was taking pictures of.”

“Yeah, but now she knows our faces. No doubt recognizes you, pretty boy,”tThe third offered, “and idiot here assaulted her and tied her up.”

“All the way up here? Who’s she gonna tell?” The blonde returned.

“She has a radio,” The first, Bucky offered. “It’d be enough to give us away.”

“They’d believe her? If she’s been up here long, they might not.” The blonde glanced over the others shoulder, “you apologize and we can--”

“You really wanna leave another loose end?” Bucky challenged as he blocked his gaze. 

“You should’ve confirmed before you jumped,” the third huffed.

“If we’re not gonna leave her, what do we do?” The blonde asked.

They all went silent. They looked at each other and then you. Bucky raised his gun, still in hand, and the blond caught him again. He shook his head and tisked.

“Are you crazy?” He pushed his hand down, “We’re not killing her. She didn’t do anything.”

“I agree, she shouldn't die because you’re stupid,” the other chuckled.

“Well, Einstein,” Bucky snipped, “what do you suggest?”

The third man’s brows raised slowly and he tilted his head. He glanced at you again then back to his comrades. He shrugged and a grin spread across his face.

“The bunker. It’s empty. Safe.” He said quietly, “How much of a fight did she put up?”

“Enough of one,” Bucky muttered.

“She’s… not bad. She’s all alone up here. Even if someone noticed she went radio silent, it’d have to take a while,” he explained.

“What are you saying?” The blonde frowned.

“If she has the photos, if she knows where the bunker is and this moron’s blurted out some intel, I just know it,” he continued, “we can’t let her go. He’s at least right about that. So… we don’t wanna kill her, we keep her.”

“Keep her? For what?” Bucky scoffed.

The man was silent and winked at them. The blonde peeked over at you and Bucky dropped his head as he gripped his hip. 

“Come on, you guys,” he threw up his hand as the blonde shifted on his feet. “It’s fucking cold up here and it’s been awful lonely everywhere else. We’re running around with no finish line in sight and… well, I’m about to stab one of you and I’ve seen the way you,” he pointed at Bucky, “look at me. I don’t trust that.”

“You can’t mean--” the blonde muttered.

“She’s better off dead,” Bucky insisted.

“Just because you’re a monk, doesn’t mean the rest of us need to be.”

“Hmm,” the blonde tapped his toe.

“You’re not really considering this?” Bucky sneered.

“Well… why not?” He rasped, “She’s… alone and… not too bad on the eyes.”

“And I have ears!” You sat up awkwardly, “You want me to keep my mouth shut. Done. I’m up here trying to catch a few birds on a roll. I’m not here to get mixed up in whatever it is you three--” You blinked as the lantern shone in the blond’s face as the three men turned to you, “shit.”

Captain America’s eyes sparked with recognition as your head did the same. He knew you knew who he was; likely he saw that look every other day. There was no hiding it.

“I told you,” the third man chided, “that mug is hard to forget.”

“No, no, I don’t-- I won’t tell a soul. I swear. Please just whatever you’re thinking, don’t. I’m some dumb photographer they sent up here to document the snow. You really think anyone cares that much--”

“Not so much about you but those photos are pretty interesting,” Bucky neared and shoved you down and you barely kept from hitting your head on the wall, “don’t tell me you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“People go missing up here all the time. That’s why no one’s here,” the brown-eyed man said, “she’ll just be another and we’ll have a nice companion to keep us from killing each other.”

“No,” Bucky turned, “it’s my mistake. I’ll take care of it.”

“Put the gun away, Buck,” Steve Rogers ordered, “it’s not right. We can’t kill her. Even if she isn’t entirely innocent, even if you’re right about those photos. She’s better to us alive.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going along with this--”

“I’m the captain,” Steve insisted. “I’ve made up my mind and I’m giving you an order. Sam’s right. She’s more use alive. If she has information, we’ll get it out of her. And if she doesn’t well, we can find something else to do with her.”

Bucky swore and pushed his gun into his holster. He stepped away from you and shouldered past the one called Sam.

“Yes, captain,” he said dryly. 

“Sergeant,” Steve retorted and nodded to Sam, “get her up. We should leave before the sun rises.”

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Could you talk about the Statute of Secrecy? Or the Ministry’s corruption in General :)

Well, those are two different things. Given that I believe I have an ask floating somewhere in my inbox on the Statute, I suppose we’ll talk about the Ministry of Magic today.

I feel like this is such a broad topic though that I’m not quite sure where to start. I guess I’ll just throw spaghetti at the internet wall and see what sticks.

The Ministry is a Reflection of Society Who Never Admitted They Were the Death Eaters

In the ministry of Harry Potter’s era the Ministry is hopelessly corrupt and filled to the brim with spies (more on this in a later section). Lucius Malfoy, very high up in an unofficial capacity in the Ministry and owner of the Ministry’s mouth piece: The Daily Prophet, was a known Death Eater with a very flimsy excuse.

How is he even able to wield so much influence, you ask? Well, I think it’s not just because of Fudge picking the wrong friends.

I think most the population probably does believe Lucius Malfoy is innocent the way Fudge does. I think it’s a very small subsection, i.e. Dumbledore’s lackies, who go “Nah, ain’t buying it.” I think that, in 1981, when it came time to reveal just how many were Death Eaters and how far this went many people just couldn’t handle it.

Because it was to the point where the nation wasn’t battling Death Eaters, Death Eaters were the nation. Look at the members, these are and were the most influential and prominent families in the country, who combined hold a non-small minority of seats in the Wizengamot. More, these were only the participants, combine those who given anti-muggle and muggleborn sentiment (which I believe are pervasive even among those who claim they fight for the rights of muggles and muggleborns) and you get a nation that is suddenly facing a huge cultural issue that was never previously acknowledged.

We’re talking an entire purge of the Wizengamot, of the Ministry, of the major families and cornerstones of this society. The Black family is completely and utterly destroyed.

People were and remain throughout the 1990′s, desperate to believe it was not as bad as it was or isn’t as bad as it is. If Lucius Malfoy says he was never really a Death Eater then he was never really a Death Eater.

The Ministry is Lousy With Corruption and Spies

What’s hilarious to me is not only is the Ministry incompetent. It is positively flooded with spies. Given the ministry’s overbloated, it’s not even a sizeable minority of employees, but nonetheless every major department has at least one person (if not more) who works for somebody else.

Most work for Tom Riddle. He seems to have intelligence in every department. Through Lucius, who is working pretty much as an unofficial aide to Fudge, he has access to Fudge, complete control of the Daily Prophet, and a voice on the Hogwarts’ board of governors.

Through Rockwood, Tom has direct access to the Department of Mysteries which Lucius is then able to take full advantage of.

Lucius is able to set up an ambush in the Department of Mysteries, getting escaped convicts into the building with the none the wiser, and, had his sole purpose not been a prophecy that only Harry Potter and the Dark Lord can touch, he would have been able to take what he liked. (Though it was always odd to me that the plan was to get Harry Potter to do it, when the better solution would have been to polyjuice Tom Riddle into someone else, set up a tour with the department, and then Tom wanders off conveniently to pick up the prophecy. My theory, I suppose, is that chasing after the prophecy was mostly an exercise in punishing Lucius. And then Lucius fucked up.)

And of course, in book seven, Tom Riddle makes a puppet minister. Point being, to me, it always said a lot that in Book Seven Tom just sort of walks into the building and says, “I’m in charge now” and everyone says “okay”. There was no second Wizarding War, it was a bloodless coup that met zero resistance from anyone but angry school children. 

But that’s Tom’s spies, we also have other spies. Who am I talking about, Dumbledore’s folks of course.

Shacklebolt, Moody, Tonks, and Arthur Weasley are all spies, they just don’t have the introspection to even realize it (which really tells you something about the state of corruption in the ministry). They all work for the ministry, yes, but they in fact pass on information to and serve another master, whose goals do not always align with the government and was a hop skip and a jump away from overthrowing the government at any given moment.

And they don’t even really realize they’re doing this! There doesn’t even seem to be a thought of “I’m doing this for the greater good”, they don’t seem to acknowledge that what they’re doing is very very very bad. Arthur, in fact, is appalled when Percy refuses to do this (well, he’s upset for a lot of reasons, such as that he thinks Percy is spying on Arthur for the minister, but in there is also that Percy refuses to help out with the Order or follow Dumbledore without question). 

Harry paints the Dumbledore’s Army threat that Umbridge saw as something utterly ridiculous, but honestly if I was the ministry I would be worried about this. Dumbledore’s people have infiltrated the ministry just as deeply and badly as the Death Eaters, Dumbledore’s known for recruiting children into his vigilante organization, I don’t know what he’s doing with an army of schoolchildren but I can smell a coup coming.

Anyway, I’m getting off track, point being though that corruption is not only expected and accepted by the ministry, they cannot recognize what it even is. They’re at the point where paying bribes is allocated in their budget.

I Don’t Blame the Ministry For Not Thinking Tom Riddle Was Anti-Jesus

Fudge is designed to get a lot of flack for his outright denial that Voldemort had returned from the dead. He, and other denier characters, are meant to be fools with their heads in the sand who can’t see the obvious.

I ask what about it was obvious?

The only witness to Tom Riddle’s resurrection, Harry Potter, has a known history of erratic behavior.

The previous year, he’d performed illegal magic on his muggle aunt and run away from home. During the previous school year, Harry was revealed to be a parselmouth in a time when the Chamber of Secrets was presumably opened and the mystery was never fully solved (remember, that it was a possessed Ginny never comes to light for more than a few people.) Beyond that, since his first day of school, Harry is routinely in and out of detention, constantly out after curfew, and only seems to not be in serious trouble because he’s openly favored by Dumbledore (who gives him hundreds of points for breaking one of his school rules, during the Philosopher’s Stone fiasco in first year). In 1994, Harry is entered into the Tri-Wizard Tournament under very suspicious circumstances.

We know why all this happens to Harry but from the outside he looks like a delinquent. In fact, he kind of is a delinquent. 

Point being, the only witness is not only Harry Potter (who is already sketch) but it’s Harry Potter holding a dead body of a rival in the tournament.

And he’s claiming that a man who has been nearly fifteen years dead, a man who held the nation in terror and Harry Potter is beloved for destroying, has returned from the grave and conveniently murdered Cedric.

Why is Cedric dead? Well, you see, he and Harry both touched the goblet at the same time because they were going to share the reward. The goblet, a national treasure, was turned into a portkey so that Voldemort could kidnap him.

Why didn’t Voldemort just kidnap him at any other point during the year where he’s guaranteed not to get tag a longs or the wrong kid? Uh... VOLDEMORT IS BACK (for the record, I think it’s because Barty got hung up on the goblet scheme and was determined to ruin his father’s day.)

Where is Voldemort at this very moment? Being evil, somewhere, that is not right here. No, Harry has zero evidence this happened.

Frankly, I wouldn’t believe Harry either.

And when Dumbledore goes about promoting this as sound evidence that Tom Riddle has in fact returned, it starts to get even sketchier. Rather than sounding the alarm, Dumbledore is using this boy’s madness to stir the public into a panic that he, perhaps, plans to take advantage of.

After Dumbledore does that, I would suspect that, even if Harry does give me a memory of the graveyard scene that his head had been tampered with by Dumbledore.

And it’s so convenient that, of all the names Harry picked, it’s Voldemort who killed Cedric. It seems like a ploy to not only deflect the fact that he murdered Cedric but 

Harry’s very upset when some don’t take him at his word but Harry’s also a dumbass and a psychopath. He hates everyone who doesn’t agree with him.

More importantly, necromancy isn’t a thing in the Harry Potter universe. People don’t rise from the dead. Horcruxes exist, but they’re extremely rare, and it seems like no one ever really makes use of them.

So, yeah, not unreasonable that Fudge didn’t immediately go, “My god, Voldemort has risen from the dead! LIGHT THE BEACONS AND SUMMON ROHAN!”

So yeah, it’d take me seeing Voldemort waltzing through the Department Mysteries to go “... Goddammit, this man is more unkillable than Sheev Palpatine.”

After the Epilogue, I am Certain It’s Still the Same Damn Ministry

People hate the epilogue, but in a way, I love it, because it confirms many of my headcanons: these people don’t learn a goddamn thing.

Nothing in their society seems to have changed. Instead of one set of families holding all the power it’s now a new set of families and friends holding all the power. The difference being that they are now all in some way connected to Harry Potter.

Nepotism’s still the name of the game, we still see only human children boarding the Hogwarts Express so you know shit hasn’t changed for the goblins, Draco Malfoy’s alive and well and holds a position in the Ministry that Kingsly graciously allows him to have, it’s just now you have Hermione writing all your laws for you.

The Wizarding World is still the Wizarding World in every single capacity. The only difference is that Voldemort is dead again. Hooray.

Harry and friends simply don’t have the introspection to even realize it.

[nanaminokanojo]

Play the Game | Nanami Kento X You | Part 2/8

CHARACTERS: Nanami Kento X You (fem!reader | PLEASE READ THE NOTES BELOW*) | Gojo Satoru | Geto Suguru | Shoko Ieiri | Utahime Iori | other JJK Characters CHAPTER COUNT: 2/8 WORD COUNT: 4500+ GENRE: romance | fluff | slight angst | eventual smut | ooc depictions | female reader with described appearance* | modern au | rich people au | aged up characters CHAPTER TRIGGER WARNING: profanity | age gap | strong/mature/suggestive language | mentions of bullying, macabre stuff SPOILERS: n/a

collection masterlist

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight

"Play the Game" Masterlist

The sun hasn’t even risen when Nanami came to consciousness as usual. It did not matter whether he was on vacation or working, he just automatically wakes up at the same time each and every morning without miss. It’s regardless of whether he slept enough or not. He saw no point in tarrying in bed – it was unproductive – and immediately got up without skipping a beat in his routine.

“You’re too vanilla,” he remembered you commenting when you stayed one weekend at his place in the city for an art symposium, having met him on the hallway on your way to bed after staying up all night playing video games. He just brushed your remark off with a grunt back then, but at present, he couldn’t help but muse over the fact that everything he did reminded him of you.

It was a bit light outside when he emerged from the adjoining bath of the guest room. He threw on a pair of grey sweats and a white shirt and grabbed a water bottle and a small towel on his way out of the room, mind set on going for a run. If there was something great about staying at Gojo Manor, it was the fact that it was surrounded with acres of grassland and forest with trails great for walks and jogs.

Nanami particularly grew fond of the path that led to the lake at the bottom of the hill where the mansion stood. There was a direct view of it from the balcony at the back of the structure, appearing like a jewel in the middle of the woods, and it had always been his favorite spot. The late former clan head told him it was man-made and has been there for more than a century that it became a natural feature of the estate. It was a spot in the property with a great history and great value to the clan, thus his gravitation towards it.

It’s her favorite place in the whole estate, too, he thought indulgently.

Inhaling deeply, he set out to the back doors that led to the patio and the walled gardens, starting in a slow jog before building his momentum as he reached open grounds.

And thus, his day began as such.

He came back from his run when it was already too hot, heaving deep breaths and desperate for a shower as his white shirt and grey sweats stuck to his body, drenched in sweat. His leg muscles ached, but it had been a good run.

Greetings from the staff met him as he reentered the manor which he returned with polite nods. He was headed to the stairs when he passed by the breakfast room and happened to hear Gojo talking to you. It went against his principles to eavesdrop in an evidently private conversation but he stayed rooted on his spot upon hearing you speak.

Despite your seeming foul temper upon leaving him the previous night, you seemed to have bounced back to your usual self, your tone sounding more jovial than usual. Your words were at odds to your tone as you told Gojo not to piss you off so early in the morning.

"Are you sure there's nothing going on between you and Kento?" Gojo asked just as the person in question was about to pass the doorway.

"It's really none of your business," you responded, voice devoid of any emotions. He did it, Gojo. He finally fouled up your mood.

"But I'm your brother!" Gojo protested, acting all dumb around you again. He just had that complex where you were concerned. He has always been very soft on you yet he was also fiercely protective. You hated his attention though. Yours was a strange dynamic.

"Worry about your wedding, will you? Geez. Don’t you have a luncheon to host?"

"Why did you kiss him then? On the mouth no less!"

Nanami’s heart skipped a beat, anticipation rising like cold water from his toes going up his chest. He wanted to hear what you had to say. Fuck principles. He needed his answers, too. It did not matter in what way he was getting them at that rate. He was secretly hoping you will say something a little bit more revealing about what goes inside your head given that he cannot just pry inside it even if he wanted to.

"Because I wanted to." You stated it so matter-of-factly that Gojo was at a loss for words for a moment. “Didn’t you hear me? I was dying to do that since he arrived.”

“You’re not serious, are you?”

“You tell me.” That’s becoming your signature line. “You won’t understand unless you kiss, Nanamin, too,” the tenor of your words turning fanciful. “He has such an alluring taste to him.”

What is this woman on about?

“Oh, god, stop it!”

"You should have seen the looks on your faces though. I was half expecting your eyeballs to roll on the floor. Wouldn’t that have been grand? It’s definitely shocking but a good subject for art if not a medium." At that, you laughed, the sound hitting Nanami like tinkling bells. It was such a happy sound that reminded him of better days although the thought that prompted it was utterly macabre. “Maybe that should inspire my next work. It would be like Munch’s The Scream, the next of its kind.”

"Hmm. Good point…” Gojo mumbled, sidetracked, obviously sharing your sentiments on the idea of such grotesqueness, but regained his composure just as quickly. “It's not funny!"

"But it is." Your laughter subsided as quickly as it erupted from your throat as if it wasn't even there to begin with. Your capricious nature was surfacing once more, and if there was something that was more frightening than your strong, habitual liking for trifling with people, it was that. "So what if I have other intentions behind it? Are you gonna get mad at me or something?”

"Well, do you?!" Gojo sounded like a manatee on the throes of death.

“But what are you going to do, brother? Stop me perhaps?"

He of all people should know just how unstoppable you were when you have set yourself into doing something. “N-no –”

“And what if Nanamin has the same intentions? What will you do then?”

“Hey, that’s enough of you. I know you’re trying to trap me into saying something again.” He clucked his tongue. “I seem to be the only one who isn’t in on your games, and if it is one, I have to know. You’re just way too outrageous these days that I cannot tell what’s serious and what’s not anymore.”

Gojo took a deep breath, sounding distressed as he exhaled. “Is there something else going on?”

"Maybe,” you answered noncommittally.

"That's not an answer at all!" he snapped.

You clucked your tongue, sounding irritated. "Stop screaming, Satoru."

"Do you like him?"

“Is your emphasis on that word supposed to change its meaning?”

If Nanami’s heart was skipping earlier, it has now stopped completely, robbing him of air as it seemed to have affected his lungs, too. You were maddening, not only to Gojo but to him as well. It was evident that you were in your gaming mood again, and although you were only intentionally riling your brother, he was also directly in your line of assault.

Gojo sighed in defeat, mirroring Nanami’s feelings. “Y/N, please, just answer the question,” he whined.

“I guess.” There was a pause then you said, "I mean, what's not to like?"

"What?!"

“Like it or not, Nanamin is a very excellent specimen of the male populace. He’s fucking irresistible and that’s an understatement.” You scoffed. "Even you like him."

Your voice was followed by your footsteps as you neared the door. In a daze at your vocal expression of how you find him physically attractive, instead of backtracking, Nanami stepped forward and collided with your form, nearly knocking you off your feet. He was after all twice your size and a good foot taller than you.

"Careful," he said between deep breaths, one arm securing you by the waist while his other arm gripped onto the door jamb, the position making the veins and sinews of his arm rather pronounced.

“Speak of the devil…” You straightened up, not making any effort to hide the fact that you were checking him out. Your head turned towards the direction of the breakfast room, making him mimic the action only to see Gojo standing slack-jawed, watching what was unfolding before him with eyes wide with shock. Nanami could've sworn his best friend just went into a state of catatonia.

"Didn't see you there," you said, addressing Nanami, your blue eyes assessing him as if in suspicion.

"I'm sorry," he muttered under his breath, feeling the tips of his ears heating up. Before you could notice, he stepped aside, heading towards the direction of the stairs.

"Hey, Nanamin," you suddenly called, making him halt and turn his head to your direction. You were smirking at the direction of your brother as you said, "Nice ass."

He shook his head. It was really just a ploy to get to Gojo’s nerves, and he was your pawn.

**

The sound of graphite scratching on paper like a harsh slash of sword punctuated the impending absence of thought in your mind. Nothing mattered but the sight of your hand gripping a pencil as it created unintelligible strokes on the plain page of the sketchbook on your lap. It progressed to furious scribbling, your movements becoming faster, the sound dominating your corner of the room. Everything has been drowned out – the endless chattering, the sound of porcelain and silverware hitting each other in chaotic cacophony – heightening in a painful crescendo of auditory abomination and dying in the air, overwhelmed by the picture you were creating on the blank expanse of space.

“You must be so proud of your daughter.”

Scratch.

“Who wouldn’t be? It must be great to have geniuses for children”

Scratch.

“She’s just as famous as Satoru.”

Scratch.

Just like that, they didn't exist. The room was empty save for you and the view outside the window coming to life on paper. Your eyes darted from your sketch to the familiar yet equally exhilarating view just outside the parlor. Gojo was animatedly talking about something, easily excitable as always. His fiancée laughed on the side while Nanami was witheringly eyeing him, stoic as always. Shoko, who arrived the previous evening, also joined the group. All that was missing was Geto. You wondered if you should draw him somewhere in the sketch.

The image before you reminded you of those days when reality seemed far away, back when Gojo was still a student, exceptional as always but still young, not the renowned genius tycoon he was at present. His friends would always be around him, lounging around the manor like they hadn't a care in the world.

His crowd grew in number with Geto and Nanami being the two closest pals he had. Shoko joined in shortly in middle school. On the other hand, Utahime came during his university days, also starting off as Gojo’s friend and eventually becoming his girlfriend. Now they were about to get married and it seemed to punctuate all the changes that came with being the grown-ups that they are.

It scared you.

Fact is, growing up and growing old and the changes that come with it was terrifying. Even if you yourself were already twenty four, seemingly had your life together and appearing to have matured without a hitch, that wasn’t the case at all. Genius or not, your brother also had his issues even while he was rising to his current position in society.

The problem was within you, you knew it. That and the fact that you did not really know what growing means. Your work grew, matured like crazy. You didn’t think you yourself grew, stuck in those days when everything was relatively easier. At least then, you only had to worry about your classmates hating on you. Now a part of the public did.

Looking at Gojo and his gang, they’ve all handled that well, making you wonder how they did it. He is one of the youngest CEOs in the country, having built his business empire at just seventeen. Your future sister-in-law is a professor, Geto is a sought-after model and Shoko is a forensic pathologist. They were all great at what they did, struggled as well, but came out with perfect grace.

However, you think the best one out of them was none other than the object of your pining – Nanami Kento. The man made transitioning to adulthood look rather easy. Maybe it was because he had always been mature and held himself in perfect equilibrium. Sure, he was no Gojo Satoru, but he was innately intelligent and became one of the youngest barristers who held the position of a famous attorney’s partner. He handled controversial cases and is one of the best prosecutors in the country with a high winning percentage. His work aside, he seemed to have the least struggle out of everyone.

Your lips curled up at the corners at the thought of the man. Your gaze flicked to him from the sketchbook, sitting there with a beverage in his hand, the noon sun glimmering on his hair and the planes of his face, looking more laid back without a blazer on. He was dressed rather casually in a pair of khaki trousers and dusty blue button-ups, but he still looked smart. He always dressed that way which you found very attractive although seeing him in more casual clothes like that morning was another level of hot altogether. He’s quite a bit formal, making him seem monotonous, but it’s that consistency that you liked about him. It was only a bonus that he was devastatingly handsome with those sharp features and the suits made him look so sexy in that it left everything about his real physique to imagination.

One just could not get enough of him, at least you couldn’t, but you did see how his partner’s paralegal eyeballed him all the time. (You secretly wanted to gouge her eyes out.) That’s the kind of man Nanami was. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does, it leaves profound dents to one’s psyche. And man, was he hot in court! He’s fucking sarcastic when he wants to be, to the point of being vile, but one just can’t get offended with the kind of logic he has. Once he speaks his mind, one wishes he wouldn’t stop, but he does and leaves that person craving more, his hypnotic, deep voice a rare treat. He wasn’t big on actions, wasn’t expressive, but when he does something, it’s always with purpose and precision, never over the top and always with disciplined stoicism.

You chuckled quietly, your pencil drawing perfect strokes of his hair when you were pulled out of your trance.

“Yuuji!” you heard Gojo say, pulling your attention to the direction of the window.

You broke into a grin at the mention of the name, hurriedly getting on your feet and running out of the room, deaf to your mother’s protests against your unladylike behavior – the commotion foreign to the ladies in the room who moved with the minutest rustles. You made your way out to the patio, that familiar tuft of pink hair coming into your line of vision. You sprinted through the glass doors towards the person whose name your brother called, smile wide and genuine.

“You kept me waiting long enough,” you called out, voice louder than usual. You’re hardly ever giddy nor were you easily excitable like your brother, but Itadori Yuuji was a different story altogether. You loved the boy with a fierceness akin to a mother and were always ecstatic to be around him but suppressed it by acting gruff. You were crazy like that.

“That’s because you won’t help me with my final requirements,” he retorted good-naturedly, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and nuzzling the back of your head as if you were a fuzzy plush toy, making you drop your drawing implements. Well, you were considerably smaller than him, and he was probably the only one who could do that to you and get away unscathed.

You rolled your eyes, noticing how Gojo had picked up your stuff, looking at the page where it was opened. “You should exert yourself more. You’re no genius after all.”

“That’s mean!”

You smirked at him, your eyes straying to your brother who was smiling at your drawing. He had such a proud, fond look on his face that you couldn’t do anything but stare. He has always been ever since you first held crayons and drew him as a cat. “You even included Suguru,” he cooed, pointing at the missing person you included then proceeding to show it off to his friends. “Guys, look. My baby sister drew us.”

“Surprise, surprise,” you sallied, but you were happy that he’s always showing you off.

Utahime and Shoko stood beside him, also looking at the sketch. The latter raised a thumb at your direction. “Damn, kid. You’re really great at what you do. How do you make things come alive with just a pencil?”

You smiled awkwardly. “I –”

“Give it here,” Nanami suddenly butted in, hand reaching for the sketchpad which Gojo promptly handed him.

You felt Yuuji elbowing you while you stood there, observing the man who was in possession of your drawing.

Nanami blinked then, handing it back to you. “How come I don’t have a face?” he asked, expression expectant of your response.

Annoyed, you snatched it back from him.

“It’s obviously not finished yet,” Shoko commented, but she couldn’t have been more wrong.

It was not that you cannot, but you would never draw his face. Ever. You tried tons of times if the tens of pages of sketchpads at your apartment filled with different angles and parts of him would be a basis for that. You could draw everything else about him, just not his face. No amount of contemplation and practice helped you to know why, but you attributed it to the fact that you could not do his face justice, at least in the sense that you would not be able to bring it to life as Shoko said.

Finally, you said, “I didn’t feel like drawing your face.” You turned away, dragging Yuuji with you. The boy was still giggling like a hyena until you got to the second-floor balcony where you propped yourself up on the balustrade, looking sulky.

"You might fall there, you know," he commented, jumping up the marble balustrade to join you.

"I can say the same for you," came your quiet reply. "Where's Megumi?"

“He’ll be here before lunch.” Yuuji leaned close to you with a mischievous grin on his face. “What, or rather who, is that look on your face for?”

"I think you know the answer to that."

"Did you tell Nanamin?" He addressed the man just as you did and got away with it, too, for some reason.

"Tell him what?"

He scoffed playfully. "Are you seriously playing this game with me? I'm your best buddy. I know everything."

"As irritating as that is, it's true."

Yuuji pouted at you. "I heard what you did yesterday. Why do you have to make games out of everything?"

"That's how I communicate. I thought you knew everything."

Harsh as always, he thought. "Be a normal person for once and just tell him." His brows knit together. "Well, you're anything but normal," he mused aloud. “I meant that nicely.”

You blew a raspberry. "You're just as normal as I am if you claim to be my best friend. Which you are. No take backs."

Yuuji couldn't help but smile at that. You have always been a loner and you did not mind being alone. He was grateful you wanted him around despite that.

"But you should stop doing this. He wants you. It's obvious."

"It's not that simple."

"What isn't simple? If it's Satoru, he'll understand for sure if you just try to be honest. I'm sure he just isn't for it more because he doesn't know how you feel. I mean, if I were him, I'll also protect my baby sister from my male friends. That's just how it is."

You blinked, pivoting your whole body so you were facing him.

"Well, of course, Nanamin needs to fight for it, too," he was quick to throw in, rambling to himself when he suddenly felt you reach out towards him, gently running your fingers through his pink hair. He leaned towards your touch, smiling contentedly.

"Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

"I'm not –"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Are you seriously playing this game with me?" you asked, mimicking his words earlier. "I'm your best buddy. I know everything, one of them being the fact that you worry worse than my mother."

Yuuji jumped off the balustrade, reaching out to grab you in a bear hug despite your protestations. Just like how you were with everyone else, you shunned his affection, but he knew better than to let go when you were saying exactly that. He found that trait of yours adorable.

"You're so irritating," you hissed, flipping your platinum white hair over your shoulder when you finally managed to get off his grip but he wrapped an arm over your shoulder nonetheless, undeterred by your words.

"You know you love me."

"Shut up."

Yuuji pouted. "You sound like Megumi."

"I heard that," the person in question suddenly spoke from the direction of the entry, his deep voice making you and Yuuji turn towards him. "They're calling everyone for lunch."

Yuuji followed behind as you approached Megumi, also one of your closest friends and practically your brother, keeping you in check more than Gojo ever can.

"Guess what," Megumi said to you as you walked beside him. In one of the rare moments you would see it, he grinned and you knew it wasn't because of anything good.

"What?" you and Yuuji, who thought the same by the look on his face, chorused.

"Nobara switched your name card with Miwa's. You're now seated next to your man candy. You're welcome."

“Isn’t that more of a perk for Miwa? She’s scared shitless of Nanamin, you know.”

The three of you laughed while Yuuji could just shake his head at the inescapable trouble that will follow. His only consolation was that it’s fun when it involves you.

**

What were the odds, Nanami thought to himself. He didn't have to look twice to see whose name it was on the card on the spot next to him. He exhaled loudly, unfolding the napkin and placing it on his lap. This could only lead to hullabaloo he was not exactly in the mood to deal with especially after you just told him you did not feel like drawing his face. You sure were mean when you wanted to be.

He surveyed his vicinity. Your father, the current head of the clan from whence your blue eyes came from, was seated at the head of the table, your mother to his right, while Utahime’s parents sat to his left. It seemed to have been the only formalities observed in the arrangement. From across Nanami sat Utahime and Gojo while on his right were a couple he only knew as cousins to the Gojo main family.

He was internally pinching the bridge of his nose. You really had to be the one seated next to him and right across your annoying brother, too.

The luncheon started without you. It wasn't a formal gathering after all except they were serving a full-course meal. It was more of a way to get everyone to know one another over the week for some reason he cannot fathom, and he was glad that only your father was the one who had engaged him in a conversation, mostly about work. It was easy enough to deal with.

"Where are Y/N and her friends?" your mother asked Gojo out of the blue.

Utahime, answering for the clueless person beside her, pointed towards the direction of the door to the banquet hall where you were leisurely walking towards your designated seat with Yuuji and Megumi. The former rounded the table to sit next to Gojo.

"Still managing to be late even when you're already at the venue, baby sis?" Nanami heard Gojo say as you assumed your seat. It was evident in the way his eyes shifted from Nanami to you that your tardiness wasn't exactly the problem.

You blatantly ignored his comment and turned your attention to Nanami. "Had a good run this morning, Nanamin?"

"Just so," he answered, side-glancing at you.

"Yeah. You looked super hot this morning," you said just as Gojo was taking a sip from his wine glass.

Megumi snorted when the older male started choking on his drink while Yuuji was trying hard not to laugh.

Nanami knew he would have reacted the same way except that he had been bracing himself for whatever you will say the moment Gojo opened his mouth. Of course you will use him in your counter attack. It's yet another game, not that he was less affected by your words.

"You should have seen him, Iori," you continued, addressing your brother's fiancée. "He looks so much less uptight in casual clothes."

It didn't escape Nanami’s notice how Gojo was looking at him. He looked about ready to drop onto the floor, but paid him no mind as he leveled his mouth to your ear. "Y/N, let's not make your dear brother snap, shall we?"

"Oh, sweetheart, maybe that's what he needs right now," you deadpanned, meeting his gaze squarely, your disposition unreadable as you let your eyes linger on him longer than was deemed appropriate.

Yuuji finally laughed, earning him a kick to the shins under the table courtesy of Megumi.

What it was about you that made everything else irrelevant and nonexistent when you’re that close to him was something beyond him. You always made him lose control, tempted him to break the rules. He only knew he couldn't act on it. Most of the time anyway. He also felt like laughing, oddly enough.

Utahime just chuckled good-naturedly breaking the tension. "Since the two of you are here, I should tell you that the final fitting for your clothes for the wedding is this afternoon. So, you better go together at the shop."

"Traitor." Gojo pouted at Utahime but nobody was really paying attention to him anymore. For someone so important to society with a flawless image, the closest people around him sure were good at disregarding him when they deemed it fit.

"Okay," Nanami said, looking at you for confirmation.

It was you who looked away this time. "I'm free."

"That's set then." Utahime clapped her hands and to Nanami she cheekily said, "Maybe wear something less formal."

At that, you grinned wickedly at him. So much for avoiding trouble with you.

-end of part 2-

*I used “you” here, but since my character is Gojo’s little sister who is established to be his female clone for reasons essential to the plot, she possesses the same blue eyes and white hair. I did not exactly want to create an OC (although technically, I did by describing Y/N), but I opted for the best of both worlds in this fic, leaning more towards the literary aspect of it as opposed to it just being reader/you-oriented. I hope this isn’t iffy to anyone, and yeah, i’m not being exclusive or whatever.

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Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI'S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20210709] PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART SOURCES CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[stanknotstark]

Odinson M.D. (Loki x reader) Pt. 1

I’m excited for this series honestly. I’m doing a lot of research so I write this medically correct tho, if yall see anything wrong don’t be afraid to tell me ^^

Summary: Y’all wanted a House AU so here it is. Loki is a doctor who keeps most people at bay with his sharp wit and sarcasm. He doesn’t understand the need for romantic ploys and casual human discussion. He thrives in the hospital, trying to figure out the unknown, even if his methods turn a bit morally ambiguous at times. That’s why he has Thor and Frigga to keep him in line although he would argue he has no need for it. You just happen to be a doctor on tenure under Loki’s tutelage along with Steve Rogers and Peter Parker. Can you convince the jaded doctor you’re just what he needs to keep him on his toes? 

Loki feels the, what had started as pin pricks now, full blown boredom eating away at his overactive mind. He folds sticky notes, from his rolling chair, into small balls and flicks them over to his brother, Thor, who stands fiddling with a broken, plastic Santa sitting on the desk they hang around. Thor proudly wears his white lab coat on top of a nice plaid button down and brown, pressed slacks. Loki prefers to stick to his more casual clothes, if not a bit fashionable for casual, for a doctor. He wears a black cashmere sweater with gray, pressed slacks, a nice pair of oxfords to finish his style. It’s enough to keep him warm during the winter season.

Christmas, such a mainstream holiday. Loki abhors this season what with all the festive cheer and decorations that litter NYC. You can’t walk two feet without being guilted into giving money to the people who stand on corners with bells for the Salvation Army. You can’t buy something nice without a cashier smiling at you, as if all knowing, and asking who you’re giving this gift to with cheerfulness in their high pitched voices. What he especially hates is that Odin expects him to show up to the family dinner every Christmas, seeing as Thor has a wife and has to spend half his time with her family. Loki is the black sheep that’s expected to pick up where his brother has neglected. All in all, Loki would demolish this one holiday from existence if he had the even the slightest chance.

The only good thing about being a doctor was that meant he could get away from most of the holiday by working through it. He couldn’t always escape the dinners seeing as his mother, Frigga, was of administration and Dean of Medicine on his floor. Not only did that hinder him but his father owned the hospital, so he was at a disadvantage, if only by a bit. 

“We are condemned to useless labor.” Loki sighs out, his fingers playing with another yellow sticky note, crushing it into a ball. 

“Fourth circle of hell,” Thor replies with a roll of his eyes as a paper ball launches towards him, hitting him in the cheek before falling to the ground. “Charting goes a lot faster when you eliminate all classic poetry, brother.” Thor says lightly. A suggestive twitch of his lips all Thor gives to a bored Loki.

Loki takes time from making paper balls to look over at the pile of charts next to him, sitting on the clinic’s lobby desk, waiting for his attention. He’s sure if the charts came to life they would resemble a dog, desperate for attention, wagging its tail with excitement when he finally looks at it. “Writing down what we already know to be read by nobody,” Loki brings his attention back to making another paper ball, completely ignoring the fact that Thor had rolled his eyes so hard he probably has a headache. “Pretty sure Dante would qualify that as useless,” Loki says lightly, a frown on his lips.

“You’re two weeks behind on your charting!” Thor says with exasperation, stopping his fiddling with the Santa to look at Loki as if he had offended Thor personally. 

Loki flicks another ball at Thor, however he misses his target and, it sails past Thor, hits Frigga on the chest whom had just walked into the clinic. She watches the paper fall to the ground, giving Loki a look of disappointment. The man gives his mother an innocent smile from his seat. “Oops! I missed.” 

“Are you eight years old?” The poised woman asks with a squint in her eyes as she walks over to the side of the desk Loki and Thor reside at. She picks up one of Loki’s charts and reads it with flickering eyes.

“Could an eight year old do this?” Loki asks, catching Frigga’s eyes, and sticks his tongue out at his mother who rolls her eyes. What is it about Loki that causes everyone to roll their eyes? Something he’ll never get the answer to, not because he can’t but because he doesn’t care enough to find the answer when it’s so painfully obvious. 

Loki’s mother lifts Loki’s chart, she had picked up, a little higher as if trying to garner Loki’s attention, after she had finished reading through it, and looks at him with frustration. “You have a patient in exam one, Loki.” 

Loki settles further into the rolling chair, throwing the pad of sticky notes on the desk, bringing his hands together over his stomach and lacing his fingers. Loki embodies the epitome of comfort and relaxation. He shrugs. “Yes but see I’m off at twelve and it’s already five off...” He shakes his head minutely with a look that says ‘Not much I can do’. He’s rather hoping his mother will let him off the hook this one time. He knows she has a soft spot for him and takes full advantage of that. Thor remains quiet on the matter, playing with the plastic Santa that’s supposed to sing when you press its button.

“She’s been waiting for you since eleven.” Frigga says with finality. Setting his chart down, Loki swears he could hear a gravel slamming down, and then she leaves but not without a pointed look at Loki. This meant Loki isn’t getting away this time. He sits there with his lips pursed and a frown etched into his eyebrows as he watches her retreating form.

“Melancholy without hope, which circle is that?” Loki pointedly asks Thor who looks at him with a sympathetic look only causing Loki to scoff and rolls his eyes as he stands, grabs his cane, and makes his way towards exam room one. 

Loki limps into the room, already conscientious about his gold and green cane, making sure it doesn’t hit the wall as he slips into the exam room. 

Looking back Loki doesn’t regret the choices his made on the cane. The man liked attention from the right people. He hates most casual people seeing as he usually finds them boring, predictable, and the need for small talk not something he takes much joy from. The cane definitely stood out and was the starter of conversation for common man that passed him by, unfortunately. This wasn’t enough to make Loki regret his ostentatious picks on his cane though.

The cane itself is light but durable. The stabilizer at the bottom had four anti-slip feet, covered by a wide quad base, all black and shiny. The cane, in all its glory, was emerald green, specifically requested by Loki, and had snakes engraved in the metal base. The snake outline, repeated around the entire cane, were then dusted in gold and, shined pretty and proper when in the sun. The snakes that run from the bottom to the top, run up the cane with open mouths as if devouring the brethren that followed up the last snake. When they reach the top of the cane, the handle’s edge, they stopped. The handle itself was covered in pure gold. The inside of it was carbon so it was lighter to carry but still very durable. The handle was fashioned after the head of a Black Mamba. Sleek and slim but one of the deadliest, most venomous snakes in the world. A symbol of Loki’s true power, or at least that’s what he told anyone that asks. In all honesty, Loki had picked the Black Mamba head because he thought it looked cute. He had a reputation to uphold, however.

Loki pushes his way into the exam room to find three nuns, one on the medical bed with two nuns on each side. As he closes the door he turns his head so he may let his eyes go wide without the women seeing his exasperated look. He turns his head back after the door is closed and he reins in his emotions.

“Hi, I’m doctor Odinson,” Loki supplies the three women, setting his cane aside in the room and looking up at the women with a small tilt of his lips. “What seems to be the problem?” He asks the woman sitting on the bed. 

“Show him your hands, Augustine,” One of the sisters demands of Augustine, the woman on the bed Loki tabs in his head. 

As the woman shifts the cloth covering her hands Loki takes the time to pop a pain pill into his mouth, swallowing without water if only because he’s been taking them for years for his disability. The use of the word disability is new, seeing how he didn’t take to the word too kindly in the beginning. As of now, he has accepted it for what it is and calls it as it should be, a disability. Something that may hinder him but does not define who he is or ever shall be. 

Sister Augustine lifts her hands in front of her and they shake a bit as she holds them out for Loki to examine. They look raw, red, and as if they’re wet but in reality it’s because they’re covered in an ointment and severe rash. They’re pruned as if they spent too much time in water. When she turns over her hands to show him the palms he notes that they’re also raw and red, but more so and bleeding probably from scratching.

“It looks like stigmata.” The sister on the right of Augustine needlessly announces to Loki, or possibly to no one in particular. The other sister on the left shushes at her. Loki has to resist the urge to roll his eyes at her remark. Of course this ignorant nun would condemn her sister for something as simple as an allergic reaction. She finds the rash to be a form of disgrace on her sister. Typical. 

Loki steps forwards, his eyes on her hands, “Must be all the talk around the holy water cooler.” He lightly supplies the three sisters with a joke to break the tension that had risen from the sister’s remark of stigmata. His eyes come to rest on her hands and as he reaches up to hold them in his own says, “You been washing a lot of dishes lately?” Loki glances up at sister Augustine’s aloof face.

“I help out in the kitchen.” Augustine replies. 

“Anything new in the kitchen?” Loki asks, trying to pinpoint what’s causing the rash.

“We just got a donation of pots and pans this week.” The nameless nun tells Loki which supplies Loki with an answer for her reaction. Dish soap, pots and pans wouldn’t have caused such a reaction. 

“I unpacked and washed them.” Augustin gives Loki, trying to help him out.

“Should have spent your time saving souls,” Loki says, his natural sarcasm coming over him, “It’s easier on the hands.” He says with a face that could be taken as contrite but is actually irony. “This is contact dermatitis. You’re allergic to dish soap.” Loki tells the nuns, his mind bored with how easy this diagnoses is. 

As Loki turns to write down his report in the chart one of the nameless nuns speaks up. “Nonsense! We’ve always used that soap, why would it be a problem now?” She asks Loki.

Loki lets his head tilt back as he looks at the ceiling with a playful look on his face. “I’ve been a doctor for years,” He looks at the nun who spoke up, “Why do I have to keep assuring people I know what I’m doing?” He asks rhetorically. Not only talking about the nuns, Loki thinks of the many times where he has had to convince his own mother, and brother, that he knew what he was doing, going so far as to proving it. 

“A person can become allergic to substances they’ve had repeated and prolonged exposure to.” Loki explains, his eyebrow raising perfectly, as if asking if the sisters had any other remarks to make before he looks down at the chart for Augustine to write his report real quick. 

Loki then makes his way to the cabinet and picks out a small box inside of it. “Good news is, free samples!” He gives a fake smile, and excited tone, to the nuns. “I’m giving you an antihistamine to stop the allergic reaction,” He explains his process. “Take one every eight hours, might make you sleepy, and get some over the counter Cortisone cream, for the itchiness.” Loki looks at sister Augustine to make sure she understood his words, nodding at her when she gives an understanding nod, then handing her two pills from the box he had pulled from the cabinet. 

“Thank you, doctor.” Augustine says with a small smile and nod.

“Want me to get some water?” Loki asks the women. 

“I have some tea!” A nameless nun says, grabbing her thermos and giving it to Augustine.

Loki nods at the nun and backs up to pick up the chart. “Relax for a minute, the pills work pretty fast.” Then he leaves the room thinking he is done for the day in the clinic, thank god. 

Loki throws the chart on top of his other charts he had left on the desk with Thor, in the lobby, and sighs as he limps around the desk and to Thor’s side.

“Still out by twelve.” Thor says, more so to grate on Loki’s nerves than anything. 

Loki lets it go but replies, “How do you solve the problem of dermatitis.” 

“Doctor? I want to thank you for your patience.” A sister says interrupting the conversation Loki was about to have with Thor. One of the sisters from Augustine’s side now stands in the clinic’s lobby with Loki and Thor. Her face showing she genuinely means it.

Loki manages to give Thor a disparaging look when he asks, “She talking to you?” As if shocked Loki was getting any kind of compliment. Loki can’t fault him there, he isn’t used to getting compliments either. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t bask in it but it is a little uncomfortable.

“I don’t know, she’s certainly looking at me...” Loki says back to Thor, shifting his weight from foot to foot in discomfort. He turns, watches, as the sister makes her way over to him, standing a little over a foot away. Enough distance to be comfortable since she is a stranger but a little too close for Loki’s comfort anyways. He hates people, so physical, so sentimental. 

“It’s so good to get a secular diagnosis.” The nun offers Loki with a gratified look on her face, her body swaying with her words like she really means them. 

Loki feels the frown come over his face and he tilts his head down at the sister. 

“The sisters tend to interpret their diagnosis as divine intervention.” The nun explains to a bewildered Loki. 

“And you don’t?” Loki asks, his voice not betraying his confusion but it’s definitely there. This sister is very...different from regular nuns, he can already tell. Her ideologies being promulgated so plainly are leaving Loki in an almost disoriented state. “Then you’re wearing an awfully funny hat.” Loki says, his sarcasm coming out to hide his true feelings on this whole conversation. The sister merely tilts her head with a look that says ‘Very funny’. 

“Oh boy.” Thor whispers behind Loki. Loki can feel him shifting as if he wants to escape this situation just as much as Loki. “Excuse me.” Thor says grabbing all his charts and reports so he may make a swift exit. Loki glances back at Thor, his face now shifting from its usual neutrality to a look of perplexity and a hint of longing as he wants to leave too. Loki looks back to the sister, hiding his emotions again as she speaks.

“If I break my leg I believe it happened for a reason. I believe God wanted me to break my leg,” The sister says, her face showing nothing short than utter earnestness that almost makes Loki gag. “I also believe he wants me to put a cast on it.” The sister finishes causing Loki’s lips to twitch upwards and forget his brief nausea. He likes her, something no one that truly knew him would take lightly. 

“Doctor! Something’s wrong!” The other sister says loudly as she races into the lobby. This breaks the little moment the sister was having with Loki and he stands at attention. 

They all make their way back to exam room one with hast in their steps and Loki’s limp. 

When Loki enters the room he finds Augustine to be hunched over, rapidly breathing but the air is filled with wheezes as if she can’t get breath into her lungs. Loki quickly tabs this as an asthmatic attack but grabs his stethoscope and brings it up to her chest. “Lift up your chin.” He demands softly, letting the stethoscope land on her chest when she does and moves it from the left to the right side listening to her lungs and heart as she panically breathes in faster. 

“Sister you’re having an asthma attack, I need you to relax,” Loki drops the stethoscope from her chest, taking it from his ears, and turns to the drawers in the room, “Roll up her sleeve, please.” He demands of the sister next to him. He quickly picks up an syringe from the drawer he opened and turns back to sister Augustine. “I’m going to give you epinephrine,” He explains. “It will open your lungs and help you breathe.” 

Loki uncaps the shot, by mouth, and quickly sticks the sister’s arm, injecting the liquid components of the epinephrine into her upper arm with fluid movements as if he’s done this a thousand times before, because he has. 

Loki looks up at sister Augustine to assess the situation. The cap of the needle still in his mouth which he lightly grinds around with his teeth, almost nervous but not quite.

Everything is quiet for a moment. Loki takes this time to remove the needle from the sister’s arm and replace it with a cotton ball which he presses to her skin with moderate strength to stop any blood flow that may have followed the intrusion. 

“What happened?” One of the sisters ask. 

Loki foregoes the answer to that question to ask his own, “Did she take the pill?” He looks at the sister next to him, the one that had warned him of the situation and had stayed behind with sister Augustine. The one that had called it stigmata.

“Yes.” She says in a tone that betrays confusion and defensiveness.

“It’s an allergic reaction.” Loki explains ignoring the sister’s emotions at his question. 

“She’s allergic to an anti-allergy medicine?” The same sister asks in an incredulous tone now. 

Sister Augustine sits there taking in small mouthfuls of air, as if she now understands breathing is a commodity. Her body is still hunched over as she grabs at the medical bed with a white knuckled grip. Loki looks at her sympathetically. “How are you feeling?” He asks thinking about what variations he can use to treat her allergic reaction on her hands now that the blood rushing experience is over. “I’ll put you on some steroids instead.” He decides out loud, capping the syringe he used and throwing it away in the designated red safety box.

“Is my heart supposed to be feeling so funny?” Sister Augustine asks breathlessly, Loki watching as she brings a hand up to grab at her chest. 

“It’s called adrenaline, makes the heart beat fast.” Loki says flippantly but puts two fingers on her pulse point on her wrist just to check if it’s something worth looking into. Loki looks at Augustine with concern, his eyes flitting around the room in thought, “But not this fast.” 

Sister Augustine takes in a deep breath, wheezing again.

“Get a nurse, please.” He tells one of the sisters in a calm but pressing tone.

Sister Augustine leans into Loki’s body with a whimper and he grabs her so he may lightly rest her on the bed in a supine position. He leans over her watching her and trying to figure out what’s wrong, what could possibly be causing this, and how to fix it, fast. 

“Somebody help!” Loki hears the nun call outside the room. 

His attention is diverted when sister Augustine passes out. He quickly puts the stethoscope in his ears and puts the diaphragm on her chest, checking for her heart beat first, then her lungs. There is no comforting beat to be heard and her breathing has completely stopped as if it never existed, pulling this situation from a simple allergic reaction to something far, far more serious than Loki had anticipated. 

“Somebody get in here!” Loki yells out frustrated no one has answered their calls for help. Finally a nurse in blue scrubs comes in, realizing the situation is of immediate emergency and looks at Loki so she may help. 

“Call a code and charge up the defibrillator, she’s got no pulse.” He says speedily, starting to perform CPR on sister Augustine. The nurse flees from the room in record time to grab a defibrillator and yell at someone to call a code blue. 

Loki manages CPR for a few minutes until the defib team comes in and takes over. They only barely manage to bring sister Augustine back to life. 

Loki stands at the doorway, the two other sister next to him praying, he bites at his thumb. His mind is racing with the need for an answer. What caused this? What was he missing? It’s an allergic reaction, there’s no doubt about that, nonetheless he can’t figure out why everything he tried sent her into further shock. She couldn’t possibly have been allergic to everything he gave her, antihistamine and epinephrine. There is a factor here that he doesn’t know about, something is missing, and he would figure it out if it was the last thing he did. 

Loki barely glances at one of the sisters as they take a drink from a thermos before going back to saying their Hail Mary’s. 

Tagging (because they showed interest for this series): @rosaline-black​ @blueberrynonnie​ 

I won’t tag yall in any other posts unless you specify you’d like that! i just wanted you both to know i started it and if you’d still be interested 😊

[seijorhi]

How about a lil overhaul? Maybe his s/o is just someone from america on a trip and cant speak japanese. But he is like. Mine. She was quirkless and was coming to visit Japan to see a family member. Maybe that family member sold her to overhaul to pay off a debt? She is just so confused and cant understand most of the people here, she wants to go back to America.

So I kinda went a little off track with this request, but I hope you like it!

Overhaul x Reader

TW kidnapping, murder, minor blood/gore

Collateral

It’s a bit of a surprise the day that you get your ticket in the mail. You’ve never been particularly close with your uncle. It’s not that you don’t like him or anything, it’s just… you don’t really know him. He’s lived on the other side of the Pacific Ocean since long before you were born, and you’ve only met him face to face a handful of times. 

And now he wants you - just you - to come stay with him for a little while. As long as you want, the return ticket’s flexible, the email says.

Your family’s just as flummoxed as you, he and your dad have never exactly been close - something about a big fallout when they were younger, but he’s the one to convince you to go. 

“Your uncle hasn’t exactly had the easiest life, sweetheart. He’s all alone over there, has been for a long, long time and he’s made a lot of bad decisions in the past but… you’re his only niece,” he sighs, cupping your cheek with a sad smile. “Maybe he wants a fresh start, to build a relationship with you - he’s missed so much of your life.”

It’s not so much his words that get to you, but the wistful look in his eyes as he says them. Your heart aches for him, for them both, and you find yourself nodding along.

A trip to Japan sounds nice. 

Getting to know your uncle sounds even nicer.

A week later, you’re on the plane flying over the Pacific, the nerves in your stomach growing with each mile that passes beneath you. 

It’ll be fine, you reason, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles from your skirt as the plane starts its descent into Tokyo. Things might be a little awkward at first, but your uncle wouldn’t have invited you if he didn’t want to make a genuine effort, and your parents were only a phone call away if anything went wrong. 

Not that anything would. He’s family - that means something.

“If it gets too much, you can always come home,” your dad had whispered as you bid him farewell at the gate. 

But when you get off the plane, grab your luggage and make your way out through the gate, there’s no sign of your uncle standing in the crowd. You frown, scanning the arrivals hall again - he called your parents yesterday to tell them he’d be picking you up from the airport.

A flutter of uneasiness teases at your gut, but you force yourself to keep the smile on your face as you continue to scour the throng of waiting friends and family. You did land a little ahead of schedule, and getting through customs had taken less time than you thought, maybe he was just running late, or trying to find a park. Your uncle had given you a phone number to call if anything went wrong but… you don’t want to come across as panicky. It’s only been a few minutes, after all.

You’re so focused on trying to find him that you almost miss the crisply dressed driver holding a sign with your name just by the sliding doors. He doesn’t say anything when you approach cautiously, eyes still darting around like you’re expecting to see your uncle behind him. He doesn’t look like what you expected - not that you were expecting a driver at all - but the clearly expensive black suit and blank stare as he regards you are a little… off putting, to say the least. From your understanding your uncle wasn’t exactly made of money, so why send a driver at all?

“Um, hi… I’m Y/N, did my uncle send you? I-is he not coming?” you say, praying that the man understands English and you’re not making an idiot out of yourself.

The driver nods sharply, “He was unable to collect you himself.”

Oh. 

Your smile falters just a touch, but you find yourself nodding out of politeness. It’s fine. You have all the time in the world to spend with your uncle. “Oh, alright. Um-”

The driver grabs the suitcase from your side before you can stop him, turning abruptly on his heel and walking away, leaving you to rush after him, cheeks dusting pink.

Except the driver doesn’t take you to the small apartment on the outskirts of the city your uncle had told you about. 

***

You’ve never been more terrified in your life. 

It’s been a week, you think - it’s hard to tell when the room they keep you in doesn’t have any windows and the food they deliver doesn’t come at regular intervals.

A week since the driver pulled you shaking from the back seat of the black and manhandled you inside a dark warehouse. A week since you met him.

You still don’t know his name. 

He’s the boss - you’ve figured that much out at least. He was the one whose feet you were tossed at when you arrived - shaking, crying and pleading.

You can still remember the chill that crept up your spine as those impassive gold eyes stared at you, his mouth hidden behind that ridiculous plague mask. Sitting on an old, worn leather couch, dressed in all black save for the grey tie around his neck and the white surgical gloves on his hands, what startled you the most (aside from the mask) was how young he was - he couldn’t have been more than a year or so older than you at the most, and yet every single person in the warehouse was staring at him with the utmost respect.

He’d ignored your tears and the trembling questions that had fallen from your lips as he’d stood and walked a slow circle around you, eyes running you up and down like a vulture eyeing off its prey. He hadn’t touched you, only gesturing once for his subordinates to wrestle you back up into a standing position before he finished his apparent appraisal. 

When he’d spoken it was an order barked coldly in Japanese, but his eyes had flickered back to you as hands had gripped your arms, and in the split second before you were tugged from the room, you could have sworn that there was the faintest hint of dark pleasure shining through.

He’s come to visit you a few times since. He always keeps his distance, sitting on the sole chair in your sterile room as you huddled up on the bed like a frightened kitten, putting as much space between the two of you as possible. 

He seems to enjoy that; your fear. 

It’s the second time he comes to visit that he starts to talk to you - not in English, no, despite you making it abundantly clear you had absolutely no understanding of the language beyond a few conversational phrases, he only ever speaks Japanese.

He seems to enjoy that too - the blank, nervous look in your eyes whenever he starts to speak with you. His tone could be considered light and friendly, conversational almost, if not for the cruel edge to his words that transcends the language barrier - with every word he’s mocking you, and he wants you to know it.

The first time you leave your sterile room it’s when two of his masked entourage come to take you up into what looks like a surgical suite. There’s a man strapped to a gurney under a bright operating light sobbing, thrashing fruitlessly against his binds and immediately there’s a wave of dread that floods your stomach. The two men who took you hold you firmly in place by your shoulders, but you can’t help but jump a little when that familiar voice starts to speak.

He comes out of the shadows, golden eyes fixed solely on you. It’s a speech of some sort, though whether it’s for your benefit, his followers’ or the now screaming man’s before him you honestly don’t know. Sweat builds at your temple as the masked leader lifts his hands and slowly tugs off the white surgical gloves.

You don’t know what’s about to happen, only that you desperately want to stop it. One of the men behind you chuckles and you bite your lip to stifle a cry - there’s no point, you can’t move, you can’t escape this - whatever it is that’s about to happen.

The screams reach fever pitch, the man thrashing hard enough to make the gurney shake, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference. Your heart skips a beat as the auburn haired leader stares dispassionately down at him and with a sigh - places his bare palm against his flesh.

The result is instantaneous. 

The scream cuts off. Blood splatters over the walls, over you, as the man is simply, brutally, torn apart by the Quirk.

And all the while, the monster simply watches you.

You understand him perfectly this time. It’s a demonstration, a reminder of why one so young sits at the head of an illicit organisation and what exactly the punishment might be should you fail to remember that.

They take you for a shower afterwards, and you’ve never been more grateful for it. You scrub at your skin until it's raw, desperately trying to wash the taint of blood from your skin. It doesn’t seem to make a difference, it stays with you every time you close your eyes.

You cry yourself to sleep that night, clutching tightly at the thin, blanket you’d been given and thinking desperately of home and your family.

He’s sitting in the same plastic chair when you wake up, except this time it’s been pulled up right beside the bed. He regards you silently for a moment, watching as your eyes widen and fear slowly creeps across your features, but you don’t flinch, you don’t try and scamper away. You only pull the blanket up slightly, as if to protect what last vestiges of modesty you have from him.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asks in flawless English.

You jerk back in surprise. He-

What?!

Of course he speaks English. Of course his continued insistence on speaking a language you didn’t understand was nothing more than a ploy to make you feel vulnerable and inferior. 

Utterly isolated.

A spark of anger flashes through you, but you quickly tamp it down, the memory of blood and disassembled body parts all too fresh in your mind.

He seems to be waiting for an answer to his question, so you give a minute nod. You’ve been here long enough to put the puzzle pieces together.

“Your uncle managed to rack up quite the impressive debt from us - a debt he couldn’t pay when it came due. He offered us you, his niece, instead. A pretty, young American girl, Quirkless… pure,” he sighs.

Each word hits you like a slap in the face and you can feel the unshed tears stinging in the corners of your eyes. It’s nothing you haven’t already figured out, but to be confronted with the truth, that your own flesh and blood (however estranged) had sold you out to save his skin, hurts more than you care to admit. 

Oblivious to your internal suffering, or maybe just indifferent to it, your captor continues. “I had planned on selling you. You’d be surprised what some of the degenerate filth in this city would be willing to pay for some beautiful, defenceless, foreign doll for them to stick their cocks into.”

Something close to amusement flickers in his eyes and he laughs as your face blanches in mute horror. He leans forward, gloved hands reaching for your face and you freeze with a choked gasp-

But he merely brushes at your cheek with the back of his knuckles, collecting a single stray tear that had slipped from your eyes without you even realising. “You don’t need to look so worried, Y/N. I thought you would have realised by now - you’re not going anywhere, you’re mine, and I’ve figured out a much better use for you.” It’s hard to tell with the gaudy mask obscuring half his face, but you could swear that beneath it all, your captor’s grinning. “My pretty little pet.”