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bookofbonbon · 5 months

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strut: to the hospital - coriolanus snow

Characters: Coriolanus Snow x Reader.

Summary: Coriolanus is 'stuck' in hospital with you while the two of you await your uncle and aunt.

Word Count: 659.

A/N: There is no plot, rhyme or reason to this fic. I'm making it up as I go along and using this as a way to get back into writing. This is very self-indulgent and I am writing whatever comes to mind.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Coriolanus exhales loudly through his nose, eyes screwed shut as he pinches the bridge between his thumb and forefinger.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Self-control is an essential skill. Self-control is an essential skill…” he reminds himself, having re-adopted the six word mantra some three weeks ago.

The Grandma’am may not have been around so frequently as to help him practice it but, you? You had been more than making up for her absence since your arrival.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Did you know... Coryo, that talking to oneself may indicate an underlying madness?”

Coriolanus’s eyes snap open at the implication. Your voice nails on a chalkboard in his ears, the sound causing him an immediate headache that he didn’t need - although your presence alone was enough to do that - was it not enough that you had attempted to murder him? Now you insisted on taunting him with the name he reserved only for friends, family and those he loved - all things you were not but, anyone on the outside looking in would think you were.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Coriolanus turns his head mechanically toward you but you pay him no mind, too busy flicking through whatever book you were pretending to read - Forensic Firearm Examinations, he reads the title with a scoff. Now what would you be doing with a book like that? Were you trying to impress him? Did you even know how to read?

No matter, he saw through your little facade; he knew the truth, that you were out to get him and he would prove it in a little less than five minutes. In truth, he had no reason to still be gowned up and laying down in the hospital bed. Coriolanus, by all accounts had escaped your attempted murder unscathed and had in fact been medically cleared for discharge but, he pulled some strings and extended his stay so, that he could play up his false injuries to old Strabo and Ma Plinth when they arrived; so they could see for themselves the ruin their horrendous niece attempted to inflict upon him. Maybe then, they- more so, old Strabo would see that you did not belong in the Capitol and banish you back to where you came from. District Two.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Has no one taught you it’s rude to stare? And I thought you Capitol lot were supposedly provided with an elite-”

Without thought, Coriolanus hand comes down hard and fast with a resounding thwack! against the table.

He watches you intently, your head turning slowly away from your book and over to his hand that now rests atop yours, promptly ending your tapping and your sentence. There’s tension in your jaw as your gaze drags venomously from your joined hands to meet his eyes, your mask is slipping and in turn his mouth curves into a victorious grin but, not for long when your expression begins to match his.

“Self-control is an essential skill, Coriolanus,” you mock, turning his hand over with your own and touching the center of his palm lightly before standing up. “Seems you need a little bit more practice.”

The action is small but sends an oddly pleasant feeling through him, leaving him both speechless and mouth gaping, slightly forgetful of how to breathe until four figures appear at the end of the room.

Coriolanus immediately recognises them as old Strabo, Ma, Tigris and his treating doctor. Kicking himself back into action, his response is immediate as he slumps down into the bed, appearing worse than he actually felt.

"What happened?" Strabo calls from across the room, the question very clearly directed at you.

Coriolanus smothers the Cheshire smile that threatens to appear - how he would love to see you lie your way out of this.

"They didn't tell you?" you say instead, raising an eyebrow at the doctor. "I almost ran dear Coryo over while he was strutting about in the middle of the road."

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

#coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #tom blyth #coryo snow x reader #coryo snow

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bellamonde · 1 year

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Source: @iranrights

A 22 year old Iranian protestor is at risk of being sentenced to death. Please share.

22-year old Mohammad Qobadlu has been sentenced to death at his very first trial session, to which the court denied entry to his lawyers, and is imminent danger of execution, according to a video message released by his mother. HRANA reports Qobadlu was tried on Oct. 29 at the Public & Revolutionary Court of Tehran under Judge Salavati on charge of “corruption on earth.” Prosecutors allege he drove a vehicle into motorcycle-mounted law enforcement agents, killing one. Besides the grave due process violations mentioned by Qobadlu’s mother, lawyer Amir Raisian has raised violations and inconsistencies in the case: - No images exist depicting the incident, the collision, or the hospitalization of medical examination of the agents involved -Preliminary reporting did not mention head wounds to officers involved in the collision, but the deceased officer died of a strike to the brain and skull fracture. The extent to which hospital treatment may have contributed to the cranial injury is not mentioned. -The criminal complaint gives the cause of the officer’s death as a car collision, but lawyer Raisian’s sources indicate only a skull fracture - no bodily injuries - was detected. Special force officers typically wear helmets, moreover. -The forensic medical authority ascertained Qobadlu’s mental fitness / sanity only on the basis of his own statements, neglecting letters from prison authorities stating he was mentally “precarious.” -Authorities present at the mourning service for the deceased officer made comments that were “not consistent with the car collision death narrative” said lawyer Raisian.

#mahsa amini #jina amini #iran protests #help iran #iran executions #freedom for iran #free iran #mohammad qobadlu #woman life freedom #women's rights #human rights #protect protestors

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difeisheng · 1 month

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i've been rotating this post in my head, about how it's supported by the novel that drama!li lianhua might not have known real medicine at all, and was simply using yangzhouman every time he treated a person. and while it's true that his healing skills appear dubious to basic at best, li lianhua's abilities in deducing causes of death and post-mortem modifications are fairly sharp. i would say that his autopsies are probably the most in-depth/technical he gets onscreen when it comes to medical examinations. given, then, that his actual expertise lays in assessing the dead and not the living, li lianhua in modern aus is absolutely not still scamming people while calling himself a medical authority in an era where malpractice laws exist. no, my guy is forensic files true crime girlie-ing his way through murder mysteries on the internet. he's making debunking videos about suspicious deaths and claiming that he solved X closed case years later based on his research, and it doesn't matter if he's right or not because people are ultimately just here for the story he tells. it also doesn't matter that he dropped out and moved across the country before he could be properly certified as a coroner, shhhhh just listen to the case and his analysis and you'll understand that he's right, ok? <3

#i would listen to a true crime podcast by li lianhua #mysterious lotus casebook #li xiangyi #ashton originals

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rapeculturerealities · 7 months

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“Unreliable” Lung Float Test Still Being Used to Convict Women of Murder — ProPublica

In investigations across the country, the lung float test has emerged as a barometer of sorts to help determine if a mother suffered the devastating loss of a stillbirth or if she murdered her baby who was born alive. The test has been used in at least 11 cases where women were charged criminally since 2013 and has helped put nine of them behind bars, a ProPublica review of court records and news reports found. Some of those women remain in prison. Some had their charges dropped and were released.

But the test is so deeply flawed that many medical examiners say it cannot be trusted. They put it in the same company as the discredited analysis of bite marks and bloodstain patterns, 911 calls and hair comparisons, all of which lack solid scientific foundations and have contributed to wrongful convictions.

It is pseudoscience masquerading as sound forensics, they say. Some even liken the test to witch trials, where courts decided if a woman was a witch based on whether she floated or sank.

“Basing something so enormous on a test that should not be used, that has been completely discredited, is absolutely wrong,” said Dr. Ranit Mishori, the senior medical adviser for the nonprofit Physicians for Human Rights, which has been studying the test, and a professor of family medicine at Georgetown University School of Medicine. “You can send a person who is innocent to prison for many years.”

#Lung float test #Abortion #miscarriage #reproductive rights #wrongful conviction

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lizthewriter · 4 months

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as the banks begin to break / sirius black

PAIRING adult!sirius black x forensic analyst!reader

SUMMARY you run the blood analysis for another mystery body - perfectly healthy, no suggestion of how the person died. it was frustrating going back to your boss with nothing. another mystery. and then, you're much too fed up with the feds taking away your stiffs. you take it upon yourself to investigate the mystery of this body further.

"magic can't be real, it's just not physically possible! there are rules and -"

sirius stared up at you from the ground. you stared down at him. though, instead of a human standing there, it was a dog.

"what the fuck."

TAGS adult!sirius black x forensic analyst!reader, mystery fic???, (3) question marks, idk i thought the concept for this was cool and wrote it because why not, intrigue, reader obviously DOES NOT believe in magic, harry potter and the deathly hallows

QUOTE "too tempting not to touch, / but even though it shocked you, / something's electric in your blood," - various storms and saints by florence + the machine

WORD COUNT 3.6K

WRITTEN 1.6.2024

you -

hey, boss wants you to run blood analysis on this john doe we got earlier today. ran his fingerprints through the system, but we came up with nothing. he doesn't expect for you to get a hit, but he wants you to try anyways. i faxed you the preliminary report. send boss your results asap. see you tommorow!

you listened back to the message on your machine before getting to analyzing the blood sample left on your desk. your dear friend and the medical examiner on your team, james, had examined another one of those odd stiffs this morning. dead, but for some reason, no one could figure out how. there had been dozens, if not more than a hundred, in the past two years like this one. more on record in the last century, but the precinct hasn't seen numbers like these since world war two.

this paticular victim was different than the others, however. all other bodies had been identifiable - meaning the police was able to figure out who had died and notify next of kin. this one wasn't - no form of i.d, no money (other than some odd gold and silver coins, most likely worthless), no fingerprints in their databases. you probably wouldn't get a hit on the dna, but you could try.

there was another reason this john doe was fascinating. despite the fact that it seemed like he fell off a building, the preliminary report showed that he recieved the injury post-mortem. james' examination of the body concluded that he must have fallen more than forty stories, but the buildings nearby were less than five stories.

dead bodies don't just fall out of the sky.

you ran the dna profile you had through the national dna database - and surprisingly, you had a pop-up on your screen.

paternal match - scott constance moody

"born august 17, 1912, relations, history, blah blah blah, arrested for public drunkness and indecency on multiple occasions . . . last known address."

the door to your lab slammed open - in anticipation, you immediately closed the file and turned off your computer.

"have any evidence for us this time?" at this point it had become routine. thompson from "mi5" would whisk away the bodies, claiming something ridiculous like "drug deal gone wrong" or "national security risk," looking and acting very much like someone working for a secret government agency trying to hush-hush a deeper plot afoot.

"nope," you responded with an attempt at a solemn expression. "unfortunately, the blood analysis was a dead end. he's just some guy, i suppose."

"we appreciate your discretion," he responded, shaking your hand firmly. you mean you appreciate me not complaining to the other guys at the precinct. certainly is suspicious that an odd-looking fed comes taking dead bodies as much as he does. even if you were to raise suspicions, who would believe you? you were a female nerd practically living in a back closet while the big, strong men handled the real world. he left with nothing else to say.

you turned your computer back on and opened the file again. you scribbled down the address and just as you were about to leave, you looked back down at the dna profile for doe and found something g peculiar. an odd gene marker you had only ever seen a few times before - including your own blood. you drew the profile closer to you, staring down at it. you had never been able to figure out what it was. six years of higher education had taught you nothing and the fancy, hot-shot professors you had take a look couldn't even understand what they were looking at.

what is up with this guy?

you knocked on the front door to an old house, out in the country. pastures of green painted in the skyline, cows and barns littering the landscape beyond it. beautiful, quiet, humble. a very fitting place for an eighty-four year old man.

you saw someone glance through curtains in a window. they disappeared soon after and didn't answer the door. you knocked again and pulled out your police badge. "scott moody? london police, i need to speak with you." you hoped your tone seemed formidable enough. you weren't a cop, you were a forensic scientist, but you needed to speak with him. you needed to understand these dead bodies and the only way to do that was to investigate this moody guy.

finally, the door swung open, and a rather gruff and grumpy man answered. "will you stop that racket? what the hell do you want, girlie?"

you drew in a breath. what should you tell him? you didn't want to lie - that felt cruel. but at the same time, you could suddenly understand why your colleagues seemed so drained after sharing the terrible news to family members. the pressure weighing your stomach was sickening.

"i'd like to ask you some questions about your son, mr. moody. do you mind if i come in?"

"yes, i very much do mind! what's someone like youse interest in my alastor?"

"alastor . . . sir, i'm very sorry to tell you this, but . . . well -"

"out with it, girl!"

"your son died. approximately at twelve forty-five last night. the circumstances of his death are rather . . . under investigation. i just need to gather more information, to find out who killed him."

the man looked genuinely concerned (which suprised you slightly, considering how rude he was) and took a shocked step back. he glanced back inside his own house and then at you. "there's nothing you can do," he said weakly, then shutting the door in your face. you shouted for the man, pounding on his door, but got no response. in a huff, you stormed back to your car and slumped in the driver's seat. you ran a hand down your face - how could you ever think that you could be an investigator? you? you laughed at yourself - so full of yourself, you were neck deep in your own shit. never were you to pull a stunt like this again, not if you wanted to get fired.

as you started the car and swung your gaze around to back out of the driveway, you caught the man sitting out the side window, tying a note to a - was that an owl?

perhaps he was sending a message to someone - through an owl, like a homing pigeon. you had only one instinct.

follow the owl.

driving through the chaos known as the london streets while chasing a bird was a nightmare, but somehow you managed. here you stood, looking out upon a charming old row of houses. the bird had flew to one in the middle, the exterior bricks blackened compared to the crisp pastel orange of the other houses. someone opened the window, letting the owl in, and then closed the window.

you decided to sit there and wait. wait and wait and wait. for what, you didn't know. for the owl to come back out? for you to build up the guts to knock on the front door with very many questions? no, that was a bad idea. who knows who is in that house, what they're doing. so you waited for someone to come out and luckily, they did. a man with long, black hair strutted elegantly down the steps to the front door and down the road. you got out of your car and decided to follow him.

you don't know what had gotten into you recently. the million questions swirling through your head had apparently begged enough to be answered that you just had to oblige, no matter the consequences. the man was dressed rather odd, you noticed. a grape-colored velvet suit with tailcoats, a mustache like your grandfather had worn. he dressed like a man out of time.

when he stopped walking, you stopped. when he started again, you were right on his ass (well, feet away, but still). he took a laise through a farmer's market, glancing around himself a few times before leaving without buying a single thing. he walked down the road and turned into an alleyway. naive as you were, you followed him and found the alleyway empty. only trash littered the ground.

stepping forward, you peeked behind dumpsters and other barriers of the sort. deciding that he must have disappeared somehow, you turned around with a sigh . . . only to be shoved up against the wall by the very man you had been following.

you had two first impressions of the man. the first was that, now that you could observe him up close, you noticed that he was devilishly handsome. the second was that he had a stick pointed at your throat and seemed rather impressed with himself for it.

"you have about ten seconds to explain why you're following me, hm?" his hands were gripped around the fabric of your collar shirt, bunching up the neatly ironed cotton. so much for looking polished. "who are you? fudge's minon? death eater?"

"i'm a member of the police - if you'd only give me a moment to show you my badge -"

"not a chance," he responded, pressing the stixk further into your neck. really, is that supposed to intimidate me? you thought in annoyance. "who are you really?"

"i'm telling the truth."

"how did you find me?"

"i followed you from that house on grimmauld place."

"how do you know about that?"

"following the homing pigeon - well, owl - that scott moody sent."

not only did he seem cautious, but nervous now. "did dumbledore send you?" he asked dubiously.

"i honestly have no idea who that is." memorable name like that, you'd definitely remember him. no, he seemed to be quite odd to you.

"why were you following me?"

you sighed. "i'm invesitgating the death of alastor moody."

although a sadness washed over the man's face, there was something behind his expression that said he already knew. he placed the stick back into the inner pocket of his coat. "you said you were police?" you nodded.

"so you're a muggle," he mumbled. was muggle some new slang term for cop? you didn't know and even more, you didn't care. then, a realization spread over his face.

sirius -

it shouldn't be possible - if you were a muggle, how could you see grimmauld place? because of the many peotective enchantments and ancient runes safeguarding the black house, only those who were wizards should be able to see it. yet, you had watched him walk right out the front door.

"you - you're looking into moody death?" he asked. he supposed it made sense. no one knew during the battle where they fighting high in the air - it was the heat of the moment after all. it only makes sense that muggle police got to his body first. still, he couldn't understand how you could have seen the house of black.

"his case is part of an ungoing investigation into the dozens of deaths of citizens across greater britain in the past two years." ah. so the muggles were catching on to voldemort's dirty work.

"let me guess. they were all perfectly healthy, showed no signs of deah whatsoever?" he asked. of course the muggles were going insane about it. people dying left and right without them even knowing what, or who, was causing it.

"yes, how did you -"

"just a hunch," he shrugged in response to your shocked expression.

"if you know something, you must tell me," you said rather firmly, though it seemed you were under the delusion that you had any sort of authority over him. your tone was not as strong as you may have liked.

"i'm afraid i cannot -"

"cannot what?" you barked back - now that had some bite. his interest was peaked now - what had your wand in a knot? "there are people dying. these dead bodies keep showing up with no sign as to how they died. moody aparently just fell from the sky! dead bodies don't just fall from the sky," you told him with an incredulous laugh. "now you are going to tell me everything you know about these bodies, or i swear on the bloody royal throne itself that i'll - i'll - get it out of you!"

you -

"you cannot just bring some muggle girl - if she really is a muggle - into our headquarters! are you barking mad? and don't you dare make another one of your mutt jokes or on merlin's grave i will -"

"that's quite enough, andromeda," responded a rather polite and calming male voice. there was a murmur and the same man let out a sigh. "at least let the man speak first."

"fine!"

"she saw grimmauld place, she knows about moody! she didn't bloody well seem like one of voldemort's spies, she didn't even know what 'death eater' meant. besides, what was i supposed to do? let her go blabbering to other muggles about this?"

"you could obliviate her."

"i would, if i had ever learned how. besides, it's not ethical, taking away someone's memories like that."

"this is war, black - desperate times call for desperate measures."

"now why don't you get back to shoving your greasy nose down some potions notes, snivellus, and let us grown-ups -"

"you arrogant -"

there was a sudden clammer of noise, the sound of several falling to the ground and pots and pans banging all over the place. a loud thwip! and sudden silence. "stop it! the both of you! has anyone actually bothered to question her?"

there was another round of silence before the door in front of you creaked open. the man who had pinned you up in the alley, black he had been called, looked rather dismal as he invited you into the room.

after your little speech, he requested you joined him in his house. well, you were not expecting the dustiest, blackest house you had ever seen. the entry hall was so thin, you could practically feel the walls caressing your arms. you waited in the entrance hall, outside the door to the kitchen, while he talked with his . . . friends? their conversation was all very confusing, talks of war and the like. were they also part of some secret agency? you weren't sure so you remained cautious.

"hello," you said to all those in the room, your voice trembling nervously. there were six others littered across the room. a rather dreadful looking man in the corner, with a hooked nose. he looked at you with distaste. black stood at the end of the table, his palms planted onto the table. another woman with hair almost as black as the walls, who sighed at your entrance. another man, scars barraging his face, with rather kind eyes. a man with umber skin, dressed in deep blue robes decorated with silver. and finally, a redhaired woman with a rag thrown over her shoulder, a knife in hand as she stood near a cutting board.

"hello," said the scarred-man, a warm smile making your shoulders sag a bit in . . . relief? comfort? "do you mind introducing yourself?"

you revealed your badge to all and recitind your name. "i'm a forensic analyst for the london police," you recited for the third time that day. "earlier this morning, the body of alastor moody was discovered. aside from the head injury he sustained from - well, we're not exactly sure - he seemed perfectly healthy. our medical examiner has concluded that he sustained the injury after his death. as of this morning, his body was taken by an operative of a secret government agency. there have been dozens of other bodies like this over the past couple of years. i've taken it upon myself to investigate this . . . occurence. this morning i tracked down moody's father, who sent a courier - owl - here."

"and is that everything?" black asked with an arched brow, as though he thought you were hiding something. which, ot be fair, you kind of were, but it was a small, unimportant detail and rather ridiculous really. just an irrational price of science that most likely had no relevance to the murders or perhaps a suggestion towards a broken coder in your lab - "well is it?"

you hesitated to answer but felt rather intimidated by the people surrounding you. perhaps sharing everything would be ideal, even if they thought you were barking mad. "well, erm - there's this one thing. do you know what dna is, mr. black?"

black shook his head and the others looked rather confused.

"i do," the scarred man spoke. "remus. a pleasure."

you gave him a polite nod in response. "a blood sample is taken from every body that goes through the police, and we run it through our systems and upload it to a database. moody had a gene marker in his dna - an odd one. one that shouldn't be there."

remus tilted his head, indulging you. "i've had old professors look at his results, even after I reran them. they thought something was wrong with the data. that i should run it again. but i know it wasn't wrong . . . i have the same gene marker in my dna. i'm not mad. it means something. even if others can't see it."

remus looked puzzled for a moment, but as a hazy look crossed his eyes, you could see his demeanor change rather swiftly. he straightened up, and glanced towards sirius with his mouth agape.

"what is it remus?" sirius asked with concern.

"i think that she's found a muggle's way . . . to prove the existence of magic."

sirius -

no. it couldn't be possible. it simply wasn't. if remus was right, if what he said was true, not only did this mean there were rather heinous repercussions for the wozarding world, but . . . you would be in danger.

suddenly, snape stood up from his chair rather suddenly, his eyes latched onto you. his hands still wrapped around the arms of the chairs, gripping them so tightly his knuckles were white. "everyone except sirius and the girl . . . out. now!"

the others were reluctant to leave the room, but they all filed out eventually. dumbledore trusted snape, even ordered snape to kill him, so they all would have to trust snape . . . even if sirius didn't want to.

snale turned his poisonous gaze on you. "sit down."

you followed his instructions, though cautiously, and took the closest seat next to sirius. sirius hoped that implied there was some level of trust between you two, seeing as you'll need it since he couldn't let you leave grimmauld place. "while it seems you haven't been filled in, i find that i cano that rather quickly for you. magic is real and a select number of individuals can possess it - you must be among those people, seeing as only those who are magical can see this house. there has been a wizarding war for over the past three decades, lead by a man named voldemort. the goal of him and his death eaters are to kill or otherwise enslave all those who are non-magical, also known as muggles. do you understand?"

you seemed to be flabbergasted by the assault of information and it's implications, and though you were slow to believe, you simply nodded your head. sirius placed his hand on the back of your chair, protectively, almost territorially.

"snape -"

"do shut your mouth black," snape spat. "a seer, or a prophet as muggles might know them, made a prophecy not long ago. the chosen one becomes the chosen two when eighth month approaches. for someone undesireable as any, she will be hunted down like the dog. she has discovered something no muggle should know. the power to vanquish the dark lord rests in the hand of fate - and should that hand choose to vanquish her, all hope of defeating the dark lord is lost."

"snape, what in the devil's name -"

"do not interrupt me, you -"

"no!" sirius exclaimed, slamming the goblet he was holding down on the table. wine spilled out from the cup, dripping down the rusted golden edge. "that is quite enough. i'm sure our guest has gone through enough the past day. she is famished and tired. let her rest and perhaps then we can discuss whatever nonsense you're blabbering on about."

sirius turned towards you with a softer expression and gestured for you to follow him out. you glanced back at snape, he noticed, if just for a moment. but soon enough, the two of you were in the foyer sitting across from each other.

your head was buried between the palms of your hand - it was obvious that you were distressed. "are you all right?" sirius asked softly.

"all right?" you asked, glancing up at him, your tone incredulous. "all right? no, no, i am just fine. you know, I just found out magic is real and there's some wizard war going on that no one knows about. yeah, this isn't news to me at all! you know, i get to work flying around on my little witch broom like everyone else! no i'm not all right!"

"we actually do use brooms as a model of transportation, that's not a myth," sirius told you, rather factually. you didn't seem very amused by his short educational bit. "look, i know this is overwhelming -"

"why should I even believe you?" you asked, tone rising in volume, though more out of worry than anger. "i mean something inexplicable could explain moody's death, but magic? magic can't be real, it's just not physically possible! there are rules and -"

sirius stared up at you from the ground. you stared down at him. though, instead of a human standing there, it was a dog.

"what the fuck."

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #my writing #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my fic #writing #fanfic #harry potter #— [ glizzy posts ☆ ]

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starlightshadowsworld · 2 months

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Bsd except Atsushi is mentored by Yosano.

Shibusawa was tracked down by the Agency and found at the Orphanage. They had him arrested and kidnapped Atsushi after seeing the way he was treated.

Atsushi ends up spending a lot of time in the infirmary. And while he starts off terrified of the place, it becomes somewhere he feels safe in.

Atsushi ends up forming a sibling bond with Ranpo and Yosano. But because of how much he spends in the infirmary, he gets closer to Yosano.

Because of this he ends up spending a lot of time with Yosano who's taking care of him.

She understands what he went through better than most and comforts him when he reveals Shibusawa called him an angel.

Atsushi retains a lot of knowledge Shibusawa passed onto him.

It's rather unethical but it's there.

Yosano notices his interest and starts letting him shadow her while she works. Atsushi ends up picking more knowledge and finds he enjoys helping people.

After being told all he can do is cause misfortune onto others, it's nice. Again, something Yosano understands.

Atsushi ends up joining the Agency and Yosano takes him in as her student.

She's kind and protective, albeit a bit intense at times but Atsushi's a firey spirit who matches her energy.

Atsushi still goes on cases with Ranpo, using his medical knowledge to aid in forensics and examining bodies at crime scenes.

And making sure Ranpo can get to the case, of course.

Atsushi walking around in a lil doctors coat following Yosano around.

#atsushi nakajima #yosano akiko #bsd atsushi #bsd yosano #bungou stray dogs #bsd

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bucknastysbabe · 5 months

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Rating: Explicit

Tags: Modern!AU, Pseudo-Incest, hightowgaryen reader, stepdad Criston, sexual tension, infidelity, family holiday shenanigans, Daeron erasure? Not in my house, age gap undisclosed but she’s above 18, pnv!sex, ye olde $qu1rt, the father who stepped up amirite, Aegon Is Tired, daddy kink, happy holidays!

A/N: totally didn’t beta but just went back over to fix some things

The addition of Criston to your household wasn’t necessarily a big change. He’d always been around, a family friend, dutiful guard, more of a father since your own was sickly and preferred his first child and her offspring. The man was there for most of the hardest moments of life, him and grandpa stepping in. He handled the boys, Otto a doting grandparent for you and Helaena. Alicent always just tried her best, neurotic as she may be.

They were married by the time you and two of your siblings had moved out. Aegon had been back home, fresh outta treatment and raw. Daeron was a junior in highschool. It seemed to be a marriage of convenience after your father died. Someone to support and guide the boys with fatherly love, keep things in array.

The wedding was quick and short, no hub-bub, no Rhaenyra or her family. A sharp snub but…what was new?

You hadn’t been home since he moved in. The ancestral home was monstrous, you wouldn’t have to see anyone if you so desired. But holidays were here and your finals were over. A long flight from your study abroad program in Yi-Ti’s capital would be rather horrid. While you centered on foreign affairs, Helaena was studying entomology and Aemond soon to be a forensic medical examiner.

There was always pressure to be the best— Aegon cracked wide open his freshman year. The rest of you had your own little chips and hairline fractures. Maybe not Daeron, the cheerful fellow. He was rapidly advancing to be on a professional football team at the mere age of 17.

You didn’t expect what it would be like at home for the Feast Day of the Father. Supposedly a cheery time, all the servants decorating the manor with garlands and shiny lights, a large ironwood in the foyer. Blue winter roses bloomed and bowls of smokeberry sat around. You couldn’t make it for the Harvest Festival as Yi-Ti didn’t celebrate that, luckily you were now on a school break. The memories of the past Feast Day were more unpleasant than anything.

Criston was to pick you up from the Airport outside of King’s Landing. You felt strange. He was a bit distant with you. Helaena too, but Aemond and Otto seemed to be the only ones she would open up with. Sometimes with you, mainly about her bugs.

You’d always held a childish affection for Criston. A shiver of embarrassment and goosebumps erupted on your arms at a memory. You were young, thirteen maybe? You’d gotten your period and the beginning of breasts. It was the Maiden’s day and you wore the prettiest white dress, hair and makeup done. Batting your eyes and blushing when Cole complimented, “A proper young lady, you look beautiful.”

You seethed with jealousy the rest of the evening, the Dornishman surrounded by maidens, holding young Daeron in his lap. Sharing a dance with Alicent and little Baela. Until a shadow loomed and his lips curled as he asked gently, “C’mon princess, you get a dance too.” You laid your head against his chest, pretending the dear family friend was your boyfriend.

Then it was over and that was that. Criston distanced himself further. Thinking about how you pressed yourself to his bigger body made you pinch the bridge of your nose. Now he was married to your mother. Hopefully Cole didn’t remember. Aegon sure had a field day, the prat.

You nodded off for the long flight, stopping over in Tyrosh before the arrival in King’s Landing. The familiar city line and bay gave a sense of nostalgia. The Red Keep no longer belonged to any royals so the Targaryen’s relocated to Summerhall and Dragonstone. Summerhall being Alicent’s home, while your half-sister lived on Dragonstone.

Jet lag was already setting in. Yi-Ti was many time zones ahead of Westeros. Grabbing your carry-on and other trunk of clothes and gifts you went to the usual terminal. As you hunched standing around others, shivering in the chilly air, a sleek SUV pulled up.

Just in time, some royal fanatics were beginning to notice a Princess in the midst. Criston ushered you into the car, quickly packing away the bags. Once climbing into the automobile he hummed, “Pack rocks in there? Good to see you princess, you look well.”

“Yi-Ti has wondrous gifts, I figured I would get some for the family. How’s Aegon?” The gold band around his left hand shone against the street lights. Criston’s mouth twitched, thinking over his words. He deadpanned, “Slow. He goes to meetings and such but is not having a good time at home. Alicent won’t let him back to school until he gets a year of sobriety. He’s working.”

You snorted, “Aegon, working? Wow.”

Criston rolled his eyes, offering a lopsided smirk. Your stomach fluttered a bit. He drummed on the steering wheel, questioning, “How is it out in Yin?” The fact he even knew the capital made you smile. You couldn’t help but gush, “Oh if I didn’t study the customs before I would’ve been laughed out. They’re a very complex society. I’m now fluent since living there. Very kind people, although a bit stingy.”

Criston let you babble about your foreign excursion, occasionally asking a question. He’d always been recognized as a good listener. Somewhere in your detailing of the history and the issues with Leng— sleep came back. Summerhall wasn’t a short distance.

The vague memory of being carried and shushed by pretty lips and a low timbre accompanied your strange dreams. You’d slumber deeply for the rest of the night.

Apparently morning too, jerking up at 2PM to speed shower off the airport grime and make yourself presentable for the family. Hustling down the stairs the smell of something cooking hit your senses— you didn’t realize how hungry you were.

Daeron was hovering in the kitchen while Criston cooked up some sort of stir fry, looking domestically lovely. Seven above, you needed to stop. Daeron did a double take and hugged you with a cheer, lanky arms holding suprising strength.

“Sister! I’m so glad you could make it, about damn time!” You hugged the baby of the family tightly, chuckling, “You try living across the world, jeez let me down! Daeron! I swear you grow a foot every time I see you.” Criston peered back to smile before returning to the task at hand.

You eyed your baby brother, chiding, “Looking ever the athlete. What are they pumping you with? HGH?”

He scoffed and flexed his legs, “No, simply protein shakes and plenty of exercise. Braavos FC is showing interest but mother wants me to go to school.”

“Do what you want Dare, not like everyone gets the chance to go professional,” you looked around, ”where is everyone by the way?”

Criston interrupted, “Aegon will roust eventually, your mother is working, Aemond in the library, and I think Hel is in the gardens with Otto. They’ll come around, I’m almost done- why don’t you two sit down I’ll fix some plates.”

The pair of you shrugged and did so, chattering about this and that. Aegon shuffled in, looking much healthier, but hair a mess and his clothes ill-fitting. He grumbled, pulling down a tight jumper, “I know I’m fat- piss off sis.”

“Well hello to you too big brother,” you laughed.

He huffed and hugged your seated form, a rare gesture from Aeg. He grabbed a soda and plopped down, yawning. Propping a chubby cheek on his hand, he complained about being out in the middle of nowhere and the irritable retail job he had.

Daeron began to chuckle. Aegon glared his way, mouthing something. You interjected, “What am I missing here?” Aemond’s stern voice filled the awkward silence, “Dear Aegon works at a lingerie store.”

“Women’s intimate apparel,” Aegon droned.

You guffawed, totally not surprised, the damn hound. Aeg muttered, “It’s more returns and angry old ladies asking about hosiery than a babe. Enough about me. Criston you done yet?”

Aemond, ever the prick, “Hope you made extra.”

Criston was in fact done now, placing the big bowl in the middle of the table, returning with some sauces and a side of Leng slaw. You blushed a bit and asked, “A street favorite in Yin, make this for me Criston?” All shades of purple eyes turned to the step-father.

His own olive cheeks darkened and he waved it off, “Just in case you missed the place.”

Lunch was eaten amicably besides Aegon and Daeron fighting over the last servings. To which Aemond snatched to bowl up for Otto and Helaena, informing Aegon he needs a diet. The eldest bristled, “I can’t help I’m always craving shit! I’m clean and sober, be happy about that!”

Things were escalating before Criston shut down the argument, dismissing everyone. You patted the dismal Aegon and softly uttered, “I’m proud of you Aeg.” He offered a brisk smile and stomped outside to light up a cigarette. You took the task of helping your step-father clean up.

It was a bit quiet, water running and dishes clanking. You almost bit your cheek bloody before blurting, “How has it been for you? A big adjustment, marrying into a bunch of loons.” He stared down at his hands scrubbing the plate, lips working around a response again.

“It’s alright. Quiet. Formal. Nothing new I suppose. I didn’t think I’d enjoy all of you back like I did. Brings some life around the place besides Alicent being a workaholic and Aegon moping. I’m a glorified house-husband.”

His dark eyes grew wide. Criston spluttered, “I- I don’t know why I said that. Father forgive me, that was rude.” His calloused hands scrubbed harder at the plate until you thought he might break it.

Grabbing a strong wrist, he jerked his pretty face to your own, panic poorly hidden. You stroked the softer skin on the inside of his wrist and murmured softly, “I know how mom gets. Your secret is safe with me.” You padded away, the man seeming stunned.

You’d go outside to catch some air, feeling a bit lightheaded and guilty getting in your step-father’s space like that. His little admittance was a surprise yet not. Criston was career military, before becoming the head of Royal Guard under Viserys. Rhaenyra dismissed him upon her assent and then he soon married mother.

You had expected less of a strain between the two, they had an obvious lack of chemistry, chaste kisses. Your mother picked up a lot of royal duties still, off working and traveling. Leaving poor Cole alone. Once again you needed to stop. Thoughts began to slip between the cracks.

Aegon was out with his sobriety sponsor for the night. The wine flowed while he was gone. You’d finally gotten hugs and warm welcomes from Hel, Grandpa, and Mom. It was just family, smiling and giddy off the taste testing mother ordered. Even young Daeron was giggly and pink cheeked.

Aemond indulged slightly— the most you got was a looser tongue. Everyone shared stories around the crackling fire, laughing. Your own head was pleasantly swimmy, nestled next to your older sister. She seemed to be in the present for now.

Alicent and Criston shared the love seat, his long arm around around her perfectly postured shoulders. You kept making eye contact with him, blushing and looking away. Why was he staring? You launched into a story about Aegon trying to drunkenly ride a mule at the Crownlands Fair.

That seemed to release a barrage of other Aegon tales, making your sides hurt with laughter. Even a couple of Aemond’s sharp witted barbs at the few full Targaryen gatherings were discussed. The middle brother smirked and snorted, rolling his good eye.

It went on until everyone was either sleepy or borderline too drunk to continue. Your heart felt full, escorting Daeron’s drunk self back to his room. He mumbled with a goofy grin, “I love when you all come home, so much happier.” Tucking him in and grabbing a water out of his mini fridge, you made the teen swallow.

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno’ Aeg’s cranky, mom’s always gone,” he stopped and poorly whispered with wide eyes, “Mom and Criston don’t sleep in the same room.” Patting your brother on the head you gently scolded, “Don’t repeat that, take your meds and drink some water, night night Dare. Love you.”

“Love youuuuu, sorrryyyy.”

Quietly exiting his room you turned down the drafty hallway to meet the familiar dark pools of Criston’s eyes. He stared intensely, you peering back, an unknown force stalling you two. Eventually you padded to him, a little wobbly from the wine. He wasn’t quite sober either, faint Dornish accent lilting his voice toward the end of the night.

He licked his lips, still quiet. You peered upwards, the man towering over you this close. Your heart was beating rapidly, frantic feelings arising after Daeron’s admission. You whispered, “How long?”

He knew, blowing out a sigh.

“Eight months or so. I love your mother, alright dear?” His tone was wavering, weak, as if he was convincing himself. You stepped closer, enough to smell the sweet red on his carved lips. He inhaled sharply, hands balling at his sides.

“Why were you staring at me all night?”

“I could ask the same.”

He looked away, running a big hand through dark curls. Criston muttered, more to himself, “I can’t, not again.” Nodding in affirmation you stated, “You’re right, this is wrong. Good night Criston.” Pain bloomed in your chest turning away. Taking two strides a warm hand tugged your wrist, you biting back a squeak as the man maneuvered you into the wall.

He breathed, “We’re drunk. What is it with you Targaryens?” His warm forehead pressed against your own, hands secured around your waist. A whimper bubbled up from your throat, his warm body caging you in, impossibly toned thigh slotted between your own.

“Just kiss me, I’ve dreamt about this since I was thirteen.”

He groaned, seizing your waiting lips, gently kissing in measured movements. You arched into his hard frame, arms wrapping up around broad shoulders, fingers tickling at brown curls. Criston tilted his head, feeling his way in with sensual little laps. Opening for the elder you met his probing tongue, dancing slowly together as your lips smacked.

His huge hands came down to your ass, slipping under the skirt to hoist you further onto his hard thigh. You mewled again, Criston shushing with another kiss. He whispered into your ear, “Be quiet, hm? Bad enough as is.”

He returned to taking your mouth, quite enjoying the sloppy kisses. You shivered and he eagerly swallowed any noises, dragging your cunt across his thigh easily, aided by your bucking hips. The friction against your clit was sending you into a tizzy. Criston had to reluctantly place his hand over your mouth to muffle helpless whimpers.

He chuckled, “You sound so pretty, lovely, gods.” Instead he laid plush kisses down your sensitive neck and collarbones, humming in delight. You were sweating and drooling, climax quickly reaching an apex, wetness smearing all over Cole’s thigh.

Chest heaving and thighs twitching he ordered, “Now, come my lovely, come for your step-father.” Step-father? You gasped behind his palm, shivering and stiffening as your overstimulated pussy soaked through thin panties onto Criston’s thigh. He eased you down, bright teeth glinting in the low light.

You felt tears welling up, wiping at them aggressively. Nothing new, stepping on a bug made you cry. Certainly nothing to do with never having this again. No. The Dornishman seemed concerned, dark brows pinching.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you back,” he more or less ordered, hoisting you up bridal style. You sniffled, “Sorry, always do that after a good orgasm.” He scoffed, “Sure sweet girl. I’ll take care of you, no tears. Not like anyone pays attention, heads so far into their own asses.”

He gently placed you down, helping aid the still tipsy debacle of undressing and changing. A large shirt and panties would do. You climbed ungracefully into the bed, snuggling under the thick covers. Criston sat on the end of the bed, palm on your ankle.

“Are you leaving?”

He gave a sad smile, “I’m afraid so. I’m just down the hall.”

“Would you do this sober?”

He squeezed your leg, voice lowering, “It would’ve happened before you headed off I think. No one has paid me much attention in a while. You always seemed to idolize me, now I’m an old man fucking around with the girl he watched grow up.”

“I don’t care. When mom leaves again I want to fuck you.”

Criston rolled his eyes, “Now you’re drunk talking.”

“I mean it. I want you to fuck me. What they don’t know doesn’t hurt. Make me cum on your cock.”

Criston groaned, “Stop it or I’ll take you right now little princess. We’ll see.”

It wasn’t long before the elder man had you bent over his bed, strong hips snapping into your weeping pussy. One hand pushed your back into an arch, the other pinching your sensitive nub. You slobbered and bit into the pillow, rubbing your tits into the rough fabric of the bed.

He panted, “Gorgeous girl, sucking me in, you wanted this huh?”

The rest of the family was out for lunch. You feigned illness, Criston offering to watch. No one batted an eye. Wasn’t long before he picked you up and snarled his intentions.

He smacked your ass, you keening, “Yesss- fuck yes— don’t stop! M’gonna come!”

Then tanned man plastered himself to your tinier frame, biting gently on your shoulder, muttering dirty little secrets. He roughly grabbed your jaw to get at your lips, fingers still maddeningly swirling around your engorged bud. He rasped, desperation tinging his tone, “Me too, mmfuckk, my perfect princess, gods!”

He swallowed up your wailing cry, body covering your own, like the man would envelop you if he could. He jerked your hips a weird way, you choking on your spit as his cock jammed into that sensitive ridged patch. Whining his name, heat and a strange sensation lit up between your legs, gushing helplessly onto the bed and the man’s cock.

Criston sounded like he’d died, groaning raggedly, cumming into his condom with a few more sloppy pumps, thighs trembling too. You fell forward, your step-father rolling right beside, chest quickly rising and falling. He managed, “I made you squirt.”

You nodded jerkily, moving weak limbs to curl into his perfect body. “That you did, daddy,” came the breathless reply. He grinned like a boy, smacking your thigh playfully, dark eyes sparkling. Criston laughed, “You need to watch yourself or I’ll eat your pretty cunt until you learn to watch your mouth.”

Stretching lazily you sighed, “That sounds like a good idea to me. I guess it’s good I’ll be hobbling around, they won’t realize I’ve had the daylights fucked out of me.” Criston twisted to give you a peck on the cheek, getting up to dispose of the condom. He called back, “Perfect, I love nursemaid duty.”

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #criston cole x reader #modern au

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