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thelov3lybookworm · 8 months

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I Didn't Ask For This (Part 9)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Summary: Marriage had always been something sacred to little Y/n, something dream like, where her husband would come and whisk her away to a fairyland. At least, that's what she had always thought.

All her dreams would be shattered.

But maybe she can salvage them?

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: forced marriage, none more that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.

A/n: I've been soo excited to write this part, especially the ending. Despite the almost whole thing being erased because I didnt save it, I like this part. Hope you do too.

Enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Y/n smiled softly as she stared at the Sidra, standing next to Azriel while leaning against the railing of the bridge.

"It's very peaceful." She murmured.

"That it is. It feels more so at night, because there's more chaos nearby." He offered. She nodded.

They had been walking around the city for a couple of hours now, and it was almost dinnertime. They had decided to rest for a few moments before continuing. She was so tired that she was sure that her legs would fall off if she took another step. Obviously, she hadn't considered the consequences when she promised to spend the whole day with him.

The whole morning and afternoon was spent with him pointing at shops and telling her of how he and his brothers terrorised Velaris in their younger years. Y/n's stomach hurt from how much she had laughed. From those stories, she knew that most of his five hundred years had brought him happiness. And that made her happy, for a reason she didnt want to think of.

He tilted his body so he faced her more. "Where do you want to eat?"

"I don't know...can't you decide?" She glanced at him, quickly turning back to the river, because she couldn't look at him for more than a moment without blushing. Especially with the intensity with which he looked at her. As if she was the only person in the world and if he didn't pay attention to every word she said, he'd die.

She could feel him smile as he straightened. "There is this place along the banks of Sidra. Its the inner circle's current favourite place to eat."

"Okay." She mumbled as she turned to him. "How far is it?"

"Don't worry. I'll carry you."

"Excuse me?"

He grinned, turning away from her and giving her instructions to wrap her arms around his neck, ignoring her protests. She finally relented, his hands going under her thighs to hoist her up. He couldn't look at her, which she was glad for, because all he would've seen was the redness in her face.

She clutched him tighter as he started walking, mindful of his wings. He again started telling her stories.

"There used to be a restaurant there." He pointed to a tailoring shop with a jerk of his head. "When we ate there for the first time, we were obsessed. We made plans all week to eat there on the weekend. When the day came, Cassian starved himself in hopes of being able to eat more. And, because he was so hungry, he gobbled down all the food without chewing. When we were leaving, he started feeling nauseous."

Y/n grinned and rested her head on his shoulder, having an inkling of where this was going.

"As soon as we stepped inside the town house, he threw up all over the threshold. After that he never even stepped foot in the general vicinity of the restaurant, as if it was somehow cursed."

Y/n laughed. "He is... a masterpiece."

"That he is." He agreed. Soon, they had reached the restaurant he was telling about and he helped her settle before he took seat.

As they ate, he managed to get Y/n to tell him about her life. And, because there were not really any happy or pleasant memories in her life, she told him of the less gruesome and painful ones. She watched as his anger grew with every word from her mouth.

When they were flying back, he stayed mostly quiet, as if lost in thought. Before they landed though, he turned to her.

"There is a family dinner tomorrow at the river House. I'd be happy if you came."

She considered it for a moment before nodding. "I'll come."

"Thank you." Quiet joy took over his face as he set her down, his lips twitching as if he was holding back a smile as he kissed her hand before flying away.

She stared at his form until she couldn't anymore, smiling.

Azriel had been extremely adorable today, and she would be lying if she said that she wasn't excited to see this side of him again.

•○🌑○•

The darkness was creeping in again as she stared at her abdomen in the mirror. Her shirt was stuck around her wrists as she clutched the cloth to her chest. The disgusting thoughts and vile ideas she had regarding the disgusting marks on her body swirled through her mind.

She hated herself for it.

She hated everyone who played a role in bringing her to this point.

Everyone who had a hand in turning the hopeful little soul she had been into the unoptimistic female she was today.

Somewhere deep in her she knew it was wrong to think about herself that way, but she didn't care. Her father and the other men's laughs were too loud for her to hear the rational thoughts.

This was the sole reason why she never looked at herself when she changed. It bought back those dark memories and thoughts. But today she couldn't help it.

She was getting ready to go to the dinner with the inner circle when she had peeked at herself, and now she couldn't stop thinking of how disgusting her body was.

She knew if someone came in from the door, they would have an unobstructed view of the map of horror on her back. But she couldn't bring herself to care at the moment.

While she was busy thinking of these things, she didn't hear the soft footfalls nearing her room. She didn't hear them until it was too late.

A knock sounded before her husband poked his head in, the smile on his face disappearing as she pulled the shirt back over her head. She gave him a shaky smile as she watched a muscle feather in her jaw.

"Az– Azriel. Did you need something?"

He didn't reply, entering the room fully, the door clicking shut behind him. He prowled closer, ignoring her questions and attempts at distraction. When he was close enough, he traced lines on her now clothed back, exactly where some of those scars were.

His eyes slowly lifted to meet hers in the mirror, his voice quiet and deadly as he spoke. "May I?" His hands brushed the hem of her shirt. She wanted to say no, but she nodded.

He slowly and gently lifted her shirt as she clutched the front of it so she didn't get completely naked in front of him. His eyes traced the marks on her back with a fierceness that would've sent people running.

"Who did this to you?" His voice sent shivers down her spine.

"My– my father and a few other men."

He met her eyes again, his eyes flashing before glancing down at her abdomen which had gotten exposed. He stepped closer, curling his arm around her around her to reach the scars. His face was murderous, but his hands were gentle. So gentle her knees nearly buckled.

He traced those scars, completely silent. The air was filled with tension as she watched his every move, her eyes prickling.

His eyes slowly lifted to hers again, his voice lower and more dangerous as he spoke. "Anywhere else?"

She knew he was asking if she had more scars. Which she did, so after a moment of consideration, she unclasped the few of the clasps at the top of the shirt and pulled the flaps aside.

A startled gasp full of horror left him as his eyes flew wide.

There, on her chest right above where her heart should be, was a nasty scar.

"How did you survive that!?" He questioned, his voice wobbling.

She smiled. "He wouldn't have let me die that easily." She turned to him. "Before the bargain between us was made, he wasn't that bad. Then he slowly started ignoring us. Mother wasn't talking to him, spending most of her days with me. But then, so deep in despair she was, she stopped taking care of herself. And that was the start of her slow and sure demise." She took a deep breath, tears gathering in her eyes.

"After she died, he only got worse. He started yelling at us, and then hitting us. It soon turned to whipping us." She searched Azriel's face before continuing. "After you left, the Camp Lord kicked us out of the camp, not wanting to share the power when he was no longer getting something out of it. We stayed nearby for a few years before father somehow convinced him to let us back into the camp.

"Later on, we found out that he had made a bargain that he would let the males in the camp beat us for their own sick pleasure. He–"

"What?" He had gone rigid.

She swallowed. "They started an event. It took place every year. The men who wanted to feel like they were great warriors would come and fight with the women, who had no experience. Seeing their opponent, especially a female, beaten and bruised, gave then satisfaction. Some of those scars are the result of this event. But it was stopped the moment Rhysand became High Lord.

"One day, father got so frustrated for something that I can't recall right now, and conveniently, I was nearby. He got a blunt knife that he was about to sharpen, ant stuck it in my chest. It hurt." A tear escaped her eye as she recalled the pain. "And becuase it was blunt, it took more force for it to pierce skin. When he was done and I was nearly dead, he got a healer to get me healed."

At this point, tears were streaming down her cheeks. He pulled her to his chest, his lips ghosting over her temple. He murmured things in her ear, but she couldn't make anything out over the sound of her sobs and her heart beating in her chest as she clutched onto Azriel as if he was the only thing keeping her alive.

He didn't complain, holding her back just as fiercely.

Sometime later, she decided to get dressed. So she pulled away and walked into the adjoining bathroom. When she came back out, Azriel smiled at her.

"I'll drop you off at the house. I have an important thing to do."

She nodded, despite wanting to ask him to not go.

Soon, she was sitting with the inner circle in the sitting room of the River House, glancing out the window continuously, hoping he came back soon.

•○🌑○•

It was somewhere near midnight when Azriel returned, smiling at her. She smiled back, a blush already creeping up her face. He sat next to her. He smelled and looked like he just taken a bath, his hair damp.

Almost an hour later, the High Lord left the sitting room, saying someone had brought some reports for him. Azriel watched him go, his jaw clenching. But when he found Y/n looking at him, he smiled again, relaxing.

It wasn't long before Rhysand burst back in, fuming. He walked straight to Azriel, who was already standing.

"What is this Azriel?" Rhysand waved some papers in front of her husbands face. Confused, everybody sat straighter, somber.

Unease started swirling in Y/n's stomach. If the High Lord was so mad, it must be something important.

Azriel glanced at the High Lord's hand before back at him, speaking calmly. "Those are papers Rhys. More specifically, they look like reports."

Rhysand looked on the verge of murdering someone. Y/n stood. "Tell me why, tell me fucking why, an Illyrian camp was burned to the ground. That too exactly while you were absent."

Her heart stopped as she stared at Azriel, his face void of any emotion or remorse. If anything, he looked proud.

What in the name of the cauldron did he do?

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @bubybubsters @maxxieluvs @bubbbllee @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @waytoomanyteenagefeels @tell-me-a-poem @the-lake-is-calling @spaxxxi @japanese-wonderland-blog @valeridarkness @moonlwghts @deadratio @esposadomd @harrystylesfan2686 @missusbarnes-rogers @whatthefuckshappeningrn @hyacinthoideshispanica @historygeekqueen @lizziesfirstwife @nastynesta @aroseinvelaris @nightless @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kodokunarisu-blog @selillusion @eos-princess @moonfawnx @a-court-of-milkandhoney @emilyo-218 @wannabewolf @ailyr92 @chronically-online-cheese @myheartfollower @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @marina468 @menaosama @starryhiraeth @hereticdance @mali22 @valencia-rou @azrielsstarlight @marvelouslovely-barnes @luvmoo @starlight-hope @a-frog-with-a-laptop @fall-myriad @alt-ghost @elleofdragons @ruleroftides @5moremin @stargirl1714 @bunnymallowo @ivy-34

Part 10

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midnight-in-town · 1 year

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hello! long time watcher of black butler first time reader and i just caught up. something i don't get during the campania shenanigans and i was hoping you would explain. why did undertaker keep going with the first bizarre doll experiment when he found out that ciel and the midford family were on board. If he's cedric or just if he cares, shouldn't he have aborted the experiments and protected them? thank you a lot for answering this and sorry if you said this before but i didn't find it.

Hey Anon! Even if you're not necessarily new to the fandom, welcome to the readers' side, hahaha! As for your question, I'm pretty sure I did answer this here and there once or twice, but I'll sum it up for you here. :)

First of all, while UT's a complex character, unlike some other fans, I never found that anything he does is senseless. Not ever since ch105. However, writing-wise, Yana-sensei can only slowly unveil more and more hints for UT's character and his agenda throughout the arcs.

For example, she can only reveal that UT "can't bear to lose another Phantomhive" after showing us that he cried about Vincent's death in the GW arc and after revealing he's a deserting Shinigami who's trying to bring back the dead in the Campania and Weston arcs. All these hints are revealed one after the other to make the readers slowly reflect about UT's goals and his true identity, as well as his past actions in previous arcs, in order to get to the bigger picture, just like you're doing right now.

As of right now, with all the hints we've gotten, we know that :

UT cares about salvaging what's left of the P family, as much as he cares about bringing back what he can of the ones who are dead (real!Ciel, maybe Claudia, but not Vincent because his body burnt too badly)

UT considers Frances and most likely her kids to be amongst the people he "can't bear to lose"

That much you can be rather sure of and that's the beginning of your answer: during the Campania arc, while our!Ciel and the Midfords were indeed in danger, UT also had to conduct this experiment in order to perfect his bizarre dolls, namely for real!Ciel's sake and for his sponsors, so he made a gamble.

For our!Ciel, he knew that Seb is a demon contracted with him, so he figured that Seb would definitely protect Ciel from the BDs.

Additionally, by checking Seb's cinematic record during the arc, he also found out about the terms of contract between him and our!Ciel (what we read about in ch138). So, post Campania and as confirmed in Weston, UT now knows that Seb is bound to obey and act as our!Ciel's shield as long as Ciel's revenge isn't achieved. That's why UT uses Seb to make sure of our!Ciel's safety.

For the Midfords, it's a similar gamble: ch151 revealed that UT has known Frances since basically her birth, so it seems logical that he's aware she's a very talented fighter, just like he probably knows that Lizzie is just as skilled (could be why she even was recruited by Bravat to protect real!Ciel if UT wasn't always around during the blue sect arc, me think).

Additionally, since UT knows that our!Ciel is quite selfless, I'm sure he also figured out that our!Ciel would order Seb to help his family if necessary:

Lastly, UT found the time to put BD!real!Ciel to safety despite the chaos on board and, since he was looking for a way to sink the ship after the experiment until they hit the iceberg, I'm quite sure he had planned to make sure our!Ciel and the rest of his family would end up safe no matter what.

That's my opinion!

I know some fans also used to think UT doesn't make a difference between being alive or dead thus used to say that, if Ciel and the Midfords had died during the Campania, UT would have simply collected their corpse and turned them into BDs. Personally I don't buy it, since his bizarre dolls still can't function without regular blood transfusions as of right now, so I'm sure he'd rather have them alive than dead.

Other fans also used to say, long ago, that Frances was in cahoots with UT during the Campania, which is why he didn't have to rescue them, because she knew enough of his plan to manage to rescue her family out of it, but 1) then why did she go on board at all? 2) I think ch151 definitely proved that she never was involved with real!Ciel's revival.

TL;DR I think UT bet on what he knew of at least our!Ciel, Seb and Frances to keep on conducting the Campania experiment while they managed to escape but, since we know he definitely doesn't want to lose them, I'm sure he had a backup plan that involved him rescuing them if necessary.

I hope this answers your question! Have a great day!

#kuroshitsuji #ciel phantomhive #undertaker #elizabeth midford #frances midford #sebastian michaelis #campania arc #blue revenge arc #anon #answers #kuroshitsuji theory #kuro140 #kuro151 #my analysis

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miraculousmitzi · 7 months

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In honour of 'The Great British Bake Off' returning to television, here's how I think the UK bros would be as contestants on the show! 🎂

(Note: This, like my other headcanon posts, are posted onto my X account).

England:

-No matter how hard he practiced or studied a recipe, something would go awry.

-Soggy bottoms, curdled buttercream, stodgy cake...

-Would place at the bottom or close to it in almost every technical and showstopper.

-Would come out with iconic one liners in the chaos.

-Is always seen sipping on a cuppa.

-Tries his best with his designs, but they do often turn out messy.

-Loves to chat with Prue.

-Chats with the other members of the tent and offers to make them tea to soothe their nerves.

N.Ireland:

-Creative, likes to think out of the box when it comes to flavours and designs.

-Unusual, but clever flavours and designs.

-Is low-key scared of Paul.

-Will occasionally burn or underbake a bake, but will try to salvage it as best as he can and crack a joke about it.

-Selfies and photographs of his experience, though he has to be warned not to post anything before the show airs.

-Enjoys talking with the hosts: he feels calmer when they joke with him.

-Will be snacking whilst he is baking.

-Messy workstation, flour everywhere.

Wales:

-Offers reassurances and helps other bakers where he can.

-Will sit in front of the oven and internally pray for it to turn it half-decent.

-Is well loved by his fellow bakers.

-Can be a little clumsy and will burn himself or accidentally cut himself.

-Flavours are all over the place: they either aren't quite enough or are too overpowering.

-Some of the neatest decorating in the tent.

-Likes to play it 'safe' when it comes to his baking, sticking to what he knows best.

-Will cry if something goes wrong or is praised.

Scotland:

-Measuring and planning on point: he plans everything as best as he can to a T.

-Simplistic but effective designs.

-Alcohol in many of his bakes.

-Cracks some of the funniest jokes in the tent.

-He ranks highly in challenges and/or wins Star Baker.

-The public make memes and TikTok edits of him, he has a lot of admirers.

-He unintentionally intimidates the other bakers.

His timings are impeccable.

Ireland:

-Makes friends with pretty much everyone.

-Pretty sound decorating skills and flavours in his bakes.

-Is a source of motivation and positivity in the tent, but can also become a blabbering, rambling mess when something goes amiss.

-Comes out with iconic quotes.

-One of the public's favourites.

-One of the first to get a 'Hollywood handshake'.

-Will sometimes mess up but somehow manages to pull through and make it work.

-Like Scotland, he likes to incorporate alcohol in his bakes.

-Star baker and/or ranks highly in challenges.

#axis powers hetalia #hetalia world series #aph #hetalia #arthur kirkland #hetalia scotland #hetalia england #hetalia ireland #hetalia northern ireland #hetalia wales #great british bake off #gbbo 2023

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hello-nichya-here · 2 years

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What do you think of a season 4 of ATLA where Zuko helps Azula recover would look like and what would you want from it?

I think a season four of ATLA, in general, not just the Zuko and Azula plot, could be summerized in one word: CHAOS. Everyone is trying to readjust to their new lives and trying to salvage something - their city, their nation, their family, etc.

First thing that NEEDS to be different from the comics: Zuko does NOT send Azula to an asylum, and forgets about her while she's going through hell. He has her stay at a proper hospital, where she'll be cared for and treated with basic human decensy, and he is gonna be checking on her regularly.

I feel like Zuko would have three main reasons why he wants to help her: She is his responsibility since he is legal guardian AND her Fire Lord;,there would definitively be people who would support her over him so keeping an eye on her is a must, and there's also the fact that he just does not understand how/why her breakdown happened - I've said this before, but being forced to live in her shadow for so long made Zuko understand she can be defeated in theory, but in practice he just can't grasp the concept that Ozai's perfect daughter is an actual human being with weaknesses, emotions, fears, problems and traumas. Her breakdown prooves him wrong, but it also means that he is completely lost and doesn't really understand who he is dealing with, so he'd be visiting her frequently because he's trying to reconciliate the image he had of her his whole life with the actual person that is right in front of him.

Second thing that NEEDS to be different from the comics: Azula should NOT be demonized for not being okay. We spent literally three books seeing Zuko screwing up in a variety of ways without ever having the narrative act like he is fundamentally a gargabe person for being a traumatized teenager that doesn't have the tools to deal with said trauma, so it's only fair Azula gets the same treatment. Her relapses and bad days should be acknowledged and taken seriously, especially if she causes any kind of harm to anyone in any way as a consequence of it, but the fact that she is literally just a kid who has had to deal with far too much bullshit should never be forgotten. It also needs to be acknowledged that of course she's going to reject help - she was taught that needing others is a weakness, she has literally no reason to trust her family, and she is literally suffering from paranoia. This absolutely can NOT be held against her.

Third thing that NEEDS to be different from the comics: Iroh and Ursa will both take a good look at what happened to this child they were responsible for, she is going call them out on every single way they were unfair to her, and will recognize that she is right - and they'll actually take some goddamn responsibility for it. No more hypocritical uncle that sees her as the devil while putting her brother on a pedestal and forgiving himself for his past misdeeds, and no bullshit "apology" from a mother that chose to forget her, didn't even know who she was she "apologized", and that then did nothing to help salvage their relationship after getting her memories back. They're gonna help her out with anything she needs without expecting anything in return because Azula doesn't need to suddenly become an angel to be "worthy" of basic human decensy, especially not from the people who were supposed to protect her and failed to do so. They are the adults, and they're gonna start acting like it instead of just letting Zuko, who they were also responsible for, deal with the consequeces of mistakes that were not his own.

Fourth thing that NEEDS to be different from the comics: Zuko will grow to understand his sister and recognize that, while his life was far from easy, in some ways HE was the lucky one, not her, because he had someone looking after him before he could end up like that. He is going feel compassion for Azula, and this is going to pave the way for him to actually bond with her. He'll also finally see that she wasn't just "lucky." She fought hard for everything she had in life and it is NOT fair that now all that she has left is her bending - which he will NOT have Aang removing.

Fifth thing that NEEDS to be different from the comics: Zuko will NOT take his mentally ill sister on a mission without knowing a damn thing about her condition, consequently making it worse and then threaten to kill her when she finally can't handle it anymore. Seriously, what the fuck were Bryke and Yang thinking? It's one thing to have him lash out at her in a moment of frustration and then have him give her the "No matter what, you're still my sister" speech (that would actually be realistic, in character for Zuko, and compelling story-telling) but what the comics did was straight up have him abuse her and then frame him as the good guy because "deep down he cares, so it's okay that he almost killed her for something that was his own fault"

Sixth thing that NEEDS to be different from the comics: Zuko will give Azula actual reasons to trust him. He will treat as someone who needs help and continue to visit her once Iroh and Ursa become her guardians instead of acting like she's a burden he's stuck with, take it seriously if she says some doctor mistreated her somehow instead of assuming she's just being difficult and did something to deserve it, apologize for the times he was unfair to her and thank her for the good things she did for him (bringing him home, checking on him in Ember Island) and recognize that, just like she isn't entitled to his forgiveness, she has no obligation to forgive anyone who hurt her. He is also gonna listen to her opinions on what is best for their nation and think it over to see if she's right because she has more experience with those things than he does, instead of immediatelly dismissing anything she says because she's "crazy" and "evil." And, most important of all, he is not going to abuse her as "punishment" for needing time to grow to trust him instead of instantly seeing him as her hero.

Seventh thing that NEEDs to be different from the comics: Zuko will give Azula actual reasons to question everything Ozai taught her. Instead of being condescending and smug, constantly telling her that she is wrong, he is going to actually bother to make her UNDERSTAND what she did wrong, why it was wrong, how she can do better, and why it would be better.

Have Azula interact with other patients at the hospital, seeing how the war had a terrible effect on the people of the Fire Nation, and left even the bravest and most resilient broken. Have her interacting with the Gaang, and even travelling (when she's stable enough to do so) so she can see how the war devastated the entire world, and ruined the lives of people that are not that different from her. Let her talk things out with Mai and Ty Lee and understand what she did wrong and led to their friendship falling appart. And finally let Zuko act like her older brother and guide her through it all. He literally made all the same mistakes she made - why can't he be the one to help her find ways to fix said mistakes?

Just fucking let him act like her family, like her friend, so she can realize that this is something she wants to do as well. It's not rocket science and I'm sick of people pretending that it is.

#asks #fire siblings #azula meta #zuko meta #azula #zuko #fire siblings meta #fire nation royal family #atla #avatar #atla comics #the comics suck #azula deserved better

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avengerscompound · 3 years

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Small Gods: Patience - 1

Patience: A Black Widow Fanfic

Patience Masterlist | More Small Gods

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 1611

Warnings: Language, guns, (smut, angst, and canon typical violence on series)

Synopsis: Every day Natasha prays for more patience to deal with a litany of things from waiting for her target to make a move - to not yelling at Clint for putting empty milk containers back in the fridge.

When her prayers are answered, Natasha finds that having patience is easy, holding on to it is a little harder.

A/N: Reader is a minor god.

IF YOU WISH TO BE TAGGED IN THE REMAINDER OF THIS SERIES, EITHER ADD YOURSELF TO THE TAGLIST OR SEND ME A MESSAGE

Chapter 1

Natasha stood on the edge of the building watching the chaos break out below her. The team was supposed to be infiltrating a new underground crime group to figure out where a drop-off was happening. They’d had men on a street corner no one had managed to clock, and it had just happened to be the one Steve was observing, and they’d spotted him. That had made the whole crew antsy and then they’d wanted to change locations for the meet. That had meant a sudden scramble to relocate everyone, so they could keep monitoring the situation. Tony had nearly been spotted as they did and ended up having to leave the area completely so it looked like another normal New York City Iron Man sighting. To top that off, Sharon’s comms had just stopped working completely and so no one had any idea what the group was actually saying. It had been a series of fuck-ups and she knew she would have to get down into the mess soon the way things were going, but she was waiting to see if Clint could salvage it as he bumbled along the street acting stupid so that he could ‘accidentally bumped into his old friends Sharon’ and get some ears back on the scene.

“God, grant me patience,” she sighed. It was a prayer that had become commonplace for her. She’d use it when she was on an undercover mission where she had to pretend to be much less intelligent than she was. She used it when she helped patch up Clint’s cuts after he’d spent a whole day being incredibly agile and dexterous, only to trip over his doormat and land face-first into a cactus he didn’t even know he owned. She used it when Tony went on one of his rambling stories that she already knew. She used it when she had to watch Steve jump off yet another stupidly high point for no reason other than he had to be their first.

“I’m not sure, Natalia,” a voice coming from way too closer said. “I’m not sure that’s what you actually want.”

She spun around, quickly assuming a defensive position. You stood at the corner of the building, completely relaxed. You had dark sunglasses on and what looked like a faux leather jacket and large black boots. You were leaning against the wall slightly and twirling a lollipop in your mouth, and despite the fact that on just about anyone else she’d think they were trying too hard, you seemed effortlessly cool.

“Who are you?” Natasha snarled.

“Patience,” you said simply.

“Don’t tell me to be patient when you’ve just snuck up on me in the middle of a mission. Tell me what you want, or I’ll send that piece of candy through the back of your throat.”

You laughed and held up your hands. “Okay, killer,” you teased. “Relax. I wasn’t telling you what to do. I was saying that’s who I am.”

Natasha quirked her eyebrow at you. “So your name is Patience, and you sit around waiting for people to pray for patience and you pop out thinking it’s a funny joke? You know how close to death you just came right now? I’m in the middle of something. Go away before you get someone hurt.”

Natasha spun back to look down at Sharon who was now talking to Clint. She saw the quick sleight of hand as they exchanged mic packs.

“Patience isn’t my name,” you laughed.

Natasha rolled her eyes, hoping to cling on to the last remaining patience she had rather than breaking your neck. That would just lead to a lot of paperwork. “You said it was.”

“No,” you said, straightening up and reaching into your inner jacket pocket.

Natasha pulled her gun and pointed at you. “Don’t even think about it.”

You pulled your hand out with a business card pinched between your thumb and index finger. You raised your hands and flicked the card up so it was held between your index and middle finger. “I said I was patience,” you said, taking a few steps toward her. Natasha’s fingers twitched on the trigger finger as she tried to read your intention. “You’ve been praying to me a lot lately. I thought I’d show up. But - you’re obviously not ready yet.” You offered the card to Natasha and she took it without taking her eyes off you. “Now… count to two hundred, and then go down the fire escape. Agent Carter will be fine until then, and that will get you there exactly when you need to be.”

“What?” Natasha asked, now completely confused.

“Just a suggestion,” you answered and casually strode off to the stairwell, leaving Natasha alone on the roof, completely perplexed over what had just happened. She looked down at the business card. Embossed in gold on the glossy black card were your name, address, and phone number. There was no mention of a job or business or even the word patience that you had kept bringing up.

Natasha furrowed her brow and tucked the card into her pocket. She wasn’t a trusting person by nature, but she had enough experience with magic to know not to completely ignore what you said. She counted to two hundred as she paid close attention to what was happening in the street. As she carefully made her way down to the fire escape, there was a commotion and Sharon drew her gun. People scattered as a large van pulled up and armed men spilled out.

Natasha cursed under her breath as the street broke out in utter chaos.

“How did you even get there so fast?” Sharon asked.

Thanks to your warning, Natasha had gotten there at the perfect time to take out most of the gunmen before they’d even shouldered their weapons. In the end, while the plan hadn’t exactly gone how everyone had wanted it, and they still needed to actually find where they were operating from, they had made a lot of arrests, and thanks to Natasha, lots of innocent lives had been saved from being caught in the crossfire.

“There was this woman…” Natasha started, not quite sure how to explain your strange appearance and departure from the rooftop.

“Oohhh…” Clint teased. “Nat got the hots for some hot Chiquita.”

“Gross, Clint,” Natasha snarked. “Don’t be a letch.” Clint held up his hands in surrender and Natasha let out a long breath. “It was weird though.”

“How was it weird?” Steve said, sitting forward in his chair. “Anything we need to worry about?”

Natasha shrugged. “I don’t know - maybe,” she said. “She said she was patience.”

Clint snorted. “You definitely need to find her then,” he teased. Natasha swatted him on the back of the head. “See,” he complained, rubbing his head.

“So her name was Patience?” Steve said, opening up a drop-down screen above the coffee table. “FRIDAY, do we have any record of a Patience as a member of any known criminal organizations.”

“Her name wasn’t Patience,” Natasha said, pulling the card out of her pocket and handing it to Steve. “She said she was patience.”

“What does that mean?” Steve asked, typing the details into the computer.

Natasha shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Tony chuckled. “I like the idea of anthropomorphic adjectives walking around.”

“Patience is a noun, Tony,” Bruce scolded. “And so is Tony.”

“You know what I mean,” Tony said, waving his hands around. “You can feel patient, you can’t feel Tony.” He paused for a moment. “Not unless you asked nicely.”

“Maybe she’s some kind of god,” Clint said. Everyone turned to him and Natasha raised her eyebrow. Sometimes Clint would say things that were so simple and so profoundly intelligent that she wasn’t sure if he just blindly stumbled into the answer or he was an actual genius.

“Is that a thing?” Sam asked. “Just random gods of emotions?”

Natasha shrugged. “I have no idea. It’s a pity Thor isn’t here, we could ask him. But she did say I’d been praying to her.”

Clint snorted. “Sounds about right.”

“But Thor’s not a real god, is he?” Steve said. “Wasn’t the theory that he’s just an alien that lives a long time and humans just decided he was a god?”

“The dude makes lightning, Cap,” Sam teased. “Maybe he’s not the only place it comes from, but he can definitely create it and control it. Why can’t there be the equivalent for something like patience.”

Clint snatched the card from Steve and shoved it into Natasha’s hands. “I say you call her.”

“You just want Nat to stop smacking you on the back of the head,” Bucky snorted.

“No, I want to see my best friend get laid,” Clint said, folding his arms across his broad chest. “I bet someone who can command patience would be great at sex.”

“And…?” Bucky pressed.

“And I don’t want to get clocked on the back of the head anymore,” Clint muttered.

Everyone laughed and Natasha looked down at the card, spinning it around in her hand.

“You look like you’re considering it, Red,” Tony mused. “What was she like?”

“Cryptic,” Natasha replied. “Cool.”

“Was she hot?” Clint asked.

“I think so,” Natasha said.

“So call her,” Sharon shrugged. “She helped me out. She can’t be all that bad.”

Natasha nodded. “At the very least I might get some answers.”

“And who knows, Nat,” Clint said. “Maybe she’ll be able to teach you a trick or two.”

Natasha bit the inside of her cheek trying not to laugh, and wishing she had a little bit of that patience right now.

// NEXT

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #small gods #patience

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

I am *endlessly* curious about how Wei Wuxian ended up at the Cloud Recess, and very satisfied my internal suspicion that the Lan and the Jiang were busy rebuilding their power/plotting a coup was right. Though I'm now curious about their reaction to 'Meng Yao is being kept around, and as Empress at that'.

spontaneous fic extra for Good Help - ao3 link

Good news! one of Nie Huaisang’s letters started, which was never good news. My brother has finally become gainfully employed! He will no longer be a burden on society, a good-for-nothing that does nothing but idle his days away, bringing shame upon our family name.

Wei Wuxian blinked down at the letter. “Jiang Cheng,” he said. “Did I manage to hit my head and wake up in a world where Nie Mingjue is not the Empress?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng said, looking bored. He was officially there on Jin sect business, though everyone politely pretended that he wasn’t very clearly there to see Wei Wuxian or, for those not in the know, sent by his husband, who had virtually no cutsleeve tendencies at all, to get him somewhere that wasn’t Lanling. It was an excuse they used rather a lot to get Jiang Cheng to where he needed to be. “He’s definitely still the Empress. Keep reading.”

Wei Wuxian kept reading.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he said a second later. “Someone mistook him for a guard? How?!”

“I mean, it’s not as ridiculous as you might think. No one’s seen him in years,” Jiang Cheng said, finally breaking his mask of boredom in favor of a grin. “He’s always behind all those veils – I’m pretty sure his fashion sense as Empress is ‘how much can I look like the curtain I’m trying to hide behind’.”

“But he’s so –” Wei Wuxian moved his hands around in an attempt to encompass very broad shoulders, a narrow waist, muscles, and also height. “Notable!”

“It’s been a while since you’ve been to court, hasn’t it? He’s always up on that platform far away from everyone else – you know how Wen Ruohan likes to look down on everyone – and everything around him has been resized for him; he looks more proportional that way. And if you didn’t know, and there’s no reason that this Meng Yao fellow would know…”

“Still!”

“No, really, it’s not that strange! You know how Wen Ruohan’s guards of the inner hall are dressed, all fancy Wen sect robes, and that’s all Nie Mingjue has other than his Empress get-up, which obviously isn’t appropriate for when he wants to go outside to train Baxia. He would’ve been wearing the right clothes and walking in the right place, and he is what you’d expect a guard to look like…if you bumped into him at random, as happened here, it’s a reasonable mistake to make.”

“He hired him as his secretary,” Wei Wuxian marveled. “Just – wow. Wow. Mingjue-xiong is going to break him in half, the first time he tries anything.”

“Maybe,” Jiang Cheng said. “Maybe not.”

Someone needs to go assassinate this Meng Yao person right away, Nie Huaisang’s next letter – nominally addressed to Lan Wangji this time – said. I think my brother might actually like him. A upstart Jin bastard that worked his way up through the Fire Palace – do you think all these years with Wen Ruohan has rotted da-ge’s sense of taste?

“He doesn’t actually mean that we should assassinate him,” Wei Wuxian told Lan Wangji, who nodded in agreement. “We still need the viceroy to remain in his place as the target. He’s just being dramatic.”

If Nie Huaisang actually wanted Wei Wuxian to assassinate someone, he had other ways of asking.

That was a fair portion of what Wei Wuxian did these days, actually, other than work on his ideas for demonic cultivation and warm Lan Wangji’s bed. Ironically enough, of the three, the last was his actual job: after Wen Chao had his golden core destroyed as punishment for having dared fight back when the Wen sect invaded the Lotus Pier – a temper tantrum at not being allowed to do the same to Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian suspected, since Wen Ruohan had even then already planned to sell the heirs of the Jiang sect to the highest bidder – Lan Wangji had, after quietly rescuing him at Jiang Cheng’s frantic instigation and with Nie Huaisang’s connivance, announced that he was keeping him as a personal pet.

Wen Ruohan had been pressuring the Lan sect to adopt some vices, simply because he knew it would make them uncomfortable – Lan Qiren had been a particular target – and he’d been satisfied by the notion of one of Lan Qiren’s precious nephews, the Jades of Lan, deciding to keep a whore, even if he’d insisted on having Wei Wuxian inspected to make sure he’d been thoroughly used.

(Proving it had not been a hardship, not when Wei Wuxian had a lover as thorough and tireless as Lan Wangji. Joke’s on you, Wen Ruohan!)

Still, even as Wei Wuxian did (in his opinion) some of his best work on his back and puzzled his way through demonic cultivation as the only possible route for him now – Lan Qiren helped him with some of the musical cultivation bits, and also in arguing to the Lan sect elders that some type of cultivation was better than nothing, and anyway there was a limit to how much trouble he could cause while under close supervision – he had also started up a sideline in taking out their political enemies on account of being the one of them that people would least suspect. No one even remembered his name anymore!

“Maybe we should go to court and check him out,” Wei Wuxian added thoughtfully. “See what he’s like, make sure he’s not leading Nie Mingjue down the wrong path, that sort of thing.”

They could pass along some of Nie Huaisang’s messages, too.

There was that whole coup they were planning, even if it was far less interesting than Nie Mingjue actually making a friend for the first time in over a decade…

“Mm,” Lan Wangji agreed. “Wei Ying has good judgment.”

“I do! If he’s nice – though there’s no chance he’ll be nice, he’s from the Fire Palace – I’ll tell Nie Huaisang that I approve,” Wei Wuxian decided. “If he’s awful, I’ll send a ghost to haunt him until he can’t sleep. If he’s a little awful but seems salvageable, I’ll…I don’t know…I’ll set some dogs on him!”

Lan Wangji’s eyebrows went up.

“You’ll set some dogs on him!”

The eyebrows went down.

“Rude, Lan Zhan. Very rude.”

“So having now seen Meng Yao and my da-ge interact with my own two eyes, I’ve decided that they’re going to get married,” Nie Huaisang announced.

“Is that wise?” Wei Wuxian asked, even though he actually thought Meng Yao was pretty cool. He was so good at being nice to people that he disliked, so incredibly efficient, so thoughtful, and best of all only very rarely followed up on the occasional murder-eyes he liked to shoot people when he thought no one was looking; it had actually been the fact that he and Lan Wangji had both vouched for him that had convinced Nie Huaisang to change his plans to account for his brother’s preferences. “Making him the Empress? He’ll be bossing your brother around in no time.”

“He’s already bossing my brother around, and that’s the way my brother likes it,” Nie Huaisang said. “Making Meng Yao the mother of the Empire – above ten thousand, below one – is the ideal way to sate his hunger for power in a way that makes him feel confident that he won’t be so easily replaced the way a viceroy or prime minister would be, and therefore unlikely to betray us. Also, it will make Jin Guangshan have an aneurysm, and that will be hilarious.”

“I like that,” Jiang Cheng said. “Also, didn’t we agree that you were going to be the prime minister?”

“No,” Nie Huaisang said patiently. “You are going to be prime minster, and I’m going to be your empty-headed but pretty former Imperial Consort wife.”

“I’m pretty sure ‘former Imperial Consort’ isn’t usually a thing.”

“Yes, well, it’s a coup, we make the rules. It’d be such a shame not to use this nice bureaucracy that Wen Ruohan set up for us…Wei-xiong, what about you?”

“What about me? I’m very happy as Lan Zhan’s whore.”

Jiang Cheng tried to hit him, but Wei Wuxian dodged, cackling. “Maybe I’ll start spending his money on fancy clothing and living it up now that I’m his official mistress,” he said. “I have Wang Lingjiao’s example to look up to, don’t I..?”

“I would like to marry Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji opined, and Wei Wuxian suddenly felt all gooey inside.

“I meant what will we do with him in the government,” Nie Huaisang said, long-suffering. “You’re all useless – though not as useless as me, of course.”

Jiang Cheng pressed a kiss to his cheek. “No one’s as useless as you, my little good-for-nothing.”

“And don’t any of you forget it!” Nie Huasiang exclaimed, then elbowed Jiang Cheng in the ribs. “Don’t touch me, you married man. Get a proper divorce before you try making your way into my bed; what sort of girl do you think I am?”

“You can’t be serious!” Jiang Cheng spluttered. “Jin Zixuan is drawing up the papers right now –”

“I feel like I deserve a proper wedding, don’t you?” Nie Huaisang asked Wei Wuxian, who started laughing. “I didn’t get a proper one the last time around –”

“We’ve been sleeping together for years!”

“We were having a thrilling affair under the nose of an evil tyrannical dictator. Who’s to say that the spark’s still there?”

“Oh you want spark,” Jiang Cheng said. “I’ll give you spark –”

#mdzs #wei wuxian #lan wangji #jiang cheng #nie huaisang #my fic #my fics #good help #I saw this ask and got Inspired #barid-bel-medar

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prurientpuddlejumper · 3 years

Text

Cold Hands

Jackson Neill x Reader

For @storiesofsvu’s Fall Bingo! Requested by @detectivebarba. Followed up in Cozy Sweaters

Warnings: NSFW (smutty lines, no smut). Angst, cheating, breakup.

OK, so, my fluffy Jackson fics take place in a world where Sarah never happened or after she & Jackson broke up… But what if they didn’t?

1,800 words

“Here’s another one: ‘Professor Neill is super dreamy. He’s a PILF.’ What’s a PILF?”

“I honestly don’t know. I don’t read these comments. I don’t care,” Jackson replied with irritation. He did, and he does, but he wasn’t going to let some cultist make him out to be an exploitative, charismatic leader.

“But you did ‘eff’ a student, right?”

Jackson laughed nervously under the hot stage lights.

“Any chance you had a sexual relationship with a student you used for a source in your article?” Cal Roberts, the man sitting across the news set from him, raised an eyebrow innocently, reveling in the way his little ace in the hole had Jackson pinned.

“Of course not. That would be unethical.”

“Right, right.”

How the fuck did he find out? When Sarah chose to go back to the Meyerist Movement instead of listening to reason, he didn’t think she would tell anyone. Their fringe movement was dangerous—restrictive to personal freedoms. Letting them know that she was his source would have put her in danger. The fact that one of its leaders knew blindsided him.

He was tense for the rest of the debate, and the cameras picked up on it. He looked like an asshole. The cult won this round as far as the audience was concerned.

As the cameras turned off and the PA came to unclip his mic, Jackson stepped close to Cal and said, low enough not to be overheard, “I did care about her. I do. Tell her I miss her, and I hope she’s OK.”

Guilt over their affair swirled in his gut as he walked off the set—and came to a screeching halt as he ran into you.

You had been sitting in the vacant live-audience area to watch the filming, but you were standing now, as if you’d gotten up to meet him but froze halfway there and were just… staring. Your eyes were dull.

“Who was he talking about?” you asked in a small voice.

Anger he could have handled. His ex-wife was always screaming at him for his screw-ups. But this was something worse.

He could have placated you with lies. Told you that everything with Sarah was before he met you, but you were too clever for that—too interested in his research not to realize when he started using her as a source. Besides, you didn’t deserve to be lied to again. If he hoped to salvage his relationship with you, then you deserved the truth from now on.

“Listen, let’s just… go home and talk.”

You silently nodded.

***

A thick silence haunted the car ride home, punctuated only by the howl of autumn wind through the dark city streets.

On the ride to the studio, you had been so animated, helping him prepare for the debate. You would pretend to be a Meyerist and argue against him so Jackson could practice his response. He put his hand on your thigh, and it was so warm. You squealed at his icy fingertips, but instead of batting them away, you shoved them deeper between your thighs. “Someone has to help your bad circulation,” you declared with a grin. “Can’t let you get frostbite.” He could barely focus on the road.

Now, when he tried to say something… to broach the subject… you only stared out the passenger window at the passing streetlights and bare trees.

He reached out to touch you, but you shrugged him off.

***

Jackson couldn’t have known the deafening chaos of that car ride home. His home, not yours, though you had all but moved in. You’d been planning to make it official when your lease was up, but now you would have to renew it.

You’d have to let your roommates know you’d be staying.

All these little thoughts swarmed through your head like post-it notes caught in a cyclone—reminders of a million mundane plans falling apart and being remade. The logistics of separating two entangled lives. Would you take your houseplant back or leave it in Jackson’s kitchen? There was never enough light for it in your apartment.

If you started thinking about the big things—who was the student? How long? How many nights did he say he was working late when he was with them?—then you might fall apart.

The car was silent, but inside your head was an endless dark roar.

Jackson parked in the driveway, and without a word, you began wandering through the house like a ghost, picking up your things and packing them up in a plastic garbage bag. Half your wardrobe was here. It should take two trips, but if you had to come back… if you had to see him again, and he asked you to stay, you might be too weak. So you’d have to get everything in one trip.

Your feet shuffled lifelessly into the bathroom to retrieve your toiletries when Jackson squeezed through the door in front of you and blocked the sink.

“Stop. Please. Let’s talk about this.”

“What’s there to talk about? I don’t want to know his name.”

The obvious thought was, maybe it wasn’t true. That Meyerist guy would have said anything just to make Jackson look bad. But if that were the case, Jackson would have told you so right away. He didn’t, and he wasn’t even trying to sell you an alternate fiction to exonerate himself. For a cheater, he was honest. Jackson never lied to you, so you used to think. That was why this… this was so unexpected. You never saw it coming.

You tried to get around him, but he kept getting in the way of your toothbrush until you looked at him. “She wasn’t a student. She was participating in one of my classes as a guest speaker. She’s not even enrolled at the university. He made it sound as if—”

“DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT’S THE PART I HAVE A PROBLEM WITH?!” you screamed.

Your anger had been so seething, quiet, you didn’t even realize you were angry until you finally opened your mouth and fury poured out like dragon’s fire. It caught you both by surprise. You shoved past him to grab your toothbrush and marched back out into the master bedroom without another word.

Tears pricked the back of your eyelids. You didn’t like yourself when you lost control like that, especially knowing how his ex had been. How much he flinched at raised voices. Part of you wanted to turn around and hold him, comfort him, apologize. Then you felt sick that that was your first impulse after what he did.

Maybe the bastard deserved it.

“I… just wanted you to know I’m not some kind of… of predator.” He sounded like a child, his voice high and thin.

You turned.

He looked so pathetic standing there in the bathroom with his rumpled shirt hanging off fallen shoulders, his eyes shining wet and desperate.

“Why?” you asked. It was the only question you could ask. The only one that mattered—if it even mattered. You heard your voice breaking as if it were in another room.

“It was just supposed to be research. I chatted her up to learn about the Meyerist Movement… It wasn’t cheating, at first. I never meant to let things go that far. But she was so smart, but vulnerable… I thought I could help her get out. I thought she was ready to leave religion behind, like I did. She was so much like I used to be. Before I knew it, I was falling in love with her. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

Tears escaped your eyes, but you didn’t want them to. You didn’t want him to see you cry over him. “So you love her?”

“No! I love you—I chose you,” he croaked. “It’s been over for a long time. She was only using me to help her research the history of Meyerism. When I realized that...” He took a few steps toward you, but you took one back to stay out of reach.

You let out a bark of cynical laughter. “So I was your fallback? The one who actually cared about you? Supported you? It was too hard having this woman lean on you for help, so you just used me the same way?”

“That… that isn’t—”

“You don’t love me. I’m just a soft place for you to land. If she patiently waited at home for you, you would have left me, wouldn’t you?”

“It was a mistake. The worst mistake of my life. Please...”

“The worst part is, I thought you were better than this. I believed in you. You were always so cuddly and domestic, the kind of guy you settle down with—I thought I finally found a man I could trust.”

“You can. It will never happen again. I’ll spend my whole life making up for it if I have to.”

Unlike the tightly clenched tear ducts on your face, regularly scrubbed dry with the back of your sleeve, Jackson’s tears were freely flowing down his cheeks. He tried to hold you, but you shoved his cold touch away.

It was too late for that. His arms were not comfort anymore.

All you could see was him wrapping those arms around her. All while you were cooking him dinner, being so understanding of his late nights, waiting for him to come home. Never knowing. Never thinking he would betray you.

He must have washed her scent off him. Did he scrub his cock with soap twice just to make sure you wouldn’t taste her on him when you knelt between his knees? Did he think about her hair when he was pulling yours? Imagine her lips wrapped around him?

Was she better than you? Was that why he did it?

Did he finger her the same way, slow and gentle, before fucking her? You wondered if he murmured the same praises, told her she was taking him so well, if he gave that same breathy, “fuck,” just before he came inside her.

Weren’t you enough? What did you do so wrong that he needed to cheat?

Finally, you began to sob. Your whole body rocking, shoulders heaving in big gasping breaths. He took advantage of the moment and hugged you tight, whispering shallow promises meant to be comforting, and you could tell his heart was breaking at the sight of you in pain.

You let him hold you, just for a moment, because it still felt so good—he still felt like home.

But you were sobbing for broken plans. For the apartment lease you would have to renew when you had been looking forward to moving in. For the dog you and Jackson wanted to adopt from the shelter. For the Airbnb you booked in Vermont for leaf-peeping season that would have to be canceled.

His cheating hands felt cold on your back, but you let him hold you a little bit longer, because despite everything, your heart was breaking for him, too.

Because this would be the last time he ever held you.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● • @beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31 / @isvvc-pvscvl / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse / @feedthemadness-sweetie / @law-nerd105 / @amelia-song-pond / @michael-rooker / @xecq / @madpanda75 / @alwaysachorusgirl / @bananas-pajamas / @leanor-min / @mad-girl-without-a-box / @katierpblogg / @worldofvixen / @sassyada / @detectivebarba

#Jackson Neill #The Path #jackson neill x reader #storiesofsvufallbingo #my writing

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kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay · 3 years

Text

Mischief and Teaching

(or "teaching mischief"?)

Summary: You have a natural talent for Seidr, the magic of the nine-realms. When your powers grow out of every teacher's control, your parents seek help at the palace. Will you find a teacher?

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Word count: 1.7k (God, I was so worried I would end up with more than the word count allowed, but I thankfully managed. Phew)

Warnings: 18+ even though there's nothing for this. All my work and my blog is 18+, Minors dni. Apart from that, there's a lotta fluff and humor in this one.

Author's note: This is my first submission for @syntheticavenger's 5K Follower Celebration "How it started - How it's going" Challenge! It's a really cool drabble challenge. Find the post about it here and check it out.

The prompt I received was: "Loki/'Magician's' Assistant'"

Now, I admit that had a lot of smutty potential but for once in my life my brain decided to go down the funny, fluffy road instead of the angsty, smutty one. There's gotta be a first time for everything, huh?

...

How it started:

“No, mother. I don't have the need for an assistant and neither do I want one. I work best alone,” Loki said, voice tight as he tried to keep his tone polite but firm.

But Frigga kept nagging. She wouldn't be the Queen of Asgard if she gave up simply because someone had told her no. Looping her arm through Loki's she pulled him close to her side as they walked through the corridors of the palace.

“She wouldn't be only your assistant. You would also be her teacher,” she replied and steered him down a wide hall, smiling politely at the Lords and Ladies passing them.

“I don't have the desire to teach anyone. I'm certain she can find someone to teach her elsewhere,” he dismissed.

“I'm not telling you to commit to anything just yet. I merely want you to meet her. She and her parents travelled all the way to the palace to request our help in this matter,” his mother said in an attempt to appeal to him.

Loki sighed, barely keeping his eyes from rolling back in his skull in annoyance.

This girl his mother kept talking about was the daughter of a lowly Lady and her wife. They came from the furthest branches of Yggdrasil all the way to the golden palace just for an audience with the queen.

Frigga was widely known for her magical powers, so she was the first person the family turned to. People rarely requested audiences with the Queen. Usually it was Odin who attended to any matters brought to him by the Asgardian citizens.

Loki felt a spark of satisfaction at the thought of Odin's irritation when someone asked specifically to see Frigga and not him. He was so entitled to his position of Allfather and King of the nine worlds, he couldn't wrap his head around the possiblity that he wasn't all-knowing and not fit for every task.

It was that brief moment of petty joy over his father's irritation that made Loki reconsider his options. Sure enough he was known for his magical powers, even if not as renowned as Frigga. But either way, it gave him something he could hold over Odin's head, something he was able to do neither the old man nor his golden haired brother could.

This opportunity might open up new doors for him in the future and help him build his reputation to, in the end, rise above Odin and his childish ploys or Thor and his brute strenght.

“Fine, I will agree to meeting her, nothing else,” Loki gave in. His lips twitched into a little smile when Frigga smiled up at him widely and squeezed his arm with hers.

“That is all I wanted to hear. I am certain you will like her,” his mother said cheerily and pulled him along into the direction of the potion room where she had told the girl to wait with Thor to keep her company.

“Tell me what I have to know about her, mother. I want to know who I am talking to before I face her,” Loki said just as they rounded another corner and drew closer to the room the girl and his brother were waiting in.

“The girl's mothers are Ladies of lower nobility. Their daughter always seemed to have an affinity for Seidr, but the last years her powers grew and became harder to control. They tried to find teachers to help her, but no one could handle the extent of her powers. They were at their wit's end and the last resort they could think of was the palace. They hoped to find help here, so they came and requested an audience to explain their situation,” Frigga informed him.

“So she's powerful? How powerful exactly?” Loki asked, diggign deeper to get all the information out of his mother he could.

“Powerful, yes. You'll see for yourself. But she's inexperienced. Not one of her teachers could keep her contained for long. She needs someone who is able to hold a candle to her and I daresay you are fit for the job,” his mother answered before finally stopping in front of the room the girl was waiting inside.

You heard voices outside the door and started to panic.

The room was a mess, potion ingredients strewn across the floor, broken vials and furniture scattered in the whole room. Your magic was nervously swirling around and inside you, waiting to be used, to help, but unable to because you didn't know how.

“My Lady!” Thor boomed in front of her, his voice nasally and laced with panic. He was sitting on a small stool, his huge frame curled on top of the tiny piece of furniture. “Fix this, quickly! Before they see and-”

His words were cut off by the creak of the double doors.

Silence filled the room and you turned around slowly, face growing hot as you saw the other Prince and the Queen taking in the mess. Their gazes simultaneously moved from their surroundings to you and you cleared you throat as you curtsied awkwardly.

“Your highness, my prince,” you greeted them and then continued to introduce yourself. Maybe you could salvage the situation with your more or less decent manners. But before you could set off to a lenghty apology, Queen Frigga tilted her head to the side and tried to get a look at her blonde son hiding behind you as much as his broad frame allowed it.

“Thor? What in Asgards name are you doing hiding behind our guest? Step up and explain what caused this chaos,” she demanded, her voice not allowing any protest.

You stiffened when you heard Thor get up from the stool and step next to you. You could see him in your periphery and had do bite your cheek to keep from breaking into laughter. Keeping your gaze carefully trained on the pair standing in front of you, you waited for someone to break the stretching silence.

What you saw as you watched the pair surprised you.

Frigga's lips curled up into a smile and she quickly reached up her hand to hide the curve of her mouth behind her palm. The Prince was staring at his blonde brother, lips slightly parted and eyes wide. Then his lips, too, curled up into a smirk, but unlike Frigga he didn't bother to hide it.

“I, uhm... I was just curious and wanted to see what she could do, so we...well,” Thor stuttered trailing off when Loki started chuckling and Frigga cleared her throat in an effort to conceal her laughter. She looked at you and nodded, giving you permission to talk.

“Well, your highness,” you started, laying out your words in a way that would shift most of the blame to Thor. “Prince Thor was curious about my magic, as he said himself and asked me to show him what I was able to do. I declined politely, knowing I am not fully the master of my Seidr but he kept nagging me and gave in. It would be rude to deny a Prince, I thought. So I tried my best, I really did, but... I didn't go that well.”

“Obviously,” Loki stated, gesturing vaguely at his brother whose head at this point had turned crimson. It clashed horribly with the bright purple trunk that grew where his nose was supposed to be and dangled down all the way to his navel. The gigantic elephant ears sprouting from his head not all too unsimilar to the wings of his helmet were of the same vibrant colour.

The raven-haired Prince eyed you closely, his eyes narrowing a fraction. You did your very best to keep the amusement off your features, because really, Thor was just asking for it. He kept nagging you, getting on your nerves until you gave in and gave him a little show of your powers. It's not your fault you couldn't fully control them.

Despite trying very hard to look apologetic, you were sure Loki saw through right your facade going by the almost imperceptible upturn of his lips. He turned to his mother and nodded.

“I'll do it,” he said firmly and unhooked his arm from hers to approach you. He bowed down a little and reached out to take your hand. Bringing it to his lips, he brushed a soft kiss to it and smiled charmingly.

“It is very nice to meet you, My Lady. I have heard of your search for a worthy teacher. I am all too happy to offer you my services as your teacher and master,” he said pompously and you suppressed the urgle to giggle bashfully.

“It would be my pleasure to be your student,” you replied with a smile.

Loki nodded, more to himself than you and said, “You will make for a fine student and an even better assistant. I am sure of it.”

How it is going:

“Quick now! We have to be ready when he appears,” Loki called to you from the other side of the corridor.

You ducked into an alcove and got into position, sticking your head around the corner to give Loki a signal that you were ready. He did the same and then mirrored your movement, silently molding back into the alcove and cloaking his figure with an invisibillity spell he had taught you early on.

The two of you waited, hearts beating faster as excitement took you over, mixed with gleeful anticipation. Your Seidr twisted and twirled under your skin, almost making you vibrate with the contained power. And this time, you knew how to use it to your advantage, how to make it obey your commands and aid you in your often mischievous schemes.

'He's coming' Loki's voice sounded in your head and mere moments later you, too, heard the loud stomp of Thor's steps followed by his entourage of warrior friends.

You smiled gleefully.

'Let's turn him into a real elephant this time'

Loki's chuckle echoed in your thoughts.

'Shall we make him green?'

And again, congrats on 5K! That is such a huge achievement and you definitely deserve it, seeing how hard you work for it through all that content and amazing stories <3

'I'll leave that to you. I am open for anything. A pretty pattern would hurt either' you replied and then shifted into a more alert stance when Thor came closer. Your Seidr spiked with your excitement and when Thor reached the mark you and Loki had agreed on, you got to work.

...

There you go, my first entry! I hope you like it @syntheticavenger, it was a delight to write, hehe.

#synths5kfollowerchallenge #drabble challenge #loki odinson #loki drabble #loki x reader #seidr and magic #teacher Loki #thor odinson #queen frigga #mischief and mayhem

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r0tten-brainz · 3 years

Text

hey do you want my carrie fix it au? no?

too bad!!!

Everything seemed to stop when the blood was dumped on Carrie. All the cheers and applause was cut off by shocked gasps and silence. Wide eyes stared upon the stage at their prom queen, now drenched in red sludge, her beautiful dress ruined.

Tommy Ross, the prom king, was staring at his date, some of the liquid (blood, literal blood, he realizes in horror) splashing all over his rental tuxedo. After the initial shock, anger bubbled in his chest so quickly his ears turned red and he turned to the crowd, searching for who could’ve done something so awful, his shouts of “What the hell?!” cutting through the quiet.

In the front row, George Dawson seemed to have the same reaction, he always was quick to anger but now he had a fair reason to. He was disgusted someone would do this, and almost everyone around him agreed. Almost.

It only took a minute for Norma to snort, and double over to quiet her laughter. A few others chuckled but otherwise they were alone in finding this funny.

The only one who hadn’t moved was Carrie. She was frozen, mouth agape and eyes wide. She only moved when the bucket itself came crashing down, right onto Tommy. She tried to catch him but he just collapsed onto the stage, groaning in pain.

People knew immediately something was off when she stood up straight, shoulders back and arms extending out at her sides. The ones who were laughing decided they wanted to leave, the pungent smell of the stale blood getting gross and killing their good time.

There were a few shouts of confusion and fear when the doors suddenly slammed shut and the room was flooded in red light. When one of the jocks tried to open it, he yelled in pain, like the door handle burned him.

That’s what made Tommy stir on the ground, his head aching and warmth trailing down his face. When he looked up the gym was in chaos, people screaming and trampling each other to find a way out. One guy, someone Tommy knew, had climbed up to try the window, but he was flung off like a bug. A squeaking noise made him look up and the fire sprinklers flipped on.

Murky water fell over everyone, only adding to the rotten smell permeating what with the blood also having its own stench. Tommy’s breath caught as he looked around, his eyes finally landing on Carrie.

She seemed unresponsive, barely even blinking as the chaos unfolded around her, like she was in the middle, stirring up the misfortune herself.

“Carrie- huff,” Tommy started, pulling himself up off the ground. His head spun and he nearly got sick with everything mixing around him, his stomach was never the strongest. “Carrie, we have to get you out of here.”

She didn’t move, didn’t even look at him, just tilted her chin up indignantly. The lights above them suddenly sparked, clearly not mixing well with the water. That frightened Tommy a lot, they could all die, and it seemed that’s probably what Carrie was aiming for.

“Carrie!” Tommy tried again, grabbing onto her shoulders. His breath was getting more frantic as he looked around behind him. “Carrie, listen to me. Look at me, Carrie.”

She blinked then, eyes focusing on the boy in front of her. She looked like she was on the brink of tears. When she noticed the blood flowing down his face it only made her feel worse.

“Is this why?” Her voice was quiet, if Tommy had been any further away he wouldn’t have been able to hear. “Is this why you asked me to go with you?”

A devastated look crossed over Carrie’s face. “So you could laugh at me?” Tommy gulped, really starting to feel sick now, realizing that in some sick way this was partially his fault. “She was right, I shouldn’t have come, I shouldn’t have-”

“No! Carrie, if I knew it wouldn’t have happened! I didn’t know- I swear whoever did this is dead.” He shouted, his grip on her shoulders tightening. “Please, you need to calm down. Just breathe, we can get you out of here.”

Flames caught his eye, the curtain behind them was on fire. They needed to go, now. Carrie sniffled, the tears finally falling. “They all laughed at me, they laughed…”

Tommy looked back at the crowd then back to Carrie. “No one laughed, no one did Carrie.” She let out a breath like she’d been holding it. The heat from the fire was getting unbearable.

“Do you swear?” Carrie whispered, looking up at him. She was in agony, he could see it clear on her face.

“Carrie, I swear.” Tommy holds out his arms for her, finally stepping back to lead her away from the gym. He could hear sirens approaching.

Carrie looked out a final time before the doors swung open and the students flooded out. The air was cool which was relieving to everyone. She took his hands then, and he led her off the stage out to the cool evening air.

Sue Snell pushed her way through everyone, Frank Green (notoriously known as the Beak) and George at her side, searching through the scared faces for Tommy and Carrie. “There they are!” She shouts, grabbing her friends and making their way over to the pair.

Tommy perked up at the sound of Sue’s voice, carefully leading Carrie to the grass so they could sit. Further away from everyone. Sue ran over and pulled Tommy down into a hug. Beak and George made their way over a second after, clearly left behind in the madness behind them.

Whispers were exchanged between the group, everyone sparing sympathetic glances to Carrie every once in a while. Carrie just sunk in on herself, Trying to calm herself down enough so she could walk home, figuring she messed up their night enough.

It surprised her all when they all sat around her, Tommy to her left and Sue on the other side. Beak and George settled across from them.

They didn’t talk, no one really knew what to say. It was Carrie who broke the silence. “I ruined your plans with your friends, didn’t I?”

Tommy just shook his head as he shrugged off his jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders. “No,” he assured her. “You didn’t do anything wrong at all, actually.”

Carrie blinked up at him, tears threatening to fall again but she willed them away and sank into the coat. If it was salvageable before, it’s definitely ruined now. Tommy wondered if the rental place had it in their hearts to cut them some slack.

“Carrie I- we- are so sorry,” Sue spoke up, reaching to hold her hand. “I tried to stop it, if I knew they were planning something I wouldn’t have asked, that was so cruel.” She whispered the end of her apology, like she couldn’t believe it had happened.

Carrie ducks her head. “I shouldn’t have come,” she says back. “Mama was right I shouldn’t have.” The group share worried glances, but they’ll unpack that later.

George sneers. “Don’t you think like that, it was fun at the beginning right?” Carrie glances up to him and nods. “Right! Don’t you worry, whoever did this will pay.” Frank nods along beside him, patting him on the shoulder encouragingly. “So inspiring.” Beak always did like to make a joke, to lighten the mood when things were heavy.

Tommy’s arm tucks around her, pulling Carrie closer to comfort her. “Even if it all ended bad, we’re all together, right?” He looked down to her, waiting for the response. Even now he’s pushing her gently, to get her out there. Maybe this is Tommy’s super power. She had telekinesis and he was good at making anyone comfortable, even Carrie White.

“Right,” she finished for him, which made Tommy smile. In return it made Carrie smile. Sue reached and brushed some bloody hair out of Carrie’s face.

“Wow, Sue,” Beak starts. “Before too long Carrie might steal Tommy from you curled up to him like that. Sue laughed and Carrie smiled, cheeks flushing red under the caked up blood.

Tommy grinned and shot him a look. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you beat her to it and steal me yourself, smart guy?”

Beak opened his mouth but was quickly cut off by George. “Oi! Don’t be comin’ onto my man y’ hear?” He shot back, elbowing Frank with a grin.

Tommy felt Carrie’s shoulders bouncing, but when he looked to her to see if she was crying, a small grin graced her face and quiet giggles bubbled up. Despite it all she was laughing. It made something twist in Tommy’s chest, he had to make himself look away.

“It isn’t much,” Sue starts. “But if you all wanted to stop by my house to get cleaned up, maybe we could still go to the Hive.” Carrie perks up, of course Sue was invited, why wouldn’t she be?

George whooped excitedly. “You’re a lifesaver, Susan, I really need a shake after all this.” Everyone cheered in agreement.

“Carrie?” Tommy said quietly. She looked up to him, still smiling a little. “Would that be okay?” He was so patient with her.

Commotion caught her attention though and she looked past Tommy towards the gym. The flames had been dealt with it’d seem, but that’s not what she’s looking at.

Two police officers were taking Chris Hargensen and Billy Nolan out of the school, Chris kicking and shouting the whole way to the car. Miss Collins watched them go, nothing but anger in her eyes. It only made Carrie’s smile widen. She hoped she’d never have to see Chris ever again after this.

“Yes,” she finally replied. “That seems fun.” Tommy grinned and stood, offering his hands to Carrie first to help her stand, then to Sue. “No help for me?” Frank joked. “Shut up, Beak,” Tommy joked back.

The rest of the night was filled with similar jokes, everything being kept lighthearted (lucky for Carrie, she may fall apart if anything else bad happened). The Hive was so much better than she imagined. They had delicious waffle fries, and soda flavors she didn’t know existed, she and Sue even shared an ice cream. Everything was perfect. She prayed to God that come Monday morning she wouldn’t be forgotten by Tommy Ross, or any of them.

#carrie 1976 #carrie white #tommy ross #sue snell #george dawson #frank green #the beak #fic #au #fix it fic

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hotdogct · 3 years

Text

blooms in adversity ||| n.jm

pairing: na jaemin x reader genre: angst-ish, fluff. words: 1.8k a/n: you ever get rejected from a job and have a complete meltdown over your future hahahahahhaaa just asking for a friend :) title is an obvious nod to ‘mulan’, i listened to way too much hippo campus while writing this. enjoy!!!

network tags: @czennienet

At this time we have decided to move forward with other candidates in the hiring process. Thank you for your interest and we wish you the best of luck in the future.

The rejection email might’ve landed in your inbox late in the afternoon, but you had been anticipating its arrival all day long - the thought of it lingering, stagnant, weighing heavily on your brain like a storm cloud that refused to pass.

Jaemin knew this, anticipated it. It’s why the two of you were outside, taking full advantage of the warmth the sun was providing this late spring day. After noticing the neglected planter on your balcony in the early days of your relationship, Jaemin wouldn’t stop nagging you about his ‘legendary’ green thumb. As soon as winter began to fade to spring he began to wax poetic, explaining the overwhelming benefits plant ownership has on a person and pretty please can-he-take-you-to-the-nursery and-

It’s not that you didn’t appreciate flowers. Some of your fondest memories of the early stages of your relationship were the bouquets Jaemin would spoil you with at each date - how you used to keep them on display prominently in the kitchen, a silent reminder of his newly blooming affection towards you. Even after they wilted, lost their petals, there was seldom time to mourn. A new bouquet would always take its place, and the absentminded cycle could continue.

Absentminded. That was your whole problem, the reason for the sad remains of dead flowers residing in the neglected planter. You had started off with the brightest of intentions when moving into your first apartment - wanting to establish routine and create the perfect place to unwind at the end of the day.

Nervously you had browsed the outdoor section of the nearest hardware store, shaky hands brushing over begonias and marigolds, before settling on a flat of dusty pink petunias to take home. None of these names meant anything to you, no terms familiar. Equipped with extra gardening tools courtesy of your mother, you spent that afternoon carefully digging into the soil. Gently sitting each starter petunia into place and covering their roots as if tucking in a child for the night. For the next few days, you’d make sure to have your daily nightcap of wine out on the balcony, watch the sunset and water the planter.

But one day you forgot. The next you were tired. Then you went out of town for the weekend. And at that point, shame left you frozen. Rather than attempting to salvage your petunias, you passively let the entire idea and label of “plant mom” slip from your brain. A pattern that followed you your entire life - never quite being able to follow through, see something to completion. Sometimes you almost feel as wilted as the abandoned petunias themselves.

This was why Jaemin, with his prince-like features, his romantic gestures and bouquets, swept you off your feet almost instantly. Rather than nagging you about a drawer being left open in the kitchen, a light left on in the living room, the messy dining room table after a night of arts and crafts, he would simply take care of whatever chaos you had left in your wake. You might’ve been a storm, tremendous and unpredictable. Yet Jaemin thought there was nothing more beautiful, and decided he was up for the thrill of the chase.

So it was only fair to humor him, to try again at the “plant mom” thing. After his consistent nagging reached a crescendo that rivaled only the oncoming cicada brood in terms of volume, you found yourselves strolling through the nearby nursery bright and early on a weekend morning.

“You’ve put this off all Spring long,” Jaemin lamented, gesturing wildly with his hand at the expanse of greenhouses before the two of you. “And look! Now there’s nothing pretty left!”

“What are you talking about, Na?” You could easily spot at least three to four different flats of colorful starters that had already caught your eye, and started to walk tentatively over in their direction. Before you could get too far, Jaemin’s firm grasp on your wrist prevented you from moving much further, a pout apparent upon his features. Instead he pivoted you both in the opposite direction, towards the more complex greenery and shrubs. You shot Jaemin a confused glance, which only led to a small laugh escaping his lips, followed by words that left your cheeks as crimson as the nearby roses:

“Those flowers weren’t nearly pretty enough for the balcony, let alone pretty enough for you.”

It had been Jaemin who had pushed you to apply for this job. You were blinded by the familiarity of the stressful retail gig you held long before the two of you even met. The ever changing schedule, along with the grueling work and constant understaffing was your unshifting reality. But you had health benefits and a small, but earnest 401K started - what could you really complain about?

Turns out, quite a bit. It wasn’t until one late night in bed, where Jaemin was massaging your back and shoulders wordlessly after a brutal shift - doing his best to water and tend to you, his most beautiful flower. Silently pressing his hands firmly on, around, all over your shoulder blades in a busy pattern, he tried his best to keep his anger contained to the intensity of his movements. How could they neglect you so? A flower of your caliber needed full sun - and Jaemin didn’t need to feel the tight knots your muscles had twisted themselves into to know that you were wilted. While he was especially gifted at keeping his mouth shut, a brief look at your pained, exhausted expression was all it took for him to slip, speak up.

“You deserve better than this.”

Immediately wide eyed despite how tired you were seconds before, Jaemin realized the vagueness of the previous thought, and clarified, pulling away from your body so that you could roll over, sit up. “N-not like that. This job is going to kill you.”

Your face softened. While stubborn to a fault, even you could admit Jaemin’s argument was sound. When was enough enough?

And then, doubt. Before you could even begin to imagine the possibilities, the blue sky ideas that could await you. Instead, you immediately hone in on the skills you don’t possess, requirements you don’t meet. The idea of not running on automatic, the thought of having to try, of doing something new. The overwhelming fear of rejection. Pulse racing now, each shallow breath in only made the thorns that had grown around your ego constrict themselves further, pressing in uncomfortably.

Jaemin’s arms find their way around your trembling body seconds later, his added weight bringing you back down to earth. You periodically feel his lips leaving gentle kisses, pressed with the utmost care along the back of your neck, the curve of your shoulder. In between, ghost whispers of comfort land reassuringly in your ear.

“You have so much to offer the world.”

“You deserve to be somewhere where you can shine.”

“Let's get you blooming again, yeah?”

The smile that graced Jaemin’s face when you told him you had a second interview scheduled was so bright it could probably be seen from outer space. True to his word, over the last month he helped revise your resume, hunt for job listings, prepare for interviews late into the night. There was gradually less and less tension in your muscles when Jaemin would massage almost nightly. Buds slowly began to appear on your stems, where rot had once been.

The second interview went great - or so you had thought. Then the hours after turned into a day, then two, then the week passed without hearing back. Your expectations had plummeted like a sagging helium balloon, days past its prime. The subject went unmentioned by both you and Jaemin, the silence instead speaking volumes.

The two of you were out on the balcony, music blaring. You’re sitting on an uncomfortable stool watching Jaemin below you, donned in a gardening visor and bright pink gloves. He was planting the flowers you were absolutely frightened to take care of, when the rejection email arrived, unceremoniously.

You blink once, twice, comprehending the words on your phone screen individually. Move forward - are you now set back? Other candidates - no, that’s you, you feel like the “other”, luck - you’ll need it, alright-

Deep breath.

You look over and down. Jaemin is so heavily invested in covering a starter daisy just right with soil that he missed your initial reaction, your brief show of raw emotion. Sensing your eyes on him, he looks up at you, squinting into the sun, smiles bright. If autopilot didn’t fail you now, the small smile on your face would convince him you’re fine, everything was fine.

But Jaemin was intuitive, he was smart, and he knew better. The speaker was playing some cheerful pop song, the weather was cooperating and tolerable. His nail beds were caked with dirt and soil, a favorite feeling of his from childhood that comes with the satisfaction of gardening. His wide eyes were still studying you. There you were, his radiant flower, sitting in the fullest and brightest of sun, and he had nurtured you back to growth.

So why weren’t you blooming?

“Are you okay?”

A small chuckle leaves your lips, knowing the truth and the inevitability of it all. This time when you blink once, twice, in an attempt to avoid Jaemin’s overwhelming gaze, you can feel hot liquid streaming down your cheeks, taste the saltiness of the tears once they hit your lips. You can hear the clatter of gardening tools being abandoned, plastic flats of flowers being shoved aside, and you can feel Jaemin’s broad frame envelop you seconds later, almost knocking both of you off the stool.

You lose track of the time, sobbing into Jaemin’s chest. An exaltation of the saddest manner, but necessary when coming from someone as normally stoic as you. His tight grip around you never wavered, the softest of rocking motions to settle you down, his familiar hands massaging at your weary frame. Loving words on loop from his lips.

“This is just a minor setback...it’s alright...”

“They don’t know what they’re missing.”

“We’ll get you back out there tomorrow.”

Eventually your brain stops screaming, though a headache remains. Your breath steadies into a slow rhythm. As quickly as it had arrived, the overwhelming anxiety courtesy of the rejection email disappeared. The once raging storm had subsided.

And still, Jaemin thought, there was nothing more beautiful.

#na jaemin #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct fluff #jaemin #nct scenarios #na jaemin fluff #na jaemin fic #jaemin fic #jaemin fluff #nct x reader #jaemin x reader #nct dream fluff

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blue-kyber · 2 years

Note

2, 15, 27 for the blorbo/oc asks!

oooo Thank you for the ask! ^_^ I will accept any excuse/reason to talk about my OC. :)

There are 4 MCs in my book, so I'll pick my (admittedly) favorite; Yune Darrak. My 25 year old way-too-short-for-a-mik-human pilot for hire and salvager.

2. Do they have any scars?

Yes, Yune has a few small scars that came from being fearless as a kid and doing the dumb stuff boys do. One on the inside of his right calf happened when he stepped on a piece of metal around the Derelict (a ship he and the other kids at the orphanage would train on by taking it apart and putting it back together). The end swept up and sliced through his pantleg. It left a long, thin white scar. He's gotten into fights, but avoided any life-threatening wounds and he's never broken a bone - surprisingly, being a daredevil. He's a fast healer. As of chapter 28, he receives one from a slash down his left palm when the source energy shield blocking falling rocks from crushing them failed and one of the sharp fragments of stone sliced across his hand blocking his face.

15. Are they allergic to anything?

He has two; 1 - he's allergic to palwarg stings (bees). He doesn't puff up, but the venom affects him like a powerful psychotropic drug.

2 - This is unique to him and people like him - it's more of an intolerance; absorbing a source field flare (they call them lights - hand sized blue orbs of highly concentrated source field energy that form randomly for an indeterminate amount of time anywhere in the galaxy - including on ships). Normally he'll naturally repel it, but if his energy level is low enough, or when he was learning how to manipulate them (move them/hold them) and tried too hard, he would absorb it. It would make him feel full, overheated, give him a headache, the uncomfortable feeling of fighting it trapped inside him, and all around miserable. The effects of enduring that will leave him worn out for hours - like how your body feels after you're over the worst parts of dairy poisoning and you're worn out and just want to lie there in the aftermath because your body is like, "Ok, I'm done." One cannot replenish their energy with a flare, because Source Field energy and Living Source energy are not compatible.

27. Is their living space tidy or cluttered?

*pfffffft!* This guy lives like a bachelor 100% of the time. It's a mess. It's organized chaos in a jalopy spaceship, but he knows where everything is. It's his home. Food containers left out, spare parts, unfinished projects left out or shoved into the empty cabins, stuff stacked and maglocked to the cargohold with no order, to-go coffee cups abandoned everywhere - including the medbay - and doing his laundry is a shadowy afterthought he forgets about until he has to dig for socks that don't stink. Even then he'll go barefoot before finally giving up and putting his clothes into the sanitizer (the ships laundry unit that utilizes sonic waves and a cleaning solution and a dryer so they come out warm and fresh). Then they're piled on the bed, then shoved to the floor, and the cycle repeats. He keeps a good hygiene routine regarding himself, but his ship? Eh. As long as he can find what he needs and nothing gets in the way, he doesn't care much about picking up after himself. The ship itself is in great shape though and not in danger of failing. It just looks worn, and like one guy who walks through the ship in just his pajama bottoms without care lives there. It’s an expression of mental health issues and denial of said issues. 90% of that stopped when Selka and the two kids moved into the ship.

A link to “Out There: The 1K” on wattpad if you’re curious. :) It’s free, because I know times are hard, and people need a mental escape that doesn’t involve worrying about money.

#ask game #out there #the 1k #yune darrak #my devil may care pilot with a smirk and sass.#The one who accidentally falls into a found family.#writing #original work

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violet-knox · 3 years

Text

Thin Ice

Year 7 - Chapter 68

Summary: Severus dreads the apology he agreed to give to Connor but does his best to go through with it.

Word count: 1711

A/N: Hello! I am back! I'll do my best to resume weekly posting on Saturdays but as I'm still rusty to writing, I may miss a few Saturdays here and there. I replanned the rest of Year 7 with a total of 7 more chapters (including this one), all of which are basically filler chapters meant to help set up the next part of the the series. The remaining chapters will likely be fairly short but that's okay because I'm excited to get to the next part of the series! Thanks to everyone who's been leaving comments during my hiatus, they really mean a lot and helped me more than you can know 💜💜 I hope you enjoy this chapter and happy reading!

Previous Chapter - Chapter 1

Severus felt his heart thumping against his chest as he walked down the hall, your hand in his the only thing keeping him calm. He tightened his grip on you and felt you squeeze back in comfort as you led him towards the Entrance Hall. If you weren’t here with him, he knew he’d be running for the hills right now. He could care less what Connor thought about him, but this was important to you, and he knew you were right about what he needed to do next. Yesterday had been such a stressful day, but your relationship had survived it. It had grown so strong over the past year, he was astounded that it could withstand his stupidity.

Love truly was the most powerful thing he’d ever come to know, more so than any spell or curse he’d learned over the years. It was something he’d hoped to gain at Hogwarts, something that had come in the most unexpected way but he was so happy he’d experienced it. He knew now that it was all that mattered, that he had to protect it no matter the cost, that it was the only valuable thing in this world he possessed, and he would do anything to keep it, even if it meant facing the person he’d hurt yesterday.

“Are you ready?” You paused as you reached the Entrance Hall, taking his hands in yours as you looked up at him. You knew this couldn’t be easy for him, especially considering it was you who’d introduced him to Connor in the first place, but you were so glad he agreed to this without a second thought. It surprised you how easy it was to get him to agree to this meeting, but you wouldn’t protest of course. It showed growth, true compassion and understanding for what he’d done.

“No, but I know I have to do this,” Severus said calmly, gripping your hands tighter than ever before. He stared into your eyes and let them calm the ocean of chaos in his mind one last time before you led him outside towards the courtyard.

“I’m proud of you Sev,” you whispered to him as you let go of his hand, approaching your agreed upon meeting spot. Connor had already been waiting for you, his eyes fixed on you both as you approached him. It tore at you to see him look at you like this, his guard up, his eyes piercing with caution as you stopped before him. You could tell he was hurt, that your relationship with Severus felt like a betrayal to him after what happened yesterday and although you understood him, it saddened you to see someone you cared about look at you with such distaste.

“Connor, thanks for agreeing to meet,” you said, trying to break the ice as you felt the tension increase between him and Severus. You saw Severus let his hair fall in front of his face in the corner of your eyes as he always did when he wanted to retreat into himself. Connor looked like he was doing his best to keep himself from frowning which made what Severus did yesterday all the more heartbreaking. No one deserved to be treated that way, least of all him.

“I just wanted to say sorry if I was too forward,” Connor spoke to you, ignoring Severus entirely as he offered an apology. You could tell he partially blamed himself for what happened yesterday, but you didn’t see it that way. “I didn’t know you two were… together.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Connor. We were the ones who decided not to tell you about our relationship.” You took his guilt and made it your own, hoping it would help ease the situation and salvage the broken trust between the three of you. Silence filled the air as you all stood there awkwardly until you gave Severus a slight nudge, pushing him to say what you’d previously discussed with him.

“I-I’m sorry for what I said yesterday. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did,” Severus hesitantly said, his voice low in shame as he apologized for his regrettable actions yesterday. He meant what he said, and he did feel shameful for how he acted, but he hated the humiliating feeling that came with apologizing like this. He didn’t care for Connor like he did for you and Lily. He didn’t care for his forgiveness as he needed it from you and his ex-best friend. He felt nothing seeing Connor simply nod at his apology. It was clear the Ravenclaw had no interest in making amends, the air thickening around him.

“I-I hope we can remain friends,” you said awkwardly with a smile. Connor gave you a quick smile back as he shoved his hands in his pockets, mumbling about how he had class before walking away, leaving you and Severus to your own company and the dreadful feeling of a broken friendship. You were saddened by how horribly that interaction had gone, how Connor so easily ran away from you after months of building your friendship with him. You couldn’t help but wonder if things were always to remain this way with anyone who tried to come into your life, if Severus would chase them away with his insecurities and you’d both have to live your lives in solitude.

“Sev, promise me this won’t happen again,” you stated out of fear as you turned to him, needing reassurance that being with Severus didn’t come with a lifetime sentence of loneliness and an inability to have friends. You looked at him with sincerity, your eyes wide and he could see your concern was genuine. He frowned as he realized how hurt you were by the situation he’d created.

“I promise,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours as his worries for your relationship returned. He looked down and slowly reached for your hand, your weight heavier than ever in his palms. He could feel the burden you carried now, your relationship strained after the obviously broken friendship with Connor. Despite your lack of faith in him, he started walking out of the courtyards towards the empty fields, hoping some time alone could help remind you of the love you shared.

“(Y/N), are you alright?” Severus could sense your sadness weighing you down more so than it had yesterday. He thought this encounter could help ease your mind, that doing what you asked would set things right, but it was clear his optimism had once again betrayed him. You tried to put on a happy face for him, your words kind and assuring yet holding no true meaning to them. He’d never felt so helpless as he did in this moment, wanting to go back to how things were without knowing how.

“What do you mean?” You gave him a weak smile as you began to slowly make your way back inside the castle.

“Is-is everything alright with us?” ‘Yes’was the answer he needed, the answer you wanted to give but you couldn’t lie to him. You promised yourself you wouldn’t do that when you began dating again but it stung to acknowledge the concerns and heaving emotions of worry in your chest.

“I want it to be. But I’m afraid for our future Severus.” It was the truth, as much of it as you could bare put into words, but nevertheless it was the truth. But as Severus stepped in front of you, stopping you in your tracks, you could tell he knew you were holding back. Your shoulders dropped as your eyes wandered from his, unable to bare another word of complaint to him, fearing what it would do after the obvious show of insecurity yesterday.

“Do you-do you think I’m a bad person?” He asked with a heavy voice, his eyes wide as he watched for your response. You quickly looked up at him so see the saddest frown you’d ever seen him wear begging you for acceptance and affection.

“Severus, of course not,” You assured him with true sincerity this time. And you meant what you said. He wasn’t a bad person, he was simply flawed, as are every Witch and Wizard. But that fact still didn’t excuse his behaviour, nor did it excuse the fact that he seemed very reluctant to change, into bettering himself. “Sev, I’ll always love you and I’ll always believe in you. I just feel like we’re in this unbreakable loop that will alienate us from the rest of the world forever and I don’t want that.”

“Neither do I,” he spoke in a soft tone. The guilt burned him from the inside, his brain screaming at him to let you go, saying it would be what's best for you, his heart fighting back as it wailed with need and desire. “I don’t want to hold you back.”

You could hear the heartbreak in his voice, the instant regret of what you said as if the only way he would be able to give you back your freedom was by letting you go entirely. His lack of self-worth seemed to be an occurring theme in your relationship, something you hoped one day would change. “You don’t have to, Severus. We can be each other's strengths if that’s what you want. You just have to believe in me and trust the love I have for you.”

“Is that how you feel for me even after all this?” His eyes softened as his frown transfigured into a small, but heartwarming grin. He admired you with such passion, wondering how you could be real, how someone on this planet could actually care for him as you did.

“Yes, always,” you whispered as you took his hand and began making your way to class. Severus stayed quiet the entire way there, replaying every moment of the last two days and coming to one simple solution: he would never be worthy of you and no matter what he did, he could never make up for everything he’d done, everything he’d hidden from you. He was completely at fault for what he was feeling right now and the only way he could even begin to do right by you was to change.

Next Chapter

#severus snape #severus x reader #severus snape x reader #snape x reader #young severus snape #young severus snape x reader #my fic #my writing #pro snape #snapedom #female reader

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ive-been-quested · 3 years

Text

Request for @ironbabey, im sorry it took so long! Life's been hectic and I wanted to make it good and not rush it. Hope you enjoy :)

An angsty fic, insert reader no y/n and im pretty sure its gender neutral!

Warnings: mentions of injury and blood, angst, Mando is angry acts like a Scary Man™ at first but he doesn't do anything drastic

You had never, in all your time of knowing Mando, seen him well and truly angry. Not like this. Not angry enough to tear through everything in his path. Not enough to be yelling. He never raises his voice, always keeps it low and firm and steady, especially around you.

"You just fucking /left/. I didn't know where you were, or if you were safe, I knew-" he knocks over a chair, unaware of how much space he takes up in this small kitchen, "-fucking /nothing/!"

Cara has appeared somewhere from another room, attempting to diffuse the situation, if only to salvage her kitchen furniture.

You weren't scared of him. You had a blaster that you were well versed in using if it came that, though you doubted it would. You were just furious.

"Mando, stop-"

"You just left! You were injured and you left, the kid was terrified, he's cried every night since you've been gone!"

"Last time I checked, I wasn't obligated to tell you what I was doing or where I was going-"

"Guys-" Cara tried

"You could have been /dead/, or bleeding out somewhere and I would never have known!"

"QUIET" Cara's voice broke through the onslaught of chaos and the two of you fell silent. "You people really need to get your shit together, okay? Stop yelling for two kriffing minutes!"

Mando's visibly heaving under his armor, and you notice your hand hovering where you keep your blaster on your thigh.

"You're going to /talk/ about this, and im gonna take the kid and leave you to it, ok? But you have to promise not to kill each other". Neither of you answer her, so she takes her leave.

It was you who broke the silence, as usual.

"You should leave."

"No." He's basically growling. You can't tell its to cover up the waver that threatens to break through.

Your eyes don't leave his visor, hoping half-heartedly that you could intimidate him into giving in.

"No, of course not," you sighed. "Stubborn asshole."

He knows he should stop. You have every right to be mad at him right now, even scared, with the way he was yelling and pushing things and generally being intimidating just moments ago. But you show no signs of fear, as always. Always so stupidly brave. He would never hurt you, but others would. And have, he thinks, as his eyes fall to your bandaged side. An image of fresh blood and grunts of pain and trembling hands flash through his thoughts before his eyes clench shut and he tries to turn his attention back to your face.

"I'm sorry." Its all he can think to say, all he /wants/ to say, now that the dust is settling. It feels like too much and not enough all at once.

"For what? For treating me like a child? For getting mad at me for, I don't know, doing my job and protecting the kid?"

"You were being reckless, you could have died-"

"I was doing. My. Job. You told me when I first came on that the kid is our top priority. I agreed. I made sure he was safe, Mando".

It was the truth. Maybe you were reckless. Maybe there was a better way of getting the kid out of range of that asshole's bullet. But when things happen fast you do stupid shit, right? Like jumping infront of a bullet to stop it?

You couldn't admit that it was stupid, because then you'd have to admit that you didn't always care if you got hurt, or that you kinda just wanted to know if Mando would give a shit.

"That was before."

"Before what?" You demanded, fists clenched and jaw tight.

"The nightmares." You've never heard him so exasperated. "You bleed out in every nightmare I have."

You don't know what to say. You can imagine that pain; you imagine him bleeding out infront of you enough to know that it feels like hell, feels like being crushed under the weight of the whole galaxy at once. But he can't possibly feel the same way about you, right?

"I try to stop it-" his voice breaks. No, it doesn't. It can't. Not Din. "I do everything i can. It's not enough".

"Din-" his true name bounces off your lips in an unprecedented moment of sincerity.

"I can't stop that much blood." You definitely hear his voice waver now, and your throat closes in at the sound. /fuck/. You never even considered, never thought it was possible, for him to worry like this. Not about you, at least.

He's defeated. His greatest weakness is revealed. /You/. He could say so much more but it wouldn't make a difference. He could have made up so many excuses; how the kid would miss you, how he wants you so badly to hug him every night, and it wouldn't have even been a lie. But it wouldn't have been the whole truth either, would it? No. You were too damn smart for that.

The truth was this: losing you would be a big enough wound to ruin him. The kind of wound that festers, rot taking him slowly, creeping into every vein, every breath, into the very marrow of his bones.

He didn't know how to say this. He says 'I'm sorry,' and the breath is still caught in your throat so he says it again, and again, until you finally remember how to exhale and shoot up and wrap your arms around the cold metal of his body. And then you are shaking with the effort of silencing a sob.

"I love you," you whisper. "I can't help it. I didn't want to. It hurts."

"Why? Why does it hurt?"

"Because I can't imagine you think the same of me."

"Of course I do. I am not metal all the way through," He chuckles softly and the sound melts the tension lingering in your body.

"Then say it. Please?"

He thinks he might choke on the words but he complies anyway.

"I love you," he says. "I love you, I love you."

#the mandalorian #the mandolorian season 2 #din djarin #the mandolorian imagine #the mandalorian x reader #din drabble #din djarin x reader #mando #the child #baby yoda

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bellesque · 4 years

Text

Stop & Smell the Flowers (Loki x Reader)

A Loki Oneshot for the Spring Time with Loki Collab Collection on AO3. Also on my AO3.

Rating: Explicit

Words: 8.9K BIG yikes

Tags/Warnings: Sex Pollen (therefore Mildly Dub-Con), Smut, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Denial, Sex in Space, and some hints of a Praise Kink

Summary: Plant samples from Alfheim and a brooding god as your only companions in a small Quinjet sounds like a recipe for disaster, but some good things can happen in ten hours.

A/N: All I can say is... whoops, my hand slipped?

THE RIDE BACK to Earth is longer than you anticipated.

The small Quinjet is a sturdy and silent thing, the engine’s muffled hum a constant as you hurtle through space. It’s a drawn out, unceasing sound; it brings your boredom to the forefront of your consciousness and warps it into a false sense of steady calm. You might even be able to close your eyes for a second, seeing as there’s nothing but blackness before you—

“Wake up,” a voice snaps from behind your pilot chair, punctuated by a sharp snap of fingers. “You will not crash this ship.”

You straighten in your seat, unfazed by the bite in your companion’s tone. You blink a couple times, squeezing your eyes shut as you stifle a yawn.

“There’s literally nothing to crash into, Loki.”

Heavy boots thud against the metal floor of the ship until they stop by the copilot chair a few paces away from you. “You never were the vigilant type to begin with.”

This time, you sigh. “Look, if it makes you feel better, I’m turning on autopilot. If you can’t trust me, trust Stark. His tech is unparalleled. We will be fine.” You punch a button on the control panel, and the low hum of the Quinjet rises slightly in pitch. Swiveling around in your chair, you turn to face the god with raised hands. “See? No hands. All good. Course set.”

Loki stares at you, his features set in an unamused scowl, before turning on his heel to the farther side of the ship.

It takes a little more willpower than usual not to allow yourself to snap back at him, but you manage. After all, you’re both pretty tired, and he’s most likely antsy because of how long you’ve been cruising through the void of space. You’re sleepy, he’s irritable.

Still, your estimated time of arrival isn’t for another eight hours, and seeing as you’re going to be stuck with each other you might as well try to maintain some semblance of cordiality.

“So,” you begin, pushing up and out from your seat, “Alfheim was pretty.”

Loki stands by the glass window that shows you nothing but the expanse of space. His reflection is so clear that the details—like the strong slope of his nose, his aristocratic cheekbones—are unmarred.

“Yes,” he answers curtly. “Home to the Light Elves. As Stark briefed earlier, if you had been paying any attention.”

You swallow the retort, letting it fizzle out on the tip of your tongue. Stark did brief you on your mission, alright. You just wish knowing how to handle a brooding, irritated god was one of the things on Tony’s agenda.

Your mission was simple enough—collect some plants and flowers and shrubs and cuttings, he said. All the planty things. It’ll be quick, he said. Two rides through the Bifrost from Earth to Heimdall’s Observatory in Asgard, and then to Alfheim, followed by a short Quinjet ride to the nearby planet-slash-moon-thing, he said. Piece of cake, won’t take too long to get there.

He failed to mention how long it would take you to come home since you couldn’t use the Bifrost for reasons that were “none of your damn business.”

“You know, you’re not usually this much of a pain in the ass,” you find yourself saying as you stand side by side.

“And you’re not usually this mouthy,” he replies. He cocks his head at you. “Are you certain the coordinates have been set for Midgard?”

“Yes, sire,” you say, unable to keep the mocking tone from your voice at bay. “I told you. Trust me. If not me, then Stark.”

You lapse into silence, watching distant planets and stars twinkle against the dark backdrop of the void, the unending vastness pulling you into thought.

You’ve been working with the Avengers for just about a year. In this time, you’ve gotten to know everyone in the tower.

Including Loki.

He’s… quite a character, to say the least. Silent. Calculating. Not plotting his next attempt at world domination, but still, many are wary of his presence. You’ve spent enough time with him to know he’s a different Loki from the one in New York, though. You’d even go as far as to say that he’s… almost kind of good. Wreaking chaos, sure, by way of annoying the hell out of Steve and Tony especially, but… good.

And you’ll even admit to yourself, just a little, that he’s nice to be around. Not right now; no, he’s unnecessarily bitchy at the moment. But when it’s just you and him in the tower while the rest are either off-world or taking a day off outside the tower, it’s almost refreshing. His presence is companionable. When you watch a movie, his comments are genuinely witty and they make you laugh. He’s more aloof—more himself, you feel, and he allows himself to actually fucking smile.

And hell, when he does, looking at you with those green eyes and that heart-wrenching, happy smile—

You huff, squashing the blooming feeling in your chest. Pivoting on your heel, you make towards the other side of the ship: the small corner by the hatch that holds your collection of plants from today’s excursion. Maybe the weird, exotic flowers will keep you from acknowledging your tiny (but growing) crush.

“Do you have plants like this on Asgard?” you ask, hoping to inject some light into the heavy and tired air that hangs between you.

It takes Loki a second to move from his stance by the opposite window, but he ends up by your side eventually. He picks up a glass jar that houses a plant with blue, stunted leaves. “No.” He brings it up to eye level, examining it and rotating it in his hand. “The plants we’ve acquired are native to the Alfheim regions, it seems.”

“What does Stark want with them?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

He sets down the jar with a dulled thunk and picks up another. The flower inside this one is pretty: curling petals with an orangey, reddish, and golden iridescence to it. It glitters in the low light of the Quinjet’s interior, and you can’t help but voice your admiration for it.

“Do you know what that one’s called?”

“No.”

“So why’d we get it?”

Loki’s eyebrows scrunch together, shifting his weight to the other foot. “Are you a child, mortal? Why must you ask such—”

You never get to hear the rest of Loki’s question; the Quinjet makes a hard, stuttering sound, almost as if it’s skidding over gravel, and the entire ship lurches forward and then sideways. The scraping sound of metal doesn’t cease as the ship continues to vibrate from the turbulence. You lose your balance, clutching at air to steady yourself, only one particularly hard jerk to the side causes you to stumble into Loki with a soft oof.

The pair of you are jostled to the floor, and the next thing you register is the distinct sound of glass shattering.

After a few seconds, the vibrations stop. Thankfully, because you were really starting to worry that dying in space was going to become an actual thing. The lights flicker before steadying and it resumes its normal hum as though it didn’t just go through the most unholy turbulence you’ve experienced. Granted, this is only your third time in space, but the unexpected collision leaves you spooked out nonetheless.

“What was that?”

It’s this moment that your mind chooses to notice that Loki’s chest has seemingly cushioned your fall, the top half of your body splayed on top of him.

Feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, you hastily clamber off him. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything, only rises to his feet and dusts off the front of his clothes. “You and I are in big trouble,” he says.

You hurry to the cockpit, which isn’t much of a cockpit considering how small the ship is compared to what Stark usually provides. A space rock just about the size of the ship lazily rolls away. “Looks like an asteroid?” you say, uncertain. “Are we caught in a belt?”

“No, it was a rogue one. The trouble I pertain to is not that, mortal. I’m afraid we’re one plant short now.”

“What?” Your head whips to the back so fast that your neck cricks, and you rush to the spot Loki points at.

Broken glass, and a flower that’s lost some of its iridescence. Some particles glitter on the metal floor, and you curse.

“There’s a spare jar in one of the overhead cabinets. Maybe we can still salvage this one.” You sigh. “What if this had some super special healing power and we just ruined it?”

“I told you not to crash this ship, and yet—”

“Shut it, Reindeer Games.” At this, you can see in your periphery how Loki’s nostrils flare just the slightest at the nickname. He hates it. Hates it because Stark uses it.

You manage to pick up the bigger pieces of broken glass without inadvertently cutting yourself and throw it into the waste bin. Loki hands you—well, more like shoves into you—another glass jar, into which you carefully place the flower. You slot it with the other plant samples and straighten up.

“There are still some smaller shards of glass around here,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the floor, “so we just need to be careful when we walk here.”

The floor shimmers in some angles: some attributed to the minute glass shards, some from the flower. Loki dips his chin in acknowledgment before resuming his perch by the window, staring out at the abyss of space as he was doing before you and he decided to look at the Alfheim plants.

A decision you’re regretting more and more with each passing minute.

You’re back in the pilot chair, scanning for any possibility of crashing into another space rock. If what you were feeling earlier was sleepiness, how you’re feeling right now is that tenfold with an extra weight of ten pounds on your head. Your eyelids are heavy and your body is beginning to feel warm. You sniffle, your nose a little congested, and a sneeze permeates the silence.

You swivel around to face Loki. The simple action of it causes your head to spin; you feel almost lightheaded, the same feeling you get when you’re sick. You steady yourself by planting your feet on the floor. “Hey. Are you feeling a little woozy?”

Loki’s eyes snap to you, concern written on his features. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“Not really. Feels like… like an allergy. From the flower.” You sneeze again. “Head’s heavy. Wanna sleep.”

“There’s a pull-out cot you can rest in.” In a flash, Loki’s helping you up, one arm around your waist. You can’t stop your eyelids from closing this time, feeling your grip on consciousness slip from you as your head lolls onto Loki’s shoulder. It’s a weird feeling. Heavy and light at the same time. You want to voice how it feels, but all that comes out is another sneeze.

“Perhaps the Alfheim flowers are a little too intense for your mortal body.”

Maybe it’s the allergies, but you swear you hear the hint of a smile in his voice. Loki drapes a blanket over you—wait, is he tucking you in?—and cards his fingers through your hair. You’re not sure if it’s real or not, but it feels nice.

“Sleep,” he says, voice distant and muddled. “I will take care of the ship.”

It doesn’t take you long to fall asleep to the Quinjet’s comforting hum.

It’s hot.

Way too hot.

You blearily open your eyes, the feverish warmth that’s spread over your body the first thing you notice. The funny thing is you’re hot but you aren’t sweating. At all.

Just warm.

Excessively so.

“It’s hot,” you blurt out dumbly, sitting up on the strangely comfortable cot. The blanket falls away from you as you squint at Loki’s silhouette in the pilot chair.

The lights are a little dimmer, you think. Not as harsh and cold, blinding white too, but almost warm. You didn’t even know the ship had that feature.

Loki doesn’t answer you. You realize this a little late after marveling over the Quinjet’s new lighting. “Are you hot?” Your voice sounds foreign, different to you—a different timbre, a little more hoarse.

“Not particularly.”

Your stomach does a little flip because shit, his voice sounds different too.

You swallow, rising to your feet. “How long was I asleep?”

“I did not keep track. Perhaps an hour. Maybe two.”

He swivels in the pilot chair, and your stomach does a funny kind of flip. He’s the perfect picture of a confident, cocky prince with a sort of casual regality; he’s leaning back just a little lower with his legs spread open, one arm hanging over the armrest while the other is bent at the elbow, a closed fist by his face. Like he sits on his own throne, proud and powerful and incredibly sexy.

And you’ll be damned if you don’t admit it’s an attractive sight.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, his head falling to one side. The intensity of his gaze burns into you, and something inside you coils unmistakably. What the hell…?

“I…” your voice catches, and you clear your throat. “I did. Maybe—do—uh, do you want to take a nap this time? ’Cause I can keep watch.” You hurry to your feet, and your legs feel like jelly as you stand. It’s as if they aren’t a part of your body as they take you to the heart of the ship, the halfway point between the cot and the cockpit.

Loki stands, still staring at you, and even in the dimness of the ship you can see that the intensity with which he looks at you hasn’t waned. He reaches you, standing a good foot away, and stops.

You try to calm the wild beating of your heart, rooted to the spot from his attentions, and you fidget. Your eyes are flighty in contrast, flitting from his face to his chest to the void outside the Quinjet and back again.

He lifts a single finger up to your face, tipping your chin upwards so your eyes meet. Heat begins to pool somewhere specific now, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Obviously nothing, your brain screams in protest. It’s like your mind is swimming, your afterthoughts delayed and your actual thoughts heady, private wishes just bubbling at the surface.

“Your face is red,” Loki comments, his voice low and soft. Like the blanket he tucked you into. No, a part of you thinks, stop this right now—

He brushes his knuckles against your cheek, regarding you with great interest. “You’re burning up as well. Shall I take you to bed?”

Surely he doesn’t mean for his words to come out as much of an innuendo as they do, but that’s immediately where your mind goes: into the gutter.

“A-aren’t you tired?” you say instead, allowing Loki to steer you by the shoulders back to the pull-out. “I can definitely—”

“No, you need to rest,” he insists. As your butt hits the mattress, Loki’s expression shifts into a thoughtful one. “Although your suit seems to be an unfitting set of clothes, considering you’re quite hot. One moment.”

Loki disappears, walking to a hidden part of the ship and you take this time to fan yourself. It’s still unbelievably hot, and the way your folds are slippery without any stimulation (except, you think with a small smirk, Loki’s little pilot chair moment was visual stimulation enough) causes alarm bells to ring faintly in the distance of your mind.

You experimentally flex your lower muscles and—oh. Oh.

“Here,” Loki says as he saunters back into view. He tosses you a dark green shirt. “Wear that.”

You stare at the bundle of fabric in your lap and realize it’s his.

And just like that, a fire is lit within you.

You bring up the shirt to your face, inhaling his scent when he turns his back, and fucking hell does he smell good. Your mouth practically waters at it, your eyes trained on Loki’s back as he settles back into the pilot’s chair.

Unconsciously you bite your lip as you wonder what his skin might look like underneath his armor.

“Don’t turn around,” you say, fighting the urge to jump him right then and there that surges to the fore. You’re tempted. You really are. And you also want him not to listen to you and turn around, watch you undress and change into his shirt.

Again, what in the hell…?

You shimmy out of your clothes and pull Loki’s shirt over you. It’s Asgardian in design, likely tailored specifically for him. You wearing it just feels so intimate. The smell that’s so distinctly him envelops you and quite frankly, it’s intoxicating.

You stand, and the shirt falls just to your mid-thighs. He didn’t bother getting you any shorts; you’re not sure if you’re grateful or angry, or maybe a heady mix of both.

Bundling up your used clothes in your arms, you clear your throat. “Thank you.”

Loki swivels around, stuttering to a stop when he sees you. His eyes rake over you, from your messy bedhead down to your exposed legs. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat quite visibly, and your pride rears its head in victory.

“No shorts, though?” you ask innocently, one eyebrow shooting up.

“Unnecessary,” he answers with a devious grin that makes your insides melt and ignite all at once.

He turns his attention back to the controls, and you lay your clothes by the side of the pull-out.

Wearing Loki’s shirt does little to cool your temperature—in fact, it’s still blistering despite the Quinjet’s air conditioning.

“Are you sure it isn’t hot?” you ask again. You know you’re asking unnecessary questions, but you want to get him talking, speaking to you in that gorgeous velvet full voice of his.

You hear him chuckle, a gush of heat rushing towards your center. “I’m afraid that’s all you, little one.”

Sighing, you flop onto the bed, pulling a pillow over your legs. Maybe if you take another nap, the heat will subside from your body.

Your arousal, on the other hand…

A thought enters your mind, fleetingly, because you immediately push it away and chastise yourself through the murky fog of your brain. Pleasuring yourself? In Loki’s presence? The absurdity of the idea. You should be feeling shame… only you don’t. Not really, at least.

You shift onto your side, squeezing your eyes tight. Sleep does not come to you. You try lying on your back, on your stomach, and then again—

“Are you alright back there?”

The normal tone Loki uses astounds you, seeing as you’re somehow a feverish, horny mess and he isn’t. It puzzles you, and some deep part of you wants to figure out why. Only your brain seems to refuse to cooperate unless you’re thinking of doing certain things.

Things you certainly don’t mind doing with Loki.

“I-it’s hot,” you explain, embarrassed defeat lacing your words. How many times have you said that to him? You probably sound like a broken record.

At this, Loki lets out a full peal of laughter, husky and with a sensual edge to it. You wish you could make him laugh, hear it one more time. Or twice. Or on loop. It doesn’t really matter.

He swivels again to face you, his sitting posture similar to the one earlier, and it does things to you. Causes an uproar that’s novel to you, a need rising within you that must be sated.

Loki makes a smooth come hither motion with his fingers, curling from his pinky to his index. A beckoning you can’t refuse. “Perhaps I can help. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m quite adept at magic. It may help the current predicament you face.”

You slide off the cot and walk barefooted to the copilot chair. He looks a little different, you realize as you amble towards him. Maybe it’s the allergies, but just as he sounds different, there’s something different about him now that you’re really looking. He’s always been a pretty face and you’ve always found him extraordinarily handsome, but right now is different. You just can’t put a finger on it, so you chalk it up to his aura changing. Or the allergies. Most likely it’s the allergies.

You’re about to sit in the copilot chair beside him, only to be stopped when Loki laughs again and wraps his fingers around your wrist. All you hear is a faint, “No, silly girl,” before he pulls you in between his legs.

Pulls you with surprising strength, it seems, because your butt lands almost unceremoniously in the crook of his groin and lap. Your knees are hooked over the opposite arm rest, which means if you shift even just the tiniest bit to the side, your hip will come in contact with a certain part of him.

It’s a dilemma, you think with a giggle, if you want to be caught in a hard place.

His arms snake around your waist, pulling you close to him, and it just registers that you’re sitting on his lap holy shit you’re sitting on his lap.

“Are you comfortable?” he murmurs, adjusting your position so he can rest his chin on your shoulder. Instantly your mouth goes dry; it’s the proximity. You’ve never been this close to him before, and being in such a… an intimate position has you tense and rigid on top of him.

“I think so?” you squeak, stilling further as Loki’s nose burrows into your hair. He parts the curtain of your hair with side to side movements, until he buries his face into your neck. He inhales, and a delicious shiver runs down your sides.

“Good,” he breathes.

You’re frozen on his lap, afraid to even let out the smallest puff of air. His face just stays there, in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“Are… you okay?”

And then your heart stops, because he’s lifting his head, his fingers brushing your hair to the back and exposing your nape to the cool air. The next second he’s tracing the tip of his nose from your chin up to your earlobe, where he pauses. You’re acutely aware of his lips against your skin, just barely brushing against it. “Never been better.”

He inhales again, deeply, and another shiver runs down your spine. You were wrong to think he was unaffected; something’s changed between you as you slept, and you aren’t sure why or what it is.

“You smell…” He trails off, moving down and back to the spot behind your ear. You swear you feel the slightest whisper of a kiss there, and it takes extra effort to hold in the sigh that’s caught in your throat. “…different.”

“I have a smell?” It comes out with a halfhearted, short laugh; an attempt to ease the thick tension that hangs over you.

Loki only hums in response. This time, with the pressure on your neck and the puffs of his breathing against your skin, you’re sure Loki’s lips are on you. Not a kiss, nothing more—just a steady weight that anchors you in his lap.

Anchors you to the reality that you are in his lap.

“And you are so warm.” The way he says it, his mouth moving against your skin, it’s almost as if he’s talking to himself. His arms around your waist tighten, and your hip comes in contact with a little bulge.

Well, not very little, but…

“Y-yeah, I thought you were going to do something about that.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.”

His hand rests on your exposed thigh, his thumb rubbing hypnotic circles into your skin. “Better?” he asks with his face still buried in the crook of your neck.

“I don’t think so.” Coherency becomes increasingly difficult to achieve; you’re too focused on the sizzle of electricity thrumming within your veins, spidering from where he touches you.

“How about…” His hand glides up your thighs, skimming over your underwear and underneath the baggy shirt until they come up to rest on your hip. “Now?”

You’re sure he kisses you this time, on that sensitive spot below your ear, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from making a sound.

“Still nothing,” you whisper, strained. “As hot as ever.”

There is no second guessing anymore: something wet and hot darts out behind your ear, and Loki’s lips press a firm, lingering kiss there as his hand skims to the center of your stomach. You suck in a shaky breath, your eyes slipping closed at the spark you feel.

“And now?” he questions, just by your ear. The conspiratorial tone and the volume he uses makes you clench in anticipation.

Instead of answering, you shift on his lap—purposefully grinding a little bit on his evident erection. You hear Loki’s breathing change just slightly, his fingers curling on your stomach.

You think he’s about to do something to break the sexual tension and turn it into something tangible, something you both can actually do to ease the ache you’re sure you both feel, but you know the God of Mischief enjoys his games. He enjoys acting unaffected when in fact he is, and you intend to play that to your advantage. Somehow.

“I’m not sure I’m feeling anything,” you say as nonchalant as possible. A plan quickly brews in your mind, and you pretend to notice something on the dashboard. You wriggle in Loki’s lap, making sure to rub him in all the right places as you tell him you swear you saw something whiz past.

The way Loki tenses underneath you brings you a small bout of satisfaction.

“Perhaps,” he starts, his voice clearly strained as you begin to rotate your hips ever so lightly against him, “perhaps a nap is what you need.”

“But Loki,” you say, exaggerated and almost whiny as you lean back against his lean chest, feeling the full extent of his arousal against your lower back, “who’s going to see if the asteroid comes back?”

You yelp as Loki stands, one arm hooked under your knees and the other around your waist. He’s carrying you, the thought floating through your muddled brain.

“Stark will handle it. Like you said. Trust him and his technology, or something like that,” he says, voice a little rough. “It’s bed for you.”

Loki lays you down with surprising gentleness, smoothing the covers around you. You think you might be able to sleep a little now that a little pent up energy has been released, but you only become shell-shocked when Loki climbs into the cot beside you.

It’s not a very large bed, mind you, which means that you’re trapped between his body and the wall of the ship. There isn’t much room to lay on your back when Loki’s in it with you, so you settle on your side while he does the same.

Loki pulls your back to his chest, completely flush against his body. “Relax,” he murmurs. “Try to sleep.”

Yeah, as if you can with something very hard poking into your backside.

For the record, you do try to sleep. You let your eyes drift closed with Loki’s arm draped over you, but even when you reach that half asleep state you’re focused on his erection behind you and his arm slowly making its way under your shirt again.

And somehow, whether it’s of your own doing or your body on autopilot, your hand slowly makes its way behind, reaching between you and placing it flat against his erection.

It’s like time stops. There’s nothing but static in your brain, the only sound the ever-present hum of the ship. As if neither of you dare to breathe. Loki’s fingers rest on your hipbone, where the garter of your underwear rests.

Neither of you move. You stay like this, for how long you don’t know, until Loki exhales a little, pressing his length against your palm.

“Can’t sleep,” you whisper, shifting to ease the budding strain in your arm. “Still hot.”

“So am I,” Loki replies softly.

You don’t think you can tense up further, but your body surprises you. “Maybe…” You don’t know why you’re allowing your question to form and where you’re getting the boldness to ask. “Maybe you should take something off.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you don’t turn around to face him. The sound of the sheets rustling and the mattress shifting is enough to tell you that he got up. Cold dread begins to replace the delicious fire that was coursing through your veins—have you scared him away? Offended him?

The mattress dips again, and Loki’s pulling you against him, in the same spooning position you were in earlier. Only… only he’s shirtless, you realize when your back hits his chest.

Shit, you really want to turn around and take a good look at his gloriously naked chest first.

You’re not sure your heart can take any more when Loki slowly guides your hand back to the evidence of his arousal. Once he places your palm on his erection, his hand is sliding over your skin underneath what you’re wearing, resting just underneath the swell of your breast.

“You know, mortal, you are very pretty,” he admits quietly, his finger dashing against your skin. “And your company is… tolerable.”

“Yeah, you’re not too bad yourself, Reindeer Games.” It comes out rushed, breathy, and a small moan of pain (or is it?) punctuates the end of your sentence as he drags a nail over your skin.

“Do not call me that. Or I will have to punish you.”

When did you decide to court danger?

“Are you threatening me with a good time?”

“Perhaps I am threatening you with the absence of one.”

Fast as lightning, Loki removes his touch from you. “You are still feverish. Perhaps you should take off your shirt.”

“You mean your shirt.” Your heart thumps loudly against your ribcage, your hands now toying with the hem of the fabric. The tone between you two has shifted so drastically, the tension so thick it’s almost suffocating. You sit up, twisting to see Loki lying on his side, his eyes dark and half-lidded.

You maintain eye contact as you grip the end of the shirt, slowly pulling it as it exposes, bit by bit, the upper half of your thighs, your underwear, your stomach, your breasts, until you pull it over your head and toss it to the side. Loki stares at you all the while, a hungry look in his eye, but does nothing.

“Lie back down,” he commands, running a finger over your bare side. “Perhaps now you will be able to cool off.”

He twirls the ends of your hair around his fingers as you do as he says, the warmth of your center now the focus of your attention as it thrums.

Loki props you against him, on your side again, his fingers dancing across your midriff, moving up until he’s tracing the tops of your breasts and ghosting over your nipples.

Your back arches almost unconsciously, pressing into him where he meets you with equal pressure.

Experimentally you gyrate over his erection, making sure to keep your movements slow and agonizing. His hands skim over your breasts until he takes one in his hand, rolling your nipple between his fingers until they pebble.

His head falls onto your shoulder as you keep with your tantalizing dance over his hips, his breathing growing ragged. He tweaks and pulls at your nipples, squeezing and palming your breasts until it’s the only thing that clouds your mind.

“Are you—are you still warm?” he asks, evidently trying and failing to keep his composure as you buck your ass against him particularly hard.

“You tell me.”

He flicks over your breast in response, your head falling back with a barely held back moan.

“Maybe you should take off your pants,” you suggest with a sigh.

“Maybe I should take off yours.”

“I’m not wearing any, remember?”

Loki stills, which makes you do the same. He shifts, gently guiding you to lie on your back. The confusion must be clear as day on your face, because Loki stares at you with those intense green eyes of his as he climbs on top of you.

Your faces are level, his eyes scanning every inch. You’re not sure where this is coming from; one minute he’s all over your breasts and the next he’s quiet and on top of you. He buries his face in your neck for what feels like the millionth time today, setting off a reaction that sends another wave of want to your core.

This time he sucks on your neck, and you gasp. Your hands move to bury into his hair, but Loki pins your arms to the sides by your wrists. You writhe underneath him as he marks you with tongue and teeth.

He peppers kisses around your neck, your throat, your collarbone as he grinds into you. Letting out a small groan, he moves to hover over your lips.

“Tell me to kiss you,” he whispers hoarsely. “Do it. Now.”

The grip on your wrists has slackened and you take the opportunity to pull Loki’s face to yours. Hungry and passionate is what the kiss is: his mouth moves quickly, in sync with yours, as though to make sure every bit of this is real and not just a fever dream. You savor it, the taste of him, leaving you dizzy and delirious with every swipe of his tongue and graze of his teeth against your lips. It’s almost rough, the way he kisses you, but it fits the urgency you feel. You don’t want to have it any other way.

He travels down until he’s suckling at your breasts, and you do everything in your power to hold in the moan that rises in your throat. All you can feel is heat and slick and the pulsing of your blood, overcome with the need to be filled to the brim by him.

You’re about to fumble with his pants when he trails a path of kisses down your torso, stopping when he reaches between your legs.

You’re practically trembling with anticipation now. Seeing Loki in between your legs, a wicked grin on his face, has you wetter than you’ve ever gotten in life. He spreads you apart, settling between them, and feathers kisses over your inner thighs.

“Loki,” you say through gritted teeth, your pussy clenching as he nears your sweet center. “Stop teasing.”

He shifts forward, kissing your hips, your stomach jumping underneath him. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he bares his teeth, scraping over your skin and biting down on the fabric of your underwear.

He slides one side down, his mouth dragging over your thigh, your underwear between his teeth; he does the same to the other side, and again he goes. All the way, pulling your underwear down with his teeth until they’re around your ankles. He discards it lazily, adding it to the growing pile of clothes, and at this point you’re nothing but a whimpering mess.

“So this is the source of your sweet smell,” he mutters as he lowers his head between your legs. You’re shaking lightly, wound tight from the excitement, and when Loki inhales the scent of you, long and drawn out, you almost want to cum right there and then.

“Absolutely divine,” he comments. Then he’s placing his tongue flat against you, your head falling back against the pillow, unable to hold in the moan that spills from your lips.

It’s like an explosion of little lights, you think distantly. Little stars bursting from one touch.

He lifts his head from your cunt with a mischievous grin. “I like that sound, little one. Let’s see how many times I can make you do it again.”

The feeling of Loki’s head between your legs, his mouth inside you, is incomparable. He dives into your cavern, his dexterous tongue causing you to sigh praises that seem to only spur him on. It’s a steady, swirling motion that drives you insane, your pelvis arching.

Then he’s moving up to swipe over your clit, and every nerve ending in your body sizzles and frays, another loud moan of his name ripped from your throat. With a grip of steel, he holds your thighs down, parted wide, as he assaults your clit with sucks and nibbles and licks.

“Loki,” you pant, hips bucking against his mouth. Your insides begin to coil in preparation, your walls clenching around Loki’s tongue. “Loki, I—”

He hums, almost like he’s questioning you, and the vibration on your sensitive parts is enough to send you over the edge.

The orgasm that overtakes you is powerful, pulsing through every part of your body as you whisper his name like a prayer. Only Loki doesn’t stop—he licks up every drop that leaks from you, and it’s enough stimulation for another powerful orgasm to build.

His lips latch onto your clit, sucking rhythmically, as his tongue swipes and swirls around the bundle of nerves.

“Loki,” you try to say, only it comes out a breathy whine, “I want to go down on you too—ah—”

He plunges a finger deep within you, curling against your G-spot in time with his sucks.

“Fucking hell, Loki,” you grind out, your fingernails digging into his scalp as you rotate your hips on his face. You can feel the steady climb to another precipice of an orgasm, as well as the tiny smirk that plays on Loki’s face against you.

Your grip tightens on his hair as he speeds up his movements; rapid, quick swipes on your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you shallowly. Your walls begin to clench at the splinters of release—

“Not yet,” he says, removing his lips and fingers from you with a dark grin.

Frustration wells up within you, but it’s shadowed by the undeniable thrill that shoots towards your center. If you’re understanding Loki right—which you do most of the time—he isn’t finished with you just yet.

He crawls on top of you like a prowling animal, the pure lust in his eyes mirroring what you feel. He captures your lips in a kiss, languid and seductive, his hands cradling your face.

The juxtaposition of the entire situation hits you like a freight train. He’s gentle when he’s holding you like this, like you’re made of glass, but the urgency with which he grinds into your naked mound detonates another explosion of emotions. One action is delicate, the other rough. Contrast bolting through you at the same time and colliding into one as pleasure.

“You’re amazing,” you sigh into his mouth, and you can feel Loki suck in a breath, pausing at your words. Spotting your chance, you roll on top of him, straddling his waist with a smirk.

Loki’s eyes open, a ghost of bewilderment etched onto his face at the sudden shift, and then when he sees your expression he transforms his own into his usual confident half-grin. As though he’s merely amused by this whole situation—but he isn’t fooling you.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, little one,” he drawls, sliding his hands up your sides.

You grab his forearms, pushing them down to his sides as you rock against the clothed tent in his pants. Loki could easily overpower you, you know that, free his arms from your not so vicelike grip, but he lets you. Lets you pin his arms to his sides just as he did to you.

Lowering your head, you run your nose along the expanse of his chest, up to his neck where it’s your turn to inhale deeply. He smells just like the shirt you were wearing, only ten times more potent, and it sends a fresh wave of heady arousal to wash over you.

“Not yet,” you echo his words from earlier, your grip tightening on his wrists as you grind down into him. You can feel Loki about to respond with a snarky remark, so you silence him by suctioning your lips on his neck. Your one track mind has only one goal: mark him with bruises that are of your doing. Claim him as yours.

You lift off him with a little pop; not a very sexy sound, but Loki seems to enjoy it with the way his hips seem to be moving of their own accord. You kiss across his throat before suctioning again on another spot right below his jaw.

This time, you play a little rough.

Loki’s hips jerk upwards as your teeth rake over his skin, his breath fanning over your hair. “Little minx,” he utters, groaning a second later as you push your center against him with a harder bite to his neck.

“Pants off, Loki,” you whisper.

He frees one arm from your grip and haphazardly waves his hand, and your swollen sex comes in contact with the flesh of his hard and heavy cock.

Just as Loki’s about to jerk up and into you, you lift your hips off of him. It kills you to do it, but the teasing, the foreplay, causes you to feel a smidge of power.

“I said, not yet,” you say, sliding down his body until your face is level with his cock.

His length throbs in front of you, and somehow, somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind you think you’ve never seen a cock as beautiful as his. Curious, you lick a stripe down the underside of it, from the base up to the tip.

Loki masks his hiss, turning it into a cheeky exhale, folding an arm under his head. “Go on then. Impress me.”

Whatever intimidation game he’s trying to play, feigning nonchalance, it’s not going to work on you. You take a moment to examine the bead of precum that leaks from his slit, your fingers at the base of his erection, and drag the tip of your tongue over it before sliding your lips over the blunt head.

You don’t bob up and down; unmoving, merely suckling and swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. His hands fist into your hair as your hand and mouth begin to pump up and down his shaft, and just like that promises and praise fall from his lips like wine.

You chance a glance at him, and are utterly pleased by the sight. Loki’s eyes are scrunched shut, barely containing his pleasure, breathing hard through his nose. To have him, a god, reduced to his most carnal needs at your ministrations fills you with gratification. You take him further into your mouth until you can feel him pulsing with almost release, and then you lift off him with a sly grin.

“Not yet,” you repeat in almost a teasing, singsong kind of way.

Loki glares at you, but it’s hardly threatening. You manage to laugh as you level your faces, kissing him hot on the mouth and guiding your slick entrance to his throbbing cock.

You hover over him, not fully seated, his cock just stretching you the slightest bit. Your self-restraint cracks with every passing second you remain unmoving, until Loki takes your hips in his hands and brings you down on top of him, seating you on top of him.

He stretches you in a way you can only describe as full. You lean forward, planting your hands on his lean chest, and rock against him, eyes closing at the feeling.

It’s nothing you could ever conjure up in your wild dreams—he fills you, grinding in time with you and sending you into a barely controlled frenzy. But you keep your movements slow, relishing the way you can feel him throb inside you. Everything feels so new, a first you’ve never experienced: each touch, movement, kiss, no matter how small seems to be amplified in the small ship. It fills you with an unfamiliar, delicious kind of fire, boiling inside you.

“Not—not bad,” Loki grunts, unable to maintain the once casual tone he used before. “For a mortal.”

You swivel your hips and rake your nails over his chest, and Loki’s mouth parts lightly. “Not bad,” you remark, squeezing your muscles around him, “Reindeer Games.”

It’s Loki’s turn to seize his opportunity, it seems, because his eyes fly open, a wild, hungry look to him as he flips you underneath him, his cock still buried in you. The shift in position drives you a little mad, your pussy clenching unconsciously around him.

“What did I say,” he asks dangerously, plowing in and out of you with slow, agonizing strokes, “about calling me that?”

“You’d punish me.” A delicious shiver runs down your spine as the words come out.

“Wonderful that you remember. Because you’re about to forget everything except my name.”

And with that promise, Loki brings your wrists over your head, pinning them above you with a firm grip, his mouth seeking yours as he begins to rut into you more senselessly now. He swallows the moan you make when the tip of his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you, making sure to angle it right where you’re most sensitive.

He doesn’t cease his movements when he latches onto your breast, roughly biting and sucking until you’re whimpering soft cries and pleas and praises. His other hand caresses the curve of your hip and ass before he presses on your clit.

If you were seeing stars earlier, right now you’re seeing entire galaxies explode behind your eyes. The sensations are overwhelming, your legs spread wide open, and just when you think you’ve felt it all, Loki takes you by surprise and pulls you both into a kneeling position. He bounces you on his cock with unrelenting speed, and your arms find their way around his shoulders as you approach orgasm yet again.

You subconsciously flex your walls around him, biting down on his shoulder to prepare you for an orgasm—only Loki slows to a stop, gently laying you back down on your back.

The release that built inside you ebbs away, and you clench around Loki, a silent signal for him to continue. Only Loki pulls himself out of you, resting atop you with his face buried in your neck, suckling another bruise into your skin.

“Loki,” you breathe, his hand cupping your breast, “Loki, please.”

The god has the nerve to smile against you, you feel it. “What did you say to me earlier?”

“You said it to me first, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Loki lifts his head, his eyes boring into yours, blown with desire and yet… something has shifted. Something else is there.

“You are extraordinary,” he tells you, brushing hair away from your forehead. “You have always been the object of my attention, ever since you walked into the board room on your first day.”

Your throat closes with the genuine admission, and you swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah, well, I always thought you were pretty neat. Maybe we can talk later and finish what we started?”

Loki chuckles, his eyes crinkling, and presses a kiss to your lips. “Smart woman.”

It’s almost as if the tender moment doesn’t happen at all, because Loki’s arms snake underneath you to bring your hips closer to his, plunging into you and reaching a deeper spot that makes both of you groan in earnest. Whatever just happened, you can probably mark it for later with a good sit-down conversation. Right now your focus is on his cock inside you, and you don’t hesitate to tell him how good he’s making you feel.

“Hands above your head,” he commands.

You oblige, and his head immediately dips to your breasts. He’s kissing, licking everywhere he can reach, while your hands tangle in his hair, his shoulders, his muscled back. Your back arches, his cock thrusting mercilessly into you, burying himself to the hilt and brushing against that sweet, sweet spot over and over.

You don’t know how you’re ever going to come back from this. Loki buried within you, your cunt stretching to accommodate him, perfectly slotting into each other. His fingers rub against your clit, adding to your already overloaded senses and fuck, it’s as if all the effects from the foreplay and your heat come crashing down in one big tidal wave.

The speed at which Loki’s pounding into you is almost ungodly, unreal. Your mouth hangs open, your orgasm building with extraordinary intensity—

Almost as quickly as it builds, you’re tipped over the edge, a broken wail of his name accompanying the spasms in your lower body. You’ve never had an orgasm as shattering as this one, your cunt fluttering around Loki even as you slowly come down from your high.

“That’s it,” Loki says, jaw set. “Very good, little one.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down—he continues to wreck you, the sounds of your coupling obscenely filling the air. You want him to feel the seismic pleasure you just did—so you clamp around him, rotate your hips in little circles in time with his thrusts.

“You’re absolutely amazing,” you tell him, watching how he slowly unravels with every new praise. You tell him how good he makes you feel, how good he is, perfect and incredible and oh, the things you would do to—

Loki bends down and kisses you ferociously, licking every part of your mouth and biting on your lips as he bucks, going rock hard and cumming inside you. His movements slow, just a fraction, as you let him ride out his high.

“Glorious woman,” he mutters, his eyes still closed as he kisses over every inch of your face.

You’re about to return with a compliment of your own, but are cut off when Loki grinds into you again.

“A-are you still hard?” you ask, a giggle rising to your throat whose tail end turns into another moan.

“I’ve lost count how many times I’ve made you make that wonderful sound,” he says, hips stirring back to life as you feel a fresh bout of slick moisture gush down your legs. “I think that’s quite a success.”

And then he’s flipping you over, on your stomach, pulling your ass up and sliding his still-hard cock back into your dripping folds, reaching depths you didn’t even know you had, evidently ready for another round.

Through your half-lidded eyes, you make out the faint outline of stars—whether they’re from the pleasure you feel or actually there, you don’t know.

-- -- --

You’d think overstimulation would best you, but your entire afternoon—evening, morning, you can’t really tell, space is just completely dark—has been you and Loki all over each other all over the ship.

You can’t tell how long it’s been, but you can feel the ship beginning to descend into Earth’s atmosphere.

“Hey. Hey, Loki—ah, yes, there—”

You’ve also lost track of how many orgasms you’ve had.

You writhe underneath him, searing hot ecstasy blistering in your core as Loki sucks on your clit, his teeth just lightly scraping over it, his fingers smoothing over your inner thighs.

“You taste so sweet, little one,” he murmurs against you, licking through your folds.

“Don’t distract me.” You swat at his head weakly. “I think we’re here.”

“Haven’t touched the ground,” he says, shrugging, making to dive back into your well-spent cunt.

You stop him before he can seduce you into letting him taste you again, and again, as he’d been doing all day.

Whatever warmth you were feeling earlier has completely subsided from your body, and even your mind feels clearer. As soon as you came down from whatever it was, all that was left was a blissful afterglow that you still feel until now.

Surprisingly, you and Loki haven’t had any awkward, dead air—granted, he has been buried in your thighs and yours in his most of the trip. You thought maybe as soon as the strange fever subsided, you’d both be back to whatever it was before this, but apparently not. It seems to have opened up a door, an opportunity, one you both mutually want to walk through together.

“We still have time,” Loki purrs, caressing your folds with his thumbs.

“You’re insatiable,” you sigh, and Loki takes this as a sign to delve back into your warmth, his tongue gliding into you for the umpteenth time today.

“You love it.”

You and Loki disembark the Quinjet, you with shaky legs and him with a sort of spring in his step. You’re not sure what to tell the others when you see them, a tinge of worry sneaking into your bubble of sexual satisfaction.

As soon as you walk into the board room, you’re met with the expectant eyes of the Avengers, studying the pair of you with varying expressions.

And then Loki’s sliding his arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him, and the room erupts into shouts of “Called it!” and “No!” and you can’t help but laugh at the raucousness of it all.

“I’m glad we couldn’t take the Bifrost coming back here,” you tell Loki quietly.

“As am I,” he whispers back.

“Yeah, about that,” Stark cuts in, stepping forward, “yeah… you totally could have used it.”

#by belle #smut #loki x you #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki smut #loki imagine #yeah... yeah this VERY long #tom hiddleston imagine #sex pollen

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 24 - ao3 -

The Cloud Recesses was calm and serene, tranquil and undisturbed. But unlike its usual tranquility, Lan Qiren felt that it was the calm of the moment before a firework exploded, the air thick and heavy with the impending eruption of an oncoming storm.

Lan Qiren’s brother continued to neglect his work to court He Kexin, who seemed to have improved her opinion of him somewhat during the time that Lan Qiren was gone, though whether it was the earnestness of his passionate pursuit, flattery at the idea of a man gone mad for her, or just that she’d become resigned to the idea for the moment, it wasn’t clear. What was clear to anyone with eyes was that her regard for him, although apparently now genuine, was nowhere near as fanatical as his. Lan Qiren suspected that they had started sleeping together, which seemed like a mistake on her part.

Still, brother or no, this was not a matter in which he was qualified to intervene.

Lan Qiren returned to his usual life, although he again temporarily delayed his planned departure in order to assist with sect matters – whatever his relationship with his brother, Lan Qiren loved his sect very much, and he, at least, would not so easily allow it to slip into disarray through neglect. No one asked him about the matter of He Kexin; his teachers pretended his unjust punishment had not happened but avoided his eyes for several weeks, and his peers had mostly moved on with their lives.

(His brother pretended he didn’t exist, but Lan Qiren didn’t hold it against him. Rumor had it that Wen Ruohan had either threatened or actually hit him or both to make clear how much he disapproved of what happened to Lan Qiren, and whether or not that was true, Lan Qiren enjoyed the thought too much to quibble over how his brother wanted to salvage his dignity.)

Lan Yueheng passed along news – not gossip, he said self-righteously, just news, as if Lan Qiren would somehow miss the fact that ever since he’d paired up with that pretty storehouse clerk of his, Lan Yueheng had belatedly discovered the joys of gossip and taken to it like a fish to water – but there wasn’t much of it, not even with his beloved Zhang Xin’s prodigious capacity for romantic stories and ability to embroider just about any situation into something resembling one. Cangse Sanren wrote Lan Qiren several letters, but once she’d been assured of his health and wellbeing, they largely shifted over to complaining about the Jin sect, where she was now residing, and occasionally included lurid descriptions of Wei Changze specifically meant to shock his conscience.

How are you even seeing him, Lan Qiren wrote back. Aren’t you in Lanling? He’s a servant in Yunmeng. Doesn’t he have a job?

Jiang Fengmian has ascended to the position of sect leader, she wrote back. He has to visit the other sects relatively often, and the Jiang sect has always been close to the Jin sect. Why shouldn’t they visit?

Lan Qiren thought about his brother and shook his head. Was irresponsibility in the rainwater this year?

I trust you’ve made your view on the matter clear to Jiang Fengmian.

Of course, she replied. He seems to live in hope that one day I’ll change my mind.

You’ve never changed your mind about anything.

So I’ve told him. Really, the fact that he doesn’t realize that is yet another reason why we wouldn’t be a good pair – putting aside his role, which I don’t want to share. Can you imagine me as mistress of the Lotus Pier? I’d be awful at it.

Lan Qiren imagined it, and shuddered.

Anyway, I’m like you – I want to travel! There’s so much to see out there. What a pity it would be to be trapped inside all day, like a caged lark singing only for a select few.

You could always invite others to come share their stories with you instead, he replied, thinking of Wen Ruohan sitting alone in the room he had designed for Lan Qiren like a dollhouse, waiting for a maid to help him vent his emotions over Lao Nie and Lan Qiren both. The rumors from Qishan said he’d recently taken on a concubine and that she was pregnant; Madame Wen was apparently furious over it. Bring the world to you, if you can’t go to them. That’s what sect leaders generally do, to my understanding: feathering their nest to make it bright and pleasing to their eyes because they cannot leave lest it fall apart. That’s a way of living, too.

I suppose, she replied, fearless and carefree as ever. But not for me!

There was Lao Nie, too.

He visited the Cloud Recesses a month or so after Lan Qiren’s visit to the Nightless City, belatedly concerned about Lan Qiren’s well-being – “I didn’t hear about it,” he said, looking shamefaced. “I had other matters on my mind…I’ll talk to your brother, though. I can’t believe he would order something so disproportionate. Is he here?”

“He is not,” Lan Qiren said with a sigh. Those who said you couldn’t change a man’s essential nature were not wrong, he thought, already forgiving Lao Nie despite his lack of actual apology.

Lan Qiren had always liked people whose spirits were bold and relentless, uncompromising and unbending just like him; there was really no other way to explain his truly inexplicable fondness for Cangse Sanren and Lan Yueheng and even Wen Ruohan, except maybe to say that he found himself compelled to love where he was loved in return. Lao Nie was like two drops of water with the rest of them, forging his own path in the world, wholly and truly himself – even if he left chaos in his wake, why should Lan Qiren expect more of him than to be exactly what he was?

“He’s out night-hunting,” he added. “Down in the south. There were tales of some very unusual beasts roaming there.”

He Kexin had expressed a mild interest in response to a storyteller’s tale, and naturally Lan Qiren’s brother whisked her away at once, her and all her friends that he always seemed to be paying for. Lan Qiren had thought that she kept them around her as a means of holding his brother off, but Zhang Xin had opined over a shared cup of tea that she thought He Kexin was treating the great and powerful Qingheng-jun as a convenient purse, that treating her friends to his largesse was the point and not the defense.

Zhang Xin liked to hold forth on her views, forthright and unstoppable and loud, and Lan Qiren could see why Lan Yueheng constantly looked so infatuated whenever he gazed upon her – she was not dissimilar to one of the explosions he created in his alchemy laboratory. They were very well matched, and Lan Qiren deeply pitied whichever teacher got stuck with their eventual offspring, which he foresaw as being the least Lan sect juniors to have ever graced their ranks.

“Gone? I’ll see him when he comes back, then,” Lao Nie said, entirely unperturbed by such concerns. “Let me tell you about my son instead! He’s wonderful – a big, fat baby.”

Lan Qiren crossed his arms. “We can talk about your baby later. What about your wife?”

“A goddess!”

Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way, Lan Qiren mused. “Lao Nie,” he said. “What about Wen da-ge?”

Lao Nie blinked at him. “Hanhan? He’s doing well, too.”

Lan Qiren resisted the urge to strangle Lao Nie.

“Oh,” Lao Nie said, apparently figuring something out based on Lan Qiren’s sour expression. “You mean the fact that he’s angry at me?”

“Yes,” Lan Qiren said patiently. “He’s very angry at you. Do you know why?”

“I’ve tried talking with him about it,” Lao Nie complained. “I don’t know why he’s being so stiff all of a sudden…it’s not like he doesn’t know what I’m like.”

This, Lan Qiren supposed, was definitely true.

“He thought of you as his,” Lan Qiren said. “Didn’t you know?”

Lao Nie shrugged, careless as a boar in full charge, heedless of the damage wrought around him as he moved through the world, none of which could penetrate his thick hide. “Of course. But being his doesn’t make me any less my own, and I can belong to others, too. Who’s he to tell me not to give myself where I will? Does he have dominion over me?”

“He doesn’t want dominion over you,” Lan Qiren said, and Lao Nie looked at him skeptically – which was fair enough. Wen Ruohan was possessed of a strong desire for domination, whether of people, places, or things; he truly believed all good things in the world ought to belong to him, and Lan Qiren only hoped that he never shifted over to thinking that he was actually the rightful owner of all things, for that path led inexorably to the reign of the tyrant. “Truly! Not over you, or any of the people close to his heart. If he wanted merely to possess you, he might as well try to snatch you off to his sect and give you his surname.”

“Not with the sort of relationship we have,” Lao Nie said, a smug smirk curling his lips. “If you know what I mean.”

Lan Qiren sighed. Truly, it was a pity to have reached the age in which everyone around him seemed to think of nothing but sex; he couldn’t wait until they were all too old for such things. Surely it couldn’t be that long…?

“You know what I mean,” he said patiently. “He’s not after Sect Leader Nie, not making some powerplay or attempting to seduce you in order to win your talents over. He likes you, Lao Nie, and all he expects from you is that you like him back.”

“I do!” Lao Nie protested. “I really do. He’s my darling Hanhan, isn’t he? He’s the one setting up walls between us, all because he’s gotten his feathers in a twist over something that’s really nothing. If it’s my time that he’s worried about splitting, what’s the surprise? My sect will always come first, as will his for him. I don’t even have a wife anymore!”

“You – don’t?” Lan Qiren stared, expression blanking out in his shock: this was not a piece of news that had reached his ears. He put down his teacup. “Lao Nie, if something happened –”

“Oh, no, it’s not like that,” Lao Nie said dismissively. “She’s a goddess, like I told you! She’s off and around, coming and going, everywhere and nowhere at once – how could my Nie sect hope to contain such a creature?”

“But…you married her?”

“So? Does that mean I need to live with her?”

Lan Qiren was truly taken aback. He had never heard of such an unorthodox arrangement. “You have a son together! Who is raising him?”

“Me, of course! With the aid of plenty of servants, naturally. I wouldn’t dream of tying her down…ah, Qiren, don’t look so shocked. We’re all our own people, with our own wants and desires. Sometimes those desires pair well, and you can live together happily and well for the rest of your lives; sometimes they don’t. If you fall for someone whose desires don’t line up to your own, you can still pursue something with them. That you wouldn’t match well in what’s considered the orothodox fashion is no reason not to match at all, not if there can be an unorthodox arrangement that causes no one any harm.”

“Are we still talking about your ‘goddess’ wife?” Lan Qiren asked. “Or Wen da-ge?”

Lao Nie smiled ruefully. That sharp cleverness that was always with him lingered in his eyes, having been hidden beneath his distraction and his infatuation and his deliberately careless manner. “I tried to tell him,” he said. “From the very beginning…I was the one doing the pursuing, you know. He didn’t even want me at the start. The stupid fool, he thought he’d be better off alone, alone with the cold delights of political power and the miserable fascinations of that Fire Palace of his, leaving no room in his heart for any human warmth at all. You know what they all say about him: that he lost something when he passed the boundaries of his first human lifetime, his cultivation so high as to make him closer to a god than a man.”

Lan Qiren had heard that, too. At the beginning, he’d seen what people meant, but later, once he got closer, he didn’t see it at all.

“Before I convinced him to have me, he was far worse,” Lao Nie said bluntly. “If you think he was bad when you were younger, you have no idea – forget putting you in a dollhouse and dressing you up to suit his whims over your complaints; if he’d wanted you alongside him back then, he wouldn’t have hesitated to carve out your soul and turn you into a heartless puppet instead. It wouldn’t have satisfied him, of course, and eventually he would have discarded you, never knowing why he couldn’t get what he wanted from you.”

“Know your own mind,” Lan Qiren quoted. “What he would have wanted was the heart, sincerely given, and yet that was the first part thrown away…but such a realization would be too late and too bad for the victim, even if he later regretted.”

“He didn’t regret much, when I first got to know him,” Lao Nie said. “Nothing but trouble, down to his bones; that’s what he was, and what he still is, really. Lucky for him, I like a bit of trouble.”

That was an understatement. Lao Nie liked a lot of trouble, the more the better; it was really no wonder that he’d attached himself to Wen Ruohan.

“I pursued him,” Lao Nie said, picking up the thread from where he’d left off. “I dug out all the human parts of him that I could from underneath that stiff and stern human mask of his, and in the end he wanted me, too. But throughout it all I told him, I told him, that I wasn’t free for the keeping – that I knew myself, with my nose for trouble and wickedness, that I’d never be satisfied with just the one. That the only one who’d ever have all of me was my saber, and only because she doesn’t want anything in return but blood. He liked that, once. He thought it was a good thing.”

Yes, Lan Qiren could see that. Especially in the beginning, Wen Ruohan would not have wanted someone who gave him everything; he was like a wild cat, standoffish with those that longed for him and close to those that rejected him. One of the most powerful cultivators, sect leader of the most powerful sect – if he wanted someone who would simper and flirt and yield for him, he could have a dozen at the blink of an eye.

Someone like Lao Nie, who had a firm sense of identity and neither needed nor wanted anything from the outside world, who was always truly fundamentally himself, was far more his style.

So was someone like Lan Qiren, for that matter. Uncompromising and strict, mind preoccupied with his idiosyncratic obsessions – Wen Ruohan had thought him interesting, for whatever reason, and in time had grown jealous of those other thoughts, longing to be counted among them.

Lan Qiren rubbed at his temples. “He always seemed to enjoy you going off with others,” he noted, wondering if Lao Nie had more insight into the matter. “Why is this different? He got married, too.”

“Hanhan’s tastes are changing as he remembers more of what it means to be human,” Lao Nie said thoughtfully, accepting more tea when Lan Qiren poured it out for him. “I only excavated the surface, the rough parts of him that suited my interests, and he was content with our relationship being friendly and casual. But for you he brought out his soft underbelly and the hint of civilization that he used to have, remembering what he used to be and the things he used to want…I see he even gave you some of his paintings.”

Lan Qiren looked where Lao Nie was looking and saw the two paintings on his wall by the mysterious artist. “His paintings..? He painted these? It doesn’t feel anything like him!”

“Trust me, his qi is unmistakable to one who’s known it as intimately as I have. It’s definitely him – though I’d say these paintings are nearly a century old. Can we say that we are the same people we were between yesterday and today? Even the course of the mighty river can shift over time.”

Lan Qiren was stuck looking at the paintings. Free, he’d said to Wen Ruohan, all unknowing. The person who painted these was free and happy. Their soul is like a falcon’s, tied down by nothing.

For all the power and might that Wen Ruohan could bring to bear these days, Lan Qiren wouldn’t use any of those terms to describe him as he was now.

“He’ll forgive me,” Lao Nie said confidently, putting his cup down. “Give him time to remember why he liked me so much, remember all the warnings I gave him, and he’ll get over it. Maybe we’ll be a little less close than before, maybe there’ll be more anger and jealousy between us - at any rate, I haven’t pushed him so far to the brink that he would try to kill me to keep anyone else from having me, at least not yet. He’s just disappointed, that’s all. He’d only just realized that he wanted more when he realized he couldn’t get it.”

Lan Qiren nodded slowly. He thought that Lao Nie was right, although he also thought it was stupid of him to knowingly play with fire in such a brazen manner – Wen Ruohan really wouldn’t hesitate to murder a fellow sect leader, even one in another Great Sect, if he was determined enough, and he was smart and twisted enough to think of a way to get away with it, too.

Still, just as Lan Qiren had gotten over his feelings about Wen Ruohan’s inclination towards seeing torture and pain as entertainment, realizing that if he wanted him then he had to accept him as he was rather than rejecting him for it, Wen Ruohan would do the same for Lao Nie. He would remember what Lao Nie was like, what he’d always been like, and he would teach himself to appreciate those traits that he had once thought preferable, even as he resented them.

They’d get over this. Lan Qiren was sure of it.

What would come of it in the future, though...

“Anyway, I’ve dithered for long enough,” Lao Nie said. “I really only swung by briefly to say hello. I’m due at the Jin sect before the week’s out, and that means I have to go at once. Anything you want me to pass along to your lady-love rogue cultivator?”

“Leave Cangse Sanren alone, that’s what you can do for me,” Lan Qiren said. “Also, we’re still not lovers, nor will we ever be. Not everyone’s you!”

“No, they’re not,” Lao Nie said, grinning at him. “And that’s the way I like it – the richer the variety of the world, the more interesting people I can meet and be friends with, just like you.”

Lan Qiren was so overwhelmed by the compliment – he of course considered Lao Nie a friend of his, having as he did so many acquaintances and so few true friends, but he hadn’t realized that Lao Nie saw him as a genuine friend in return – that it didn’t even occur to him until it was too late that he hadn’t brought up the matter of his brother and He Kexin, nor told Lao Nie that he needed to stop his reckless encouragement of that relationship.

He’d tried to put that whole thing out of mind, Lan Qiren thought to himself with a sigh, and he’d succeeded – too well.

Whatever. His brother wouldn’t listen to their own sect elders, even as their exhortations shifted from encouragement to censure and their suggestions to leave it alone got more and more pointed, their interventions less and less subtle. Why would he listen to Lao Nie?

He’d just go his own way and do what he wanted, no matter what.

Lan Qiren ought to learn from his example and put the whole thing aside, accepting the facts just as they were. He’d finally given up on the idea that he could help his sect through this moment of disaster - there would simply be nothing for it; they would have to stumble along without him or else force his brother to actually do his job, but in any event, it wasn’t his problem.

He was going to go - he was going to finally make his way out of the sect for his long-planned travel, and when he did, he wouldn’t need to worry about his brother, or He Kexin, or any of it.

Only a few more months from the date he’d informed the sect elders of, he thought, and this time he would stick to it, not delay. A few more months...he could even count the time in days, if he wished.

His brother (and He Kexin) would return from their night-hunt in a few days, likely straight into the various elders’ less-than-subtle plans to find them and scold them over the whole thing.

Lan Qiren would give his brother ten days after he returned - the same ten days his brother had given him - before he formally informed him that he was leaving.

It wouldn’t be long now.

#mdzs #lan qiren #cangse sanren #sect leader nie #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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